The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (2018)

Score: 4.5 / 5

You can almost feel the Coen brothers in their writing room. The Ballad of Buster Scruggs is far from their most polished work, but it's a masterclass in screenwriting and a damn fun way to spend two hours.

"The Ballad of Buster Scruggs" is just the opening salvo here, an optimistic and gleefully violent short starring Tim Blake Nelson, Willie Watson, and Clancy Brown. This film, you see, is an anthology. Collected here in a lovely book that includes "Other Tales of the Wild West" are five additional stories that explore various elements of misadventure on the frontier. Scruggs is probably my favorite, as Nelson's quirky comedy is just so damn infectious, but each segment has its particular charms of beauty, humor, and violence. The other tales include (in order of my preference):

"The Mortal Remains" -- five strangers (including Tyne Daly and Brendan Gleeson) share a nighttime stagecoach ride to an uncertain destination, uncomfortably discussing differing philosophies. Features bounty hunters and magnificent dialogue.
"Meal Ticket" -- a manager (Liam Neeson) struggles to find a paying audience for his traveling show: an orator (Harry Melling) with no arms or legs who recites famous speeches from memory. Features a chicken that can count.
"Near Algodones" -- a cowboy (James Franco) robs a bank and faces perpetual death, having underestimated the elderly banker (Stephen Root) and vigilante posse (Ralph Ineson). Features a Comanche raiding party and scalping.
"All Gold Canyon" -- an old prospector (Tom Waits) hunts for gold in an Edenic valley, unaware that he is being watched by nature and a criminal. Features gorgeous photography.
"The Gal Who Got Rattled" -- Alice (Zoe Kazan) travels on the Oregon Trail to find a new life; after escaping a prearranged marriage, she learns to find love (Bill Heck) and take control of her own life to the very end. Features a dog and surprisingly moving romance.

While I expected a more satirical view of the Wild West, I'm far more impressed with the film as it is. Satire is useful, but it's been done in this context and not often successfully. But this film is never predictable; rather like a miniseries, we jump between episodes just when they begin to lose steam. It's some of the most creative world-building we've seen from the duo yet. Ultimately, it's a delicious excuse to view the world from the Coens' unique perspective: bizarre, macabre, violent, and with more genuine wit than you could kick your spurs at.

Widows (2018)

Score: 5 / 5

Steve McQueen just slays me.

His newest work, Widows, is easily one of the best movies this year. It's got an ensemble cast all at their best. A riveting, timely, and complex screenplay -- co-written by Gillian Flynn -- that balances heist with drama perfectly. A gorgeous score by Hans Zimmer and haunting cinematography from Sean Bobbitt. And, of course, a fresh story expertly told and so relevant to 2018 America that it's hard to know where to start praising it.

When a group of criminal men are killed during a robbery gone awry, the mourning time for their widows is cut violently short. Threatened by Jamal Manning (Brian Tyree Henry), a crime boss from whom the men stole $2 million, the widows band together to pull off a heist for $5 million, based on plans left by Liam Neeson (does he ever really need a character name?) and discovered by his widow Veronica (Viola Davis). Her team includes Michelle Rodriguez, Elizabeth Debicki, and Cynthia Erivo, each woman offering special skills to make the heist possible.

What really makes this movie pop -- apart from the multitude of stars delivering powerful work in front of and behind the camera -- is its attitude and ability to tap into real issues. The women are unhappy, bereaved, terrified. They don't want to do the heist, which is significant in the wake of Ocean's 8 because so many heist films hinge on the enjoyment/entertainment aspect. More importantly, this film doesn't shy away from the messy disaster zone that is Chicago crime, metro politics, and issues of poverty, race, and the endless cycle of violence. The plot is seemingly initiated because of a high-stakes political race for alderman of a South Side precinct. Manning is seeking to upset the career politician dynasty of the Mulligans, father and son (Robert Duvall and Colin Farrell) whose wealth and power (and racism) are laughably out-of-place. So often these films paint the politicians as either clueless or corrupt but ineffectual. Not so here.

I won't spoil much more, because this is the rare heist that you have to feel rather than understand. It's raw and sharp, determined to get under your skin from the outset. Because Gillian Flynn helped write it, you can expect some sharp gender tension along with a brutal critique of normative roles, as well as some slick racial commentary including police brutality; you can also expect some capital-C Crazy plot twists, including affairs, returns, murders, money, elections, and friendships forged in fire. It's dark and disturbing, never less than entertaining, and fabulously original.

IMDb: Widows

The Commuter (2018)

Score: 3 / 5

I'm not sure Jaume Collet-Serra can do much better than The Shallows. At least not when he's teamed with Liam Neeson.

To give credit where it's due, the duo make a hell of a pair. The Commuter marks the fourth time the pair has teamed up (and I confess I haven't seen any of the previous collaborations, though they have been on my list for a few years now). Liam Neeson, once the great actor and now only a great action hero, is eminently watchable, and Collet-Serra certainly knows how to handle him. The director, on the other hand, started by making horror movies that, while not great, have a life of their own, and has since continued by making exciting if unimportant action thrillers.

Like this one. Michael McCauley (Neeson) is a former police officer and current insurance salesman. His life is described in an opening montage, depicting his relationship with his family, his work, and the train on which he commutes daily. One day, he's unexpectedly fired from his job, and on his way home he meets a mysterious woman (Vera Farmiga) who approaches him and offers conversation. She proposes a hypothetical situation -- involving him making a choice to do a meaningless task, the repercussions of which he would remain ignorant -- which he laughs about before entertaining. He quickly learns the situation isn't hypothetical at all, and the consequences of his actions will be deadly. Not to himself, but to a total stranger. What is he to do?

Well, as we totally expect, he tries to escape, to fight back, to find a loophole. But forces beyond his awareness are conspiring against him, and as the clock ticks and the train nears its destination, McCauley has to make terrible choices to save as many people as he can. The movie has a perpetual forward motion, much like the train itself. Unfortunately, also like the train, the movie is endlessly predictable and familiar. There's not much novelty here, no matter how hard supporting players like Farmiga and Patrick Wilson try to make it interesting.

I personally loved The Shallows, the director's return to horror two years ago, with its gorgeous visuals, surprising violence, and wicked sense of fun. And the best elements of that have been replicated here, especially in shots of the sunset filtering in through the train windows. Fabulously atmospheric, the film marries the blue-collar grunge of the characters to the higher aesthetic that, really, all filmmaking should aspire for, while keeping everything fast and thoughtless. It's, really, a damn good summer flick. Or it would have been if it had been released in summer.

As it is, it feels like a pretty but hollow homage to other, more original films. It's got the tightly-wound mystery and suspense elements of a Hitchcock piece with the wild thrills of a roller coaster, but nothing feels terribly important. Which might be fine if you want to lean back with a beer and beat the heat. I'd rather watch that shark movie instead.

IMDb: The Commuter

Mark Felt: The Man Who Brought Down the White House (2017)

Score: 3 / 5

In yet another curious multiple-feature that happened this year (after the three Wonder Woman movies and two Dunkirk movies), Mark Felt and The Post both tackled Nixon-era scandals. Perhaps this combination isn't quite so curious as it is timely, but what's interesting to me is that neither of these films attempt to re-create Nixon himself. Both utilize stock footage of the former president while dramatizing efforts by reporters and politicians and aristocrats and bureaucrats to bring down the administration. Mark Felt would pair well with All the President's Men, too, were you to brave an all-day marathon of political thrillers set in the early 1970s. These films together would be as fascinating as a marathon of Nixon movies; are double marathons a thing?

Unfortunately, Mark Felt alone isn't much to look at. Dismal and slow, it drones on much like Liam Neeson's voice, forced and gravelly. One would think that a film detailing the many secrets of one of history's most famed whistleblowers wouldn't be so anticlimactic, but here we are. It's as though writer and director Peter Landesman (Parkland, Concussion), so desperate to engage critically with those famed journalists Woodward and Bernstein, has either bitten off more than he can chew or thought so deeply about this period in history that he has made it almost inaccessible to viewers.

Besides the tossing around of names and titles like confetti, the screenplay doesn't inform us of some of the more important details of the story. And before you say "movies can show, not tell", I'm letting you know this movie doesn't show much beyond what it says. Everything is dimly lit in bluish lighting, making of course the mystery of "Deep Throat" enjoyable to watch if too atmospheric for its own good. While the huge ensemble cast gives some fine performances, I couldn't help but feel the varied storylines were individually terribly weak and unfocused. Diane Lane, for example, makes only a few appearances, despite her top billing, most of which take away drastically from the politically thrilling pacing of the movie. It's not her fault, mind, but it constantly left me wanting more.

Then again, there are a few surprising and exciting scenes that should be mentioned. Liam Neeson plays Felt like a sphinx, his silvery hair glinting with his eyes, a total enigma to his peers and his audience. He embarks on several small plot arcs, the first of which involves J. Edgar Hoover's death and the power struggle left in his wake. A later one concerns Felt's daughter (Maika Monroe), who has abandoned her family for a part in the counterculture; this comes as a shock, as Felt has spent most of the film and is eventually indicted for aggressive and illegal actions against counterculture groups. Of course, the real heart of the move lies with, well, the lies told between the FBI and the White House. When politicians start sticking their fingers in FBI investigations, Neeson's character gets righteously riled, and the hairs on my arms stood up thinking about America 2017.

Oh, and for heaven's sake, was the title really necessary? Just Mark Felt or even Deep Throat would have been better.

IMDb: Mark Felt

Silence (2016)

Score: 5 / 5

More an experience than entertainment, Silence is one of those devastating masterpieces of cinema that rivet you to your seat, punish you while you watch, and leave you breathlessly humbled by its end. Martin Scorsese's newest drama ranks among his best in its technical brilliance and thematic timelessness. Understated and undermarketed, the film succeeds best by surprising us with its staggeringly ambitious scope, turning a simple story into a labyrinth of emotional and spiritual bewilderment, forcing us to engage with our own religious and moral convictions with each and every turn. Stark and cruel, the film is not one we enjoy or "like" outright, but one that cuts into your skin and stays there for you to carry long after.

We follow two 17th-century Jesuit priests (Andrew Garfield and Adam Driver) who travel to Japan to find their missing mentor (Liam Neeson) and to continue their religious mission to help the persecuted Christians there. If that sounds like an enjoyable film to you, you're in for a treat. Two and a half hours of oppressive regimes and religious colonialism include no small amount of imprisonment, interrogation, torture, and death. It's an exercise in cinematic fatalism, a sort of predestined hell we are dragged through with no promise of relenting, repentance, or even enlightenment. And that lack of promise holds true to the bitter end, where the final image could be taken as either rapturous vindication or tragically bitter irony.

Lest you think this is another Passion of the Christ-type exercise in drama-turned-exploitation, I should mention that, while brutal, the film is far more than gory body horror. It is also -- rather, primarily -- about spiritual horror, a Conradian journey to the heart of darkness. Not unlike the visceral Apocalypse Now, this film sets us immediately on a mission for God and for man, though of course we find only man. More specifically, as the title indicates, we find man with no God, or at least a God whose silence suggests a far more cruel deity than any of the torturous violence we see on screen. Indeed, you might argue, we do hear the voice of God on occasion, yet I wonder at those times if it truly is the voice of God we hear through our protagonist's mind, or if it is only his mind attempting to fill the divine void.

To be clear, it's not an anti-religious movie, an anti-Christian movie, or even an anti-Catholic movie. I suppose I've painted it as such, but that's a large part of what I got out of it. It contains enough of the opposite message to also satisfy the most imperial of religious devotees. But its meditation on the boundaries between religious piety, moral obligation, social responsibility, and humanistic integrity is so provocative, so profoundly dense, and yet so unanswered that it stands as accessible to anyone and will provide anyone exactly what they need to be challenged in their own situation. It concerns the nature of doing what is right or what is good, what is practical or prudent, what is true or necessary, and with all those lines blurred, we are left in a miasma of doubt from which Scorsese dares us to emerge stronger and better than we were before.

IMDb: Silence

A Monster Calls (2016)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Adapted almost perfectly from its eponymous book, A Monster Calls is one of the most beautiful dark fantasies we've ever seen. Writer Patrick Ness, in writing both the book and screenplay, captures a heightened language rife with metaphor yet brutally appropriate for the characters using it. Melancholy and sad, hopeful and empowering, the story follows young Conor (played by Lewis MacDougall), whose efforts to come of age are bewilderingly hindered by his difficult situation. Surrounding him and clouding his judgment are his single mother dying of cancer (Felicity Jones), his estranged but earnest father (Toby Kebbell), his severe grandmother (Sigourney Weaver), and the cruel school bully.

As Conor navigates his confusing and painful life, he is visited at 12:07 (am or pm) by a monster that looks not unlike an Ent. Voiced by Liam Neeson, this monster acts much like Jacob Marley, informing Conor that he will be visiting again several times to tell the boy three stories. Then, the monster will demand a story from Conor, whose recurring nightmare of losing his mother seems a likely subject. As the monster returns and tells his tales -- bizarre parables with no clear moral center or conventional narrative form -- the boy becomes confused and frustrated, and yet in small, slow increments begins to learn and recognize the true nature of the real world. He learns that people are not stock characters, that goodness can be wicked and that cruelty can be necessary and many lessons besides. He learns courage and bravery, hope and love, and ultimately the necessity of sacrifice.

Conor's only refuge from his circumstances -- or, perhaps, only outlet -- lies in his art, most specifically in his watercolor painting. Filmmaker J.A. Bayona uses this as a strong aesthetic motif in the film, most obviously in the tales the monster tells. Gorgeously animated (not unlike the Tale of the Three Brothers in the seventh Harry Potter film), these sequences bring the story to vivid life and, by contrast, remind us of the grit of the real world. And in the final moments of the film, some of the more memorable images are revealed to have been shared by his mother, seemingly as she faced similar fears and needed the monster to call on her as well.

Fair warning: This is not a picture for children, and it's not a light-hearted venture for a warm spring morning. Dark and heavy, this movie delves deep into family structure, life and death, moral relativism and inevitable tragedy. While it is ultimately empowering and sweet in its unusual delivery of a coming-of-age drama, and teaches far more valuable lessons than in many a Disney film, it will leave you a blubbering mess. The monster isn't necessarily as nice as, say, Aslan or Treebeard, the school bully has a disturbing psychosexual presence, and the eventual death of young Conor's mother is left as heartbreaking as you might imagine. But these things are also why this film is so good. Its novelty in its genre, its grim purpose and dim aesthetic, these things are important; partly because they show that problematic directors like Tim Burton don't have a monopoly on dark fantasies, and partly because this film presents a more mature alternative to similar stories.

IMDb: A Monster Calls

The Huntsman: Winter's War (2016)

Score: 4 / 5

A lazy mash-up of plot ideas from its predecessor, The Huntsman: Winter's War brings little new to the table. What it does bring is largely incoherent and shallow. The plot is thinly stitched together in such a way that it is both a prequel and a sequel to Snow White and the Huntsman, but by bringing in new characters, places, and themes, it has little relation to its earlier incarnation. I won't bore you with details of the story -- a bizarre retelling of Hans Christian Andersen's "The Snow Queen" that comes not long enough after Disney's Frozen, with more than a little homage to The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe --but I would like to use this otherwise "bad" movie as an example of what I might consider to be one of the greatest queer fantasy films yet.

Let's start with considering the basic plotlines. Whereas in the first film we saw a heteronormative couple (in the huntsman and Snow White) who never consummated their flirtatious romance (making the film remarkable in its own way), in this film we see a fiercely sexual journey between our hetero protagonists. Chris Hemsworth and Jessica Chastain charm with their sexy Scottish-ness and expert fighting. But they are only half the story. The main plot follows Freya the Ice Queen (Emily Blunt), whose magic powers are unleashed after her child is murdered. She subsequently builds her kingdom by murdering her enemies and amassing an army of abducted children she trains to have hearts as cold as her own.

In most fairytales, our heteroheroes would sex and find their happy ever after in procreation, or the promise of the same. Here, however, we have a first film that ends in (more or less) denied affections, and a second film that relishes in the corruption of youth and innocence, that works specifically because of the loss of one's offspring. Childhood rearing becomes the training of soldiers. While the end of the film -- almost as an afterthought -- puts a stake into a denouement of hetero-affirmation, there is still no chance of procreation due to Chastain's character's sterility, another machination of the Ice Queen's design. These examples throw the film under the shadow of a queer nihilism, where the future holds little to no hope of continuation of our heroes' blood. Their hope is in a carnal and temporal romance with each other.

Still not convinced? Let's look at the real reason we all came to the movie. Charlize Theron reprises her role of Ravenna, this time with less madness and more method. Her delivery is terrifying as she intones her satanic malice, stealing our attention and our hearts (which, we know, she likes to eat) with every glint in her eye. Ravenna's obsession with appearance over substance is no less intense here, where we see that she was the real villain behind her sister's bereavement due to the child being more beautiful than she. Appearance over integrity; style over substance. Ravenna is vanity incarnate, a physical manifestation of camp. It seems here that her death and mysterious resurrection through the golden mirror has somewhat cured her mania (which made her psychologically rounded in the first movie), as she is now purely wicked with no fear or insecurities to balance the scales. Instead, she performs as a two-dimensional snapshot of vice, hungry for our love and praise, demanding to be centerstage in the same throne room where her sister reigns. And through her entire charade, we don't even really care -- perhaps the most telling element that is camp -- because it's all artifice; in fact, we don't even always know that Ravenna is really present in corporal form, much like the mirror's prophetic voice.

Of course, I would be remiss not to mention Colleen Atwood's glorious costumes, the linchpin of my entire argument. Her beautiful, detailed clothes festoon our players with layer upon layer of sparkling excess. Each sequin and gold-tipped feather, each leather bracer glinting with polish, each mote of dusty eye shadow, not to mention the divine hairpieces, speak to the wonder and extravagance of the world displayed before us. If you don't love it, you're wrong. It's the only substantial thing in the movie. (Think about that. The only element of substance and consequence in the entire film is clothing. It's a fantasy action romance, and the only thing that brings frivolous life to the screen is clothing. It's genius.)

I won't spoil the ending. Actually, yes I will. Romantic love conquers, and the sisters are vanquished (the exact opposite of what happens in the far more feminist Frozen). But as the camera pans away from the kingdom, a golden bird flies overhead and lunges at the camera, suggesting that Ravenna's spirit lives on. Like the evil queen antihero of the series, these films may continue to return in various incarnations, each more gorgeous and more hollow than the last. And, frankly, if you're a fan of these films, you're not hoping for anything more than perfect costumes, awesome visual effects, a great score, and deliciously camped performances. Style over substance, my pretties. This is how it works.

IMDb: The Huntsman: Winter's War

A Walk Among the Tombstones (2014)

Score: 4 / 5

If you saw the trailer for Liam Neeson's newest action thriller and wanted to pretend it wasn't happening, you weren't alone. Not that those pictures aren't entertaining. Neeson is so good at being badass that people seem interested in watching him shoot people, get in car chases, and say mean things in a gravelly voice, even when the script, camerawork, and score are just awful. More than that, our average audience seems a little too eager to love a now-run-of-the-mill narrative involving a hetero white American man who violently seeks to dominate other (lesser, by virtue of skin color, sexuality, occupation, or ethnicity) men and thereby save apparently helpless, vulnerable, sexually violated, skinny hetero white women.

This film is essentially the same thing. So why do I give it a score of four? Let's talk.

The story is familiar, but this film gives it a fresh approach. Tense, dark, and heavy, it feels more film noir than action thriller. It has no comic self-awareness at all, to its immeasurable credit (with so many similar films under his belt, the day will come). Cinematographer Mihai Malaimare Jr (who also filmed 2012's The Master) views the film as stark and cold, using close-ups and graded colors to highlight this harsh world. Writer/director Scott Frank (who wrote Dead Again, Minority Report, The Wolverine, and Marley & Me) slows things down just enough to make us squirm during the rough stuff -- which is most of the picture, right from the opening shot. Literally. The gunshots in the first scene are loud and grating. Frank keeps this up through the film, to remind us that guns aren't toys or even necessarily the weapons of heroes. They are explosive, unnatural, and dangerous, much like the characters who wield them.

This film is especially striking because its villains are twisted and unnerving, and its heroes are no different. Neeson -- a private investigator hired to find the men who rape, murder, and dismember women -- is hard-boiled, but is also world-weary rather than vengeful. More grim than angry, he lets his acting (which we haven't seen in too long) thrive in the dark charms of Tombstones. There's just enough fresh material for him to shine. Dan Stevens (from Downton Abbey and this year's The Guest) hauntingly plays his employer, a drug kingpin, and recent film star Boyd Holbrook works under him in a no less memorable role. Sebastian Roche (Fringe, among many others) joins later as Yuri, who desperately wants to save his abducted daughter.

For such a graphic and dark film, it stays engaging because it is also a bit of a mystery. In a lot of ways, its aesthetic, tone, and content reminds me of Prisoners (2013). We discover along with Neeson exactly what drives the murderers, what connects the victims, and finally what monsters lurk in the shadows. We see the hope and the hopelessness, we experience the gritty horror and the awkward humor. Speaking of humor, Brian "Astro" Bradley (Red Band Society) plays Neeson's young sidekick TJ, and his banter with Neeson makes this film sparkle. Neeson quickly takes to this kid and eases into a paternal figure, and I love it. The recovering alcoholic (Neeson goes to meetings regularly) subplot is great, and adds a lot to his character. Its match-up with the climax, however, feels too contrived and preachy. I won't say too much, but the twelve steps are voiced-over during the last, I don't know, twenty minutes. That bit's pretty heavyhanded.


IMDb: A Walk Among the Tombstones