Goodnight Mommy (2022)

Score: 1 / 5

When Goodnight Mommy, a 2014 Austrian film, hit the international market, it shook the horror world much like Funny Games did in 1997. Insidiously designed, its haunting story creeps under your skin and reminds you that the scariest things are much closer than we expect. It tells the story of two young twin boys whose mother recently had facial reconstruction surgery and his heavily bandaged. Her behavior is different, though: she doesn't sing them their lullaby, she favors one twin over the other, and she is reclusive and quiet as she "recuperates" and self-medicates. The twins become convinced their mother has been replaced with a stranger and that they are in danger from this intruder. It's a stylish and starkly modern haunted house, with no small amount of horrific violence and gore by the end. It also broaches really disturbing taboo subjects, such as children enacting deadly violence and the disintegration of mother-child relationships in the most brutal way.

Naturally, as these things go, someone decided to produce an American remake. This one, dropped unceremoniously by Prime Video, is almost entirely a waste of time. Directed by Matt Sobel and written by Kyle Warren, the film repeats the story point-by-point almost the entire way; there are no new inventions, twists, or surprises. It's a profoundly gloomy affair, looking and feeling more like a standard Gothic mystery than anything, drenched in bluish green hues no doubt exaggerated by post-production manipulations. Its dismal palette seems to inform its energy, with lethargic pacing and muted sound, so much so that it feels more like watching a memory of a film than a film itself.

Without the inherent tension, this movie collapses under its own weight, even despite the considerable talents of its star, Naomi Watts, as "mother" (no name). Of course she's wonderful, but this isn't exactly the meatiest of roles as it is written in this version. Plus, she spends half the film peering out from white gauze bandages wrapped around her head, and Watts isn't exactly known for her physicality being any significant part of her craft. She does similar and better work elsewhere, and frankly this isn't the kind of story one wants to repeat with or without solid performances. The kids are played suitably, though the young actors could have used much stronger direction. But then the trouble with this adaptation comes in again, as the children decide to capture Mother and test her honesty to prove her identity. In the original, they resort to immediately brutal means of torture to elicit the information they want. Here, almost all the violence is absent, removing almost all the stakes and shock value (and even most scares) from the proceedings. And the lack of those elements isn't replaced with anything, making the film feel unbearably dull and void of reason to exist.

There is one small twist, in the film's oddly misshapen climax/denouement sequence, that reveals what's going on between the two boys. It's only scarcely different than the original, albeit slightly more violent, and does nothing to inform any character development for any of the characters. What's more, even this revelation feels lackluster after a nearly complete lack of suspense or tension leading up to it. I never cared about the central ambiguity the story needs in order to function: is Mother really their mother, and if she's not, what game is she playing with them? Actually, now that I think on it, Watts also starred in the American remake of Funny Games, and now I'm starting to rethink my opinion of her choices. 

Ophelia (2019)

Score: 4 / 5

The movie begins with the iconic image of the helpless, doomed mad girl, drowning while floating in the river. But, in voiceover from actress Daisy Ridley, the Ophelia of this film tells us we'll hear a different story: her story. Helped by a smart script and a great ensemble, Ophelia reimagines Shakespeare's Hamlet to tell the story of the misunderstood love interest who became a casualty to patriarchal strife. Though it's no work of artistic genius, the film works hard to make a case for its heroine, allowing her intelligence, gumption, and wit to give her the agency to change Denmark, but to escape the slaughter unscathed.

Anyone who finds Hamlet (the character) dramatically inert will be happy to know this story moves along at a faster pace, thanks to the agency exhibited by Ophelia. The film begins with the young girl making a witty first impression on Queen Gertrude, who is impressed enough to grant the child a place in her entourage. In a screenplay that will invariably be scrutinized next to Shakespeare's original language -- of which this film shares none -- it's pretty remarkable that writer Semi Chellas didn't even try to piggyback, instead crafting a tone and rhythm all her own. This dialogue is riddled with wordplay but keeps itself familiar and relevant, as if determined to empower young literary minds when screened in high school English classes.

But be warned that this is not a simple retelling from a different perspective. This story includes multiple episodes utterly absent from Hamlet, though arguably they indicate an odd attempt to contextualize this tale within a nonexistent Shakespearean fictional universe. The big change comes in the form of a witch, played by Naomi Watts, for whom Ophelia is courier of a magic potion for Queen Gertrude (also Naomi Watts); it seems the queen is so desperate to hang on to her own youth and beauty that she will resort to magic and, yes, the love of a husband's brother in order to maintain it. This complication of her character could be read as making her more complicit in the rottenness of Elsinore. Magic mirror on the wall, and so forth.

While Ophelia and Gertrude are stealing our attention, it's important to note that Hamlet and Claudius have important -- and importantly diminished -- roles as well. Claudius is veritably creepy here, clearly dangerous and wicked, whereas the original flirts with his ambiguity for the play's first two acts. Hamlet, though, is a dutiful and often romanticized character, and their affair turns into a sort of Danish Romeo and Juliet situation; he effectively sacrifices himself to cleanse the castle, while Ophelia escapes the madness alone and finally free. They plan their takedown of Elsinore early on, making even Hamlet's nunnery speech into a coded plea for her to escape while she can. In rewritten moments like this, the film especially shines.

And even if you're not here for the gendered politics (shame on you!), the film boasts enough eye-popping, sumptuous costume drama to keep you enthralled. Plus, we've got some gorgeous location cinematography and sound mixing that bring a haunting duality to the warm, sunlit outdoors and the echoing, chilly castle interior. There's not much not to like about all this, though I found myself wanting a bit more of just about everything.

Luce (2019)

Score: 3.5 / 5

It's the sort of character-heavy drama you go see live theatre for. It's essentially a chamber piece for a handful of talented actors to bounce off each other. Their material: half a dozen hot-topic sociopolitical issues that are as timely as they are timeless. And while, as a film, everything feels a little diluted here, the screenplay seems determined to help you feel as connected to these characters as you would in the same room, breathing the same air. It's an admirable project, one that most compares to last year's The Seagull in style and efficacy.

Kelvin Harrison Jr. steals the movie as the leading player, the titular Luce. He was adopted, we learn, by white Americans and rescued from being a child soldier in Eritrea, since which time he has apparently gone through lots of psychotherapy. Now a star student and star athlete, loved by everyone at his high school, he is a sort of poster child for the American Dream. He's the valedictorian, and we see him delivering moving speeches to his classmates and mentors. He's also far smarter than lots of folks give him credit for, and he too has a dark side; Luce's secrets take his community by storm when they are revealed, and his vengeful fantasy has only just begun.

At least, that's one way to read the film. Another way is as a damning indictment of older folks -- "okay, boomers" -- who are too obsessed with labels and ideologies to see the real people they're categorizing. Luce is a lot of great things, but that doesn't make him a great person. And so when Harriet Wilson, one of his teachers (played by Octavia Spencer), finds one of his papers disturbing, she immediately voices her concerns. To be fair, the assignment is a bit problematic, and someone as smart as Luce would surely jump at the opportunity to stretch his own perspective in writing it. But Ms. Wilson takes things pretty far in order to intercept what she sees as Luce's dangerous interests, searching his locker under ethically ambiguous pretenses and getting his mother (Naomi Watts) involved.

The film deals with largely unspoken ideas, and it gets more complicated when a central motif of the screenplay is that of coded language. At one point, during a parent-teacher conference that looks more like an intervention, Luce -- ever the diplomat -- calls Ms. Wilson "strict" or something to that effect when what he really means is "bitch," which even his father is aware enough to sense. And we feel the same way: she is a strict teacher, which is good, but she also overstepped her bounds and violated Luce's privacy. Then again, as much as I think we are meant to identify/sympathize with Luce, it's never quite clear whether he is too smart and more than a little sociopathic. He certainly has great answers to the adults' questions, answers that sound pre-planned and quite convenient. And it seems unlikely that someone so smart and well-liked would allow himself to be put in such compromising situations. Plus, there's that final shot, which features Luce running toward the camera with a look of completely unreadable hostility.

And for all I loved about this movie, there is enough potentially problematic material that I'm not sure anyone should watch this movie unless they're prepared for some really tough questions about representation, socially responsible storytelling, and the balance between artistic purpose and artistic integrity. For example, Ms. Wilson's mentally ill sister appears in a couple scenes and is brutally exploited in one, for seemingly little reason except to round out part of Ms. Wilson's character and invite the topic of mental illness. Similarly, one of Luce's friends -- and his sometime girlfriend, we learn -- Stephanie Kim was sexually molested by other high school boys before Luce saved her, and now she's basically a tool for the film to briefly touch on the #MeToo movement. And of course there's Luce's parents, who are dangerously close to being iconic white saviors; in one of his speeches, Luce proudly tells the story of how they named him "Luce" because they couldn't pronounce his African name. It's nauseating, and probably indicative of Luce's ulterior motives, but I think it's intentionally so.

The problem is, it's not clear what the filmmakers are really saying about these issues, other than simply introducing them as topics for debate. And I'm not sure that's enough for a quality film.

Birdman (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

The obvious frontrunner for this year's award season is also uncommonly good. Too often, it seems, the movie that gets the most hype (for whatever that's worth) is also sentimental or traditional, and sometimes both. A lot of people tend to attach baggage to the Best Picture Oscar, wanting it to be timely or eternal, classic or fresh, comfortable or edgy, and so forth. My main consideration for Best Picture is how state-of-the-art it appears to be: Technically original, aesthetically fresh, pushing boundaries, and (more subjective, obviously) appropriate to popular culture. Birdman is all of these things, and then some.

I know you've heard people raving about how great this film is, and like me, you probably got a bit annoyed partly because nobody is talking about the film's plot. So what is this thing? Michael Keaton plays an actor who is attempting to re-create his career following the success of a series of "Birdman" movies in which he played the titular superhero. Two decades later, he is writing, directing, and starring in a Broadway play that opens soon and is having nothing but trouble taking flight (yes, flight). Besides his dramatic attempts onstage, our protagonist is plagued by conflict in his personal life as well, with his friends (Zach Galifianakis), girlfriend and actress (Andrea Riseborough), ex-wife (Amy Ryan), daughter/employee (Emma Stone), and co-star actor (Edward Norton) and his girlfriend/actress (Naomi Watts).

This all-star cast rocks their individual roles, and intelligently embody the world of the film as its ensemble. This is very "meta" stuff, but our actors fit comfortably into their supporting roles, just as their fictional counterparts maneuver into place around their leading man. Edward Norton and Emma Stone arguably have the most complex characters and perform them with remarkable strength, but truly all the characters (and their actors) are almost stunningly well-written and fully realized. But they aren't the only good things about this movie.

Director/co-writer Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (Biutiful, Babel, 21 Grams) helms this black comedy with such ingenuity, intelligence, and skill that it is immediately understood as a consummate work of art. For all the themes and motifs we could eke out of this complex film -- from its not insignificant title to its final shot -- Inarritu directs with an eye for beauty and magic. Stunning special effects happen somewhat unexpectedly, as Keaton's character is empowered by the voice of Birdman in his head to move objects with his mind and levitate, and the heavy lighting transforms what we see on screen into a tableau of fantasy and wonder.

It's technically incredible. Besides the awesome lights, Inarritu makes the two-hour film look like a single, continuous shot. It was obviously not filmed that way, but the effect is brilliant: we get a real-time peek into a man's life. When Keaton is alone we see his secret powers, the emotions of his encounters with other people are raw and fresh, and we see his show from casting to opening night as one single episode. Inarritu plays with his own technical approach, then, in that we see many moments separated by time as one shot; in one scene we see magic juxtaposed with the most mundane of daily activities; we see more profound drama offstage than on. Inarritu is making a movie about movies, a film about theatricality, with timely references and modern theatre concerns, replete with magic and mayhem, that ultimately emphasizes the beauty, complexity, and wonder of life. This movie is, literally, everything.

IMDb: Birdman