Minari (2021)

Score: 4 / 5

A Korean-American family moves from California to rural Arkansas in the hopes of setting up a home and farm of their own. The young father Jacob (Steven Yeun) and mother Monica (Han Ye-ri) work in a chicken farm/factory, identifying and separating chicks by sex. Their two children are Anne, a serious and more mature girl (Noel Kate Cho), and David, a more rambunctious six-year-old (Alan Kim). They are incredibly isolated, of course culturally but also geographically. The opening shots are of vast, green fields and a wide open sky. The world would seem to be theirs for the taking!

Autobiographical films like this -- especially ones about immigrant families -- can often be cloyingly sentimental, even to the point of opacity. It was my central problem with Roma, which often felt like we were being forced to watch the director thumb through old photo albums. Thankfully, this year's Belfast avoided that problem, and so does Minari. Writer and director Lee Isaac Chung clearly has a personal story to tell, but he knows how to make it accessible for others, even thoroughly entertaining. For a movie ostensibly about the American dream, culture clash, and difficult discussions of assimilation, Minari is also about intergenerational family relations and growing up in a strange new world.

Much like the sweeping cinematography that captures the beauty -- and dangers -- of life on the plains, the actors are also often wordless. When they do speak, it's a mixture of English and Korean, though mostly the latter. But in between, they work hard to tell a bountiful story. Jacob has clearly been practicing his American masculinity -isms, including his John Wayne shuffle and the cigarettes in his chest pocket. Monica comes from a higher social class and is now foundering in this rougher country life; she seems to want to head back to the cities, and maybe even back to Korea. They argue often over their vision for the farm and for their lives; they have differing parental techniques, and seem to have different goals in mind, especially regarding their children assimilating to the local community. One of the funniest scenes in the film comes when they visit a local church, where the reactions of the locals are at once horrifyingly problematic and hilariously honest.

While the film is nominally a coming-of-age dramedy about young David, its importance and good humor hinges on our realization that all the characters are in fact learning right from wrong and the best ways to behave with each other. The kids might be less savvy, but the adults are awkward too. The family's new neighbor, played by Will Patton, is an evangelical farmer whose delightful eccentricities are as specific as they are surprising. And then there's Monica's mother Soon-ja (a magnificent and brave performance from Youn Yuh-jung) who travels from South Korea to help watch the children while Monica and Jacob work. We learn a lot about Monica from her, as she is used to a fast-paced and loose-lipped social life in a big city. David doesn't think a grandmother should use so much profanity or engage in practical jokes, and his efforts at resistance only bring the family closer together.

Well, at least to some extent. There is a somewhat sobering confrontation looming before all is finished, and at least one nasty shock. But Minari is an unflinchingly hopeful and sweet movie, determined to absorb even a hesitant viewer into its lush imaginings. It understands people uncommonly well, and Chung is content to let us sit with his characters in silence and in awkwardness, just to breathe with them and get to know them better. Then, when they do act out, we laugh knowingly and caringly rather than out of total surprise. 

Antlers (2021)

Score: 3.5 / 5

What a fascinating movie. It's been over a year and a half since its original release date, but finally Antlers is here. Featuring one of the most surprising team-ups I've yet seen, this movie is the result of collaboration between director Scott Cooper (Crazy Heart, Out of the Furnace, Black Mass, Hostiles) and producer Guillermo del Toro (Pan's Labyrinth, Crimson Peak, The Shape of Water). Cooper's films usually take place in rural areas and deal with exceptionally sad people; del Toro's films usually combine reality with fantasy in macabre or grotesque ways. Together, here, they craft a gloomy story set in rural Oregon about the darkest sides of human nature, transporting us to lives lived in isolation and not-having. It's a wickedly beautiful movie to behold, and while its themes aren't as well articulated or even explored as some might like, I've found myself unable to think of much else since viewing it.

Adapted (along with Cooper) by writer Nick Antosca (NBC's Hannibal, Syfy's Channel Zero, and Netflix's Brand New Cherry Flavor) from his own short story, Antlers concerns a homecoming for an outcast and an out-coming of family secrets and trauma. Julia (Keri Russell) has returned, apparently recently, to her gloomy hometown, which clearly has fallen into disrepair after economic setbacks and is now riddled with drugs. Setting herself up as a teacher, she tries to reconnect with her brother Paul (Jesse Plemons), the stoic sheriff who seems keenly aware that his town is dying. Through their furtive dialogue and a few well-placed flashbacks, we gather that Julia had been abused as a child by their father; she now feels guilty for abandoning her brother years ago, and while her return was predicated on their father's death, Paul's own potential trauma remains open for interpretation. A west coast equivalent of the Midwest Rust Belt, the town has its share of other problems, though we will only focus on one in this story.

One of Julia's students, Lucas (Jeremy T. Thomas), checks all the boxes with which she's all too familiar. The quietest and oddest kid in her class, he's jumpy and skittish; when called on to share a story, he tells a dark and almost inappropriate tale, inspired by his own graphic hand-drawn pictures. Suspecting abuse at home, she takes an active interest in him, stalking Lucas through town and getting him ice cream to get him to open up. She learns his mother recently died and that Lucas and his brother are in their father Frank's custody, which everyone darkly seems to understand as a bad thing. We don't have a clear reason for this, but the filmmakers make it pretty clear that Frank is a drug dealer and user.

In fact, the film centers more on Lucas than on Julia, though Russell carries its dramatic heft. This is most clear in its opening sequence, which introduces us to Lucas and Frank, as Frank tells him to wait in the car as he finishes up work in the mine. The effective production design and cinematography by Florian Hoffmeister (Official Secrets, A Quiet Passion, Mortdecai, In Secret, The Deep Blue Sea, and AMC's The Terror, which bears remarkable similarities with this project) draw our attention sharply to the blue-collar atmosphere that has turned to waste as well as the profound darkness of this story's aesthetic. In their meth-cooking lab, Frank and his associate are attacked by something large and animalistic; a curious and concerned Lucas slowly makes his way inside to find his father before the scene ends. Later, we learn Frank is locked up upstairs in his own house, with Lucas trying to support and feed himself and his brother while caring for their father. As we've seen in del Toro's other works, real-life horror and supernatural darkness often fit uncannily well together, and Cooper's oeuvre has never been so rich with dramatic and thematic potential, in my opinion, than here.

Unfortunately, I don't think most of the themes here are mined to the best level of articulation, either visually or didactically. But this is a horror movie -- a creature feature, at that -- and simply surveying some of these ideas is a daring move. It would be easy to focus on the legend or myth (SPOILER: it's a wendigo), the possession aspect, or even the kills, but the filmmakers are more concerned with the drama between these characters and their pasts. Indeed, once Frank is unveiled as a monstrous beast, the movie reveals its true colors as well, and the second half of the movie lumbers into recognizable beats, scares, and violence. The focus, however, never strays from Julia's concern for Lucas, Paul's concern for Julia, or our concern for this group of children, young and old, fighting for survival against abusive parents and the trauma they inflict.

Antlers is not a feel-good movie. Bleak and shadowy in tone as well as imagery, there is almost no humor to break up the cruelty and pain. A talented supporting cast -- including Rory Cochrane, Amy Madigan, and Graham Greene -- pop in for a few lovely scenes, but they, like the leads, seem to be putting in a lot of work to make their minimal dialogue and presence feel natural and dynamic. It's the kind of thankless project A-listers do to prove their mettle -- in a project underwritten, almost determined to make their jobs challenging -- but goes largely ignored or forgotten by mass audiences. But if you're willing to get on its weighty wavelength, Antlers has boons to offer arthouse horror fans in its folktale storytelling, its attention to generational trauma and grief and addiction, its actors' performances and technical performativity, and its technical proficiency.

Venom (2018)

Score: 4 / 5

Deadpool can take a seat. Venom was always my favorite antihero in the Marvel comics. Funny and clever without relying on vulgarity, Venom also works well because he's just terrifying. A sentient alien blob who melds its form with that of its host, the Symbiote known as Venom allowed Marvel comics to tap into anxieties about alien life, parasites, and the age-old problem of doubles. The character is a novel spin on the Jekyll/Hyde relationship (or the Hulk situation) in which the two consciousnesses -- human and alien -- are in constant dialogue. And we're privy to it! "We are Venom," indeed.

Venom is a fine origin story, but it's a fabulous flick in its own right. Blending action with hardcore body horror, the film is a sort of breathless race to its finish line, wherein we laugh as we cringe and sit there in awe as it takes us on a wild ride. Its drastic tonal shifts might put some viewers off, but for me this structure effectively put me in the headspace of the character. It's weird. It's supposed to be weird. And in a field of far too many superheroes for our cultural good, Venom bravely carves out a space for itself.

Here's the deal: If you go in not wanting to enjoy the movie, you will hate it. If you actively fight its simplistic turns and whirlwind of plot points and action, you will hate it. But if, like Eddie Brock, you allow yourself to submit, Venom will give you satisfaction and a new appreciation for what it's trying to do.

I'm not going to waste time with the plot, because you know it. And if you don't, go see the movie and you will learn. The film's energy and style really worked well for me until the climax. Though the film relies on Tom Hardy's performance, the moments of action often rely on visual effects; the climax becomes an absolute mess of confused images and blurred action in a fully computer-generated realm. It's not appealing, and it's all too common in superhero movies these days. Thankfully, it doesn't last long.

Tom Hardy delivers his usual excellent craft as host Eddie Brock, but here he imbues the character with a magnificently dry sense of humor that mixes flawlessly with Venom's bloodthirsty earnestness. It's also a refreshing view in our times of a world-weary but genuinely content reporter who enjoys speaking truth to power. Michelle Williams shows up as his ex and also new love interest, and though I feared the film would squander her -- and it kind of does -- she shows up in a few lovely scenes, especially near the end when Venom bonds with her for a hot (and pretty queer!) moment. And Riz Ahmed is just wonderful, always. Here he's an idealistic scientist trying to perfect the human species by looking to the stars; he gets his comeuppance when another Symbiote bonds with him and they become Riot.

An interesting correlation presents itself between this film and Upgrade, which came out earlier this year. That film starred Logan Marshall-Green, who I've often called the poor man's Tom Hardy. And while it seems likely that Venom had a larger budget, I'd argue that Upgrade more effectively captures the body horror and marries it to a unique aesthetic vision. But there's no doubt Venom has a lot more fun doing it. I mean, it's absurd that this parasitic bond-turned-bromance relies on one half trying to stop the other from biting off people's heads, but the film owns it absolutely. And by the end, their relationship is even endearing. That's no small feat. All that said, it's also fair to maybe rethink the labels we use here: Venom resides comfortably in that uncomfortable space between antihero and full-on villain, and we need to be okay with that.

Some people lament that Venom won't work without Spider-man. I did. But then I saw this movie. And I'm ready for a sequel already. And, given the mid-credits scene, I'm praying it's Carnage.

IMDb: Venom

Child of God (2013)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Adaptations. Sometimes we love them, and sometimes we don't. But to just complain that a movie isn't like its book, or a television show isn't like its graphic novel is intellectually and artistically lazy. I always find it much more stimulating to analyze how and consider why certain changes have been made (the word "adaptation" implies change, guys, especially when the material changes medium). And that process often makes me appreciate the work more anyway, so it's win-win.

I have to say that James Franco's Child of God fully keeps the spirit of Cormac McCarthy's novel as I read it. It's not necessarily plot-driven -- neither is the novel -- because it concerns itself more with character and theme. In case you didn't know, our protagonist is Lester Ballard, a murderer and necrophile who haunts rural Appalachia. Expelled by society, he eventually lives in caves populated by his decomposing trophies. Even though the movie isn't strictly plotty, Franco's control of Lester's descent into degradation is a wonder to witness, so much so that his increasing madness almost makes sense to us.

Of course, full credit for Lester's realization has to go to Scott Haze. I can't even imagine his process for becoming Lester, but the result is truly incredible. He turns the character into a horror that rivals most we ever see on screen, while also making him a sort of pitiful everyman. Haze throws his whole body into Lester, morphing his face into a wraithlike sneer and worming his way through bramble and mud with agility and haunting grace. Haze hasn't shown up on many big screens yet, but he probably will after this picture; if Child of God had mainstream producers, I'm convinced Haze would have been a social hot topic and big award contender.

Some of the more difficult and expensive scenes of the novel have been omitted (e.g., the boy eating a bird's legs, the flood that forces Lester to move), but their absence allows us more time to dwell on the realities of Lester's isolated life. For example: The first scene shows Lester attempting to defend his house from being auctioned off, and being regarded as dangerous and deserving violence. In the second scene, we see him defecating in the forest. These are the realities of Lester's life, and we are shown them without pomp and ceremony. As to the fickle fecal moment (which is graphic, but brief), there's a first time for everything, folks! This shows how far we've come from toilet-flushing in Psycho, am I right?

Franco seems completely satisfied to ignore any "reason" or "cause" as to why Lester behaves as he does. He wisely scraps McCarthy's enlightening (and, in this case, limiting) flashbacks into Lester's past: This, I suspect, works better for our more literally-minded film audiences. Franco retains, however, the episodic structure of the novel as well as its three distinct movements. I don't particularly like the two(ish?) quotes used as title cards in the early minutes of the film; they are too few to be aesthetic, and seem to be forcing the viewer to accept the film as a product of McCarthy's making, not as its own artistic endeavor. But thankfully, there are only the couple incidents.

Besides the imposed text, I do like the voiceover during probably half of the film; it reflects the complicated narrative device McCarthy uses to estimate social commentary on Lester's degraded existence. I also quickly enjoyed the active camera, held at or below eye level: We are literally looking up to Lester for most of the movie, at least until the end. These are brave artistic choices, and ones that fully grappled my attention and wonder.

I have a few extra thoughts about the ending. I love McCarthy's comparison of Lester's body being dissected and the bodies of his victims being unearthed. But I also love that Franco ends with a simple, lovely, and distinctly chilling image of Lester wandering free through the mountains. My acceptance of this ending (and much of the film) largely comes down to this: McCarthy imbued so much metaphysical suggestion into his narrative (so intensely focused on one man's journey), that I often think of the novel as a parable or myth of sorts. Franco, in my opinion, mastered this technique in making this picture: he uses enough "reality" to let us believe what we see, while making scenes brief and vague to let us consider all the implications of the proceedings, rather than dictating our reactions to us. That's a damn skilled filmmaker for you.

IMDb: Child of God