Blink Twice (2024)

Score: 4 / 5

A surprise from start to finish, Zoë Kravitz's directorial debut appeared on the scene with almost no warning for me (though my life has been a bit chaotic of late, so I may have missed the fanfare). I had no idea what I was in for, and that might have been the best way to enter this sleek, smart film. As such, the rest of this will be spoiler-heavy, so suffice it to say for anyone interested: it's a magnificent puzzle-box of a film, deceptively simple and dangerously devious. As funny as it is troubling, this should appeal to anyone who likes shows like White Lotus and Nine Perfect Strangers, and it features some top-notch performances from Naomi Ackie and Channing Tatum.

Okay, into the meat of it. Slater King (Tatum), a tech billionaire and hunky playboy, apologizes virtually for some manner of offense or indiscretion. No context is given, and it's about as vague as... well, one in real life might be. All that's clear is that it's unmentionable on television, and surely involves his power having been abused and leaked to the public. Soon after, he hosts a gala, and we're brought in by two best friends, Frida (Ackie) and Jess (Alia Shawkat), working as cocktail waiters. Frida has the hots for King -- who wouldn't -- and halfway through the event, they slip into formal wear and ditch their posts, determined to have fun at the swanky soiree. They don't exactly blend in at the exclusive event, and King all but sniffs them out; rather than outing them, he appears to court Frida. By evening's end -- actually, I think it's dawn -- he invites them and a few other friends to his private island for a vacation away from observation and duties. It could be the setup of a romantic comedy, one about class and race and prejudice and being a fish out of water.

It's not.

His entourage of hedonistic and chauvinistic friends (including Simon Rex, Christian Slater, and Haley Joel Osment) have all brought young women as well (including Adria Arjona, Trew Mullen, and Liz Caribel), and their phones are all collected by Slater's neurotic and longsuffering personal assistant and sister (Geena Davis). They are to have the time of their lives, completely disconnected from the outside world as they indulge in all manner of vices on the picturesque, Edenic island. Dressed in oddly similar white gowns, the girls are put up in fancy shacks in a row and encouraged to bond like flower power daughters of the earth. They are fed a constant stream of gourmet food in elaborate meals, bottomless champagne with ripe raspberries to spare, and weed and drugs for all day, every day. The days quickly blend together in masterfully constructed montages that slowly suggest something is terribly, horribly wrong here.

It's a refreshingly straightforward film thematically, and it has a significant bone to pick with rich white men who play nice. What's even more refreshing is Kravitz's mastery of tone, deftly harnessing the lilting romantic fantasy with comedic absurdity even as she sprinkles in dark foreshadowing. There came a point when you are well aware that bad things are happening, but even I wasn't prepared for the depravity this film would showcase. And showcase it does: when the curtain is pulled back, finally -- after many brief shocks and jolts of images as memories come flashing back to our female protagonists -- we're forced to witness one of the most monstrous sequences of violence and cruelty I can remember seeing in a film that isn't at all marketed as a horror film. If The Stepford Wives had a feminist baby still angry about #MeToo with Lord of the Flies, it might look something like this. Nothing prepares you for the brutality in store, but it's not all about the visuals or the plot; thematically, the film's seeming red herrings coalesce into a heady tapestry of symbols -- not unlike what we still discuss about, for example, in Jordan Peele's three (so far) horror films -- that should spark lots of varied conversation afterward. Snakes, flowers, the color red, dirt. Pick your poison.

Exploitation films don't happen much anymore, but this one arguably resurrects the genre, and that, too, would be an interesting conversation. I was reminded more than once of Buoyancy, especially in the film's fiery, violent climax, and the empowerment in this kind of conflict is finally becoming more mainstream both in and out of horror. It's a welcome change from the tired tropes of our heroes not being able or willing to "double tap" or enact their own violence. And then, in case we were getting too down in the dumps -- which is fair, because I'd categorize this as one of the most disturbing films I've seen in some time -- Kravitz leaps forward, in an oddly tacked-on epilogue, to remind us that it is indeed a fantasy comedy. Just in case anyone was worried about their own complicity or culpability. It's all just a movie. Right?

*An additional note: This might be the first movie I've seen theatrically that features a content warning in advance. While ordinarily I personally dislike this (because audiences should do their own homework about triggers before going to see art, which should also not censor itself), here I found it important because the film's marketing in no way prepared me for the horrors in store. It does kind of spoil the revelatory twist, but it should at least warn anyone who, like me, went in expecting a Fantasy Island rom-com with maybe some troubling drama. This is so much more intense than anyone could have anticipated.

The Batman (2022)

Score: 5 / 5

Matt Reeves is a genius. We already knew that after what he did with Dawn of the Planet of the Apes and War for the Planet of the Apes, and frankly I hope that inspires people to revisit his brilliant earlier films Cloverfield and Let Me In. But nothing could have prepared me for the polished beauty and audacious style of yet another Batman movie from this burgeoning master of the craft. Most scenes could be frozen and framed, so rivetingly and beautifully composed as they are, and from the long, slow shots to the endless textured detail of every costume piece and prop, you can tell Reeves and team meant this film to be a labor of love. In a lot of ways, this movie reminded me of Christopher Nolan's Batman Begins in its shocking scope, emotional and intellectual depth, and world-building mastery.

But this film (and the franchise sure to bloom from its stem) differs from Nolan's stories in a critical way, and it is this I intend to explore in this post: Reeves is not interested in mythmaking. While Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy was rooted in realism and had a muscular, gritty aesthetic, it was primarily an epic. A means of turning Batman -- who isn't really a "super" hero after all -- from a man into an idea, as Bruce himself says in the first film. We get a mythic origin story that culminates in a physical and mental test; a damsel in distress; a terrifying enemy determined to destroy the city; an impossible race against the odds through a freshly realized hell to stop destruction and death. And there's the level of advanced technology, which often feels a bit too sci-fi for the world as it is. Reeves, on the other hand, intentionally makes Bruce a real person and doesn't outfit him with sonar technology or special goggles that turn cell phones into echolocation tools.

Reeves's Batman is, first and foremost, a detective. We meet him approximately two years into his tenure as the caped crusader, although he doesn't really seem to have donned the title of "Batman." He calls himself Vengeance in a delightfully sinister tone I didn't expect from actor Robert Pattinson, who has been doing unbelievably great work in the last several years, certainly since Cronenberg's Cosmopolis in 2012. The film opens with the murder of the Gotham City mayor, and as Lieutenant Gordon (Jeffrey Wright) investigates the crime scene, he escorts "Vengeance" past the police and forensics experts. The police don't like him; he's just a vigilante with a scary name to them. Pattinson imbues the character with the kind of tortured menace Christian Bale had, but his is more intellectual than passionate; nonverbal for, shockingly, most of the film, Pattinson's face is a masterclass of nuance as he slowly and deliberately takes in the crime scene. His eyes flicker to a blood spot apparently no one has noticed, and as he moves away from it, a photographer hurries over to snap it for evidence.

Most of the film is as slow and deliberate, but Reeves packs each photogenic image with details and weight that are astounding. It feels, in many ways, like a David Fincher movie in its calculated aesthetic and intentional turning of the screw. Add to it the unexpected, violent action, Like Zodiac or Se7en in plot, The Batman is very much a gritty drama about someone trying to solve and then stop serial murders from happening, and a significant part of that is due to the psychopathic killer. Here we have the Riddler, played by Paul Dano in what might be the most unhinged and genuinely scary performance of his career, who is determined to kill the leaders of Gotham and reveal the depths of their corruption and fraud. But there's always something else going on with him, and one of my favorite moments is also his first moment on screen: as the mayor watches the news alone in his apartment, he steps away to refresh his drink. In the negative space behind him, we see the vague silhouette of a figure whose only discernible features are of his eyes. The goggles or glasses he wears reflect the harsh white light of the TV, making him instantly a ghostly or demonic presence who seems uncannily linked with his own desire to force people in power to reflect on themselves, albeit in a public way. And that's only the third or fourth shot of the film!

Much will be made of Pattinson and his iteration of the character; I loved him as Bruce Wayne in all his hungover, battered, sallow glory. Similarly, much will be made of Andy Serkis as Alfred Pennyworth and Zoe Kravtiz as Selina Kyle (a particularly sexy Catwoman who pairs extremely well with Pattinson's Batman). Not to take away from them (although Serkis has precious little to do in this film), but I would rather fixate momentarily on John Turturro's deliciously creepy turn as Carmine Falcone and a completely unrecognizable Colin Farrell as Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin. Especially the latter, who is apparently about to get an HBO spinoff series, because these characters are so often caricatured or made into comedic butts, but here they are treated with dignity and substance by the screenplay, director, and actors. It helps, too, that Reeves lets them own their moments, not rushing anything or highlighting spectacle over character.

The Batmobile arrives, looking like it just escaped a Mad Max sequel. Arkham shows up late, along with someone who appears to be the Joker, and I'm itching for Reeves's proposed Arkham horror series. The fighting is all very muscular, and Reeves doesn't cut away from the brutal punches and kicks, choosing intentionally for us to witness Bruce getting injured (and also kicking butt most of the time). He's just another man, Reeves seems desperate to tell us, capable of getting injured and risking his life and struggling to figure out how best to help others. By the end, it seems Bruce might be ready to embrace his identity as the Batman, but it's the path to that realization that makes up the film; he can't just be a vigilante, he needs to be the symbol of hope and justice Gotham so craves. He has to confront his history, his legacy, and even his daily purpose, and it reaches a head when he chooses, in the film's climax, to use a flare and guide a mass of people out of watery wreckage to safety. That kind of salvific moment is captured beautifully as a sort of harrowing of hell, and it's here that Bruce actively chooses mercy and aid over anger and his self-proclaimed goal of vengeance.

Come for the riveting Batman story and its neo-noir detective aesthetic. Stay for the unbelievably beautiful production, including eye-popping cinematography from Greig Fraser (Dune, Bright Star, Let Me In, Snow White and the Huntsman, Zero Dark Thirty, Foxcatcher, Lion, Rogue One, Mary Magdalene, Vice, The Mandalorian) and gorgeous music from Michael Giacchino (Jurassic World, Marvel and Pixar movies, Super 8, Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol, Star Trek). And leave haunted by the memory of one of the best Batman movies you've ever seen, and what may very well prove to be one of my own top 10 films of 2022. It's early to make a claim like that, but once you've seen this film, you'll know what I'm talking about.

Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald (2018)

Score: 4.5 / 5

As with so many fandoms lately, it's become cool to hate new installments. And I resist that for many reasons, one of which is that the outcries are often raised by angry consumers who can't/won't/don't contribute to the franchises yet who seem to think that they nevertheless know more about the story or characters than the artists. Especially when it comes to a planned series, why wouldn't you just sit back and let it take you for a ride? We all know Rowling is a genius. Let her do her thing and stop your bellyaching!

Okay, now let's talk magic.

Beginning a few months after Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, this new story picks up with Grindelwald (Johnny Depp) breaking out of MACUSA custody. We immediately skip across the pond to find Newt Scamander (Eddie Redmayne) appealing his travel ban with the London Ministry. And so begins a complex tale with an ensemble cast, dazzling details spanning the Wizarding World, new kinds of magic we've not seen yet, and of course some fabulous new places spanning the globe. But, you know, new things tend to bother the closed-minded.

I don't want to spoil too much of the story; it's complex and detailed -- perhaps needlessly so -- and easily the most plot-driven story from Rowling yet (not counting The Cursed Child, which is also heavily plotted). But it's also one of the darkest installments in the franchise, thematically and chromatically, with major issues of racism, fascism, loyalty, and bravery taking the fore. Maybe instead of "darkest" I should say "timeliest." It's hard to watch this film and not empathize with Newt, for example, who is determined not to take sides in a conflict and who wants so badly to build bridges; it's a fascinating extension of his character from the earlier film, which is a perfect response to Harry Potter's toxic masculinity. But by the end of this film, Newt realizes that to stop evil, he does need to take a side and actively fight the war. Rowling is clearly saying, "Okay, world, are you paying attention?"

And indeed we should be. Grindelwald is a clear representation of fascist ideals and imagery. His imposing figure cuts a stylish swath wherever he goes, and his entrancing voice commands immense power. Depp is both terrifying and understatedly charismatic, oozing his control over the proceedings in a way Voldemort only hoped to attain. More interesting still, Grindelwald's message for "the greater good" rings more hauntingly now than when it was printed in The Deathly Hallows; though he seeks control and domination, his message seduces the likes of Queenie and Credence who desire greater knowledge and personal freedom. The moment when he uses future images of WWII to terrify the wizards of Muggle capacities for violence is especially unnerving.

The film also brings in Dumbledore (Jude Law) and a smattering of other characters to round out the massive tale. We finally meet Nicolas Flamel, though he's used as a weird comic relief, and of course we meet the young woman Nagini (Claudia Kim), who we learn will eventually become Voldemort's pet and Horcrux. It is at this point we can address some of the mounting claims of problematic writing and the issues of representation on Rowling's part. We can debate all day about her retconning, her appropriation of other cultures, her use of cultural shorthand (stereotypes, we might say), and of course her use of social media and personal blogs. However, her work should (and, frankly, does) stand on its own. While it might be culturally nearsighted to proclaim a character's sexuality but never depict it, this series has never been about sex; further, do we really need another cinematic example of a doomed queer love affair that ends in tragedy? While it may be problematic to depict a lone Korean woman (well, Claudia Kim is Korean, but we don't really know about Nagini, do we?) as a "snake" (think of the Asian "dragon ladies" and their dark magic and seductive sexuality), doesn't her inclusion also comment on the deeply problematic issues of colonization, racism, and of course the ableist construct of the "freak show" Circus Arcanus where we discover her?

These issues get further complicated by the fantasy world in which they find meaning. To what extent are we meant to believe these things, and to what extent do they simply allude or even allegorize? After all, we see the mushroom clouds and Holocaust marches; hell, we even see the Titanic (or what may well be the Titanic). Taken at face value, these issues are only issues now because they were non-issues during the Harry Potter series; we've become more "woke" culturally, and the target audience has learned much about the changing world.

Still, it is worth noting that this film has its issues. Besides its simply overwhelming amount of plotting and characters -- holy crap, the Leta Lestrange (Zoe Kravitz) stuff just gets wild -- the film relies heavily on visual effects. Glorious as they may be (and they are! They really are!), with so many new and interesting characters, I desperately wanted to know more about who and what we're dealing with. The inclusion of a young Minerva McGonagall threw me for a loop, because I'm pretty sure Rowling specified her birth in 1935 on Pottermore; that's seven years before this movie. Similarly, the final cliffhanger (as if we needed one, studio, gosh!) reveals the true identity of Credence, the MacGuffin of the whole bloody movie. Grindelwald reveals that he is the brother of Albus Dumbledore, named Aurelius.

This is super problematic in many ways: nobody (even Albus) knows about this, Grindelwald himself didn't even know in the first film and could scarcely have found out while in MACUSA's prison. Of course, Grindelwald could be lying, but at this point that seems unlikely; then again, so does the alternative. And, like with McGonagall, the ages don't add up. Dumbledore Sr., Percival, was sent to Azkaban when Albus was 10 or 11; Jude Law and Ezra Miller are more than 10 years apart. I don't think Azkaban has conjugal visitations. Also Grindelwald clearly says Credence's brother wants to kill him; it's hard to imagine Albus wanting to kill anyone. Maybe Albus wants to succeed with Aurelius where he failed with Ariana, but suddenly we're in terribly murky waters.

Rowling must have something clever up her sleeve. It seems impossible that the consensus-verified genius behind Harry Potter would make such simple slip-ups. Besides, it's still a hell of a fun movie. We get to see a bevy of new beasts, new locations (um, the French Ministry? Yes, thank you!), new magic, and new people. I'm willing to suspend my disbelief and let her take me for another magical ride. Aren't you?

IMDb: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald

Gemini (2018)

Score: 4 / 5

When a Hollywood starlet is found murdered, suspicion falls on her assistant.

That's about it in terms of plot, with the exception of a delightful little twist of an ending you can smell coming at least 30 minutes before. But the joys of Gemini lie not in a densely plotted mystery, thick characterizations, nor even much violence (or, for that matter, speed). Instead, this is the fairly rare neo-noir that is as classical as it is nouveau, as slow as it is engrossing, and as gorgeous as it is pretty.

We start with upside-down images of Los Angeles and a purplish sky, an atmospheric choice that perfectly sets the stage for the drama to come. Beautiful young leads are led by Zoë Kravitz as a young Heather, up-and-coming actress and social media icon, distracted in maneuvering out of a project she does not want to do. In the first sequence alone she (and we) encounter no less than four individuals who have motive to, well, at this point, strongly dislike Heather. Though distressed and apparently concerned enough about her own safety to ask her assistant Jill (played by Lola Kirke) for a gun, Heather remains calm in demeanor.

This informs the film as a whole. A dim film awash in bluesy music and purpley colors, we enter a world of dreams and celebrity where everything is face value and if it's not beautiful it doesn't belong. Interestingly, the characters seem most concerned not by murder itself, nor even the threat of it, but rather by surveillance and voyeurism; the first physical indication of a threat to Heather is in a fan who approaches her in a restaraunt, looking a bit too much like her idol, taking photos and asking deeply personal questions in a totally inappropriate fashion. Of course, this encounter happens in a trendy location, decorated to be hip and popular (if also overstylized and gaudy), where appetizers are aptly and repeatedly called "apps".

Given the title Gemini, it is worth noting too that the film engages head-on with all these themes through the device of doubling. Much like the Dioscuri Castor and Pollux, the two leading women are a nearly perfect pair, complete with shared fashion and home, mutual servitude and favor, dubious sexuality, all while one is famous and the other thrust unwillingly into the spotlight. I was reminded more than once of Ingrid Goes West with its creepy vibes and acute attention to bougie female millennial life. Questions of individuality, identity, and reality itself revolve in vague and unanswerable orbit around this tale of appropriated fame and inauthenticity.

And while it by no means complicates these ideas -- think of the possibilities of its racial and sexual dynamics -- Gemini knows full well what it's about. Not subverting or even really commenting. Simply depicting in an artful way, and suggesting that a cultural phenomenon (youthful fame mediated by media) deserves interrogation.

Oh, and John Cho is severely underused as the detective. That's all.

IMDb: Gemini (2018)