The Woman King (2022)

Score: 4.5 / 5

We've never seen a movie like this. Gina Prince-Bythewood may not be the best director out there, but she works hard to center women of color in interesting stories. Her most recent, the Netflix original The Old Guard, is really weird but quite satisfying, and is soon to receive the honor of a sequel. But her latest and greatest by far, The Woman King is thankfully not resigned to streaming exclusivity. It deserves to be seen on the biggest screen accessible, and then again with all your friends. A love story about community, about Black women, and about Africa, this movie is one of the most joyous and inspiring that I've ever seen.

I worried, heading in, that this film would largely feel void of meaning; that its existence is to some extent a product of representation-allied identity politics in Hollywood. Even when things are genuinely part of the social justice branch of the industry, it can feel like the emphasis is on visibility and novelty rather than storytelling and authenticity. But films will occasionally surprise us, as when several Native Americans led the cast of Prey recently, and Hulu even released a fully Comanche-language version of it. While I don't think that will happen here, it's really lovely to see mainstream studios embracing stories not centered in Western cultures and English-related languages. Here, much of the pleasure of viewing comes with learning about the culture of Dahomey, the West African kingdom that comprises the setting, and specifically the Agojie warriors, an elite sorority of women warriors. And Prince-Bythewood allows us to engage our curiosity without exploiting the peoples she dramatizes.

Viola Davis, God bless her, plays General Nanisca, leader of the Agojie. World-weary but still brutally efficient, she's about to start training a new batch of recruits. One of the incoming class, Nawi (an astonishing Thuso Mbedu), struggles to control her own adolescent passions; she's offered to the King (John Boyega) due to her stubbornness in refusing to marry suitors her father chooses for her. One of the warriors, Izoige (an equally astonishing Lashana Lynch) sees her strength of will as a virtue, though her independent streak will need to be curbed to fit in with the sisterhood.

Interestingly, and I think most insightfully, the film does not shy away from the darkest element of the story. The Agojie are generally victorious, but the people they conquer are often slaughtered (rather, the men are) or captured (women and children), the latter of whom are often sold to the Oyo Empire, slave dealers to the Europeans in exchange for weapons of war and other supplies. Nanisca wants to break this cycle, and she petitions the King to such an end. She is not successful, despite the apparent personal toll the slave trade has had on herself. We'll learn the depths of her bereavement before the film's climax.

There are many other pleasures in this film, including the glorious cinematography that attempts to convey sensual meaning as well as narrative. The actors are uniformly excellent. The screenplay is brilliant and sensitive and daring, despite a few minor arcs that I suspect were forced on the film by the studio (namely Nawi's bizarre erotic relationship with a Portuguese hunk). The action -- choreographed to within an inch of its life and mostly performed with eye-popping precision -- is nothing short of exhilarating. It's the kind of movie that rouses your spirit, like Gladiator or The Patriot or Braveheart, and it's all the more powerful because it's not an underwhelming white man leading it. Go see it, and go see it again. Its beauty won't be contained.

Barbarian (2022)

Score: 4 / 5

For Zach Cregger's feature directorial debut, Barbarian is an absolute doozy. The most unpredictable, genre-hopping horror film I can readily think of, it is written brilliantly: completely coherent even as it aggressively tries to surprise us at every turn. It starts with one of the most effective and relatable (but no less horrifying) premises I've seen in recent years, and from there it launches into a roller coaster ride of terror. It's one of those films that makes you feel icky while and after watching, but it's so damned smart that I really want to watch it again sometime soon to appreciate its focused efforts to subvert our expectations and refract our perceptions.

Tess (Georgina Campbell) arrives at her Airbnb in the dead of night. It's pouring outside, and she can't see anything of the neighborhood in this forgotten neighborhood of Detroit in the present day. She's a documentary researcher and needs to rest and relax a bit before her big interview in the city tomorrow. But there's a light on in the Airbnb and another car there, and there's no key in the lockbox. Finally roused from slumber -- or so he suggests -- the current inhabitant opens the door. His name is Keith (a suitably creepy Bill Skarsgård) and he doesn't seem to want any guests. Who would, right? You get an Airbnb, and you expect to be left alone, like in a hotel. But between the late hour and the intense rain, he pities her and invites her inside, but only after they prove to each other that they indeed made reservations and were mysteriously, annoyingly double-booked.

Skarsgård plays against type here, leaning into the innately creepy situation and his performance history to be unnerving even as he charms the heck out of Tess and us. He's a bit verbose, but clearly means well: he knows this is awful and that the optics are not in his favor. He offers to sleep on the sofa so Tess can have the bedroom (with a door). He wants to split the wine but waits for her to open it so she knows he hasn't tampered with it. He wishes her well at her interview and sets up what is probably meant to be a celebratory date. Cregger and his cinematographer use the subtlest shifts of light and angles to make their scenes uncanny; that is, familiar but wrong somehow. It's our job (and Tess's) to find out exactly what's wrong and why and how to escape. Right?

Well, maybe not. Some secrets need to be explored first, as evidenced when Tess awakes later in the night to her door wide open and Keith having an apparent nightmare. One thing leads to another, and eventually by day, when Keith is gone, Tess wanders into the basement and gets stuck. Looking for a way out, she discovers a semi-hidden rope that pulls open a secret door in the cement. Anyone would tell you not to go in there, but naturally she does and discovers horrible things. Well, the things themselves aren't inherently horrid, but her suspicions of what they mean altogether are monstrous. And those things are paired with her already discomfited stay, her opinions of the rundown neighborhood and that aggressive, scary neighbor who chased her down, and the warnings of the area given by the woman who interviewed her.

This first act of the film -- don't worry, I will try not to give any spoilers this time -- ends shortly after this, when Tess ventures further down into the basement. It's a screaming climax that comes a bit too soon for most horror films. But then the film does an about-face (not unlike the shock twist of Psycho) and actor Justin Long shows up as "AJ". He's a fascinating and loathsome character, as we discover in an absolutely brilliant marriage of screenwriting and acting, and his tale comprises the second act of the film. I feared it would include a redemption arc for him, but, without spoiling anything, the film is too smart for that. Finally, there's the third act of the film, which is the out-and-out horror fest that left me absolutely breathless with anxiety and dread. It's the most rote of the acts, but by this point I needed something a little familiar to grasp or I was going to panic.

It's not a perfect movie. Many discussions -- all of which should be necessary and would be fascinating -- will revolve around the film's characterization of women, of men (which I think is the primary mode of horror here), of poverty, of greed and vanity. There is the cringey depiction of an impoverished Detroit, much like that used in Don't Breathe (which shares a surprising amount of DNA with this film), that we could all do without, despite its relevance and relative authenticity. There is the unbearable but constant series of idiotic actions taken by most characters; by the third act, I almost wanted more terrible things to happen to them to punish them for being so endlessly stupid. Thankfully, there is no actual depiction of sexual violence in this film, even though it's a major series of plot points and character arcs, so that's good, although we definitely still feel the impact cognitively. 

And then there's the title itself, a stroke of pure genius that creates a sort of maze for us as viewers to venture through, looking for its significance and meaning. Is it Keith? AJ? Tess? Someone else (we learn of a few other people connected to this house, none of whom are very nice)? Could it be the house itself, situated as it is on Barbary Street? I think the answer is "yes"! I'd argue it also refers to the cycle of misogyny in generations and cultures of toxic and evil men and the effect they have on the rest of us, especially on women. That entitlement led those men to build the world, and now we're all trapped in it. Can we escape?

Pinocchio (2022)

Score: 2.5 / 5

It really makes sense to have someone like Robert Zemeckis remake a Disney movie or two. His A Christmas Carol (2009) is one of my favorite versions, and it surprised me that Disney didn't continue to use his unique skills. And for a story like Pinocchio, which includes prominent human characters as well as several inhuman one -- and one, of course, somewhere in between the two -- his brand of visual effects and the marriage between them and reality seems perfectly suited. And in a lot of ways, it is! I enjoyed the film almost exclusively due to his directorial flair and attempt to update the story.

But it's still Pinocchio, and for me this was one time too many of experiencing its weirdness. To be fair, I've never much liked the 1940 animated film either; it's just too creepy. Marionettes and puppets are nightmare fuel as they are, but when you add talking crickets and giant carnivorous whales and boys turning into donkeys, it's just not a fun time. Even when you're not getting beaten over the head with its moralizing and lifestyle warnings, you're getting waylaid by the fox and the cat or abducted by a traveling Italian puppet-master. None of it is exceptionally fun, and most of it is explicitly not fun. And it's not due to the obvious visual fun Zemeckis and his team bring to the production.

It's also not due to the actors, all of whom seem to be delighting in this romp through fantasyland. Cynthia Erivo pops in for an early scene as the Blue Fairy, singing "When You Wish Upon a Star" with her angelic voice. Luke Evans looks like he might be intoxicated during his turn as the Coachman and operator of Pleasure Island, and he's given a bizarre but cute new song to sing. Benjamin Evan Ainsworth voices the title character shockingly well, though as with most precocious and naïve children, he's appropriately quite annoying to listen to. Tom Hanks is doing a lot of odd character work these days (fresh off his villainous turn in Elvis), and his performance here as Gepetto is no exception, although he also seems to be doing conscious nods to Walt Disney himself (helped along by the production design: did you notice his clocks are mostly references to other Disney animated classics?). It's all pretty hammy, but what else do we expect from a story like Pinocchio? I mean, Keegan-Michael Key voices "Honest" John with more excitement than I've ever felt from him, and it's actually kind of chilling how much danger he brings to the character.

But despite all these, and they are definitely worth watching -- just like the film itself -- there is something fundamentally void at the center of this film. Perhaps it's that the remake is almost exactly a live-action (mostly) reproduction of the original. Most of the other remakes add things to their respective stories, making them more relevant or fixing glaring problems that have become apparent during subsequent culture shifts. The Jungle Book championed Mowgli's autonomy and choice of identity; Pete's Dragon included lots of environmentalism and thankfully no Mickey Rooney. But The Lion King did almost nothing for me (though it is indeed very pretty), and this Pinocchio felt similarly, feeling less inspired than some regurgitated imagery in a liminal space. A few added songs that felt a bit forced and sassy one-liners shoved up against familiar quotes sometimes brought me pleasure, but mostly had me checking how much time had already passed. But Joseph Gordon-Levitt is a delightful Jiminy Cricket, and for the most part he helps carry us through the experience. It's a wonder to behold and might be thoroughly fun for some people, if you like the story. I don't.

Three Thousand Years of Longing (2022)

Score: 3.5 / 5

What a weird and wonderful film. George Miller, creator of the Mad Max and Happy Feet franchises, is kind of a weird dude. And thank goodness, because his movies are just so bloody interesting and fun! His latest -- while he is indeed working on Furiosa -- is a strange story that feels like a very old fairy tale. Visually beautiful, thematically ambitious, and somewhat bizarre, Three Thousand Years of Longing is a great time in the cinema, and it's probably best to see this one on a large screen, but if you find yourself even a little tired or distracted, I fear this movie will leave little more impact on audience minds than a feverish daydream.

Tilda Swinton stars -- thank heaven -- as Alithea Binnie, a British academic who specializes in what she calls narratology, the study of stories. She's seemingly content to be solo in the world, as she travels to Istanbul to lecture at a conference, even though she occasionally has hallucinations (or visions) of spiritual beings around her. One gives her such a fright that she faints at the podium, and quickly returns to her hotel room. Notably, she is told that her room is where Agatha Christie wrote Death on the Nile, which reinforces that this story will indeed be about storytelling. We wonder if her love of trinkets and texts are in fact bulwarks against the creeping sense of loneliness she barely conceals under a certain level of performative propriety and sass. Swinton excels at this kind of complex character work, and here she is firing on all cylinders and apparently having a lot of fun doing it.

While recuperating, she tries to polish an ornamental bottle she purchased on the street before a genie -- djinn, really -- erupts into her suite. This is where Miller starts having fun as director, making the djinn comically large in the otherwise pristine, clinically white room. It helps, sure enough, that the djinn is played by Idris Elba, who is already somewhat larger than life and whose knowing smile and sparkling eyes always seem ready to laugh. He's not doing a Robin Williams impression here, rather grounding his djinn with the emotional weight of the title, which it seems is meant to apply to his character. Upon learning some English from the proper lady, he offers Alithea three wishes with the usual stipulations (no wishing for more wishes, etc.). What he didn't anticipate -- and one of the chief joys of this movie -- is that Alithea's narratology expertise won't let her wish her wishes away. She knows the stories, naturally, and she won't be hoodwinked. Wish-fulfillment tales rarely work well for the wisher, often due to the wisher's greed or stupidity, but also sometimes due to the wickedness and treachery of the wish-fulfiller. Alithea won't be had, not by this guy, and so she starts asking him questions to see if she can trust him.

The film continues from here in a series of three stories the djinn tells Alithea to answer her questions. I'd have to rewatch to remember all the specifics, but essentially he was the consort of the Queen of Sheba until Solomon showed up with his song. The production team goes all out with these stories, dressing actors in stunning costumes, placing them in elaborate and fanciful locations and sets, and filming it all with whirling kinetic energy and vibrant colors. I wondered at first if Miller would evoke the grandeur of DeMille's biblical-era epics, and he does a little bit, but mostly he takes us on a tour through CGI dreamland to fantastic effect. Which is to say, it sometimes feels a bit too fantasy-like, as if we're being dared to compare it to A Wrinkle in Time or other bright, child-oriented fare. Miller excels in practical effects (as we saw in Mad Max: Fury Road), but this time (like in Happy Feet and Babe) he also proves his mettle with predominantly digital effects, claiming his place as one of the most free and experimental of big-budget directors and as one who is willing to change his aesthetic to fit the needs of the story he is telling. How appropriate for this particular material.

As the djinn tells his stories, Alithea slowly softens to him, becoming more inquisitive of his identity and deeds even as she reflects on her own hidden self. She lacks love in the same way the djinn has been repeatedly bereft of love; the two could be said to share one fundamental truth, that of unrequited and incessant longing. It's not a profound idea, and it sounds kind of banal to say. But the film is anything but banal in style, and its choice to situate Alithea and the djinn over a tapestry of the history of the world makes this film feel cosmic in scope. Not unlike Darren Aronofsky's underappreciated cosmic love story The Fountain, actually. The stories are filled with violence and lust and eroticism, though it's all done quite tastefully (with a few graphic exceptions that earn it that "R" rating). Compared with the institutional design of Alithea and her suite, it's easy to see why she fantasizes about his stories even as we see them.

Yes, this is a love story, and without totally spoiling it, a large part of that love is Alithea learning to love herself or, more accurately, to accept the desires of her heart for herself. It's a wonder to behold, even if it's not really the most dynamic or novel story. I fear to some extent that accusations of orientalism will be lobbed at Miller and this film, and those are worthy considerations to consider, especially as a white audience member. But I also think that Miller is one of the few white filmmakers working now who can rise a bit above those debates because of the passion and compassion of his earnest efforts of storytelling. He works hard to make sure the ancient world of the djinn's stories are not whitewashed, and he also works to place the white Englishwoman protagonist firmly in her place as privileged and naïve and even self-deceived. Plus, there's the undeniable energy of this film, which doesn't look like the work of a 77-year old; not that that makes a difference in terms of representation or integrity, but it's a strong indicator of a lifetime of work that deserves to be seen. Much like Alithea, actually. Can you tell with which character I identified a little too intensely?

The Gray Man (2022)

Score: 1.5 / 5

It was just so boring, I couldn't stand it. The Russo brothers proved themselves immensely capable directors with several of the biggest entries in the MCU, but it seems several of their efforts since have struggled to do much at all. And maybe, due to its star power and big names, their latest will have a healthy viewership. But watchability and draw are very much not the same as enjoyability and artistic integrity, or even solid storytelling. It smacks all the more hollow because it's the first installment of what Netflix seems to hope will be a series.

Ryan Gosling plays Sierra Six, an assassin and spy working for the CIA. His handler is Billy Bob Thornton, and his new boss is Regé-Jean Page; they all have character names, but I didn't care enough to learn them. The story proper jumps right off from these brief introductions, as Gosling enacts his latest mission in Bangkok, taking out a target who is revealed to be a fellow agent. Much like in a Mission: Impossible scenario -- but not nearly as well-executed -- the target tells Gosling about his boss's criminality and provides evidence as he dies. Gosling immediately goes on the run as Page makes him a target in turn. But he's no Ethan Hunt or even John Wick, and frankly I just didn't care. Gosling is stoic and active, and the character is basically void of personality or motivation.

To stop Gosling, Page brings in an ex-CIA mercenary, Chris Evans, sporting a ridiculous mustache and a sociopathic streak. Page seems desperate, and Evans is certainly up to the task by any means necessary. Unleashed on Gosling, Evans is a wild card, resorting immediately to torture and kidnapping and murder. He's probably the most fleshed-out character in this film, but even he has only a handful of concrete character details. He's also not particularly interesting, just pretty to watch (except for that bizarre growth on his upper lip). I hoped when Ana de Armas showed up to help Gosling that she'd save us from these shallow men, but the film barely even recognizes her as a person and treats her like an even more shallow sidekick. The only other woman of much consequence in the film is Thornton's niece, the kidnapped girl, so our two prominent women are relegated to cringey tropes.

The film is occasionally beautiful to behold, but cinematographer Stephen F. Windon of Fast & Furious fame mostly makes the movie look dark, cold, and lifeless. You can't see half the action or most of the globe-spanning locations through the murky darkness. There is almost no sense of fun in the film, and maybe there doesn't need to be, but when it becomes a slog to continue, that's a problem. I actually stopped watching it the first time because I couldn't take it any more; I finished up the last half hour the next day, but frankly I wish I hadn't. What a waste of resources.

Where the Crawdads Sing (2022)

Score: 3 / 5

Seemingly taking some inspiration from To Kill a Mockingbird, this source material was destined for the big screen. Where the Crawdads Sing has been on just about every best-seller list and book club list since it was released in 2018, and then Reese Witherspoon and Taylor Swift got involved with the film adaptation. I haven't read the novel yet, but the film is a strange hybrid between two storytelling traditions: the first, as I mentioned, is a kind of courtroom mystery-drama in the vein of Harper Lee's masterpiece, and the second is the sort of location-based romantic shlock that made Nicholas Sparks famous. It wouldn't have bothered me so much except that director Olivia Newman (in her second feature after Netflix's First Match) and her team seem intent on making the film also look like a Sparks adaptation rather than just feel like one. Some people will like the aesthetic; I find it repugnant.

In October 1969, in the marshy coves of the North Carolina coast, some kids discover the dead body of Chase Andrews, a young local man held in high esteem due to his family's money and his celebrity turn as high school quarterback. Authorities immediately come to arrest Kya (Daisy Edgar-Jones, really breaking out this year in this and Under the Banner of Heaven), a young woman living alone in a shack in the swamp, known pejoratively as the "marsh girl." She's a little rough around the edges, you might say, or perhaps boggy, keeping mostly quiet in her cell, even when a benevolent lawyer (David Straithairn, in the kind of role he's made a career of mastering) comes to offer his help. He's a thoughtful, reserved Atticus Finch figure, coming out of retirement to help the outsider from becoming the local scapegoat. Even when it's frustrating that his defendant won't open up to him.

We launch back and forth in time throughout the two-hour film, experiencing various testimonies and defense strategies in and around the courtroom in '69/'70 just as we learn all about Kya's past, starting with her childhood almost twenty years prior. Her abusive, alcoholic father drove her mother away and then each of her siblings until only Kya was left alone at the age of seven when her father, too, disappeared. The child harvests mussels from the marsh and sells them to the only kindly people she knows, an older Black couple (Sterling Macer Jr. and Michael Hyatt) who run the convenience store and give her helpful advice and gifts. Kya tries to go to school but flees almost immediately. Jojo Regina plays Kya at this age, and she's utterly incredible to behold; these scenes are perhaps the film's most emotionally resounding, even if they do smack of poverty porn.

Speaking of which, screenwriter Lucy Alibar certainly had her job cut out for her in terms of adapting the beloved text. Her only previous work I've seen is the original Beasts of the Southern Wild, with which this story shares several similarities. Unfortunately, due to the nature of a courtroom drama and the source material, Alibar is forced to jump back and forth in time; I'm not entirely sure if it's her or Newman that makes this process laborious, but almost every time we jumped I lost any sense of momentum in the story. It starts to feel inevitable rather than exciting or revelatory. Maybe it's partly cinematographer Polly Morgan (A Quiet Place Part II and upcoming The Woman King), who douses everything in warm amber lights (or faded blues at night) so that different scenes are visually interchangeable. But her intense efforts to bring the ethereal, complex beauty of the marshes onto the screen are indisputable, so I don't want to harp on that. Maybe it's Mychael Danna's very pretty score, which doesn't seem to differentiate between time periods. Regardless, another viewing would see me focus my attention on the screenplay and direction for answers to why the jumps were so jarring, as I'm not even convinced it is really the editing at fault (as one would typically assume), though upon some research, the editor for this is Alan Edward Bell of The Hunger Games movies, and some of the editing in those was a bit jarring as well.

Edgar-Jones takes over as Kya before long, and her performance is really rather wonderful. But then the Sparks-esque storyline pops in, as she is courted first by the angelic Tate (Taylor John Smith of Sharp Objects), who befriended her in childhood and has since taught her to read and write. They're just perfect together -- he even stops their burgeoning love from becoming sexual until he can ensure their life together will be what they both need it to be -- until he leaves for college. In Tate's absence, which remains quite uncomfortably unexplained, Kya is courted by the eventually ill-fated Chase. His interactions with her are perhaps the best feature of the screenplay and the best acting in the film from both Edgar-Jones and actor Harris Dickinson (Beach Rats, Maleficent: Mistress of Evil, The King's Man). He's arrogant and entitled, pushy and even occasionally bullying, and it's clear almost from the start that he's bad news; the casting is especially interesting because the two suitors look so similar that they could be Hitchcockian doubles.

The climax and denouement and ultimate twist of a solution are all quite wonderful in theory, and I was completely gobsmacked by the ending. It's too bad the filmmakers squished so much of the most exciting parts of the story into the last thirty minutes or so; after such an ominous opening act and several red herrings and significant clues early on, most of the film wallows in a sort of melancholic "which guy should I pick" mentality for Kya, who is much more fascinating than that characterization allows. Edgar-Jones is at her best when she's alone, watching the horizon and drawing her magnificent pictures of wildlife; she also does really well when interacting with the townsfolk, awkward as the interactions are. She should be brave and unpredictable, much like her home, but the film is so conventional and tired in its approach to her story that much of her raw power is diminished by the presentation. I wish the filmmakers had taken the story to the titular place beyond the reach of norms and expectations and let her shine the way she clearly deserves.

Beast (2022)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I love killer animal movies. There's something deeply satisfying about the genre of horror that covers survivalism -- every few years there's another A-lister alone on a mountain or in the ocean fighting to stay alive against all odds -- and a significant subset of that is survival against killer animals. It allows survival tropes to brush up against a good old-fashioned monster movie, as the animals are usually somehow exceptional. Shark movies usually have rogue sharks stalking their prey or even setting traps, the piranhas are scientifically enhanced or prehistoric, crocs that are too large or too active, bears killing for sport rather than defense or instinct, spiders of insane size or unusual numbers. This stuff just comes with the territory. But a killer lion is somewhat unusual in the subgenre; 2020's Rogue is the only one that comes to my mind, though its special effects leave a lot to be desired, after the more dramatic adventure vibes of The Ghost and the Darkness (1996). Mammals in general are risky to villainize in horror films because they are often so beloved by children. Despite "bad" animals of the same species (often in the same movies), who wants to see Brother Bear or The Lion King before something like Backcountry or, well, Beast?

The latest feature from Baltasar Kormákur (Everest), Beast is already one of my favorite killer animal movies. Partly due to the novelty of the idea, yes, but also due to Kormákur’s undeniably effective handling of the material. We're in and out in about 90 minutes, and it's an adrenaline rush right from the start. Cinematographer Philippe Rousselot (whose work is so extensive and generally excellent I'll just give you the briefest list of my favorites of his: Dangerous Liaisons, Interview with the Vampire, Big Fish, Lions for Lambs, Beautiful Creatures) really outdoes himself here, capturing the South African locations with special attention to golden hour hues as well as several very long takes often in the middle of extraordinarily realized action. I can't stress enough how effective this technique is in general but especially in stories about survival/endurance; it's also practically insane to pull off in films with so many special effects and live stunt work.

Dr. Nate Samuels (Idris Elba) arrives in South Africa with his two daughters Meredith (Iyana Halley) and Norah (Leah Jeffries). Their vacation has brought them to Nate's late ex-wife's childhood home, in a protected wildlife region of some 20,000 square miles. Did you catch that? After his separation from his wife, she died of cancer, causing angry tension between Meredith (who is very like her mother) and Nate, who is hoping to repair their relationship before it's too late (read: before college). They reunite with Martin (Sharlto Copley), who grew up with her in South Africa, who introduces them to the setting and its lack of cell service and wi-fi. See where this might be going? Before long, they set off on safari, with Meredith snapping shots of the landscape and wildlife as they go, even stopping once to meet a pride of lions with whom Martin is apparently quite friendly. One is injured, though, causing Martin no small amount of concern.

When a maimed man stumbles into their path, warning of "the devil" in the brush, Martin takes them to a nearby village for help. Upon arrival, they discover the entire village slaughtered. Martin is sure lions couldn't have done this, but the claw marks and bite wounds tell a slightly different story. As they try to get back to civilization, they are attacked by an enormous male lion that ends up trapping them in their vehicle dangling precariously over a cliff. They're nearly clueless about what is happening or why, and as the hot sun burns down on them, their chances for survival steadily wane. Martin goes off looking for the beast and winds up grievously injured in a swamp where, surely, crocs and snakes aren't far. Nate tries desperately to keep his daughters safe by any means necessary, against which Meredith invariably rebels, often causing more problems as she wanders away from the Jeep. As in too many horror films, it's hard not to get frustrated by the stupidity of the girls, but thankfully their annoying behaviors only really happen a handful of times. Most of the action is properly exciting, enhanced by a camera that locks in on its target and follows usually one character at a time through a given scene, such as when Nate explores a remote church/school outpost for medical supplies.

There is a prologue that provides a backstory for the lion in question: we open at night in the grassland as a group of poachers slaughters a whole pride of lions. Well, almost the whole pride. We hear one particular male lion rustling in the brush before a quick glimpse of him attacking the poachers. This ends up as the antagonizing lion in our story proper, apparently determined to kill any human in its territory. Is it revenge, or is it a reaction to trauma? It doesn't really matter, because it's a bloodthirsty lion either way, and our heroes are in quite a pickle. Martin at one point grimly attributes the behavior to "the law of the jungle," which is neither reassuring nor strictly accurate, unless he's equating poachers to violent animals as well. (Which, SPOILER ALERT, he totally is, and the revelation that Martin himself hunts and kills poachers is easily the most stunning beat of the film.)

And then there's the extremely satisfying ending of this film, which is not unlike the ending of The Shallows. It's the sort of balls-out hardcore action we always want in these killer animal movies and only rarely get; thanks to excellent -- and I mean excellent -- cinematography, editing, and VFX -- these kinds of showdowns will hopefully become a bit more common. There was some hullabaloo after the trailer was released due to Idris Elba punching a lion, but I tell you now that when the moment actually arrives in context of the film, it is immensely satisfying. Their final fight is indeed mano a mano, or rather mano a paw, and its intensity matches (if not exceeds) a similar scene with a bear early in The Revenant. The camera and lighting pull you in to the scene, not allowing you to escape or look away; the sound mixing and editing push into your ears until you're squirming in your seat. Or at least I was! There's just nothing like Beast out there, and it's magnificent. Sure, there are a few weird dream sequences that look like promo shots for a Beyoncé visual album, but if those were excised, the film would be flawless to my eyes. 

Fall (2022)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I love this movie, and I love this kind of movie. It's the sort of survivalist/disaster movie I can hardly get enough of, even when they start to feel a bit derivative or repetitive. As part of the horror genre, they often go hand-in-hand with what I like to call the "killer nature" subgenre, such as movies like The Shallows or Rogue or Backcountry, when some kind of monstrous animal begins a killing spree, usually inflicted on a small group of people trapped or isolated in a remote location. Think of the swimmers in Open Water, the townspeople in Lake Placid or Piranha, the people stuck in the car in Cujo or the spaceship in Life. This is like those but without the animals -- and yes, some large vultures play an important part in this movie -- and virtually everything that could go wrong goes, indeed, horribly wrong. Actually, this film is most like 47 Meters Down in several ways, but that's all I'll say about that at this point.

I have only very rarely gotten sick in a cinema -- I puked violently in Gravity -- but I got quite close in this screening of Fall. It's a perfect storm, from the first scene of three rock climbers on a cliff face somewhere in the American West, when after a scare one of them falls to his death. A year later, his wife Becky (Grace Caroline Currey), with whom he was climbing, is a depressed alcoholic who can't move on. She even avoids her concerned and somewhat tough-loving father, played by Jeffrey Dean Morgan in a weird bit part. When their third climber, a close friend named Hunter (Virginia Gardner, looking very much like the lovechild of Reese Witherspoon and Florence Pugh), shows up with a new climbing opportunity, Becky wants nothing to do with it. After some convincing ("face your fears" and all that), they embark on a trip to an abandoned -- and condemned, it should be remembered -- 2000-foot tower in the middle of a desert. Hunter, an Insta-influencer, wants to do it for fun; she persuades Becky to join for herself, for their friendship, and for Becky's late husband, whose ashes they intend to scatter to the winds from the lower stratosphere.

The intro doesn't take long, thankfully, and soon we're with the young women as they begin to climb. I cannot express to you all the importance of seeing this film on a huge screen with amazing sound; I actually want to go see it in IMAX if possible, though I'm not sure my constitution could handle it. As someone who isn't even particularly scared of heights, this movie might have created a brand new phobia in me. Not even when the characters got twenty feet off the ground, I could feel my stomach clenching and rising in my abdomen. The tower is rusty and falling apart, and the camera repeatedly cuts close to screws as they jiggle and, sometimes, fall as the girls climb. We know, even if they don't, that another tragedy is about to strike. It's only a matter of time. Climbing a 2000-foot metal ladder in the middle of the desert is bad enough; halfway up, the cage around the ladder disappears and they climb completely exposed to the wind with no safety nets, literal or figurative.

Cinematographer MacGregor deserves many awards for his work on this film. The camera makes the Mojave Desert appear something akin to paradise, and yet the story imbues so much hellishness that the contrast is constantly jarring. As the characters climb, he bobs and weaves and flies around them with glee, relishing the trap they're setting for themselves; he seems determined to take us on a visual roller coaster ride, zooming up and down and around faster than I could always comprehend but not so fast I couldn't feel each lurch deep in my digestive tract. Audible moans in the auditorium told me I wasn't the only one getting queasy from the height. Or the tension. But the girls do, finally, make it to the top, where they take plenty of videos and photos but can't upload them due to a lack of cell service. (That's another red flag, in case you weren't sure where all this was going.)

Before ten steps on the way back down, the ladder gives out. It swings, unattached but by the base, backward over the daylit void, with Becky screaming for dear life. By the time the two girls are back up top on a platform smaller than a truck wheel, the ladder for the top 500 feet or so is completely gone, crashed in pieces so far below they need binoculars to see. With no service, no food or water, and no way down, there is little for the women to do but sit and roast under the blazing sun. It doesn't help that nobody knows they're stuck up there. What can they do? They try just about everything conceivable, and virtually nothing works. It's an endurance exercise for the characters and for the audience, and the tension almost never lets up.

Frankly, I'd have preferred a slightly streamlined version of this film. I could have done without the intro and exposition and started as the women arrived at the tower. All the backstory and drama (which may not be necessary anyway, but here we are) could and maybe should have been presented during the climb. While I understand the desire to sympathize with the characters, and I think movies like this do require a bit of that relatable, inspiring gumption, it's still a bit of a slog each time the trauma and drama (and extraneous characters) come up. Is it all a bit silly? Sure, I suppose, but I never once wanted to laugh for most of this movie due to the death grip on tone and style by director Scott Mann. I believed every instant of the story, even the annoying bits, and as such it feels like a 107-minute-long adrenaline pump directly into the heart. It could easily have been cut by 15 or 20 minutes which would have made it more endurable as entertainment, but I respect the push for a more experiential time frame. The editing is a bit overexcited but the cinematography is so eye-popping I didn't really care most of the time, and the droning score gets under your skin something terrible (and that's a good thing!). I don't want to say much else because this movie is an immersive experience; let it take you on its dark, wild ride. And whatever you do, don't look down.

Prey (2022)

Score: 5 / 5

I can't believe this movie was dropped directly on Hulu. I'm not even really a fan of this franchise -- I've only ever seen the first Predator, and yeah it's an exciting time -- but this one looked pretty cool. Just a matter of minutes into streaming it, I got angry that I wasn't seeing it on a bigger screen and with surround sound. Jeff Cutter's cinematography makes most landscape shots look like paintings, and most action scenes feel as beautiful as a dance. Much as Predator was a streamlined action film 35 years ago, and in many ways established tropes of the genre, this film takes the genre to a level of high art. This is much like how Ridley Scott saved his Alien franchise in Prometheus: giving us more of the same material, but in a surprising way and with the most updated and sophisticated technology and aesthetic intent.

In a move of pure genius, the setting of this film takes us back to 1719, apparently to the first Predator alien to arrive on Earth and begin hunting. That kind of makes this a period piece, and it reminded me visually more than once of The Revenant in style, color palette, and even some content. For someone who doesn't know the franchise well, I had to learn quickly some of the elements of interest, such as that the Predator uses somewhat more rustic versions of its typical weapons in other installments. But those details are mostly Easter eggs for the fans; the movie works brilliantly for newcomers as well! The Predator, we learn quickly enough, is much more advanced technologically than the Native Americans in the great plains that populate the setting of Prey; it is also very strong and fast and hunts living organisms for sport, often skinning or beheading them for trophies. We see this is how it treats a snake, a wolf, and even a bear. It seems to want the most dangerous game it can find.

Enter Naru (Amber Midthunder), a young Comanche warrior who hunts like the men in her tribe despite their teasing and ostracism. Her brother Taabe (Dakota Beavers) is a bit more sympathetic but sometimes might be embarrassed by his sister upsetting the applecart. But Naru knows there is something monstrous stalking their tribe and tries to warn them, from the moment she sees the strange lights of its ship floating through a cloud bank. They first suspect a mountain lion and hunt it; after a tense and violent confrontation, Taabe kills it and returns to the village a hero. Naru knows more is going on when she discovers a herd of bison that have been skinned; a grizzly then chases her down to a riverbed. It's all terrifying and realistic (I told you this reminded me a bit of The Revenant, right?) and then, BAM -- enter the Predator.

I rather wish we hadn't seen several snippets by this point of the alien landing, hunting, prepping its weapons. While they are interesting shots, they take away so much from the realism of the film to this point and they take away the horror of the unseen/unknown. Granted, the Predator uses high-tech camouflage that basically makes it invisible, but I think the first half of the film would be much more effective if Naru had suspicions but no real proof, like us, until the Predator's reveal during the grizzly attack. It's such an effective scene already, and I wanted it to be as scary as it was awesome. The bear gets distracted moments before chomping our heroine and fights something invisible until it gets lifted in the air, its blood pouring out onto the silhouette of the hulking alien. It's magnificent. And, of course, Naru immediately runs.

The rest of the film is, essentially, a series of chases as the Predator slaughters its way through the tribe, through fur trappers and traders, and ultimately singles out Naru as apparently its worthy opponent in combat. One of the most interesting and satisfying sequences in this film is when Naru is captured by the French voyageurs, who, we learn, were the sadistic predators that killed and skinned the bison. The film wants us to understand that the Predator isn't the only predator in play; sure, there are the lovely food chain nods to other apex predators like the wolf, bear, and puma, but man is a horrifying (and wasteful) predator in his own right. Then again, considering the unique title of this film, one wonders exactly who the prey in this situation are. Naru might just be capable of taking down the big bad; when its neon green blood spills, she all too readily paints her face with it.

I can't speak highly enough of this film. See it on the biggest screen with the best sound you can get. It's dazzlingly beautiful, thanks largely to the cinematographer's work and the direction by Dan Trachtenberg (10 Cloverfield Lane). The leading performance by Midthunder is nothing short of a stunning star turn. Its respect for Comanche culture and language is manifest in the full Comanche language version of the film also available on Hulu. Even for not much liking the franchise or knowing anything about it, this was one of the most surprising and entertaining movies I've seen lately. It elevates the adventure/action/horror/sci-fi shtick of the '80s and '90s and turns it into a vision, one that will surely continue to offer rewards on subsequent viewings. I can hardly wait to jump back in again!

They/Them (2022)

Score: 4 / 5

Camp. As kids, we go to it. As adults, we sometimes do it. As cultured adults, we sometimes use it to describe or produce an artistic style. But there are dark sides to the word that we often overlook, including one that has gained notoriety in the last twenty years or so. Conversion "therapy," a means by which some queer folk try to (or are forced to try to) change, inhibit, or deny their sexual orientation and gender identity, usually takes place in private areas but sometimes in more public ones, such as retreats or, well, camp. The psychological and emotional horrors that take place at these locations and events has been documented elsewhere, and it really was only a matter of time before someone used it for art (or exploited it for entertainment, depending on your perspective). Of course, there have been other films about this topic generally, including Boy Erased or last year's Netflix documentary Pray Away. And now, finally, it's been turned into a horror film.

Unceremoniously dumped exclusively for streaming on Peacock this month, They/Them has been the target of derision and doubt since its earliest marketing campaign. Some claimed it was making fun of pronouns, some claimed that it was going to feature queer kids being tortured and murdered. But the film isn't those things, not by far, and in fact bravely addresses some issues much more articulately and thoughtfully than any documentary or op-ed I've seen. It helps surely that its writer John Logan, who also directed it in his debut, is openly gay in real life and one of the most prestigious screenwriters working today (he also wrote Hugo, Gladiator, The Aviator, Skyfall and Spectre, Penny Dreadful, and Alien: Covenant, among others). It also helps that most of the cast is authentically queer and being led by Theo Germaine (of Netflix's The Politician), who is nonbinary in real life.

Essentially, the film begins with a group of queer teens getting off the bus at Whistler Camp, a remote forested area with cabins near a landlocked lake. Basically Camp Crystal Lake, but with one crucial difference: these campers are queer and the staffers are either anti-queer or ex-queer. Kevin Bacon, returning to camp apparently, plays the camp director Owen Whistler, relishes his unusually terrifying role as a sort of cult leader. Charismatic and magnetic, he's also deeply intelligent in how to get under other people's skin. His opening monologue makes him sound like a not so bad guy, just hoping to help these kids discover themselves through intentional self-reflection and some minor guidance along the way. But almost immediately we see him destabilizing that understanding by reacting vastly differently to different campers, as if determined to create a sense of chaos among the kids; he madly respects Jordan (Germaine) and their pronouns, but then he shames a Black trans woman and forces her into the boys' cabin for "lying" to him. It's all arbitrary, which means he can zig or zag when least expected; he's horrifyingly dangerous, much like the gospel he preaches.

Which is saying a lot because really there isn't much bible-thumping in this movie as I expected. It's arguably a fairly secular conversion camp, which is even more surprising than usual. The staffers are the really exciting cast members, as they are pulled from other horror staples (much like Bacon), including especially Anna Chlumsky as the nurse and Carrie Preston as Whistler's wife and the camp's primary counselor. Both get some solid screen time, and Preston is especially terrifying in one haunting monologue. To be fair, the kids don't all get a lot of screen time either; there are just too many for quality development. But, then, films in this vein don't often give a lot of time for in-depth dynamism and resort, necessarily, to a sort of shorthand to understand characters; Logan knows this and uses it to his advantage, even though there are at least half as many campers that we never really hear or get to know. They are the nameless, voiceless masses who have been silenced and sacrificed by conversion therapists through the decades, and so their presence in the film feels at first embarrassingly awkward until it becomes chillingly realistic.

For two-thirds of the film, the horror is almost exclusively psychological. The counselors chip away at the kids' dignity until they can crack them open. They split the boys and girls into respective, normative activities; shooting guns and baking pies (yes, fruit pies, because that's funny, right?). But there are more insidious designs at work; the Barbie-like female counselor flirts heavily with a conflicted young lesbian, while the hunky male counselor aggressively challenges (and tempts) the masculinity of the boys, especially one effeminate Black gay man. There are two pairs of campers -- one female, one male -- with minor romantic arcs, although the male tryst results in a shocking betrayal and perhaps the most violent sequence in the film in which a crude form of electroshocking is used to torture one of the boys. the film indeed gets very dark, and there are endless triggers to watch out for, including offensive language, yes, but also things like animal cruelty and murder, physical and emotional abuse, and of course torture. But it also has its moments of light, as when the campers attempt to cheer each other up by belting out Pink's "Perfect" in jubilant chorus.

Well, then there's the final third or so of the film. The actual opening scene depicts a woman driving alone at night through the woods before getting murdered by a mysterious figure (it's, again, very reminiscent of Friday the 13th). This event is not revisited until the final act, when certain people begin getting murdered. Because the film was marketed (erroneously, in my mind) as a slasher, this development might be a bit late for most casual viewers. Because of the identities of the victims, it also becomes pretty clear pretty quickly what's really going on here. SPOILER ALERT: it's the camp staff who get butchered, confirming our suspicions that either a camper or former camper is on a path of revenge. Thankfully, by this point the plot moves quickly and the bloodshed is more a release than a buildup. It's a brave move, and one that would have worked better for me if not for the film's marketing.

I think what makes me sad about this film -- other than its devastating content -- is that John Logan directed it. Not because Logan's vision isn't specific or that his execution isn't proficient in its way, but because it just doesn't feel like a match between desired outcome and actual output. Logan's understanding of the material is without dispute; his approach to the aesthetic is somewhat less than inspired. It seems he's intent on simply telling the story as seriously as he can, and while that should be enough, it makes the whole affair really heavy and gloomy. I can't help but wish, in some small part, that someone like Ryan Murphy had directed Logan's material, someone who can alleviate (or enhance) horror with comedy. Or, if not comedy, then at least an awareness of this material's place in the genre. Logan makes almost no references to similar films (except Friday the 13th), which makes the film feel ignorant in a way of its own existence, like it's intentionally trying to exist in a vacuum. In content or style, it could reference Boy Erased, The Most Dangerous Game, The Hunt, Saved!, But I'm a Cheerleader, The Retreat, I Know What You Did Last Summer, or even American Horror Story 1984 for that matter. Murphy would also have dived a bit further into the pool of raw horror, sex appeal, and identity politics (which may have held the key for more humor). Instead, it's just its own curious project, a waking nightmare that is wonderful on its own but smacks of those elements that might have made it nastier, more fun, and much more important. As it is, though, it's a damn good film, and one that hopefully opens the door for more, similar, content. And preferably in theatrical release rather than on a wretched marginal service like Peacock.