Category: Film



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As a result, will no longer be updated as of March 25, 2021.

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Let’s Scare Julie

Let’s Scare Julie (2019)
★ / ★★★★

The gimmick of Jud Cremata’s “Let’s Scare Julie” is the illusion of having been shot in a single take. But strip away this element and it becomes readily apparent that the picture offers nothing of value. Here is yet another movie that places all of its eggs in one basket and the gamble does not pay off. If you wish to sit through a film that feels like it is never going to end, despite having a running time of only eighty minutes, on top of being forced to endure irritating, shallow, and dumb teenage girls, then I bestow this unpolished and unfinished garbage my most enthusiastic recommendation.

Where should I start?

The first thirty minutes is spent in a bedroom where characters prank each other and tell scary stories—only the pranks are neither scary nor funny and the would-be terrifying accounts surrounding the house across the street sound exactly like any old neighborhood story. One sits through this first half hour marinating in sheer anger due to its lack of originality, imagination, creativity, or even a modicum of energy. When actors are not reciting their lines like robots, it comes across as though they were tasked to come up with what to say on the spot.

A suggestion for Cremata: How about actually putting in time and effort with your screenplay? Take pride in your work. For instance, shape it so that Emma, our heroine, played by Troy Leigh-Anne Johnson, is actually someone we can get behind. It is not enough that she has a sob story. Both of her parents being dead and the fact that she, along with her young sister named Lilly (Dakota Baccelli), must live with her insensitive cousin (Isabel May) is not good enough. What is it about this character that is worthy of the story being told? Not only is the lack of specificity astounding, Emma is written without sharpness, intelligence, fire, or resourcefulness. She is required to possess these characteristics especially when her little sister goes missing. But because she does not, it is like following a dry leaf being blown to and fro by the wind.

Surround the protagonist with different personalities who are actually relatable in some way. Taylor’s friends (Odessa A’zion, Brooke Sorenson, Jessica Sarah Flaum) are nasty pieces of work—but not nasty in a pointed way that suggests something deeper might be going on with the characters. They’re the generic spoiled brats, giggly white girls who have gotten away with so much due to their privilege. Notice how they welcome Emma the black girl upon meeting her. They make fun of her, they take advantage of her lack of confidence, they touch her in inappropriate ways, they go through her personal belongings. They have no respect for other people’s personal space; they don’t even notice that the new girl is feeling incredibly uncomfortable. They’re selfish. Yes, it’s ugly to watch. But there is no point behind these images. So it feels like our time is not being respected.

A girl named Julie just moved in across the street—in a house that is supposed to be creepy or haunted. Taylor and her vapid crew (with the exception of Emma) decide to go over there and pull a prank on Julie… because there is nothing else to do. This is when the work ought to have bared its fangs—that because these girls decide to bite off more than they can chew, they deserve some sort of comeuppance. However, at the same time, a screenplay with perspective—or simply having genuine love for its characters—can and will argue that whatever physical violence befalls these girls are not deserved—despite how we feel about them.

“Let’s Scare Julie” reeks of pessimism. The illusion of a single take is haphazardly put together. I noticed the first “trick” (translation: bad editing) not ten minutes into the film. As already mentioned, it doesn’t go out of its way to establish characters we can grow to care about—not even on the most superficial level. And get this: it does not have a third act. It just ends. The terrified Emma runs downstairs and… the movie simply fades to black. Did they run out of budget? Was there a massive storm that ended up destroying the set beyond repair? Was there a viral outbreak and everybody had to go home? Or did the writer-director simply stop giving a—? (A better question: Did he even start?)

Cremata, if you’re reading this, I’m waiting for an explanation. We demand it. And we deserve it.

My Octopus Teacher

My Octopus Teacher (2020)
★★★★ / ★★★★

Pippa Ehrlich and James Reed’s documentary “My Octopus Teacher” tells the story of a man who felt he needed a radical change in his life. Inspired by his relationship with the ocean as a child along with the time he spent learning how to track animals from the San people of the Kalahari Desert, filmmaker Craig Foster decided to go back in the water with the hope of re-centering himself. And what he finds in the kelp forest near Cape Town, South Africa is Octopus vulgaris (common octopus), highly curious about the human visiting her territory. Foster followed this octopus for about a year and a rollercoaster of emotions was captured on film. Nature lovers should not miss this doc.

The kelp forest offers astounding beauty. Foster does not make a point of it, but when the camera goes down on the ocean floor, there is a richness of life that can be found in every corner. When you think that a spot offers nothing but white sand, something suddenly moves inside it—a patient predator waiting for unwary prey. When the camera is turned upwards onto the surface of the water, the light is so beguiling that it feels like looking through an elegant veil draped between two worlds. The work is so poetic at times that at one point I caught myself thinking, “What does a sea creature think about when it looks up at the surface?”

Then a different type of beauty is captured as the free-diving Foster swims through kelps, various schools of fish, pyjama sharks, jellyfish, and unrecognizable detritus. The longer we spend time underwater, we note that “kelp forest” is such a general way of describing a place teeming with complexity. There is geography within that forest. We learn where sharks hang out, for instance, and which places they tend to avoid and why. And performing a dive at night turns what we know inside out. There is never a dull moment because the environment is so alive, so alien, yet incredibly humbling. It is educational—and spiritual—nearly every step of the way.

There is plenty of narration—which I imagine will rub some viewers the wrong way. But it is necessary because right from the beginning it is established that the film is a personal account of a someone who desperately needed to be reminded that he is alive; that he matters as an artist, a husband, and a father; and that he has something of value to impart as a naturalist. This is not strictly a nature documentary. It is a documentary with nature elements filtered through the spirit of a human being who is down or depressed about his own worth.

And so it is critical we hear how Foster expresses surprise, for instance, when an invertebrate, one that is well-known within the scientific community as being a highly intelligent antisocial predator, appears to want to engage and develop a bond with a stranger who drops by on a daily basis. Via narration, he describes what occurs in the water or what he thinks and feels when the octopus is not in her usual place of shelter. But discernible viewers will appreciate the growth in the man—that having a purpose, having something to look forward to on a daily basis, is directly related to the subject eventually having the ability to break out of the rut, to free himself from the shackles of great unhappiness that bogged him down. In this film, diving is a metaphor for self-reflection.

Zack Snyder’s Justice League

Zack Snyder’s Justice League (2021)
★★★★ / ★★★★

“Zack Snyder’s Justice League” marks the first time when I truly felt that the DC Extended Universe has the potential to challenge and possibly surpass the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Although I enjoyed Joss Whedon’s 2007 version despite its glaring shortcomings, it is without question that this “Justice League” is a more realized and cohesive film—not because it boasts a running time of four hours but because of what is incorporated, explored, and ironed out within the given time span. There is a reason for its daunting length.

Consider the Barry Allen (Ezra Miller) and Victor Stone (Ray Fisher) characters whose superhero counterparts are The Flash and Cyborg, respectively. These two have not had their own standalone movies and so it is crucial that those unfamiliar with them be hooked in learning about who they are in an incredibly busy story that revolves around an apocalypse and the resurrection of Clark Kent / Superman (Henry Cavill) who perished in Snyder’s “Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice.” Although the Allen and Stone storylines are not in any way profound, patience and genuine humanity can be felt in the way they are told. And so we grow to care for them outside of their abilities: Allen for his youthful effervescence, drive, and sense of humor; Stone for his isolation, anger, and shame—tasty appetizers for when they (finally) get their turn in the spotlight.

The central villain’s motivation is presented with much needed clarity here. In the 2007 cut, one of my complaints is that he is dull and so the visual effects that pervade the final stretch turned the picture into autopilot—a snooze. Here, Steppenwolf (voiced by Ciarán Hinds) still must collect powerful, highly advanced machines called Mother Boxes. There are three of them and when synchronized they have the terrifying power to destroy worlds.

The crucial difference is that Steppenwolf in this version wants to return to his world after he earns the approval of the ominous Darkseid (voiced by Ray Porter). An antagonist wanting to destroy a planet is a Tuesday and so it is correct to give the character, an extraterrestrial, an additional quality that is much more grounded in humanity. (How’s that for irony?) And because Steppenwolf’s core motivation has changed, I felt elated (after a big sigh of relief) when Snyder proves to have the insight to alter the final act completely. To have left it as it was would have been a disaster, nonsensical, not to mention lazy and inappropriate. It shows that he has a specific vision of the story he wishes to tell.

Outside of characters, the flow in storytelling is noticeably smoother. Most apparent is Snyder’s cut being divided into chapters and each one offers a dominant theme. Once a theme is tackled, it is then provided layers in succeeding chapters. Thus, over time, connective tissues among events, character arcs, and Easter eggs—within this film, those that came before, and what is yet to come—grow strong; I found the juggling of numerous plates to be elegant, entertaining, and occasionally impressive. At one point I thought, “Why can’t all DCEU movies be like this?”

There is improvement in the way dialogue is handled resulting in rhythm changes. Forced humor is dialed down from nine to about a two. A misplaced joke can derail an action sequence—a handful of examples can be found in Whedon’s film. In addition, some of the more awkward pauses and knowing glances have been eliminated. For instance, when characters engage, particularly between Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot) and Batman (Ben Affleck), there is constant bubbling urgency in putting together a team who can defend earth from invading forces. In this film, there is a clear and correct leader: Bruce Wayne—not Wonder Man, not Batman, the flawed but well-meaning person behind the mask.

But there are fresh additions, too. Note an early scene following a brief and cold interaction between Batman and Aquaman (Jason Momoa), how an Icelandic folk song is incorporated which serves to underscore the latter’s relationship with the locals he protects. Could it have been left on the cutting room floor and the movie would have been the same? Possibly, yes. But since it is included, it works as an extra detail that might explain why Aquaman is reluctant to join the Justice League at first—that by deciding to join a fight, it is an act of putting those whom he cares about in the line of fire, too. (Not to mention the song is quite beautiful.)

If this “Justice League” is a sign of what’s yet to come from DCEU, brace for impact.


Alone (2020)
★★ / ★★★★

“You will reach your destination in 4 days,” according to Jessica’s GPS while on her way out of the city toward her new home for the time being. But this is a thriller and so we know that her plans will soon be thrown out the window. She is traveling by herself and so we know, too, that she must encounter a stranger, most likely a man, and will give her a hard time. From there, It is only a matter of time until the sick cat-and-mouse situation leads to violence, murder, and revenge. This is a skeletal checklist of a woman-in-peril thriller. “Alone,” written by Mattias Olsson and directed by John Hyams, is not original—nor does it need to be. But it must be entertaining from more than one angle. Otherwise, why make a picture when you have only one thing to say or show?

I enjoyed the film to some extent, but the problem is that it does not go far enough. It starts off slow but with enough sense of foreboding and drama. We look at Jessica, played by Jules Willcox, and immediately noticeable, almost palpable, is a great sadness written all over her face, starting with her eyes. The score is minimal and utilized sparingly. When her car is out of the city and surrounded by mountains, rivers, and trees, there is a constant reminder that not only is she isolated—physically and mentally—but that she can easily be crushed like an ant—and I think she feels small, too. Something happened to this woman, and what she is about to experience will remind her of her strength, her power to forge ahead despite what life throws at her, no matter how unexpected or unfair.

That’s the intent anyway. If I don’t describe the movie in this way, I suspect that most audience will not “get” what the story is truly about. Many will claim it is about another serial killer picking out some poor woman to serve as his latest victim. But had this movie been dirtier, perhaps more fast-paced, with a real mean streak when it comes to violence and gore, the message would have been clearer. The thing about exaggeration, especially in suspense and thrillers, is that it inspires people to pay attention—both on the level of what is shown on screen and, for more discerning viewers, why the movie is functioning as if on steroids. And when exaggeration is lacking, as the case here, especially for long periods, it inspires viewers to relax or tune out. I was able to stick by the picture because I look for new wrinkles in an oft tread path. I can only imagine that casual audiences will be less forgiving. There’s irony in that.

The story is divided into six chapters—“The Road,” “The River,” “The Rain,” “The Night,” and “The Clearing.” One way or another, these are elements that our heroine must contend with in order extract herself fully from a tricky unnamed villain portrayed by Marc Menchaca (he is credited as The Man). The Man is an expert spectacled liar, the kind of guy you won’t look twice at a convenience store even if he dropped a case of beer on the floor. He is that ordinary. Naturally, this man will be the constant threat to our protagonist. He is persistent.

I appreciated that when this character is introduced, facing the terrified Jessica while in her car at the motel parking lot, it is readily apparent that he is turned on by her fear. He greets her not with a mask or any sort of disguise—but with a smile. That smile does not translate to “I’m friendly. What’s your name?” It is a smile that says, “I will have you locked up in my basement in a couple of hours.” Willcox portrays Jessica as if on the verge of an emotional breakdown. That is the correct choice because then it makes sense that the character is highly sensitive to slightest suggestions or implications. The first part of this story—the tease—is stronger than that half-pulled punches in the latter half. This is where my earlier critique concerning the lack of exaggeration comes into play. Once the intrigue is shed, now what?

“Alone” is worth seeing at least once, especially those who are aspiring filmmakers. It is apparent that the work is made under a limited budget, but it does get more than a handful of elements right such as the heroine’s backstory, a portentous atmosphere, and the earlier encounters between Jessica and The Man. But the later portions needed to be just as strong in different ways than we have just seen. (But note that the final five minutes is terrific.) Even though the setup is familiar, the goal should be to keep viewers guessing anyway. The best thrillers are in a constant state of evolution.

The Last Blockbuster

The Last Blockbuster (2020)
★★★ / ★★★★

Although Taylor Morden’s “The Last Blockbuster” does not reveal anything earth-shattering about the former largest video rental empire in the world, boasting 9000 locations with one location opening every 17 hours in its heyday, it shows just enough to tickle the nostalgia bone. It wastes no time placing viewers inside a Blockbuster with its blue carpet, yellow walls and distinct scent, it establishes a warm and friendly tone, the pacing is brisk and assured, figureheads interviewed are full of personality, and it answers important questions, like how the company came about, how the majority of mom-and-pop rental stores were forced to close and, perhaps more intriguingly, how some these small, local businesses actually became part of the chain. It even provides a thorough answer on whether Netflix truly was directly responsible for Blockbuster going out of business. The answer might surprise you.

The documentary is on top form when it gets personal. We meet Sandi Harding, the general manager of the remaining Blockbuster on the planet located in Bend, Oregon, and within seconds we feel her passion for the job. She need not speak and tell us how much she enjoys working in Blockbuster or how it is a family business and so it means a lot more to her than a job. All the picture has to do is to show this woman—who is funny, energetic, always sporting a smile in her eyes—stacking movies on shelves, cleaning glass containers, being happy to answer questions (questions that I’m sure she had answered a thousand times on radio, television, newspapers, and other media), or going on a trip to a nearby Target to buy new movies so customers can have the latest to rent at the store.

When the camera is on Harding, it feels like spending time with a cool aunt. (We even meet her Blockbuster family at home and at an annual barbecue.) By the time this film was made, she has been with the company for fifteen years—and it shows. And it’s funny because, in my eyes, she manages to outshine commentators like Kevin Smith, Paul Scheer, Jamie Kennedy, and others. These artists may have something interesting or funny to say once in a while, but there is not a single moment in which Harding comes across forced or inauthentic.

Having Harding on film is critical not just because she’s the manager. She is the conduit between the filmmaking world and people like you and me; she makes the work that much more relatable without having to result to one-liners, quirks, or exaggerations like a few of the interviewees. While I doubt that the final Blockbuster standing still has ten years left, I wish that Harding gets to do what she loves until the day she decides to retire.

The film also has a knack for indirectly asking what Blockbuster means to the viewer. I came late to the party. It was around 2003 when I signed up to become a Blockbuster member. It was summertime and, in order to compete with Netflix (which I was also a member—mail back a DVD, get another the very next day… those were the days!—no streaming services just yet), Blockbuster offered unlimited rental—two or three movies at a time—for a fixed rate.

I lived about half a mile from the rental store and so imagine how many movies I watched just that one summer. I must have seen about 5 movies per day; I became such a regular that employees in every shift knew me by name until 2006 when I cancelled my membership because I had to leave home for university. Between 2003 and 2006 was the time when I fell in love with the movies. I can say with utmost confidence that had it not been for Blockbuster, you wouldn’t be reading these words today.

Game of Death

Game of Death (2017)
★★★ / ★★★★

Although the cryptic item in “Game of Death” is a board game, I believe the film wishes to contradict the asinine idea that video games lead to violence—exactly by delivering content that is violent by nature as to underscore the point it aims to get across. The movie is bloody, borders on satire, very funny on occasion, and at times purposeful in making viewers feel uncomfortable. Yes, the horror is embedded in the gruesome kills. But the horror, too, lies in the fact that we as a society would rather place blame on art—like video games—or politicizing an urgent issue rather than looking in the mirror, taking responsibility, and evaluating how we can better ourselves not simply through prayers but by means of actionable policy.

The connection between board games and video games is established right from the opening credits, from the pixellated and colorful graphics to sound effects that bring to mind games from the NES and SNES era. There is even a montage in the latter third, specifically when select characters go on a killing spree, in which the movie steps away from live-action and dives into what appears to be a series of quirky 2D role-playing video games. It is creative and cute, but at the same time it is energetic and it is obvious that directors Sebastien Landry and Laurence Morais-Lagace are purposeful in what they wish to show and when.

But what the work wishes to communicate does not stop there. I think it also has something to say about white lives and white privilege. Coming off the opening credits we meet teenagers hanging out in a well-to-do suburban home, no parent in sight. They are sexualized, they do drugs, they call each other derogatory names (but are pet names to them); notice how the first few minutes is shot like a music video… and almost like softcore pornography at times. The images, the dialogue, the way the characters are dressed (or not dressed) are so over-the-top that the whole thing incites judgment.

Superficial viewers will decry, “These damn millennials! Bunch of do-nothings! *grumble grumble*” But that is only part of the point. The purpose is to instill a distinct impression so that when these fun-loving, lustful teenagers come across the board game ominously named Game of Death—a game that requires those who have chosen to participate to kill a certain number of people under a time limit or end up having their own heads explode at random—we believe we have a strong sense of who they are and thus can place each of them on a moral spectrum, such as who will decide to partake in murdering innocent people, who will refrain, who will bite it first, and who might change their minds.

A strong impression paves a way for efficiency, especially in a work that possesses satirical elements, which is critical in a movie that is barely an hour and ten minutes. There are seven characters here and there is no way to get to know them thoroughly (Sam Earle, Victoria Diamond, Emelia Hellman, Catherine Saindon, Nick Serino, Thomas Vallieres). So the approach must be broad but at the same time pointed enough to provoke a powerful emotional reaction—if that’s disgust, aggression, or waspishness then so be it.

Out of the seven, only one is a person of color (Erniel Baez). Tyler does not kill to save himself. Most of the others, who are white, decide whether it is all right to kill a friend, a creepy neighbor, a random stranger who appears at a wrong place and a wrong time (is it a sign?), an elderly person who is otherwise healthy, people who are sick or dying, and even an innocent child. They look at others and think, “How are their lives of value compared to mine? Should I take their lives so I can go on with mine?” Look at how the police never seems to catch up with the perpetrators.

It is without question that “Game of Death” is rough around the edges. Some of the dialogue on paper could have undergone more polish. Even some of the line deliveries ought to have been reshot. But I think the movie can be visually exciting and it is propelled by infectious energy. I couldn’t help but to recoil a little when a head was about to explode. It shows us in vivid detail how a head gets so swollen that looking at it becomes uncomfortable. When it pops like pimple and all the brain meat/juice slosh out and spray about, it is almost like a sigh of relief.

If you consider yourself to be an adventurous viewer, take a chance on this. It just might rub you the right way. If it doesn’t, well, at least you’ve seen a film in which the filmmakers are all in.


Hosts (2020)
★ / ★★★★

Writer-directors Adam Leader and Richard Oakes attempt to tell a home invasion story with a supernatural twist. While the intent of delivering originality is commendable, the work fails to take off in interesting and unexpected directions. If you simply wish to see a person’s skull get smashed into pieces by a hammer, go see this. Or perhaps watching someone get stabbed fifty times is more your cup of tea. It is brutal, yes, but let me tell you that the picture is just violent: it is without substance, intrigue, or sense of mythos. On offer is an empty, boring experience. Skip to the final paragraph for an alternative.

Perhaps the film’s most crucial mistake is that it fails to be about anything. Just because things are being paraded on screen does not mean that images are of value. There must be connective tissues that tie these images together. Themes behind such connective tissues must be ironed out. Especially in the horror genre, the work must inspire us to contemplate that maybe what it is actually about is not necessarily what we see but what it makes us feel about ourselves or what it forces us to consider about our environment, our society.

Consider, for instance, that the story here takes place during Christmas. Traditionally, Christmas is a time when family members get together and catch up, for better or worse. Thus, exploring the subject of alienation is a layup. I would even go as far to say that it is obvious and expected.

The home invaders being possessed by a spirit, demon, or whatever supernatural entity (the screenplay failed to clarity this) could have functioned as commentary about being forced to get together and socialize, to compare notes and lives. The holidays is supposed to be a joyous time… but at the same time some people feel the need to wear a mask in order to come across as more successful or impressive. Others pretend to be happy even though they are far from it. No one wants to look bad or to feel small. And so that observation should have been channeled into anger on film.

But viewers fail to feel that—or any genuine emotion—because the work puts more effort into making blood and guts look realistic or cool and making light emanating from characters’ eyes and mouths look creepy. The technical details mean nothing if what should be concrete ideas remain amorphous throughout the picture’s running time. The movie is barely ninety minutes but it feels closer to two hours—and that’s being generous.

I would say watch Michael Haneke’s 1997 “Funny Games” again (or for the first time)—it is a terrific example of how you make a home invasion movie that is about something. It is violent, realistic and raw, but it demands that viewers not be passive about their experience. “Hosts” does the opposite: it ends up lulling viewers to sleep because it goes under the assumption that those watching are there only to see violence and effects. In actuality, horror fans sign up for an experience. There is a difference, and this turkey seems unaware of it.

Judas and the Black Messiah

Judas and the Black Messiah (2021)
★★★ / ★★★★

Politics is war without bloodshed while war is politics with bloodshed.

In most movies that revolve around an informant, viewers end up empathizing with him or her one way or another. This isn’t the case in Shaka King’s “Judas and the Black Messiah.” The story opens with William “Bill” O’Neal (Lakeith Stanfield) choosing to be a rat for the FBI—under the superintendence of Special Agent Roy Mitchell (Jesse Plemons)—after he is caught stealing a car and pretending to be an FBI agent. And by the end of the story, Bill is not only a rat but a traitor who served a critical role in the killing of Fred Hampton (Daniel Kaluuya), chairman of the Black Panther Party in Chicago.

Hampton is so slick with words that he is capable of uniting not only black Chicago gangs but also multiethnic militia groups who are tired of being treated as second-class Americans. As a collective, The Rainbow Coalition demands progressivism from a government that excels in maintaining not only status quo but oppression of the poor, the marginalized, and people of color. It is no wonder Hampton is regarded as a national threat.

Right from the opening minutes the work proves propulsive. Themes regarding appearances tending to deceive, that real power is held by folks hiding in the shadows, and that one of the government’s greatest weapons is persuading people who belong within a community to turn against their own. This is done in subtle and often entertaining ways. Particularly efficient is when Bill sits in an interrogation room, face dripping with blood, as Special Agent Mitchell reminds the powerless black criminal in front of him that he has no sensical choice but to become a slave for the US government; it is a scene in which a black man sells his soul to a white devil.

I choose powerful words—pointed words that carry heavy judgment—but make no mistake that picture never paints circumstances in black and white. Even Mitchell is shown to be human, that although he is an FBI agent and that the organization he works for is filled with racists, he is also a man with his own beliefs about race and racial tension in 1960s America.

He is also a father. There is a revealing and terrifying scene between Mitchell and Special Agent Carlyle (Robert Longstreet), the latter asking what the former will do if his daughter ever brought a black man home. King languishes in tight, uncomfortable headshots. We can hear a pin drop as the cornered Mitchell is forced to provide a response. There is the answer in Mitchell’s head, somewhere along the lines of, “Why would it matter if she did?”, and then there is the “correct” answer, the one that his colleague needs to hear.

The Hampton character is given even greater complexity. He is a wonderful orator; he can survey a room full of people, find its pulse, and adapt his words into messages that will resonate. I found it so fascinating that the key issues that the man fought for are issues that progressives are fighting for today: closing the gap in regard to food insecurity—particularly in children, free healthcare for all, free education. You see, those in power remain in power when people are hungry, sick, and uneducated. This role is a strong addition to Kaluuya’s increasingly impressive resume. He creates personas: a public figure, a leader, and a man. Each persona is worth close inspection. And there are times when the identities bleed into one another.

It is most disappointing that the pacing slows to a crawl during the latter third. It is the point where Bill must make a decision on whether or not to betray the man with whom he had grown to have great respect for. Since the material spends the majority of its time with Hampton as well as the Black Panthers as a group but only fleeting moments between Bill and Mitchell, we do not have a deep and thorough understanding of the informant. The title reveals which course of action he will take and so tension must come from somewhere else. But because he is not layered enough—and I think he is meant to be—the battle within himself is not compelling; it simply feels drawn out and repetitive. At one point I thought, “Just get on with it already.”

Regardless of this shortcoming, “Judas and the Black Messiah” delivers a story worth our time, attention, and consideration. It is without question that the film is about race. But it is also about the working class attempting to rise up and the establishment feeling threatened so it feels the need to squash the bugs. Surely it is so annoying when commoners want equality. Why can’t they just be thankful for the crumbs they are given? The story told here happened in the 1960s. But make no mistake that the story continues to this day. That’s the power of the establishment.

Yes Day

Yes Day (2021)
★★ / ★★★★

Notice that if you were to remove Jennifer Garner from this film, it would not be worth seeing. Her joyous performance is so infectious, so full of lightness, giddiness, and vitality, you cannot help to smile even though the picture’s roughest patches. Watch her closely during the busiest moments: despite a handful of people on screen, quirky or crazy things happening left and right, and even when the editing is choppy on top of a blaring soundtrack, her creative choices allow her to rise above it all. Her extensive experience shines through.

This can be observed so clearly when the Torres family, in the middle of their Yes Day, visits a Korean ice cream shop. Garner’s character, Allison, is dressed head to toe like a futuristic pop star on acid. (The youngest of the Torres clan gave her a “makeover” that morning.) Lesser performers would have relied on the character’s appearance to make us laugh. But not Garner.

Because she is so into her character as a mother who wish to prove to her three children (Jenna Ortega, Julian Lerner, Everly Carganilla), believing she is too strict and uptight, that she still has it in her to be in the moment with reckless abandon, Garner channels the younger version of her character who we met during the picture’s terrific opening montage. When she goes down on that enormous ice cream, look at the way she tilts her head. Those eyes sparkle. There is a snap in every movement. She need not say a word to tell us she’s youthful. She brings forth active but subtle comedy as opposed to something that is obvious or passive. Her performance reminded me of Kathleen Turner in Francis Ford Coppola’s time travel film “Peggy Sue Got Married.”

This may sound like effusive praises given that the work is supposed to be a breezy, harmless family film. But I say it isn’t. The best family films, after all, are those that offer something truly special, characteristics beyond just another poop or fart joke, yet another idiot character falling down the stairs or off a ladder while putting on—or taking off—Christmas lights. While I don’t think that Miguel Arteta’s “Yes Day” is special by any means, it is important that we acknowledge good work. In this case, Garner is the jewel that keeps this otherwise ordinary family flick shining.

Yes Day is a day when parents are not allowed to refuse what their children want to do—with a few exceptions such as criminal activities or asking for something in the future (like getting a pet). It is a silly premise, to be sure, but at the same time so much can be done with it. And because there are possibilities, the comedy can be malleable. Strong comedies are never one-note.

For a good while, the movie is riotously entertaining. Credit to the screenplay by Justin Malen, who adapted the project from a children’s book by Amy Korouse Rosenthal (author) and Tom Lichtenheld (illustrator), for having the insight to give the audience a roadmap, in the form of a list, of what the Torres kids wish to do that special day. Because we possess the knowledge that the kids have five events planned for Mom and Dad (Édgar Ramírez), we are given a rough idea about the level of insanity for each succeeding event. (The fifth item on the list is surrounded by stars. You just know something serious will go down.)

It is without question that the film is at its best when it goes all in with its comedy. It doesn’t matter how silly, or dumb, or mainstream a scenario comes across. It is a wish-fulfillment story in the first place. But when it injects superficial drama, like the eldest daughter craving independence from her mother, the pacing is derailed to the point where it becomes unrecoverable. The fun tone turns rather dour and for no realistic reason. This film should have been cotton candy from beginning to end. And I am convinced that a seasoned filmmaker like Arteta knows it, too. But compromises had to be made for the sake of marketability.

I Am Legend

I Am Legend (2007)
★★★ / ★★★★

In most post-apocalyptic movies where the human population is pushed to the verge of extinction, I tend to believe that I not only could live in such a world, I would thrive in it. I relish the idea of walking down streets that are dead silent, driving down the freeway at 120 miles per hour, raiding supermarkets, having all the time in the world to read books, and taking on target practice as a hobby. There is no worry about work, money, family problems, friend dramas, American politics, and attending social gatherings in which you are forced to make small talk.

But not in Francis Lawrence’s “I Am Legend,” a sci-fi action-thriller loosely based on Richard Matheson’s 1954 novel which centers around a military scientist who chooses to stay in New York City because a. it is the ground zero of the worldwide pandemic that killed 90% of the human population and b. he hopes, given enough time and effort, to find a cure. Most of the remaining 10% who had natural immunity to the genetically engineered measles virus, originally hailed to be a panacea for the emperor of all maladies called cancer before the virus inevitably mutated, became food for the rabid, vampire-like monsters.

The first half of the film is terrific entertainment. We follow Dr. Robert Neville (Will Smith) and his German Shepard companion named Sam go on about their day-to-day activities: hunt for deer meat, look for uninfected survivors, visit video stores for a bit of chit-chat with mannequins, a trip to the lab to determine which drugs are effective at killing the virus but not the host, and the like. Although we are in Manhattan, the rules of the new world are demonstrated to us through this microcosm. Critically important: Allow ample time to head indoors before the sun goes down.

For a while, we are are not shown what goes on outside during the night. We hear, however, a cacophony of sounds: wailing, screeching, roaring. Combined, they are deafening, terrifying. It gives the impression that the world no longer belongs to humans but to a new apex predator without regard for rules or morality. Lawrence ensures to focus on Smith’s expressive eyes, particularly when those windows show a mixture of dread and sadness, of anger and determination. Smith fits the role wonderfully; he exudes so much charm that although he must act with nothing by his side other than a well-trained canine, it always feels like there are two people on screen communicating: he with us and us with him as we empathize with his increasingly crippling isolation. At times he himself is unsure whether he has gone crazy.

The less impressive but still tolerable second half begins when Dr. Neville comes across a woman (Alice Braga) and a boy (Charlie Tahan), on their way to Vermont because it is rumored that there is a colony there composed of humans immune to the Krippin Virus. Neither is interesting enough. We feel as though they are introduced to the story simply to push the plot forward. Even though their stay is short-lived, the screenplay by Mark Protosevich and Akiva Goldsman could have found ways to show, with cunning and efficiency, why these two are worthy sharing the screen with the fascinating Dr. Neville. I am convinced they could have found creative approaches given the power and imagination of the first hour so.

Still, there is plenty to appreciate here. A few standout scenes: Sam running into an abandoned building containing a hive of Darkseekers, Dr. Neville coming across a mannequin that should not have been where it was, and all of the flashback sequences when panic takes over Manhattan following the president’s address that the mutated measles virus has gone airborne. This is a memorable science-gone-wrong picture. I wished it closed just as strongly as it began.

The Climb

The Climb (2019)
★★★ / ★★★★

“The Climb” is a story of two losers—Kyle and Mike (Kyle Marvin and Michael Angelo Covino)—who have been best friends since childhood. We meet them biking together and it is immediately noticeable that one is more likable than the other divorced from the fact that Mike has just informed his friend, who is engaged to be married, that he had slept with the the bride-to-be on multiple occasions, going as far back as three years. You know when you meet a person and you get a distinct vibe? Mike evokes an aura of selfishness; Kyle serves as a doormat.

Marvin and Covino wrote the screenplay (Covino directs) and I found it impressive that within a span of five minutes, they motivate viewers to cast heavy judgment on the characters. Big budget mainstream comedies tend to have a difficult time doing this—or they are unwilling to do so in the first place for the sake of a silly thing called likability. The approach is almost always vague and therefore safe; the comedy likely to be situation-based rather than a harsh critique of a person, ingrained behavior, personality trait, or lifestyle. This one goes out of its way to be specific and so the humor is sharp, unexpected, and occasionally brave. I wondered how much of the script is autobiographical because the dialogue, particularly when two people confront one another, sounds real. We readily see pain, shame, anger, and embarrassment on their faces.

There is a naturalism about it that reminded me of mumblecore pictures of the early 2000s. Much of the humor is rooted in its subjects’ shortcomings, for instance. Kyle is a lovable teddy bear, but there are times—I would say too many times—when he lacks spine, especially when the occasion calls for it. We meet his family and the women prove to have strong personalities. So how did he turn out to be such a pushover? But that’s the thing: the movie offers a handful of contradictions in terms of character. And because it does, it inspires us to pay attention that much more, to squint at the well-hidden threads, ask questions, and make educated guesses. Why do these two feel the need to have each other in their lives when it is clear as day that their relationship can be toxic?

Kyle and Mike’s tumultuous story unfolds over several years. It is divided into seven chapters, but there is no title card that denotes how much time has passed since the punchline of the previous one. Eventually, we are conditioned to note much they’ve changed or, perhaps more importantly, not changed. At times the difference between one chapter and another in terms character is an update from Version 2.0 to Version 2.0.2. This is an interesting approach for a comedy, and it works here for the most part. But it comes with notable shortcomings.

I wanted to get to know the duo as complete people—together and apart. But because their story is divided into chapters, we see only glimpses of what makes them happy, sad, jealous, or angry. Although I noted above that they undergo minimal change in terms of big picture, it is important that those changes be explored in meaningful and fruitful ways. While I enjoyed that the film is always on the move, it needed to slow down during the more dramatic moments and wring out every bit of its subjects’ unhappiness, of them feeling lost, of their desperation to forgive or be forgiven. In the end, I felt I understood Kyle and Mike only on a chapter-by-chapter basis, not as people whose story, or stories, will go on past the end credits.

Regardless, “The Climb” is worth seeing because it is not afraid to be intimate. There is no score that urges us how to feel. We must look into people’s eyes, we must observe the distance between their bodies, and we must note how they twitch, or squirm, or hold their breath when they’re about to lose control. This is a movie that values simplicity, yes, but it also values our ability to read people and empathize. I called Kyle and Mike “losers.” But you may not consider them to be. The wonderful thing about this film is that both of us can be correct.

The Block Island Sound

The Block Island Sound (2020)
★ / ★★★★

Writer-directors Kevin and Matthew McManus could have had a real gem on their hands because their story offers a curious premise: nine to ten tons of fish have washed ashore which suggests that there might be something in the deep that drove them inland. But a monster lurking in the ocean does not appear to explain why birds have begun falling from the sky. Nor does it account for why a man named Tom (Neville Archambault), the father of our protagonists, fails to have full control of his body after returning home from a fishing trip. Even the dog next door detects that something is terribly wrong with its neighbor.

“The Block Island Sound” is an excellent example of a work that fails to take off. It goes to show that you can have the best story on paper, but if you fail to harness the power of what makes that particular story compelling on film, then you might as well not tell it. In the middle of this dud, I wondered what percentage of viewers would walk away by the hour mark. Although interesting initially because of the bizarre events transpiring across the island, the film is not entertaining: no investigation is done so answers to the mystery are revealed on a constant basis, there is not one effective jolt to be had, there is occasional humor but making fun of conspiracy theorists is low hanging fruit (Jim Cummings), and there is a lack of thrilling or shocking revelations about the island or the people involved. Like the rotting fish on the coast, the film is dead.

We meet Harry (Chris Sheffield) who lives with Tom, his aging father. His sister, Audry (Michaela McManus), tells her co-worker and potential romantic interest (Ryan O’Flanagan), that his baby brother is short-tempered, a recluse, the type who doesn’t mesh well with others. But we observe Harry and he is none of these things. Already there is a disconnect. Never mind that we are told, rather than shown, how our central protagonist is like. But we are fed a lie, especially so early on. This is only one example. There are other exchanges that should have been excised from the picture completely, either for this reason or that the dialogue leads nowhere, certainly nowhere interesting. Perhaps the goal is simply to extend the duration of movie’s running time.

The film comes across as though it is never going to end. Consider, for instance, that Audry is supposed to be a marine biologist. She’s the responsible sibling, the one who supposedly possesses real initiative, gusto. And yet we never even see her pick up fish that had been washed ashore, dissect it, and place tissue samples under a microscope. A scientist doing nothing when bombarded by questions regarding nature is no scientist. How are we supposed to relate to this character when we are not convinced about her in the first place?

That aside, here is the more important point: A mystery comes to life when there is a relentless investigation, a constant drilling not only to get answers but to get to the truth. Sharp mysteries know there is a difference and yet this movie doesn’t even start an investigation. Why?

And so what results is movie that never stops beginning. I suppose we are given some human drama about Harry being regarded as a screw-up by his sisters, cops, and random townspeople. Although Sheffield seems up for the challenge, and he does create a sensitive portrayal, Harry is not written in a way that demands that we pay attention to a boy stuck in a man’s body. There is a recurring theme regarding out-of-body experiences, but the metaphor does not work if a character, at the very least, fails to undergo an arc. A performer can only emote so much. The screenplay must support the performance. The screenplay would have benefited from a serious overhaul.

Sword of God

Sword of God (2018)
★★★ / ★★★★

Here is a film that does not go out of its way so that viewers will care about its characters in a traditional fashion. It requires only that we observe with a perspicuous eye as two men end up on an island of pagans—one a warrior-priest whose life is defined by Christianity (Krzysztof Pieczynski) while the other a younger man of faith whose moral, ethical, and religious flexibility has allowed him thus far to scrape through most harrowing situations (Karol Bernacki). The former, Willibrord, hopes to convert the locals to Christianity—no matter what the cost. The latter, whose name is not revealed, has other plans. Beauty and horror become one in Bartosz Konopka’s consistently risk-taking experiment. I recommend it most to viewers with a palate for peculiarity; those who tune in for a casual watch will either be baffled or bored. But that’s art: polarity.

Some might claim that the picture is too bleak or grim. But I say that’s colonialism. What I admired about this project is its willingness to embrace the extreme while polishing it just enough so we can admire it in some way. Consider the images shown when we are introduced to the island’s inhabitants early in the picture. We meet them in cave while in the middle of a ritual as they grab mud, shape them, and wear them like masks. Then, as if possessed by animalistic spirits, they plug holes into the mud that’s plastered on their faces using their fingers and eventually peeling the mud off. There are chanting, hollering, and dancing yet there is not a single subtitle that appears to make it clear to us about what is or might be happening. I think the bizarre ritual is equivalent to people going to church and praying—it is only odd to us because we are not familiar with the natives’ culture.

At the same time, I could be completely off in my assessment. But I find that beautiful because possibilities can inspire discussion or debate. The movie goes on like this with great confidence. Something as simple as withholding subtitles from the audience goes a long way in a movie like this. For example, such a choice is a reminder that we are outsiders looking in, that by being on that island, we are not welcome, possibly for good reasons. Notice, too, how within the first minutes, we made to see through the eyes of Willibrord. And when Willibrord lies unconscious on the beach, we take on the perspective of No Name.

What makes this story a horror film is not because of the so-called uncivilized. Yes, they are covered in grime and mud. They do not have traditional homes, or wear ordinary clothing, or offer food that looks delectable. Nearly everything is communal. The film does not show it, but we can surmise that there may not be such a thing as traditional marriage or monogamy. Everyone is constantly touching each other, and I was fascinated by it. Anyone who has an appreciation for culture will recognize that what the locals have is a tight community.

The horror then comes in the form of outsiders who wish to destroy the lives of people simply minding their own business. But to these men, specifically the warrior-priest, the locals must be corrected—that the right way to live, and the only right way to live, is to live as a devout Christian. That intolerance—that lack of desire to learn about and embrace The Other… then being open to teach and be embraced in return—is real-life horror.

And it is happening right this moment. “Sword of God” holds a mirror on what is wrong about our supposedly modern society, as if to make statement that religion’s barbarism has been modified just enough so it comes across as though forcibly converting a community is not an act of rape.