Damsel (or, the 68th Berlin International Film Festival Pt. 3; or, Let's Give Some Love to the Farce)

Damsel (or, the 68th Berlin International Film Festival Pt. 3; or, Let's Give Some Love to the Farce)

Robert Pattinson has supposedly called the movie a "slapstick western," but I have a hunch he may have intended something closer to a "western farce." These terms tend to get mixed up because they often coexist. It's common for a farce to contain some slapstick elements as a way of reinforcing the chaotic and unpredictable nature of the genre (or the spirit of the story being told), but Damsel isn't much of a slapstick anything. It's not a Three Stooges western. It is quite silly, clever and violent at times, but at its heart it is a tragedy -- one that is both funny and sad, sometimes within the same scene. And I think that's a big reason why it makes for a very successful farce.

Don't Worry, He Won't Get Far on Foot (or, the 68th Berlin International Film Festival Pt. 2)

Don't Worry, He Won't Get Far on Foot (or, the 68th Berlin International Film Festival Pt. 2)

Perhaps it's a good sign as to just how much I liked his latest, the recovery tale called Don't Worry, He Won't Get Far on Foot, but I'm now eager to catch up with Restless and Land of Trees (as with Finding Forrester, I still have a hard time finding interest to see Promised Land).

Isle of Dogs (or, the 68th Berlin International Film Festival, Pt. 1)

Isle of Dogs (or, the 68th Berlin International Film Festival, Pt. 1)

Anderson has created his own Roald Dahl-type fable this time. Or, to be more precise, his own The Little Prince. While the Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's classic is about a pilot who crash lands in the desert and meets a little boy from another planet, Isle of Dogs is about a boy who crash lands on an island and meets five dogs who agree to help him find his beloved Spots. In case the hat tip wasn't implicit, the dogs call the mysterious fallen boy, the "Little Pilot."

mother! (2017)


Over at Reviews From the Couch, some thoughts have been collected on Darren Aronofsky's confounding mother!, a movie that dances on the fence between brilliance and nonsense.

"Like The Fountain, mother! is the kind of Aronofsky I begrudgingly admire. I like big swings that don't always add up to a home run. Cinema would be better off with more Aronofskys and less of the unambitious arthouse twaddle that wins Sundance or gets nominated for Best Picture at the Oscars. Filmmakers need to feel like they can take chances and fall flat on their face without getting eviscerated for it, or else cinema is doomed."

Alien: Covenant (2017)

Alien: Covenant (2017)

Is it possible for an Alien movie to still offer surprises? If you've been following the trajectory of these movies for the past few decades, you'd be forgiven for considering the series exhausted. And while I'm willing to admit that lowered expectations may influence my appraisal, it doesn't diminish the fact that Alien: Covenant is by far the best of the last thirty years. But not only that, it's a terrifically twisted horror movie that stands rather well on its own.

The 2016 TAMYs

A critic's best-of list is a lot like a selfie, they're superficial and arbitrary, they provide only a fleeting snapshot's worth of insight, and social media has made them ubiquitous - especially at the end of the year. In the rush to get them out, all the sufficiently-hyped movies of the year get crammed into marathon viewing sessions that offer little possibility for thoughtful digestion and it provides us with a slew of lists that shuffle around the same dozen or so movies. It's especially ridiculous since we all know that over time these things will change; certain movies will pale while others will become deeper and more meaningful.

Yet a lot of traditions are nonsensical and we nevertheless feel the urge to be part of it. It's the same with the awards ceremonies. Last year, I tried to suss out my mixed feelings regarding the Oscars and the potential they have for doing good and pushing things forward, that inevitably get pushed to the side in favor of maintaining a stable business model. I've felt this way for a long time, but each year I'll nevertheless feel the pull of ceremonial tradition and hold out hope that a certain movie or performance might defy the odds. This year, there's the added interest of just how politicized these awards will get. 

There isn't much ritual to the TAMYs, seeing as some years they don't leave the confines of my head, but it's only human to want to join in on a chorus, even if your timing is a bit off and you're in no position to see as many of the world's films as you'd like. 



Yeah, sure, it might be a bit of a cheat (its official first debut was in 2015) but there was no better cinematic experience in 2016 than seeing Julian Rosefeldt's mind-bending and invigorating Manifesto installation. Thirteen simultaneous screens of Cate Blanchett reciting quotes from the twentieth century's most famous artistic and ideological manifestos. In the role of a nightly news anchorwoman, a school teacher, a stock broker, a choreographer, and some more mysterious occupations, Blanchett transforms and inhabits these remarkable characters to give power to the words of futurists, dadaists, surrealists and abstract expressionists, among others.

Rosefeldt shoots fascinating landscapes and remarkably detailed environments for these scenarios, gliding the camera through and around spaces that are often man-made yet strangely alien. His compositions are some of the most striking and engaging I had the pleasure to see last year, and when the thirteen Blanchetts lock into their harmonies every ten minutes or so, it's a spine-tingling and gloriously giddy celebration of art and the power of film - a collision of sight and sound that has left a lasting inspirational impact.      

Here's another caveat: Word from Sundance has been scarce but unsurprisingly underwhelming about the movie-movie version of Manifesto, which has been flattened and re-edited into a linear experience that it was obviously never intended to be. But it's worth seeking out the original version in a space that does the concept justice. Who knows, maybe there's some kind of Zaireeka-esque home-viewing experience one could put together with a bunch of laptops and tablets, but otherwise you'll be missing out on the power of a great testament to some of art's most passionate voices.

RUNNER UPS: Patterson, Toni Erdmann, Love & Friendship, Manchester by the Sea, The Lobster, Hail Caesar, Green Room



After years of delays and false starts, the worlds of Stillman and Jane Austen finally collided in 2016, resulting in a movie with a laughs per minute ratio that is off the charts. Those familiar with Stillman's history (particularly Metropolitan and Barcelona) have come to expect an abundance of charm and wit, but Love & Friendship is perhaps a crowning achievement. Everything that Stillman has previously shown a knack for has never seemed so evident as it is here. Not a line of dialog or gesture from the perfect cast is wasted as Stillman shows a growing strength of the cinematic tools at his disposal.

Perhaps it's odd given that he's been at this for over twenty years, but you get the sense that the years Stillman spent trying to bring his vision of Jane Austen to the screen was exactly the kind of immersive inspiration that can make a director's work suddenly raise itself to another level. This is masterful control of material with a deep understanding of every line, every motivation and how every piece fits together. This isn't to say that his previous work didn't show great thoughtfulness, but I'm not sure if I've been this impressed with Stillman since my first viewings of Metropolitan

RUNNER UPS: Jim Jarmusch, Kenneth Lonergan, Barry Jenkins, Kelly Reichardt



Here's another triumph of construction - Manchester's screenplay unfolds like a tragic novel, with perfectly timed flashbacks that deepen our understanding of the characters and move the story forward. It might sound like Screenwriting 101, but knowing when to hold back information and when to deliver it for maximum soul-crushing impact ain't so easy. Lonergan once again shows himself to be a genius-level storyteller with superb control of sound, music and framing to wrap the viewer around his finger. But it's all there in the amazing script, the beats, the twists and, perhaps most remarkably, the humor.

Everyone makes an understandable fuss about the grief on display in Manchester by the Sea, but it's the wealth of humor that makes it all bearable and all the more human and impressive. If, as everyone likes to say, Lonergan is modern cinema's great dramatist, he's also one of the more important humorists. He knows exactly how comically inept we can be and how we use humor to deflect how hurt, disappointed and damaged we are - not just to protect our own sanity, but to also protect those around around us. Emotions are contagious, after all, and it's not so difficult for a person to end up as toxic mess if they don't try to contain it somehow or other. But what's really difficult is to protect yourself and other when you're suffering from survivor's guilt and self-loathing. To make this subject matter as watchable and engaging as it is, and not slip into unbearable miserablism is a testament to some brilliant writing.

Paterson (2016)

Paterson (2016)

The latest film from Jim Jarmusch is a another meditative character study that proves the auteur is still a master craftsman at the top of his game. Though it might be considered a "small" movie, Paterson has a big heart, with a lot to say about how and why we create art. 

Doctor Strange (2016)

With help from the magical Tilda Swinton, and a physics-defying set piece that is a high-point in the Marvel filmography so far, Doctor Strange has enough style to overcome some weak points in the character department and actually make the 3D surcharge worthwhile.