Category Archives: Drama

1940s, 1943, Crime, Drama, Film Noir, Grade, Review, review-movie, S+, Thriller, Year

Film Review: Shadow of a Doubt – 1943

August 11, 2021 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Alfred Hitchcock
Principal Cast	Teresa Wright as Charlie Newton Joseph Cotten as Uncle Charlie Henry Travers as Joseph Newton Patricia Collinge as Emma Newton Charles Bates as Roger Newton Edna May Wonacott as Ann Newton Hume Cronyn as Herb Macdonald Carey as Detective Jack Graham Wallace Ford as Detective Fred Saunders
Release Date	1943
Language(s)	English
Running Time	108 minutes
Report Card	Click to go to Review TLDR/Summary

The “Merry Widow Waltz” plays as the title sequence goes on.

The title card opens on a shot of couples waltzing to the “Merry Widow Waltz”. A waltz is characterized as being a triple time^[1]A rhythym characterized by three beats to a bar,so it makes sense that this shot of the couples dancing will be be used 3 more times during the film’s run-time, each occasion marking one of 3 pivotal movements in the narrative: the start of the mystery, the mystery’s reveal, and the final conclusion. This shot dissolves to a view of two detectives eating underneath the Pulaski Skyway in New Jersey. The object of these men’s investigation is unknown.

We cut to children playing in a street – an image of innocence. This tranquility is broken by the next shots: canted images of a doorway followed by a window – a darkness hiding under the innocence. We go to a shot of a young man sleeping in a room. The camera pans to a stack of bills next to him and underneath; he has a lot of money but doesn’t care about it. The door to his room opens. A motherly figure enters and informs that him that two of his “friends” showed up and asked for him. It’s clear from the conversation that this woman has no previous relation to the young man but she dotes on him regardless, treating him like one of the children playing outside. He informs her that the two man who inquired after him have never met him before despite being “friends”. Our censors go off at the oddity but hers do not.

Uncle Charlie (Joseph Cotten) pretends to sleep as the blinds are closed.

Instead, she moves towards the blinds and closes them, insisting that the young strange man get some rest. The darkness envelops the mans face as he pretends to sleep before awaking – a denizen of the shadows react to move. He peers out the window and looks down on the two men who wait for him at the corner. This is a common motif Hitchcock employs to demonstrate power: the one who stands on the high ground comes out on top. The young man moves brazenly past the two detectives demonstrating to us that he is: 1. absolutely unafraid of his pursuers 2. the detectives looking for him don’t know what he looks like. They give chase to him but he gets away. The camera pans from the confused detectives who stumble on the ground up towards the young man who watches them from the upper floor of a nearby building; once again, he’s on top.

He goes to make a telegram to extended family of his in Santa Rosa, California. We learn his name is Charlie (Joseph Cotten) ^[2]I will be referring to him as Uncle Charlie for the rest of the review to make disambiguation easier. We learn that he’s an uncle. But we don’t learn why the detectives are pursuing him.

The traffic cop (Earle S. Dewey) stands as a symbol of the idyllic American life.

We cut from the wanted man on the run to the city of Santa Rosa. A cop monitors the traffic. This is a lawful place; an idyllic American city. The cop dissolves into a shot of a house. Like the transition from the children to the canted entrance to Uncle Charlie the transition from the cop to the house also shows a building in disarray. We cut from a canted back entrance of a house to a young woman, Charlie (Teresa Wright), in the same position we found Uncle Charlie in. Charlie explains to her dad, Joseph (Henry Travers), that she’s tired of her family who seems to be in a rut, especially her mother, Emma ( Patricia Collinge),who she feels is overworked and underappreciated. Desperate for a “miracle” she goes off to send a telegram to the family’s favorite uncle and her namesake, Uncle Charlie, hoping that he can shake things up at the Newton household.

Emma (Patricia Collinge) is trapped by Roger (Charles Bates) and Ann (Edna May Wonacott) who accost her from both sides.

At the same time Charlie, a telephone comes in for the Newtons. The call is picked up by Emma who tries to take the call while being accosted by her younger children, Ann (Edna May Wonacott) and Roger(Charles Bates ). The two children “surround” Emma on both sides. However, as soon as the caller mentions to Emma that her brother, Uncle Charlie has sent a telegram informing the Newton’s that he’s going to be visiting them , the camera pans to a new view of Emma; this time she’s “free” and is framed in a new light. It’s clear that Uncle Charlie means the world to his sister.

Charlie (Teresa Wright) walks home excited that her uncle is coming.

Meanwhile, Charlie makes her way to the telegram store where she learns the same information her mother had. She happily exclaims that her Uncle and her have a psychic connection with one another. As she makes her way home, the shot dissolves to a train going off in the same direction. The noise and smoke plume from the train serve as harbingers of the darkness to come. On the train, we learn that Uncle Charlie is “sick”, apparently so much so that no one on the machine has seen him. Uncle Charlie limps out of the train with the assistance of others but straightens up (un)surprisingly quickly upon seeing his family, namely Charlie, running towards him.

Immediately it’s understandable why the family loves him so. He regales Emma upon seeing her causing her to burst with joy. At dinner he presents every member of the family with gifts. Charlie initially refuses but acquiesces after her uncle places the ring on her right right finger. This placement is not a coincidence; if the left hand’s ringer finger marks a legal marriage, the right hand’s ring finger marks an alliance to prohibited.

Charlie notes that the ring is engraved with a couples initials but enjoys the mystery. Her uncle does not share the sentiment and comments he didn’t know it was marked; his face breaks into horror and the the shot dissolves to our first of the three “waltz” refrains; the “Merry Widow Waltz” mystery is finally afoot. This is made explicit as the camera cuts to Joseph talking to his friend Herb (Hume Cronyn) about their shared interest: murder mysteries their machinations. With all the key players finally introduced – the detectives, Uncle Charlie, Charlie, the rest of the Newton family, and Herb – Hitchcock’s thriller can begin with gusto.

Shadow of a Doubt is a story which examines the idyllic American fantasy and it’s nightmarish underside. In many ways the movie is a precursor to David Lynch’s Blue Velvet, seeking to explore the way two seemingly opposite worlds interact with and feed into the others construction. This is why our introduction to both worlds is so stylized. While Uncle Charlie’s world is one of darkness, Charlie’s is one where there is belief in the rule of law. The ring given to Charlie^[3] Speaking of Blue Velvet, Charlie finding the ring is analogous to Jeffrey finding the detached ear. It’s the start of the journey into the mystery world. What do the initials mean? represents the choice, both metaphorically and literally, she has to make, one where she chooses to marry the fantasy of order and legality or the fantasy of chaos and disregard for law.

This battle for dominant fantasy is reflected in the architecture of the Newton residence, which has both a front and back entrance and which serves as the primary environment the movie takes place in. The front entrance is the domain of the idyllic fantasy, while the back entrance is the domain of the nightmare. Connecting these entrances is the stairway which automatically positions people higher or lower than another. Thus, the “everyday” American house becomes the battlefield for the direction of its soul. As Charlie and her uncle learn more about one another, they swap positions; the cat and mouse game flipping on its head as each party vies for the “top” of the stairs. Eventually the intensity of the battle bleeds out to the city proper, as the characters venture to new locale which reinforce the dichotomy between the two worlds.

This movie, for me, is the first of Hitchcock’s masterpieces combining both his sensibilities as the “master of suspense” with an immaculate use of technique to get his themes across in as many ways as possible. From the opening to the final shot, there is not a single wasted camera movement or out-of-place shot. Multiple scenes demonstrate changes in character disposition purely through changes in lighting long before making those changes noted through dialogue. If my long-winded analysis of the opening 20 minutes above wasn’t proof enough, one only has to look at any scene’s ending image to figure out what the point of that scene was; that’s how methodical the direction is. Every minute detail has at least one counterpoint that is meant to draw contrast in order to constantly draw our attention to story’s thematic question. However, none of these moments are ever done for their own sake; every detail supports multiple narrative threads. What seems to be the point of one scene transforms into the set-up for an even more elaborate plot in the next, giving the movie a fully immersive and connected feeling in spite of plot details that would otherwise immediately draw ire. Instead of questioning the story, one is completely captured by it, desperate to figure out where its end will lead. In fact, Hitchcock intentionally uses ellipses in the story by not fully explaining certain plot threads to force us to imagine scenes in the movie without seeing them; that’s cinematic mastery.

Even if one isn’t captured by the way Hitchcock deconstructs the American fantasy, one certainly can’t help but be caught up by the propulsive energy of the narrative which is in large part helped by commanding performances by both Teresa Wright and Joseph Cotton. Both of their characters have to do a juggling act between personas, light and dark, while showing cracks in their personas depending on what the story calls for. There are multiple scenes involving the two of them as they go from scared to received to enthralled and so on without ever skipping a beat. They play off one another believably like partners in a waltz as their worlds bleed into each others.

The end result is a film that effectively demonstrates the fragility of our notions of peace and the dirty processes that result in the successful deployment of such ideas (think Nolan’s The Dark Knight ) without ever treating itself like an epic. By subtly incorporating the themes and driving ideas behind them in and around every small detail, Hitchcock manages to give the questions he’s asking a more universal feeling; their presence can literally be felt in every movement of the movie. In spite of this, the movie never feels overly “showy”, choosing instead to lull the audience into its rhythm until they’re glued to the screen to the very end.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Shadow of a Doubt is a a thrill ride from start to finish, showcasing some of the finest craft and most impeccable storytelling. Even the smallest moment has meaning in this film-noir qua deconstruction of the American dream. Over 40 years before Lynch’s own masterpiece, Blue Velvet, Hitchcock’s work does much of the traversing between the two fantasies of American life: the beautiful dream and the terrible nightmare. And even now it’s just as powerful a watch.
Rating	10/10
Grade	S+

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1960's, 1963, Drama, Grade, Review, review-movie, S, Year

Film Review: Winter Light – 1963

June 30, 2021 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Ingmar Bergman
Principal Cast	Gunnar Björnstrand as Tomas Ingrid Thulin as Märta Gunnel Lindblom as Karin Max von Sydow as Jonas Allan Edwall as Algot
Release Date	1963
Language(s)	Swedish
Running Time	81 minutes
Report Card	Click to go to Review TLDR/Summary

Tomas (Gunnar Björnstrand) guides his congregation in prayer, but his eyes seem like they aren’t focused.

We hear church bells ringing in the background as the title sequence starts. Their presence primes us for the opening scene – the start of Communion. The camera lingers on a Pastor, Tomas (Gunnar Björnstrand), as he solemnly guides his congregation. His face is somber as his eyes seem to distantly gaze to the side of the screen – his mind out of focus. The movie cuts to a shot far behind him, demonstrating that his Church’s flock is small; a pastor diminished during his sermon among a small, disparate gathering guiding them through the Lord’s Prayer.

*Tomas (Gunnar Björnstrand)* kneeling in the church dissolves to a view of it from outside.

The scene dissolves from the inside of the Church to multiple vantage points outside of it, as though Tomas’s mind can’t afford to stay in the building during the prayer – his distance constantly grows until finally the exterior of the church dissolves back into a closeup of his face. Despite his desires to escape God, his mind is unable to detach; the existential crisis becomes apparent.

Members of the congregation are shown on the screen in succession, demonstrating that Tomas’s spiritual conflict is present in them as an entity. The sexton, Algot (Allan Edwall), is seen praying solemnly, reading along the words with a real dedication. Meanwhile, a schoolteacher, Märta (Ingrid Thulin), sits calmly saying nothing while staring forward as if focused on Tomas. However, another shot demonstrates a child bored out of their mind with the word of God desperate to seek some form of entertainment. As the group gets up to receive their daily bread and wine, it’s made apparent that every member has a different reason for being there; a different relation to the divine entirely. This difference is demonstrated in the actions of a young couple; the husband, Jonas (Max von Sydow), barely sips any wine while the wife, Karin (Gunnel Lindblom), seems to drink a healthy amount. What could explain this difference in deference to the blood of God?

The image of the empty church dissolves to an sculpture of Jesus.

Inevitably the congregation leaves the Church and Tomas retires inside. The camera dissolves from the newly empty Church to a fixture of Jesus on the wall – a fixture that hangs behind, slightly behind the left of him. However, as Tomas puts his head down, in obvious pain and discomfort from sickness – physical and metaphysical – the camera repositions the two figures to have Jesus staring at Tomas from behind. It’s telling then at this moment that the young couple from earlier, Karin and Thomas, come in looking for advice. The former explains that while she puts very little stock in the matter, her husband is despondent over the idea of a nuclear war instigated by China; a nihilism that annihilates any attempt at life. Tomas responds that we must trust God.

*Tomas (Gunnar Björnstrand)* realizes the dishonesty of what he’s said.

However, it’s clear that he doesn’t believe his own words as his face gives his true feelings away. His despondent eyes are matched with an accompanying shot of his hands trembling on his desk. He goes towards the couple and faces them in a more intimate arrangement, ready to divulge his more truthful thoughts. He confesses that atrocities in the world make the idea of God remote and as a result he understands Jonas’s anguish. The camera switches to a Dutch/canted angle, as he continues to comment that in spite of his empathetic identification with Jonas’s despair, “life must go on.” Jonas asks, angled in similar fashion to Tomas, “why do we have to go on living?” Thus, the canted conversation crystallizes the crisis of faith established at the start of the movie; how do we find meaning in a world where everything is so tenuous as to be wiped out at any moment? It’s a sickening reversal of the idea of life as positive, instead suggesting that life is out of synch with the universe whose natural condition is one of death – life is nothing more than a temporary blight on an otherwise incomprehensible void. Tomas is unable to give an answer at the moment and the trio agree that Jonas will drop Karin home and then come back. The trio’s attempt at establishing the upcoming rendezvous is fraught with panic as Jonas’s despair seems almost physically manifest as he leaves, making it uncertain on what he’ll end up doing.

As the couple leaves the Church, Tomas is once again left alone only for a brief moment before Märta, shows up and makes it apparent to the audience that there’s some notion of intimacy between Tomas and herself – a flame from the past she seems desperate to (re)kindle more emphatically. She’s an atheist, which as he points out, makes her appearance at Communion earlier strange. She points out that communion is a love feast, so her attendance fit the spirit of the ceremony. He mentions that he feels despair at God’s silence. She responds that God is silent because God does not exist. His metaphysical quandaries are met with her requests for love. Their dichotomy feels like an echo of the younger couple we’ve just seen – a man lost in his existential despair with a woman who tries to save him. Eventually she leaves as well, leaving Tomas alone to grapple with the gravity of what he’s been privy to.

Thus, the stage of Winter Light is set; a man who preaches, having a crisis of faith, forced to give advice to someone experiencing the same despair as him while at the same time being pursued by an atheist who seems more in tune with his faith then even him. Accosted by an unwanted love on one side and an unbearable nihilism on the other, Tomas is forced to navigate a path to coming to terms with his life. Despite taking place over the course of an afternoon, the story is lacking in anything but depth.

Every simple decision characters make become heightened because they transform into representations of the way we orient ourselves to faith. For example, after Jonas leaves there’s a palpable tension in the air because we’re uncertain about how put together Jonas is after being told by a pastor that the world is cruel and unforgiving and we must live in spite of that just because. It’s not a large leap in deduction to think the troubled husband might harm himself. Thus, at a narrative level there’s a genuine sense of dread that’s allowed to exist because of the severity of the content and its presentation. Thematically, his decision becomes one about the value of faith itself.

It’s in this way that the movie elevates its seemingly simple structure into a transcendent masterpiece that tackles the idea of a silent, ungaugable God from a variety of different perspectives. As the movie continues and relationships are revealed, both in the characters backgrounds and in the construction of the mise-en-scène, even the most minute detail transforms into something worth analyzing. Every dissolve that bleeds two images together begs the question of what facets of faith are being called to question on top of why those identifications are being made.

David (Gunnar Björnstrand) tells Minus (Lars Passgård) God is present in love.

These ideas become all the more layered when evaluating Winter Light as a spiritual sequel to Through a Glass Darkly. The movie goes so far as to directly quote this previous entry in Bergman’s unofficially titled “Silence of God” trilogy, by having a character admonish the idea of God being love, one of the key takeaways of the former entry. Funnily enough, this idea is something Björnstrand’s character in that movie, David, espoused. Thus his transformation in this movie – being cold and indifferent – gains a past, so to speak, which help parse even more from each of Tomas’s actions. There’s a referent and context by which to evaluate and further evaluate his decisions. Seen in this way, Winter Light forces Through a Glass Darkly to justify itself, asking David qua Tomas in the form of Jonas how love even matters in a world that is seemingly indifferent to all displays of it. If nuclear war can erupt at any point, a negation of life driven by hate, then what does love mean?

Being able to achieve this depth at all is masterful but to do so in a narrative that only takes 81 minutes while involving only 2 primary characters and 2-4 side characters (depending on how you qualify side characters) is something else entirely – marrying one of the most deftly written scripts with a visual vision capable of matching it.

It’s on that note that both the actors and cinematographer Sven Nykvist must be mentioned, for if not for their combined efforts Tomas’s journey would rob the movie of much of its heavy impact. Most of the movie employs only natural light provided during the cold months of winter which gives the movie a chilling, somber aesthetic which compliments it tonally and thematically. Every burst of light suddenly feels holy because it’s so out of the ordinary. The shadows naturally creep along as the story continues, making the final moments of the movie all the more decisive. Most importantly, the lighting is harsh and doesn’t disguise or hide the actors’ faces in any way. Every pore, every line, every quiver is on display for us to experience.

*Märta* (*Ingrid Thulin*) stares at the camera during her monologue.

Due to the quality of the actors’ performances (main and side), each closeup transforms into a gaze into the soul. The characters’ doubts, interests, and points of identification become clear as we see their eyes look around the frame. This is made evident no more clearly than in an almost 8 minute, nearly unbroken monologue given by Ingrid Thulin as she stares directly at the camera, both at the audience and at the recipient of her message, Tomas. Her eyes shift as she divulges her innermost thoughts, darting towards the lower corners at times as she remembers something or directly down as she gets ready to drop something heavy. Calling it a performance masterclass would be a good starting place to describe what we see. Thulin’s performance is matched by an equally powerful, yet far more morose and despondent performance from Björnstrand, who at one point in the movie delivers a monologue difficult to watch entirely because of how searing and brutal it comes off.

The final result is a film that that probes the darkest places of the soul in an honest and thought-provoking fashion, inviting anyone willing to go on a journey with its characters. Despite its specific Christian background and intimate ties with Bergman’s own religious tribulations, there’s a universal quality in the movie that’s perceptible to anyone who’s ever had that existential feeling of despair that we’re really all alone in the world. By forcing Tomas to go through so many different confrontations with finding meaning in existence, the movie cultivates the grounds by which we can do the same. It’s a piece of art that truly tugs at heart, leaving one in awe by the time the end credits play.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Winter Light is a solemn and profound insight into nature of God’s silence in a world that seems chaotic and unbearably cruel. The naturalistic lighting that accentuates the severity of every one of the actors’ faces to the deft way makes monologues and moments of decision sear through the screen, almost as if directed at us. The script creates parallels between multiple sets of characters and ideas that give it a host of meanings based on how you perceive different identifications. If nothing else, the fact that Paul Schrader’s First Reformed , a modern spiritual masterpiece, was able to lift from and use so many ideas from this movie to such great effect, proves that its apparent simplicity hides a treasure trove of potential within for those willing to look.
Rating	10/10
Grade	S

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2010s, 2017, Drama, Grade, mystery, Review, review-movie, S+, Thriller, Year

Film Review: First Reformed – 2017

May 14, 2021 The Critic 2 Comments

Director(s)	Paul Schrader
Principal Cast	Ethan Hawke as Ernst Toller Amanda Seyfried as Mary Philip Ettinger as Michael Cedric Kyles as Joel Victoria Hill as Esther
Release Date	2017
Language(s)	English
Running Time	113 minutes
Report Card	Click to go to Review TLDR/Summary

The camera slowly pushes in on the First Reformed church.

For over a minute, the camera slowly and quietly pushes in on a church. Upon getting to the building’s base the movie cuts to a sign in front letting us know this is the First Reformed Church. Like the shot getting to the church, this shot of the sign lingers. The movie cuts to yet another image of the church, this time from an angle behind it as opposed to in front of it. The camera lingers once again before cutting to a shot of the church’s door. Another pause as the camera lingers. Four shots. Each silent. This is the movie priming us, letting us know to strap in for the slow and meticulous ride. By using silence and stillness like this, Schrader creates type of meditative lull. We’re desperate to find something to latch onto because it feels like nothing’s been given to us.

Ernst (Ethan Hawke) writes in his journal as he explains to the audience that he writes because he cannot pray. God’s lonely man experiencing a crisis of faith – this is Schrader’s wheelhouse.

It’s at this moment of desperation where the 3 minute long silence is broken by a voice-over by Ernst Toller (Ethan Hawke). The camera cuts to reveal him writing in a journal. The preceding silence of the opening sequence not only signals the importance of the first source of sound but also heightens their spiritual impact. We’re fully attentive to what Toller has to say. It’s at this point he mentions that the journal is his attempt at spirituality – an alternative to praying which, for reasons unknown to us, he can longer engage in. A priest experiencing a crisis of faith.

After a service, Toller is approached by a young mother-to-be Mary (Amanda Seyfried) and her husband Michael (Philip Ettinger). She asks Toller to check in on her husband due to fears that he, Michael, is in a dark spiritual place. Toller agrees and sets out to meet him the next day. He spends the night writing in his journal giving us more to learn about him. His process of introspection is harsh and unforgiving, revealing a man desperate to find inner peace. He ends the entry once again bemoaning his lack of ability to pray.

The camera lingers on Mary and Michael’s house for over a minute. All that happens during this time is a women walking her dog across the screen.

The next day comes. The camera cuts to Mary and Michael’s house. We watch the house for close to a minute during which time all that happens is a women walking her dog across the sidewalk. Like the start of the movie, this sequence a meditative lull, purposely put by Schrader to slow the pace of the movie and get us primed to fully invest in what’s to happen. Eventually Toller does arrive and goes to engage Michael. The 12 minute conversation between the two is the heart and soul of the movie and ranges from topics including anti-natalism to martyrdom. At each turn of the conversation, Michael nihilism regarding the world pours out. It’s clear he’s at his wits end and Toller attempts to diffuse the situation as best as he can before explaining to Michael that the source of his problem is an existential issue that’s plagued us all since the start of time.

Wisdom is holding two contradictory truths in our mind, simultaneously, Hope and despair. A life without despair is a life without hope. Holding these two ideas in our head is life itself.

He explains that, “Wisdom is holding two contradictory truths in our mind, simultaneously, Hope and despair. A life without despair is a life without hope. Holding these two ideas in our head is life itself.” This statement is the thesis of the movie and the jumping off point for the questions it seeks to answer. What is hope? What is despair? What does it mean for something to exhibit hope or despair? How do those ideas change when presented with different interpretations of the divine?

These spiritual questions become more poignant because the circumstances under which they arrive are intimately tied to the material issues the movie tackles. For example, what does environmental preservation look like once you consider the problem of evil. Did God mean for us to destroy the planet for some greater end? If so does that mean renewal efforts are problematic? The movie constantly throws loops like these and more (opposing Bible verses for example) into the equation causing us to re-evaluate the same event over and over sometimes multiple times in a scene. These moments not only force us to ask whether or not what the character’s are doing wrong but also whether or not our own actions hold up to judgement. Schrader can only achieve this level of audience engagement and introspection because of the perfect way he marries narrative and structure.

At a narrative level, Schrader’s script sets everything up for success. The story of a priest helping the troubled husband of a young couple is lifted from Bergman’s Winter Light. The loner on a mission who slowly becomes obsessed with a singular goal is lifted from his own Taxi Driver script. The voice-over narration and the journal is lifted from Bresson’s Diary of a Country Priest (which Schrader also previously lifted for Taxi Driver). These larger allusions are combined with a host of other references (ex: Tarkovsky) to create a sum that’s genuinely greater than its parts. This is because every element lifted over is only done so if it helps tie into and expand the theme and the content involved is updated to be more relevant to an audience now. Nothing is homage just for homage’s sake. It all has a purpose.

For example, in Winter Light the main preacher, Tomas, is someone who’s frustrated with the silence of God. He’s an angry man dealing with the loss of a wife. His encounter with Jonas, Michael’s double, is marked by complete despair. Likewise, Toller is someone who’s dealing with his own crisis of faith. He’s dealing with the loss of his wife and son. His encounter with Michael, is marked by hope and despair, primarily because he sees Michael as an counterpoint to his deceased son. The lifted plot thus becomes distinct and opens new points of contrast that were unavailable before. Furthermore, Jonas is concerned about the threat with China. Michael is primarily concerned with anthropogenic climate change. The latter is far more relevant to an audience today. This is true of most of the call-backs to other movies. The structures/ideas are imported over, but are constructed in strict point and counterpoint duos to explore the ideas of hope and despair.

The way that Schrader has taken and developed these story ideas is most apparent when comparing First Reformed to Taxi Driver. Both stories employ Bresson’s voice-over tool to get us in the protagonists head. The technique not only lets us know them but gets us invested in rooting for them. In Taxi Driver, Travis Bickle, the protagonist, is a loner desperate to find a place. He’s never found a way to belong so his attempts at finding normalcy are utterly strange even if they initially come off as endearing. We’re sympathetic to his struggles even if we can’t understand him. As his decision making becomes more erratic we experience a strange shock. While Toller shares this desperation to find a place, he’s more mature and grounded. Unlike Travis, he’s had a family and a past before. Unlike Travis, he’s able to articulate the nature of his existential crisis. He’s not just being assaulted by a unassailable alienation. This makes his journey more easy to latch onto and comprehend. It’s not sympathy but empathy that gets us on his side. He reads. He thinks. He’s contemplative and kind, even if he’s harsh on himself. His nature as a priest makes him automatically someone we’re more receptive towards. As his decision making becomes more apparent, we become incredibly unnerved. By pushing us even more into the corner of his lonely protagonist, Schrader manages to increase the impact and feeling of every decision that’s made. It’s one thing watching a loose canon go closer to the extreme. It’s another thing entirely to watch a self-tempered man of God go to the same places.

Schrader’s dedication to using his “transcendental” style to structure the movie makes these hard hitting moments that much more effective ^[1]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mFcCs8c2n6I. He litters the movie with odd little sequences that only serve to elongate the time between moments of tension. We’re forced to sit with our thoughts and take in the world. Every event is given it’s importance. Every decision’s significance becomes that much more relevance. By testing our patience, Schrader ensures we’re invested in the story and thinking about the relevance of what’s going on.

Ernst (Ethan Hawke) and Michael (Philip Ettinger) speak about a host of issues. The initial conversation is framed in a two shot to force the audience to pick sides.

This is reinforced at a visual level in both the drab color palette, the smaller aspect ratio (1:37) , and the basically un-moving camera. Nothing on the screen is ever meant to distract so nothing is flashy. This makes visceral scenes that much more direct. The screen itself is smaller and more constricted than usual, limiting the amount of information we have to work with and forcing us to pay even more attention to what we actually get. An unmoving camera forces us to stay focused on what’s happening in front of us, giving the moments that play out a duration which adds to their intensity. They also help build anticipation as the camera will stay focused on nothing as characters converse off frame. Unlike a normal movie which would pan over to the characters, Schrader often chooses to just wait till the characters come back in. Dialogue scenes are usually filmed in two shots (with both characters in frame) or in respective singles. Unlike most movies now, there are no over-the shoulder shots. Put together, the techniques lead to an rare intimacy with the characters. When they talk directly at the screen it feels like they’re talking to us. No over the shoulders mean no defense against their questions and concerns. The impact of what is happening is something that must be confronted.

Similarly, the soundscape is mainly quiet and filled with diegetic (within the world of the movie) noises, like footsteps or the wind blowing. When non-diegetic sound is finally introduced over an hour into the movie, it’s presence coincides with a startling event. The movie makes clear strides not to use any non-diegetic music, opting instead for a disconcerting droning noises to emphasize the uneasiness of the situations playing out.

Even the actors aren’t spared the quieting treatment as Schrader directs them to be as non-theatrical as possible. None of the characters ever emote in a way that’s showy or overly familiar. They’re not stoic, but their immediate feelings aren’t easily accessible. You have to take the time to look at them and see the slight nuances they give off. The emotional depth present only reveals itself to those willing to give to the movie as much as they want to take.

Ethan Hawke exemplifies subtle acting in this scene as he slowly closes his eyes and demonstrates a light feeling of satisfaction in response to the Church choir’s singing. The slow way the music washes over him is played subtle enough to show its impact without feeling showy or staged.

For example, in one breathtaking scene Reverend Toller walks in on the church’s youth choir singing “Are You Washed in the Blood”. He quietly takes a seat in the audience and lets the music envelop him. Hawke’s acting is subtle. He doesn’t do anything ostentation. Instead he closes his eyes slowly and lets the smallest slimmer of a smile creep up. The speed at which he does it makes it feel like Toller is actually experiencing something washing over him. The movie is filled with moments like these and it’s testament to both Schrader and his actors that most of them leave such a powerful impact.

The telos of all these surgically precise decisions is to generate a piece capable of reaching the audience on a truly spiritual level. Just like William Friedkin’s The Exorcist, First Reformed gives to the view exactly what they put in. One’s disposition towards hope or despair colors the way the entire story progresses, and the more one intensely relates to the context by which these ideas are presented the more intense the culmination of the entire experience becomes. Every critical juncture within the story presents a point and counterpoint – a path of hope and a path of despair. These moments allow the audience, the characters, and Schrader via proxy to engage in dialogue constantly, transforming the moments of silence the film employs into opportunities for reflection and gestation. We’re allowed to bask in the severity of what’s being explored. The final scene is the ultimate closing to everything leading up to it; it’s construction fully makes use of past judgements on the part of viewer so no two viewing experiences will ever be the same.

First Reformed is the culmination of a lifetime of work and represents the absolute crystallization of Schrader’s style, a culmination of the ideas he’s been bringing to life for the past few decades. It’s filled with references and allusions to Schrader’s favorite movies, informing us both of the movie’s place in the transcendental cannon and Schrader’s own thought process in the story’s construction. Despite this, the movie feels completely unique because each reference has a distinctive purpose in the grander scheme of the theme .It’s a movie where every move has purpose each of which can be traced back to Schrader’s own writings on what makes transcendental filmmaking . Toller being a more mature Bickle is emblematic of the way First Reformed is the maturation of Schrader’s “lonely man” narrative – a story he’s been telling since the 70’s. It is my favorite movie of his (including both his written and directed works) and one every person should watch. If you authentically give yourself to it and the ideas it presents, you may find yourself in the midst of a genuine spiritual journey.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	First Reformed feels like Paul Schrader’s most distilled and rigidly methodical movie. This tale of a reverend dealing with a crisis of faith might be Schrader’s latest in a long line of God’s lonely man stories, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have something unique to say. By combining the ideas and plot structures from his favorite spiritual movies and his own former works, Schrader is able to create a truly unique tale exploring the depths of hope and despair. Every move made from editing to lighting, is done in accords with the transcendental method Schrader defined so many years ago in his seminal work, Transcendental style in film: Ozu, Bresson, Dreyer. He makes use of dead time, an unmoving camera, minimal noise in the soundscape, and the like to lull us into his character’s point of view before then dragging us along our own parallel spiritual journey. This is a movie that demands an active audience to parse meaning from it because answers aren’t clear and points of emphasis aren’t made clear. Every scene requires the audience to make a choice on what is and is not important and why. The more you give to the movie, the more it gives back to you. If you’re someone who’s loved Schrader’s past works (both written and directed), you owe it to yourself to check this out. At the very least, using it as a reference stick against his other movies will give you a lot to inspect regarding his evolution as an auteur. Likewise, if you’re someone who enjoys slow moving spiritual works in the vein of Dreyer and Bresson, you should check out the movie for similar reasons. The way it remixes references and ideas is something truly innovative and demonstrates proper allusions can make a work that much stronger.
Rating	10/10
Grade	S+

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2000s, 2002, A+, Art House, Comedy, Crime, Drama, Grade, Review, review-movie, Thriller, Year

Review: Punch Drunk Love

January 28, 2021 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Paul Thomas Anderson
Principal Cast	Adam Sandler as Barry Egan Emily Watson as Lena Leonard Philip Seymour Hoffman as Dean Trumbell Mary Lynn Rajskub as Elizabeth Egan
Release Date	2002
Language(s)	English
Running Time	95 minutes

The movie opens on Barry Egan, an plunger entrepreneur who’s engaged in conversation with a help desk of sorts. His conversation style is awkward due to the importance and seriousness of the subject he’s speaking about – an airwards mile rewards program. This conversation is shot on a handheld camera. This is on purpose- many moments the movie explores, Barry’s awkwardness is a natural predisposition towards the world that manifests in his shaky lack of control over the way it should work.

Barry Eagan (Adam Sandler) isolated through mise en scène
as he talks about an airplane rewards program. He’s in a corner oppressed by the shadows that encroach him.

He is surrounded by the colors blue and white – the blue matches his suit and feels like an extension of himself. The white feels oppressive especially with the way the shadows loom all around. He feels enclosed – stuck in a rut, threatening to get engulfed by the darkness around him. This is a pattern he needs to break.

He gets up to open his garage and literally disappears from the screen. Saying he’s in in a dark place is putting it lightly. As he looks out at the entrance to his garage lot the camera cuts to the entrance of the lot quite and starts tracking to the left side of it. Unlike the sky that surrounds Barry – a melancholic blue -the site on the street is a gradient of purple – a mix of blues and reds. Up to this moment, the soundscape has been minimal and precise outside of Barry’s footsteps, his dialogue (obviously), the scribbling of his notes, and similar small details.

Barry (Adam Sandler) walks away from his desk.

This calculated calm gives way as a red car flips over the street violently. The sound of its crash is jarring – a wake up call – a signal to Barry that change is coming. Immediately after this crashed car skids down, a red moving van drops off a small harmonium before quickly driving off. Two red vehicles arriving at the same time disrupting the silence – in intervention in Barry’s life. The camera zooms onto the discarded harmonium before quickly cutting to Barry at his desk – his body replacing the space the piano was previously in. The piano will come to play an intimate part in his life.

Barry (Adam Sandler) looks out at the street in from of the lot he’s located at.

He goes through another awkward but telling phone conversation – socializing is not his strong point. The conversation ends and he goes outside once more. This time the sky is bright, filled with the sun- a warm radiance. A woman dressed in red, Lena, runs out of her white car. The warmth of the sun seems drawn to her. She’s fully illuminated as she runs towards Barry. Due to some unforeseen scheduling issues she needs his help getting her car to the mechanic next door. Barry plays it cool and lets her know he’ll be of assistance .

Their conversation is accompanied by a multicolored lens flare which shows up in between them. A bridge of light made up of red and blue colors – a connection willingly made by two parties. As she walks away the camera pauses on her standing next to the harmonium. Another connection made between a person and the harmonium. Now the two red interruptions (the red cars and Lena) are linked to an instrument (the harmonium) that’s linked to Barry.

He waits coyly for her to leave before rushing back into his garage/office. He hides in the shadows. The blackness consumes him. This is a momentary paralysis – a fear of the decision he has to make. A brief pause later and he choses to go into the light. His silhouette stands strongly and resolutely – a sign of his determination. The blackness goes from imposing to representing a moment of agency – from the shadows to the light. Speaking of the light, the harmonium which has been tied to Lena – a literal beacon of light, beckons Barry forward. To demonstrate to us the severity of Barry’s upcoming decision – PTA opts to show us our protagonist along with the harmonium from 3 separate angles , even going so far as to break the 180 degree rule( Barry’s orientation changes in images 7 to 8 as he goes from facing left to facing right) . The decision to take the harmonium is one of vital importance and as Barry decides to take it another truck violently zooms. As the truck goes by there’s another loud and abrasive car noise – a counterpoint to the first crash – a confirmation of a choice that has been made.

Barry (Adam Sandler) goes out into the blinding sunlight as a white car approaches him.

He brings the harmonium back to his private office – a room which he keeps free from the chaos of his work environment. As he sets to examine the instrument, a blue lens flare appears- this is an important moment of determination from Barry . His face which was previously covered in shadows becomes enveloped in a light as the camera slowly zooms in on him staring at the instrument- he’s lit up by an outside brightness just like with Lena earlier.

As he plays the instrument, Jon Brion’s “Punch Drunk Melody” starts up in the background alongside the wonky harmonium notes Barry plays -the first meeting of the non-diegetic experimental score with the deliberate diegetic soundscape feels like an orchestra of sorts. The silence from earlier feels like a deliberate refrain akin to a song which helps tie the newfound audio to Berry’s newfound decision making process. The idea to bring in the harmonium is the key to everything – it brings “music” into Barry’s life. Even if the character’s can’t hear it, the non-diegetic score blends in with the sounds of their life, giving their actions and behaviors an accentuated rhythm.

One of Barry’s employee’s shows up and asks why there’s a harmonium in the main office . Barry initially ignores the question. He slowly dances out of the office with his eyes fixated on the harmonium almost as if in a trance. As he’s asked again he responds, “I don’t know.” Watch the movie to find out why.

Barry (Adam Sandler) sits down to tinker with the harmonium after picking it up off the street. There’s a blue lens flare showcasing how this manifestation of his will is important for what’s to come.

To commemorate the start of Barry’s journey, the movie cuts to a Jeremy Blake art piece that showcases colors and shapes slowly dissolving, transforming, molding, and becoming one another. A gradient of pinks become blue become stars in the night sky become rainbows that cascade across the screen. The soundscape changes as music and dialogue interplay with one another – the diegetic/non-diegetic boundary continues to come undone as this plane of attributes coalesces into something before cutting to the next scene in the movie.

This living art piece is the framing device holding the elements of the movie together and is cut to at 4 critical junctures in the movie – moments of decision or change (this decision and resulting question being one of them) . The infinite array of sounds and changing visual schema represent the potential inherent to any decision – anything is possible. Highlighting the malleability of a situation by tying key junctures to the literal visual depiction of change helps drive home the importance of Barry’s decisions. However, Blake’s work also lets PTA say something about the act of cinema itself. It’s an assemblage of moving parts – lights, colors, sound, sound design, shapes, compositions, and so on- that can blend into an infinite array of phenomena. The particular presentation of a moment then, is incredibly important. It’s a distinct manifestation of the attributes done in an explicit way to elicit a feeling. As such it’s not just Barry’s decisions that are highlighted as important to the narrative, but also the auteur’s (and their respective cohorts) decisions to film scenes in certain ways.

Jeremy Blake’s constantly changing art piece serves as the framing mechanism that orders and matches the form, content, and themes of the movie into one cohesive breathing entity. This changing assemblage is a meditation on art, a deliberation on deliberation, love given a visual form, and the movie in its basest.

In Barry’s case – his decision involves love, hence the title of the movie. His awkward mannerisms and tendencies to hide in the shadows and become paralyzed are only the beginning of his character traits. As the movie continues, it’s clear that Barry is a man who struggles with his self image and doesn’t have full control over his impulses. He constantly commits Freudian slips, breaks into immense moments of emotional volatility, breaks things, awkwardly tries to get out of situations, and similar such behaviors. However, in spite of this he’s not a “bad guy”. It helps that Adam Sandler is naturally goofy and charming and those natural qualities bleed into his performance here. It’s this veneer of likability that gets us on his side cheering for him as opposed to against him and his manic patterns.

The movie uses every detail possible to showcase his developing agency, the way it manifests, and the way he feels about himself before and after such manifestations (identity). The movie uses colors, shadows, camera moves to highlight the way Barry sees and perceives every situation. White/yellow represent change and feel almost paralyzing. Change is horrifying and Barry spends much of time petrified in the white. Blue is the color of Barry. Obviously blue is connoted with a melancholy/depression which makes sense given where Barry is, but the color is more representative of his will. His fate and sense of being. Red is the color of Lena. It is the color of both love and violence. As evidenced by the red car and truck at the start of the movie, there’s both forces are explosive in their own right. Black is the color of determinacy – it represents a stabilization of attributes – a manifestation of the will. Characters constantly change their outfits in slight ways – changing colors to show their thought process and where they’re going to go. By adopting other characters’ colors, it’s evident that people can become a part of one another – that which was alone becomes part of a whole. Lens flares show moments of decision – the potential of a person activating a change and making a meaningful choice. These colors are draped in either a blinding light or a overwhelming shadow – the light and dark side of each of these colors – the duality between love and hate.

The innermost feeling of the characters are felt in the soundscape. As I have mentioned before, Brion’s work melds in seamlessly with the world of Punch Drunk Love. It is evocative and experimental – the sounds get under the skin like they’re being tapped or blown in the ear. It’s a direct and unforgettable kind of noise. It is also an explosion, turning beautiful and romantic at one moment to brutal and anxiety inducing at the next. There are other moments where the score fades to the background if not disappears altogether when something important is happening. For example, chaotic scenes might have a thumping score that ceases for a few moments as characters find a sense of peace.

Every single element of the movie works and is elevated because every point has a counterpoint (if not multiple) to tie together symbols and ideas into recognizable motifs- tying plot and theme together in an organic way that’s subconsciously understandable even if not particularly noticeable. The use of color, light, and certain musical cues only scratch the tip of the iceberg. In the same vein as Blue Velvet, the story is split and explores a seedy underbelly (violence) and a beautiful, charming, picket-fence world (love). Our protagonist has to navigate and deliberate between this split world and come up with a way of living in the world because his worldview is shattered/incomplete as of now. The counterpoints in each of these social spheres help reinforce the idea of love and hate being two sides of the same coin (as evidenced by the crash early on) – two instantiations of passion.

With Sandler and Watson’s performances as the leads along with more than satisfying performances from Hoffman and other members of the supporting cast, the movie feels fully realized. Sandler and Watson have a chemistry that’s undeniable – it helps keep the more absurd moments of the movie endearing, so they pass off as something heartfelt as opposed to disconcerting. Both of them bring something from the other and their relationship is one you cheer for. Sandler in particular taps into a darkness that gives his character the capacity to deal with both the light and dark worlds the movies present (a precursor of the depths he would end up going to in the more recent Uncut Gems).

As evidenced by the swarm of screenshots and stills, this is a movie where every frame has a purpose – a definite meaning. Every lens flare, every use of color, ever crash, every beat shift, every movement of the characters is purposeful and comes together to create what can only be called a true cinematic experience. I could spend hours just poring over the mise en scène, cinematography, shot composition, etc but the main point I want to emphasize is that the meticulous attention to detail more than pays off. Every symbol is introduced in a dynamic and distinctive way. Symbols are tied together to narrative cues and elements of the movie. The repetition of these motifs along with the symbols gives the movie a host of meanings that film nerds can get completely lost in. On top of this the score and pacing of scenes gives the movie a beat that every characters actions and decision seem to abide by – there’s even a moment where Barry dances in a grocery aisle that feels like it could be from a musical. This underlying rhythm helps keep the pace steady and consistent – even in quality from beginning to end. This is all then tied together by a framing mechanism that’s quite literally a meditation on art form – giving the formal decisions of the movie a resonance that can’t help but be appreciate.

It’s a movie that shows cinema as love. Every decision really is important and by giving such dedication to every element – big and small- PTA manages to take that love as plot point and transform it love as audience response. In the same way the non-diegetic music has the characters moving along to it, as if they can hear its reverberations making some kind of impact on the rhythm of the world, the movie has us completely entrapped by it. Without even knowing why, we’re wrapped up in a love story, a meditation on film, and a look at the way trauma manifests and can be resolved all without ever being hit over the head with it. We fall in love.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Punch Drunk Love is a masterpiece that needs to be seen to be believed. It is a true demonstration of the potential of cinema as an art form , of cinema as a conduit to emotion. The way that formal elements are set up, utilized, referenced, and grouped into more discernible patterns shows that PTA has made every decision deliberately. Symbols and their respective ideas are shown explicitly, subtly, and repeatedly with multiple scenes constantly hammering the connections between different ideas. From the everything is color coded to the way the score transforms the movie into a spiritual musical , this is a movie that really has something for everybody. It’s funny, charming, disturbing, heartwarming, beautiful, meditative, and everything in between – a potential that’s constantly giving .
Rating	10/10
Grade	A+

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2020, 2020s, A+, Black-Comedy, Crime, Drama, Grade, Review, review-movie, Thriller, Year

Review: Promising Young Woman

January 26, 2021 The Critic 2 Comments

Director(s)	Emerald Fennell
Principal Cast	Carey Mulligan as Cassandra/ “Cassie” Bo Burnham as Dr. Ryan Cooper Clancy Brown as Stanley Jennifer Coolidge as Susan
Release Date	2020
Language(s)	English
Running Time	113 minutes

Charlie XCX’s “Boys” plays accompanied by a montage of men’s hips thrusting and gyrating in a bar setting. A pop song that means something more.

Montage of men’s groins as they dance in the bar. The early montage accompanied by Charlie XCX’s “Boys” sets the stage for the analysis of phallocentrism and agency to come.

The song’s accompanying music video is a view on alternative masculinity – men commit to performing “sexiness” in alternate fashions ^[1]Kim, M. (2018, March 17). We need to talk about charli xcx’s very important “boys” video. Retrieved February 09, 2021, from … Continue reading. The video showcases men acting like prototypical women in sexy photoshoots, but treats the whole endeavor as more wholesome. The result is a exploration of the ranges of masculinity. As a result, the song’s hook, “I’ve been busy thinking about boys,” comes to mean something far more. It’s thinking about alternative instantiations of masculine agency. Promising Young Woman operates in a similar fashion- it has a lot to say about the way power and gender operates under its stylized poppy exterior.

The montage ends and the movie moves to a conversation among 3 men in the bar who engage in “locker room” talk. It starts off with them trashing on some coworkers until they notice Cassandra, a seemingly inebriated and thoroughly “wasted” woman, laying passed out on some couches.

Cassie (Carey Mulligan) slumped against the red couches in the back of the bar. Unbeknownst to her prey, she waits for them to make a move patiently.

The group’s insults turn towards her as they cast judgement on her poor decisions. If anything happens to her it’s her fault for not taking care of herself – rape culture. One member of the group, Jerry (Adam Brody), feigns worry about Cassandra’s state and goes to help her get home. He lets his friends know and they immediately and holler – the implication is clear. Rape becomes an in-joke – consent is murky and she was asking for it, but it’s all a joke so there’s plausible deniability. The moment he gets her out of the bar and into a rideshare vehicle, he announces that his apartment is “close by” and actively changes the GPS end location. He tells Cassie they can have some drinks at his place. The man who was concerned about the drunk girl getting taken advantage of takes her home to give her more alcohol. Did we expect something different?

Meanwhile, the cab driver feigns ignorance. It doesn’t matter that a drunk woman is being escorted by a stranger blatantly taking advantage of her. We’ve met 4 men so far -3 were willing to look past the obviously drunk woman being escorted by someone she doesn’t know while 1 is fine taking her home despite knowing she can’t consent to anything . Complicity is not direct participation says the former group but that complicity is what serves as direct affirmation for the latter person. As such everything becomes forgiven.

Unfortunately for Jerry, he’s finally run into someone who can’t forget and definitely can’t forgive. As he removes her underwear despite her protests and questions about what he’s doing, she looks up directly at the camera- at the audience – to clue us in on on a little secret; she’s the one who’s in charge. No longer relegated to the periphery of society, she flips the script and reveals her drunk performance was nothing more than bait set out to lure prey to her.

This moment is one of the most striking and demonstrates early on that this is Cassie’s (Carey Mulligan) story. As she’s being stripped she stares at the camera, breaking the fourth wall, to let us know that this is all going according to her plan and that she’s more in charge of everything happening than we think. This is an important idea the movie expands on, using Cassie’s status as “writer” of the story to explore the way agency can manifest under oppressive circumstances. Notice how the Christmas lights surround her in the first and third images like a boundary of sorts, but as soon as she reveals she’s in charge the next shot shows her with the lights below her. She’s outside of the box.

Furthermore, the way she carries over her “gotcha” look from the audience to Jerry reflects the way that the problems the latter represents are endemic in society proper, not just the world of the movie.

She had “been busy thinking about boys” all along – their agency, their ability to inflict violence, their nice guy personas, the way society actively helps protect/enable them, and had decided that enough was enough.

The movie cuts from Cassie revealing to Jerry that she’s very much conscious to her walking down the street, a red smear on her leg. In a typical revenge movie, this smear would be blood- the presence of the torture that Cassie enacted on Jerry in her “revenge”. However, this is a movie that’s painfully aware of narrative conventions and subverts them in an attempt to interrogate the underlying logic of a phallocentric society – one where rape culture, as the movie demonstrates heads on , is pervasive and built into the “rules”. The camera continues to tilt up and reveals a similar huge red smear on Cassie’s arm. However, it’s made immediately apparent that the red smears aren’t blood but are jelly from the doughnuts instead. What we thought to be blood turns to be something far more innocuous instead – violence transformed into something sweet and sugary.

Cassie (Carey Mulligan) wipes off jelly doughnut filling after her rendezvous with Jerry. The way the camera tilts up along with revenge-story tropes makes us think this is blood, but the deflection is done purposefully. It’s an early sign to to the audience to be aware of revenge narrative tropes and to break down why they are/are not being implemented in certain ways and what that says about a character’s position in relation to power structures.

As she continues to walk, Cassie is accosted by cat-calling construction workers across the street who deride/shame her for having had a crazy night out. They laugh at her. She stares back at them. She is unmoving. She is unfazed. Her gaze unsettles them to the point of distress. They immediately call her a spoil sport and go off. Her refusal to play along to the scripted relation by frustrates them. She continues on her path until she gets home. Once she’s inside her room she retrieves a journal, flips through dozens upon dozens of pages, deliberately and aggressive adds a count to a tally which appears to be color coded, flips to another section of the journal, and then proceeds to write out the name Jerry in a list that contains a staggering number of names. What’s been done to Jerry or any of these other names is still unknown at this point.

This is simple, clean, and effective visual storytelling. It’s immediately clear that Cassie has been playing rape culture vigilante for a while. The throng of names and tally marks give an indication of the count, but the way that indentations bleed from page to page show brutal and destructive the whole endeavor has been for Cassie. Hundreds of people have tried to do God knows what to her to the point where she has a healthy running tally. No wonder she’s so fatalistic. How does one live in a world where one is constantly reduced to a passive object that can be casually used and discarded?

Her name Cassandra is fitting. In Greek myth, Cassandra is a princess who catches the eye of Apollo, rejects him, and then is cursed with the power to tell of prophecies that will come true but that no one will listen to. ^[2]“Cassandra.” Merriam-Webster, Merriam-Webster, www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/Cassandra. A woman cursed by a man for rejecting his advances who is then condemned to tell the truth but be ignored. That description seems to hit a lot of marks especially as we proceed through the story. Given that Cassie’s prophecies are doomed to be ignored the question becomes how does she exercise agency? How can rape culture be fought when it’s part and parcel of society at large – when people hear the truth but choose to ignore it? This is where the movie’s play and subversion on narrative ideology comes in.

The revenge story is the cultural mythos of this society – a man who is wronged in some way musters up the wherewithal necessary to beat down whomever stands in his way whether it involve underground criminal organizations or covert government forces. Even when women are written in as the leads, the way they deal with the problems and scenarios doesn’t differ in a meaningful structural level. The “good” guys win and the “bad” guys lose. The overall result is a kind of propaganda that doesn’t meaningfully wrangle with subjectivity. Promising Young Woman does the opposite of this by having Cassie act with a distinct womanhood. It recognizes that the world forces certain vantage points upon people based on their social position and actively positions the narrative and its development around Cassie and her subjective orientation towards the dominant social order.

Everything from the way she deals with her night-time vigilante situations to the way she handles her fundamental revenge mission plays on familiar tropes (look back to the aforementioned doughnut example). By placing her in typical revenge confrontations and delaying the reveal of what she actually done, the movie forces us to examine just how brutal the rules of the social order are for some while they’re unfairly stacked in the favor of others. We have images of what we think Cassie has done which help reveal our complicity in/normalization of the system and the movie cleverly shows us how out of depth we are when it reveals what’s actually happened. Furthermore, Cassie’s relation to her trauma is kept as anonymized as possible – there’s no “face” to attach to it per say. It makes placing yourself in Cassie’s shoes incredibly easy because her relationship becomes something more universal – the anonymization helps showcase just how deep seated rape culture is and how devastating it can be to all involved.

The end result is a striking dialogue that engages the audience on multiple levels. It becomes clear just how integrated certain ideas are within our psyches and how they colors our view on envisioning the realm of possible action, both for ourselves and other people. It shows us just how easy it is to distract away from violence by framing it in more abstract terms – a sweeping under the rug that does nothing but tidy the mess. This is reflected in the structure of the movie, which uses Cassie’s orientation towards her trauma as a way to constantly change the genre. As her character arc progresses the movie goes from thriller/black comedy, to rom-com, to drama, to fantasy with some some great transitory bits in between. Each of these moments uses Cassie’s character disposition, the music, the use of montage (like the one that starts the movie), and so on to reveal a vantage point that women can occupy in respect to a male dominated order. Some of these genre moves feel abrupt (ex: a rom- com styled dance sequence that pops up out of nowhere is a common criticism I’ve seen in some reviews) because they are meant to critique the way these issues are normally pushed aside in favor of more lighthearted and palatable discussions – the range fantasies go in concealing the true nature of what’s going on.

The framing mechanism takes elements from Cassie’s (Carey Mulligan) personal journal and makes them chapters in the story. This further emphasizes her agency in constructing what we’re seeing and helps to drive the point the story is making.

Structurally the movie makes use of a list of targets from Cassie’s journal as a framing device. This directly ties form to content – the story (movie proper) is Cassie’s tale. This is the story she’s writing and the framing mechanism does an important job in both establishing the way she thinks about how to deal with her trauma and what “winning” against the same looks like. Each genre shift forces you to think about what her agency means. There are multiple moments where you’re left wondering if her range of choices were really as limited as presented or if that limitation was meant to reveal something else entirely.

Holding all these strands together is Cary Mulligan’s standout performance as Cassie. She’s the emotional center of the movie and single handedly helps every story thread come together in a cohesive and moving fashion. Her deadpan delivery along with her witty dialogue makes her easy to root for. The anger by which she emotes make it easy to understand how serious what she’s dealing with is. There are moments where she moves around on the camera like a hunter- slowly pushing her target to the corner of the frame trapping them – cornering someone in the most literal sense of the term. The ease by which she controls situations makes it apparent that she’s skilled. It all coms down to one thing – Mulligan knows how to show the depth of what she’s going through which makes Cassie’s subsequent arc coherent and believable while still using it to explore social positions. This is also why so many members of the supporting cast were cast from likable comedians/actors who immediately make us trust as opposed to doubt them. The movie uses this previously built trust to reveal how deep seated and ubiquitous rape culture is and the danger inherent at the heart of it – anyone can hurt you and appearances are deceiving.

The end result plays like a Gothic fairy tale, albeit one with a bubblegum pop aesthetic as opposed to the traditional black and white palette. The traditional pop songs and the vibrant use of colors, namely pink and blue, come off feeling as something reclaimed as opposed to something campy -they are the artifice of womanhood that must be taken seriously. Likewise, the story actively forces you to engage with the point it’s trying to make, not in a way that’s preachy but in a way that demonstrates the ideological maneuverings we use to obstruct and get around difficult issues and conversations. Most importantly, it tells a story that needs to be heard because of how lasting and important it is. The way the movie tackles issues of culpability, consent, systemic injustice, and the manifestation make it essential viewing, but it’s presentation and examination of the way ideology plays into these demarcating these thoughts makes it an absolute masterwork.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Promising Young Women is the type of debut that gets you excited for the director’s future movies. Fennell takes an idea – what does “real” agency look like in a world where rape culture is built into the way that world operates – and explores it in a way that actively gets the audience involved in examining their own prejudice while being wholly committed to a strong singular vision. The movie utilizes a bubblegum pop aesthetic comes in both the c olor palette and music choice giving this Grimm fairytale an updated makeover that’s infectious, fun, and serious. The script’s genre jumping tendencies gives Mulligan a huge canvas to play on which gives the story the emotional core it needs to sustain its more intense beats. The elements come together in a truly ambitious fashion that help it more than deliver on its promise.
Rating	10/10
Grade	A+

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2010s, 2012, A+, Art House, Crime, Drama, Grade, Review, review-movie, Year

Review: Spring Breakers

January 1, 2021 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Harmony Korine
Principal Cast	James Franco as Alien Selena Gomez as Faith Vanessa Hudgens as Candy Ashley Benson as Brit Rachel Korine as Cotty Gucci Mane as Archie
Release Date	2012
Language(s)	English
Running Time	93 minutes

The movie opens with excess as the title credits splash onto the screen. Neon colors and stylized letters give an indication of the story to come.

The title card is a sign of things to come – normal letters that feel like so much more due to the neon infused colors and stylization. Spring Break is elevated into something that seems exceptionally beautiful.

Synth dance music starts to play as a montage depicting the festivities of spring break start to play. The camera leers at the debauchery – moving over the bodies of young 20 somethings fully embracing the pleasures associated with the season. Crotch grabbing, ass shaking, flashing the camera, a litany of phallic behavior (talk about Freudian) from fellating popsicles to jerking off beer bottles – it’s all a proclamation that this drive to enjoyment is the law of the land.

Phallic behavior is the name of the game at the sunny beaches of Florida as young women suck on popsicles suggestively while young men feed the former booze from beer cans positioned over their crotches. In a Freudian sense, this represents the symbolic law of the land has transformed. The only ethical injection is to enjoy and give in to hedonism.

This excitement is interrupted as the movie cuts to a suburban area – a college campus that’s boring and drab compared to what came before. We move to a classroom filled with bright, neon screens coloring the space. The professor at the head of room starts to talk about the Double V campaign – a slogan used during World War II to tie the fight against fascism abroad to the fight against racism at home. Despite serving in the troops, African Americans were still treated as sub-humans in their homeland of America. This discussion on the nature of race’s relation to the American dream and its ideological stronghold is ignored as the camera moves to two girls, Candy and Brit, who are more focused their upcoming spring break-cation. The plight and suffering of African Americans is drowned out by Candy performing mock fellatio on a drawn out penis that says “Spring Break Bitch”.

Candy (Vanessa Hudgens) ignores the discussion of the pervading antiblackness that haunts the history of America in favor of pretending to blow a penis representing Spring Break. This is a tie in to the earlier phallic endorsement of Spring Break and represents the way the drive for “new” pleasure is used to displace the call for justice.

This displacement is no coincidence. It’s a reminder to us that the anti-blackness that was started in the United States with slavery and plantations still persists – lingering in the background – an undercurrent to Americana that is constantly ignored and shoved aside.

The professor’s lecture drowns out and turns into the voice of a youth pastor trying to amp up a group of young Christians. In this circle of religious adherents is the aptly named Faith, a young women who’s dissatisfied with the seemingly boring goings of her everyday life. As the group says “Amen” together in hypnotic and repetitive fashion, the camera cuts to Brit drinking booze out of a squirt gun with a poster of Lil Wayne behind her. A black rapper and pop idol watching the young white women drinking alcohol from a gun – the gun as a tool of violence turns into one of pleasure as pop stars are respectively turned into idols which are to be consumed. The blackness of the star in question is not a coincidence – like the labor of African Americans during WWII, the cultural work done by this community is consumed without abandon without regard for the creators.

Brit (Ashley Benson) squirts alcohol into her mouth from a gun. On top of reinforcing the phallic imagery, the transformation of the gun as a tool to kill to a tool to deliver alcohol showcases the ties between violence and pleasure. The figure of a black rapper in the background is no coincidence. In a world where pop idols are “Gods” and blackness is consumes as a product, Lil Wayne becomes emblematic of the way pop culture is created by black people and coopted by others.

The movie cuts back to Faith, who informs her Church friends that she’s excited to go Florida with Candy, Brit, and their other friend Cotty to celebrate Spring Break. The three party girls make their way to Faith to make sure they have enough money for their upcoming vacation. Unfortunately, the girls realize they don’t have enough. This depression manifests itself in the color of their surroundings – blue hallways, blue rooms, and a blue ambiance. The blue normalcy that surrounds them is unbearable and they have to get away. They need to find themselves and awaken in a spiritual fashion that’s” impossible” to do in their current location. It’s at this point that Candy, Brit, and Cotty make plans to steal the money they need. They drive down a yellow road. Like the road Dorothy travels in Oz this is a path to transformation and change. The whole time a voiceover from Candy and Brit repeats over and over like the “Amen”‘s from before- “Just pretend like it’s a video game” , “Act like you’re in a movie or something” – an updated mantra for the new age. If pop culture and pleasure are the new Gods in this incarnation of the American Dream, then this repetition is the prayer adherents must believe to survive. They go into a local restaurant and steal from the unsuspecting patrons- emerging at the bright red exit. Finally, their journey can start.

The girls make their way down a yellow road to go from their boring dreary lives marked my a neon blue to escape to new and better pastures marked by a neon red. The colors not only make their burglary pop but represent their “spiritual” journey.

They make their way to Florida and the party begins. The girls lose themselves in the spring break assemblage as the images become hyper saturated, letting bodies blend into one another. To be one with spring break is to give oneself fully to pleasure. In this “new” world, all that matters is how far one’s willing to go to get what they want. There’s a newfound agency as the girl’s engage in the same debauchery as their male counterparts. They’re sexualized by the camera, but they embrace it and grab the pleasure bull by its horns. It’s during their escapades that they run into Alien – a white rapper with dreads who traps as his main form of currency. He takes pride in both “being out of this world” and being the only white boy in a black neighborhood. He loves the American Dream which as he explains is all about making change and acquiring more and more.

This is Spring Breakers – an introspective look into the transformed American dream, one that prioritizes material growth at the cost of everything else. The only ethical injunction is to enjoy pleasures to the max. However, this pleasure is nothing more than a pretty picture that covers up the emptiness at the heart of endless hedonism. When the girls are living their lives back home they watch tv, they drink to excess, they smoke weed, they go to house parties, they mess around with each other. When they go on Spring Break, they quite literally participate in the same behavior – it’s just ratcheted up higher and with more dazzling colors. All their spiritual awakening really amounts to is putting a nice filter over their everyday behavior – something that Korine quite literally demonstrates through the replication of certain shots under different lighting. The blue drab lighting that they do despised gives way to a bright red neon hue that demonstrates that it’s only their ideological investment in the idea of spring break as spiritual praxis that makes it so as opposed to the activities they engage in.

The girls do the same things whether it be at home or in Florida during spring break. This is made obvious with the repetition in shot selection. In both areas they have fun and relax by doing hand stands; however, they enjoy the experience more in Florida because they think spring break makes it magically superior. It’s an ideological investment that transforms the mundane into something special despite there being no material change in what’s going on. The change of colors from the boring and dreary blue to the exciting and vibrant red signifies that this is all about ideology.

In the background is the specter of African Americans- like the plantations and buildings they built centuries ago they have created the the pop culture that the young masses can’t get enough of. However, just like the fruits of their labors on the plantations and the respect /rights they deserved for fighting in World War II, their efforts are once again coopted by the system. They put in the work, but they receive very little if any of the fruits of their labor- relegated to the periphery constantly. From the professor’s early lectures to the constant imagery of black entertainment being consumed and emulated by young white 20 somethings , their presence is always felt.

While the subject matter is disgusting and excessive in the vein of John Waters, the presentation definitely reminds me of Terrence Malick. There’s immense attention given to compositions (there are multiple shots in the movie that feel like they could be wall art/post cards) and using lighting as mise en scène. Blue is dreary normalcy, yellow is change and transformation, while red is the promise of spring break – the heart of the American Dream. The colors permeate through every shot, giving the movie a visual splendor while tying the elements together thematically. The editing is elliptical and features a healthy dose of voiceovers. Lines of dialogue are presented in an almost innocent way to start – a promise of good things, but then are repeated again to reveal the true depravity of the situation at hand. On top of revealing the duplicity of spring break , the repetition of lines creates an hypnotic feeling that fully immerses you in the world. The movie is vapid and deceptive, but that doesn’t stop it from being beautiful and poetic in its own way. It’s beautiful to look and hypnotizing to listen to with very little underneath in terms of plot perfectly tying form to theme.

Complimenting this structure and the movies themes are the performances by the cast. Given the movie’s celebration of pop culture as idolatry, the casting of both Selena Gomez and Vanessa Hudgens, two former Disney super stars, is more than apt and sets the movie up for success. Each member of our main cast of heroines demonstrates a different level of comfort with the transformed American Dream. Gomez constantly gives off an disconcerted feeling that she quickly disguises with faux happiness representing Faith’s conflict in embracing hedonism over her spiritual roots. Rachel Korine is constantly having fun and gives herself to the party scene fully showcasing Cotty’s desire to just have a good time. Both Hudgens and Benson express sheer ecstasy at the situation highlighting how how Candy and Brit respectively don’t care about anything than enjoying their experience, no matter how debauched it threatens to get. In particular, Benson showcases a cold danger in her eyes , demonstrating the cutthroat disposition one must have to succeed in the “new” America. Franco brings a surprising amount of depth to a white rapper who drops the n-word from the way he gleefully engages with the girls to the way he constantly has a disconcerted look that occasionally comes through in his eyes. His cover of Britney Spear’s “Everytime” in the latter half of the movie is heartfelt and touching in the most off-putting way possible, perfectly encapsulating everything Alien and the movie is about – celebrating the drive to pleasure and material goods as the end all be all.

It’s not surprising to see the low ratings for the movie : a 5.3 on IMDB, 67% on Rotten Tomatoes, 63 on Metacritic. Those looking for an believable crime story with traditional storytelling are going to feel betrayed by what they get. On top of this, the editing of scenes feels disjointed and fragmented while the repetitive voiceovers can feel lazy and just like an excuse to pad the run time. However, these criticisms miss the point. It’s not that the movie isn’t empty at it’s core. It definitely is. That’s the point. The emptiness is used to point out that way the ideologies we currently subscribe to are empty and vapid. The ideals we cling to are not only built on a bed of anti-blackness, but amount to nothing more than a nihilistic drive towards pleasure. If this famous clip of Spring Breaker in 2020 proves anything, it’s that Korine’s vision and analysis should be treated more seriously. What says hedonistic destruction more than Spring Breakers willing to get corona just to experience their long awaited festivities?

REPORT CARD

TLDR	In what can only be described as Terrence Malick directing a John Waters movie, Korine’s Spring Breakers is one part a celebration of excessive hedonism and superficiality, another part an elevation of pleasure seeking to a form of spirituality, and at it’s core an simultaneous indictment and valorization of the duplicity of the American Dream. The elliptical editing, use of repetition in lines, constant voiceovers, and bright and saturated compositions are intoxicating and transport the viewer into a world of excess that feels empty at its core. Though the movie might seem vapid at first go, it tackles a host of issues from antiblackness to pop culture idolization in thought provoking ways asking us to assess the state of our current orientation towards success and having a good time. Immersive and important, those people who are willing to look beyond the surface might find something worthwhile in Korine’s breakdown of modern ideology.
Rating	10/10
Grade	A+

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2010s, 2012, A+, Drama, Fantasy, Grade, Horror, mystery, Review, review-movie, Science Fiction, science fiction horror, Thriller, Year

Review: The Endless

December 16, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Justin Benson Aaron Scott Moorhead
Principal Cast	Justin Benson as Justin Aaron Scott Moorhead as Aaron Callie Hernandez as Anna Tate Ellington as Hal Lew Temple as Tim Shane Brady as Shane Kira Powell as Lizzy James Jordan as Shitty Carl
Release Date	2017
Language(s)	English
Running Time	111 minutes

The opening quote to the movie encapsulates the thematic journey we’ll be taking- a mixture of Lovecraft, confronting the unknown, fear, alienation, and the way those ideas intertwine in relationships.

The movie opens with two quotes : one from Lovecraft and one from an Unknown source. Lovecraft’s quote encapsulates the drive behind his writing – the idea that the unknown is the root of fear. The latter quote notes that siblings only tell each other their feelings when they’re on their deathbeds. The presentation of the quote highlights that the Unknown Lovecraft is talking about is an agent of sorts that’s the source of the second quote, informing the audience that the movie we’re about to experience is going to explore a sibling relationship against a Lovecraft background – an navigation of the unknown, fear, and relationships.

After this the movie cuts to two brothers, Justin and Aaron, who are attempting to navigate their day to day lives in spite of a grayness that seems to permeate their existence. On top of their sullen demeanors, the color grading is undersaturated and reinforces a dreary and lifeless mood.

Justin (Justin Benson) tries to reach out to his brother Aaron (Aaron Scott Moorhead) who is too sullen to respond or reciprocate. *The brothers lives are gray and worn out after having left the cult . Even the bright sun can’t lighten up their days, reflecting the way their lives have fallen into a depressive rut.*

It’s quickly revealed that the two are survivors of a cult and are struggling with adapting to their new lifestyle. The older brother, Justin, domineers over his younger brother and constantly dictates the duo’s course of action. He’s the one who dragged them out from the clutches of the cult due to fears about them committing some kind of mass suicide. On the other hand, Aaron is very much sick and tired of their current life and is desperate to go back to the cult and experience the sense of warmth he had back there – a familial unity that seems to be missing with his own flesh and blood. After the two receive an ominous videotape from their former cult members talking about an “ascension” of sort. The tape is obviously old and its quality is poor, but it ends on an image of a circle. Desperate, to get his brother back to normal, Justin acquiesces and tells Aaron they’ll go to the cult for one day to get the latter’s mojo back.

As they journey to their previous habitat, the color that had been missing from their lives permeates the screen. The gray gives way to bright and warm colors that compliment Aaron’s newfound joy.

Once they decide the go back to the cult for a day, the light seeps in and saturates the brothers’ lives. There’s a newfound vitality here that was missing before.

During this drive back the brother’s stop at a funeral site – the place where their mother had died so many years ago. Surprisingly, the offerings they had left so many years ago as children still stand, no blemishes or markings to indicate how long they’ve been there. Having given their respects, the two make their way to the cult site – a campground that immediately feels unnerving and inviting at the same time. Their journey is accompanied by a score that evokes hints of John Carpenter – a spectral synth that has a The first person they run into ignores them and keeps walking past them, obviously perturbed. The next person they run into is smiling creepily, their face unmoving. Eventually the duo runs back into their previous acquaintances who happily welcome them back to the site. A nice meal followed by a good night’s sleep assuages Aaron and confirms to him he made the right choice. Meanwhile, Justin is still very much on the fence about the decision.

As the two of them explore the camp and re-integrate with their previous acquaintances/friends they’re forced to confront the host of inexplicable phenomena that pervade the camp. There’s constant mentions of an alien entity that watches the camp ground, a locked wooden shed that’s described as a storehouse for brewery equipment, magic tricks that go from discernible to out of this world, camp bonding activities that seem physically impossible, the presence of two moons, strange totem like objects scattered throughout the area, and camp members who fluctuate from cozy and inviting to seemingly hostile and suspicious. It’s a creepy cult gamut featuring enough additional oddities to keep both the brothers and the audience in a constant search to determine who’s on whose side and what’s really causing these off-putting occurrences. The best part is that the visual effects for many of these moments are simple, effective, and don’t cheapen out on stunning the audience. It’s testament to Benson and Moorhead’s skill that they can shoot a low budget picture but add enough visual magic in the right ways to absolutely nail the impact of each of these visceral phenomena. Very rarely did I feel myself fall into disbelief as the fantastical nature of what was happening blended seamlessly into the reality of the world, calling into question where the bounds of “real” stopped and started.

Everything pays off because each incident by itself is unnerving but put together it generates a fragmented experience. It’s impossible to know exactly where anything is going which generates both tension and a constant desire to figure it out. At the same time, the obvious call backs to horror tropes (ex: a cult brewing beer is the spiritual cousin of a cult drinking the Kool-Aid, Native Indian markings throughout the camp invite the idea that it’s a haunting taking place, etc.) helps us piece the pieces together according to our own preconceptions firmly placing us on the side of one or both of the brothers. Justin is suspicious of them and thinks they have to do with the cult trying to gain control over the brothers. Meanwhile, Aaron is more trusting of the camp members and accepts the oddities as they are. Their relationship develops as a result of every occurrence which not only adds an emotional resonance to the disconcerting events but also pushes the two of them to confront their deep seated feelings. It’s an encapsulation of the beginning quotes – a relationship that develops in the face of fear through the lens of the unknown.

Exemplifying this is the constant use of circles both as visual motif and in the way the camera moves. A circle is a closed shape – marked by boundaries but having no discernible start or end. It’s a loop that contains an infinite possibility of meanings depending on how you break its components down. The movie emphasizes this by constantly cutting to multiple circles, each distinct from one another in size and composition.

Circles are used a constant motif throughout the film, highlighting and tying together the fragmented horror tropes into a cohesive narrative that invites the audience to carve out their own interpretation of what everything means. Every circle represents something different but they’re all united by their shape and the use of match cuts reinforces the idea that there’s something tying these disparate elements together.

Early on, when the brothers get the initial tape from the cult, the tape cuts on an image of a circle – an eerie circle that calls back to something like Stonehenge. The move match cuts this with the bucket of cleaning supplies that the brothers use in their jobs – an circle that constraints their lives in a mundane job. The maps the camp uses are marked with circles – circles of containment that lock in zones. The camp members city in circles around the campfire – a circle of community. On top of this, Benson and Moorhead make multiple uses of arc shots that circle around and give the full view of a situation – a circle of meaning. Multiple scenes are shot in slow motion as the camera arcs – a circle of time. Is there a difference between insulating ourselves in a domestic circle where we take on mundane jobs versus isolating ourselves in a cult like circle that feeds our social and emotional needs? By utilizing the circles in such a way the movie gets us to ask questions like these throughout the movie, tying the fragmented and disparate elements into more cohesive strands – a symbolism that ties narrative to them and back again in a mutually reinforcing loop that’s open to infinite meaning.

This duality in meaning is aided by the stellar cast and crew. Surprisingly, the main players Justin and Aaron who play the the two brothers going by the same names are not the stars of the show. Don’t get me wrong – their performances are more than adequate – better than I expected when I saw the directors were taking center stage. Outside of a few moments of overexertion near the first half of the movie, they do their job at selling their characters relationship through effective and comedic banter along with requisite emotional moments necessary to propel the story. However, it’s their supporting cast that drives home the ambiguity of the camp happenings and the real emotional weight of what’s at stake behind the mysteries. Ellington gives Hal, the de facto leader/not leader, of the group a kind aura that belies the expectations of him that the brothers and us might have of him being a culty control freak. Temple makes Tim, the camp’s brewer, feel both tired and sincere. The way he emotes through his eyes indicates his character’s frustrated, serious, but not malicious. Powell’s dove eyed portrayal of Lizzy is both unnerving and endearing. She makes her character feel crazy, open, or a little bit of both. James Jordan as the aptly named Shitty Carl goes from absolutely batshit, to serious, to emotionally devastated, to goofing around in a seamless manner that underscores the weight of the camp’s mystery/(ies). I could go on and on, but the point is each performance both gives gravity to the consequences of the phenomena that we witness and emphasizes the theme of infinite interpretation.

The Endless proves that all you need is a tight script, interesting ideas, innovative execution, and a real focus on theme to tell a great and compelling story. Despite the budgetary limitations, Benson and Moorhead demonstrate that they’re more than comfortable in their Lovecraftian wheelhouse and can tell complex and diverse stories from within without ever boring their audience. After Resolution and Spring, this is the movie that cements that they’re an up and coming talent that deserves more recognition. If you’re someone who’s been itching for a sci-fi horror that’ll get you to think without giving you easy answers, look no further. The Endless is the kind of movie that begs to be watched and re-watched in an attempt to carve out meaning from it’s seemingly infinite world.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	The Endless expands and builds on Moorhead and Benson’s previous endeavors – combining horror tropes, relationship struggles, the search for meaning, and a healthy dose of Lovecraftian ideas to create a truly mesmerizing movie that’ll get you invested in the characters and invite you to think about the deeper meaning of your life and the way it ebbs and flows. Though the budget is on the smaller side, the movie never suffers and demonstrates that interesting ideas and tight execution are all that’s necessary to tell a thrilling and moving story. Every element – from the tropes, to the characters, to the visual effects, to the worldbuilding- fits with one another and will leave you genuinely impressed by the end. If you’re a fan of sci-fi and/or fantasy, you owe it to yourself to check this out.
Rating	9.8/10
Grade	A+

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2010s, 2012, A+, Drama, Grade, Horror, mystery, Review, review-movie, Thriller, Year

Review: Resolution

December 11, 2020 The Critic 2 Comments

Director(s)	Justin Benson Aaron Scott Moorhead
Principal Cast	Peter Cilella as Michael Vinny Curran as Chris Kurt David Anderson as Billy Skyler Meacham as Micah Zahn McClarnon as Charles
Release Date	2012
Language(s)	English
Running Time	93 minutes

The movie opens on a montage of a man, Chris, acting sporadically in the wilderness. He lights up his crack pipe and takes a large hit. He shoots bottles around him. He plays with a dog near him. There’s no clear cohesion behind the sequencing of these moments. They’re random, sporadic, and paint a disturbing picture. The camera reveals the montage is actually a video file being watched by Michael, Chris’s best friend. Obviously worried by his buddy’s actions on the video, Michael decides to track Chris down using GPS coordinates sent along with the file. After a lengthy drive, he locates an erratic Chris shooting at the birds in the sky with a hail of bullets.

Michael (Peter Cilella) approaches Chris (Vinny Curran) for the first time in years as the latter puts his gun down to greet his friend.

He carefully makes his way up to Chris’s house of sorts after declaring himself and slowly catches up with his friend. Unbeknownst to Chris however, is Michael’s real purpose – saving and rehabilitating his forlorn friend. Michael tricks and handcuffs Chris to a fixture in the house before informing the latter that he intends on getting him to kick his drug habit over the next 7 days.

However, this main story thread of Michael trying to rehabilitate Chris as the latter fights back tooth and nail is a decoy set up by directors Benson and Moorhead to give them a jumping off point to unabashedly explore horror genre conventions. From the moment Michael arrives at Chris’s abode, a series of strange occurrences start to occur almost like clockwork. As Michael tries to find Chris’s drug stash he comes upon a series of eerily shot photographs in the cellar-like area. Later on as he’s walking, he runs into a group of alien cultists who give an off-putting feeling. When the two are sleeping, a girl randomly pops up and watches them through the window. Later it’s revealed that Chris is located on Native grounds. Eventually, the two find a series of increasingly disturbing home-videos.

Some of the most disturbing situations the main duo run into involve strange photographs and movie reels that depict unexplainable moments of violence to strangers.

It’s like an unrelenting barrage horror occurrences/situations that keep you on your toes guessing as to what’s really happening. By playing the conventions straight as opposed to being overtly comedic with them in the vein of something like The Cabin in the Woods, Resolution manages to generate a genuine sense of unease and tension. You know something is up because horror conventions are sprinkled everywhere, but because the movie treats them as serious it avoids turning them into predictable and boring clichés. That’s effective horror film making.

There’s no hand holding from Benson and Moorhead. They’re not here to be tongue-in-cheek or overtly comedic. They’re here to tell a faithful horror story that explores and critiques the genre in a subversive way. This is reflected in their choices to not use a soundtrack or any jump scares. The tension and unease is meant to come from the movie proper, not some auditory tricks. In the place of these played out tools of commercial horror are some compelling visual and auditory clues that hint at, but don’t reveal the true nature of what’s going on. From the moment Michael chooses to pursue his friend, certain scenes are marked with a film burn effect that envelops the screen.

These are examples of the film burns that occur throughout the movie at seemingly random moments. Their purpose is unexplained till the very end, inviting the viewer to question what they mean and what’s causing them.

At other moments, the camera switches from being with the characters to POV shots that look at the characters like objects – implying the presence of something else.

A POV shot of *Chris (Vinny Curran)* and *Michael (Peter Cilella)* talking to one another. The camera shifts from being in the room with the characters to this outside perspective, inviting the audience to ask what’s watching them and why.

Accompanying these visual cues are audio distortions where lines repeat or become glitchy sounding. Because the movie takes such care to not introduce non-diegetic elements , each of these clues feels like part of the world’s fabric and invite the audience to investigate what they really mean. It’s a great way of not only ratcheting up the tension, but it also plays an important part in getting us on Chris and Michael’s side – we’re trying to figure out what’s going just like them.

This is the heart of what makes Resolution so much fun. It invites the audience to play along with the characters in a race to come up with a narrative that explains every story thread. What are the characters really after? Why are certain photos and tapes revealed? Why does the camera shift as the audio becomes distorted? As the layers start to unravel, it becomes more and more apparent that this is a movie about the cinematic form – an exploration of the way we create narratives and imbue them with a certain power, thereby generating foregone conclusions and apparent contradictions that make us question why we even want certain things to happen to begin with. Do I think the movie nails all the punches it goes for? No. There are some ideas that feel thrown in just for the sake of adding more confusion to the narrative, while other ideas are introduced without enough of a build-up. However, these concerns feel small in the face of what the movie is trying to accomplish and what it does to get the audience to question their own complicity in the way horror narratives are put together. The ending of the movie is an absolute knock-out that delivers the goods in a satisfying way.

Now while Chris and Michael’s storyline is not the main draw of Resolution, it is the focal point that ties all these otherwise discordant conventions into a cohesive narrative. Without their central struggle and the audience’s subsequent investment in it, the movie wouldn’t be able to explore any of the ideas above to their fullest. While Michael is controlled and domineering, Chris is a manic ball of energy. The former is down-to-Earth graphic designer desperate to bring his friend back into the “normal” world. The latter is a drug-addicted, misanthropic conspiracy-theorist who doesn’t care if he dies as much as he cares about enjoying the little life he has. There’s a good bit of depth to the both of them that turns them from horror inserts into real people which is obviously helped by the two lead actors’ performances. The movie spends a fair bit of time letting the two just talk to each other, whether that be in the form of Michael hurling insults at Chris or the two of them reminiscing about better times. The way Cilella and Curran riff off one another and banter reminds me of conversations I’ve had with my own friends. It’s hard to believe they’re actors and not two buds catching up after a long time away from one another. Curran in particular gives some emotional heft to his character that I wasn’t expecting, injecting a genuine somberness to his otherwise bombastic personality. They get you to care about their characters because they feel like people you might actually know.

It’s rare for a horror movie to both pay homage and still be surprising, but Resolution is one of those rare few that pulls off the balancing act to great effect. The characters are compelling, well-rounded, and written in a way that gets you to invest in their wellbeing. The diversity in plot threads keeps you guessing where the movie is going and what’s causing everything to happen, even if every sub-plot/idea isn’t utilized or explained to its fullest. The movie effectively manages to keep the sense of dread palpable while asking the audience to think and explore the world with the lead characters, making the experience active and informative on top of being entertaining. If you’re a genre fan looking for a movie that plays the conventions straight while remaining interesting, this is the movie for you.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Resolution is a love-letter to the horror genre that plays off conventions while treating them seriously. The story of a guy trying to help his junkie friend get off the drugs turns out to be so much more, as multiple horror plot threads are layered onto the initial narrative creating interwove mystery that’ll have you asking what is actually going on. If you ever saw The Cabin in the Woods and wished it was less tongue-in-cheek and less expository, this is the movie for you. Through some subtle, yet clever cues the movie forces its audience to question their own biases about the genre in an entertaining and emotionally resonant fashion. Genre fans own it to themselves to check this out.
Rating	9.5/10
Grade	A+

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2010s, 2015, A, Black-Comedy, Comedy, Drama, Fantasy, Grade, Horror, Review, review-movie, slasher, Thriller, Year

Review: The Final Girls

December 1, 2020 The Critic 1 Comment

Director(s)	Todd Strauss-Schulson
Principal Cast	Taissa Farmiga as Max Malin Åkerman as Nancy / Amanda Alia Shawkat as Gertie Alexander Ludwig as Chris Nina Dobrev as Vicki Thomas Middleditch as Duncan Adam DeVine as Kurt Angela Trimbur as Tina Daniel Norris as Billy Murphy
Release Date	2015
Language(s)	English
Running Time	91 minutes

After losing her mother, Amanda, in a tragic accident, Max and a group of her friends go to a fan screening of the popular Camp Bloodbath, a Friday the 13th ripoff Amanda starred in decades before. However, during the screening things go awry and Max and her friends find themselves trapped in the world of the slasher movie with no explanation as to how they got there or how to get out. Faced with no other option, the group is forced to play along with the narrative to find a way back to the real world.

Now if the synopsis didn’t make it clear enough, this is a movie that’s a love letter to 80’s slasher movies, especially those from the Friday the 13th franchise. From Camp Bloodbath’s “KiKiKi MaMaMa”- based parody theme to the increasingly caricatured acting from the fictional movie’s cast, every trope you know and love is here and is ready to be celebrated. However, what sets the movie apart from other slasher comedies is the emotional center that serves as the movies main through line. The story opens on Max and Amanda and demonstrates just how much the mother-daughter duo depends on one another. The latter, having been typecast as sexy bimbo who gets killed due to her involvement with the slasher cult hit, is desperate to find a role that will let her be a real star, while the latter fawns over her mom while dealing with tasks like managing the bills. Watching Amanda dies it’s clear that Max’s world is shattered and Farmiga conveys her characters grief by going from bubbly and filled with life to desolate and lethargic. That’s why her journey into a movie where her mom was a star hits so hard – it’s her chance to reunite and deal with the trauma in a moving, albeit unconventional way.

On the right, Max (Taissa Farmiga) bonds with her mom, Amanda (Malin Åkerman), before the latter’s untimely death. Once she gets trapped in the world of Camp Bloodbath, she gets to bond with her mom’s breakout character, Nancy, who gives her a spiritual chance at bonding with her mom one more time. The relationship between these 2(3?) is the heart of the movie and gives it an unexpected emotional weight.

It’s this emotional center that elevates the usual slasher formula into something that gets you to cheer for the characters success because even the stock caricatures get an extra level of depth due to their humanizing connection to the actual actors. Max relating to her Amanda’s character Nancy reminds us that there’s an actor hiding behind every character that seeps and pervades through the representations we see on screen. This makes the clash between the “real” life characters – Max, Gertie, Chris, Vicky, and Duncan- and the movie’s characters – Nancy, Tina, Amanda, and co. – enthralling because they twist the perceptions we have of stock characters and gives them a chance to show us something more. It also injects the movie with a healthy dose of existential humor as the Bloodbath characters are forced to reckon with their fictional makeup in contrast to something more “real”, begging the question of what reality even is.

It’s this playing with reality that gives the movie its unique comedic angle, setting it apart from the sea of slasher comedies that have come to inundate the market post Scream. Duncan, the Camp Bloodbath super fan, acts like the Randy of the movie and explains the worlds tropes and plot mechanisms – there’s a final girl who happens to be a virgin, people die when they have sex, and so on – while giving the audience the perfect nerd to cheer alongside. He helps the group determine the rules of the movie-turned-reality so that they can break and manipulate them to figure out a way to get out. Max and co. realize near the start of the movie that they can’t leave the story without playing along in a comedic scene that shows the Camp Bloodbath staff driving by the characters every 92 minutes (the run-time of the in-universe movie). Waiting just introduces another playthrough, so they’re forced to take action.

The group is stuck in a loop where the movie plays back-to-back on loop, until they decide to make themselves part of the in-universe movie’s story.

As they become more familiar with the way slasher conventions work, they engage in some pretty ingenious mechanisms to bypass typical scenes to increase their chances of survival. On the flipside, some of their experiments don’t work out as well which introduce some bleak, yet hilarious moments that keep the audience constantly guessing as to what the next step is going to be. The result is a movie that plays along with our expectations while subverting them at every turn. The more you know about slashers, the more fun you end up having because the game becomes guessing how the trope will be subverted instead of witnessing the trope happening.

In an attempt to highlight this constantly changing perspective, the movie makes wonderful use of a constantly moving camera. There are quite a few arc shots (where the camera moves steadily in a circle) that highlight the absurdist nature of the movie’s narrative, reinforce the idea of the characters being stuck in loops of sorts, and constantly highlighting the juxtaposition of the story of Camp Bloodbath against the injunction of real life characters. One of my favorite moments in the movie involves a characters getting brutally killed after thinking they’re safe as the camera starts turning in a circle and zooming in highlighting just how wrong they actually were. The movement keeps us as disoriented as the characters and adds another layer of empathy as we realize that neither us or Max and co. know exactly what’s going on.

Complimenting this visual vertigo is the narrative whiplash that occurs as modern “real” people interact with outdated 80’s slasher stereotypes and dive beneath their personas. Homophobia and sexual objectification meet their modern match which allows the movie to lampshade its baser fun with bits of commentary. In one scene, Kurt, the prototypical jock/sex fiend, makes some bigoted jokes to Chris which are quickly shot down by the latter’s more open worldview, but the presence of a challenge to the retort forces Kurt to delve deeper (not that much) into what he actually thinks. Moments like these between the different intersections of characters allows the movie to relish in its homage while making comments on the side without ever coming off as too obnoxious or on the nose.

It helps that every single member of the star studded cast nails their performances, with special kudos given to the Camp Bloodbath members who are forced to play both a caricature and a deconstruction of those same stereotypes as they figure out their true metaphysical makeup. DeVine nails the contemptible player persona from the laid back and confident posturing to the arrogant smirk he keeps on his face. Meanwhile, Trimbur makes the slutty, sexy girl who typically dies first far more energetic and expressive than she has any right to be by injecting a manic ton of energy into contorting her body and facial muscles. Being the emotional center of the movie, both Farmiga and Ackerman bring a surprising amount of tenderness to the story, displaying a real sense of vulnerability with one another. There are moments in the third act that tug at the heartstrings because of how believable their real and fictional bond is built up and played out. In particular, Ackerman nails the fictional character realizing that they’re both real and not real with some expressions that exude fear and love simultaneously.

The only things holding the movie back are some less than stellar CGI elements along with some story moves that feel like they should’ve paid off in bigger and grander ways. The movie plays so well with sub-genre conventions that the presence of such overt and modern digital effects feels completely out of place.

One of the bad CGI renderings that threatens to distract the audience from the beauty of the movie. This scene of a car crash feels like a cut-scene from a PS2 game and feels out of place compared to the realism of what came before.

If these were a one-off occurrence it’d be fine, but these issues crop up enough during the run-time to feel like an issue. Given how clever the movie is with playing with sub-genre conventions, I was surprised that these moments weren’t rendered with cheesy and over-the-top practical effects to keep with the 80’s slasher energy. Adding to this is the soft rules approach the movie utilizes to keep the pace going. As I mentioned earlier, the tropes that are recognized are subverted in ways that aren’t expected which keeps an underlying sense of mystery and tension at bay, but because there are no clear and fast rules there are definitely some moments that just come off as odd. The movie can just explain them away as anomalies like everything else, but that comes off feeling lazy with how intricate other scenarios play out. If these moments were capitalized on and explained in the context of the story or breaking certain tropes, the movie would’ve felt more cohesive and tightly knit.

That being said, what we get is a heartfelt, clever, and truly funny movie that any slasher fan should give a watch. Every character feels distinct and interesting, despite the fact that some of them are walking caricatures, and watching their inevitable clashes among one another is constantly entertaining. Even though it’s comedic, the movie wants to be more than just funny and constantly combines its humor with epic visual compositions and narrative shifts that demonstrate just how much love went into the worldbuilding. The riffing and appreciation of sub-genre tropes plays well with the way they’re subverted and gives the movie a constant energy that should keep you invested from start to finish.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	The Final Girls shows that horror comedy very much has more room to explore in its ingenious design. The story of characters getting trapped in a slasher movie explores and relishes in genre conventions, while at the same time upending them to great effect. The effect is a dark absurdist comedy with an emotionally resonant center that keeps the otherwise fantastical elements feeling grounded, yet entertaining. Horror fans – slasher fans especially – should check this love letter to the sub-genre if they haven’t already. It’s sure to entertain and leave you wanting more.
Rating	9.1/10
Grade	A

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2010s, 2014, A, Drama, Fantasy, Grade, Horror, mystery, Review, review-movie, supernatural, Thriller, Year

Review: A Dark Song

November 29, 2020 The Critic 2 Comments

Director(s)	Liam Gavin
Principal Cast	Steve Oram as Joseph Solomon Catherine Walker as Sophia
Release Date	2016
Language(s)	English
Running Time	99 minutes

Discordant and dark strings start to play, setting the ominous and foreboding journey to come. A woman, Sophia, drives down a long and desolate road. Her drive is crosscut with her buying an enormous mansion. She asks odd questions to the realtor like what directions the rooms are facing. Her focus is clearly not on the typical qualities of the house, but instead these more precise spatial ones. She hands the realtor a huge stack of cash to rent the location for a year – no bartering, no negotiating, no questions. All she asks is for the agent to keep the purchase discreet.

She continues her drive and meets with an aloof man, Joseph Solomon (talk about Biblical naming) in a restaurant. As he scarfs down food, it becomes apparent that she’s meeting with him for the sake of performing some dark ritual. Their conversation ends and the two inspect the previously bought house together. He asks her if she’s followed an arcane set of steps – eating only between dawn and dusk, refraining from sex, and similar behaviors. She answers in the affirmative, emphasizing her desperation for the ceremony to start with each response. Finally he asks her what she wants to perform the ceremony for. She answers love. He refuses to go along with the procedure and asks for the large sum of money she promised for anyone willing to even listen to her magical demands.

The two sit at a bus stop, waiting for Joseph’s bus to come. They’re positioned far apart from one another, reflecting the lack of trust and alienation between them. He’s upset that he travelled all this way for a waste of a request. She’s horrified that she’s going to lose her chance at performing the magic ritual. Desperate to not lose her sorcerer, she moves closer to him, overcoming the gap in understanding between the two, and reveals that her real desire is to talk to her deceased child. This changes things. Joseph recognizes the demand as legitimate and worthy of the laborious Abramelin ritual she wishes to perform, accepts the request, and sets off to set up the household for what is to come.

Sophia (Catherine Walker) getting closer to Joseph (Steve Oram ) as she reveals the truth of what she wants. Her lies keep her far away and her desperation to get help manifests in her getting closer and telling the truth. This is one of the movement the movie utilizes to depict the way the duo’s alienation manifests and is momentarily overcome with open communication.

In the meanwhile, Sophia runs into her sister who immediately accosts her about the dark magic she’s going to be attempting. She asks if the ritual is “something Godly” to which Sophia responds both that she believes in God and that God’s goodness is missing in a world where her son could be taken from her, leaving her with only pain and hatred. After bidding a farewell, she goes to the house, ready to start the dark song.

Alienation. Grief. Desperation. Faith. Magic. God. A Dark Song is an exploration in the intersections of these concepts against and with one another. As the ritual starts, Joseph explains the procedures as if they’re a science. He draws on numerology , gnosticism, and the like to emphasize how every part of the ceremony is to work and their respective metaphysical purposes. The ritual that he and Sophia are attempting is not one that works 100% of the time, something he mentions early on, but rather, is one contingent on the drives of the conduit, in this case Sophia, aligning with the magic in such a way as to conjure a Guardian Angel who will be able to grant the both of them their respective wishes.

While the intricacies of the ceremony are hard to keep down, the gravity of what is being attempted is incredibly clear – the duo is attempting to use an arcane system of knowledge in an attempt to gain dominion over supernatural entities far beyond their control to grant their wishes. This danger is something that is constantly highlighted by Joseph who yells and screams about the dangers at each and every moment. His trepidation and worry about the magical endeavor give it a palpable sense of tension that keeps the situation grounded in reality. God, angels, demons, and the like are real and serious within the confines of the narrative. There’s no room for disbelief. It is this foundation that gives the movie its uncomfortable aura, as every manifestation of the supernatural is tinged with an feeling of danger that would normally be disregarded in a lesser movie dealing with the same subject matter.

This dark occultism is juxtaposed against both science and a more orthodox religious praxis to highlight the way that belief motivates and gives power to action. From her earlier interaction with her sister, it’s clear that Sophia believes in God. Her doubt comes from whether or not God actively shows a presence in the world or must be conjured through intermediaries to generate any meaning. Likewise, Joseph makes it abundantly clear that he believes in God as he takes the existence of a Creator along with the supernatural as grounding facts for the metaphysical breakdown of the world. In this sense, A Dark Song , is an interesting take on the idea of “dark” magic because it’s predicated on being religious and having faith, not being some kind of Devil worshipper and perverting the will of God.

At one point, Sophia and Joseph talk about science versus religion/magic during which Joseph indicates that science can only describe the least of things while religion/magic can describe the mystery behind those things. The former is a schema for the physical, while the latter is a blueprint for navigating the metaphysical. The elaborate and laborious steps the two follow to complete the ritual invoke an idea of a science experiment – there are clearly defined steps that must be followed, each step has it’s purpose in the grander scheme of the ritual, and there’s an ultimate conclusion to be reached by the end of it all. Where the similarities end is that there’s no guarantee that success can be replicated. As Joseph indicates early on, he’s done the ritual once successfully but failed more than that. The ritual requires looping through the steps over and over till a Guardian Angel appears. There’s no spectacle that confirms or denies the magic is working – only hints and and clues that have to be believed as being signs of the arcane process. It’s a science based on belief. In a very Kierkegaardian sense, the ritual can only work if the practitioners go at with complete faith, in both their drives and the ceremony proper. It may be dark magic, but it plays out an like praying.

At a visual level , the magic ceremony is evocative and keeps your attention glued onto the screen. The rituals are painstakingly followed and the camera constantly cuts to the intricate set-ups that both evokes a strange sense of admiration at the beauty of the symbols and markings while generating a constant sense that there is a meaningful transgression occurring. The dark strings that play at the beginning are persistent throughout key moments of the movie, transforming in intensity based on what’s happening. They evoke a foreboding spirituality which pairs well with what’s going on narratively. When the music transforms into something else, you notice it and appreciate it because of how much the string sections seep into your brain as you watch the majority of the movie. It’s a truly effective use of an otherwise simple score.

One of the many scenes of the artifice involved in enacting the ritual. Symmetrical, geometrically aligned, and evocative – each of these scenes is beautiful to look at and the movie is filled with them.

Accompanying this presentation, is the brutal performance of the ritual itself which involves Solomon tearing down Sophia at every corner as she pushes herself to physical and mental extremes that are uncomfortable to watch. What she’s asked to do isn’t just hard in a physiological sense but also in a mental and emotional sense . She has to go days without sleeping or eating. She’s forced to go through long periods of the equivalent to spiritual waterboarding. The worst part? These are only the lighter tasks she has to persevere through to get to her ultimate wish. All the while, Solomon shows no mercy or compassion to his client, reminding her that she asked to do a ceremony knowing well that that’d be brutalizing. As the movie goes on, their relationship morphs in relation to the rituals, wavering between absolute hatred and a kind of acceptance of each other as fellow aliens to the “real” world.

It is this exploration of humanity underscoring the ritualistic endeavor that makes A Dark Song so interesting to watch. Because the ritual is repeatedly emphasized to be tied to Sophia’s disposition and will, her relationship to Joseph and herself helps serve as a kind of external check on the progress of the magical activity. However, at a more basic level, the back and forth between the two gives the fantastical story a layer that makes you invested. Both characters are loners , alienated from the world for different reasons. They can’t seem to find a place for themselves outside and seemingly reject efforts to reconcile and reintegrate with affairs around them. The scene with Sophia and her sister emphasizes this, as the former rejects the latter’s request to move in with her and embrace a new family structure. Both of these wayward souls naturally repel each other because neither wants to open up and give way to the other . Their natural proclivities prevent that from happening. However, because of their predispositions, they’re both aligned in a plethora of ways, the most pressing being their willingness to engage in the Abramelin ritual to accomplish their tasks. The ebb and flow they feel between their respective misanthropic tendencies and their feverish desire to do what they must gives the movie an emotional center that elevates the magic and the horrors to a level where they pull the audience fully into the story’s world.

This relationship is also explored spatially in the movie, with the characters placement and the respective mise en scène working in tandem to highlight the way it transforms. Initial moments between the two constantly show them separated from one another, often times facing separate directions to show they’re not looking out for each other. The constant framing of the characters in doorways highlights their isolation and sense of loneliness. The few cordial and surprisingly comedic moments between have them positioned closer to one another, facing the same direction without any kind of overarching frame to isolate them. In these brief reprieves, they’re almost a united front of sorts, like a off-kilter romantic couple of sorts. The back and forth shift between their positions and the open and closed framing reflects the way the two try and open up to one another and gives their interactions a profound heft.

The movie constantly highlights how both *Sophia (Catherine Walker) and Joseph (Steve Oram )* are alienated from the world around them and from each other, while also demonstrating that their alienation is what makes it possible for them to become closer with one another. By utilizing distance and framing devices like doorways to highlight their isolation and togetherness, the movie is able to visually show the transformation of their relationship as it fluctuates from antagonistic to caring.

Walker and Oram feel like they get lost in their roles as Sophia and Joseph respectively . Their bombastic disagreements and subtle moments of closeness exude an authentic quality that feels less performance and more like two real people trapped apart from the world and forced to reckon with the dark mysteries that lay beneath. Oram’s eyes can go from conveying condescension to severe fear in a moment’s notice as he desperately seeks to emphasize how dangerous their undertaking really is. Walker’s face never loses her resoluteness to get the task accomplished, her eyes constantly steely and determined. The transformations the characters go through feel believable because the painful subtleties that lay beneath the veneer of their egoistic personas are demonstrated time and time again. You can always feel their sense of loneliness and isolation, which makes their otherwise manic behavior understandable. In spite of how revolting they are at times, they never come off as inhumane monsters. They’re just hurt people looking for something more.

Speaking of something more, the ending completely shattered my expectations of what I thought would happen going in. Gavin really goes for broke in the last 20 minutes of the movie and rewards the audience’s patience and investment in everything that came before. It’s a shocking move that feels both completely out of left field but totally earned. The movie moves subtly and slowly, ratcheting up the tension and scope of magic, until the ending where everything is turned up to 100 real fast. The first time I saw it, I thought it felt too hokey and jarring, but upon subsequent watches I’ve come to appreciate the beauty of what Gavin is trying to convey. My biggest issue with it is the visuals during these moments along with the story logic feel too jarring compared to everything else. They almost threaten to take audience members out of the story completely. If someone came to me and said they hated the ending, I could understand that because it operates closer to a poetic logic than a narrative one. However, the antagonism between faith (poetic) and certainty (logic) is presented as a key undercurrent that keeps all the independent parts of the story moving, so the theme sublimating to the level of the narrative feels earned. If anything, I wish that the movie was a bit longer and fleshed out this discussion so that the shift would be more palatable, but I have to give my respect to the filmmaker for going all out.

To those viewers looking for an grounded and in-depth look at magic, A Dark Song should provide what you’re looking for and more. The story deftly explores dark magic in a way that treats it with respect and grounds it in the same vein as meaningful religious activity. From the intricate way the ceremony is visually depicted to the harrowing consequences that result from it, the story emphasizes the wonder and darkness inherent in the occult. The string based score transports you to a world of arcane possibilities, while the emphatic and powerful performances by the two leads keeps you aware that what’s happening is real and purposeful. Though I think some parts of the movie could be better fleshed out, mainly to make the whiplash of the last 20 minutes feel less prominent, what Gavin and his team have done is truly special. This is a movie that invites the audience to think along with its characters as to what faith and belief truly looks like.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	A Dark Song is that rare horror movie that pushes genre conventions in unexpected ways to great results. The story mixes magic with religion to force us to ask questions about our own faith and orientation towards the unknown and mystical. The formal presentation of the rituals along with the evocative and chilling score help keep the audience glued to the unique presentation of magic and ensure that the deeper meanings of the movie aren’t lost in the background. This is magic done in a unique and effective way that treats its subject matter with the respect it deserves. At the same time, the story never forgets to be chilling and utilizes its narrative elements to get under your skin. The performances by the two leads gives the arcane story an emotional center that helps propel both the themes and narrative to a conclusion that feels satisfying, even if completely out of the blue. If you’re looking for a story about magic or want a horror that examines the mystical in a grounded way, look no further. A Dark Song will help take you beyond simple appearances to a world that will make you genuinely ponder.
Rating	9.4/10
Grade	A

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