Tag Archives: Denis Villeneuve

Film Review: Polytechnique – 2009

Director(s)Denis Villeneuve
Principal CastKarine Vanasse as Valérie
Sébastien Huberdeau as Jean-François
Maxim Gaudette as The Killer
Release Date2009
Language(s)English
Running Time 77 minutes
Report CardClick to go to Review TLDR/Summary

Note: This review contains spoilers regarding the first 30 minutes of the film as opposed to the site’s usual benchmark of 10-20 minutes. The same effort towards sustaining the intrigue and momentum of the film is maintained in this review, and all plot details revealed are just meant to be a springboard to discuss the scope of the work in better detail. Nothing discussed should undermine the “best” portions of the film or the many mysteries that keep the story engaging.

Two women operate a photocopier as a sea of students bustle and jovially engage around them. Within a minute, this peace is interrupted by a set of gunshots. One of the women falls down in pain while the other clutches her ear; violence has created a division and the two women are now framed separately.

The camera tilts from the woman holding her ear to the one wounded on the floor before cutting again to the former. The cut reinforces the disruption that’s occurred – the space has become split. Accordingly, the sound also complete cuts out to a deafening silence as the subject of the shot, both literal and filmic, stumbles to find a grounding. The title card drops in, and a message appears indicating that the story to follow is based off survivor testimony from the Polytechnique shooting of 1989 but chronicles a series of fictional characters.

We cut back chronologically and open on the shooter pointing the barrel of his gun to his head; he’s in the throes of suicidal ideation but chooses to not go forward with his decision yet. Instead, he lingers in his dirty, unkept apartment, unable to maintain his gaze on anything in particular. He opens a fridge as if looking for food but his eyes are focused on nothing in particular – there’s something missing.

But his roommate pays no heed to this odd behavior and the two exchange an informal “goodbye” with one another before the camera slowly pushes in on the killer’s face in a close-up shot, reinforcing the isolation of its subject. Even while eating his breakfast, the killer simply goes through the motions and looks somewhere off to the distance.

But when he sees his neighbor’s apartment lights up from his window, he suddenly becomes very focused. He turns off the light in the dining room and stares across; a close-up highlights his focused, intent gaze. The score changes as a result and an ominous droning and somber piano begin to play.

His neighbor begins to move and the killer runs to another room in his place and continues to stare; his neighbor, a young woman, is his obsessive focus. She turns off the lights to her place and departs the location. The killer turns away from his window dejectedly and then begins to act.

He starts to clean his dirty flat before writing a letter and delivering its contents to us via a voice-over monologue; this is his “declaration” and explanation for the shooting he is to commit, a shooting we have already borne witness to. From its outset, director Denis Villenevue explicitly challenges this justification by placing it after the shooting itself; the shock of the violence makes the killer’s abhorrent reasoning untenable from its inception.

Yet, the deconstruction of the motivation doesn’t stop there. The killer exalts himself as a person of reason who believes in science and explains that this position has led him to want to eliminate all “feminists”, a position he attributes to women by virtue of existence. He claims that they usurp all benefits of men without having to do any of the same labor and that he’s tired of it; yet, he also admits that he, a natural genius who gets great marks without trying, does not wish to do any meaningful study, labor, and be subject to a government. The points are non-sequitur and do not make sense when given more than a moment’s thought; instead, the rant reveals that he’s unable to comprehend himself outside of his hatred.

His alienation must be caused by some other agent(s): women. As the voice-over continues, he stares at a mirror and sees himself alone in the reflection; but if he refuses to understand himself, then his reflection offers no solace. This distance from identity is reinforced when he goes to burn any photographs of himself underneath the mirror in the sink. His sense of self exists only in opposition to the women he has decried as enemy and has nothing to furnish itself on.

The film cuts to another apartment and the non-diegetic track finally stops playing. A young woman, Stéphanie (Evelyne Brochu), holds a cigarette outside the window. She brings it back in and takes a puff before calling out to her roomate, Valérie (Karine Vanasse), to ask a science question related to entropy. Valérie explains the answer and then gets for an interview.

She tries on a series of dresses while looking in the mirror and isn’t satisfied with how she looks. Thankfully, Stéphanie notices her struggling and helps out with getting a better outfit as a diegetic song plays; the two friends smile with each other as they look into the mirror while the music continues and livens up the moment.

Thus, the difference between the men and women’s apartments are formally rendered by Villenevue. One has closed windows while the other apartment’s is open. One has persons who are closed off to one another while the other has persons who eagerly assist and communicate with one another. One is silent and filled with a music that its subjects cannot hear while the other is filled with the sounds of a cheerful song that its subjects can enjoy. While the men are alienated and separate, the women are together and engage in community. This is why Valérie, as opposed to the killer, can find her identity vis-a-vis the mirror; she has a friend to help her out.

While the two young women make their way to university, the film cuts back to the killer who looks at people while driving; his car’s windows and side-view mirrors frame persons in unnatural manners and showcase the killer’s warped perspective. The non-diegetic track comes back into play as he writes and delivers an apology letter to his mother, a woman who he feels a need to explain things to – a sharp contradiction given his complete admonishment of all womenkind.

As the music continues to play, the film cuts to a slanted view of a library, before slowly arcing as it tracks to a new subject, Jean-François (Sébastien Huberdeau). When the young man enters the frame in the up-right position, the non-diegetic track disappears. A passerby calls out to Jean-Francois (JF) and greets him before departing – JF, unlike the killer, is not isolated and has connections.

Meanwhile, Valérie proceeds to her interview and tries to make a case for herself. But the interviewer immediately disrupts her when he questions her choice to pursue mechanical over civil engineering; the latter, he suggests, is more popular for women because it’s easier and allows them to raise a family. The misogynistic implication of his words is clear: Valérie obviously cannot handle the rigors of the harder discipline if she has “motherly” aspirations. The camera closes in on her face as she struggles to answer the question; the sexism has isolated her in the conversation. Far from finding it easier to get a job as per the killer’s proclamations, she’s immediately forced to jump through additional hoops that her male counterparts would never have to deal with.

She goes to the bathroom to deal with her frustrations and finds herself surrounded by a series of reflections, a sea of Valéries caught up in the fracture opened by the interviewer’s intrusion. But the camera pans through these series of reflections until it comes onto a frame of close-up of a singular reflection of Valérie; she’s found herself once again and proceeds forward. Unlike the killer who refuses to look inwards and seeks external scapegoats for his issues, she looks inwards and finds something to affirm.

We cut to a cafeteria where a host of students converse among themselves and engage in everyday behavior. The killer makes his way through the crowd as if looking for something but ends up even more isolated amongst the crowd. He’s unable to find any connection and goes to his car as a non-diegetic score briefly comes into play again.

But it quickly dissipates as Stéphanie comes into the frame; she’s looking for Valérie to get the details on the interview and comforts her friend over the less-than-pleasant encounter. Valérie reveals that she got the job because she played the part expected by the interviewer and claimed she wasn’t interested in having kids; she was forced to repress her desire to get a “fair” chance”

The conversation dissipates and up-beat diegetic music starts to play as the camera goes through the students gathered in the cafeteria to find JF sitting in frustration; he’s incapable of figuring out a problem and spots Valérie and Stéphanie amongst everyone. He immediately goes to greet them and asks for help solving the problem. Valérie lends him his notes and he goes to copy them. Once again, Valérie comes to the aid of a friend, male instead of female this time around. The killer’s speech is once again emphatically disproved as the most knowledgeable person, the one willing to help both women and men, is a woman.

Furthermore, in sharp contrast to the killer, JF is more than amenable to women and accepts their help and friendship just as willingly as he would any man. While scanning, he exchanges kind words with another woman looking to use the photocopier and quickly takes his notes. But his gaze gets caught up in a painting.

The non-diegetic score creeps back in while the camera slowly pushes in on a copy of Picasso’s “Guernica”; the piece of art uses “lack of color to express the starkness of the aftermath of the bombing”. It serves as an “anti-war symbol” and an “embodiment of peace”. It offers multiple interpretations of its elements. [1] Guernica, 1937 by Pablo Picasso. 10 Facts About Guernica by Pablo Picasso. (n.d.). Retrieved February 5, 2023, from https://www.pablopicasso.org/guernica.jsp

The intensified focus on the painting thus serves a dual purpose: it foreshadows of the violence to come, a violence we’ve already been privy to due to the non-linear telling of the narrative, and aligns the films motivations and some of its structural choices with the paintings. We’ve seen the black-and-white aesthetic on display and the violence proper and, thus, we brace ourselves for the “aftermath” and the “peace” to follow.

This image of violence cuts to the killer’s hands clenched in prayer and his deep breaths merge with the score. He’s getting ready to (re)enact the shooting and looks to steady himself. He scribbles more into his letter, as if anything he has left to say can explain what he’s going to do. Then he hears a group of students talking outside and a women’s voice breaks through his trance. He is ready.

He walks back into the school and the camera captures him in a blurry haze reflecting his ill-defined subjectivity. A close-up on his face captures his absolute inability to come to terms with himself in the world. He looks around the space but only sees men around him; his choice of victim does not seem available. But then, like JF, he catches sight of Valérie and Stéphanie heading to class; his choice is set and his victims, women, have been found.

The film continues to swap between these three primary perspectives – the killer, JF, Valérie – before, during, and after the events of the shooting in an attempt to demonstrate the fracturing effect of violence and the way it (re)forms bonds between both individuals and their surroundings. By showing us the violence at the beginning, the film primes us to focus not on the violence itself but on the manner by which it moves through a system and changes it.

In this way, the violence comes to be a formal marker that disrupts the film as much as it disrupts the characters’ lives. The scene of the shooting repeatedly intervenes, demonstrating its violent, traumatic effects on the psyche. The characters who survive are unable to ever fully forget this disruption as it keeps rearing its ugly head. This effect is felt by the viewer as well who is unable to ever enjoy the time with the characters knowing what’s to come; even a peaceful moment after the shooting becomes interrupted as the film threatens to cut to darker times and force us to relive the trauma again.

This editing approach transforms the shooting from a singular event to a site of traumatic commingling as the perspectives of the characters with their respective chronologies bleed into one another in oneiric fashion. A scene goes from being a flashback to being a dream based on whose subjectivity is being recognized; violence fractures individuals and splinters their experience before reforming them in a new image. The interpretatively ambiguous “Guernica” becomes a fitting double to the film as violence shatters the otherwise normal and forces us to question.

This is why the killer is introduced after the effects of his shooting, leaving him as only a symbolic placeholder as an agent of violence; even the credits list him as merely “The Killer.” Both JF and Valérie are introduced after a scene of the killer going through his plans for the day; the former parties are unaware of his presence but his actions will come to severely impact their lives and after they are made to experience the violence, just as the viewer does at the film’s start, time goes out of joint. The film circles this point of senseless brutality and forces us to engage.

But Villeneuve isn’t as interested in the violence by itself as he is in examining its relation to the sexes and the way those demarcations manifest in identity. This is why he jumps between two men – the killer and JF – and a woman – Valérie. The killer can only see women as the cause of his alienation while JF sees them as companions no different from himself. The film repeatedly highlights how the former’s alienation leaves him fully closed off from men and women despite his stated intentions while the latter’s openness leaves him able to freely interact with everyone. Windows being opened versus closed, diegetic versus non-diegetic music, and camera flips help to signify the difference in these spaces, while mirrors help to make sense of how subjects find themselves in relation these spaces. These attributes help visualize violence’s effects as the changes in spaces render women as fungible objects that can be sacrificed and make distinguishing between “good” and “bad” men much more difficult. The set-up allows Villenevue to suggest that the solution to this heinousness lies in communication, he ultimately leaves the final answer up to interpretation.

REPORT CARD

TLDRPolytechnique formally breakdowns a school-shooting from a series of gendered perspectives, including that of the male killer’s, in a non-chronological format in order to examine the way violence fractures subjectivity. Its editing takes advantage of being able to shift between these multi-faceted approaches and is able to oscillate in oneiric fashion that captivates as much as it perplexes.
Rating10/10
GradeA+

Go to Page 2  for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis.
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Film Review: Dune – 2021

Director(s)Denis Villeneuve
Principal CastTimothée Chalamet as Paul Atreides
Rebecca Ferguson as Lady Jessica
Oscar Isaac as Duke Leto Atreides
Stellan Skarsgård as Baron Vladimir Harkonnen
Zendaya as Chani

Javier Bardem as Stilgar
Jason Momoa as Duncan Idaho
Josh Brolin as Gurney Halleck
Release Date2021
Language(s)English
Running Time minutes
Report CardClick to go to Review TLDR/Summary

NOTE: This is a new release and the review is based off a theatre viewing. This means the review won’t feature common elements like visual analysis, extended theme analysis, or long-form discussions of the cinematic techniques being used. Once I am able to get a copy of the movie to watch, pause, analyze, and get stills from the review will be updated to match the current site’s standard.

A deep boisterous rumble emanates from a dark abyss; subtitled translations appear and clarify this guttural noise is a message from something somewhere: “Dreams are messages from the deep.” The text disappears and the production logos pop onto the screen. Like Dario Argento’s iconic Deep Red, director Denis Villeneuve challenges the boundaries of the non-diegetic title sequence and transforms the film from being just a piece of media to a “message from the deep.” The introduction prefaces the production elements of the film, not the other way around. Thus, from its start, Dune starts off as a dream; the story to follow is nothing more than vision from an unconscious that the audience experiences. Far from being passive observers of a story, we’re part and parcel of the experience that grants that story coherence.

Once the production logos fade away, the story picks up again with a new narrator, Chani (Zendaya), who speaks to us in a language we can understand. She explains that her people, the Fremen, the indigenous population of the desert planet Arrakis, are forced to deal with the constant plundering and sacking of their home world by outsiders who seek to harvest “spice”, a drug which serves as the most valuable commodity in the galaxy, both providing health benefits on top of being the catalyst for any and all intergalactic travel. We see Chani and her fellow Fremen position in the sands, blow up one of a spice harvesting machine, and escape from the scene of the explosion. She whispers the name “Paul,” and the vision fades away as our story’s protagonist, Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet), wakes up. Far from talking to presumably the audience like the previous entity, Chani seems to be speaking to Paul through his dreams. But how?

The two dreams layered on top of one another suggests either that Paul also saw the first dream as a precursor to second, or that the audience is privy to an even more encompassing vision that exceeds even Paul’s. Ambiguities in the dream qua messages in regards to their senders, receivers, and method of transmission give the film an opacity which places the audience firmly on the side of the story’s hero. Like Paul, we see visions but are unaware what they fully mean. If messages are meant to inform their recipients, then the story raises the question on what exactly dreams are meant to tell us.

Following the unconscious encounter, Paul makes his way towards the dining room to eat breakfast with his mother, Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson). Immediately, she asks about his dreams. It becomes apparent these visions from Chani, or more accurately the beyond that may or may not be Chani, are recurring and important enough to prompt dialogue. He responds coolly, mentioning that he had them, before then asking his mother to pass over a cup of water. She refuses and instead tells him to use “the Voice” to force her compliance. Unable to refuse, Paul commands his mother to hand him the cup.

But his voice transforms as he utters the demand, going from soft and quiet to amplified and menacing, masculine to feminine. All other sounds fade out and his words takes center stage, booming out in such fashion that a jolt in response would be appropriate. Jessica’s eyes flitter for a moment and the impact of Paul’s words continue to ring through the room. Suddenly, her hand moves a cup of water towards Paul before her eyes come back into focus and her agency returns. No explanation is given for the power or its place, but its presence informs the audience that Paul and his family are far from normal.

As if to confirm the Atreides position, Jessica promptly informs Paul he needs to change for an Imperial Procession, as his father, Duke Leto Atreides (Oscar Isaac) is to take control of Arrakis from House Harkonnen as the Emperor’s new fief ruler. Arrakis, Chani’s home world and the place of Paul’s dreams, thus becomes his new destination as his family, the Atreides, is tasked with overseeing spice production on the planet. Dreams and reality converge as Paul goes to confront his destiny.

This is Denis Villenevue’s Dune, a multi-textured cinematic dream machine that takes the task of translating author Frank Herbert’s science-fiction magnum opus to task, successfully re-creating the metaphysical visions and grandiose politicking of the books in the most spectacular fashion. If the opening few moments serve as any indication, it’s to pay close attention as even the minute characteristics have the capacity to radically alter the context by which events are evaluated. Everything seems to be connected, like pieces in a puzzle, but the shape of the image being constructed is up to the viewer.

Details invade every single frame. For example, a story of a bull told by Leto to Paul before they depart to Arrakis seems trivial at first glance, but the head of said bull makes a constant set of appearances through the film, representing the stature of the Atreides family based on its framing in the room. Thus, a simple verbal mention transforms into a powerful visual motif that remains hidden in plain sight.

Likewise, the soundscape employs heavy use of leitmotifs. Composer Hans Zimmer creates unique musical cues in relation to all the major players- the Atreides, the Harkonnens, the Fremen, the Bene Gesserit, and so on – vying for control of Arrakis and its associated treasures and employs them to convey the constantly shifting power struggles. A scene which starts with the more soothing Atreides theme indicates who’s really in charge once the sound fades out in favor of the whispery, choral theme of the Bene Gesserit. In this sense, the score acts in lieu of traditional voiceovers, giving the film an sense of direction without out-right spelling it out.

By littering the narrative, mise en scène, and soundscape in such fashion, Dune is able to fully immerse the viewer into an ethereal, dream-like experience. Every moment has so much waiting to be interpellated in relation to everything else, that one can’t help get lost in the film’s milieu. This truly feels like the culmination of Villenevue’s career up to now. Just like his previous large-scale science-fiction masterpiece, Blade Runner 2049, Villenevue fills every frame with such visual splendor that it becomes hard to not gawk at the screen (especially in IMAX). But with Dune, he puts more faith in the audience to piece together what’s happening without as many overt hints, stringing together surreal and “conventional” in fashion more similar to his cerebral thriller Enemy. That’s not to say there’s no exposition, but said exposition pales in comparison to the amount of subtle world-building done around it, providing just enough to the viewer to help them latch onto and make sense of what else is happening. The end result is a film that grabs full hold of the viewer’s attention, leading them along a path without ever spoiling where the subsequent journey will fully lead.

If there is a problem with Dune, it’s that it ends too soon. Two and a half hours pass by as the slow, cerebral, burn of the film takes hold of the viewers mind. By the time the run-time comes to an end, one is left fully ensnared and is left wanting more, as the spice-fueled dream machine truly feels like its transported the viewer elsewhere.

REPORT CARD

TLDRDune is the science-fiction film of a century and is an experience that demands to be seen on the big screen. Villenevue expertly combines epic scale with characters worth investing in, juggling between larger macro-political struggles with intensive internal character struggles. By the time the film ends, viewers will only be left wanting more.

If possible, this is an experience that needs to be experience in a thematical setting, preferably in IMAX, because it so wonderfully demonstrates the transformative power cinema contains.
Rating10/10
GradeS

Go to Page 2 for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis.
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Film Review: Sicario- 2015

Director(s)Denis Villeneuve
Principal CastEmily Blunt as Kate
Josh Brolin as Matt
Benicio del Toro as Alejandro
Daniel Kaluuya as Reggie
Release Date2015
Language(s)English
Running Time 121 minutes
Report CardClick to go to Review TLDR/Summary

The film starts by defining the term ‘sicario’: it was initially used to refer to zealots defending their homeland but means ‘hitman’ in the status quo. Though both interpretations of the word signify a killer, one is oriented around protecting ideals while the other seems to confirm a nihilistic kill-or-be-killed world where no values could persist. This dichotomy between the two meanings of the word represents the battleground Sicario takes place on as it explores what the transition between the terms signifies about the world in a paradigmatic sense.

The establishing shot starts from the vantage point of the idealistic interpretation of the word: a domestic view of a neighborhood in Arizona is interrupted as a group of soldiers, defenders of the homeland, creep into frame while the late Jóhann Jóhannsson’s palpable score reverberates like a droning heartbeat in the background, adding to the feeling of tension. The leader of the group, Kate (Emily Blunt), sits in a tank ready for breach before the vehicle breaks into a house, scattering dust all over the area. She gets down to investigate the residence with her squad but is suddenly caught off guard by a armed resident in the house. She evades his bullet and manages to kill him. The sound calms down. It seems like the dust has settled.

However, his bullet, despite missing her, opens another wound that proves to be even more devastating . The wall, broken in by the impact of the shot, reveals a series of bagged up corpses hiding within – a simple hostage retrieval becomes a mortifying entry into the macabre.

Kate immediately goes outside to vomit. Being a soldier doesn’t entail being unaffected by such senseless violence, and the brutality of the situation shakes Kate and her crew. She’s asked by personnel on how to document the situation given its severity. Kate insists that the records reveal everything; transparency is more necessary than ever.

While she tries to get an accurate count on the number of bodies in the house, a group of officers outside find a padlocked door in a shed and try and open it. The cuts and expectations established previously lead the viewer to think it’s more bodies hidden away, but the intense heartbeat track comes back signaling shifting times. Suddenly, the shed explodes.

Debris and dust scatter everywhere, obfuscating the frame, and Kate is once again lost in the fog of the situation, unable to see anything besides the carnage. The domestic area turned mausoleum has now become the site of an explosion – suburbia rendered into a site of gratuitous violence. In her efforts to preserve the rule of law, Kate finds herself soaked with so much blood that she can’t seem to scrub it all off in the shower. As she looks into a clouded reflection of herself in her bathroom mirror, it’s clear her more idealistic worldview has been delivered a tremendous blow.

The next day comes. Kate and her partner on the force, Reggie (Daniel Kaluuya), wait outside of a glass-paned room as their superiors discuss the previous day’s mission. A man speaks to the group with the camera positioned to his back. His framing suggests importance and a sense of mystery. He asks about Kate and Reggie’s respective backgrounds, approving of Kate’s but rejecting Reggie upon hearing about his legal education. The group calls Kate in and introduces her to the man of the hour, Matt (Josh Brolin).

First, he asks her about her relationship and child status. He’s abrupt and straight to the point. She responds she’s both divorced and childless. He tells her he’s hunting the cartels behind the bodies and bombings. She expresses interest. Her superior, Forsing (Jeffrey Donovan) tells her that joining such a task-force requires volunteering for the position. She asks Matt if they’ll be able to hold the people who committed the acts responsible. He guarantees that they’ll be able to deal with the masterminds behind the operation itself.

She agrees with no hesitation and her journey begins. However, as she leaves the room, she notices that the charming, yet serious Matt, shrouded in mystery, is wearing flip-flops in sharp contrast to everyone else in the room wearing business professional clothing – another indication that appearances are not to be trusted. Images are always imbued with an purpose and can’t be taken at face value.

The film cuts to a neighborhood in Nogales, Mexico. A young boy wakes up his father, Silvio(Maximiliano Hernández), to ask him to play soccer. Silvio gets up, eats breakfast while getting a nice helping of side-eye from his wife, puts on his police uniform, and then proceeds to take his son out on a walk. This adjunct narrative is a sense of normalcy that gives the viewer a reprieve from the violence; however, its presence immediately generates a sense of unease. The opening’s mention of Mexico in relation to sicario qua assassin, the eruption of violence in the American residence, the focus on cartel violence, and Silvio’s status as police officer transform a seemingly benign scene and moment into one that threatens to become catastrophic.

Back in the United Sates, Reggie drives Kate to her first day on Matt’s team. She’s told she’s going to El Paso with them on some preliminary task-work. However, upon getting to the gate, Reggie is denied access and the uncertainty about the situation increases. The emissary of the law is not allowed to pry his eyes upon this supposedly legal execution of justice. He’s forced to leave as Kate continues forward.

As she gets closer to the plane, another man, with his head turned around as to disguise his visage, appears at the plane’s tail. Matt comes out to greet Kate letting her know that the wayward man is Alejandro (Benicio del Toro) – another unexpected surprise. The trio get on the plane and Alejandro asks Kate if she’s ever been to Juárez; the shoe fully drops and the pretenses dissipate as Kate realizes that the mission she’s signed up for is far more expansive than she could have imagined.

While the nature of where Sicario mysteries lead is fairly by the books, the way its cinematically rendered gives it a poignancy that elevates the film into something special. Screenwriter Taylor Sheridan’s script is propulsive and juggles multiple storylines, giving director Denis Villenevue the ability to flex his muscles and leave his mark of the genre. Instead of focusing on the mystery, Villenevue repeatedly turns the viewer’s attention to the dichotomy introduced at the film’s start by utilizing parallels in characters and groups to demonstrate the way the terms and the manner by which they’re used to categorize can rapidly shift .

There’s an implied distinction between between killing while oriented towards an ideal that stands for something greater than oneself and killing for the sake of something material, like wealth. The former position is one that’s idealistic and moves towards a vision of a “just” world. The latter is one that’s nihilistic and treats the world of winner-take-all. Or is that really the case? Are the two ideas separate or do they bleed into one another? Could one assassinate as an ideal or choose to assassinate in order to move towards an ideal? Villeneuve allows these questions to fester by taking the parallel’s Sheridan’s script sets up between the cartel and the US government, the Mexican police force and the American police force, and so on, and forces the viewer to play a horrifying game of compare and contrast.

One act of violence by one side is met by a seemingly equal atrocious act on the other. A “good” character postures and makes a comment on a “bad” character but then takes action that seems just as egregious. Villeneuve chooses to showcase the “immoral” bouts of violence in more explicit detail and withhold the brutality within the “ethical” instances of violence. He gives just enough information for the viewer to imagine how a scene would progress given both the context clues and the explicit parallels, forcing the audience to come to their own conclusions regarding the mechanics and ethics underpinning certain bouts of brutality. The subjective process of imagining the violence generates an uncomfortable proximity to the situation and forces us to deal with the contradictions in values.

This move also generates an empathetic connection with Kate who is thrust into the same world of twists, turns, and moments of depravity and forced to find stable footing in spite of it all. The first act sets up Kate as resourceful, honest, and passionate. She dodges a bullet, kills an assailant, takes control of her group, and wants to achieve justice – an ideal protagonist to root for. However, the moment she volunteers to achieve her ethical vision, she’s forced into a world where friend and foe mean very little, and the boundaries between what the “good” and “evil” are doing is suspect. Thus, an action of violence which may be immediately justified as necessary can be questioned because the viewer experiences it with Kate; she’s a moral barometer that lets us traverse the hazy backdrop the film plays against.

Sicario’s genre peers would usually feature a character like Alejandro or Matt as the lead – a burly man of mystery ready to whatever it takes to get the job done. However, the choice to have the lead be a highly capable woman with her morals intact in a sea of men and violence provides a vantage point that gives the otherwise gratuitous moments of sheer visceral terror a counterpoint that has heft. She’s not a damsel in distress, and she’s not some battle-hardened veteran looking for a fight; she’s just a competent soldier looking to do the right thing in circumstances that go against everything she’s been taught to accept. Blunt exemplifies this by constantly modulating between a soldier capable of holding her own and someone way out of their depth being racked by panic. She’s the perfect vehicle for both her character and the moral fiber of the film. By building up her competency and then slowly revealing its limits within a brutal, new environment, the film is able to push forward new ground on a story and make what would otherwise be cliché’s into uncomfortable moments to unpackage.

In fact, it’s because Kate is presented as competent in the context of what she’s signed up to do that otherwise passive scenes on her part are absolutely dread inducing. For example, as opposed to a conventional car chase scene with professionals chasing after one another, a traffic jam scene where assailants can be in any car and the protagonist is a fish out of water is much more dreadful. Because Kate is established as capable, the film is able to emphasize just how unforgiving the reality of the cartel violence and dealing with them can be; the rules of war don’t do anything in guerilla situations. Thus, her position gives impetus not only to the primary questions of the film but allow the visceral moments to have genuine stakes associated with them.

Put together with the parallel storylines and the near-perfect pacing of the narrative, Sicario certainly merits a comparison to the Coen brothers’ masterpiece, No Country For Old Men, a neo-Western following multiple characters who hunt and are being hunted by one another. Like No Country, Sicario presents a dark vision of an age without values, where the values of older days have seemingly faded away to the gusts of apathy and violence. While Sicario may not be as ambitious in terms of its narrative construction and direction, it certainly evokes a similar feeling of wandering through a foreign land where sense and reason have vacated the premises.

However, Sicario does match No Country when it comes to its visuals. Serving as director of photography on both films, Roger Deakins gives Villeneuve’s vision the room it needs to breath and fully take hold. Dust in the air, shadowy environments, and ever-present sources of reflection reveal the complexity inherent in seemingly straight-forward situations by introducing a visual opacity which accentuates the themes. Nothing is what it seems and it’s within the shadows cast by projections that the “truth” can be ascertained; there’s a space between words and the paradigms they operate within.

Consequently, this makes Sicario a must-see experience for any fan of cinema ranging from the casual fan looking for an exciting time to the cinephile looking for something heftier to sink their teeth into. While veterans of cartel thrillers might be less surprised by plot twists, the sheer culmination of skill including, but not limited to, Deakins camera work, the late Jóhann Jóhannsson’s adrenaline-pumping propulsive score, Blunt’s humanistic yet confident performance, and of course, Villeneuve’s brilliant ability to put all these elements together makes this an experience no one should miss. If nothing else, the final few moments of the film exemplify how dedication to craft can elevate even a small movement into a grand gesture.

REPORT CARD

TLDRSicario is the rare movie that offers a totally engrossing time from start to finish across different types of moviegoers. With its propulsive narrative, fantastic acting, bloody and well-executed set-pieces, and its dark and foreboding score, the experience stays entertaining the whole time. However, it’s use of Emily Blunt in the role of the main character gives the movie a humanity and a vantage point that transforms it into a meditation on violence and the reality of the rule of law. It’s heady without being alienating and even more engaging as a result.
Rating10/10
GradeS

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Film Review: Enemy – 2013

Director(s)Denis Villeneuve
Principal CastJake Gyllenhaal as Adam Bell / Anthony Claire
Mélanie Laurent as Mary
Sarah Gadon as Helen Claire
Isabella Rossellini as the Mother
Release Date2013
Language(s)English
Running Time 90 minutes
Report CardClick to go to Review TLDR/Summary

The camera tracks left over a muddied yellow cityscape while composers Bensi and Jurrinan’s eerie and foreboding score plays; discordant strings turn into synth-like drones that get under the skin. A beep emerges; the voicemail message accompanying it feels less intrusion and more accompaniment to the score – the soundscape is unified in its discordant elements. A woman’s voice (Isabella Rossellini) can be heard. She talks to her son and thanks him for showing him her new apartment. She mentions concern over his living conditions and asks for him to call back while the camera cuts to Adam (Jake Gyllenhaal), her son, sitting in a musty car. His eyes reflected in the car’s rear-view mirror show an inertia – he looks unenthused and out of it. The mother’s words gain some power as her son’s disposition indicates a lack of vitality.

She tells him she loves him and the film cuts to a pregnant woman, Helen, who sits basked in a yellow haze of light and shadow. Another mother in response to the son. A pattern established, but what does it mean? The screen turns black as if in response and the following words appear on the screen in yellow font: “”Chaos is order yet undeciphered.” This is Enemy’s calling card; the story is a puzzle that entices the viewer to engage in dialogue. Patterns are present and meanings are given but their connections aren’t immediately apparent. Thus, order is only present for those willing to decipher – a great way to prime the viewer to not only pay attention but to stay invested to even the most minor of details.

The words fade into a black background out which a pair of hands appear in close view. We cut to a wider shot and see a man who looks like Adam but exudes a more confident presence along with another man walking down a dimly lit hallway where the yellow lights emit a sickly feeling in the area. This “potential” Adam[1]I use potential in quotes here because the nature of which character this is isn’t made definite and is certainly meant to be presented as up for interpretation at the start. For my full … Continue reading opens the door and enters the room as the unnerving score gets more intrusive and for good reason. It turns out that the characters have entered a dimly lit room filled with smoke and mirrors where hordes of men gather around women performing sexual acts. This mise-en-scène gives the setting a surreal feeling – the perverse room feels apart from a “normal” world. The women’s moans and squeals of enjoyment accentuate the unease generated by the score – the sounds of ecstasy take on the sign of omen as they become infected by the score.

Suddenly, two women adorned in a silky robes and long heels comes out and the crowd’s attention becomes focused. Their initial “holy” appearance, at least comparatively, and the way they command the energy of the room evokes the feeling of sacred ritual – the climax approaches. One of the women carries a covered tray which she places in the center of the room. Meanwhile the other one disrobes in the background as the “potential” Adam places his fingers over his face, almost as if trying to cover it, and leaves room only for his eyes to peer through – four fingers on each side of his face wrapping around from the bottom-up. The tray is picked up and a spider walks out from the center of it. However, as it tries to get away, it’s followed by the now fully disrobed women who follows it around the table. Her pursuit is shown via the reflection of the table – a mirror image.

Eventually she corners and stands menacingly over the creature, revealed only by her silhouette. She places her robe over the spider as if about to crush the creature while the room watches with baited breath. Is this what the men came to see? A nude woman threatening to kill a spider? A leg positioned over a creature possessing 8 legs? We cut back to the “potential” Adam in the same position as before. Now the 8 fingers reaching around his face form part of an inverted image: a spider made of hands reaching around the face in contrast to the feet reaching to the spider proper.

We see a view of the city again before the film cuts to Adam teaching a college classroom. He starts his lecture on control by stating that: “Every dictatorship has one obsession. And that’s it. So, in Ancient Rome, they gave the people bread and circuses. They kept the populace busy with entertainment, but other dictatorships use other strategies to control ideas. How do they do that? Lower education. They limit culture. Censor information. They censor any means of individual expression. And it’s important to remember this, that this is a pattern that repeats itself throughout history. ” He finishes his lecture and the students leave.

He gets on a bus that traverses the city via cable transport that travels along lines that extend from building to building like a web of control. The spider’s influence is everywhere it seems. Adam gets into his disheveled looking apartment where he exists in lethargic state. His dissatisfaction is apparent as he expresses frustration in the movement of his hands while grading his students’ papers. He brings his hands up to his face as if to pray right as his girlfriend, Mary (Mélanie Laurent), shows up. She attempts to converse with him, but he refuses to answer. Instead, he focuses on just engaging in sex with her.

Then, the pattern repeats. He’s back in his classroom, giving the same lecture as above, gets on the web-linked train, grades papers at home, has sex with Mary and back to it again. He’s stuck in a loop that leaves him out of joint. Finally, the pattern breaks. As Adam sits in the teacher’s lounge, one of his co-workers asks him whether or not he goes to the movies and if he’s a “movie guy”. Adam indicates he doesn’t go out a lot and doesn’t like movies. This would also make sense given his lecture content – entertainment is a strategy used to control people so he stays away from it.

His coworker persists and mentions that one can watch a movie at home and that renting can work just as good as going out theatres. In response to this persistence, Adam requests a recommendation for something cheerful to which his coworker recommends Where There’s a Will, There’s a Way” The odd title initially strikes both us and Adam as a philosophical statement until he clarifies the flick is a local film which Adam should check out. Thus, the initial pattern is disrupted. A desire has presented itself within the inert world of Adam’s.

He comes back home after having rented the movie. As he dejectedly rests his head against his right palm, Mary appears and tries to coax him into coming to bed with her even mentioning how “drunk” she is. She plays with his face and tries to awaken something sensual in him but he’s unmoved. In one fluid movement, the camera tracks horizontally Mary as she leaves Adam alone, receding into the darkness and leaving the light on him. He finishes the last paper and opens up his laptop to start and finish the movie. Once again, the camera moves horizontally, demonstrating the passing of time and location. The movie is done and Mary is fast asleep. Adam gets up and looks perturbed, but tries to distract himself by having sex with sleeping Mary. He gets on top of her, but the time is passed and she’s no longer interested. She asks him to stop, gets out of bed, and changes. He asks what’s wrong and she lets him know she’ll call tomorrow. The pattern has now fully broken down and with it comes the first signs of horror.

The score becomes intimidating as it starts to pound as pattern of the film fully breaks down – now the screen has transported the viewer to within the Where There’s a Will, There’s a Way. This is Adam’s’ dream and his unconscious, now stirred out of the monotony of his “everyday”, presents the dream to move Adam.

A woman in a red dress and black hat stands at a hotel’s reception and is received by two staff without hats. One of the men calls a bell boy with a red hat to help the woman with her two bags. He retrieves two bags from the floor and follows the woman along. As the two walk, a group of men and women sitting close-by stare at the black-hatted woman. A woman wearing a yellow hat courting a man wearing a red-tie with a spider-web pattern on it is terrified at the presence of this woman in the black hat who continues to walk along. The bell boy and woman then run into another man with a hat, who takes his hat off, and then proceeds to talk with the woman. It’s at this point that bell boy’s face is finally revealed and the visage looks exactly like Adam sans a beard. The dream breaks – the realization has been made.

Adam wakes up in dread and slowly walks out of his bedroom to see his laptop, still on, waiting in his chair as if taunting him to peer closer. He picks up the computer and starts to fast forward, pause, and scan Where There’s a Will, There’s a Way for the disturbance he saw in his dream – the presence of his doppelgänger.

Fittingly, upon finding his “repetition”, he begins his next lecture on something new – Hegel. Adam explains that Hegel claimed that “the greatest world events happen twice” and then Karl Marx added that “the first time it was tragedy, and the second time it was a farce.” Taken together, the statements mean that the repetition of an original event, confirms it not merely as contingency but as necessary. In other words, it’s the instantiation of a pattern – chaos which becomes ordered through a repetition which confirms a “truth” established previously. If this is the case, then what patterns does Adam’s movie actor doppelgänger reveal about his patterns – his “truth”? Adam becomes obsessed with finding out precisely that and thus, Enemy can proceed with gusto.

With its doppelgänger set-up, surrealistic set-pieces, and expressed interest in acting as a puzzle to the viewer, it’s no surprise that Enemy falls in a line of films that includes the likes of: Persona, Fight Club, Lost Highway. Like these films, Enemy employs a dream-like logic in its construction to guide the viewer through a matrix of desire and fantasy in such fashion as to engender a desire in the viewer to delve deeper. For all the answers director Denis Villeneuve withholds, he never leaves the viewer feeling frustrated that only “nonsense” is occurring.

He does this by both employing segments of the film absent of Adam and his duplicate to help establish baselines that the audience can use to decipher what can or cannot be the case and also by priming the audience to pay attention to patterns, some easily discernible and others more hidden. Thus, Enemy becomes whatever the audience makes of it – it’s a game that constantly plays back giving the film and enigmatic pulse that gnaws at the viewers curiosity. There’s always another movement, another scene, another pattern waiting to be found to make sense of what came before. Consequently, the mysteries of the film feel solid enough to grasp, so the viewer can traverse strands of Enemy’s web even if they can’t see the web in its entirety.

Because Villeneuve meticulously stages the film in parallel movements, both within scenes and between them, there’s always a constant series of moving answers and questions. As new patterns are formed, new questions can be raised which opens previous and future scenes up to more nuanced interpretations. This is all purposeful, as evidenced by a scene that occurs midway in the film that quite literally represents a particular breakpoint in the film – it’s proof of the intention driving every one of the film’s decisions. Even if one can’t immediately notice each point and it’s counterpoint, it’s doppelgänger so to speak, they can certainly feel it in the structure of the film which reinforces and builds upon symbols and feelings at a subconscious level, priming the audience one way or another.

In particular, this parallel movement sets the viewer up for moments of genuine psychological fear. Patterns induce a level of comfort and the disruption of those patterns creates a level of anxiety. As evidenced by the intrusion of the film within the film, the seemingly random interruption of a “normal occurrence” jolts ones senses. Because the film clues the viewer to notice the patterns, the moments of deviations, the farces to come, are horrific.

Furthermore, the constant presence of the spider and its web in the mise-en-scène evokes the unease of the opening scene of sexual violence while creating webs of meaning between groupings of ideas. The music that accompanies it stays a constant force throughout the film, punctuating every moment with its anxiety inducing drone. There’s never a moment of respite as the senses are assaulted with an impending sense that something obscene is happening. In particular, Villenevue’s dedication to the sickly yellow lighting and color choice accentuates the feeling of misery the characters seem to be experiencing. The color lets the shadows of the dark “shine” through against the yellow, letting the feeling of the unknown pervade in moments of unease. The result is a psychological horror that uses its surrealistic base not just as a method of presenting unnerving images but as a method of probing the viewer’s unconsciousness to pick up on the undercurrents of terror lying just beneath the veneer of the apparent narrative. It’s precisely because of this that the ending of the film hits as hard and shocks as much as it does. It’s a finale that fully crystallizes the tensions and sense of unease that the film spends most of its run-time building, simultaneously tying the strands of the film together while disorienting the viewer.

At the heart of this disorienting feeling is Jake Gyllenhaal, who plays both Adam and his double within the film. Both characters occupy almost every scene, and their intermingling journey serves as the source of the narrative’s momentum. Having one actor play two characters is hard enough, but Villenevue’s story requires that the duo be similar enough to provoke the feeling of unease at the idea of a duplicate, but at the same time be different enough so that the viewer is easily able to identify which character is present in which scene. Jarring cuts which feature jumps between the characters would be wholly incomprehensible if not for Gyllenhaal’s ability to push the smallest subtleties in the characters’ dispositions to help the audience keep track of what storyline is headed in which direction. The genius of the performance lies not in just the distinctions, but the manner in which those performances give birth to even more performances – acts within acts as the two selves vie for control of the situation. Gyllenhaal has to walk a tight rope to let the nuances of Enemy settle and disturb and because he does so, in what I think is his career best performance, he lets the movie rise to its potential.

Currently, Enemy sports the lowest audience and critic scores on both Rotten Tomatoes [2]Denis Villeneuve. Rotten Tomatoes. (n.d.). Retrieved September 25, 2021, from https://www.rottentomatoes.com/celebrity/denis-villeneuve. and Metacritic [3] Denis Villeneuve. Metacritic. (n.d.). Retrieved September 25, 2021, from https://www.metacritic.com/person/denis-villeneuve.. This makes sense when comparing the film to his most popular outputs, Arrival and Sicario, which both feature energetic narratives where there’s a constant sense of propulsion driving everything towards a certain point. Enemy is very much the opposite, choosing instead to assault the audience with patterns whose boundaries bleed into and out of one another. Instead of presenting a straight-forward journey, Enemy presents a closed loop circling around a mystery it beckons the audience towards solving. For those viewers that prefer fully comprehensive narratives that need less discernment on their part, Villenevue’s surreal adventure might prove to be too frustrating an experience to find satisfaction in. However, those viewers looking for a cerebral experience should accept Enemy’s invitation to find order in chaos and take the plunge into the spider’s web of meaning.

REPORT CARD

TLDREnemy is one part tense psychological horror and another part a puzzle challenging the viewer to put the pieces together. Fans of Villeneuve’s more straightforward ventures à la Sicario might be put off by the matrix of patterns that is Enemy, but those who enjoy his technical style and dedication to creating immersive worlds will definitely appreciate, if not love, this more opaque demonstration of his craft.
Rating10/10
GradeS+

Go to Page 2 for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis.
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Film Review: Arrival – 2016

Director(s)Denis Villeneuve
Principal CastAmy Adams as Louise Banks
Jeremy Renner as Ian Donnelly
Forest Whitaker as Colonel Weber
Release Date2016
Language(s)English
Running Time 116 minutes
Report CardClick to go to Review TLDR/Summary

The camera slowly tracks down and forward towards a window staring out at an ocean view while “On the Nature of Daylight” by Max Richter plays in the background. The song evokes feelings of melancholy and beauty and sets the mood for what’s to come. The window is a frame; a center point that demarcates an area while presenting. As the camera goes towards this frame we hear a voiceover by our still unseen protagonist, Louise, who explains that “Memory is a strange thing. It doesn’t work like I thought it did. We are so bound by time, by its order.”

We cut from the frame to Louise (Amy Adams) and her daughter, Hannah. We see Hannah as a child, being delivered into Louise arms. We cut again and see Louise playing with a slightly older Hannah (Jadyn Malone). Hannah plays in the background as her mom watches from the foreground. We match cut to Louise looking down on her daughter who says “I love you.” We match cut to an older Hannah who now says “I hate you.” Finally, we cut to a hospital where we see Louise crying over a deceased Hannah. Louise walks down an seemingly never-ending arcing hospital hallway as the music comes to an end. Louise’s narration continues as she notes that, “… I’m not so sure I believe in beginnings and endings. There are days that define your story beyond your life, like they day they arrived.”

Accordingly, the movie shifts to “present” time, to a Louise who seems oblivious to the world around her. She walks along as throngs of people around her crowd around televisions. Her energy levels are muted compared to the frenzy around her. She makes her way to the college classroom she teaches linguistics in and notices a severe lack of students. She gets ready to write on the large white board, a canvas in the center of the screen framing things, much like the window in her house.

The students who are present are distracted by their phones ask Louise to put on the television. She acquiesces and reveals a hidden television behind the whiteboard behind her. This television serves as a new central frame – a plane that provides an interpretative jumping off point. For the first time, Louise is focused on the news, and the camera reinforces this by only showing us her reaction; the content of the news report is not shown. We learn, along with her, that alien objects have landed in multiple locations around the world.

She drives back home and talks to her mom on the phone. She walks towards the center window while her mom mentions some conspiracy fueled news regarding the aliens which Louise says to ignore. She asks how Louise is doing; a fitting question given both Hannah’s death and Louise’s comparatively muted energy levels. Louise responds, “About the same.”

The camera changes positions in response, going from behind Louise to her side. Her unenthused state limits possibilities, something which is driven through as we watch her flipping through television channels in a desperate attempt to find anything not mentioning the aliens. She falls asleep having found no such escape; all the while, the channels, in contrast to Louise’s lack of concern, showcase mass panic and fear happening around the world. It’s only the next day, when she gets to a fully empty classroom, that Louise finally decides to tune in to the alien news the rest of the world has been binging since first contact.

The camera tracks in slowly, creeping in on Louise before finally dawning on her, like the news she’s avoided up to now. Her office is adorned with a host of window frames – a continuation of the visual motif. Colonel Weber (Forest Whitaker) walks into her office and interrupts her while she catches up. He mentions that her previous translation work in Farsi helped the military with some insurgents, so he thought it prudent to have her translate recordings of the aliens “communicating”. She responds that her efforts certainly did help the Colonel in eradicating the insurgents – knowledge turned into violence – before claiming that she won’t be able to translate without first seeing the creatures. Weber refuses and threatens to leave before being told by Louise that his potential linguistic replacement for her, Danvers, is unable to do the task. Louise challenges Weber to ask Danvers for the Sanskrit word for “war” to confirm her claims.

Unfortunately for Danvers, Louise is right on the money. While his translation defines the word as “an argument”, Louise correctly defines it as a “desire for more cows.” ; an innocuous desire interpreted as violence. Weber thus acquiesces to her demands to see the aliens; you need the best translator if you have any shot of making sense of an otherworldly language. She is introduced to her soon-to-be partner, Ian (Jeremy Renner), and flies with him and Weber to the flying spaceship; an oblong shaped semi-egg shape whose size absolutely dwarfs the military set-up underneath it.

After being brought up to speed and procedure, her and Ian are sent into the ship to complete their first mission. The two of them get on a rising platform and are pushed up to the very base of the ship which opens to them. They jump off this base to a wall going perpendicular to it, seemingly breaking the rules of gravity. They make their way to the domain of the aliens; the camera flips upside down marking the moment where they officially enter the boundary to a new domain. Ian and Louise come to face with a large cinematic-feeling frame; a large grey canvas which calls to mind Louise’s window, her whiteboard, and the television screen. Face to face with this newest frame, she’s tasked with figuring out the aliens’ purpose on Earth before global war breaks out.

Despite featuring a “save the Earth from extinction” plotline featuring extra-terrestrials, director Denis Villeneuve’s Arrival positions itself closer to science fiction films like Contact and La Jetee as opposed to Independence Day. The focus of the story is about the intimate way human’s experience their day-to-day while grappling with the dice rolls that life doll’s out in seemingly random fashion. This is why we start the movie experiencing Louise’s happiness and her grief. We see a life come into fruition, grow, and then pass all within a few minutes. We’re hit with a range of emotions evidenced most explicitly in Hannah going from “loving” to “hating” her mother. Like Louise mentions in her opening monologue, life is a series of moments, held together in the frames of our memory ready to be processed. These moments with her daughter stick out and demonstrate to us that intensity, not duration, lends moments their meaning.

Even when the movie moves on the “main” storyline, we’re held away from it. We’re put into Louise’s point of view from start to finish, experiencing her grief with her, and then moving forward in dejected fashion. The story happens organically around us, but we’re only given bits and pieces of information. We’re forced to learn with Louise and because of that we adopt her point of view as our own; she is our frame. This is a technique Villeneuve previously employed in his previous film, Sicario, to help set the audience up for the unexpected. We get so wrapped up in our protagonist’s headspace that the world of the movie catches us off guard in the same it does to them. All the pieces of this surprise are shown to us in plain sight, but we’re focused on what Louise sees: a possibility for dialogue.

Arrival is a meditation on syntax and the way that its encapsulation of content changes meaning. In other words, it’s focused on delving into the “how” of language as much as it is the “what” of language. This is why the movie spends so much of its visual capital on frames; what frame do all of us use more than language? The words we use to express ourselves are made up of characters, and each character represents a sound. These sounds only make sense because of the rules we all agree to follow. The process of determining a syntax and providing translation serves as the main narrative focus which follows Louise and her colleagues as they attempt to frame the aliens’ language in such a way as to avoid war.

Louise represents the side of openness and approaches the aliens as partners in a search for truth. Meanwhile the people and organizations around her approach the aliens as, “an enemy who is wrong, who is armful, and whose very existence constitutes a threat.”[1] Foucault, Michel. “Polemics, Politics and Problematizations.” Interview by P. Rabinow, May 1984, In Essential Works of Foucault Vol. 1. The New Press, 1998. Every interaction Louise has with the aliens is met with skepticism from outside parties who seem set in their determinations of what’s going on. Thus, the race to determine the proper syntax becomes a battleground between Louise and everyone around her to establish the dominant meaning; the stereotypical sci-fi battle we’ve been conditioned to expect transforms into a language game between an interlocutor and a polemicist .

Her journey towards discovering the syntax is marked by a similar inner journey to dealing with the death of her daughter. As the movie progresses, it cuts to memories of Hannah and Louise; moments framed in time. These moments take on an initial meaning that changes as Louise is able to frame them in a new way. Moments of despair turn into moments of learning; memories transform into potentials for something new turning from traumatic to joyous. These transformations are given weight by Joe Walker’s’ fantastic editing. The match cuts which are used to demonstrate Louise flashing to memories of her daughter back to the present become varied in rhythm. Sometimes the cut is immediate. Sometimes the cut feels like something Satoshi Kon would do; event A happens, we cut to event B before A finishes that reframes A, and then we cut to the conclusion of A. This change in rhythm is directly tied to Louise’s external journey, discovering the language of the aliens, and her internal journey, finding purpose in her life despite Hannah’s passing, demonstrating true synergy between content and form. These strands all come together in a truly sublime fashion by the film’s end.

The lynchpin holding these strands together is the star of the film, Amy Adams, whose performance gives the movie its emotional heft. The way she gets lost in her thoughts gives the match cut edits from past to present and back again a heft; we can feel her consciousness shifting gears as she’s forced to overcome her turmoil. Despite acting against CGI aliens, her sense of engagement makes them feel real. We become attached to the aliens because her character is so enthusiastic about trying to understand them. This investment is what makes the cerebral nature of the film works; we care and are invested in our main character, so we want her to succeed even the parameters of her battle are in a different domain than what we’re used to. Because she’s invested in understanding the aliens, we are as well, which helps us stay engaged even in the slower portions of the movie.

While the movie isn’t as action-packed as some of its contemporaries, that doesn’t mean that its visually distinct. Villeneuve has just moved the focus from being so action-oriented to something more mystical and “other-worldly.” Instead of space lasers or explosions, we get chambers which shift gravity (and show multiple gravitational pulls at once) and wispy clouds of ink which are transformed into alien orthography. The result is a cerebral film which challenges and invites the audience into examining the power of each and every moment. It’s a movie that delves into the human condition in a way that hearkens back to the best of science-fiction , using an encounter with aliens to deconstruct what it means to live a fully realized life.

REPORT CARD

TLDRArrival is a movie that uses the event of an alien first-contact as a jumping off point to examine the way people try and give meaning to their lives. Villeneuve’s direction, Heisserer’s script, and Adams’s acting come together in the form of a gripping cerebral narrative that is as engaging as its typical action-fare counterparts while retaining the inquisitive and thought-provoking elements of the very best of the science-fiction genre. By choosing to focus on the task of translating alien language as opposed to just engaging in some “epic” confrontation with them, Arrival forces us to confront the mysteries within ourselves as we tackle the mysteries of the extraterrestrials that come from beyond.
Rating10/10
GradeS+

Go to Page 2 for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis.
Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .