Tag Archives: epic

Film Review: The Brutalist – 2024

Director(s)Brady Corbet
Principal CastAdrien Brody as László Tóth
Guy Pearce as Harrison Lee Van Buren
Felicity Jones as Erzsébet Tóth
Release Date2024
Language(s)English
Running Time 101 minutes
Report Card Click to go to Review TLDR/Summary

Note: This review was done off of theatrical viewings of the film and as such the review does not feature images or extended granular analysis. Once I am able to get a physical copy of the movie to watch, pause, analyze, and get stills from, the review will be updated to match the site’s standard review format.

A black screen, the ringing sound of sirens, then the text: Overture.

Just as he did in his previous two films, director Brady Corbet makes us formally aware that a thesis will be presented.

Glorious horns break in before the overture disappears and the sound of a shrieking woman pierces through the soundscape, shattering the grandiose aura.

A woman (Raffey Cassidy) is sat down and interrogated. She is tasked with explaining her family’s genealogy, give proof of her existence as a legible subject of the social order She remains silent and stares at the screen, forcing us into the position of interrogator struggling to make meaning of a gaze that avoids explanation.

Then, a cut: a new character, a new setting.

A man (Adrien Brody) tumbles around a boat and the chaotic sounds of the ship begin to overlay with the musicality of the overture; the line between that which is diegetic and that which is not blurs.

A woman’s voice layers over this sonic tapestry, reading from a letter. From her words we know that she is this man’s wife. She explains that she’s still alive and she is unable to come to him at the present. But her words are for us, not him – at least not yet.

He proceeds through the ship, bustling amongst the bodies on his journey to the deck. Finally, he reaches the outside.

The horns crescendos: Glory is here, hallelujah!

The camera turns and the Statue of Liberty occupies the frame; but this great symbol of American Freedom is presented upside down – a stark visual contrast to the booming of the horns and the presumed jubilation of the moment.

The man, László, beams with enthusiasm upon seeing this symbol of the American Dream, for unlike us, he sees the symbol as the powers that be intended it to be seen.

The woman’s speech ends: ” Go to America, I will follow you.”

Thus, the overture informs us of the deconstructive tendencies of the film, it’s desire to break-down that which it builds up:

  • The film opens on the image of a woman who refuses to answer that which she is asked while an unseen woman supplants the space the former’s voice would have occupied; visual and auditory presence is exchanged along the register of gender.
  • The triumphant score and narrative milieu immediately call the aesthetic of the Great American Novel caught on film but the image of Liberty rendered against itself calls the foundations of this image into question. The promise of freedom has been flipped on its head.
  • The formal bracketing of the women announcing and auguring the film’s subject, a man on a journey towards the dream, immediately invites question on the construction of narrative, both of the individual and of the statecraft.

From the outset, we are forced to decipher a labyrinth of symbols and associations wherein even seemingly simple exposition becomes something else totally.

New text materializes: Part 1: The Enigma of Arrival.

László gets off the ship and stands amongst the immigrants aboard the ship. An official gives the group instructions in English as a translator repeats the same information in another language; the two dialects overlay onto each other, confusing the presentation of the information even though the content of the utterances remain the same: difference materialized through the act of translation – the enigma of arrival, indeed.

Yet, despite possessing little income and being advised to be wary one’s use of their capital, László’s first free act off the boat is to find the nearest prostitute to avail himself of his wares. The lingering admission of love enunciated earlier to us as voice-over serves as stinging rejoinder to this seeming betrayal; we feel for this unseen woman and chastise our protagonist despite his lack of knowledge; dramatic irony is thus rendered a formal conceit, a function of exposition that creates distance from context.

But try as he may, László is unable to fully consummate his tryst, a failure which leads the brothel’s owner to suggest that his sexual proclivities may not fall within the heteronormative paradigms of the time. She suggests men. He rejects her repeated suggestions with an air of disdain, a repudiation which operates both to show us László’s reticence to being categorized, in this case as queer, and as a comment about the contours of sexuality, the manner in which masculine sexual inclination is positioned in particular.

As László acclimates to his new home, Corbet intersperses radio broadcasts about the domestic and foreign affairs at the time alongside historically-tinted propaganda video sections extolling American virtues (presented in a boxier video-format), constantly complicating our relationship to the information being presented. The assertion of fact in these proclamations trains us to be suspect of the relationship between enunciation and verisimilitude

The narrative proper which features scenes upon scenes of our primary characters explicitly asserting themselves become doubled due to this inculcation, and the dread of what is not said, the visible absence so to speak, continues to build critical mass against the apparent didactic being employed until its provocations threaten to expose the artifice of the film all together.

In this vein, The Brutalist operates in a dialect with itself through its Rorschach-like formal tactility. On the surface, the film contains all the trappings of the Great American Novel:

  • The story follows a rags-to-riches redemption story emblematic of the American Dream: László is a Holocaust survivor who is given a chance to continue his architectural genius under the purview of a new patron (Guy Ritchie)
  • Composer Daniel Blumberg’s mostly momentous score emphasizes the epic stature of the tale.
  • The formal demarcations of the film accentuate its novelistic quality, operating like chapters.

Yet, where the film shines is not the content of the narrative per-se as much as the structure by which it is presented. When the story as presented is viewed as veneer to be peeled back, the film transforms into a ghost story, one in which the myth of the epic assemblage haunts the story as a specter, both within the narrative proper (ex: diegetic and chronological ellipses) and around the narrative in the non-diegetic features.

By using the trappings of the Great American Novel, Corbet is able to toe the line between serious drama and deconstructive pastiche that his previous works have been unable to broach as successfully. Because we are aware generally of where László’s journey should go given our familiarity with the milieu, we are more perturbed by disturbances to that rhythm, a facet that the polarizing 2nd Part of the film exploits to full effect; when the film “cheats” and gets to the next preordained spot on our expected journey, we’re left to reckon with the through-line motivating the transition between the points without the usual journey which would explicate as much; when the film “breaks” with the structure and introduces a pivot that is seemingly out-of-place, we’re left recoiling with deducing what more commonplace moment has been replaced.

In either case, we are forced to use the film against itself, utilizing its ambiguities to mine into one another to craft a structure of meaning that can serve to scaffold the verifiable aspects of the film. This provocation is made explicit by the story, as László’s brutalist architecture, his artistic contribution, is constantly being symbolized, discussed, interpellated. We can’t help but caught up in analyzing the film’s grammar when the film centers itself around the same activity.

Ultimately, it is this act of interpretation, a brutality representing the most fundamental form of violence, that the film circulates around. The title then, a reference to both violence and art, is a confirmation of the intimate relationship between the two concepts and the manner in which the former both allows and enshrines the latter.

REPORT CARD

TLDRThe Brutalist sees the Great American novel rendered undo itself, operating as both a more traditional character-focused epic following a protagonist struggling to achieve the American Dream whilst deconstructing the meaning of that Dream and the ideological consequences of its deployment, presenting its findings as a Rorschach test that will give viewers as much as they put in.
Rating10/10
Grade S+

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

Film Review: Eternals – 2021

Director(s)Chloé Zhao
Principal CastGemma Chan as Sersi
Richard Madden as Ikaris
Salma Hayek as Ajak
Lia McHugh as Sprite
Kumail Nanjiani as Kingo
Barry Keoghan as Druig
Lauren Ridloff as Makkari
Don Lee as Gilgamesh
Angelina Jolie as Thena
Brian Tyree Henry as Phastos
Release Date2021
Language(s)English
Running Time 157 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 text crawl informs us that a Celestial, a deity like figure, named Arishem, has created 10 Eternals – Ajak(Salma Hayek), Ikaris (Richard Madden), Sersi(Gemma Chan), Sprite(Lia McHugh), Kingo (Kumail Nanjiani), Druig (Barry Keoghan), Makkari (Lauren Ridloff), Gilgamesh (Don Lee), Thena (Angelina Jolie), and Phastos (Brian Tyree Henry) – for the purpose of eradicating Deviants, malevolent creatures which seek to eradicate intelligent life in the universe. While the Eternals are tasked with protecting sentient beings from Deviant devastation, they are prohibited from intervening in those beings’ affairs in any other manner. Doing otherwise would be tantamount to sacrilege, a violation against the will of Arishem.

This will is interpreted by the group’s leader, Ajak, who serves as the liason between the Eternals and Arishem. An orb embedded within her body functions as both a transportation and communication mechanism with the Celestial. The device flies from her chest and opens a cosmic portal which seamlessly transports her to wherever Arishem resides, bridging space and time between the two figures. Her frame is dwarfed by the red giant which exudes power and exemplifies a scale the Marvel Universe hasn’t seen on the big screens since Dr.Strange. This bridging sequence is repeated as Arishem continues to deliver orders at key intervals throughout time.

Being the group’s intermediary with Arishem, the others come to Ajak for guidance, treating her as both a stand-in for the Celestial himself and a mother-figure. However, in spite of her guarantee that the group’s actions are in line with their given purpose, many of the Eternals begins to lose faith in what they’re doing, especially once the messages from Arishem stop coming in. With no explanations or timeline for absolution, the group finds the task of protecting the humans becoming more emotionally taxing. Because they’re forced to take care of and nurture humanity, many of the Eternals come to love their wards. Consequently, they experience great existential confusion when they’re forced to wait on the side and watch the species tear itself apart at one moment and then save it at the next.

Eventually, the toll becomes too much and Druig, an Eternal with the ability to control minds, questions Ajak on why he can use his powers to save humans from untimely demise by Deviants but can’t use his powers to stop needless infighting between groups of humans, whether it be in the form of genocides or wars. Instead of ascertaining and soothing his sense of dread and sorrow, Ajak reiterates that the will of Arishem deems non-interference for all non-Deviant related matters and is the guiding principle behind the group’s purpose for being. Clearly unsatisfied with the answer, Druig sets off which prompts Ajak to break the group apart momentarily. With all visible Deviant threats apparently gone, she tells the family of immortal, ageless beings to find a purpose to their lives, a meaning to supplant the gap induced by the disjunction between Arishem’s command and the reality they live in. It’s at this point the group splits up, going forth in their own unique ways to determine what exactly their orientation towards humanity should be.

Flash forward and the film cuts to present time. Sprite, Sersi, and the latter’s human boyfriend, Dane (Kit Harrington), find themselves under attack by a newfound Deviant. Unlike the creatures they fought in the past, this one seems particularly clever and doesn’t fall for the Eternal duo’s usual battle tactics. Thankfully, Ikaris, the strongest fighter in the group, shows up at the nick of time and chases the chimera-like monster off after finding himself unable to thwart it in combat. With a newfound threat found, Sersi and co. team up to go and gather the crew back together to fulfill their purported reason for creation.

Given it’s set-up, it’s easy to forgot that Eternals is the 26th entry in the Marvel Cinematic Universe (M.C.U). The text crawl, on top of being the franchise’s first, makes no over mention to previous ideas or entities in the franchise, and by and large, outside of a few references to the Avengers and Thanos, the movie operates similarly, presenting itself in such a fashion that even those unfamiliar with the franchise can jump into this movie. In this way, the film’s status as a Genesis story of kinds gives it a markedly new starting point to jump off and explore from.

Unfortunately, the M.C.U doesn’t want to let Eternals forget where it came from and it’s in this disjunction the problem lies. On one hand, the story wants to be a moody, existential cosmic drama in the vein of Cloud Atlas that explores the nuance of how relationships and sense of identity permeate and inform one another over space and time. On the other hand, the story is forced to fit into the patented Marvel formula, complete with hollow, formulaic one-liners that elicit momentary laughs while adding nothing to character or narrative and action set-pieces that feel tired and uninspired. The result is a decent, yet disappointing film that has individually great moments which don’t congeal in the way one would want.

This lack of inspiration is apparent in the the film’s structure which proceeds to become increasingly mundane as its patterns bear little of the creativity that the visual design of the film otherwise implies. Sersi’s road trip to finding the other Eternals follows a tired formula where the characters drive in present day towards a member of the group, and then the story cuts to a flashback of a previous historical epoch where everyone was together. There’s no thematic or narrative throughline connecting these moments together; their presentation order could change and the emotional beats of the film wouldn’t be altered all that much.

Decisions like these are a shame, because the content of the flashbacks and the story proper have more than enough in them to elicit emotional responses from the audience. Director Chloé Zhao, if anything, brings her sense of lighting and color to the film, creating fully immersive time periods that feel lived in and distinct from another. However, the creativity seen in the sets and world-building are completely absent from the way those worlds intermingle and bleed into another. By the time the third flashback cuts in, you start to question why the film wasn’t just told chronologically to begin with. The jump to the present so early on does very little when so most of the story and the emotional heft driving it lies in the past.

On that note, when the film jumps from the past to the present the first time, it uses the image of a knife to match the cuts. An ornate dagger that Sersi gave humanity centuries ago becomes a picture of the same object on her phone. It’s apparent that she’s taken the picture to document her connection and love of humanity; it persists just as strongly as the dagger exists. Her documenting obsession is even called out by Sprite, indicating that this is typical behavior for her.

In spite of this, no such cuts are ever utilized again. Instead of utilizing Sersi’s intimate connection with humanity and her desire to “snapshot” those moments via photographs as a way of delving into her and ,by association, the Eternals’ multifaceted relationship with people, the movie mentions the detail, shows it to us once, and then never broaches the subject again. Imagine if this picture-taking was extended as a motif to connect the flashbacks through the drive. Sersi sees or thinks about a connection to the past, pulls it up on her phone, and then the movie could cut to that time and place where the connection was first made. This would help demonstrate the way emotions carry over and change over time while explaining what exactly Sersi sees and envisions in people. Such details would do little to change the larger beats of the story, but they’re the kind of touches that help elevate pieces to the next level. W treats Sersi as its de-facto protagonist while absolutely squandering her ability to frame the story given her connection to the past.

While this explicit criticism sounds pedantic, the sentiment behind it is endemic of the movie. Because moments in the film are strung to one another without a gravitas befitting the subject matter, larger thematic movements and emotional beats lose the cathartic potential their existential narrative set-ups would entail. This means, while many of the individual components of the film are up to par, especially the visual design of the world and the characters proper, they don’t add up to something spectacular.

It’s a frustrating issue because the content of the film and its visual style are elements. Even though I would have preferred a mini-series to explore the characters and their respective relationships with one another, their mannerisms and interactions with one another are clear enough to get invested in their ultimate struggles. The cast is clearly enjoying themselves, bouncing off one another in a fashion that feels close and familial, even if the story’s structure doesn’t give them the time needed to give off the ranges their characters’ deserve.

Consequently, even though the last third of the film is highly derivative of previous Marvel movies, there’s more than enough to keep one invested in the impact of what’s going on. There are enough distinctive narrative choices leading up to the final confrontation that make it interesting to think about it thematically and, surprisingly, the action is some of the most cohesive and well-thought out in the franchise, both in terms of visual clarity and in regards to the characters’ powers and respective skill-sets. Even though some of the story threads are treated a bit too on the nose, the final way even thing wraps up is more than satisfying.

If Eternals is proof of anything, it’s that more experimentation is necessary, as the final script definitely feels like Zhao was forced to make choices she would not have otherwise. Nothing else would explain the discord in the film’s identity between trying to be a meditative art-house adjacent film and a superhero blockbuster meant to please the masses. The end result definitely leans towards the latter, but enough of the former shines through to give the movie a unique identity, that tantalizes the audience with a vision of what could’ve been while delivering good enough.

REPORT CARD

TLDRThough its story beats don’t subvert expectations as expected, Eternals’ technical execution and presentation makes it well worth watching, especially for those fans looking for a bit more metaphysical heft in their superhero film. While the film definitely feels like studio executives took a few too many corrective measures, destroying the possibility for the film to truly push boundaries in a meaningful sense, director Chloé Zhao still manages to instill a humanity and photographic beauty that helps the movie stay fresh in the sea of its peers. If nothing else, the depiction of Celestials is something that any fans of the franchise should be excited about.
Rating8.3/10
GradeB+

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 .

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.
Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .