I've transitioned to Letterboxd for the past month and a half to rate and write diary entries, notes, ramblings, mini-reviews, but I suppose I could keep posting some roundups in here as well, even though it's a thread used by only one other member (and occasionally timmer). The star and half-star rating on Letterboxd match a 1 to 10 scale (for instance, ⋆⋆1/2 being 5 and ⋆⋆⋆ being 6).
mother! (Darren Aronofsky) (2017) ⋆⋆1/2
To watch this and then just put it away would be the best action I could think of, because otherwise I, for one, don't get why Aronofsky's works should keep getting validation, when they're not even the right kind of edgy and twisted. Certainly not here, where his ain't-them-clever allegories couldn't be lazier and about as cheeky as me having put this on during Christmas Eve. I mean, is this less daft than Noah? Sure. Is it a better dark fantasy than his last I truly bothered with, Black Swan? I'd say it isn't. I found both Bardem's and Lawrence's performances pretty subdued, intentionally or not - definitely no giant arthouse leap for Lawrence, compared to all the diva acting in O'Russell's movies; meanwhile, Harris and Pfeiffer score looser, more middling, menacing performances, but of course they're in no way relatable, since they're purely designed as agents of chaos. Is there virtuosity in this big unfold of madness? Sure - its big babel-esque act feeling, in fact, just short in ambition of having been accomplished all in one-shot - yet, for all its praised dementedness, I felt more quease out of two short shots of a toilet and a bloodied hole in a floor than during the whole pandemoniacal culmination. Madman filmmaking aside, this movie simply can't register when so hamfisted and banal in its intended higher purport.
Mamma Roma (Pier Paolo Pasolini) (1962) ⋆⋆⋆1/2
Complete Pasolini neophyte without any notion of how this stacks up compared to his others, still at first viewing there were a handful of enthralling scenes, most if not all due to Anna Magnani's puissant performance, interpreting her struggles with a mix of emotion and chilling hysteria. Also at first reaction, an opening scene for the books. Story also evolves into a tale of motherhood, as Magnani's character tries to (re)connect with her son and ward him off the dangers of gang life or the temptations of facile affairs of the heart. Only drawback for the time being I could note would be that I felt the mother's story to be more compelling than the son's own coming-of-age-like side.
Mudbound (Dee Rees) (2017) ⋆⋆1/2
Hardly a bad drama to watch, but its overstretched narrative and spelled-out, mirror-holding thematic delivery make it more difficult to boost it with praise. By the half point, it's made clear who you're supposed to be rooting for (i.e. every underpriviledged character not qualifying as "white male"), yet that's preceded by a novellistic desire to create an overarching convergence of multiple backstories, dramas and fates. Harshly historical and realistic as it may be - plus with intent to signal racial realities of the present - sitting through the movie becomes - due to a rather uninspired intro sequence triggering a flashback device for the rest of the movie - a mere exercise of embracing the tragedy to unfold and even at that taking quite some time. Overall, it's quite telling when the heavy use of multiple voiceovers (feeding off a mix of faulknerian stream-of-consciousness and morrisonian knifelike frankness) counts as the least of this movie's problems.
Les deux amis (Two Friends) (Louis Garrell) (2015) ⋆⋆⋆
A tale of crazed, infelicitous, toxic romance and even friendship, despite what the title may allude to, its progression into a messy love triangle being likely the most commonplace aspect of the story. Interestingly we are drive right into the agitation, with little amount of backstory, certainly not for how Farahani's and Macaigne's characters ever got so entangled in the first place (a few quick scenes between them early on make it unclear whether they're flashbacks or current - though in the end I'd think it's the former case). Rather liked what the two of them attempted in terms of unhinged performing (standout weird, loose dance scene in her case, incessant display of miserable lovesickness in his); less to note about Garrel's presence, who, even as a director and writer, seems to constantly push himself into a corner of rigid portrayal of a mumbling, somber, mopey and (in this case; or is it always the case?) arrogantly promiscuous as well lover. Pretty flat moviemaking in addition, but overall I'll give it an extra half star for its inexplicable "folie".
Battle of the Sexes (Jonathan Dayton, Valerie Faris) (2017) ⋆⋆1/2
Light, conventional, timely done and marketed (in light of the new wave of struggles against male chauvinism and abuse, a certain presidential stand-off, plus I can assure you internet troll talks about why female tennis players should get the same prize money as male ones are still going strong, especially when Grand Slam matches end with a whitewash on the ladies' side, while the men carry five-hour classic battles). You can sense that it's a 2-hour stretch of its subject, every bit of it an orderly yet (again) conventional build up to a main event, while other plots are crammed in but ultimately half-assed (King's affair and its impact, the King-Court feud extending beyond on-court rivalry or any other female athletes not-named-King ever fitting into the picture). Certain token characters tie up with Mudbound's Pappy for chewing discriminatory, written-so-hard-the-pencil-snapped lines, just to get the message across. This movie is political and feminist first, sporting third, to which end I was mixed on its match scenes, sort of capturing the sense of a real broadcast, still filmed from such distance and little focus, that it never felt immersive, nor did I believe much Stone and Carell to have filmed anything besides reaction shots in between points. Don't sense either of them put too much method into their portrayals, but mostly enjoyed Stone's performance nevertheless.
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (Martin McDonagh) (2017) ⋆⋆⋆1/2
An overall welcomed return to form (and to his strengths) for McDonagh (not necessarily a given for me, considering his purposelessly slapstick previous Seven Psychopaths). Stark drama, gushing violence, crude cussing and neurotic comedy were never too strong of a cup (In Bruges), but as the scale tips towards moral over drollery this time, the humor here might prove too uncomfortable at times, just like certain scenes made me question, mid-watch, whether it wasn't all becoming increasingly sadistical. Otherwise, what looks on paper (and at least during the first act) to be a movie about revenge, police inefficiency or social rancor with a certain zeitgeist vibe to it might not prove so straightforward in terms of situation, characters and our perceiving of them (particularly challenging a narrative and empathetic flip-flop on a certain character's own turnaround - which fwiw I think it kiiiiinda works, given certain factors). Make no mistake, the lecturing tone is present, but isn't quite the movie's forte (take for instance the heavy brushstrokes on racism backfiring due to directorial deafness). That rather leaves us with a more universal kind of message on hatred begetting hatred, delivered in sheer ignitable cinematic form.
I, Tonya (Craig Gillespie) (2017) ⋆⋆⋆
As far as Oscarbait goes, wouldn't deny it had a pretty solid first half for its sharp exercise in watching human awfulness, plus with a not-too-unfamiliar manic paced, zippy, metanarrative, mockdrama style in case you've seen stuff previous years like American Hustle, The Big Short or this moviemaker called Scorsese. Sadly the second hour slogs once becoming absorbed in its assiduous recreation of "the incident". Other turnoffs included the overdose jukebox score or Bobby Cannavale's entire plot unimportance. Peculiar but honest approach on a life story in which turmoil and controversy trumped every other detail, at the same time orbiting around the source interviews and leaving you to decide what to believe or emphatize with (if, at times, anything at all), while still carving a portrait out of Harding herself and her trials. If controversies and hard life stories sell, this movie is no less gainful from it. With so much style, montage gloss and brash, sensationalist tone put into it, the movie's heavier topics might end up skated over (pun intended), such as trauma, the issue of beating talent into top-class performance or the sports industry itself (as someone mixed on judge-ruled sports in general, one parking lot scene almost made me think the movie would tackle the biased, image-oriented side of figure skating competitions, but then nope). As mentioned early on, the least you could get out of this movie is two hours' worth of watching (mostly) truly shitty people, the great level of performances (mostly) across the board certainly of help in that regard.
Lady Bird (Greta Gerwig) (2017) ⋆⋆⋆1/2
Wondrously enough, I thought this movie matured alongside its protagonist's coming-of-(or rather snapping-out-of)-age, past a first 15-minute or so stretch that risked being frown-inducing and an all too familiar Juno-like brand of mumblesmug. Probably the best, most grounded, relatable and endearing mother character in Metcalf since Boyhood's Arquette and best, most grounded, relatable mother-daughter rocky relationship since I don't even know; would have rather liked Tracy Letts' character to be less one note as Mr. Fatherly Fathersome Father, but enjoyed him a bit all the same. Some plotlines are pushed to no real surprise, but such is life, one could say, and "such was my life", the author wants to say, and "such could be / have been yours", the movie could say. Really the surprise is how little overdone and pretentious the drama pans out. Some rightful recognition for Gerwig for the retro vibe of the visuals and just helming something out of experience and turning it into an endearing project. Does this comprehensively need to be pitched as the most lauded, awardable and perfect movie of 2017? Likely not, but such types of movies won't ever not beguile this industry.
The Shape of Water (Guillermo del Toro) (2017) ⋆⋆
Inclined, oddly enough, to draw connection between Aronofsky and del Toro, both of whom desired this year to prove they can still come up with a great one (and both, at least critically, seem to have mostly pulled it off). Yet if a new egomaniacal trip from the former was not something I had ever set my hopes up for, I did still long, deep down, for another dark fantasy epic to come del Toro's way. It's beginning to look past any hope, though, since this was absolute corn and the most I've squirmed at a movie from the 2017 season (thus far). Monsters and effects were never going to be lacking, but by God was I stunned by this banal alembication of retrofitted period piece, old cinema nostalgia and poorly inserted themes of Cold War drama, transcending romance and whatnot. Sally Hawkins can't elevate it that much (and even one particular scene with her did throw me into despair), when every other character is more of a cartoon than fish lad. One of the most cheesily and thinly written and envisioned movies of the year, of those taking themselves artistically serious. I'm even more hateful at it having made the "at least Crimson Peak's goth schlock was passable" thought ever come to my mind, during this watch.
The Disaster Artist (James Franco) (2017) ⋆⋆1/2
Truly the most benign movie from this year's (American, at the very least) awards rosters - nothing to get up in arms about (particularly if aware of Franco's modest, unnoteworthy directorial skills), but neither an experience you couldn't get some hearty chuckles out of. Franco's performance, evocation and engrossment is, for what it's worth, a bit impressive (the "ha ha ha"s especially catching me off guard each time and proving frolicsome), but sure, there is also narcissism and a sense of pet project in (t)his approach, with faux pas when giving weight to mere reenactments or a groundless window dressing of its final act. I just don't see the worth of exploring it critically, once I've had my fun watching it. It has already and will eventually fade away past this movie season as something Franco, perhaps of all people, couldn't have passed up the chance on making. It could have been improved, but I do not feel invested in the discussion on how exactly.
Call Me By Your Name (Luca Guadagnino) (2017) ⋆⋆⋆ / ⋆⋆⋆1/2
Constantly improving since 2009's
Io sono l'amore, which I still dread recalling in its pretentious and overblown dramatics (2015's
A Bigger Splash having been a boisterous bourgeois spectacle - with ripples of that perhaps only in Armie Hammer's two dance scenes and assured vitality - though still short on relatable hollow characters),
Call Me by Your Name would easily stand as Guadagnino's most pleasant movie I've seen thus far (if ever so slightly taxing in its two-hour-plus pace), plus more than likely ranking among (or as) the most pristinely styled, well-sculpted, well-acted out of all the main lauded, awarded movies this season. No real change of habit in Guadagnino shaping up well-off,
sans souci characters, brimming of shapeliness and wisdom (the line "Is there anything you don't know" might count not only as banter, but as a tongue-in-cheek nod to potential viewer frustrations, having to digest casually flown parlances on architecture, history, philosophy, etymons and Busoni-on-Liszt-on-Bach improvisations), but even that might prove marginally persuasive, given the paradisiacal Italian settings. Of course, though, one might argue that within this gorgeous, polished sculpture may lie its inherent hollowness. I would by no means demand mundane tropes of romantic, sexual or familiar conflicts, as opposed to the elegant, natural and emotional presentation Guadagnino seems to be going for, yet, if the young protagonist's only worries lie in making sense of his desire or the inevitable dissipation of an idyll, in an otherwise fully sheltered, adonisian, benevolent environment, you might just sense a bit of vacuity. I intentionally postponed the writing for a few weeks to ponder whether the movie would stick with me and, apart from making me practice my Ravel once more, it has not.
All These Sleepless Nights (Michal Marczak) (2015) ⋆⋆1/2
Rather more impressionistic in its execution than meant to mirror the troubles, inertia and loss of bearing of the (Polish) youth, this provides scenes of music and dance that made me reminisce about Mia Hansen-Løve's Eden and stuff taken almost out of the Terence Malick style glossary of daze, aimlessness and spleen, yet I must confess having drifted out of this movie way more often than in sync with it.
Beach Rats (Eliza Hittman) (2017) ⋆⋆⋆
I realize Call Me by Your Name is supposed to be our benchmark this year in terms of gay romance (well, certainly not much of romance here) and sexual discovery, yet I honestly found more conflict, anxiety, maroon and real life issues on display than in whatever bohemian, desirous depiction the former set out for. May not strive for big drama (have a hard time, in fact, recalling in great detail how it concluded, apart from the fact that it simply did at a certain point) and everything and everyone apart from a mum, but understated main performance tends to fade out in memorability, nevertheless I enjoyed some of its set pieces and small urban scope.
The Darkest Hour (Joe Wright) (2017) ⋆⋆
Part of a neverending yearly cycle of works intent to cash in, with a serious historical or biographical topic, both as significant masterworks and having transformative, "Oscarworthy" major performances, Darkest Hour is the type of movie I've long grown tired of and disinclined to appreciate in the slightest. Not much against Oldman's well done, effortful evocation, though even here I'm feeling less animated than I would have liked him to win six years ago for Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. The rest, however, is so crass and unremarkable, not in the least skidding off into fantasy for cheap emotional punches. It might just attempt to nuance Churchill's portrayal so that it's not just sheer flattery, but also shows his many flaws, while his adamancy in the war paid off, still the tone varies so wildly between comedic, buffoonish and line-chewingly oratorical, the visuals looked odd and mucky (even considering that the quality of my ahem "screener" might have something to do with it) and the whole thing felt like a(nother) checkmark of a biopic, wasted in tedious fashion.