Director: Andrew Haigh
Writers: Andrew Haigh, Colm Tóibín
Stars: Martin Freeman, Ebon Moss-Bachrach, Kit Connor

Synopsis: Set high in the mountains, fall comes to an end and a family prepares for the long winter ahead.

A filmmaker’s trademark can elevate a multitude of different genres and stories. Andrew Haigh is a filmmaker who utilizes restraint and delivered exceptional results in All of Us Strangers. However, in his latest film, A Long Winter, it sort of drags the film along, keeping the two diverging paths within the film’s narrative sluggish. We, as viewers, can appreciate what is being said here, but how we get to its conclusion is slow and left me exasperated. A Long Winter feels long and cold – much like the title suggests – which is unfortunate as there is a lot of interesting stuff to dig into, but by the time the viewer can sit with it all we have is the discarded remains of plot and body.

A Long Winter follows the aftermath of tragedy and how a father and son come to terms with said loss set in the backdrop of 1950s Colorado. The father, Lester (Ebon Moss-Bachrach), has a complicated history with his neighbors and the tragedy works as a bridge to connect him back to his community. The son, Mike (Fred Hechinger), is bright-eyed and naive to the world around him, but in the midst of this tragedy he is digesting his own feelings of affection to other men which would be controversial to the times. The winter is oppressive and isolating, much like the feelings and emotions of the main characters.

Andrew Haigh is a filmmaker who exercises restraint to allow room for the film to speak for itself rather than moments or dialogue. In this film, the exercise is pushed to the limit. At moments where restraint is exercised the result is something visually and mentally compelling. Dream sequences that don’t outright annunciate its motive result in stirring emotional moments. The momentum within is meticulously drawn carefully like the string of a bow. But by the end of the film, the string is slowly released to its starting position. While this sort of filmmaking can be done to incredible results, this specific instance leaves the viewer frigid.

The film operates with two parallel story lines for most of the film until it merges together into something about release and emotional freedom. How we get to that point is not pretty, however. We see these two points emerge and, once the overarching tragedy in the film concludes, the remainder of the film sort of meanders until it lands on the main point of the film. Then once the main point becomes the primary focus it does very little to keep the drive going. Hechinger plays a really good and really shy individual, and you’d be hard pressed to find someone else to nail a role in the way he does here. Moss-Bachrach also plays a hardass with a lot of skeletons in his closet that he’s keeping sealed tight incredibly well. But despite that, the overall plot within the film doesn’t serve them or their work well.

One element that I do appreciate about A Long Winter is how thematically layered it is. It’s abundantly clear how each element within the film– the winter, the tragedy, and the setting– plays into the fact that a gay man of the time would be suffering. The writing on the larger scale, and the purpose within is incredibly pieced together and the impact is well done. The restraint and lack of forward progression is the point, but with all of this being said, the point lands with little weight. I won’t argue that the content isn’t arranged well, but there seems to be a disconnect between the context of the themes and the execution of the plot.

Frustratingly, A Long Winter suffers from a lack of body. Nothing that lurches into the viewer, and pulls something out of you. There are moments of psychological analysis and suppressed urges with Hechinger’s character, but it simmers to the surface and stays there – nothing less, nothing more. The restraint keeps a film that could’ve been a little more to being an inoffensive and piece of cinematic mishmash. How we see the characters and the tribulations they go through are so bogged down that the film has already made its own conclusions before we the viewer can make our own. Sure, it’s a stylistic choice, and it’s not the filmmaker’s objective to make films for the audience, but we aren’t being let in at all to make our own interpretation.

I hate to write a review where the setting is winter, and I use a bunch of adjectives that can be commonly associated with cold. It isn’t an attempt to be funny, but I can’t really describe it any other way than Andrew Haigh leaving his viewers on ice with A Long Winter. There is little personal flair, the film is tightly written, and it is inoffensive. By the time this review is edited and posted, I will have forgotten about this film. There is a lot to enjoy with A Long Winter, but not enough to rise it above the sludge of mediocrity. In the end, A Long Winter is a film whose death is a death by a thousand restraints.

Grade: C

Director: Jesse Eisenberg
Writer: Jesse Eisenberg
Stars: Julianne Moore, Paul Giamatti, Halle Bailey

Synopsis: When an unassuming housewife is unexpectedly cast in a community theater production, she loses herself in the role under the spell of a strong-willed director.

Hyperbolic words and phrases like “masterpiece” and “best film of the year” are becoming all too common in an increasing attempt to grab attention and garner views, with a new “best movie” seemingly releasing week in, week out. However, when it comes to Jesse Eisenberg’s latest, The Debut, those compliments finally feel fitting. This is a movie likely to be in contention for several of the biggest awards on offer come awards season.

The Debut follows Mona Friedman (Julianne Moore), a middle-aged woman with graduating twins and a husband who is more concerned with his crosswords than listening to a word she says. Desperately disillusioned with her life after decades of mistreatment and searching for a sense of purpose, she auditions for a small supporting role in a local theater production.

Initially, the part goes to local celebrity and theater veteran Serena Cherry (Bernadette Peters), but when she discovers she is not the star of the production, she drops out. That leaves the director, Jerry (Paul Giamatti), quite literally no other choice. As Mona was the only other person who auditioned, she comes in to take her place. The movie goes on to follow Mona’s story from her first rehearsal to the opening night performance, creating one of the most distinctive cinematic experiences you’re likely to have this year.

The Debut could’ve gone down a similar path to Eisenberg’s last outing as a director, A Real Pain, focusing on the emotional side of the story and tackling the raw feelings Mona faces as an underappreciated housewife. Instead, it goes down the comedic route, and it’s all the better for it. It allows Eisenberg to take risks with the script, taking the story to places you would never dream up.

You never quite feel like you know what is about to happen because even when you think you do, Eisenberg takes you in a completely different direction. Scenes that appear to be heading toward an obvious punchline or emotional conclusion often veer into something far more absurd, and that unpredictability is a huge part of what makes the comedy work. It’s something that may not work for everyone, but for most, this is going to be a raucous crowd-pleaser.

Eisenberg has always been a terrifically talented comedic actor, but here, he shows that his writing is just as strong. It’s one of the funniest original comedies of the year thanks to its endless one-liners, which are enough to give you a bellyache from the deep laughs they generate. There are also a couple of situational jokes that continue throughout the entire runtime and somehow get more hilarious the longer they go on, even causing my theater to burst into an unplanned cheer.

Something that is equally remarkable to me is the fact that Eisenberg has also written a bunch of original songs for the production depicted in the movie. Going to the lengths of creating an actual original musical for the purposes of the film is noteworthy enough, but the songs themselves are genuinely really good. By the end, once they’ve all had their third playthrough, the infectious, happy vibe almost certainly translates into a theater full of people tapping their feet and dancing along to these wonderfully crafted songs.

The staging of the show is elevated further by some excellent production design from Anne Ross, who has visually created a stage show for the big finale that I would be buying tickets to in an instant. The cinematography from Drew Daniels is just as accomplished. By deploying a mix of wide shots and some beautiful close-ups, Daniels ensures the audience can be completely immersed in the finale, almost as if they were sitting in the theater themselves.

For everything that is undoubtedly superb about The Debut, Julianne Moore is still the shining star of the whole production. She’s an actor who already has countless incredible performances under her belt, resulting in five acting Oscar nominations to date, but her performance here is arguably among the best of them. The complexity of this performance cannot be overstated. Eisenberg demands so many layers from Moore that it’s scarcely believable she’s able to capture every element so well. She goes from a downtrodden shell of a person at the beginning to a bold character actor bursting at the seams by the end. But what is so striking are the portions in between, where Moore is able to show Mona’s growth through her body language, tone of voice and even the posture she adopts.

It means Mona’s transformation never feels sudden or forced. You can almost see her confidence building scene by scene, with Moore making subtle changes to the way Mona carries herself as she becomes increasingly comfortable in this completely new environment. It’s the sort of performance where the character at the end feels almost unrecognizable from the one we meet at the beginning, yet you completely believe how she got there. It all culminates in a mid-movie speech that is the most enjoyable five minutes of cinema I’ve seen in years. This actually resulted in a standing ovation in the middle of a press screening, something I have never witnessed before.

While Moore will rightfully be receiving all the flowers, Paul Giamatti cannot be forgotten in what is yet another stellar turn. It’s a performance that may be overlooked because it’s nowhere near as showy, but his fantastic chemistry with Moore is crucial. Giamatti brings a sternness that perfectly complements her performance, allowing Moore to shine even brighter. It’s hard to think of another working actor who would’ve been able to pull off the character of Jerry, who in many ways is similar to Paul Hunham in The Holdovers. Beneath the hard exterior is a level of vulnerability and empathy, something Giamatti has been able to perfect throughout his performances in these types of roles.

The Debut may only be Jesse Eisenberg’s third turn as a feature-length director, but if this is anything to go by, despite being a very accomplished actor, the director’s chair may be his true calling. Powered along by two exceptional performances and a fantastic script, this is a real awards contender across the board and will make it onto many people’s favorite movies of the year lists.

Grade: A

Director: Matthew Rankin
Stars: Brian Mulroney, John Diefenbaker, Joe Clarke

Synopsis: In 1976, Brian Mulroney launched a charm offensive the likes of which Canada had never seen, dismantling the political establishment one dad joke at a time. In this psychedelic doomscroll through the mind of a master politician, filmmaker Matthew Rankin charts the flamboyant rise of Canada’s 18th prime minister

“When Irish hearts are happy, 

All the world seems bright and gay. 

And when Irish eyes are smiling, 

Sure they steal your heart away.”

There might not be a more essential National Film Board of Canada documentary made in this century than Matthew Rankin’s Ladies and Gentlemen, Brian Mulroney. It’s probably the most striking piece of political cinema we’ve seen in this country since Denys Arcand’s Comfort and Indifference, and you won’t realize what Rankin is doing until long after you’ve left the cinema and caught your breath from having laughed so incredibly hard. Because, yes, the collage of images (and colors) that Rankin proposes in his hybrid docu-sh*tpost is akin to an extended episode of Infoman on acid, as it tracks the rise of one of Canada’s most popular prime ministers before he became the face of the nation. 

Brian Mulroney, or “Le p’tit gars de Baie-Comeau,” (The little boy from Baie-Comeau) started from humble beginnings until he vied for the leadership of the Progressive Conservative Party of Canada. His first bid was unsuccessful. Mulroney was beaten by Joe Clarke, who eventually became Prime Minister of the country for six meager months, and was upended by Pierre-Elliot Trudeau once more after his budget failed to pass the House of Commons. Rankin treats each of these moments in history as lesson in backstabbing, where Mulroney plotted his ascension from the first time he lost the leadership bid, even if he attempts to publicly support Clarke’s reign. 

Through six unwieldy episodes, Rankin exposes the moral rot at the center of not only the Conservative Party of Canada (Mulroney’s charm offensive was extremely popular…until it wasn’t and the party became what it is now) but of every single federal party who attempt the same type of showmanship as did Trudeau. The whole thing looks and sounds like a farce. At least, that’s what you’ll believe upon witnessing a bevy of hyper stimulating kaleidoscopies that assault your senses and pervert much of what Mulroney said or did at the time. It looks and feels like complete ridicule, but it won’t be long before you begin to parse what he’s actually doing, and it’s there where Ladies and Gentlemen, Brian Mulroney begins to open up in front of you. 

At face value, Midnight Madness sounds like the perfect vehicle to unleash this beast in front of an unsuspecting audience. And who doesn’t like making fun of politicians? After all, most filmmakers like to poke fun at more popular figures like Trump or George W. Bush. There hasn’t been a movie that attempts to humoristically approach Brian Mulroney, because most pundits agree that his demeanor and tenure was relatively human. By the end of the movie, perhaps you’ll have a different idea of the public perception of Mulroney, who, of course, possessed the charm of both Paul Newman and Robert Redford to convince anyone to vote Conservative, and loved to sing “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling” at whatever occasion he had. 

The man had an unmatched aura, but his motivations seemed to have been driven by ego, especially when attempting to upend the leadership bid of Joe Clarke, despite saving face in public and saying that Clarke is the right person for the job. All the while, the ghost of John Diefenbaker looks down upon Mulroney, as if he acts as a sort of Jor-El for the Tories. Rankin actually expresses this through a Fortress of Solitude-esque museum where Mulroney asks Diefenbaker’s brain for guidance in the hopes that he will prevail to upend Clarke and become the next Prime Minister of the country after Trudeau successfully took down the Conservative minority government six months after its tenure. 

It looks and feels stupid, but please trust me that Ladies and Gentlemen, Brian Mulroney is far from being so. Rankin successfully distills at least fifty years of political and cinematic history by incorporating the biggest movements of the time – the question of Québec sovereignty (and “le beau Risque” once Parti Québécois leader René Lévesque supported Mulroney), the figures that made their way into the sphere upon Mulroney’s reign that would have a tangible impact on the future of Québec politics. One of them is Lucien Bouchard, one of Mulroney’s closest friends and colleagues that eventually left the conservatives to form the Bloc Québécois, and the other is John James Charest. No one knew him when he joined Mulroney’s government, but his name will soon be forever etched in Québec’s collective history…

With Mulroney born and raised in Baie-Comeau, it’s inevitable that Québec would have an intrinsic part of Rankin’s documentary. Perhaps Western audiences unfamiliar with Canadian and Québec politics might not vibe with Ladies and Gentlemen, Brian Mulroney as much as the ones who understand Rankin’s almost esoteric parallels, but even a layperson will have a firm grasp of Mulroney’s impact within Canada and the world. Rankin purposefully stops dead in his tracks when he becomes elected as Prime Minister, which might act as a deterrent for anyone looking for a deeper exploration of how bad he was as a leader, but we don’t need to go through those events for now. Maybe in a sequel…

Grade: A+

Director: Kris Rey
Writers: Caleb Hearon, Ruby Caster
Stars: Caleb Hearon, Zooey Deschanel, Kyle Marvin

Synopsis: A twenty something gay man travels from Chicago to his home in rural Missouri following the death of his father — an obsessive hoarder who has left a house full of items, some valuable and some not so, to pick through.

At first glance, it would be easy to dismiss Trash Mountain as just another formulaic dramedy. After all, it has many of the same ingredients and follows a similar plot structure to successful movies we’ve seen within the genre before. The key difference here, though, is star and co-writer Caleb Hearon, who seemingly brings some of his own personal experiences to the story, providing a level of heart and emotion that many similar films can only dream of conjuring up.

Directed by Kris Rey and co-written by Hearon and Ruby Caster, Trash Mountain follows Gavin (Hearon), a drag show host living in Chicago. There, he’s able to express himself freely, has a close-knit community and support network that embraces him for who he is, and he can be open about his sexuality. That picture-perfect life is abruptly interrupted by a call from his half-sister Abbi (Zooey Deschanel), letting him know that their father has passed away.

Gavin is forced to return to his hometown in rural Missouri, where what he thought would be a quick trip to pay his respects turns into a logistical nightmare from hell. As it turns out, on top of being an alcoholic, his father was a reclusive hoarder who left behind a literal trash mountain. What Gavin imagined would be a brief visit to say goodbye instead becomes an extended stay in the very place he had always tried to escape. Now, he has to face challenges and grief that have seemingly been suppressed for years.

On the surface, the movie doesn’t seem too dissimilar from others within the genre, but that changes when you dive a little deeper into Hearon’s life and understand where he has personally come from. The fictional rural Missouri setting isn’t entirely removed from reality, as Hearon himself grew up in a similar community. That connection gives Gavin’s experiences an added sense of authenticity, particularly when it comes to the hostility he faces regarding his sexuality.

The narrow-minded townspeople provide plenty of comic relief throughout the story, but there’s also a sense that the humor is masking something much more painful. The screenplay directly takes aim at that conservative way of thinking, whether it be through the sheer number of guns found inside their hoarder dad’s home or the way the devout Christian faith of many members of the community shapes their opinions of Gavin’s choices. It feels informed by the type of prejudice someone in Gavin’s position could experience in a place he once called home, making the movie far more grounded and thought-provoking than its familiar setup initially suggests.

Hearon has made a name for himself through self-deprecating comedy, and Trash Mountain is no different. Whether it be his size, sexuality, or even his personality, Gavin is often the butt of jokes that hit time and time again throughout the runtime. But there’s an overwhelming feeling that he uses humor as his own unique defense mechanism, allowing him to avoid the unresolved trauma that is clearly eating away at him beneath the surface.

That continues through a large portion of the movie until the brother-sister dynamic that the story is crying out for finally takes center stage. It’s here where the performances of both Hearon and Deschanel are allowed to shine brightest. Their chemistry together is wonderful as they begin to recapture their childhood connection even in the most tragic of circumstances. Watching that relationship gradually rebuild is genuinely touching and gives the movie much of its emotional weight.

Hearon, as expected, is hilarious, but in his first leading performance, it’s the more dramatic elements of his work that prove the most captivating. Anyone familiar with Hearon will expect him to be funny, but the ease with which he switches things up and delivers the movie’s more emotional moments is particularly impressive and somewhat unexpected. It’s clear evidence that he has the tools at his disposal to take on much bigger parts going forward.

Deschanel recaptures the charm that made her a star in the first place, but there’s more going on with Abbi than that. She brings an air of vulnerability and fear to the character, all while Abbi is trying to hold everything together and be a mother to her own family. It’s the type of performance that makes you wish Deschanel appeared on the silver screen more often, as she clearly still has the talent to be a leading presence in a feature-length movie.

There are also some terrific supporting turns. Kyle Marvin, as Abbi’s husband, is the most prominent, and he makes the most of every second he has on screen. From the moment he’s first introduced to his last, he delivers some of the funniest one-liners in the movie. Jaboukie Young-White, as Jerome, Gavin’s love interest, provides a comforting presence that gives the story room to explore some of its more hard-hitting emotions. But it’s Jacki Weaver as Grandma Helen who threatens to steal the movie every time she appears.

While the way Trash Mountain unfolds will feel somewhat familiar, it’s the journey to get there that matters most. In that regard, the film delivers, leaving you with the kind of warm, fuzzy feeling that might just make you want to hug your family members a little tighter as the credits roll. Undoubtedly hilarious, with plenty of charm and heart to boot, Trash Mountain is one of the more surprisingly entertaining titles at this year’s Toronto International Film Festival.

Grade: B+

Director: Jonathan Schey
Writer: Jonathan Schey
Stars: Taron Egerton, Mia McKenna Bruce, Jessica Henwick, Sophie Simnett, Charly Clive

Synopsis: An original razor-sharp dark comedy thriller set in the world of modern dating in London.

Modern-day dating, particularly in large cities, is nothing short of a minefield. The original scam of catfishing seems so far removed from today’s day and age, with things having developed much further and the deception becoming even more elaborate. In Jonathan Schey’s sharply named feature-length bow, Everybody Wants to F*ck Me, he cleverly deconstructs the so-called “nice guy” persona and its corrosive effect on modern dating in a darkly comedic way. There’s enough shock and awe along the way to leave a lasting imprint on your brain long after the final credits roll.

Everybody Wants to F*ck Me follows Adam (Taron Egerton), a serial womanizer who regularly love bombs his dates, utilizing his charming persona to lure unsuspecting women into one-night stands before dropping them like a rock in the ocean. There are no two ways about it, he’s a complete jerk, but what’s worse is that he’s proud of it and always on the lookout for his next conquest.

That is until one night when he meets Sophia (Jessica Henwick). Adam, of course, thinks he’s in for a night of passion, but unfortunately for him, he gets more than he bargained for. When he wakes up the next morning, all is not as it seems, as she appears to have put a curse on him that makes every woman want him. It sounds like the perfect situation for Adam, but it quickly becomes apparent there’s something far more sinister going on than initially meets the eye.

Schey’s screenplay brilliantly tears apart the performative nice-guy persona Adam has relied on for so long. While it’s done in a humorous fashion, there are some genuinely pertinent messages underneath those surface-level jokes that audiences can take away, although you are forced to look a little deeper than you perhaps should have been. At times, the film’s determination to push its premise to increasingly absurd places threatens to overshadow the very commentary it is trying to make, but that message is always bubbling away underneath.

It feels especially relatable to younger generations who have only really known the swipe-left, swipe-right kind of dating. Many of them have been victims of emotional coercion through endless love bombing and narcissistic behavior, all of which is rife in the contemporary dating pool on display throughout. By exaggerating those behaviors to their most ridiculous extremes, Schey manages to make them funny without completely losing sight of how damaging they can actually be.

The film definitely feels like a comedy first and thriller second, and for the most part that’s to its advantage. Those humorous elements feel distinctly British, as you’d expect given the cast and crew involved, so the jibes are very much on the nose. It’s the sort of dry, sharp, biting humor that can either make you wince in your chair or leave you with a pain in your stomach from laughing so hard. It’s no different here, with plenty of big swings, the majority of which are knocked out of the park, although a few inevitably fall by the wayside.

To Schey’s credit, whether everything lands with audiences or not, he can’t be accused of failing to fully commit to the absurd nature of the premise. He has managed to pack in two of the most outrageous scenes in recent memory, both of which had an audience over a thousand strong audibly gasping at the filmmaker’s audacity. The film isn’t afraid to be uncomfortable or take risks, and in that regard it’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion. As much as you want to take your eyes off it, for some reason you just can’t.

There’s also something haunting about the script being flipped and turning a man into the prey rather than the predator. Going for a more horror-based angle alongside the satire is a stroke of genius. Rather surprisingly, the film provides some of the most effective jump scares I’ve seen in a while, the kind that out-and-out horror movies would dream of achieving. More importantly, that reversal gives the film an uncomfortable edge beneath all the absurdity, forcing Adam into a position where the attention he once relentlessly pursued becomes something he can no longer control.

For all that is good about Everybody Wants to F*ck Me, it admittedly treads a fine line between being funny and outright cringe, sometimes for the wrong reasons. For me, it just about stays on the right side of that divide, only really blurring it a couple of times, and given the gambles it takes, that feels worthy of applause. However, it’s very easy to imagine others feeling the complete opposite and becoming completely lost along the way, with the tone almost certainly going to prove divisive. In some ways, that feels like an inevitable consequence of a film so determined to push its central joke as far as it possibly can.

One thing is for sure though, Taron Egerton is at the top of his game. He’s an actor who appeared destined for greatness after Kingsman and Rocketman, yet his career trajectory since hasn’t quite matched what those performances seemed to promise. That’s made all the more baffling when he shows time and again just how versatile his range is. Here, his comic timing, natural charisma and sheer commitment to the role are easily the highlight, with several of the movie’s most unforgettable sequences engraved in your brain largely because of his performance.

Egerton is, of course, supported by some incredibly talented women who make the absolute most of their screen time. Of note, Jessica Henwick is a commanding presence, delivering some sly and cutting lines that strike right at the core of Adam’s behavior. Charly Clive, as Adam’s longtime best friend and somewhat of an enabler, is also a standout, bringing a stern and assured presence that provides just enough for him to realize how abhorrent his behavior has been.

Undeniably flawed in places and guaranteed not to be for everyone, don’t be surprised to see a broad spectrum when it comes to the initial reception for Everybody Wants to F*ck Me. Yet despite those shortcomings, there are enough genuine laughs and heart at the core of the story to make it a worthwhile trip. That, coupled with yet another stellar performance from Egerton, ensures Everybody Wants to F*ck Me is a wildly entertaining and unapologetically outrageous ride that, for better or worse, you’re unlikely to forget anytime soon.

Grade: B-

Director: Zack Snyder
Writer: Kurt Johnstad
Stars: Stuart Martin, Fra Fee, Jackie Kay

Synopsis: An ex-DEA agent searches South American mountains for his murdered diplomat siblings’ children, aided by a junkie photographer who saw the killers, confronting past demons as reality blurs in remote wilderness.

Is the camera an object of truth, or does it have the power to distort our conception of the world? This question lies at the heart of Zack Snyder’s long-gestating The Last Photograph, a project the director says has been in the works for almost twenty years, as he unveiled the film at the Toronto International Film Festival. Almost immediately after the screening, vitriolic responses from critics and audience members flooded social media, creating a strange disconnect as a Q&A was still underway with the director and cast, who were likely oblivious to the real-time reactions. 

To be fair, The Last Photograph is Snyder’s clunkiest film. It presents many unwieldy ideas without actively developing them. Unlike his pre-director’s cut Rebel Moon diptych (or the theatrical cuts of Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice and Justice League), there’s no extended edition to further flesh out what’s on screen. The core relationship between Wallace (Fra Fee), a heroin-addicted war photographer who is still trying to numb himself to the horrors of the world, and Ethan Black (Stuart Martin), an ex-DEA agent who looks for his missing niece and nephew, also takes time to establish itself as thoughtful. 

It’s also extremely violent. Snyder’s most violent film. Whereas he purposefully restrained himself within the studio system, the 60-year-old director no longer has any major studio to deal with and can finally deliver a vision at his most uncompromising. Perhaps that allowed him the freedom to go all in on violence and explicit sexual imagery, a shift that was most boldly perceived in Rebel Moon – Chapter One: Chalice of Blood. Audiences have to sit through endless sequences of torture, where women are brutally beaten, children are killed, and they are put in multiple harrowing situations that often feel excessive and gratuitous. 

But is there a point to such senseless acts? The consensus across the John Bassett Theatre after its premiere might be, “No,” but it also offers an interesting treatise on our desensitized society, which no longer feels emotion when it sees real violence filtered through someone’s camera on a screen. Don’t get me wrong, The Last Photograph borders on exploitation, but one can’t say such torture is pointless when it’s mostly seen through the eyes of a disillusioned photographer observing a world where his subjective nightmares and the harsh nightmares of reality are blurred. 

Butterflies recur visually as Wallace and Ethan travel across Colombia to find the missing children, in a story that owes a lot to John Ford’s The Searchers and Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now. Of course, though, John Boorman’s Excalibur remains the ultimate reference for understanding Snyder’s visual gestures, as he continues to expand his conception of mythological artifacts through a disillusioned agent who will stop at nothing to find his niece. Bar none, the most thought-provoking sequence of the film occurs close to the end, where Ethan becomes the film’s myth, but, again, like all his ideas, doesn’t get expanded further than what is introduced. 

It’s the most frustrating aspect of The Last Photograph, a movie that brims with enough thoughtful ideas to stimulate our minds, but doesn’t have the patience to develop any of them. The first forty minutes or so are dedicated entirely to “moody” storytelling, where Snyder presents images with tons of thematic resonance but rarely interiorizes the characters on parallel journeys that eventually coalesce into a spiritually charged arc that brings incredibly strong emotions to the forefront. It takes a while for those emotions to materialize, but once they do, it’s hard not to be swept away by Snyder’s knack for intensely arresting image-making, where each frame tells an intriguing story in its own right. 

While smaller in scale than his superhero films or mythological epics, there’s a reason why Snyder is so far ahead of his contemporaries when crafting action, as small or as large as it can be. The gunfights of The Last Photograph rank high among some of the most emotive work of his career, even if the violence is at times horrific to look at. But the camera tells us things that our eyes cannot see, and the way in which Snyder, acting once again as his own cinematographer, points his device at senseless explosions or bodies being piled up, their faces shot, and bodies horribly mutilated. It’s a confronting experience to reckon with such violence, as the camera never ceases to capture these horrors, while never forgetting to highlight the beauty amid its desolation. 

Is The Last Photograph an examination of Snyder’s own conception of images as he reaches a new stage in his life? One could absolutely interpret it this way, especially as he’s still continuing to be his own director of photography amid the flurry of negative comments Snyder has received since Army of the Dead. He doesn’t care, and likely never will, but his photography is actually a genuine improvement (or evolution) of his own craft. Snyder (mostly) ditches gratuitous slow-motion for an overabundance of soft-focus, which might be a deterrent if each frame didn’t feel so spiritually urgent. There’s a specific image of a horse attempting to cross a river that is fully embedded in my retina, and the entire flashback where Ethan attains total awareness ranks high in the pantheon of Snyder’s most striking images. 

That’s why it’s so hard for me to entirely dismiss The Last Photograph. It’s not perfect, sure, but it contains enough of Snyder’s real humanism to overcome some of its most glaring flaws. To say the film is “racist” or “misogynist” is to completely miss what Snyder is actually saying about the images that he – and his photographer – capture. There might not be a salient point to be made about the violence itself, but the thing is: we’ve grown so numb to violence that it almost feels unimpressive when we actually see real acts of terror inflicted upon people when they appear on our screens. This isn’t an observation, but a fact. Snyder attempts to remind us of violence’s true horrific nature, as his photographer develops a strange fascination with beauty inside an environment that has lost all sense of hope. 

In this case, Fra Fee delivers what is probably the most moving performance of his career, far more emotive than anything in the Rebel Moon franchise. He’s directed so wonderfully by Snyder, who seemingly sees a lot of himself in how Wallace perceives images. When you look back at Snyder’s oeuvre and begin with his first-ever major movie, Michael Jordan’s Playground, the fascination is seen loud and clear. That desire to create, to demonstrate that cinema still has the potential to move us and stun our souls, is still present almost thirty years later. Whenever I’m about to see a new Zack Snyder film, I always look back at one of the final scenes of his Michael Jordan video, where the NBA star dances in passionate glee to the music of Full Force. It’s possibly Snyder’s most exhilarating sequence before the grand finale of Man of Steel, because it reminds us what he can do with a camera, and how he sees the world through his own subjective lens. 

The Last Photograph rekindles his relationship with an object he has complicated feelings about. He now needs to rethink what image-making should be, especially in an era that has lost the power to create frames that linger deep in our memories. It’s easy to reject a movie that tells us to look at cinema in a new way none of us are accustomed to, but it’s something Snyder enjoys doing. There’s doubt the movie will actively find distribution. It’s violent, deeply inaccessible, and confronts our ideals of what an image should achieve in ways I haven’t seen a filmmaker – let alone Snyder – do. 

However, anyone with an open mind should probably give it a chance if it ever moves past the John Bassett Theatre. It probably won’t, but Snyder is showing no signs of stopping, as he’s set to helm a remake of John Carpenter’s Escape from New York shortly. Maybe this stint in fully independent, auteur-driven filmmaking has given him a new lease on why he chose to make movies and filter his own perception of the world around him, because, as he said while introducing the movies, he’s going to keep doing it until someone stops him. And even if someone dares stop him, he’s probably not going to…

Grade: B

Director: Theo Rhys
Writers: Theo Rhys, Joss Holden-Rea
Stars: Jodie Comer, Henry Melling

Synopsis: A taxidermist named Araminta seeks to preserve a human specimen when Bernie volunteers himself. Their unusual arrangement evolves into an unexpected love story.

If you’ve ever sat at home thinking, what would it look like if Sweeney Todd took up taxidermy as a hobby? Look no further than Theo Rhys’ first feature film, Stuffed. A dark and twisted tale of outcasts who find their way to one another in the most bizarre circumstances; it creates a genre-bending, wild and wacky time at the cinema. The result is one of the most distinctive experiences you’re likely to have all year, featuring Jodie Comer and Harry Melling like you’ve never seen them before.

The outlandish premise alone is enough to have you hooked. Bernie (Melling) is a lonely sandwich worker with nothing remotely exciting going on in his life, with the only remnants of any social life coming from visits to his mother, who sadly doesn’t even recognize him due to her dementia. Determined not to die without leaving some sort of legacy behind, Bernie seeks out the owner of an ad in the paper that promises to turn him into something “extraordinary.”

The face behind the ad is Araminta (Comer), a taxidermy enthusiast who boasts an extensive collection of stuffed roadkill that’s enough to cause instant nightmares. Not content with just animals, Araminta dreams of stuffing a human and believes Bernie to be the ideal candidate. The reality, though, couldn’t be further from the truth, with the pair unknowingly becoming the cure to their respective loneliness. But is that something that has come a little too late in their tragic lives?

The screenplay, co-written by Rhys alongside Joss Holden-Rea, is one of the year’s most unusual. It’s abundantly clear from the outset where some of their inspiration comes from. The gothic nature bears a remarkable resemblance to Sweeney Todd, and if Tim Burton’s name were attached, you wouldn’t be shocked. Yet there’s still enough here to give Stuffed an identity entirely of its own.

That’s helped enormously by the music, also penned by Holden-Rea. While it doesn’t provide nearly as many memorable tracks as you might hope for, it is still wonderfully weird enough to transport audiences into this macabre world. Much of that comes down to the plethora of clever lyrics on display, with the biggest complaint being that they are sometimes drowned out by the overbearing orchestra. But even in those moments, thanks to our two leads and the full range of emotions they express, you can feel what the songs are trying to achieve.

While the songs may be accused of sounding similar, one thing that certainly can’t be accused of lacking variety is the production design on display throughout. Whether it’s the deliberately drab sandwich-making factory where Bernie spends his morbid days, Araminta’s quirky, taxidermy-ridden apartment, or everything in between, it’s a true feast for the eyes. Every setting feels completely immersive from the get-go, and once this strange world has a hold of you, you don’t want it to let go.

Harry Melling proves to be an inspired casting choice for Bernie. Melling has that naturally awkward quirkiness you’d expect from a loner, while also bringing a genuine sweetness that makes audiences want nothing but the best for him. It’s a performance that makes you feel all the pain and anguish he is going through in his desperation to leave some mark on the world when he’s gone. That becomes all the more impressive when you take into account the songs he performs, showcasing a surprisingly strong vocal range that even garnered applause mid-movie.

As has become expected at this point, Jodie Comer fully commits to her more chaotic role. It feels like Comer could take on any project in any genre and still provide a spectacular turn. Throughout, she delivers all the eccentricity needed for a character as complex as Araminta, while gradually revealing a softer, more tender side as the walls begin to crumble. It unfolds in an incredibly organic way that’s bound to pull on the heartstrings of audiences.

And when the pair share the screen, that’s when Stuffed excels. Their chemistry progresses in a way that doesn’t remotely feel forced or inserted merely as a plot device. Instead, it feels like the coming together of two of the world’s outcasts who have been longing for a connection with someone who truly understands them. Watching that relationship unfold is easily one of the film’s most enjoyable aspects, and you find yourself simply wanting them to have that happily ever after despite all their flaws.

That said, the very predictable ending is likely to prove divisive. So much of the movie’s near two-hour runtime feels different from anything else you’ve seen. Even if the inspirations are obvious, the eccentric ways the story progresses feel fresh and intriguing. It’s therefore rather disappointing that Rhys decides to go down a more conventional route towards the end. For a film that spends so much of its runtime embracing the unexpected, its final destination feels unfortunately obvious, especially when it seems Rhys had the opportunity to deliver something every bit as daring as what came before.

Despite that disappointing final stretch, there’s just something strangely endearing about Stuffed that keeps you captivated throughout. It’s almost impossible to perfectly put your finger on, but it has that secret formula that makes movies one of the most special art forms on the planet. Theo Rhys and his creative team have found that in abundance here, creating a macabre musical that may wear its influences proudly on its sleeve, but still manages to march to the beat of its own wonderfully weird drum.

Grade: B