Director: Michael Gracey
Writers: Simon Gleeson, Oliver Cole, Michael Gracey
Stars: Robbie Williams, Jonno Davies, Steve Pemberton

Synopsis: A singular profile of British pop superstar Robbie Williams.

The ‘singular profile’ the synopsis refers to in the story of Robbie Williams in Michael Gracey’s Better Man is that its central figure is depicted as a monkey. From his childhood to his Take That days, following his solo career, we see the highs and lows of Williams’ music career and personal life as a chimpanzee plucked straight out of the Rise of the Planet of the Apes trilogy, which slightly discombobulates things, when everyone around him is a human. Williams provides the voice of himself (alongside frequent bursts of voiceover narration throughout the 135-minute-long film), while Jonno Davies captures him to life through motion capture.

Such a unique proposition certainly posits Gracey’s film as a unique biopic that longs to break the conventionalities that many ‘pop star’ pictures are stuck in. Few movies that focus on its central artist figure dare to do anything different than depict them through humble beginnings, a meteoric rise to success, a cataclysmic fall, and a redemption arc. This was the structure of Freddy Mercury’s story in the terrible Bohemian Rhapsody, with zero flair or desire to do anything more than stay in the most banal biopic tropes possible.

One movie that attempted to do something different with its structure was Dexter Fletcher’s Rocketman, and he more than succeeded in giving life to a rather stale sub-genre of biopics, and is, in my opinion, the best musical artist portrait of the last decade. Better Man certainly seems to take inspiration from Fletcher’s film, with frequent ‘song and dance’ numbers that represents Williams’ early-on success with the boyband Take That and manager Nigel Martin-Smith (Damon Herriman), the blossoming romance between him and All Saints member Nicole Appleton (Raechelle Banno), and the constant push-pull between the life he experiences and the voices he continuously hears from his inner demons.

Eventually, Williams battles those demons in one of the most surprisingly violent and cathartic action setpieces of the year that puts the entirety of the Matt Reeves Apes saga to shame. In watching such a scene, one has the impression that, in doing so, Gracey and co-screenwriters Simon Gleeson and Oliver Cole will push the boundaries of what is considered a ‘traditional’ biopic to deliver something wholly unique, in the image of Williams’ crazy life. His life was often as wild as the mere idea of turning him into a monkey for the entirety of Better Man. It was fleetingly positive, with occasional glimpses of a fruitful career, where the adoration between him and millions of fans would provide him the satisfaction he’d always wanted since he was a boy.

However, his career was far more self-destructive than rewarding, with Williams developing an early addiction to drugs and alcohol as a way to ‘combat’ his burgeoning depression. With such rapid adulation and praise, many could think that Williams’ life was what he’d always dreamed of. He certainly did, but not in the way it happened. Through these shocking moments of vulnerability, Gracey employs strong visual metaphors that represent how Williams’ career – and personal life – has gone out of control.

It’s in these sequences where Better Man works best. The story is all visual, and we perfectly understand what Gracey means when sticking Williams inside a frozen body of water, unable to break the ice, and drowning from the swarm of vulturous paparazzi who pull him further down, with no way out. For him, the only way to escape the internal and external pain of such a career is to partake in excessive drug use, to which we see depicted in rather harrowing fashion through these metaphorical scenes.

Even with the CGI monkey, the sheer naturalism of Davies’ live performance (alongside Williams’ voice) ultimately makes us convinced we’re watching a fully-fledged human being and quickly forget we’re seeing his life told through the eyes of a chimp. It’s also a testament to WETA’s endearing quest for turning performance capture into an artform, with this year’s Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes and now Better Man differently showcasing how the technology has evolved ever since Andy Serkis paved the way for the adoption of such a practice in Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers.

And yet, with such a wild framing device and visual-heavy scenes, Better Man is unfortunately bogged down by an insistence of staying within the regular biopic structure with no real desire to transcend it. This ultimately makes its narrative feel more predictable and mawkish than it should be, especially when Gracey depicts the relationship between Williams and Appleton. Credit where credit is due: there’s a rather tragic musical number that contrasts their initial meeting with a decision that ultimately ended their relationship, after Nicole was forced to abort her pregnancy with Williams’ child from the All Saints record company.

Representing such a scene through song may bring about complex feelings, but Gracey directs this scene with enough compassion that it doesn’t seem at all manipulative (compared to how he frequently pushed buttons in The Greatest Showman). The cross-cut between the beginning and ending of the most hopeful part of Williams’ life is starkly visualized, even if the relationship gets stuck in cyclical platitudes afterwards (apart from his initial meeting with Oasis members Liam and Noel Gallagher, which got the biggest laughs out of me).

Then, there’s Robbie’s relationship with his distant father, Peter (Steve Pemberton), which is taken out of every single ‘long lost father has regrets about not being there for his son’ trope possible. While Pemberton does his best with the material he’s been given, the dialogues feel all-too-familiar, resulting in some of the more emotional sequences between the two falling flat. Thankfully, there are more visual-driven sequences than traditional ones, but the latter has the tendency to dilute some of Better Man’s strongest moments, and stretching the runtime to a conclusion where all the heartstrings should theoretically be pulled (a “full circle” moment between Robbie and Peter singing Frank Sinatra’s “My Way”), but doesn’t really do anything.

Still, it remains a better-directed (and ultimately better) movie than The Greatest Showman, and demonstrates how much Gracey has improved as a filmmaker, not just in helming musical sequences that allow the choreographies to be seen (unlike the aggressive TikTok-styled editing of the P.T. Barnum picture), but in depicting such a dark, but ultimately life-affirming story. It should’ve been way crazier than it is, but Better Man still remains a crowd-pleasing affair that, despite its unusual framing device, will touch the hearts of millions of moviegoers who will buy a ticket for it this Christmas, provided they are willing to engage in a bit of monkey business.

Grade: B-

Director: Pascal Plante
Writer: Pascal Plante
Stars: Juliette Gariépy, Laurie Babin, Elisabeth Locas

Synopsis: A model becomes obsessed with a high-profile murder trial.

From the first moment Clementine (Laurie Babin) and Kelly-Anne (Juliette Gariépy) meet, we know they are two women from entirely different planets. Kelly-Anne is used to being seen, she walks with confidence, at least borrowed from working as a model in an industry that relies on beauty and superficial aesthetics of pitting women’s bodies against each other. Clementine is meek and awkward, unsure of whether it’s her right to request a refill of a wrong order delivered to her. As Kelly-Anne sternly assures her to demand changing the order, a few outlines are cleared in front of the viewers.

Red Rooms is a movie about the voyeurs, not voyeurism.

First things first, Red Rooms follows successful model Kelly-Anne, a smart tech-savvy young woman as she reserves a seat to attend the trial of the decade. Ludovic Chevalier (Maxwell McCabe-Lokos) has been accused of kidnapping and murdering three teenage girls and is being tried in front of a jury. Kelly-Anne, the complicit, perverse spectator, is there to watch every bit of it. Along comes quirky, awkward true crime groupie, Clementine, a naive woman who paints a romantic obsession with the serial killer, claiming his innocence. As she bonds with Kelly-Anne, something sinister underneath builds between them, their morbid obsession not just with the details of the crime or the accused, but the violence.

Kelly-Anne, is similar to a Cronenberg protagonist, a violence junkie. But like many faithful modern voyeurs, she’s obsessed with real-life violence; the more realistic, the better. The grittier the details, the longer she stays aroused. Like every other hybristophile, Kelly-Anne finds euphoria in all the minute details surrounding a crime, including stalking the families of the victims, down to the most intricate detail in their lives.

To an untrained eye, Kelly-Anne might seem like a killer’s accomplice. She’s well-versed in the crime; possibly more than the detectives themselves. But as the film moves further, the more sinister truth is revealed; she’s obsessed. She gets off on those the grisly and the macabre of a crime scene and that’s all. In her quest for the thrill, she loses interest in everything. As a professional poker player. she’s used to winning, but, like every gambler, winning means nothing, so whatever she makes, she easily breaks. This is why in the event of bringing down Ludovic Chevalier, she brings herself down with him, like Samson who pushed with all his strength and down came the temple on her and Ludovic’s head. But it impacts everyone involved; Clementine, a victim’s mother, her modeling agency, and the list goes on. She loses, but so does everyone in her wake. She enjoys Ludovic’s demise, not for a sense of righteousness but for the pleasure of self-destruction. After building up a case and piling up evidence, she watches as everything burns. It’s a psyche that only a truly messed up woman understands, especially if to the world she appears as pure perfection, the epitome of what it means to win it all.

Pascal Plante’s film is violent, sadistic, and gritty without showing a hint of violence. It leaves one feeling dirty, ashamed, and slightly baffled at the connivance in the heinous, internet-exploited crimes. It feels as if we paid to enter the red rooms with Kelly-Anne, as if we sat next to her and watched in awe, as the victims met their horrifying fate, and like Kelly-Anne we sat down hungry, lusting for more. We feel no different than the Romans watching prisoners or slaves eaten to death by lions in the Colosseum. But sadly, our version of the modern Colosseum is internet rooms, watched from the safety of a cozy couch, behind screens while stroking a cat. This film is not for the faint of heart.

Grade: A+

Director: Halina Reijn
Writer: Halina Reijn
Stars: Nicole Kidman, Harris Dickinson, Antonio Banderas

Synopsis: A high-powered CEO puts her career and family on the line when she begins a torrid affair with her much-younger intern.

The erotic thriller is a lost art. Alongside screwball comedies and westerns, these types of films were made in spades during a certain point in time and took the world by storm. In the case of erotic thrillers, that time was the ‘80s and ‘90s. The way they shocked the world was by breaking societal stigmas, exploring sexual liberation, and tethering to the taboo and provocative to ease the audience into wanting more because it is out of the norm of reality. Once hidden and obscured, desires are now part of a mental chess game between two, or sometimes even more, players who find ways to get what they want; either by manipulation and seduction or the stripping of power or a change in roles and gender norms. 

The best this subgenre has to offer explores this multifaceted psychological and physical breakdown; to quote St. Vincent, it is “masseduction” (“mass seduction”) and “mass destruction” via the rearrangement of a person’s mind, body, and soul. Paul Verhoeven’s Basic Instinct (and The Fourth Man). Lawrence Kasdan’s Body Heat. And so many others did that very thing of confounding the audience by secretly dissecting the frowned-upon societal norms of the times in which they were made. However, the ones made since that peak era of the ‘80s and ‘90s lack the expository feeling and psychological depth that made the classic or acclaimed erotic thrillers so enthralling, spicy, and complex. As with everything, there are always exceptions. 

Some of the subgenre’s masters are still producing, although not as effectively, like the aforementioned Verhoeven with The Black Book and Adrian Lyne with Deep Water, a film that many rejected thoroughly. (At the same time, I thought it was rather quite adept.) However, they are not great examples of what erotic thrillers have to offer, at least to their standards. Many have come and gone, trying to capture what once was. But it wasn’t until now that we got a proper erotic thriller with a modernist view with Halina Reijn’s superb and tightly constructed Babygirl. Reijn, who teams up with A24 again after Bodies Bodies Bodies, has a keen eye for depicting the high life of society, whether it is super rich kids with nothing but fake friends in the aforementioned satirical whodunnit or a high-balling CEO in her latest work. 

Her cinematic interpretation has heightened a notch to give it a little punch and interlace comedic pandering with dramatic notions to the story slowly turning on itself by reconfiguring the dynamics within the group of characters. But it isn’t exaggerated to the degree that it removes her film’s humanity or hinders the mind games at play. Although she has two films under this modern American culture examination belt, her prior work has some of the same sensibilities, via a look onto her home country and with a more insider lens, rather than the outsider one, she partakes in these two A24-backed features. 

Since she looks from the outside in, it creates a disparity between the many approaches her work might take, much like Verhoeven himself. And in Babygirl, this view paves the way for this story–about a wealthy woman becoming seduced by her way younger intern–to tap into the universal feeling of repressed desires and beauty conformities amidst aging through the key elements of which erotic thrillers consist. Think of Secretary, but with A-levels and switch the brooding tone of Maggie Gyllenhaal’s Lee Holloway for fulfillment and empowerment. This, and much more, makes Halina Reijn’s Babygirl a tactful dramatic piece, with Nicole Kidman and Harris Dickinson delivering top performances–a cherry on top of the kinky sundae. A surprising turn and glimpses at a potential rise for erotic thrillers in today’s age. 

In Babygirl, Nicole Kidman plays Romy, a wealthy CEO of a company in New York that has her living a lavish life in a townhouse with her two daughters and husband, a theatre director named Jacob (Antonio Banderas). Through thick and thin, they have spent twenty years together during the ups and downs. The two are devoted to each other plenty; Romy and Jacob have built a life many dream of having and earned it through blood, sweat, and tears. At least in that regard, their relationship is flawless and seemingly perfect. Romantically and intimately, there are plenty of cracks–fractures that haven’t been treated in this two-decade romance. Jacob hasn’t been able to fulfill Romy sexually, never giving her an orgasm, one she has longed for. It has been frustrating for Romy that the man she loves, the father of her lovely daughters, can’t please her on that side of the relationship. 

That is where the new, young, and handsome intern, Samuel (Harris Dickinson), comes into play. As soon as he enters the picture, all eyes, including the camera, are on him, a target of desire for everyone around him. The camera, knowingly so, frames Dickinson like such a token of pleasure, although with a subdued tone initially, only to increase in intensity as the whole control in Babygirl spices up and the heat feels like a 4D experience. And so the two leading players in this “ring of fire” are introduced, glazing each other from afar from head to toe. With just a look, Kidman expresses everything going on in her mind. The confusion of desire is in a battle against her suppressed fantasies. 

Kidman plays Romy in this beginning strand with a strictness to her, more poised and stiff, while adopting a more playful persona later in the film, effortlessly weaving through the complex emotions and dynamics her character engages in. The Australian actress has had more than a handful of tricky roles with even trickier personalities. But when she plays characters such as Alice in Eyes Wide Shut, Grace in Dogville, or Evelyn in Stoker–just to name a few because this list is long–that is when she is in her bag. These characters have dual or even chameleonic traits with suppressed or concealed emotions, allowing Kidman to slowly unearth the character from the grave they are in, the arduous sensation of being unable to express the longing or yearning contained inside. And her Romy is yet another addition to this medley. 

Needless to say, something starts to boil between Romy and Samuel, much like the aforementioned Secretary, albeit without the brooding tied to the relationship between Lee Holloway (Gyllenhaal) and Mr. Grey (James Spader) and their roles are reversed–Romy being the financial power. At the same time, Samuel has control emotionally. This switch from the regularly seen gender roles in erotic thrillers, as well as the tethering between accepting and delivering pleasure, is one of the ways in which Reijn gives Babygirl this modern glance at consent and desires. She questions such psychologically complex scenarios in which Samuel and Romy conjointly and separately explore and divulge their boundaries as they confront ethical and moral dilemmas, the two-sided package that makes erotic thrillers contain depth. 

Babygirl is a film about comfort zones and moral judgments. The former helps express their yearning, and Reijn absolves the latter in a key scene where Romy and her daughter converse and understand each other about the situation. The Dutch director also dissects today’s society with Sophie Wilde’s character, Esme, Romy’s assistant, and the personification of Gen Z’s political correctness and moral compass. Just like in Bodies Bodies Bodies, Reijn uses the contradictions and strictness of today’s generation to smear the complexities of the affair Romy and Samuel have into a more present, playful context. Instead of influencers and rich kids, it is the play for power within the workplace relationships. It is in these scenarios where Babygirl distances itself from the erotic thriller that came before, gaining a personality and uniqueness in the process. 

This revision of a last subgenre that many directors have tried to revive by breaking modern ideologies and the view on disruptive or acceptable behavior contains tons of layers, even if, by a single glance, such is not the case. Reijn continues her streak of dissections of modern American society. Yet, this time, there’s a more keen, fascinating look at the tricky topic that makes today’s news reels plenty by breaking the mold of a subgenre that was predominant before.

Grade: A-

Director: Josh Fowler
Writers: Pat Casey, Josh Miller, John Whittington
Stars: Jim Carrey, Ben Schwartz, Keanu Reeves

Synopsis: Sonic, Knuckles, and Tails reunite against a powerful new adversary, Shadow, a mysterious villain with powers unlike anything they have faced before. With their abilities outmatched, Team Sonic must seek out an unlikely alliance.

It’s been the norm that every movie franchise is also a movie universe. It’s refreshing to have one that’s just building just a single world with each subsequent film. It’s true that earlier this year Paramount+ had “Knuckles,” a limited series following the titular echidna warrior on his own adventure, but, for the most part, the universe of Sonic the Hedgehog has remained small and cinematic. Each installment builds on the last to create a satisfying experience just as the ideas seem to be wearing a little thin.

Sonic the Hedgehog 3 is a lot like Sonic the Hedgehog 2. Sonic (Ben Schwartz) is tasked with tackling a new furry foe being aided by evil genius Dr. Robotnik (Jim Carrey). Sonic learns about teamwork, family, believing in himself, and that with great power… yada, yada, yada. It would be tiresome, but the formula works for a reason. Sonic the Hedgehog 3 has enough backstory and exposition that a casual moviegoer could walk in and catch up with the story quickly. The film is the way it is so that Sonic isn’t driven by a need to destroy his antagonists, but to change their hearts. It’s a good message and one that strikes at the hearts of those of us who understand the power of a chosen family.

It also helps that the special effects just keep getting more glorious. The fuzz on each of the creatures looks so authentically soft that it makes you want to reach out and run your fingers through it. The running sequences continue to impress, but Shadow’s (Keanu Reeves) teleportation is an awesome sight to behold. The fights are grand in scale and for a film that has world ending weapons in play, manages to reduce the human collateral damage of the biggest showdowns.

It is easy to forget the human characters in the midst of the adorable and fearsome animated characters at the heart of the story, but they pop themselves in in surprising ways. James Marsden has always had comedic chops, but he pulls off being the heart of the story as a great paternal figure for his otherworldly charges. Sometimes sidelined in the other two films of the franchise, Tikka Sumpter gets more into the action this time around and it’s wonderful. The two of them look like they’re having a blast and have great chemistry together. Though, neither can hold a single candle to the double performance of Jim Carrey.

Jim Carrey has carried this franchise on his back since the first film. It’s not a detriment either. The fact that he is what you should be watching is exactly how the character of Robotnik should be played. He steals every scene and chews scenery like gum, blowing it into a glorious bubble and popping to create something grander than you ever thought possible. In Sonic the Hedgehog 3, Carrey does a feat we always hoped he could. He pulls off a double performance acting opposite himself as Gerald Robotnik, his character’s grandfather. With modern technology, the parallel scenes are seamless. So seamless that the best scene in the film is between Carrey and Carrey.

The two Robotniks stand at a laser field in protective suits that reflect the lasers to make them harmless. In celebration of their genius, the two mad scientists decide to dance to their final destination. When you read dance, you should know that this isn’t just a couple of guys doing the running man down a laser filled hallway, it’s a full on, choreographed spectacular. The moves are synchronized and stylized perfectly. Director Jeff Fowler, editor Al LeVine, and the entire visual effects crew have made something utterly enthralling and even as it’s so far out there, it is a perfect fit to the world that’s been created in spite of its complete arbitrariness to the plot.

It’s easy to praise Sonic the Hedgehog 3 for its visual innovations and style even if its story and some of the humor leave much to be desired. The film is a four quadrant movie so it can’t be too complex, but it would have been nice if the writers had stretched themselves a little farther. Here’s hoping Sonic the Hedgehog 4, because there will be a 4, will attempt to race through some new ground because this franchise is one of the more enjoyable out there in spite of its flaws.

Grade: B

Director:  Jayro Bustamante
Writer: Jayro Bustamante
Stars: Giuliana Santa Cruz, Ángela Quevedo, Alejandra Vásquez

Synopsis: Rita, a 13-year-old girl, runs away from her abusive father to the big city. She finds solace until she’s placed in a safe house run by the State. Rita and her cellmates plot an escape that ends in a shocking act of violence.

“The more one knows fairy tales the less fantastical they appear; they can be vehicles of the grimmest realism, expressing hope against all the odds with gritted teeth.” 

― Marina Warner

Guatemalan director Jayro Bustamante has used elements of the fantastic to excavate the history of oppression of indigenous people in the country. His haunting La Llorona uses the legend of the weeping woman as a punishment for brutal dictators and their regime enablers. In Rita, Bustamante moves into the contemporary by referencing a shocking true case of neglect and abuse inside the ‘reform’ school system for unwanted girls. Part orphanage, part detention center, part state-sanctioned sweatshop and underage sex-trafficking ring. The facility where thirteen-year-old Rita (Giuliana Santa Cruz) finds herself is an inverted fairytale and folkloric world where girls run in wolfpacks, dress as fairies, princesses, angels, but also as stars, bunnies, and rainbows. There are witches, ogres, dungeons, and fairy godmothers. It’s ostensibly 2017, but Bustamante pulls aspects from years of Guatemalan history from cars that would be driven in the 1980s through to antiquated technology. Rita exists in the ‘Once upon a time’ world and the contemporary world.

“When I was seven years old, I stopped believing in fairy tales. I realized the stories that were told did not always end with a happily ever after. The world is not like that. I only began to understand them again later. Without fairy tales, I would have had no hope at all. I would have not been able to face what was coming to me. I was thirteen I ran away from home, but they captured me and sent me to a fortress on a hill just like in a fairy tale… My story begins here. Like all fairy tales, it did not happen exactly like this. But it is what I remember and the only way I dare tell it,” Rita narrates as she sits in the back of the police car ferrying her to the facility. Out the window, she observes young women running wild through the grounds, growling and snarling. Armed guards open the gates. 

Rita’s ‘sin’ was to escape her sexually abusive father and try to save her younger sister from suffering as she did. Transferred from a hospital after she almost bled out from a pregnancy termination (her second), she is led through an impossible network of cages and tunnels. Ash creatures sparkling with Christmas lights appear to her. “You saw nothing,” says the Monitor (Sabrina De La Hoz) as she escorts her to the Quarters of the Angels. Storm clouds gather inside and outside the darkened room as she is violently hazed by winged creatures. Why the girls enacted the violence upon Rita will be explained later in the film. In the morning, she is given her ‘uniform’ – a white crop top and short skirt. She is also given her wings. “If you want to stay in this room, you put them on,” says Terca (André Sebastián Aldana) the leader – a black-winged angel. 

“I don’t need anyone to protect me,” Rita tells one of the wolfpack as she makes her way through the facility. She will soon find that everyone needs protection, justice, retribution, and freedom. Rita becomes known as ‘Angel 56’ and her ‘class’ is factory sewing. She refuses to put the wings on until she is attacked by the ‘stars’ who claim she must be sacrificed. 

Rita is guided by the wise and foul-mouthed Bebé (Alejandra Vásquez), and Sulmy (Ángela Quevedo), who explain the horrors, both real and possibly imagined. What isn’t imagined is that Ernestina (Margarita Kenéfic), the social worker who is fashioned as a witch, is not going to help her build her case to leave the facility. She asks why Rita didn’t report her father earlier and suggests that she is jealous of the sexual attention he pays to her six-year-old sister. Nor is it imagined that the guard William (Ernesto Molina Samperio) attempts to rape her. 

“The girls who think they’re mystical beings, they’re the craziest of all,” says one of the Stars from their hidden camp in the forest. It was the Stars and Terca’s wife, Majo, who began the first revolution at the facility. Majo hanged herself with Christmas lights so the visitors had to see her. Other stars began to disappear. Bebé says she’s afraid of them as she doesn’t know which are ghosts and which are alive. 

Bustamante and cinematographer Inti Briones construct an elaborate but gritty fantasy. The bruised bodies of children, the swollen bellies of raped girls, the heat of a workshop, and the defeat written on the faces of those who have been taken to ‘clients’ mix with misty forests, glitter, stained glass angels, and girls in flight. The fear Celia (María Telón), Rita’s ‘fairy godmother,’ has for her safety is genuine, just as Rita’s rage and confusion are. The symbolism of stones as souls, burned dolls, and hand-woven sanctuaries with the skeletons of infants enshrined as holy flow into armed police hunting girls as they try to escape their confines. 

Jayro Bustamante seeks to imagine as a child would imagine. Rita’s story is told the only way she dares. For how can a child who has faced systemic horrors explain the world of nightmares and give grace to the fantastical children who suffer, and still suffer, under Guatemalan law?

Rita is a rich tapestry of truth and fable. The real case it is based on remains ‘unsolved’ – and Bustamante doesn’t shy away from the purpose of Rita which is to highlight hypocrisy and harm; a legacy in his mind that is built into Guatemala and inescapable. Haunting and fiercely political, Rita is searing work by Jayro Bustamante.

Grade: A