On this episode, JD and Brendan review Steven Soderbergh’s new film Presence, one of the more fascinating ghost stories in recent years! Soderbergh is no stranger to experimentation, once again playing with the form in a really compelling way, but also crafting an intriguing narrative with surprising nuances along the way.
Review: Presence (4:00) Director: Steven Soderbergh Writers: David Koepp Stars: Lucy Liu, Chris Sullivan, Callina Liang, Eddy Maday
Director: Katarina Zhu Writer: Katarina Zhu Stars: Katarina Zhu, Austin Amelio, Sarah Baskin
Synopsis: A cam girl navigates a toxic client relationship while reconnecting with her estranged, dying father, exploring complex relationships and family dynamics.
Katarina Zhu’s Bunnylovr is such an assured debut that you’ll find yourself completely won over by the trance state it places you in. Rebecca (Zhu) is a camgirl living in Brooklyn. That’s all Zhu initially reveals to us. She’s quite friendly with the patrons of her chat room. It’s important to remember that this isn’t an indication of genuine personality. And that’s not a dig. It’s merely an honest observation about the transactional nature of sex work; especially of the online variety. It’s this honesty that makes Bunnylovr quite the debut feature. It feels so sure of itself that it isn’t afraid to grapple with the potential harm that can come from the situations Rebecca finds herself in. Zhu’s film is obviously pro sex-work. Still, there’s almost a warning of sorts to be found in this film. It comes in the form of an honest condemnation. Many of the customers we see interacting with Rebecca in Bunnylovr areobserved to be harshly demanding. They feel they have a right to this sort of behavior involving creepy requests due to that transactional relationship at play. And so, Bunnylovr becomes a character study that observes how this can ultimately affect an individual. Just because it’s across a laptop screen doesn’t mean it can’t have a lasting effect on somebody.
The film begins with Rebecca in a group chat amongst her fans. There’s playful banter, plenty of tips being sent her way, and the occasional creep. Swiftly blocking the anonymous guest, you get the sense that Rebecca doesn’t play games when it comes to her camgirl occupation. Zhu, both as playing this character and in writing her, understands the very real danger that comes with sex work. Over the course of this patient film, we come to learn that Rebecca’s online persona is vastly different from her daily life offline. But before Zhu shows us this other side of Rebecca, she receives a private message from a chat member with an ominous request. The topic of loneliness comes up once Rebecca creates a private video chat for the two of them. She inquires whether or not she has the ability to help with their loneliness. Not turning on their camera, all we can gather is the strange and foreboding tone these messages convey. They say they’re sending Becca something to help with her loneliness.
From here, Bunnylovr essentially remains disconnected from Rebecca. We’re purely observing her from the outside as she mostly remains sealed off from the world around her. Zhu even goes about this in a way that’s not only literal, but exciting from a filmmaking perspective. During one morning routine, Zhu places a camera in the corner of Rebecca’s room. We’re shown a sped-up montage of her tasks captured through a fish-eye lens. It perfectly captures the sense of always being observed Bunnylovr appears to be going for. Not to mention it feels shockingly similar to that of a webcam. Everything is fully in focus, so there’s no single point directly calling our attention. We’re merely meant to observe and try to glean all we can from Rebecca over the course of this film. This visual of being made privy to her just waking up is also something that feeds back into the themes of Bunnylovr. The primary one? How Rebecca feels obligated to be tied to her camgirl work and sexuality.
There are so many instances in Bunnylovr that involve Rebecca sacrificing her time for men.
The first example is with her ex-boyfriend, Carter (Jack Kilmer). Although she tells Bella (Rachel Sennott) that they haven’t spoken in ages and won’t backslide, we later see her in his bed. There’s no judgement to be found in Zhu’s film, but there is a sadness to be felt. The reason is clear from how he treats Rebecca. As they are wrapping up their night, Rebecca proposes the idea of them getting back together. He brushes it off with a typical male non-answer, only to then ask for his set of keys back and have her call her own Uber home. Rebecca deserves better, and Zhu plays it in a way that makes it seem she knows it as well. She instead escapes into her chat rather than dwell on these emotions further. It’s here that the second example of the film reveals itself in the mysterious chat member, “Jas”. Eventually revealed to be a man named John (the always-great Austin Amelio), his character further pushes this idea that Bunnylovr is a film partly about condemning the ways in which men impart burdens unto sex workers. Though avoiding larger plot points here, John’s actions are incredibly discomforting and often menacing. Casting Amelio, especially after his excellently dark turn in Hit Man, feels like a distinct choice. Between the mysterious nature of the script and how Amelio plays him, it certainly feels like Bunnylovr was positioning itself to be a thriller at one point. There is a clear-cut danger to be found in some of his actions. And the film regularly revisits how men feel they can override a woman’s time and place unwanted responsibilities on them. That Bunnylovr feels as if it’s building to something more genre-influenced and then backs out is upsetting. But Bunnylovr was never necessarily that film to begin with. It’s far more interested in the drama that can be found in an observational character study.
The third key relationship to be examined in Bunnylovr is the one between Rebecca and her distant father, referred to as William (Perry Yung). It takes a while for Zhu to outright reveal the inner workings of this father/daughter relationship. But how she scripts the introductory sequence of William is telling enough. It’s disorienting to both the viewer and Rebecca, by design. Although Rebecca is clearly in a rush when they unexpectedly run into one another on the street, his repeated insistence breaks down her guard enough to grab a quick coffee. Like so much of this film, Rebecca is placed into discomforting situations by men who she doesn’t owe anything to. But Zhu explores this relationship with both a tender screenplay and camerawork. One line of William’s in particular stands out as they begin to rebuild their clearly fractured relationship: “It’s nice not having to answer to anyone.” While this can clearly be taken as a bit selfish considering his and Rebecca’s relationship, it feels like Rebecca would love nothing more than to share that sentiment. Instead, we see how John and Carter don’t allow her this freedom through late-night texts still asking to come over and impromptu chat room demands while Rebecca is at work or going out with friends.
This pervasive sense of loneliness builds throughout Bunnylovr until Rebecca attends Bella’s art gallery opening. As she finds herself getting drowned out by the circling friends insisting on postgame plans and her overwhelming emotions regarding the art based on her likeness, her father, and her increasingly frequent conversations with John, Rebecca turns inwards. She retreats into a hermetic lifestyle and removes herself from situations with friends and family. It’s an all-too relatable feeling, and Zhu captures it both quite beautifully and painfully. Lit by the harsh glow of her laptop, Rebecca is searching for a way out. All we can hope for is that she does so through a relationship that is beneficial for her. As Bella tells her earlier in the film, “Introduce the new.” With that in mind, Bunnylovr would likely feel a bit more impactful in its closing moments if it went a bit farther into developing the relationship between Rebecca and Bella. Upon exploring this friendship a bit more, the moment of catharsis and subsequent finale of the film would feel more impactful. Nevertheless, Bunnylovr is a very strong debut, with a methodical pace that keeps you engaged and focused on its central character.
Bunnylovr is celebrating its world premiere at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival in the U.S. Dramatic Competition category.
Synopsis: Follows a jealous girl who enlists the help of magic to interfere with a relationship involving the apple of her eye.
With the opening scene of The Virgin of the Quarry Lake, director Laura Casabé pulls her audience in with a question. It’s a simple one at face value: can’t we ever have a moment to ourselves? It’s incredibly relatable regardless of what age the viewer might be. But for a teenager, in this case, Natalia (Dolores Oliverio), this question is one that becomes more and more layered the longer the film plays out. Those tuning into The Virgin of the Quarry Lake expecting a coming-of-age film will certainly get one. But excitingly, there’s a lot more present in this film than it initially leads on. What begins with such a common occurrence morphs quickly into something sinister. It’s this undercurrent that bubbles up into a larger problem which can’t be ignored that Casabé hinges her film on. She, and screenwriter Benjamín Naishtat, do so by linking the two cruxes of the film together. The first is the emotional element of it all: Natalia, or Nati, is on the cusp of finally coming into her own. The second is the time and place during which this film is set: 2001, during the Argentinian economic crisis. By wrapping these dilemmas up amongst one another, Casabé’s film has as much to say about a single individual as it does an entire society. The commonality linking the two dramatically? Apathy.
Nati is taking a bath when the film begins. What should be a calm release is instead intruded on by yelling that only becomes more pervasive. As she comes to learn, there’s a displaced individual relieving himself in the middle of the street. Before anything can even be processed or next steps can be taken, a man from the neighborhood begins brutally attacking the individual. It’s a jarring shock for Nati that catapults her back to reality. But for the viewer, it takes us elsewhere. It’s such a clearly unjust and upsetting reaction. Captured with such a cold lens, we very quickly want it to end. But Casabé doesn’t let us off the hook that easily. It’s only after Nati pleads to her grandmother to stop the violent perpetrator that the film eases up its instantaneous grip on us. This is an event that nobody would ever want to confront; it’s now something that cannot ever be forgotten. How long has this been going on that somebody could have such an explosive reaction to an unfortunate situation? The scarier thought is, “What if this was the first time?” It’s an opening sequence that sets your expectations on edge. With a surreal quality to it, it’s made all the more strange by the next scenes following Nati as if it never occurred. She’s in chat rooms with friends, listening to music, hanging out at the public pool. But it’s in this tonal back-and-forth that slowly blurs the divide between one another that Casabé finds the thrill that sustains her film.
It becomes clear during the course of The Virgin of the Quarry Lake that Casabé wants to examine the breaking point of both an individual and of a society. And the pair of these come about by a group of people that are both apathetic and frightened. During the period in which this film is set, Nati’s neighborhood is beset by frequent blackouts, rationed water, and lack of government assistance. In the few instances we see neighborly interactions, they’re marked by hostility, anger, and fear set back onto Nati. It’s not always entirely out of malice, but out of worry and anger that nothing is going to be as okay as they’d hoped. In turn, this feeling of isolation and what almost feels like entitlement, is a lens that Nati is beginning to see the world through. Casabé uses violence sparingly in this film, but makes sure it feels explosive upon its arrival. It not only jolts the viewer to attention, but directly calls attention to what Casabé feels we are teaching a younger generation. At one point, Nati tells a young boy her grandmother has taken in that “life is crap.” For the adults in her life, it most certainly is. And Nati is beginning to feel that, because of her own problems, coupled with where she’s living, this is true. Oliverio’s performance seems to reckon with what should matter most. But just because there’s turmoil going on in the economy doesn’t mean Nati’s personal struggles are any less valid.
The Virgin of the Quarry Lake primarily follows a group of friends who have known each other for quite some time. As they spend the summer together, it’s clear that the three girls and their beloved Diego (Agustín Sosa) have had little trouble operating as a unit. It’s not until Silvia (Fernanda Echevarría), a woman a decade their senior, swoops in and invades their group hangouts. It’s done in the most annoying way possible; through bragging about how worldly and well-traveled she is, alongside displaying all the excellent music taste and easy access she has at clubs and concerts. There’s a comedic take on this behavior, simply because we all know somebody a bit like Silvia. But more than anything, it’s embarrassing and upsetting. The former is felt when remembering Silvia’s audience is made up of high-schoolers. The latter is felt in that, despite both audience and characters understanding Silvia is showboating, Nati can’t help but feel envious of her standing. It’s working on Diego, whom she has more than a small crush on. The core trio of young women at the center of the film are cool! They roll as one, sharing expensive pairs of jeans, going to clubs in the city, doing everything together like any member of a tight-knit group fundamentally understands. So to see Silvia get under Nati’s skin so deeply is upsetting, and unwarranted in the sense that Silvia feels lesser than in their presence. But even so, Nati’s feelings shouldn’t be minimized! Casabé shows her audience what would happen should somebody try to do so. At such a young age, these emotions we have bottled up within perhaps matter most; it’s because they’re all we have.
By the time we arrive at the exciting climax of The Virgin of the Quarry Lake, the emotions that have been brewing the entire film are unleashed. Importantly, it’ll be understood by the audience. Casabé and Naishtat steadily build wilder genre elements into the foundation of the film before wholly committing. It’s an exciting feat in practice. Instead of opting for a full lean into overblown fantastical elements, the film operates more like a powder keg. It raises a question that Casabé and Naishtat are clearly interested in: Do we become who we grow up to be of our own accord? Or is it a mixture of the people we are surrounded by, the experiences we live through, and the setting we come of age in? It’s not quite nature versus nurture, but rather, whether or not we are willing to let ourselves be transformed by the world around us. How this film goes about examining the dilemma of transformation Nati and her friends face may be rocky at times in terms of character development, but as far as leaning completely into the conceit of the film goes, it’s an exciting venture. Ultimately, this acceptance comes at a price, and The Virgin of the Quarry Lake questions whether or not it’s worth paying.
The Virgin of the Quarry Lake is celebrating its world premiere at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival in the World Cinema Dramatic Competition category.
Director: Sam Feder Stars: Chase Strangio, Jelani Cobb, Lydia Polgreen
Synopsis: Civil rights lawyer Chase Strangio’s courtroom battles against anti-trans laws intertwine with exposing media narratives impacting public perception of transgender rights.
Chase Strangio doesn’t look like an attorney who has argued before the Supreme Court. He doesn’t look like an attorney, period, at least not the way we might imagine one in our minds. That vision is of a slouched figure who looks as though they’re nearing the end of an 85-hour work week, their hair thinning and graying, the bags under their eyes having bags of their own. It’s of the men and women we tend to see in commercials or on billboards as we enter cities where their faces are as recognizable to the general population as that of their favorite quarterback. (Trivia question: What phone number follows the words, “Hurt in a car? Call William Mattar?”) We see people who bring briefcases to steak dinners; the walls of their offices are covered in degrees and certificates, the likes of which no one actually reads, but everyone admires due to the words “Yale” and “PhD”; they don’t film Tik Toks, and if they do, you can bet that their Gen Z intern had a hand in orchestrating their stiff performance.
Instead, Strangio looks like someone you might see enjoying a summer day on the streets of Brooklyn. He wears tank tops and jean shorts while making a pit stop at his office, the headquarters of the American Civil Liberties Union in New York City. He has a jet-black asthmatic cat named Raven whom he calls “Ravey,” an ironic nickname for the only cat who has ever calmly been administered a feline-specific asthma chamber. Tattoos stretch up and down his arms, and a stud is pierced into his left ear. Strangio does his hair in the morning, wears a chain around his neck, and anxiously eats an everything bagel with cream cheese on the floor of his office’s hallway as he awaits news of when oral arguments for an upcoming Supreme Court case will be scheduled. In other words, Strangio is more human than most non-fictional lawyers we see on a day-to-day basis, some of whom fight for basic freedoms, while most of them sleepwalk through legal proceedings en route to a hefty payday, no matter the outcome of their case.
He also happens to be a human who, on Dec. 4, 2024, made history when he became the first known transgender person to make oral arguments before the Supreme Court of the United States in United States v. Skrmetti. The case, which was brought to challenge a Tennessee law that prohibited forms of gender-affirming care like puberty blockers and hormone therapy for transgender minors, is meant to look at whether these bans violate the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment to the United States Constitution, which “guarantees that all people within a state’s jurisdiction are treated equally under the law.” A decision is still pending, though it is expected that the President of the United States will withdraw the government’s request for the Supreme Court to hear the case altogether; as Vox’s Ian Millhiser wrote in November 2024, Skrmetti is “arguably the most important trans rights case the justices have ever heard,” yet “it’s hard to imagine a worse time” for the Supreme Court to be hearing it.
This case and Strangio’s presence at its core are what make up the basic framework of Sam Feder’s Heightened Scrutiny, and if Feder had elected to limit their film’s focus to that of a follow-doc tracking Strangio’s argument before the highest court in the land, it would have theoretically made for a captivating enough watch by documentary standards. But Feder’s films, including their Sundance debut, 2020’s Disclosure, tend to go the extra mile when it comes to broadening the scope of the film in question’s principal topic. With Disclosure, the equation was examining the history of Hollywood’s depiction of transgender people on screen and the cultural impact these stories had on transgender people and the country at large by way of personal stories from transgender figures in the film industry and beyond, those of which provide concrete examples of how the distortion of trans tales on screen affected their individual experiences. Heightened Scrutiny is even more sweeping, as it captures the lead-up to a historical legal case while also detailing how the transgender experience has been negatively portrayed in the media, and how such portrayal has influenced federal legislation in recent years.
“We’re up against a manipulation machine that is incredibly effective,” Strangio says early on in the film. “So I am constantly thinking in those terms. ‘How is this going to be used against us?’” In order to examine the broad, harrowing “this” that Strangio refers to, Heightened Scrutiny brings in a seemingly-endless lineup of journalists and forward-thinking celebrities from in and intimately around the transgender community, all of whom have had their own experiences arguing for gender-affirming care, whether in writing or in oral arguments of a sort. These figures highlight how the mainstream media – from Fox News to The New York Times, from Matt Walsh to The Atlantic – have all played a part in outlining a playbook for anti-trans legislation to overtake the United States of America like an endless storm cloud. Whether that effort was subconscious or deliberate isn’t the point so much as that it has already happened, and it’s in the hands of people like Strangio to fight for the betterment of the country and its marginalized people.
Feder has a knack for interviewing incredibly intelligent, thoughtful minds in their work, not merely using sit-downs with celebrities and journalists for expositional fodder that recaps well-known historical information for the sake of their desired narratives. And to be clear, Feder has a clear-cut goal with Heightened Scrutiny, one that the film itself outlines painstakingly, but one that the director specifically stated in a pre-festival interview with the Sundance Institute’s Lucy Spicer: “Between January and June 2025, [the U.S. Supreme Court] will be determining the future of trans rights. I want to impact the public discourse before the court releases their opinion.” But they are not willing to take the easy route, as it were, in providing that information. It’s not rare to see archival footage put to use in Feder’s work, but far more of an emphasis is placed on sit-downs with perceptive thinkers on their chosen subject, specifically their history in covering or dealing with its realities.
In Disclosure, the journalist Tre’Vell Anderson – who identifies as gender nonconforming – offered insight into the history of transgender faces in popular culture that came not solely from an intellectual root, but a personal one. The writer and activist Tiq Milan, the professor and historian Susan Stryker, and Strangio himself also appeared in the documentary, which focused on Hollywood’s depiction and featured familiar figures like Michaela Jaé Rodriguez, Angelica Ross, Alexandra Billings, and Laverne Cox (who also appears in Heightened Scrutiny). Here, it’s the likes of The New Yorker’s Jelani Cobb and The New York Times’ Lydia Polgreen who profoundly examine topics like, in Cobb’s words, the “adaptable argument” that focuses on children’s safety when it comes to transgender and/or non-binary couples having kids, and how similar criticisms have been leveled in other cases, like interracial marriage.
It’s through these interviews that Heightened Scrutiny can become slightly too in the weeds for its own good, despite the fact that its all-encompassing nature is imperative to the story Feder and his featured subjects are telling. The manner with which it unfolds can feel too academic, almost too well-researched for an 85-minute documentary to properly carry the message it wishes to deliver as effectively as desired. The weight of its central argument, to use legal parlance, may have been easier, for lack of a better word, to grasp if it was consumed in a court setting, or even in a peer-reviewed essay. In fact, that’s a topic Feder briefly lends some time to in the film’s midsection so as to highlight how often right-wing voices making broad claims against gender-affirming care based on generalities and one-off cases go unchecked, nevermind how harmful the declarations within can be to the transgender community at large. Perhaps it’s a case of lead-fingered editing, the desire to cut from point to point to point in order to pack as much information as possible into one document so that nothing is left out. But if anyone can understand that dilemma, it’s a writer, and given how crucial it is that every point is properly represented in Heightened Scrutiny, maybe the best takeaway regarding its contents is that it warrants a longer runtime, one that would make for a more streamlined and informative viewing experience.
Better yet, it’s already an incredibly informative film that will require revisitation for all audiences, not because it’s difficult to pin down in one sitting, but because nothing it emphasizes can be properly understood in less than an hour and a half. If you think about it through the lens of Heightened Scrutiny’s contents being its primary character’s lifelong pursuit, then of course it makes sense that a dense and intellectual work of activism can’t serve as a one-stop shop for the education of less-informed audiences. Feder said so themselves: The characteristic that contributes most to their success as a storyteller is the act of asking questions. Heightened Scrutiny asks many of them, and it often provides answers. But the trend that serves as its throughline has been publicly persistent for decades – that being the lack of trans sensibility guiding cases like Skrmetti, something Strangio directly bucked by making his historic argument before the Supreme Court – asks a question of its own: What happens now? It’s not Feder’s job, nor is it Strangio’s, to provide a concrete answer. But a work of documentarianism as vital and dynamic as this is an act of activism in and of itself. It’s another punch thrown in a fight that, if our government has its way, will end in June, when the court is expected to deliver its United States vs. Skrmetti ruling. Heightened Scrutiny is here to astutely say, “Not on our watch.”
Director: Neil Burger Writers:Neil Burger, Olen Steinhauer Stars: Phoebe Dynevor, Rhys Ifans, Ciara Baxendale
Synopsis:When Maya learns her father Sam was once a spy, she suddenly finds herself at the center of an international conspiracy.
A spy film or a film in which someone is thrust into a situation they don’t understand is meant to be exciting. It’s meant to evoke the fear of the unknown. It’s meant to give a sense that we can’t trust anyone or anything we see. It’s meant to do more and be more than whatever Inheritance is or does.
The script is a very tough sell. Writers Neil Burger and Olen Steinhauer attempt to get us on board with the flimsiest plot imaginable with the most frail of character motivations. Ostensibly, Inheritance is about grief and moving on from said grief, but the lengths the characters go between exploring that theme in a meaningful way are too few and far between. This lack of strong plot makes Maya’s (Phoebe Dynevor) catharsis at the end completely fall flat. We never know who she is beyond a few small hints that never interconnect because the spy plot moves forward at a glacial pace.
It doesn’t help that, as a director, Burger has seemingly instructed his actors to deliver their lines as stiffly as possible. We’re meant to believe that Sam (Rhys Ifans) and Maya are father and daughter, but their relationship plays more like distant relatives or old acquaintances. It’s true that they’re estranged and the way that Sam left is contentious, but to believe the lengths Maya is going for Sam, there has to be something more meaningful in how they speak with one another. It’s also a poor choice on Burger’s part to not have just let the two actors use their native accents. They spend seconds in New York City compared to the other international destinations and it is absolutely believable that they could both be Brits. Especially because Ifans’ American accent in this film is cacophonous to the ear.
Though it’s hard to listen to Ifans, it’s even more difficult to understand why Burger and cinematographer Jackson Hunt chose to shoot the film like they did. The camera is almost always tight on the human subjects, which could be a good technique if it meant something in terms of the grander narrative. Except this tight focus isn’t employed for a deeper meaning and is paired with an irritating constantly moving camera. When two people are speaking there isn’t a cut from one to the other, the camera is turned. When a person is looking at something on their device there isn’t a cut to a close up, there’s a swoop and push in from the camera. It’s a strange kinetic device and could have worked if there was more action in the film.
The best scene of the film is an excellent car chase through the streets of Delhi. This scene shows what the rest of the film could have been like had it been written with more of the genre elements in mind. Hunt’s close ups work so well because while the camera focuses on Maya’s terrified face as she holds tight to her motorcycle taxi driver’s waist, we see her pursuers in the background. The complicated nature of the foreground and background working in such tandem is actually breathtaking. It makes you wonder if the writers tried to build a narrative out of this scene alone because the rest of the film comes nowhere near matching its energy.
There is another excellently shot scene when Sam is talking to Maya on the phone and she’s across the street watching him lie to her in real time. The entire time the camera is on Sam, we can see Maya in the background. It adds some power to what the two of them are getting at, but the stilted dialogue ruins the ingenuity of the camera work.
If Inheritance fails, it’s because it attempts to elevate the spy thriller without really understanding it. It tries to make the film about the journey and the journey of a spy is interesting only if they’re getting actively chased. Inheritance then just becomes a sad young woman riding a lot of different transportation trying to save the life of a man she barely knows for reasons we and she barely understand. Inheritance may have been worth it if it could have had more scenes like the Delhi chase. Sadly, the film just exists as a lot of close up footage of an actress’s face as she moves through city streets, train stations and airports pretending there is a larger meaning or motivation to her actions.
Synopsis:A pilot transports an Air Marshal accompanying a fugitive to trial. As they cross the Alaskan wilderness, tensions soar and trust is tested, as not everyone on board is who they seem.
A script is where a film begins. It’s the first impression of what a film could be. It’s where a reader can envision elements and shots and how a film could take shape. It’s where an idea can grab hold of a producer and make them excited to pull this idea into reality. With all this excitement and imagination at play, a question comes to mind. Why would these professionals, these artists, choose to work on something so utterly subpar as Flight Risk?
Flight Risk has a very poorly written script. The plot is solid. The conceit is solid. It’s the details within that are baffling. Why things happen and the motivations of characters are completely muddled. What’s worse is the dialogue. Most of the dialogue sounds so rote and unoriginal it had to have been cribbed from a list of basic dialogue in a script writing book. What’s worse is when Daryl’s (Mark Wahlberg) true self is revealed. Daryl’s equal opportunity sexual harassment and aggressiveness toward any combination of sexual congress with the two other people in the plane is regressive and homophobic. He spouts the most detestable vulgarities. Words that sound an awful lot like they were taken from a very infamous recording of director Mel Gibson.
Though, that is the elephant in the room. In all the advertising for Flight Risk, Gibson’s name is not as prominent as his beloved credits. The trailers touted “From the director of…” and the poster was “From the award winning director of…” It’s as if the PR department are hoping the pedigree has outlasted the man whose name is still mud to many filmgoers. Though, seeing as Mel Gibson’s last film, Hacksaw Ridge, was nominated for six Academy Awards including a Best Director nomination for Gibson, his name no longer holds as much of a stink as it once did with his industry peers.
In fact, as hard as it is to praise him, Gibson’s direction is the only thing that makes Flight Risk at all watchable. He has a command of tension, action thrills, and pacing. Gibson and cinematographer Johnny Derango are able to make the cramped space of the small aircraft exciting. Gibson even gets somewhat watchable performances out of his actors.
As far as the acting goes, Topher Grace’s Winston’s smartest guy in the room routine wears thin immediately. Michelle Dockery seems completely uncomfortable as tough woman Madolyn. Mark Wahlberg’s Daryl is on a whole other level. To call Wahlberg a ham in Flight Risk is to insult every hammy actor who has ever lived. He steals every scene not because his performance is compelling, but he’s acting right over the top of his scene partners. He doesn’t chew the scenery, but swallows it whole as he stares into your eyes in the most disturbing way possible. It’s an uncanny valley you can’t climb out of because he claws you back down there with him.
Flight Risk was obviously made on a shoestring budget with its poor CGI and a cast with more voiceovers than on screen speaking roles. Yet, unlike other small budget action films, Flight Risk can’t get off the ground because not enough care was put into its script. To call it a by the numbers film is giving it too much credit. It’s a film that colored outside the lines in all the wrong ways.
Director: Questlove Stars: André 3000, Chaka Khan, George Clinton
Synopsis: It focuses on the life and legacy of Sly and the Family Stone, telling the story behind the rise, reign and fadeout of one of pop music’s most influential artists.
Questlove returns to Sundance after his Oscar-winning Summer of Soul with another documentary examining the scope of Black artistry. Only this time, he channels his focus into a singular group: Sly and the Family Stone. And again keeping in line with his previous film, Questlove has provided his latest with an alternate title captured in parentheticals: Sly Lives! (aka The Burden of Black Genius). And everything one could hope to gather about this documentary is right there in either title. This documentary is very much about Sly and the Family Stone, and the borderline unquantifiable impact they have made on music. But in so many ways, this film extends far beyond the group and the man at its center. Their story is just the vessel through which Questlove begins his examination. This film attempts to question the duality of what it means to be a Black artist, and a Black genius, in any capacity. And while much of this film is reverential, and celebratory of the legacy of such an iconic group, it refuses to shy away from the devastating effects such a storied history had on the individuals at the center of it all.
Early on in the film, after a ridiculously cool and fast-paced introduction, Questlove pumps the brakes completely. We see Sly Stone preparing for an interview a bit later into the prime of his career. The reporter attempts to question the seemingly downward trajectory he’s been facing. Stone replies with the simple statement that “He didn’t blow anything”, and that he feels he never changed. It’s a sobering statement whether you know anything about the man or not. The reason being is that Questlove surrounds this section of the film with fellow bandmates, historians, and contemporary artists and icons who all allude to Stone’s issues after fame. From there, it grows into a larger statement on Black artistry, and how Black artists are viewed differently not just by the public, but by the industry at large. While legendary artists like D’Angelo or André 3000 have different thought processes in regards to the pressures of Black genius, they both appear in agreement that the toll it takes is a rather large one on an individual. It’s clear that, upon being asked, they understand the weight of the question. It’s a loaded question in the sense that there’s so much to cover contextually, subjectively, and theoretically. Questlove understands this too, and opts for a fragmented approach in this documentary that speaks to his innate artistic sensibilities.
There’s an undeniable rush to hearing music presented in the context of a documentary. And if it can be seen in a loud, dark theater? One of the most enriching experiences a viewer could have. As the film makes its way through an iconic catalog full of lush music that pioneered the artform, we arguably arrive at the peak of the mountain. There are many songs by Sly and the Family Stone that could surely be counted as their best. But there’s perhaps no song more iconic in their catalog than “Dance to the Music.” It’s one of the songs that practically transcends the artists who created it. To detail why a piece of art is so pivotal, so brilliant, so legendary in its status is a very difficult task. But aside from letting the music merely speak for itself (and come on, how can hearing this song not get you dancing in your seat?), Questlove takes an approach to detailing this song that replicates his approach to this entire documentary. Visualized in a very clever way, and detailed through music theory by a fellow artist, “Dance to the Music” is broken down into individual pieces. Each instrument is given its own moment to shine and is allowed a moment to be placed into the greater whole of the song. Each individual layer is then added together to create something magical. With his fragmented approach to telling Stone’s story and examining the burden of Black genius, Questlove provides details about the variety of experiences within Stone’s life to showcase the greatness, the tragedy, and the lasting effect on music history that he had. These parts all make way to a culmination, and exist beyond the mere moments in which they occurred much like the different instruments coming together to create a sensation. It’s a thrilling approach to documentary filmmaking.
Another wonderful element of Questlove’s direction is how stylish it is. Despite always remaining respectful to the reckoning occurring in the film, there is a playful tone to the style of Sly Lives!. This documentary is both reverential and celebratory of all that Stone has accomplished as an artist. It rarely enters a dry spell. Questlove is consistently employing exciting imagery and media formats to make for a cinematic experience that’s as exciting as listening to Sly and the Family Stone. He’s also not afraid to make choices that speak to how genuinely interesting of an artist he is. If the music of Sly and the Family Stone can be described as anything, it’s lush and constantly surprising to listeners. And for as stylish as this documentary is, there’s a fair amount that is particularly muted in response. It makes for an interesting clash of visual language, but it fits together nicely within the larger conversation being had throughout the film. Many of the talking heads for example, are mainly static shots in front of a starkly deep red or blue background. There will occasionally be close-ups, or quick action shots within the same space. It makes for a nice, simple contrast with the lush images and audio found throughout the rest of the film. While it can occasionally feel a bit fragmented, it’s great to see a musician so known for experimenting with style doing the same in his filmmaking career. They’re risks and slight missteps that can be looked past in the name of genuine creativity and artistry. Unfortunately, that doesn’t necessarily give a pass to the third act being a bit rocky. Segments of it take on the form of a traditional description of a fall from fame and become a bit directionless. Luckily, Questlove manages to land the plane by ultimately looping Stone’s later years back into examining how the public and the industry can so easily turn on Black artists.
There’s a palpable sadness to how Questlove captures Stone’s later years. It should be pointed out that throughout Sly Lives!, we witness a meteoric and awe-inspiring rise for Stone. What he did for music will be heard and cherished for generations to come. And one of the personal bombshells of this film arrives in the final third. In 1971, nearing the dissolution of the group and the rising legal troubles of Stone, it’s briefly mentioned in a newscast that Stone was only 30 at the time. It’s a baffling realization when looking back on all that Stone’s music had soundtracked throughout history up until that point. So while referring to his later years isn’t really all that late, it’s another painful reminder of the added pressures Black artists faced and continue to face. During a talk show appearance, Stone referred to there being “a pressure on all of us.” Through his musical output, he provided artists the freedom to experiment and create boldly without shame. This gift, coupled with the toll success takes, forced Stone into a zone where he seemed to do all he can to remain relevant. This is an artist that has given the world so much, and in his times of struggle due to substance abuse, the public, the industry, and the government all used his struggles to be made an example of. It’s deeply upsetting, as family members and former bandmates reckon with the alternate paths life could have taken them on had the world been more kind to a man who needed help rather than damnation. But in the end, despite a tear-inducing final moment, Questlove leaves us with a film that hopefully causes celebration and the cultural reignition of an electrifying artist. He depicts a fraction of the iconic samplings of Sly and the Family Stone across hip-hop history. He highlights the various contemporary artists who pay direct homage to the cover of the 1971 album, “There’s a Riot Goin’ On.” With this documentary, Questlove and the various people who are asked about it throughout the film admit there is a burden on Black genius. But despite that burden, there are artists who rise to the occasion and aim to shatter it over time. Sly Stone can clearly be described in many different ways. Many people in the film highlight this through a rapid-fire montage. But at the end of the day, it seems that the way Questlove wants people to remember Sly Stone most is to remember that he lives. He lives through all that he has given us.
Sly Lives! (aka The Burden of Black Genius) is celebrating its world premiere at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival in the Premieres category. It is scheduled to be released on February 13, 2025.
This week on the InSession Film Podcast, the great Ryan McQuade comes back on the show as we discuss the 2025 Oscar nominations! It’s been a chaotic awards season with a lot of uncertainty, so there was plenty to talk about when comes to this year’s crop of nominees. And, of course, it’s always great to have Ryan back to help us break it all down.
– 2025 Oscar Nominations (7:38) We begin and end the show this week by discussing the this year’s Oscar nominations. With Emilia Pérez leading the way with 13 nominations, there’s plenty to discuss as to how things got to this point, especially given the discourse and the film’s polarization. The Best Picture lineup isn’t bad, however we do talk about how the rest of the categories leave something to be desired.
– 2025 Oscar Nominations Cont’d (52:04) After the break, we continue talking about this year’s Oscar nominations and our favorites of the morning. Much of the morning felt uninspired, but there were some really fun surprises along the way. The Wild Robot in sound. A Different Man in make-up. The Substance in general being so heavily recognized despite it being a true horror film, something The Academy has mostly stayed away from historically. We also talk about how The Brutalist might have the best path to the big prize once we get to the Oscars ceremony.
David Lynch arrives at the Governors Awards on Sunday, Oct. 27, 2019, at the Dolby Ballroom in Los Angeles. (Photo by Jordan Strauss/Invision/AP)
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There’s no movie trilogy out there quite like Richard Linklater’s Before Trilogy. From 1995 to 2013, Linklater and his collaborators Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy traced the relationship between Jesse and Celine from puppy love to a weathered marriage. The three films are amazing to rewatch for two reasons: its magnificent craftsmanship reveals itself further through repeat viewings and it evolves and changes shape as you get older. Indeed, I watched the Before Trilogy as a whole for the first time since entering a multi-year committed relationship and found it a rewarding and somewhat unsettling experience.
That’s especially true because I watched the Before Trilogy in reverse. I started with Before Midnight (2013), then traveled back in time for Before Sunrise (2004), and ended at the beginning with Before Sunrise (1995). I did that as an experiment. And now I firmly believe that these movies could and should be watched in any order to appreciate just how much they call back and call forward to each other. The next time I queue these movies up, I will for sure mix up the viewing order.
The Before Trilogy in reverse led to a few revelations and insights about the movies themselves and about what it means to be in love.
Perhaps my most shocking realization was how the trilogy becomes less “city as a character” movies as they go along. Before Midnight (the Peloponnese peninsula) starts in a car, then moves to a pretty but rather nondescript villa, then to a walk with little attention paid to the surrounding village, and ultimately settles in at a cookie cutter resort. Even in Before Sunset (Paris), there are bookshops, cafes, and gardens, but the Sales Day festival is skipped and the main interactions are with waiters, drivers, and other service workers. The movie ends at an apartment, hidden away from the central sights. Contrast that with Before Sunrise (Vienna), with its aimless walking, sightseeing, and kooky scenes with fortune tellers, drunk poets, amateur actors. Attention is paid to the smaller, surreal experiences of being in a city in the middle of the night. For instance, sleeping on the grass instead of having a home or hotel room to return to. Or bartering with bartenders for free wine, instead of having a driver wait for you outside or a couples massage gifted to you.
Some of that is Jesse and Celine’s age and elevated financial status. Perhaps in their 40s, they would not want to have nowhere and everywhere to go. It’s something else, though. The sense of discovery is missing between Celine and Jesse, not just between themselves, but in their surroundings. In Before Midnight, that makes sense. They are tired parents on a rare vacation, with almost a decade of life behind them. In Before Sunset, they are elated to be reunited. So much of their conversation is catching up, and there’s so much left unspoken between them. Throughout Before Sunrise, they are strangers to one another and to Vienna, with so much possibility about what the city can offer them in this magical night and what they can mean to each other.
This stark change in how the cities are depicted jumped out at me during this reversal experiment. When you watch in release order, you are so present with the characters that the past feels like the past. It made me sad, not because I ever had any experience like Celine and Jesse’s in Vienna. I wondered if my own sense of discovery was slipping away from me and if I’d even be open enough to hop off a train on a moment’s notice. Knowing me, I’d be like “well, I was looking forward to getting home and going grocery shopping for this new recipe so maybe next time?”
I once heard advice columnist Dan Savage talk on his podcast how there’s no perfect person for you. We’re all human beings with our imperfections and no one is ever going to be 100% compatible with you, but it’s up to you how much you can live with. Sometimes a person’s flaws are just what Savage calls the “price of admission.” If you want to be with someone, then you have to be with all of them without expecting them to change or resenting them for not being what you want them to be at all times.
This idea came to mind for me when watching the Before Trilogy in reverse. As Jesse and Celine rehash their relationship in Before Midnight, much of their struggle comes from reality living up to the fantasy created by both Before Sunrise and the in-universe novel it inspired. And the fantasy was extended in Before Sunset. Jesse says, “I f***ed up my whole life because of the way you sing” in Before Midnight. But even that is a reductive romanticization of their day in Paris. Jesse feels ready to run away with Celine almost immediately upon seeing her again, and, I think, spends the day with her justifying doing so to himself. Their chemistry is palpable, and their conversations flow naturally but not always smoothly. Through Before Sunset, you can see the negotiations both spoken and unspoken in prolonging their time together. Barriers are crossed between sentences, until they cross the ultimate barrier.
You watch Before Sunrise, and the movie lives up to how Celine and Jesse remember it. Before Sunrise is so romantic, it practically glows. Whether they’re coming across a musician practicing in the wee hours of the morning or stealing glances at each other in a music shop, Before Sunrise is perhaps the most conventionally romantic of the three films. Jesse and Celine fall in love by discovering each other through shy lies that morph into bold truths. They posture perhaps, but the night is long and their shields fade away. Even in the moments where they might start to notice each other’s price of admission, Vienna distracts them just enough to uphold their Cinderella romance.
While in Greece, Jesse and Celine wrestle with the stark reality that there are some tough prices of admission for their relationship. And when you watch the Before Trilogy in its order, as you get further from Before Sunrise, the more you wonder if they did just ruin their lives. But watching in reverse, you can see how this globe-trotting, years-spanning whirlwind romance could sustain such an imperfect reality. And yet Before Midnight doesn’t end with some dramatic declaration or even any concrete resolution for their issues. Rather, the final film ends with ambiguity with two people uncertain of their future, both convinced and unconvinced. The previous two films ended on an ellipsis too, and it feels right that there’s no finite conclusion.
Like many of Richard Linklater’s movies, the Before Trilogy is a time travel movie. Watching Before Midnight first and then going backwards through Before Sunset and then ending with Before Sunrise felt like being able to see yourself in the past with the insights from the future. Time traveling is built into the movie, with Jesse pretending to be a time traveler at various points. It makes you wonder, what you could tell your past self or what you would see in your future self. Would Celine still get off the train in Vienna if she saw herself in Paris or in Greece? Would Jesse still miss his plane if he knew what the future held? Would their resentments and frustrations go down smoother if they could go back to Vienna? The Before Trilogy might not have a definitive answer, But maybe watching these movies in reverse or any mixed order provides new meaning to these uncertainties..
Director: Cole Webley Writer: Robert Machoian Stars: John Magaro, Molly Belle Wright, Wyatt Solis
Synopsis: After a family tragedy, siblings Ella and Charlie are woken up by their dad and taken on a cross-country journey, experiencing a new world. As their adventure unfolds, Ella begins to understand that things might not be what they seem.
When Cole Webley’s Omaha begins, we see nothing but a shell of a home. Based strictly on visual context cues, all we can fathom is that something in this house has gone terribly wrong. But when we first meet the primarily nameless Dad (John Magaro, in a gut-wrenching, astonishing performance), Ella (Molly Belle Wright), and Charlie (Wyatt Solis), it’s clear that things weren’t always this way. With a tender lens, Webley eases us into the midst of such turmoil. Dad wakes up his two children and gets them into a beaten-down car, begging them to cooperate and to gather the items they most cherish. Shot beautifully by cinematographer Paul Meyers in his first feature, so much of this film is lensed with obstacles in the way. This is especially telling in the introduction. We peer around the edge of doorways alongside Ella to see Dad as he seems to be holding back tears. We look beyond staircases we can barely see over and through dusty car windows seeing Dad speak to a sheriff. So much of Omaha feels, both visually and thematically, like a story we shouldn’t have access to. But the fact that we do makes it all the more special. It also makes it all the more heartbreaking.
Ohama is a film pretty much exclusively made up of deeply intimate moments. The approach to these events is more often than not captured through the eyes of the children, Ella and Charlie. Constantly utilizing a handheld camera whenever outside of the car, the locations and events of the film take on a larger-than-life-quality. We’re always pulled through life by the whims of fate and circumstance. But as children, this feeling is compounded through the lives of our parents. Whatever path they’re on, for better and for worse, is the path the children are often relegated to. So Ella and Charlie merely follow along on this journey with an unknown destination. Through the children, Webley often exudes a sense of wonder. The world just looks so vast and magical before their eyes as they run across salt flats flying a kite. They could seemingly remain there forever, frozen in pure bliss unbeknownst of what tomorrow will bring. All the while, Magaro remains off in the distance, carrying the weight of the world in his face.
To state it plainly, Omaha doesn’t work without the three outstanding performances it revolves around. Starting with Magaro, so much is captured in his face. The pain, despite the film only revealing momentary glimpses into it, radiates off his features. Robert Machoian’s excellently sparse script utilizes the lack of concrete information as a feature rather than a bug. Whatever Dad is going through, he is trying to keep his children free from that emotional weight. But he’s not hiding it nearly as well as he would like to. And thus, the brilliance of Omaha reveals itself in this veiled blatancy. The film subtly shows its hand early on. But from there, Webley forces his audience to hope against hope that we’re wrong. Magaro plays a man who is profoundly lost, and his children are unfortunately being caught up in this storm. To them, this is a confusing experience, peppered with moments of joy. The balancing act of such beauty and pain lies in the hands of these unbelievable child performances from Belle Wright and Solis.
Despite the unknown circumstances around which this film revolves, Dad and his children are a clear unit. So much of the film is full of inside jokes and adorably childish improvised questions. The common routines they share with one another have become muscle memory. Belle Wright is exceptional as Ella. As she tries to slowly piece together context clues from the behavior of her father, you can almost see her internally reckoning with what learning the results will mean for her childhood. Yet there’s still an expression of youthful hope across her face as she tries to entertain herself and her brother amidst the packed car. Next to Solis as Charlie, the two provide a genuine and necessary chemistry as brother and sister. Of course they bicker. And of course, they hide a depth of thoughts within their silent stares out the window. When they are creating imaginative stories in a play place or dancing along the side of the road, you’d never believe these two weren’t genuinely related. Solis, playing the younger of the two, provides such a humorous tone to the impending worry and curiosity of what might be in store for this family. The two have different approaches to brushing against the actions of their father, yet they both share the commonality of wanting to remain joyous and hopeful amidst uncertainty.
All the while through watching Omaha, the devastating reality is this: many of these moments we’re made privy to are beautiful. If this was a standard road-trip film, it would primarily be an occasion beyond joyousness. These are memories that harken us back to moments in childhood that capture the beautiful simplicities of life. And yet, where Webley and Machoian take this film is tainted with uncertain worry. In the end, Omaha is a great film because of its ability to capture both aspects of this journey. There is a lot of beauty to be found throughout its short runtime. But there’s also such pain coursing through the very foundation of its genesis as a film. By the time Omaha ends, we’re forced to reckon with whether or not certain actions can ever be forgiven. Perhaps there’s a shred of understanding or sympathy to be found in the context of which this film is set, but it’s equally damning towards a society that has fundamentally failed the people within it.
Omaha is celebrating its world premiere at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival in the U.S. Dramatic Competition category.
This week on Women InSession, we dive into the It Ends With Us lawsuits and the disturbing behavior that led to Blake Lively having to take action during the production of that film. It’s obviously a sensitive topic, but it led to some honest conversation that was quite cathartic.
On that note, check out this week’s show and let us know what you think in the comment section. Thanks for listening and for supporting the InSession Film Podcast!
On this episode of Chasing the Gold, Shadan, Erica and Will break down the 2025 Oscar nominations! There were some fun surprises, some predictable snubs and a lot of expected nominees. But either way, there’s a lot to talk about with this year’s crop of Oscar nominations. The conversation over the next six weeks will be…fascinating.
On that note, check out this week’s show and let us know what you think in the comment section. Thanks for listening and for supporting the InSession Film Podcast!
This week on Episode 620 of the InSession Film Podcast, we discussed our Top 5 most anticipated films of 2025. It’s a new year and that means new movies to look forward to as we turn the page. 2025 could be quite the departure from last year as we’ll see more spectacle this year with the likes of Avatar: Fire and Ash, Mission: Impossible – Final Reckoning, The Fantastic Four: First Steps, Thunderbolts, Captain America: Brave New World, Jurassic World Rebirth, and Superman among others. However; we’ll have plenty on the auteur side of things as well as we are getting movies from Paul Thomas Anderson, Bong Joon-ho, Wes Anderson, Lynn Ramsay, Kelly Reichardt, Steven Soderbergh, Richard Linklater, Chloe Zhao, Ethan Coen, Guillermo del Toro and many more. There is a lot to be excited about for 2025. Should be really fun!
For the sake of this post, we are going to list our true Top 10 most anticipated films of 2025, even thought we mostly just discussed our top five on the show.
JD
1) Avatar: Fire and Ash
2) A Big Bold Beautiful Journey
3) The Phoenician Scheme
4) No Other Choice
5) Die, My Love
6) The Battle of Baktan Cross
7) The Mastermind
8) Materialists
9) Nouvell Vague / Blue Moon
10) Mission: Impossible – Final reckoning
Brendan
1) The Battle of Baktan Cross
2) The Bride
3) Sinners
4) Mother Mary
5) Sly Lives!
6) The Legend of Ochi
7) Materialists
8) The Monkey
9) No Other Choice
10) The Accountant 2
Honorable Mentions (Combined) The Way of the Wind, Sontag, Mickey 17, At the sea, Sentimental Value, Paper Tiger, Miroirs No. 3, Black Bag, Good Fortune, Honey Don’t, Hamnet, Flowervale Street, Roofman, New Baumbach, After the Hunt, Father Mother Sister Brother, Frankenstein, Anemone, The Actor, Tornado, Hope, Highest 2 Lowest, The Smashing Machine, Marty Supreme, 28 Years Later, Eddington, Wildwood, Wake Up Dead Man, I Want Your Sex, Good Luck, Have Fun, Don’t Die, Fantastic Four, Jurassic World Rebirth, Superman, Tron: Ares, Freakier Friday, Wicked: For Good
Hopefully you guys enjoyed our lists and if you agree or disagree with us, let us know in the comment section below. There are obviously many more films coming out this year that we didn’t have time to mention. Which is to say, your list could look very different than ours given the amount of great potential that we could see in 2025. That being said, what would be your Top 5? Leave a comment in the comment section or email us at [email protected].
If there is any doubt remaining as to which films will be announced as the Oscar nominees for Best International Feature on Thursday, Jan. 23 (the big reveal will begin at 5:30 a.m. PT/8:30 a.m. ET across the Academy’s website and social channels), wavering parties can safely fill one of the slots with Emilia Pérez. Jacques Audiard’s divisive Netflix opera has been lauded just about as much as it has been derided over the course of the last eight months since the film held its world premiere at the Cannes Film Festival. Yet as the 2025 awards season has worn on, this tale of a Mexican cartel boss (Karla Sofía Gascón) who seeks the help of a lawyer (Zoe Saldaña) to undergo gender affirmation surgery so she can live as a woman has proved to be a juggernaut of proportions few other films can match. The French production received 10 nominations at the Golden Globes— making it the most-nominated musical or comedy in the ceremony’s history— and won four awards; it was nominated 11 times at the British Academy of Film and Television Arts(BAFTAs), including two nods for its “supporting” actresses (Saldaña and Selena Gomez).
Despite this, it seems that, in many ways, an International Feature win for Audiard and co. would feel like a backslide for the Academy, as its last few winners have (mostly) proven the presence of the body’s evolving membership and its broader grasp of world cinema. From 2017 on, we’ve seen Oscars go to A Fantastic Woman, Roma, Parasite, Another Round, All Quiet on the Western Front (hence the earlier emphasis on mostly), and The Zone of Interest. In a slew of ambitious high-brow honorees, Emilia Pérez would stick out like a sore thumb.
Of note, though: The loudest criticisms can easily drown out the boldest raves, and many of those exist on behalf of Emilia Pérez. Plentyofdirectorsloveit; actors like Emily Blunt, Meryl Streep, Eva Longoria, and America Ferrera agree; heck, Madonna loved it. Not every mouthpiece-holder has the clout that these select few maintain, but as it is often said, any press is good press, and Emilia Pérez has perhaps held a more permanent position in the headlines than any other 2024 film on the circuit. Conclave has given the movie the most hell, to the point where online prayers for the papal drama to save us from Pérez-ian dominance have become fodder for virality. Before its Criterion Collection cover art came under fire, Anora inexplicably fell off the map just months after it was considered a Best Picture frontrunner; The Brutalist has been unable to erect an awards campaign as lofty as its ambitions and has recently come under fire for its own overblown controversy, one that it ironically shares with Emilia Pérez.
But none of those films are up for Best International Feature, a category where Emilia Pérez will see competition at the Oscars. While it remains the odds on favorite to win in the end, 14 other films have hope for a nomination, and with plenty of time between Jan. 23 and the current show date (Sunday, March 2), any number of the shortlisted titles could make a last-ditch run at the statuette. In alphabetical order, those titles are:
Emilia Pérez is going to win its fair share of Oscars; this particular award is expected to be one of them. Yet, it stands to reason that not every single voter will rank it atop their individual preferential ballots, instead placing another film in that top spot. I suspect that the following five films will be there to choose from.
THE PREDICTED NOMINEES:
Emilia Pérez – Jacques Audiard (France)
Flow – Gints Zilbalodis (Latvia)
I’m Still Here – Walter Salles (Brazil)
The Seed of the Sacred Fig – Mohammed Rasoulof (Germany)
On this episode, JD and Brendan review Christian Gudegast’s new film Den of Thieves 2: Pantera, starring the great Gerard Butler! Talk about fun January surprises. At the time, we skipped Den of Thieves and chalked it up to the typical “January trash” that we normally don’t cover on the show. Boy, were we wrong on that overlook that film. It’s really great and Butler is terrific. So we were looking forward to Den of Thieves 2: Pantera, and it did not disappoint either.
Review: Den of Thieves 2: Pantera (4:00) Director: Christian Gudegast Writers: Christian Gudegast Stars: Gerard Butler, O’Shea Jackson Jr., Evin Ahmad
On this episode, JD and Brendan review Michael Gracey’s new film Better Man, starring the entertaining Robbie Williams! While we are a couple of those (mostly) ignorant Americans when it comes to Williams’ story and career, we walked into Better Man open-minded and very curious about the film. While it’s not perfect, there is a lot to love about the film and we did our best to parse through it all.
Review: Better Man (4:00) Director: Michael Gracey Writers: Simon Gleeson, Oliver Cole, Michael Gracey Stars: Robbie Williams, Jonno Davies, Steve Pemberton
Synopsis:After her six-year-old son is accused of sexually harassing another student, Elizabeth (Renate Reinsve) is left reeling as her status as a public figure gets used against her.
It’s no wonder that the cryptic trailer for Armand, Norway’s official entry for Best International Film that made the Oscars shortlist, has made a meal out of one of Renate Reinsve’s best scenes in the film. It’s the moment where, after not being able to bear any more troubling revelations about her son, she breaks into uncontrollable and uncomfortable fits of laughter.
The tears come shortly after.
Following her breakout role in The Worst Person in the World, Reinsve turns in another incredible performance — this time, as Elizabeth, a mother and public figure who finds her life torn apart from within after she is called to her son’s elementary school. She finds out the news that another student has accused her six-year-old son of sexual misconduct.
As Elizabeth tries to process the news the best she can, she finds the people around her closing in on her (mainly fellow concerned parent Sarah, played by the cold Ellen Dorrit Petersen) and drawing assumptions based on her past and the recent death of her husband. While Armand starts off with an interesting enough premise and a claustrophobic setting to draw us in, focusing exclusively on the adults in the situation and how they handle the news, the film loses its grip along the way.
If the premise sounds similar, just last year, Germany’s Oscar-nominated The Teachers’ Lounge also followed the implications of a major accusation at a public school, disrupting the teachers’ notions of social stability. Like that film, the moments of satire and dark comedy that director Halfdan Ullmann Tøndel brings to his directorial debut, particularly towards the beginning, are what give Armand its unique edge. The constant starting and repeating of the parents’ conversation with Sunna (Thea Lambrechts Vaulen), a junior teacher who thinks she has it all together but doesn’t know the first thing about handling such situations, speaks to the way the school as a whole — and society — has no real protocols in place to productively move forward in such situations.
But as Armand stretches along its unnecessary two-hour runtime, Tøndel’s script loses its edge, instead focusing on Elizabeth’s secretive relationship with Anders (Endre Hellestveit), who is married to Sarah. As the film continues, the circular conversations become less of a necessary conceit of its commentary and an extension of the story’s inability to really dig into the controversial subject it’s tackling.
Tøndel increasingly relies on the efforts of Reinsve, the film’s most exciting performer, to bring real complexity and intrigue to Elizabeth. At first, her character’s true intentions and motives are unclear, allowing Reinsve to play so much more with ambiguity. The cast around her is also incredibly solid, mainly Hellestveit’s turn as the father of the child who is doing the accusing. But as the script begins to steadily unravel, it almost becomes tabloid-y, with each revelation losing sight of the foreground question that made the film interesting enough to sit down and watch in the first place.
Cinematographer Pål Ulvik Rokseth breathes style into the film with his unique and innovative camera choices, including moments in which the faces surrounding Elizabeth at the school fade to the background, leaving her completely alone. Even in some of the film’s bigger swings that don’t quite land, like an unexpected dance in the school hallways, Rokseth’s creative choices always place the viewer in Elizabeth’s subjective experience.
Armand doesn’t have an entirely unsatisfactory ending, with a silent moment in the rain providing an unexpectedly stirring turning point, yet it’s hard to shake the feeling that the script simply tries to wrap too many loose ends with too tight a bow. What remains is another excellent turn from one of Norway’s most exciting actors, but only the slight payoff of what could’ve been a true examination of a vulnerable school system in freefall.
Editor’s Note: This article contains spoilers for The Substance. Proceed with caution.
The Substance is the kind of film that commands attention, not just for the brilliant performances by Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley, who play both sides of the same feminine mystique. Director Coralie Fargeat and her crew should be commended for their meticulous craftsmanship and attention to detail. From Margaret Qualley’s metallic pink leotard to Demi Moore’s yolk yellow coat, The Substance uses strong, primary colors to not only tell a story of bodies ruptured and screaming faces grotesquely protruding out of decaying bodies, but also of how women present themselves into the world, through their careful choice of clothing items.
Elizabeth Sparkle (Moore)’s yolk yellows, matte blues, and crimson reds command grounded acceptance. Costume designer Emmanuelle Youchnovski brilliantly picks the colors, shiny and metallic or muted and matte, to prove a point. Alongside Fargeat, she brilliantly isolates every woman in her shell of a patriarchal world governed by aesthetics, slipping through Elizabeth’s fingers only to land in Sue (Qualley)’s lap. This body horror masterpiece touches on ageism not only through the women’s costume choices but also how they choose to wear them and why.
Elizabeth’s colors are always on mute. Her matte blue body suit is her daily routine, her celebrity image. A woman is stunning even as she ages, commanding the lonely women watching and trying to imitate her from behind their screens, dreaming of being like her while she dreams of her younger self. The form-fitting suit encapsulates Elizabeth, using Moore’s stunning body as a frame for her empowerment to the average viewer, but her desperation as a woman governed by a merciless industry, unattainable beauty and body standards, and low self-esteem precipitated by constant judgment and appraisal from scowling network heads and predatory producers. Her matte blue is stunning but sad, like a swan song to a once thriving career.
On the other hand, Sue’s pink neon leotard is a modern pop star’s dream. She’s made for internet aesthetics and Pinterest color boards. She commands copying and extracting, adding hues and filters to her bubblegum dreamlike presence. Fargeat makes great use of Qualley’s playful, voluptuous lips, and sensual nervous tic, her lower lip bite. Sue plays on older men’s dumbfounded infatuation with what she sells them, a cute pixie hot babygirl with a smile plastered on her face, hiding an underlying sense of cold and calculated ladder climber. A woman in power slowly in the making, and a ruthless young vidette coyly masking her tremendous ambition behind her swaying hips.
Elizabeth’s oversized yolk yellow coat works as her armor against the outside world. It brings to mind how celebrities usually hide in plain sight when taking a stroll or going out of their cold, isolated mansions to buy coffee or walk their dogs. I’ve always been fascinated by why they sometimes cover too much even in the heart of summer, with caps pulled low to hide their eyes, giant hoodies, face masks, oversized clothes, and baggy pants. And yet, people recognize them. Even paparazzi catch them in their desperate, not-so-desperate attempts to blend so they overdo it with the disguise. Elizabeth doesn’t come as a surprise, her huge coat along with her sunglasses, and orange gloves are her celebrity camouflage. She wears it on every trip outside her luxury apartment. Every time she looks fragile, scared, and cornered. It is a brilliant allegory of how celebrities are vulnerable creatures in the real world without the entourage and the cameras to accentuate their acquired powerful statuses, yet they crave that sneaky recognition, their grasp on their raw power, even when invisible and masked. It perfectly encapsulates Elizabeth in this yolk-verse, this wild adventure she’s about to embark on to extract another younger self from her body.
Sue’s sequined velvet robe, with the dragon embroidered on the back right where the spine exists, is a powerful testament to her looming presence. Her identity slowly and reptilian-like devours Elizabeth’s prior existence. She stands over her original body host, and it’s a better interpretation of the Monster going against Dr. Victor Frankenstein than ever before. Sue never wears primary colors but more of a mix and mash of all shades of a particular color. She breaks a midnight blue fabric with a gold sequin embroidered dragon. Not only is she bold, but dangerous. Her t-shirts and tennis skirts are a testament to her playful, Gen Z youthfulness, a carelessness that we associate with a young generation of rebels, not just on older rules and traditions but on grander facts of life like the validity of hard work and financial stability. Sue’s snakeskin black leather body-hugging suit is another attempt at control. Sue desperately tries to shed her older identity and that she’s not tied to her “older” former self. She no longer wants to be an extension of that crone but she’s also worried. She fears what that self would do to the path of glory she is slowly carving for herself.
Elizabeth’s last shot at having a grip on her world is bittersweet. As she prepares for a date with an older classmate who still finds her hot, she puts on a stunning crimson dress and wears red lipstick that makes her lips look stunning. But as the preparation for the date lingers, Elizabeth becomes less and less excited about the date, and more depressed about…Elizabeth. In the mirror, despite all the reds, and the attempts to chase the vitality of youth, Elizabeth doesn’t see Sue, but her original self. Although that “self” is stunning, a dream girl ever since they were young to her date, a former high school colleague, to her, it’s a monstrosity, suddenly her crimson dress becomes her bloodbath as she smears her lipstick all over her face, nearly tearing the skin apart.
Elizabeth’s crimson mess foreshadows the collapse of Sue’s Cinderella dress. A light blue, layered dress that sees her decay rather than her slay. Despite Sue’s attempts to keep it together, everything is torn apart, from her to the dress itself. Her attempts as Sue to become a modern-day television princess are crushed as the Elizabeth in her drags her down in the mud, breaking her, as their selfish wish for separation, becomes their tool of self-destruction, and their mitotic division at the beginning of the film turns into a full body dismemberment, not on her part, but on the part of the magic drug she betrayed by rebelling against her older self.The Substance‘s costumes and colors tell stories of women trapped in tutus, leather, cashmere, and skin. It comments on women’s sadomasochistic pleasure in tearing each other apart, fabric by fabric, and in the process, destroying themselves.
On this episode of Chasing the Gold, Shadan and Cameron discuss their *final* predictions for this year’s Oscar nominations! This is it. It’s all led to this moment. We’ve talked for months about who could end up nominated. What are the storylines? Who has the best narrative? What do we make of the chaos this season? There are so many questions, but now is the time to put it all down on paper. Or in this case into a microphone.
On that note, check out this week’s show and let us know what you think in the comment section. Thanks for listening and for supporting the InSession Film Podcast!
I took a bit of time after David Lynch’s death to think about my unexpected (to me) reaction. it should be noted that numerous family members and friends immediately thought of me when the news broke. So why was I surprised? I do not consider myself any kind of expert on David Lynch. And, if I am behind honest, I don’t even know if I would immediately think of him as one of my very favorites. By the way, who could be an expert in Lynch? I am not sure my brain was meant to handle that. But, as I alluded to, I was surprised to note my reaction to his passing. If you had asked me a few weeks ago for my future reaction, I would have given a stereotypical answer. “It’s very sad. It’s a loss for cinema. My heart goes out to people that are deeply connected to his work.” These are words that are true, but ultimately hollow. You could say them about any great film artist and they would be just as true. But that was a few weeks ago. After the actual event, things are starkly different. And so, as I write about the man, or rather my version of the man, please keep in mind that this is not an official obituary. Rather, it is meant to be a journey inside my own process. Luckily, we won’t have to lose an ear to go straight into the mind (if you know, you know).
So, on the day of his death, I found myself not only at a loss for words, but truly emotional as well. As I cried during my workday, this was a confusing experience, to say the least. And why why would I be this affected? I had the realization, through a text conversation with a friend, that Mr. Lynch is in a very select category for me. He is one of only a handful of directors that showed me what cinema was capable of. It does not have to be solely for entertainment. There is art. There is more. Despite its frustrations, it does not elude me that he refused to explain his work. It is for us. There is no use (for him) to put words to what he has already explained, in the language of cinema
My introduction to David Lynch was The Elephant Man. In many ways, it is not indicative of his work; it is certainly not “Lynchian,” whatever that means at this point. But it is, at its core, an empathetic story, which is, I believe, what calls me back to Lynch time after time. Sure, there is the makeup and the look at the titular Elephant Man. More importantly, it urges us to treat all humans as just that. As we are faced with a physical deformity, we are also faced with our own reactions. As John Merrick (John Hurt) yells “I AM NOT AN ELEPHANT! I AM NOT AN ANIMAL! I AM… A HUMAN BEING! I… AM… A… MAN!” we are forced to ignore the external and look at ourselves.
But how odd to say that my first Lynch was a movie I watched in school on a rainy day. It doesn’t seem to fit, but there it also feels appropriate. What student did not love to see that television turn on instead of being forced to do busy work? There is a comfort. Comfort like a damn fine cup of coffee and a slice of cherry pie.
Part of me wishes I could say that I was one of those that watched Twin Peaks from the beginning. But no, that was not my next Lynch. nor even the most important. I would come to Twin Peaks much later, and so will we. No, my next experience was perhaps the most powerful of them all. As a teenager, I watched Blue Velvet after renting it from my local video store. Why did I even pick this up? Maybe I had heard that it was great. Maybe I liked the cover. It certainly wasn’t because of Lynch himself, as the name was not known to me at that point. Throughout the runtime, I remember being deeply confused, but excited. There was something here, and it wasn’t just the shock value of it all. I won’t waste your time with the well trod discussion of the underbelly of the American small town. But I will say that after this watch, I found myself fundamentally different as a viewer. This film, as many of Lynch’s are, is strange. There is no specific time, there are no specific rules. I still find these choices to be brave and audacious, giving us nothing to lean on other than the visuals in front of us. I am sure that this is exactly how he would want it, and every time I rewatch it, I give in to that more and more. The other piece that I keep realizing I enjoy is the lack of irony in Lynch. Choosing light, love triumphing over evil, these seem to be very real to him. As the bird devours the beetle in the final frame of Blue Velvet, there can be no doubt that Jeffrey (Kyle MacLachlan) made the right choice.
As I moved forward in watching his movies, there seems to be little rhyme or reason to the order, which simply feels right. Minus Twin Peaks, there is nothing episodic about his filmography. I am sure that somewhere in there I watched his version of Dune and was super annoyed (and annoying) about how poor it was compared to the book. It’s still not a movie I like, but it always seemed like the poorest fit possible for Lynch. Eraserhead deeply unnerved me on first (and subsequent) watch. It was like watching my own anxiety being birthed on screen. It is not a movie I will ever “like” despite being continually impressed.
Is there an odder pairing than Nicolas Cage and Lynch? Maybe not. But if there is a movie that shouldn’t work, but does, it is most definitely Wild At Heart. In speaking with other friends who despise it, I kind of get it. But I also couldn’t care less. Cage and Dern together are sparkling magic, Dafoe is disgusting and depraved. It is a film that feels dangerous, but also a film that Lynch is in complete control of. I have to think that these performances are at least partly due to the trust that Lynch engenders in his casts. Every word I have ever heard from folks who worked with him is glowing and positive. This was always a rarity and has become more so over the years. David Lynch just seems like a good human, which is probably why he is able to capture trauma (medical, sexual, emotional) through such a empathetic lens.
And what better way to examine trauma than through Twin Peaks? I am going to be honest with you here. It took me a few tries. Maybe it was because I didn’t watch it as it aired. Maybe it was because I saw clips of Fire Walk With Me on the internet. Whatever the reason, I left it behind. Until Season Three. Fine, I thought. I will give it one more chance. And what a revelation that ended up being. I took my time (seemed like a brutal show to binge) and found myself entranced. It is a beautiful exploration of trauma as well as an interesting look at producer interference. It became quite clear to me that the reason it first became part of the zeitgeist must have irked Lynch. We, as a culture, latch on to mystery. We need to know. But it always felt like that wasn’t what interested him. The life we lead, the effects we have, that is where the real exploration should begin. A death can be an end, but the ripples in the water keep traveling. This is one of the few times I could see Lynch going deeply internal and external regarding the nature of trauma. It is difficult to focus on pain and not be macabre, and Lynch mastered it with Twin Peaks.
One could go on and on about his greatness (and many should). Mulholland Drive is a masterpiece. Lost Highway and Inland Empire, confusing and galling as they are, have been written about endlessly, and for good reason. And if you want a, please excuse the pun, straight down the middle lovely little film, The Straight Story is right there waiting for you. And that does not begin to detail the many short films that are accessible.
There is no objective truth in what David Lynch movies are, or what they mean. I began this piece stating that I was not an expert on his films. It does not escape me that he would disagree. He would say that you have everything you need to understand, to process, to feel his work. And now I find myself nodding my head to that exact idea. We can sit around and read criticism about art all day. And frankly, sometimes I do. But this all pales in comparison to the feeling we get when a film breaks boundaries, even logical ones. I find myself feeling lucky that I found his movies when I did. Every time is the right time.
David Lynch, wherever he is now, changed me. I feel broader, larger, and more experienced just from playing the part of a viewer into his mind. Mr. Lynch’s films defy simple thoroughlines and descriptions. It is never neat and tidy. And it may be that this is a perfect reflection of the man himself. In interviews, he was always honest, but spoke about what he wanted to, regardless of what was actually asked. Even if this could be frustrating for the interviewer, I find myself glad that he expressed what he wanted and never bowed to what was expected.
I will mourn the fact that we will never get another David Lynch film. I will celebrate that every viewing of an older Lynch film is a different experience. I will be grateful to him for making me better through his art.
Rest in peace, Mr. Lynch. I hope you enjoy simple pleasures in the afterlife.
