This week on Women InSession, we celebrate James Spader’s birthday by diving into his filmography and why he’s such a captivating actor! Everything from Pretty in Pink to Sex, Lies, and Videotape to Crash to Lincoln and everything in-between, Spader has always been a formidable screen presence that we’ve enjoyed in cinema.
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!
The list has been finalized, and the Oscar nominees are set in stone.
For four of the five nominees, this is the first time they have ever been able to call themselves an Oscar-nominated actor. Our list this year includes Yura Borisov (Anora), Kieran Culkin (A Real Pain), Edward Norton (A Complete Unknown), Guy Pearce (The Brutalist), and Jeremy Strong (The Apprentice). Each actor gave varying performances in their respective films; no one on this list is like the other.
First, I wanted to name a few performances that deserved a nomination but came up short: Denzel Washington for Gladiator II, Clarence Maclin for Sing Sing, and Bill Skarsgård for Nosferatu. Denzel was menacingly fun in Gladiator II, playing the main antagonist in a role that let one of the greats shine. Clarence Maclin played himself in Sing Sing, but that doesn’t diminish his emotional and engaging performance; at least he picked up a nomination for Original Screenplay. Bill Skarsgård was terrifying in Nosferatu, delivering a performance that was as physical as mental. He has been typecast in this kind of freak-esque role, and the commitment for Nosferatu, even going as far as permanently altering his voice, proved there was no one else for the role. However, the actor I would have most liked to see in Oscar contention is Adam Pearson for his work in A Different Man.
Pearson played Oswald in A Different Man, a film that cleverly toes the dark comedy line, and Pearson is a total rock star. From his first moment on screen, you are brought in by his charm, wit, and compassion; it’s easy to see why Sebastian Stan’s Edward was so envious of Oswald. The writing of the character works well, but the natural performance from Pearson is not what only makes Stan’s performance (maybe the best of his career) work, but what also makes the film itself work as well as it does. There were many great supporting performances both in the Oscar conversation and not, and this was one that never received the accolades it should have.
5. Edward Norton (A Complete Unknown)
Edward Norton’s turn as Pete Seger is number five in my personal rankings. Norton is an outstanding performer, and his turn as the late folk singer is more than deserving of attention; however, of his now four Oscar nominations, this one is at the bottom. Norton thrives in eccentric characters who put his entire personality on display in whacky ways. While his turn as Seger in A Complete Unknown was strong, it was drastically different and more restricted than anything we had seen from the performer before. While his singing voice worked well for the role, his character constantly felt like he was playing catch up to Timothee Chalamet’s Bob Dylan. He is the only actor on this list who didn’t give one of the two or even three best performances for their respective film.
4. Jeremy Strong (The Apprentice)
Jeremy Strong earned his first, of what I can only assume will be many, Oscar nomination for playing the villainous Roy Cohn in The Apprentice. Strong is magnificent in playing a monstrous figure who eventually is overshadowed by an even more significant, meaner, and uglier monster. Strong comes in at number four on my list because even though he owns the first half of the film, once Sebastian Stan’s Donald Trump makes his switch from pupil to Sith Lord, Cohn is relatively overlooked. One moment towards the end of the film is painfully brilliant from Strong, but overall, there were better performances and villains on this list.
3. Guy Pearce (The Brutalist)
One of those villains is Harrison Lee Van Buren Sr., played by Guy Pearce. Pearce broke onto the scene starring in Christopher Nolan’s breakout hit Memento, but since then, he has been almost sidelined to bit or character roles, especially in the past 10 years. However, The Brutalist changed that as Pearce was finally given a role with enough heft to exercise his talents. His role and performance in The Brutalist is on par with Michael Shannon in The Shape of Water as one of my favorite villain performances in the past 10 years. He is not overtly evil throughout the entire film, but like some of the best-written and performed villains in cinema, he slowly wears down the protagonist, taking advantage of them at their absolute lowest, using them for their gain, and making them feel like without their help, our protagonist would be nothing. That’s what Pearce captures so hauntingly in The Brutalist; he is a villain that does everything not to act villainous as he makes Adrien Brody’s László Tóth, a refugee with a storied past in architecture, feel like he is nothing. However, he does it in a way where he acts as though he is defending the wants and needs of Tóth. It’s a complex and timely performance, and what Pearce displays is masterfully horrifying.
2. Kieran Culkin (A Real Pain)
I understand the argument that this is a case of category fraud and that Culkin should be considered the co-lead of A Real Pain; it makes sense, given his extensive screen time and the centrality of his character to the plot.
However, I don’t see this as category fraud, as he is not the point of view of the film’s story. When categorizing performances, I consider the narrative and what the film is telling us. In the case of A Real Pain, we discover Culkin’s Benji through the lens of Jesse Eisenberg’s David, and even if the plot is about Benji, it isn’t Benji’s story. With that out of the way, this performance truly is immaculate. Culkin has been consistently building a stellar career, especially in more minor bit roles, but thanks to Succession, he was able to display what a talent he truly is, and what A Real Pain does best is show us all that Culkin is not a one-hit-wonder. His Benji is full of eccentricities, such as getting his entire tour group to take photos in front of war statues, that make him and, by extension, Culkin as a performer, a unique, vulnerable human. However, he isn’t afraid to take the performance into dark and sad places. You can tell he is hurting, and the film does a great job displaying this through his more quiet moments – especially the ones at the airport. What makes this performance stand above is the care that not only Benji has, but that Culkin has for the performance as well. Benji cares about everything and wants to say whats on his mind, but at the same time he holds back how he feels It’s a rare performance that perfectly blends subtlety with eccentricity, where the loudest person in the room is also the most tragic. If he does manage to sweep this season, it will be more than deserved for Culkin.
1. Yura Borisov (Anora)
While I loved Kieran Culkin’s performance in A Real Pain, nothing can top how perfect Yura Borisov was as Igor in Anora. I have been on record saying Borisov’s role in this film might be one of the hardest I have ever seen on film, at least that I can remember recently. This is due primarily to the subtlety needed to make this performance effective, and that is because the entire character is built around subtlety. Igor doesn’t care much about himself; he even spends his birthday chasing Vanya (Mark Eydelshteyn) around New York. He doesn’t overshare, not because he doesn’t want to, but because no one ever asks. However, none of that phases him. When Ani (Mikey Madison) first speaks to Igor, you can see the softness that Borisov gives the character, even saying congratulations when Ani snarkily responds to Igor’s introduction with, “I’m Ani, Vanya’s wife.” On paper, the character might not seem like much, but through Borisov’s gazes, you can tell he is the only one who truly cares for Ani and what she is going through, and the performance shines immensely. The care that Igor displays for Ani is fully realized when he speaks up against Vanya’s parents, telling them their son should apologize for what he put Ani through. No one in the film cares about what happens to Ani except for Igor, and through a superbly subtle performance, he can display so much care, emotion, and heart.
Director:Cristobal Abugaber Writers:Cristobal Abugaber Stars: Eligio Meléndez, María Meléndez, María Fernanda Ayala
Synopsis:An aging farmer refuses to leave his long standing way of life behind at the risk of losing what truly matters to him.
One of my most vivid childhood memories involves a car ride with my mom. She’s driving me to my weekly trombone lesson, a short trip that takes us past my old elementary school, just five minutes down the road from our house. Its sight leads me to tell her that I think I might like to become a teacher when I grow up; “I’ll teach English and coach the basketball team,” I say. She nearly slams on the brakes before asking why in the world I’d ever want to do that in the future, given how much I’ve always talked about wanting to go into sports broadcasting. (We see how that turned out, don’t we?) I think my main reasons for this fleeting dream were rather trite: Multiple breaks during the school year, summers off, and a built-in connection with fellow teachers and students, the likes of which I’d seen forming around me while attending school for the better part of my young life. That’s the key, though: At the time that I expressed this desire, school – and playing for my school basketball team, by extension – was all I knew, and at a glance, it seemed like an easy future. Plus, my mom was a teacher, which explains her alarm at the future career her child pondered for approximately three minutes before leaving it behind with the exhaust fumes that spurted out of our 2003 Chrysler Town & Country.
Had I elected to pursue that fleeting path, one that I now understand to be relatively thankless and exhausting, I’m sure I would have found a semblance of happiness, but would I have been fulfilled? Of course, that’s an impossible question to answer, but I feel reasonably fulfilled as I continue to walk along the path I chose to take. I like that this idea is precisely what drives Cristobal Abugaber’s deeply moving short The Perfect Tomato, the internal conflict between two roads, the questions one asks oneself as one walks further down it, and what happens when external factors play a part in what direction you take next.
Nacho (Eligio Meléndez), an aging and dedicated farmer who has spent decades working in fields and gardens alike, has lived a simple life that some might even go so far as to call “safe.” He hasn’t stopped working since he was a young man so as not to break from routine, and so that his work never remains in doubt, something he has long required in order to provide for his family. Abugaber’s opening scene sees Nacho and his granddaughter Maria (María Fernanda Ayala) working together in a greenhouse, the former describing growing patterns to the curious latter, who enjoys accompanying him perhaps just to stay occupied, though she’s a wise kid, one who seems aware of and drawn to his passion. As they travel home, sitting in a truck bed being driven by one of the farm’s many workers, we learn that her father is not in the picture, a presence that Nacho somewhat fills yet Maria still longs for; “Do you think he’ll ever try one of our tomatoes?” she asks, with Nacho telling her, “The United States is very big,” a way to let her down easy.
Not long after they’ve returned home and sat down for dinner, Nacho’s daughter Elena (María Meléndez) informs him that she has an opportunity in front of her: the opening of a pottery store in the city. Nacho expresses disbelief at the notion that his daughter would be commuting from the countryside to the city each day, though she soon informs him that they would have to move. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Dad,” she tells him only after cinematography James Sweeney has cut away from a slow-zooming wide shot that captures the trio in a moment of change, a visual representation of Nacho’s walls closing in as his daughter’s horizons extend. It’s a moment of loss for him and a massive personal win for her, leading to a crossroads that is familiar in context yet singular within this family dynamic. Nacho believes that “the land has given [them] everything,” and that the money he could earn if promoted to working at the ranch’s urban distribution center would add nothing to their life. “More money? What else do you need?”
It’s an obvious conflict— “You’re giving up on your dream!”/“No, Dad. I’m giving up on yours—yet, it’s unique how Abugaber depicts it from Nacho’s perspective. Typically, we’d instinctively root on the child (grown or otherwise) whose ambitions are set to lead them to their promised land while booing the parent doing what they can to hold them back. Yet it’s difficult not to sympathize with a man who, in this situation, would be leaving behind everything he knows in order to fulfill someone else’s desires, even if that someone else is his own flesh and blood. Abugaber constructs this tension with great care, understanding the concerns of both parties and while the film’s resolution might feel clear to anyone who has ever seen a family-focused movie before, The Perfect Tomato’s conclusion ultimately resonates as one about the sacrifices we make for those we love, not what we lose when we concede to them. It’s clear that Abugaber understands that making choices for the betterment of our loved ones’ lives isn’t much of a loss at all but merely a different kind of gain. Even if it means that we must say goodbye to one form of comfort, as long as we are able to lean on those closest to us, we can discover it anew elsewhere.
So, no, I never became a teacher. I also didn’t become a world-famous trombone player or a basketball coach that the staff at other schools feared when I walked into a gym. (I never had that presence anyway.) But life shifted for me in ways that I wouldn’t have dreamt of all those years ago while driving to Vince Ercolamento’s music school, and I’m endlessly grateful for every sacrifice I made, and for those that the people in my life have made for me, too. I intend on repaying them, and I intend on yielding in many more worthwhile ways when I have a family of my own. You can find comfort again; family, though, is a once-in-a-lifetime gift.
Director: Jonathan Eusebio Writers: Matthew Murray, Josh Stoddard, Luke Passmore Stars: Ke Huy Quan, Ariana DeBose, Mustafa Shakir, Marshawn Lynch
Synopsis: A hitman-turned-realtor is forced to confront his past.
I was excited for Love Hurts. I was ready to sit back and bask in the glow of the Ke Huy Quan Renaissance. The Academy Award winner from Everything Everywhere All at Once, best known to many as Short Round from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, has experienced a career resurgence in recent years. He’s charismatic, possesses talent far beyond his legendary childhood roles, and, in an industry where it’s increasingly rare, is known as one of the genuinely good guys in Hollywood.
Combined with the fact that Love Hurts comes from the producers of Nobody, the team that turned Bob Odenkirk into an action star, my excitement was through the roof. Then, add in one of the greatest reunions since Robert De Niro and Al Pacino shared coffee in Heat: Goonies alum Sean Astin embracing Ke Huy Quan in a heartfelt hug, delivering a dose of ’80s nostalgia we didn’t even know we needed. Oh yes, Love Hurts is poised to give any ’80s or ’90s kid the feels they’ve been missing.
However, as the film progresses, it becomes apparent that Love Hurts may be an obedience experiment comparable to Milgram. The action feels labored, the acting is stiff, and the characters are thinner than one of those Fatheads your kid slaps on their bedroom wall. The humor barely registers, and the dialogue is cringe-worthy at best. And let’s not forget—Love Hurts boasts the oddest romantic pairing since Lyle Lovett and Julia Roberts (or Pete Davidson and [insert name here]).
Yet, the screening I attended had people howling at the oddest moments, making me wonder if the crowd was being held against their will and laughing out of sheer desperation. I even made a note to Google it later—this might be the first documented case of boredom-induced hysteria. Apparently, I’m immune.
The story follows Marvin Gable (Quan), who has just been named Real Estate Agent of the Year by his best friend, Cliff (Astin). Marvin loves his job, taking pride in finding the perfect home for every person, couple, or family. He bakes cookies for his coworkers, and everyone adores him—including his morbidly eccentric assistant (Crazy Love’s Lio Tipton), who remains loyally by his side. However, things take a sudden turn when a trained assassin known as the Raven (Mustafa Shakir) shows up at his office.
Why would such a beloved figure have such a violent enemy? Because Marvin is an ex-assassin himself—hiding in plain sight (with his face plastered all over town on real estate ads, no less) from his mobster brother, Knuckles (played by Quan’s American Born Chinese co-star Daniel Wu). Knuckles has just discovered that Marvin never completed his final assignment: murdering a coworker, Rose (Kraven’s Ariana DeBose—who, frankly, requires a serious career intervention), after she stole millions from Knuckles years ago.
Thankfully, director Jonathan Eusebio’s film clocks in at a merciful 83 minutes, which explains why it’s missing a second act. The movie is filled with repetitive nonsense and poorly staged action sequences that look more like slow, choreographed practice sessions that want to be Nobody or something from Chad Stahelski. The movie has weird ambitions, wanting to show action inside a microwave or a refrigerator, where you can hear punches being thrownbehind closed doors. The sequences are disengaging tired, and are nothing but filler.
Then, there’s the elephant in the room: we’re supposed to believe in the romance between Quan and DeBose. I’m all for poking fun at past decades of pairing a weathered star with a 20-something woman (Entrapment, Six Days, Seven Nights, etc.), but the film takes the pairing seriously, and they have little to no chemistry. The film only works when Tipton and Shakir’s characters take a liking to each other, highlighting the film’s underlying problem.
I can practically guarantee that the film started as a very dark comedy, but to sell the script, Love Hurts went through dozens of rewrites (the script is credited to three writers: Matthew Murray, Josh Stoddard, and Luke Passmore). Instead, we get scenes where Marshawn Lynch and André Eriksen unload machine gun fire into a couch, which somehow manages to stop all the bullets from hitting Quan. Then, for no apparent reason, they shoot above the couch for several minutes into a wall, even though the target is only five feet away and still lying on the ground, behind the feather-filled sofa.
I’m not sure who Love Hurts was made for: fans of diabetes-inducing boba tea, people who want to see the Property Brothers end their reign of terror on HGTV, or see DeBose’s career go up in flames, but after watching it, I can only assume love is an illusion and created by the good people at Hallmark and the corporation are the ones testing our resolve.
Grade: D-
You can watch Love Hurts only in theaters on February 7th!
On this episode of Chasing the Gold, Shadan is joined by Brandon Lewis to discuss the recent Oscars controversy and how it might affect the voting process! We also talk about how CCA and PGA speeches could influence the race and is it really crazy to think A Complete Unknown could win Best Picture?
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!
To snub something or someone is an active choice. If the nearly 10,000 voting members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences all got together in a single place, they couldn’t agree on the best time to break for lunch. So it has never sat right that people consider that this voting body as a whole has chosen not to nominate an actor, filmmaker, or film. It’s far less sinister when you realize that the performance, artistry, or film that you love just didn’t have the right amount of votes. It’s unlikely it had no votes, just not the right amount. Your favorite is just the Cardinal Bellini of this particular conclave.
While a snub is a misnomer, it is true that voting bodies can be swayed for and against. It is also true that voting bodies have members who take their duty seriously as well as studiously and members who ask their friends who they’re voting for and write that title down. It is also true that some films are just not the right film at the right time. They exude or lack something that those films that have become nominees exude or lack in the opposite way. It’s all about how it’s done. It’s about how sex and politics are handled.
Sex
There is plenty of sex in this year’s crop of Best Picture nominees. The sex in these films is just done in a way that’s more palatable than in those films not nominated. The sex in Anora, while graphic and prevalent, is entirely heterosexual and acceptable to most audiences. In The Brutalist, explicit sex is used in metaphor either as exerting power, emotional openness, or a block on the creative process. Sex in Emilia Pérez is not made explicit but is implied. The sex in The Substance is more subliminal and teasing.
Whereas several films not nominated engage in sex and sexuality that is strange, beautiful, and against the mainstream. The obvious example here is Babygirl, with its submissive/dominant sexual relationship. The less obvious is Challengers, which never labels its couples but challenges traditional relationship structures. You could also add Love Lies Bleeding to the list as a woman’s pursuit and experience of pleasure, as well as lesbian narratives not involving men have always been a topic avoided by Academy members.
Politics
The right political message is a delicate one, and this year especially, the right message, or at the very least a clear message, is important. For I’m Still Here, the truth behind the horrifying tactics employed by brutal regimes is a necessity. In Conclave, progress cannot be stymied by backward thinking, yet it should be progress for all and progress that acts. Dune: Part 2 is about revolution against despotic rule.
A political message cannot be vague, but it can’t also put too fine a point on the ideas it wants to evoke. Though, September 5 may have taken on a neutral stance about journalism in the face of terrorism, its subject matter may have struck the wrong cord as the current conflict between the Israeli government and Hamas is still simmering in Gaza with millions of civilians caught in the crossfire. The Apprentice shows the man behind the man and the evolution of a conman, but since it depicts a now sitting president, the points it makes explicitly are going to be picked apart. The same could be said for a film like Civil War in a time when the United States is at a deep political divide. The vagaries of journalistic neutrality don’t make the statement the film needed to.
There can be other reasons a film doesn’t make the cut. It may be that votes for Sing Sing and for Ghostlight canceled each other out as they have similar themes. It may be that A Real Pain‘s parts were stronger than its whole. It’s definitely true that animated features like The Wild Robot are not seen as equal achievements in the art of filmmaking in the way that their live-action counterparts are.
There are hundreds of films that deserve a place among the ten nominees for Best Picture, but they weren’t chosen. It’s time to forget the past and focus on these ten. Focus on them and pick them apart piece by piece until Oscar night, when one will be named Best Picture, to the ire of many of us out there who can’t and will never vote for the Oscars. If you aren’t interested in these ten, there’s a new crop of potential nominees in a theater and streaming at home every week until the nominations announcement for the 2026 awards.
Director: Anders Lindwall Writers: Missy Mareau Garcia, Michael Graf, Anders Lindwall Stars: Craig T. Nelson, Brandon Sklenar, M. Emmet Walsh
Synopsis: A struggling family farmer wagers everything on a high-stakes Championship bet, while his granddaughter’s musical ambitions could be their ticket to a new beginning.
I have never been a big Star Trek fan and have always preferred Star Wars when given the choice. You can love both, but J.J. Abrams’ fresh take on the franchise—one that has been a television and cinematic staple for nearly six decades—changed my perspective. However, the latest entry, Star Trek: Section 31, seems to abandon what made the series unique to its core fan base.
For one, this installment leans heavily into horror, creating an unsettling tone that strays from audience expectations, even jettisoning core values and themes of the franchise. Additionally, it prioritizes shock value over meaningful character development. The franchise’s main characters always had well-rounded depth, making them compelling. Here, both heroes and villains have the same shallow presence as a redshirt.
In short, the plot of Star Trek: Section 31, the new characters, and the story all feel expendable.
In a flashback of Michelle Yeoh’s Philippa Georgiou origin story in her teenage years (played by Miku Martineau), as she returns to her home, she sits with her family—her mother, father, and sibling—recounting horrific stories of survival and the brutal acts she was forced to commit alongside her friend, San (James Huang), as they fought against other teenagers they were pitted against.
However, it soon becomes clear why she has returned: a contest to determine the next Emperor of the ruthless Terran Empire. Philippa and San are given a choice—whoever kills their immediate family will ascend to become the most powerful leader in the universe. San , guided by his morality, fails to carry out his duty. Georgiou, however, has no such hesitation. She poisons her entire family and enslaves her best friend.
Flash forward to the last time we saw Philippa. After leaving Star Trek: Discovery, she was sent to live out her days in the Prime Universe, running a club in the shadows under the alias Madame du Franc. She is tracked down by a Section 31 agent, Alok (Omari Hardwick), who needs her help recovering an ancient artifact—her ticket back to action and fame.
However, as is often the case, the past haunts Georgiou. She must now help her new team track down a weapon from her old universe—one that could bring about catastrophic consequences. Cue Jack Nicholson’s Colonel Nathan R. Jessup from A Few Good Men, as he says, “Is there another kind?”
You would hope that Academy Award winner Michelle Yeoh could elevate the material of Star Trek: Section 31, but she cannot. Yes, it is fun to watch Yeoh revel in the role—probably part of what attracted her to the project was the chance to let loose a bit, given that she often plays restrained, stoic, morally centered characters.
Yet, the final product feels like nothing more than a weak, unaired, and unproduced two- or three-episode Star Trek television arc that strays as far from the franchise’s origins as possible. (Rumor has it that this script was originally conceived as a spinoff pilot for a series based on Yeoh’s Star Trek: Discovery character.) Yes, I was never a big fan of the franchise, but I know who these entertainments are made for.
That’s because Star Trek: Station 31 steals from other (and far better) science fiction films instead of creating something original that aligns with the franchise’s core values. This is a rebranding of recycled material that simply doesn’t work. The film raises questions of morality without offering redemption and examines violence without legitimate consequences.
I’m all for shaking things up with a fresh perspective, but this entry doesn’t align with the original characters or series. Instead, it becomes so uneven that it’s practically stifling, unpleasant, and far from entertaining.
Star Trek: Station 31 is not worth watching for new or hardcore fans. Whether you like Star Trek or not, Olatunde Osunsanmi’s film and Craig Sweeny’s script have the franchise in the middle of an existential crisis.
You can stream Star Trek: Section 31 exclusively on Paramount+!
On this episode, we talk about the the casting updates for Christopher Nolan’s new film The Odyssey and the upcoming Scream 7! Plus, some brief thoughts on the teaser teasers for Fantastic Four: First Steps and Jurassic World Rebirth (we recorded this before the trailer’s dropped this week).
Director: Anders Lindwall Writers: Missy Mareau Garcia, Michael Graf, Anders Lindwall Stars: Craig T. Nelson, Brandon Sklenar, M. Emmet Walsh
Synopsis: A struggling family farmer wagers everything on a high-stakes Championship bet, while his granddaughter’s musical ambitions could be their ticket to a new beginning.
Green and Gold might initially be mistaken for a faith-based story. However, it is far from what the Kendrick or Erwin Brothers have produced over the past two decades. Instead, Green and Gold take a holistic approach to its subtext; emphasizing humility, providence, and harmony with nature. No, the film Green and Gold is not quite The Good Earth. However, Anders Lindwall respects one of America’s oldest and most revered industries: farming.
The film particularly highlights the real struggles faced when land becomes too valuable to be used for growing food. Lindwall’s script maintains an even tone and pace, weaving themes while seamlessly tying together universal subplots of family, faith, and personal passion.
One might wish they had left out the football subplot entirely, as it sometimes feels unnecessary and distracting, but still works.
The story follows Buck (The Incredibles’sCraig T. Nelson), a man struggling to maintain a family farm that has endured for four generations. Buck has taken on a mountain of debt to keep the land in his name, while a local banker (Tim Frank) has been handing out distressed loans across the county—only to foreclose on them as quickly as possible. Why? So he can flip the land into commercial properties.
There is a real sense of community in Green and Gold. Local farmers—one played by the great character actor M. Emmet Walsh—band together, finding joy in small moments but also enduring immense hardship. In the worst of times, some of these proud men, broken by inevitable foreclosures, find themselves with shotguns in their mouths, teetering on the edge of despair. Buck’s granddaughter, Jenny (Juniper’s Madison Lawlor), often sings at his side, her voice a desperate plea, trying to bring them back from that brink.
Jenny is talented, performing her original songs at local Wisconsin dive bars at night. On Sundays, she and Buck sneak away from church to watch their beloved Green Bay Packers play. But everything changes when Buck’s wife, Margaret (The Amityville Horror’s Annabel Armour), crosses paths with a country star (It Ends with Us’sBrandon Sklenar), who offers Jenny the chance of a lifetime. She must then choose between her family and her dreams.
One of the most effective subplots is the sense of community. The film doubles down on this concept, weaving together the bond between a community of farmers and their shared love for the Green Bay Packers. While the latter reinforces the film’s themes, it sometimes feels like a contrived plot device that wasn’t entirely necessary to drive the story forward.
That said, as someone from the land of snowflakes and chicken wings, I can attest that football obsession is very real. Where I’m from, you don’t say goodbye—you say, “Go Bills!” In Green and Gold, you’ll notice that every leaf seems to whisper, “Go Pack!” That’s where the film feels a bit forced—Buck bets the banker that if the Packers win the Super Bowl, he’ll get another year to save his farm from foreclosure. The subplot is a cliché, but it adds some authentic color and character if nothing else.
Or maybe I’m annoyed that no one has written a movie like this for my beloved Buffalo Bills. It’s hard to say.
The movie works because Lindwall’s script weaves everything together through Jenny’s eyes and faith. She was raised by her grandparents—farmers who are the salt of the earth. Her songs reflect her experiences and values; things she holds dear. It’s refreshing how the characters feel believable in their predictability—just as real people’s behaviors often are. The writing never wavers or leads them off course. Lindwall has the discipline to keep truth always within reach of the characters he writes for.
I did enjoy the performances. Sklenar is believable as a musician trying to use someone else’s ideals to market his own. Nelson is grizzled and weathered but always finds a way to land his performance straight on your funny bone. Armour shares a poignant scene with Nelson, filled with melancholy over their shared trauma. Finally, Lawlor is the glue that holds the film together, delivering some of the film’s most charming lines—like when she warns never to trust a man who searches for a fishing spot without a pole.
Green and Gold is far from perfect. Many may find the Field of Dreams-like ending a bit much, but it’s worth watching because it’s well-made, self-assured, and clearly understands its target audience. Lindwall’s film is an engrossing working-class story about faith, farming, and football—a love letter to those who pride themselves on being salt-of-the-earth.
In many ways, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, the voting body for the Oscars, has emblazoned on its crest, “separate the art from the artist.” Over its long history, the Oscars have bestowed awards on many people who have said and done despicable things. These people have made great art, for sure, but they are also weak and fallible beings. Most of the time, it’s men, but this year’s crop of Best Actress nominees has come under much deeper scrutiny.
Mikey Madison is a best actress nominee for her performance in “Anora.”
It happens to be a more contentious race than in many years past. At one time, there were at least 12 strong, potential candidates vying for a chance at one of the five Best Actress nominations. It was an embarrassment of rich, nuanced performances. Even with the field narrowed down to a final five, it’s hard to know who might be called onto the stage when the envelope for Best Actress is opened. That’s one reason why the muckraking has been so elevated this year.
Award shows, much like politics, are as much about personalities as they are about the nominee’s bona fides. Unlike politics, or at least unlike politics pre-2016, a nominee for an Oscar can have their past dug through and their dirty laundry exposed and still win an award. Convicted child rapist Roman Polanski won Best Director The Pianist in 2003, 26 years after he fled the United States before his sentence could be handed down. The Academy sticks to its guns.
Even going so far as to rescind a nomination is not something that happens often. When a nomination is revoked, it’s usually due to a rule violation—something simple like, there was outright campaigning or lobbying, or a script was submitted for Original Screenplay when it’s actually an Adapted Screenplay.
Demi Moore is a best actress nominee for her performance in “The Substance.”
The only time an actor, director, or writer was directly stripped of their recognition was at the very first ceremony in 1929. Charlie Chaplin was removed from the ballot for Best Actor, Director (Comedy Picture), and Writing (Original Story) for his film The Circus. He was given an honorary award that year instead. It has been rumored that Chaplin was given this award because he was favored to sweep his categories but was deeply unpopular with his peers at the time.
It’s very unlikely, even in this era of change and calling out bad behavior, that actress Karla Sofía Gascón will be removed from the Oscar ballot after her racist tweets resurfaced recently. Fernanda Torres will not be removed from the ballot because of images of her performing in blackface that recently resurfaced. Mikey Madison will not be removed from the ballot because she chose to work without an intimacy coordinator for the many explicit scenes in Anora. Demi Moore and Cynthia Erivo will not be removed from the ballot for anything they have said or done in the past.
Fernanda Torres is nominated for her performance in “I’m Still Here.”
As a voting body, the Academy likes who they like. Even with initiatives and membership shake- ups, the core voting body still exudes a great amount of power, and their tastes don’t always align with the majority of cinephiles outside their ranks. They aren’t sequestered from the outside world while the final voting takes place. They know what’s happening in the world. They just choose to ignore the noise. Like many of us in political elections, they know who they’re voting for, and any new information is moot.
Controversy is what the Oscars thrive on. It’s how they stay relevant. Controversy is how they engage the people who don’t watch movies and who want to have an opinion. They need the negativity to drive their SEO, ad revenue, and to get those all-important hate watchers. At the end of the day, as much as the Oscars tout a love of movies, it’s the eyeballs on their televised ceremony that really matters. No matter who wins, the opinions and replays will keep the Oscars on that all-important news cycle in time for the next crop of potential nominees to take shape.
Cynthia Erivo is a best actress nominee for her performance in “Wicked.”
Directors: Andrew Zuchero, Sam Zuchero Writers: Sam Zuchero, Andrew Zuchero Stars: Kristen Stewart, Steven Yeun
Synopsis: A postapocalyptic romance in which a buoy and a satellite meet online and fall in love after the end of human civilization.
If nothing else, credit must be given where it’s due regarding Sam and Andy Zuchero’s debut feature film, Love Me. The Zucheros have crafted a film that feels startlingly alive, refreshingly unpretentious, and creatively demonstrates that life is full of endless possibilities. Perhaps most importantly, it reminds us that our short time on Earth has no ceiling on what we can make of it.
And if not, fake it until you make it.
The story follows the most extraordinary love story the world has ever known—well, at least because there’s no humanity left on Earth after an unknown event wiped out all humankind across the globe. So, naturally, the romance unfolds between a weather buoy and a satellite. Yes, you read that correctly. Kristen Stewart plays a floating navigational marker named “Me” and has the ability to feel and perceive human emotions. Steven Yeun portrays a celestial piece of rickety tin orbiting Earth, who “Me” refers to as “Iam,” carrying vital information about humankind.
The plot is hard to pin down because, both visually and narratively, the experience is designed to be genre-bending and resistant to categorization. Love Me blends live-action, animation, and screenlife sequences to tell an eclectic story of love and yearning. While at times heavy-handed, the film explores how these two tangible objects—using not the tools of God but those created by humans—embark on an anthropic journey toward personhood. Along the way, they discover connection, adventure, beauty, meaning, joy, purpose, and love, ultimately completing each other.
The Zuchero’s story follows a familiar structure seen in many films that use a unique backdrop to explore what it means to be human. For instance, in the HBO show Barry, the titular character—a sociopath—turns to an acting class as a means of searching for his humanity. Similarly, Love Me uses the filmmakers’ script as a lens to examine the difference between what is real and what is artificial, starting with the vanity of online social media profiles and leading to a more profound journey of self-discovery.
The concept is especially compelling in today’s society, where artificial intelligence is often viewed as a potential threat to human autonomy. For example, Stewart’s “Me” relies on Yeun’s “Iam” and his vast knowledge of the Internet, engaging in subtle conformity and social mimicry to determine personal likes and dislikes. As their search deepens, both characters evolve—reflected in the transformation of the animation and their avatars—creating the illusion of growth and, in turn, adding substance to the story.
However, the approach feels somewhat vain. If “Me” has access to the vast resources of humanity’s beauty, we can assume everything was uploaded to “Iam’s” database. So why couldn’t Earth’s new favorite couple, “Miamie” or “Sataloy,” explore the worlds of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince, Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, or Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables to underscore the point? Why stop there? They could experience the wonder of music with Claude Debussy’s “Clair de Lune,” Beethoven’s “Symphony No. 9 (Ode to Joy),” or— for God’s sake—Mike McCready’s guitar solo from Pearl Jam’s “Alive.” Or better yet, how about the chicken dance in Arrested Development? But I digress.
Yet, we understand that this visual medium is designed to examine what is artificial and explore whether it can be used to find beauty in the world. While the filmmakers make amends by going beyond the artificial, they miss an opportunity to underscore the theme and subtext more profoundly.
I can admit that Love Me can be overly sentimental at times, but that’s because emotions run high when experiencing life’s milestones for the first time. While the story may be stretched too thin, and its ambition outpaces its execution, we shouldn’t punish a film for attempting a unique angle to bridge the gap between what often feels like the vast, impossible search for human connection and the endless void of space.
The Zucheros take real chances with Love Me, which makes the film a journey worth taking. Just like, yada yada yada, love itself.
Director: Mohammad Rasoulof Writers: Mohammad Rasoulof Stars: Soheila Golestani, Missagh Zareh, Setareh Maleki
Synopsis: Investigating judge Iman grapples with paranoia amid political unrest in Tehran. When his gun vanishes, he suspects his wife and daughters, imposing draconian measures that strain family ties as societal rules crumble.
The Seed of the Sacred Fig begins with a man reading verses from the Quran, the central religious text of Islam. When I read the initial Cannes reactions on Twitter, some international critics mentioned that people laughed whenever scenes with people reciting the Quran were on screen. I rolled my eyes—typical, I thought—but I had to see what Mohammad Rasoulof brought to the table with his rebellious gem.
From the first minute, Rasoulof shows that it is not a happy world. The atmosphere is gloomy and oppressive, scenes are almost completely drenched in darkness and opaque color tones. All the women have head covers and some of them, especially the young girls, have been forced to wear them. In a seemingly innocent family celebration in a restaurant, because the father got promoted to an investigator to a judge of the Revolutionary Court, the mother recites a list of forbidden things and precautions to her two daughters, one right after the other is taken away from them as reality hits them; this promotion comes with a price, and it seems that the women have to pay it.
The film takes place during the Mahsa Amini protests, a tumultuous time in Iran’s already troubled history. The environment is not good for anyone, but especially so for women. What the movie lacks is a three-dimensional depiction of the three main female protagonists, Najmeh (Soheila Golestani), Rezvan (Mahsa Rostami) and Sana (Setareh Maleki). The mother-daughters trio is what makes this feature more compelling but also what could’ve taken it to another dimension of greatness, had their polarizing personalities been explored further. As strict and tradition-bound as Najmeh is, Rezvan and Sana are rebellious and religion-antagonistic. But the lack of depth that other films about religious, non-Muslim characters (the latest example that comes to mind is Heretic) pride themselves on is what makes this film another Western festival crowd-pleaser. Muslims are either fanatics or abandoning the ship en totale. There’s never an actual crisis of faith or someone questioning their religion in a Muslim-centric plot. Even if there is one of those rare gems -the Hulu series Ramy comes to mind as an honest, unflinching depiction of Muslims wrestling with their religious identity and navigating what that means- Rasoulof’s film is not one of them.
Returning to the visual aesthetic of the film, Pooyan Aghababaei’s cinematography is perfect. His light and shadow work is out of this world. And yet, sadly, unlike other cinematographers of films that have received immense coverage in 2024, no one can find an interview with Aghababaei to listen to his methodology or his artistic vision. The cast and crew of the film -except Rasoulof- have not been giving interviews due to legality and fear of punishment. After all, the director has been sentenced to eight years in prison, flogging, among other accusations by the Iranian authorities. So those artists are strictly prohibited from promoting their film or explaining their artistry. The whole situation is sad; a great film but the cast and crew can rarely be traced to revel in their rightful celebration. What makes the movie more impactful are the turbulent consequences of its release.
As a film critic, it’s difficult sometimes to bring my views and beliefs to the table. The Seed of the Sacred Fig paints a disturbing image of a totalitarian religious society. I struggle to discover why some Muslim critics found the movie catering to the Western world when it paints a realistic -if a bit glum- image of what happens when religion has the upper hand in controlling a nation, which as of now, looking at the world at large is no longer a reality too far away. But I also understand their frustration with the lack of complexity that Islam receives in contrast to other more popular religions. Whenever you have a great film about someone struggling with doubt or having a crisis of faith, a Muslim character doesn’t seem to have the intellectual capacity to undergo that sophisticated character arc.
On the other hand, Rasoulof doesn’t necessarily raise the alarm for what would happen if religion rules the world with an iron grip, but stretches a genuine story from his society making it as vivid as possible, to draw eerie comparisons to other parts of the world. I found this movie important and scary, not as flirting with the Western award heads as I thought it would be. The fetishized version of Islamist societies will always be controversial, due to the lack of proper Muslim representation in global works of art, but the dark side of totalitarian, religious governments is something we can’t ignore at the same time.
On this episode, JD and Brendan review Drew Hancock’s new sci-fi comedy horror film Companion! It’s a film that isn’t reinventing the wheel by any means, but there is a lot to really appreciate about its diverting qualities.
Review: Companion (4:00) Director: Drew Hancock Writers: Drew Hancock Stars: Sophie Thatcher, Jack Quaid, Lukas Gage
Synopsis:Taishi Wen Zhong led the army of the Shang Dynasty, including Deng Chenyu and four generals of the Mo Family to Xiqi. With the help of Kunlun immortals such as Jiang Ziya, Ji Fa leads the army and civilians of Xiqi to defend their homeland.
An adaptation of Xu Zhonglin’s Investiture of the Gods has been on Wuershan’s mind since 2014, after he gained considerable experience in blockbuster filmmaking, helming such differing works as The Butcher, the Chef and the Swordsman, The Resurrection: Painted Skin, and Mojin: The Lost Legend. In 2018, cameras began to roll for one of the most ambitious productions in Chinese cinema history: three parts, shot back-to-back, spanning several decades in chronicling the overthrow of the Shang Dynasty through mythologically charged images and parallel narratives. In some ways, one can compare what Wuershan is doing to Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings trilogy, which was once touted as unfilmable and far too ambitious, and went on to become a commercial success and received multiple accolades, including the Academy Award for Best Picture for the final part of the trilogy The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King.
The jury is still out on whether or not Wuershan will deliver a towering conclusion with the final part of the Creation of the Gods trilogy, but as it stands, the first two installments are some of the most inspiring mainland Chinese films made in a very long time. The first part, Kingdom of Storms, contained one visually expressive action scene after another and created a singular cinematic language that, no matter how far-fetched or galaxy-brained some of the images may look, you ultimately bought into its proposition, even if nothing (and I genuinely mean nothing) is explained to the audience. It just is.
For people who like to have their hands held, entering the Investiture of the Gods may feel daunting. Wuershan directly thwarts you in the story, with little to no contextualization, and demands of you to put the pieces together in its constant shifting from one narrative arc to the next, with no meaningful denouement until, of course, the final part. However, for the audiences who fully accept its endless imagination at capturing vivifying action and potent moments of drama through the immersive lens of IMAX, the viewing experience on a gargantuan screen will be incredibly rewarding.
In that regard, the second installment, Demon Force, acts like Wuershan’s The Two Towers. Not only does it follow the same broken storylines of Jackson’s second installment, alternating between several characters on their own mini-adventure before most of them eventually intersect, but it also culminates in a battle scene where all forces must stand together to protect one village (their version of Rohan/Helm’s Deep). Of course, it’s far more out-there in its presentation of dazzling visual effects and sequences no person who isn’t blazed out of their damn mind could come up with, but the similarities in its pace and structure are staggering.
The Fengshen Bang plays a significant role in the battle of Xiqi, between lord Ji Fa (Yu Shi) and King Yin Shou (Kris Phillips), who vie for control of the Investiture of the Gods. A good chunk of the narrative is dedicated to scattershot exposition, either in depicting the King’s plan of taking over the Fengshen Bang under the influence of her concubine, Daji (Narana Erdyneeva), who, in the last film, was possessed by a Demon Fox, or in setting up a romance between Ji Fa and Deng Chanyu (Nashi), a general in the Shang dynasty who eventually grows fond of Xiqi’s lord. Her loyalty to the Shang dynasty will be tested when the Grand Perceptor Wen Zhong (Wu Hsing-kuo) tasks her to kidnap Jiang Ziya (Huang Bo), a former Kunlun immortal carrying the Fengshen Bang.
But can she accomplish the task when Xiqi is set to be destroyed through Wen absorbing the moon’s powers with his third eye and creating “eye portals” that paralyze its inhabitants to death, including someone for whom she has developed strong affection? This moral question is at the front and center of Demon Force’s storytelling, even if the narrative this time around is way more fragmented than the first. At its best, Demon Force contains bravura action sequences of great technical and kinetic mastery, with one occurring early on in the picture that is a cathartic fistfight between Deng Chenyu and Ji Fa worthy of Chang Cheh that made my jaw drop in pure awe.
These scenes, while occurring on sparser occasions than the first, look as astonishing as they did in Kingdom of Storms and are perhaps even more ambitious when one views the climax. That entire battle looks and feels impossible to visualize, especially when one takes into consideration Ne Zha’s (Wu Yafan) and Yang Jian’s (Ci Sha) place in the battle, flying around the environment as they attempt to avoid the paralyzing powers of Wen’s eye moon portals. Wuershan also does justice to Ne Zha in ways that no Chinese film has ever depicted, and draws the best interpretation of the character seen in any movie. Describing how they engage in the action through words is futile. It’s something you have to experience – and feel – for yourself because when such a set piece is over, you may think that cinema has evolved in a completely new direction than before.
Narratively, though, Demon Force doesn’t have the same emotional potency as the first installment. That may be because none of the storylines Wuershan expands in his middle chapter are resolved in any way, except for Deng Chenyu and Ji Fa’s relationship, which is arguably the best part of the movie. Representing a burgeoning love that grows far stronger as Xiqi becomes the target of a cataclysmic attack, Nashi portrays Chenyu with a stark emotional complexity that makes us feel for her plight as soon as the two characters lock arms up until its sobering conclusion.
When the climax is set in motion, our investment in other character arcs isn’t as substantial as when the focus is directly on Ji Fa and Deng Chenyu. However, their presence elevates some of the larger-than-life stakes developed through its IMAX photography and always ensures we’re on our toes as the story continues to over-complexify itself to set the stage for a truly memorable ending with its planned third installment.
What Wuershan has so far depicted on screen is so creative and of sincerity in its image and mythmaking that it becomes hard to resist its audaciousness, something that feels rare in the stale moviegoing era we currently live in. Demon Force gets even crazier when a caption tells us to remain seated during the end credits (thank you very much, honestly, I wish every movie would do this) for not one but THREE five-minute-long stingers to prepare us for the third installment. After what was shown, I will be there for Creation Under Heaven on day one – and that’s a guarantee.
Director:Drew Hancock Writers:Drew Hancock Stars: Sophie Thatcher, Jack Quaid, Lukas Gage
Synopsis:A billionaire’s death sets off a chain of events for Iris and her friends during a weekend trip to his lakeside estate.
The idea of women being objects of control in a misogynistic world has a long history in Hollywood. You may think of The Stepford Wives from back in 1975 (or God help you, the 2004 remake) and the more recent Don’t Worry Darling. But, of course, both of those films featured actual human women being changed by their devious husbands. With the advent of changing technology and the possibility of robotic romantic companions, things change at the movies, as well. As recently as 2014, we experienced a film that featured a human falling in love with an AI, in Ex Machina. That film was set apart from the real world to enable the one-on-one connection to build. But what about a robotic entity that was literally designed for pleasure and, well, companionship?
Thankfully, new trailers of Companion decided to ignore the mystery of whether or not Iris (Sophie Thatcher) was human or robotic. Honestly, because of the way Thatcher moves her body, it seems patently obvious that she is not human from the very first scene. That scene is a meet-cute with her and her partner, Josh (Jack Quaid). Via her own voiceover narration, she describes this as one of two moments where the veil lifts and things became clear. The other is, of course, when she kills him. This narration, from writer Drew Hancock, immediately sets the stage for the kind of film we are in for. Unsubtle, violent, and honestly, pretty fun!
As the film picks up after said meeting, Josh and Iris are headed to a lake getaway with some friends. All attending are partnered, but Iris is under the impression that the friends don’t like her. This is especially true of Kat (Megan Suri), whose boyfriend, Sergey (Rupert Friend, sporting a ridiculous Russian accent), owns the lake house. To round out the group, Eli (Harvey Guillén) and Patrick (Lukas Gage) also attend the vacation frivolities.
The first twenty minutes are interesting, but mostly unnecessary, as Hancock (also the director) attempts to keep up the ruse that Iris is just a normal girl on vacation with her nice guy boyfriend. If you weren’t aware simply due to the physical cues, Kat’s treatment of her makes it patently obvious. But luckily, Thatcher’s nearly perfect performance carries you through the awkward moments. Things eventually go awry, because of course they do, but thank goodness, because this is when Companion really takes off.
Every time the film teeters on the edge of being predictable and boring, Hancock throws in a neat little twist to keep the audience engaged. There are a few missed opportunities to make interesting statements about attraction, but the twists still work. Certain details about Iris, like her adjustable intelligence levels and vocal quality (both language and style) feature inspired technical aural and visual qualities that might sink a lesser actress. Luckily, Thatcher is always game for these moments, is never overshadowed, and provides a character worth rooting for at every turn.
There is, unsurprisingly, a needlessly complicated plot that, if there wasn’t a science fiction element to fall back on, could easily be annoying. Unfortunately, Hancock leans on this plot and the subsequent friendship-severing arguments too heavily. We are always left wondering, shouldn’t we be with Iris right now? Basically, any time that Thatcher is not on screen, the movie immediately slows to a crawl and focus is lost.
However, as the movie ramps up towards its climax, Companion is genuinely some of the most fun you can have at the movies. A badass heroine to root for, bloody violence, and punishment for the wicked. What’s not to like? I am not sure that it has a message of depth about misogyny, other than that it is terrible and deserves to be stomped out, although that may pass for a powerful message given our current political climate. But hey, sometimes a good time is more than enough and Companion certainly delivers exactly that.
This week on the InSession Film Podcast, Ryan McQuade comes back after a *wild* Oscars week with Karla Sofía Gascón completely self-destructing after a series of past tweets resurfaced. We talk about her reaction to it all and how it might affect the Oscars voting.
– Karla Sofía Gascón Controversy (10:51) After some opening banter, we begin the show by getting into the Karla Sofía Gascón controversy that dominated the discourse over the last week. From her past tweets, to her response to the outrage, to her doing interviews all on her own, there is a lot to get into with everything that happened over the last seven days.
– Karla Sofía Gascón Controversy Cont’d (52:04) After the break, we continue talking about the Gascón controversy, but pivot to the actual awards ceremony. How does this affect Emilia Pérez with the voters? Do people stay away from it altogether? Does The Academy invite Gascón to the ceremony? It’s setting up to be a very awkward ceremony if she does show up. Either way, this is likely going to be a memorable Oscars for years to come.
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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Synopsis:A woman swaps bodies with a chair, and everyone likes her better as a chair.
“You wouldn’t know to look at her,” an off-screen voice says at the beginning of Amanda Kramer’s By Design, “but Camille is a secure and satisfied person.” Ah, the one thing every person wants to hear. (Hey, you know that guy over there? He might look cripplingly self-conscious and depressed, but he’s not! Huh! Whaddayaknow?) But when you give Camille (Juliette Lewis) a long, probing look, this regrettable observation couldn’t be more spot on. The “you wouldn’t know to look at her” part, that is. Her brow is perpetually furrowed; she’s constantly opening her mouth, itching for the opportunity to speak, but too passive to fill the brief void of silence when it appears for fear of saying something unagreeable; her napkin sits idly by, waiting for tears to fall so that it can catch them. Call her a desperate empath or call her the worst possible brunch companion imaginable, but you’d be right to notice that she sure doesn’t look like a secure nor satisfied individual.
Perhaps that’s because Camille is not speaking for herself (the film’s inner voice belongs to Melanie Griffith’s narrator) at least not in the monologue that opens Kramer’s batshit performance art-coded dramedy, the sort of film that the Sundance Film Festival loves to screen and its viewers love to discuss, their varying opinions running wild. In other words, it’s a film written and directed by Amanda Kramer, an eccentric mind whose movies tend to be attention-worthy messes rather than the scintillating social dissections that they set out to be. And you know what? That’s far better than the many more aimless films released each year that believe their scope to be the universal purview. If you’re going to go big by going small and deranged, do it with reckless abandon.
Kramer might be the best filmmaker on the planet in that regard, but that doesn’t inherently mean that the films in question are successful. Watchable, discussable, and endlessly fascinating, yes, but not necessarily of the same quality as something by David Lynch or Bertrand Bonello – i.e., the sort of works so baffling yet rewarding that watching them again and again only reassures what feels like adoration and awe yet manifests itself in confusion and initial ire. By Design, like many of the great efforts of other singular minds, commits so hard to its premise that it falters in the execution that follows, that aforementioned commitment veering into territory that realizes far less than it believes it has in terms of commentary on/the examination of the human condition. But again, wouldn’t you rather be subject to that as opposed to the relentless peddling of an artist who believes their self-prescribed brilliance remains untouched?
Needless to say, your mileage will vary when it comes to how willing you are to give even a somewhat similar approach the time of day. Even more conflicting will be the premise itself: “A woman swaps bodies with a chair, and everyone likes her better as a chair.” Metaphorical? Of course not, for when Camille and her friends Irene (Robin Tunney) and Lisa (Samantha Mathis) move on from their parfait-laden lunch to a furniture store with a cluttered showroom that would send László Toth into a paralyzing panic attack, Kramer’s protagonist experiences a moment that we all long for, the one where we lock eyes with something that abruptly alters our brain chemistry and unlocks a part of ourselves that we weren’t aware existed, or at least weren’t willing to put on display. Normally, this “something” is a someone, perhaps an object of admiration or a potential romantic partner, with the universal behavior being that we take up a vested interest with them because they have or represent something we want. For Camille, it’s not a human being, but an expensive wooden chair that looks like it belongs in a university library. The only remarkable thing about it is how transfixed Camille’s companions are with it, a response that initially makes her desperate to own it, and later, once it’s sold to a different customer (Alisa Torres) hoping to soothe the ex-boyfriend she recently dumped (Mamadou Athie), to become it. (Cue the innumerable and insufferable references to The Substance; “Have you ever dreamt of a better version of yourself?”)
To its credit, By Design only gets weirder from there. It’s a body-swap movie, but not one that is as interested in what it means to inhabit something new as it is with what happens when you leave your old vessel behind. Lewis’ commitment to the bit is a delight, but it’s Athie who gets the real showcase as his character, a part-time piano player named Olivier, becomes just as infatuated with the chair as Camille was originally, if not more so. It might sound odd to note that the sensual intimacy between this chair and its newfound occupant is among the more clever gambits we’ve seen in recent memory, and perhaps that has more to do with how Athie moves his body and speaks to himself once he’s in the chair. “We’re just two seats, aren’t we?” he whispers into its… ear? The details don’t matter nearly as much as the connection itself. The same goes for why Camille’s mother (Betty Buckley) is so insistent upon forcing flamboyant pairs of shoes onto her lifeless daughter’s feet despite the lack of response, as well as for why Camille’s stalker, played with unwavering dedication by Clifton Collins Jr., elects to tap dance in front of her moments before disaster strikes.
It would be cheesy to say that Kramer crafted such a peculiar tale with intentions to offset an audience’s expectations by design, but there’s something to be said for drawing viewers in with a premise they simply have to see put in action. Who are we kidding: If you were attending a festival, or better yet, scrolling the web in an effort to find a movie to watch this evening, how could you not be the least bit curious by a logline that promises a woman growing so obsessed with a piece of furniture that she simply must become the seat itself? In fact, that By Design never really spreads its wings beyond the symbolic conclusions one is bound to draw from its description, and its tireless tone will cause wear and tear to one’s patience more than the chair every houseguest clamors to plop down in over the years. But as Griffith’s narrator notes early on, referencing a quote that hangs on Camille’s wall at home, “Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.” To respond negatively to Kramer’s ingenuity as a filmmaker, especially here, is to endure self-inflicted harm. Instead, why not try having a seat, watching By Design with mental abandon, and being thankful that you’re not viewed as the inanimate object with which everyone wants to plant their ass?
Director: Wes Craven Writers: Kevin Williamson, Ehren Kruger Stars: David Arquette, Neve Campbell, Courteney Cox
Synopsis: While Sidney and her friends visit the Hollywood set of Stab 3, the third film based on the Woodsboro murders, another Ghostface killer rises to terrorize them.
For a franchise with as much cult status, lore and overall obsession as Scream, the series’ third entry is astonishingly under-mentioned in relevant circles and conversations. What should have been the climactic end to an uber-popular horror trilogy went down for many as a confusing disappointment instead. And while it is confusing and, in some ways, a letdown, Scream 3 has only improved in the 25 years it’s had to age. Like a fine wine, Wes Craven’s second-to-last endeavor in the Scream saga is due more reverence than it often receives.
What doesn’t quite work about the film is obvious. The killer being Sydney’s half-brother Roman Bridger, who the audience hardly knows, is difficult enough to understand. But to take that underwhelming revelation and undergird it with the subsequent disclosure that he orchestrated the apparent crimes of previous killers, who fans are far more fond of, is asinine on the surface. It just doesn’t work in the franchise’s framework to that point.
Yet, there’s an earnest energy to this entry that, at least in my opinion, the film before it doesn’t share. Missing from Scream 2 was the unmuted desire to completely duck expectations and send watchers a right hook in return. Is it a good film? Sure, but it feels like something that was made in the shadow of the first one. Say what you want about 3, but if it has an identity in anything, it’s singularity.
Body doubles for multiple characters played for comedic relief? Check. A scare sequence in a rebuilt version of the first film’s final house set? Check. A random, action movie style house explosion at the midway point? Unbelievably, hilariously, check. Oh, and don’t forget the Carrie Fisher cameo.
Scream 3 has it all, whether you want it or not. It’s a cosmetic blast that Craven clearly had a ton of fun with behind the scenes. But what’s more, it features the framing of Hollywood as a malignant entity that preys on the very things that keep it running, which grows more relevant as the film continues to age.
“Play by the game, sleep to get the job.” Ironic, as the Weinsteins produced Scream 3, but even then the film’s constant insistence on tearing closed systems open and revealing what’s inside is a dashingly clever breakdown of the Hollywood system that works in a way only Wes could manage.
To that point, Bridger being a behind the scenes, relatively unknown piece of the puzzle, yet planning and executing the entire thing from the shadow of his superstar sister is sensible for the same reason. Even if the reveal still doesn’t land, the thematic explanation and background for it is among the most studied in the series.
If anything can be said about Wes Craven’s work, beyond his legendary ability to scare, it’s the intentionality in his storytelling. It seems to me that the message woven into 3 was a higher priority than it being a threequel and, at the time, franchise finale.
If Scream 4 hadn’t come out further down the line (and been as good as it was), perhaps this would be a very different conversation. But now that 3 doesn’t have to carry the weight of being the last one, it has access to the proper breathing room to expand into the space it was always meant to occupy: a fittingly awkward, disheveled slasher that punches up at the industry in which it exists.
A particularly beautiful thing about film as a medium is its ability to be multi-layered, and interpreted and seen in different ways. You can watch Scream 3 as an off-the-rails, highly entertaining sequel on one day, and then as a genuine, heart-on-the-sleeve critique of Hollywood on the next. It’s a film defined by this dichotomy and, in spite of some flaws, made brilliant by it as well.
If you haven’t watched Scream 3 in a while, or ever, now is the time to do it. 25 years removed from release, Craven’s decisive sequel is one that has finally started to explain itself and the decisions within it. Beneath the jagged, weathered rock exists an ore original to the Wes Craven experience; Scream 3 is pure cinematic gold.
Synopsis: Follows an aspiring actress working on a U.S. military base that simulates an Iraqi war zone.
If one were to write a book titled “How to Win the Sundance Dramatic Grand Jury Prize For Dummies,” chapter one would have to be called “The Easy Route.” It’s the path Robert Frost may not advise the ambitious to traverse, but its success rate speaks for itself. One could go for the emotional jugular, a la 2016’s Me and Earl and the Dying Girl, 2020’s Minari,or 2021’s eventual Best Picture-winning CODA; those willing to take a bigger leap could do the most, as they say, like Damien Chazelle with 2014’s Whiplash; or, you might prefer the controversial route, in the spirit of Nate Parker’s The Birth of a Nation, which placed a brutal rape scene at its core, an element that went on to spark debate after the director himself was accused of raping a college classmate in 1999. Of course, that news was reported long after the film premiered and was subsequently heralded out of Sundance, but it wasn’t just Parker’s crime that flooded it with detractors and, to use a more colloquial term, “haters” once it temporarily garnered awards buzz before petering out of the race entirely. That credit goes to the film itself for feeling like a desperate attempt for a young filmmaker to make a superhero film about the United States’ history of slavery, as well as a self-important work made by a man with a broad scope yet a limited grasp of the material itself.
Hailey Gates’ debut feature Atropia – the latest movie to take home the festival’s top prize – has about as little in common with The Birth of a Nation as Minari does with Blood Simple, the Coen Brothers’ film that took home Grand Jury honors in 1985. Yet it feels like the sort of film that paved its own path to early-year festival glory by way of its wit, its ideas, and its many, many cameos, too. The key word there, though, is “ideas,” as that’s what most of Atropia amounts to, a collection that fuels the under-developed nature of Gates’ satire without serving it at full capacity. Occasionally, that’s a fine state for a debut to operate in, but given the access that Gates – most recently seen in Challengers playing the only one of Patrick Zweig’s many Tinder dates that we get to see in person – has to a number of A-and-B-listers, the material needs to be stronger. Otherwise, we’re stuck staring at 102 minutes of window dressing; a handsome, hollow one at that.
Then again, that’s a fitting idea for a movie that is trying to be a cutting satire of our nation’s ridiculous military spending habits when it’s far more effective at being about the pains one will go to in order to break free of the obscurity that background players in Hollywood are often saddled with. In this case, the central extra is Fayruz (Alia Shawkat), a struggling actress whose willingness to take a job as a simulation participant at the titular military training base in post-9/11 Southern California. When she isn’t toggling back and forth between playing a street vendor and a mustard gas scientist – the latter being a more pivotal role in the Army’s production of “Kidnap the Person Who May or May Not Be Making the Bomb II” – she’s coaching her fellow end-credit dwellers to go the extra mile, despite the fact that most of them are perfectly content with garnering a quick pay day on the outskirts of Hollywood, regardless of these simulations running 24/7 in order to properly mimic war. The same sort of zany extroversion that made her too-brief role in Zoë Kravitz’s Blink Twice last year a disappointing loss in a bumbling thriller is front and center here, particularly when [redacted] shows up to join the action in preparation for their next real Hollywood production.
Fayruz knew that [redacted] was bound to show up on set eventually, as she’d heard rumblings of their appearance and prepared accordingly, asking for a bigger part of bringing a bit of unwelcome improvisation to her takes in the hopes of standing out. What she didn’t expect was the arrival of Abu Dice (Callum Turner), a handsome soldier tasked with playing an Atropian insurgent, though his presence feels blatantly designed to destabilize Fayruz’s otherwise eager beaver attitude to do anything for a better part. Their inevitable romantic liaison becomes the film’s primary focus, dragging down … That it was added to the story at Shawkat’s request is even more frustrating, given how excellent she is before, during, and after its introduction. It makes you wish that the film had committed harder to its satirical ambitions, affording her the opportunity to continue reveling in an individual showcase as opposed to being the vessel through which this toothless satire is delivered.
Simply put, Atropia is just a bit too obvious for its own good, naming its fake news channels “Box News” and “Al Jazzer,” done to provide the base with an authentic feel despite being narrative moves that feel lateral, if not throwaway, much like most of Gates’ script’s should’ve-been-funny lines. That aforementioned wit comes in fits and starts, primarily when Tim Heidecker and Chloë Sevigny show up for a combined 90 seconds of screen time to tell an amputee that they can’t cast her in this production due to the risk that she will be re-traumatized, the burden she’s carried since losing half of her right arm in Iraq representing a hurdle for their project that is best walked around as opposed to lept over. The same goes for its most satirical material, cutting observations like “Think of it as like a really expensive game of laser tag” and the very real fact that these military bases were built on the promise they represented to Hollywood, another attempted (and frequently successful) cash grab on the part of the Department of Defense.
But it bears reiterating that we knew that already, and it doesn’t seem that Gates necessarily cares to delve further beyond what is already understood as opposed to continuing to tread on sandy ground, not so much following in the footsteps of more pioneering works but taking the exact same steps that they paved before. It’s a crying shame that Gates never got to shoot the documentary she originally intended Atropia to be, due to the government’s restriction on access to the materials that film would have required, not just because it almost certainly would’ve been a better movie than this one, but because of how little interest in mining its own fictional revelations the one she did make actually is. Shawkat’s natural charisma and Turner’s blinding beauty aside, there’s nothing to gnaw on here that hasn’t already been sampled, chewed up, and spit back out for the dogs to snack on later. On paper, it might have looked like a howler. In practice, it’s a joke with a punchline that could have been delivered with brevity, and is instead drawn out over close to two hours. By the end, all we’re left to do is nod, acknowledge that we got the picture, and wish the film had realized it as soon as we did.
This week on Women InSession, we discuss the lovely Roger Moore and his take on James Bond throughout the 1970s! Say what you will about Moore and his take on the iconic character, but he was very aware of the kind of movie he was making and always made for a fun James Bond as a result. Certainly plenty to discuss with Bond in the 1970s.
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!
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