Director: Camille Griffin
Writer: Camille Griffin
Stars: Roman Griffin Davis, Keira Knightley, Matthew Goode, Lily-Rose Depp

Synopsis:  Family and friends gather at Christmas for the end of the world.

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Silent Night, the debut film from writer-director Camille Griffin, either has the world’s worst timing or the best. Written before the pandemic, it tells the story of a group of family and friends who get together for Christmas in the English countryside, as they always have, but the one difference this year is that they all know they are going to die before the night is out. An apocalyptic cloud of poison gas is moving across Britain, which kills every living thing that breathes it in a gruesome and painful way. Because of this, the government has provided a pill to every citizen to take that will allow them to die without pain, so everyone can take it when they are ready, to avoid a much more torturous end. So, no matter if it’s via the gas cloud or the pill, death is imminent and inevitable on this night.

Did I mention Silent Night is a comedy?

An end-of-the-world comedy is not a new concept, but there is something a little different about this one, and a little different about watching it now. While it is a dark comedy, Griffin chooses to stick with an ultra-realistic tone—no alien invasion or giant comet heading towards earth here. No, instead, the poisonous gas cloud is a result of humanity’s willful mishandling of the climate crisis. Secondly, the characters engage in a debate about the veracity of the pill that is provided by the government, and whether the scientists are right, whether they can be believed, etc. This might all be very funny ten years from now, but it just hits a little too close to a nerve right now. Which is probably exactly the point.

That is not to say what Griffin is trying to do is a total failure. She has cast an ensemble of actors, including Keira Knightley, Matthew Goode, and her son, Roman Griffin Davis, who are all capable of handling the various tones and genre that this film navigates. Davis in particular is exceptional as the moral conscience of the group, the world-wise kid who is concerned about all the people whom the government didn’t provide pills to. He is the only one who has not resigned himself to his own fate, and Davis’s acting skills, which we first saw on display in JoJo Rabbit, signal a long career ahead for this fourteen-year-old, who seems to be going on forty.

But the rest of the cast fumbles around a bit, each one falling into a clichéd stereotype, as Griffin’s script is a disappointing case of concept over content. The film is quite effective in its gradual dimming in tone, one that starts quite upbeat and trivial and ends in twisted darkness, but the only character with any texture is Davis’s, so the only emotional connection the audience has is with him. The film spends so much time and effort decoying the audience into believing the film is something else, by the time the audience has finally caught on to what’s happening, the opportunity for emotional investment is gone.

Silent Night would be much more effective if it had found a way to bridge its comedy and horror elements a bit better, but Griffin is unable to commit to either one, so the film flounders, weakly trying to hit a moving target, never able to find its voice.

If Griffin intended to make a film that forces the audience out of their comfort zone, she has succeeded. But Silent Night is a big ask for the casual movie-goer. It confronts head-on the most traumatic elements of current life on Earth with little sentimentality or emotion. It clearly is trying to make some sociopolitical statements, but the harrowing and pessimistic glee it seemingly has for its own fate is slightly off-putting. It is certainly one of the bravest films I’ve seen in a long time, but it also could be one of the most unwelcome, at least right now. During a time when there is so much uncertainty and so much death in the world, it doesn’t feel like an apocalyptic Love, Actually is what people are craving.

Still, like the incredibly annoying Christmas pop songs that are played at the beginning of the film which trick the audience into thinking they will be watching a typical Christmas movie filled with frivolity and family dysfunction, Silent Night just might stick with you, boring itself deeply into your brain, whether you like it or not.

Grade: C

Director: Maya Forbes and Wallace Wolodarsky
Writers: Maya Forbes, Wallace Wolodarsky, Thomas Bezucha, based on the novel by Ann Leary
Stars: Sigourney Weaver, Kevin Kline, Morena Baccarin, Rob Delaney

Synopsis: An alcoholic New England realtor tries to keep her life together while reuniting with an old flame.

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The last time we saw Sigourney Weaver and Kevin Kline together on screen was in 1997’s The Ice Storm, director Ang Lee’s dark look at white, middle-class, suburban families in New England and how unhappy and imperfect they are, underneath their perfectly carved exteriors. Now, twenty-four years later, the two film legends are reunited again, at long last, in another film about repressed white New Englanders, but while The Good House is not as dark or cynical—or as good—as The Ice Storm, it still has just as much to say.

Weaver stars in The Good House as Hildy Good, the star realtor in her small coastal Massachusetts town. Hildy is going through a rough patch professionally, as her former assistant is stealing clients from her and sales are starting to dry up. Personally, she has never really recovered from her divorce and her two adult daughters don’t have much time for her as they are caught up in their own lives. But she can never let anyone see that her life is anything less than perfect, so she continues to put up the stoic and solid front that she’s put up her whole life, fooling everyone into thinking her life is perfect. But what people don’t know is that the only way Hildy can actually get through each day is by drowning in bottles of wine. She is in total denial that she has a problem, even after her family does an intervention and she goes off to rehab. All rehab does is force her to hide her drinking better.

Meanwhile, Hildy gets reacquainted with an old flame, played by Kevin Kline, but just as her love life and her work life are both finally starting to look up, her alcoholism finds a way to bring it all crashing down around her.

Directed by husband-and-wife team Maya Forbes and Wallace Wolodarsky, who also wrote the screenplay with Thomas Bezucha, based on the novel by Ann Leary, The Good House is generally a formulaic melodrama that gives us easily recognizable characters and follows a predictable path. Forbes and Wolodarsky have been able to find some interesting ways to infuse energy into an otherwise quite paint-by-numbers screenplay though, by giving Hildy a voice, literally, in the telling of her own story. They break the fourth wall early and often, allowing Hildy to speak directly to the camera, to let the audience know exactly what she’s thinking at that moment. It is very effective, especially when the main character is someone who is so protected and keeps the world at such a safe distance from her truths.

There is a stereotype of the “tough New England stock,” the stoic, stiff upper lip that gets passed down from generation to generation, a tradition borne out of history and weather—if you had to survive Nor’easters year after year, you’d toughen up, too. Hildy is very much carved from this tradition, so much so that she is a direct descendant of an accused Salem witch, a fact that everyone in town has fun with at parties. But, for Hildy, her toughness, her stoicism, and her strength are not only her familial inheritance but her obligation. She ridicules her artist daughter who shows her emotions on her sleeve by calling her a drama queen. Revealing to the world what she’s really feeling or going through is just not in her DNA. Letting her drop her curtain and speak directly to the audience, either literally or via voiceover, is a clever and insightful way to let the audience in and is what gives The Good House its best moments.

Those best moments are wholly because of Sigourney Weaver, an actress who has always epitomized class and professionalism and has never really been given a chance to drop her sophisticated allure like she does here. Weaver’s skillful restraint and natural abilities are perfectly at play here, as she relaxes and reveals only when she is ready to, a performer always in control, playing a character who must always stay in control. But Weaver’s best moments are when she loosens the reins and when Hildy cracks that perfect sheen and loses control, either happily to the sweet release of inhibition that wine allows her, or regretfully to blackouts and the demon of alcoholism that she so desperately tries to deny.

While most actresses may have chosen to amp up the drama in the most melodramatic scenes, going over the top and leaning into Hildy’s unraveling, Weaver instead loosens the grip just the right amount, picking the perfect moments for expressed emotions to hit home the hardest.

Unfortunately, Weaver’s pitch-perfect performance is the only real thing The Good House has going for it. Her central performance is the film’s key feature, but the film that is built around her is pretty standard formulaic fare, although the filmmakers should be applauded for not making the small-town characters and their personal dramas overly Hallmark Channel-ready. Still, there are weird tonal shifts throughout that attempt to keep us engaged with the secondary characters and their stories, but it’s all quite generic and bland, until a dark twist at the end that comes out of nowhere makes things really creepy.

As for Kline, he’s not exactly wasted, but his character is definitely a means to an end, which is disappointing. That being said, it is nice to have the tables turned a little bit, to see the male supporting character take a true backseat to the female lead, and to have her be the one with the complicated inner life, turmoil, and angst. It’s about time someone treated Kevin Kline as the boy toy.

While it is great to see Kline and Weaver together again, it’s too bad The Good House is the weakest of their three collaborations. Still, this film gives a meaty, adult, and meaningful role to a legendary older actress, and we all understand how few and far between these parts are, so, for all its weaknesses and uninspiring elements, The Good House at least gives us a complicated, pained, three-dimensional woman, struggling to find herself and refusing to deny herself happiness. The vehicle may be less than desired, but that message is certainly one worth driving home.

Grade: B-

Director: Barry Levinson
Writers: Justine Juel Gillmer
Stars: Ben Foster, Billy Magnusson, Peter Sarsgaard, Vicky Krieps

Synopsis:  The true story of boxer Harry Haft, World War II concentration camp survivor.

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When someone hears that actor Ben Foster lost and then gained back 60 pounds to play a boxer in a biopic, it’s impossible to not think of Robert DeNiro and his Oscar-winning performance in Raging Bull forty-one years ago. But The Survivor, directed by Barry Levinson (Rain Man), in which Foster plays a Jewish man who survived Auschwitz by boxing other Jews, is a very different movie than Raging Bull, despite having a similarly transformative performance at its center.

The Survivor tells the true story of Harry Haft, a middling pro boxer in New York in the late ‘40s whose biggest claim to fame—and promotional draw—is that he survived Auschwitz. Nobody knows exactly how he survived because nobody has ever asked until a journalist, played by Peter Sarsgaard, shows up, looking to tell Haft’s story. Harry had been searching for any information about Leah, the girlfriend that he was separated from during the war, so he does the profile, hoping the publicity might reach her, if she’s still alive. But telling his story is not easy. As we learn from flashbacks, Harry was forced by a sadistic Nazi officer, played by Billy Magnusson, to fight other camp inmates to the death—most often other Jews—for the entertainment of the German officers. As long as Harry kept winning, he would live.

As soon as Harry’s story gets published, his local Jewish community views him as a traitor and shuns him, but Harry seems unaffected by the scorn, as his own guilt has already caused his own crippling inner shame. The only thing Harry really cares about is finding Leah and, when the article doesn’t work, he tries to think of something he can do for even more publicity, and that would be to fight the most famous boxer on the planet, Rocky Marciano. Even though he would be overmatched, his team is able to secure the bout, and the film then becomes a boxing movie, Rocky-esque training sequence included.

Levinson is a gifted, Oscar-winning director, but he allows The Survivor to tell far too broad of a story. The screenplay, by Justine Juel Gillmer, hits on a few too many beats, with far too discordant tones. Because of its wide scope of story and emotions it needs to cover, the film ends up being overly thin on content, choosing instead to skim through significant moments in Harry’s life, never delving too deeply into any emotional moments, making the film seem more like a highlight reel than a character study.

The most impactful moments of the film are the flashbacks to Auschwitz, which are shot in shadowy black-and-white (eerily reminiscent of Schindler’s List) and show a gaunt, near-death Harry living his nightmare, tortured by the decisions he makes, even though he really has no choice.

The Survivor tries to affect a conversation about the blurry line between complicity and survival, attempting to address the moral conundrum that many faced during the Holocaust—how far would you go to survive—but it is never really able to connect, as the film allows itself to get too distracted by other elements.

By far the biggest distraction of all is Foster himself. The monumentally impressive transformation that he makes in order to play this part is staggering, reminding one not just of DeNiro, but also of Christian Bale in The Fighter, Michael Fassbender in Hunger, and Matthew McConaughey in Dallas Buyers Club, all actors who committed to weight loss for roles so intensely, they were hardly recognizable and, in three of the four cases, were rewarded by the Academy for their dedication. Considering that Foster has been one of the most underrated actors in Hollywood for years, delivering great performances time and time again, most notably in 3:10 to Yuma, Hell or High Water and 2018’s Leave No Trace, which many believed should have been his first Oscar nomination, there’s no other actor more deserving of the opportunity. And there’s little chance that the Academy can overlook his performance here, as its degree of difficulty is high, as is the overall effort Foster puts into developing his character, from his accent to his gait, to specific mannerisms that all allow him to truly inhabit the role and deliver an impressive, hard to ignore performance.

But the problem with The Survivor, in the end, is that it is hard to see anything but the performance. Even though Foster is not as famous as those other actors and the average audience member might not be aware of how unrecognizable Foster is in the opening frame of the film, the staggering difference in the flashbacks is unmistakable, and it’s difficult for the audience to be focused on anything else. It’s too bad, because Foster does give the performance of his career, one that will undoubtedly be recognized by critics and his peers, deservedly so, but there is just not enough of a film around him to engage with it as a whole.

In the end, The Survivor falls into too many traps and tropes of the many genres it’s attempting to inhabit, from its standard biopic structure to its boxing movie ambitions to its Holocaust horrors, there is more effort put into taking the audience through moments in time, rather than allowing us to sit in any of them. It’s clear that Levinson wanted to make the most of Foster’s talents by letting him show a wide range of emotions and scenes—even showing Haft’s dry comic wit—but showcasing a performance can sometimes be to the detriment of the overall film, and The Survivor certainly suffers that fate.

But, even so, there is no denying this is a film worth seeing, for Foster’s performance is a staggering achievement. As for the rest of it, though, there’s not much you haven’t seen before, and, sadly, not much that will make much of an impression.

Grade: C+

Director: Maria Schrader
Writers: Maria Schrader, Jan Schomburg, Emma Braslavsky
Stars: Maren Eggert, Dan Evans

Synopsis: A scientist agrees to participate in an experiment by living for three weeks with a robot who is created to be her perfect romantic partner.

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We may not be around for it, but all signs point to a future where artificial intelligence will be able to fully replicate human thought and behavior. It’s only a matter of time. Robots are becoming more and more prevalent, and computers already are integrated into our lives (hi, Alexa), so it’s not such a large leap to someday have some sort of human-appearing replicant that is able to mimic or even replace us. Such a concept has been a plot device in Hollywood for decades already, with human-like robots who can act and think like us being the subject of drama in everything from Star Trek: The Next Generation and AI: Artificial Intelligence to Alien, Blade Runner, Westworld and Ex Machina, just to name a few. In most Hollywood portrayals of humanistic robots, there is something threatening just below the surface, or something goes horribly wrong and the evil androids must be destroyed. It is a natural human instinct to assume that human thought and behavior cannot be fully replicated in artificial intelligence and that only bad can come of it when we try.

Which is why the new film I’m Your Man, by writer-director Maria Schrader, is all the more fascinating. Set in modern-day Berlin (in German with English subtitles), I’m Your Man has renowned scientist Alma, played by Maren Eggert, agree to be an evaluator for a new science experiment her colleagues have developed. They have developed a human replicant—a robot who looks exactly like a human—who is programmed with one assignment, to make Alma happy. They ask her to live with the robot for three weeks to see how realistic and viable the robot actually is. It has been programmed with millions of bits of information, not only to teach it how to react and behave like a real person but to specifically be Alma’s perfect match. The researchers have mined information from Alma’s entire life, and have created what they believe Alma’s dream man would look and act like. A natural skeptic, Alma is hesitant to be a part of the program, but, being a scientist herself—and single—she agrees to take “Tom” for a three-week test run and provide feedback.

It feels we’ve seen this before, and we have, most recently in Spike Jonze’s Her, in which Joaquin Phoenix falls in love with his digital personal assistant, voiced by Scarlett Johansson, and in Blade Runner 2049, where Ryan Gosling (who’s also a replicant, ironically), falls for a hologram in the form of Ana de Armas. The difference here is that Schrader has upped the ante by making Tom (Dan Stevens) a real-looking, breathing, covered with real skin humanoid creature, who can actually pass for a real person. But the effect is still the same: Tom is programmed to make Alma happy, to be everything she wants in a man, to never upset her, and to fulfill her every fantasy. It also doesn’t hurt that Tom is beautiful.

But, for Alma, there’s something just not right. A scientist and a skeptic, Alma initially resists Tom’s charms, believing that mimicking speech and behavior is one thing, but artificially recreating a human’s capacity for thought, emotion and reason is impossible. And how can you have love without emotion? And with that, Schrader and her co-writer Jan Schomburg (based on a short story by Emma Braslavsky) set up a truly unique and intriguing romantic comedy that is both entertaining and thought-provoking.

The hardest thing to do while watching I’m Your Man is to let go of the natural human assumption that something bad is going to happen. I mean, how can living with a robot NOT go south? There has to be some point of failure, right? If not, then we are accepting the hypothesis that it IS possible to replicate humans and that, in the end, we are replaceable. And that is a dangerous thing to accept, both on a personal level and a global one. But I’m Your Man chooses to follow its own path, by confronting those inner humanistic tendencies head on, by having Alma be the voice of reason, and to give us a story about a woman who is conflicted between her head and her heart, her reason and her emotions, her humanity and her hope.

The philosophizing is significant in I’m Your Man, and truly meaningful, but Schrader is able to give us a lesson in ethical conundrums in the most enjoyable and entertaining way possible. It starts with two central performances that are complex, layered and deceptively funny. Eggert, who won the top acting prize for this performance at the Berlin Film Festival, is believable and endearing as a woman truly conflicted, resistant to give in to her emotional vulnerability, which she perceives as a weakness. And as for Stevens, the British actor who won the hearts of millions on Downton Abbey and won even more with his outrageously extravagant performance in Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga last year, it’s not enough that he shows off his fluency in German in I’m Your Man, but he plays robot Tom with the perfect combination of warmth and delicate diffidence, walking that ultra-fine line between being believable as both a human and a robot. It’s impossible to not fall in love with him, and that’s exactly the point.

While the premise is decidedly simple, I’m Your Man finds a real depth in its honest and thoughtful approach to a concept that has been approached many times in popular culture before, but never handled quite this sensitively, or this humanely—and without being overly sentimental. The humor in the script is perfect, the performances are delightful and moving, but, mostly, what makes I’m Your Man such a fulfilling experience is its decision to track its own course, tell its own story, and play to both the heart and the head in equal proportion.

Grade: A

Director: Terence Davies
Writer: Terence Davies
Stars: Jack Lowden, Peter Capaldi, Jeremy Irvine

Synopsis:  The true story of British poet, soldier, and conscientious objector Siegfried Sassoon.

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While World War II has received the lion’s share of Hollywood attention, more and more films are now telling stories from World War I, the conflict which engulfed the world from 1914 to 1918. The heroism and sacrifice from The Great War cannot be overstated and it’s good to see recent examples of filmmakers delving into this important period of history. Producer Peter Jackson’s documentary from 2018, They Shall Not Grow Old, featured never-before-seen footage from the trenches, and Sam Mendes’ 2019 Oscar-winning masterpiece, 1917, was dedicated to his grandfather, who enlisted as a 17-year-old and fought in the “war to end all wars.” And now, writer/director Terence Davies gives us Benediction, the stream-of-consciousness biography of famous English soldier/poet, Siegfried Sassoon, who was decorated for bravery while fighting on the Western Front, but later became an outspoken critic of the war, haunted by the devastation and death he witnessed first-hand.

Benediction is a beautifully-rendered, elegant, and very English journey through the life and mind of a conflicted and tortured man, played in youth by Jack Lowden, and in old age by Peter Capaldi. After getting injured early in the war, Sassoon swears he will never go back, even after he heals. He writes a scathing poem about the insanity of the war, hoping for it to be published, but friends in high places rescue him from a court martialing instead, pulling strings to get him sent to a psychiatric hospital. Never able to forgive himself for not standing up to those who protected him, Sassoon spends the rest of his life drowning in guilt, ashamed of not having done more to speak up or act out.

It is Sassoon’s passivity in his own life that is the central theme of Benediction, as life continues to be something that happens to him, not because of him. His trauma from his experiences in the war, along with his deeply mournful guilt over those close to him who were lost dominate every waking moment, as recurring nightmares and fraught daydreams often return him to the battlefield, graphically re-living the horrors. Davies shows little restraint in depicting the horrors of war, intercutting real footage from the war throughout the film, with graphic images of death bringing the audience directly into Sassoon’s nightmares.

But there is an elegance in Benediction as well, as Davies counteracts the brutality of war with beautiful, languid, and visually stunning shots, reflecting the inner conflict of Sassoon, an upper-class, well-connected, well-educated member of high society who is, in fact, still wallowing in the mud and blood of the trenches. The cinematography by Nicola Daley is gorgeous and effective, with tricks of the camera and imagery working well to keep the audience engaged with Sassoon’s inner turmoil.

The first third of the film is a raging anti-war manifesto, with Sassoon’s poetry serving as voiceover narration to the graphic images. While the images are disturbing, the words are transcendent, Sassoon’s powerful poetry deeply soulful in its imagery and achingly emotional in its depth. He is able to capture the horrors of war with a delicacy and trauma, a brutal beauty that weeps with knowing regret. Sassoon’s post-war experiences and poetic rebellion that opens the film is the strongest part of Benediction, with Lowden absolutely magnificent as Sassoon, determined and pained, aching for the strength to be able to do anything more than rage against he dying of the light.

But the film starts to lose steam once the films moves further away from the war and into the decadence of the 1920s, a decadence even more self-fulfilling in Sassoon’s world of high society, filled with artists, bohemians, and ladies of leisure. Sassoon has come to accept his homosexuality and ends up falling in love over and over again, always with someone who treats him badly, something he somehow feels he deserves—or at least doesn’t argue against. Once Sassoon loses a sense of who he is, so does the audience, his tragic romances further distancing us from the determined and courageous man we knew earlier. Even though it is guilt and shame that shape Sassoon in later years, the depiction of his mean-spirited lovers who spout nothing but pithy contempt for him feels lazy and disingenuous. The hard-heartedness is a bit over-the-top, especially as played by Jeremy Irvine, who portrays Sassoon’s most callous lover, the famous musician Ivor Novello, who is almost cartoonish in his bitchiness.

The film manages to emerge from the pointless dreariness of Sassoon’s gay shame spiral to the final section of the film, which features Capaldi as the older Sassoon, who is now angry, bitter, and resentful towards the world—but mostly towards himself. Having been constantly looking for answers in something or someone else, he contemplates converting to Catholicism to help find forgiveness, but he knows, deep down, that he will never be able to forgive himself for the fact that he believes he didn’t do enough against the war. It is a hard thing, to watch a man look back on his life with regret and pain, and Capaldi’s performance is raw and heartbreaking.

But it is Lowden’s performance and Davies’ screenplay that truly keep Benediction alive, even in its weaker moments. Lowden is engaging in every scene, able to keep Sassoon’s simmering rage and crippling sorrow always in the forefront, as Sassoon’s sadness is an ever-present cloud that colors every moment. Lowden is at his absolute best when he is speaking the words on the page, both from Davies’ script or straight from Sassoon’s real poems. The screenplay is magnificent, in spite of the nastiness of some of it, the dialogue is crisp and succinct, colorful and majestic. Not a word is wasted or unnecessary.

While Benediction does lose its way in the middle and is too long, the screenplay and performances honor the intended themes and purpose of the filmmakers and do right by the memory of those who perished in World War I, while bringing to light the work of a poet whose perceived failures belie his genuine successes.

Grade: B-

Directors: Scott McGehee, David Siegel.
Writers: Scott McGehee, David Siegel.
Stars: Haley Lu Richardson, Owen Teague, Kimberly Guerrero, Gilbert Owuor, Asivak Koostachin, Eugene Brave Rock.

Synopsis: Two siblings returning to the family ranch to care for their ailing father must confront painful truths.

Scott McGehee and David Siegel took advantage of the forced isolation brought by COVID-19 to go to Montana and create one of the warmest films of the year, marked by its simplicity and heartfelt message. Montana Story presents the story of two siblings that come together after a tragedy separated them years before. While the reunion happens because of the approaching death of their father, the truth is that this unfortunate event is just the excuse for them to come together and face the real event that marked them somewhere in the past.

As presented by the directing / writing duo of McGehee and Siegel, Montana Story is a tale of love between brother and sister. This is the kind of love that we saw in French Exit (Azazel Jacobs, 2020), where mother and son, Frances (Michelle Pfeiffer) and Malcolm (Lucas Hedges), shared a bond so profound that it propelled the story. While in the 2020 film the relationship between these characters never faltered, in Montana Story the attachment between Erin (Haley Lu Richardson) and her little brother Cal (Owen Teague) has been fatally bruised by resentment and regret.

The movie starts with Cal coming back to his family ranch as his father is in his final days. As soon as he arrives, we can see how kind he is. He is soft-spoken, awkward as he tries to create a rapport with Ace (Gilbert Owuor), the Kenyan nurse tending to his father, and at ease with Valentina (Kimberly Guerrero), the long-time family employee. As it becomes clear that the father won’t wake up from his coma, Cal starts making arrangements for the fate of the ranch, the accumulated debts, and the few animals left.

Cal’s tenderness and softness contrast with Erin’s intensity and hyperactivity, who arrives unexpectedly. As we soon learn, Erin ran away one night seven years before, leaving no trace of her whereabouts and breaking the special bond that she shared with Cal. Quick conclusions are crumbled as the script explores the power dynamics between the two. She is decisive and curt; he is dutiful and gentle.

This reunion will work as a previously resisted exploration of the reasons for her disappearance as well as a long-needed process of healing. While she carries a heavy burden of resentment and hatred, Cal needs to deal with his own doses of regret.

Surrounded by the vast and impressive scenery of the North-western part of the United States, this Neo-Western embraces the exploration of childhood trauma, toxic masculinity, and family bonds. In this regard, Montana Story is a worthy companion to the tenderness of First Cow (Kelly Reichardt, 2020), the coming-of-age story of Lean on Pete (Andrew Haigh, 2017), and the resilience of The Rider (Chloé Zhao, 2017).

With a drama that is dependent of a story that doesn’t happen on screen, McGehee and Siegel find creative ways to bring the audience up to date with conversations between Cal and Ace. Cal, a sensitive young man that is aware of his past mistakes, is a transparent person that shares his private stories to bond with Ace. This recourse, unexpected but welcomed, offers a glimpse into the past of the family and Cal’s personality. Instead, Erin is guarded and annoyed at her brother’s openness.

Ace’s role is vital in the story as a window of healing, not for the father but for his children, with an empathetic and patient hand offered to both Cal and Erin. In this intimate film, every character has something valuable to give and to receive in return.

The heart and soul of the film are the young stars, Haley Lu Richardson, and Owen Teague. Richardson, who has created an exciting career with films such as Unpregnant (Rachel Lee Goldenberg, 2020), Support the Girls (Andrew Bujalski, 2018), and The Edge of Seventeen (Kelly Fremon Craig, 2016), is a tour de force as Erin, bringing to life the intensity and sensibility that amazed everyone in Columbus (Kogonada, 2017). Her ability to offer heartfelt monologues and brusque answers create a troubled and deeply hurt character that is still sensible enough to embrace forgiveness and compassion (with those who are worthy of it).

Considering that Richardson is now a veteran in the indie scene, Teague is the real revelation. Sweet, quiet, and noble, his character has bottled up regret and sadness in a way that make him sensible and empathetic, and not toxic or violent (as his father was). He is instantly liked, the opposite of what happens with Erin. These first impressions are vital for the evolution of the film, with McGehee and Siegel surprising the audience with profound and unexpected character evolutions.

Montana Story is a delicate story about the family bonds that are lost by betrayals, but that, somehow, are still strong even after years of silent resentments. In a matter of days, Erin and Cal go through a transformation when forced to confront their past and the repercussions of their actions. While there are intense feelings bottled up in both characters, Richardson and Teague present cathartic interpretations where the path to healing is finally discerned.

Grade: A-

Director: Michael Pearce.
Writers: Joe Barton, Michael Pearce.
Stars: Riz Ahmed, Octavia Spencer, Aditya Geddada, Lucian-River Chauhan.

Synopsis: A decorated Marine goes on a rescue mission to save his two young sons from an inhuman threat.

Riz Ahmed doesn’t seem to stop. After having an outstanding 2020 that included an Oscar nomination for his role in Sound of Metal, and multiple BIFAs for Mogul Mowgli and The Long Goodbye, Ahmed is back in the festival circuit with Encounter, a sci-fi film that distinguishes itself for its clever story and the family drama at its core.

Co-written and directed by Michael Pearce, who turned heads in 2017 with the psychological thriller Beast, Encounter maintains the sense of discomfort and suspicion that made of his directorial debut such a success (launching Jessie Buckley’s career and offering a new facet of the always affable Johnny Flynn). As with his previous film, nothing is what it seems, maintaining the audience at the edge of the seat with constant revelations that feel equally unexpected as shocking.

In the Encounter’s scenario, the Earth has been invaded by microscopic organisms that latch onto humans, making them violent and irrational, and provoking utter chaos as the infected start flooding the streets. Malik Khan (Ahmed) is a former Marine that has the mission of retrieving his two sons – Bobby (Aditya Geddada) and Jay (Lucian-River Chauhan) – to take them to a safe haven somewhere in the United States. Prepared, lethal, and determined, Malik sets out on his quest.

While the details of the world invasion are left unexplored, Pearce uses impressive visuals to illustrate the bug threat. With detailed and colorful animations, he explains the way the insects invade the cells. He creates pandemonium through the incentive to use one’s imagination. His sci-fi film flirts with horror as he uses the current feeling of uneasiness in the real world to create more panic. The fact that the havoc is created by organisms that can be found anywhere and everywhere, adds a new layer of alert.

The tension is compacted and intimate, with Malik being the only one that reacts to the pressure of the alien invasion. This narrow point of view only intensifies the tension with sudden camera movements and an outstanding sound design. Just as with the previously mentioned Sound of Metal and this year’s The Killing of Two Lovers, the sound is an essential element of the film and the secret weapon that makes it work so well. Pearce uses everything at his reach to create fear and uncertainty while maintaining the film grounded in constant thematic evolutions.

While the first half of the story has the stress and urgency of films such as War of the Worlds (Steven Spielberg, 2005) or A Quiet Place (2018), the second half slowly evolves into a road-trip film where the threats become more tangible and immediate. The small family starts facing people that become obstacles: a police officer that stops them in the middle of the road, a man that shoots Malik when he is looking for help or white supremacists that go after them. The alien bugs become secondary and now Malik must face human terrors as he tries to maintain Bobby and Jay in safety. They can never catch a break.

While it’s best to maintain the surprises unexplored for an enriching viewing experience, it is safe to say that Pearce maintains the themes of survival, mental health, and family bonds at the heart of the story. The sources of tension change, but the anticipation and stress never go away.

The complicated changes in narration are successfully portrayed by the impressive cast, probably the greatest aspect of the film. Ahmed keeps reminding us that he is one of the best actors working today, offering a tumultuous performance that demands outbursts of emotions. He is sometimes vulnerable, and others toxic, violent and tender, dangerous and protective. Malik is filled with contrasts, and Ahmed portrays every change passionately and accurately.

Aditya Geddada and Lucian-River Chauhan are a delight as Malik’s children. Exhibiting an inherent violence with one another, the relationship amongst themselves and the feelings towards their father change as the story progresses. Scared, spoiled, and sweet, these boys are excellent counterparts to Ahmed’s tortuous interpretation. Chauhan deserves a special mention as the oldest boy that distinguishes what is going on and who tries to become the protector of his father.

Encounter is an exciting and adrenaline-filled film that is uplifted by the performances of the core cast. Pearce, with a fantastical use of sound and image, creates a thriller that is impactful for the way it manages tension and for the skilled way in which it manipulates expectations. Even if the threats are always changing, fear and anxiousness are always present. Encounter offers urgent social messages disguised as adventure and science fiction.

Grade: B+

Director: Ryusuke Hamaguchi.
Writer: Ryusuke Hamaguchi, Takamasa Oe
Stars: Hidetoshi Nishijima, Toko Miura, Masaki Okada, Reika Kirishima, Park Yurim, Jin Daeyeon.

Synopsis: Nishijima Hidetoshi is a stage actor and director happily married to his playwright wife. Then one day she is suddenly gone.

As a naked woman recites a story to his naked lover, Ryusuke Hamaguchi starts Drive My Car, an erotic and mysterious story of life and death, and of letting go and finding the courage to move on. Yusuke Kafuku (Hidetoshi Nishijima) and Oto (Reika Kirishima) maintain a peaceful marriage. He is a theatre actor, and she is a TV writer. They have a bond that is reinforced by a profound love and a creative collaboration that allows them to thrive in their respective careers.

One day, Oto unexpectedly dies, leaving Yusuke in emotional shambles. Two years later (bold of the director to introduce the opening credits 40 minutes after the start of the film), Yusuke accepts an offer to direct a play in Hiroshima, arriving in his red Saab 900. Having to comply with the rules of the place, Yusuke will need the young chauffeur Misaki Watari (Toko Miura) to drive him around the city, as Yusuke recites aloud the lines of the play that he is mounting.

Soon enough, this minuscule and cherished car will witness profound conversations, soul-assuring trips, and confessions that will change Misaki and Yusuke’s relationship. This simple premise is more than enough for the development of a story marked by its melancholy. There is nothing loud or ground-breaking happening on screen, instead – through conversations and small offerings – the director strips down Yusuke and Misaki of the emotional baggage that they are carrying.

What starts as a nostalgic drama characterized by delicate interactions between husband and wife, outbursts of creativity as Yusuke and Oto are intimate, and barriers between the married couple that are never brought down, but slowly evolve into an even more forlorn story. After his wife’s death, Yusuke leads a lonely life, marked by his dryness and uninterest to socialise with others. Nevertheless, Misaki turns out to be somehow his perfect companion: quiet, taciturn, and an excellent driver, they silently lean on each other as they start talking about their past.

Surrounded by a group of actors that are vying for a role in the play of the revered actor/director, Yusuke will have to face secrets of his dead wife that were left untouched and interrupted with her sudden death. Kôji Takatsuki (Masaki Okada) is a young actor, and Oto’s former lover, who comes to Hiroshima with the hopes of getting closer to Yusuke. Always an enigma with calm expressions, Yusuke starts his path to recovery as soon as he acknowledges the reality of his marriage and the mystery that Oto was.

Hamaguchi’s script – adapted from Haruki Murakami’s short story of the same name – is filled with understanding and empathy, respecting the otherness of the characters and their own struggles. As presented by the cast, the dialogues are sentimental lessons and insights into their feelings and regrets.

While the script is filled with meaning and teachings, the scenery injects more melancholy to the story. The recurring rain appears in the saddest moments of the film, while the clean and peaceful environment of Hiroshima reflects the private path walked by both Yusuke and Misaki.

The dialogues of Anton Checkhov’s Uncle Vanya are always present as Yusuke practices them in the car. The play itself becomes a valuable interpretation of the story and Yusuke’s journey. In this regard, Drive My Car is also a moving representation of the power of the arts and storytelling as tools of healing.

Drive My Car is a delicate and transcendental experience grounded on the acceptance of death and the period of mourning on those left behind. Yusuke goes through a painful journey as he realizes that he didn’t really understand his wife. As the film ends after three hours of duration (that go by as delicately as the story), the feelings of anguish start to dissipate as a new hope appears for the actor and his driver.

Grade: A