Director: Gints Zilbalodis
Writers: Gints Zilbalodis, Matīss Kaž

Synopsis: Cat is a solitary animal, but as its home is devastated by a great flood, he finds refuge on a boat populated by various species, and will have to team up with them despite their differences.

Throughout my writings on cinema, I’ve always said that images are far more important than dialogue. Usually, when people remember a powerful line of dialogue spoken by an actor, it’s always accompanied by a strong image. It’s what supports it. Not how the actor delivers the line, but the image. And I’m not the only one who seems to think this. Director Denis Villeneuve controversially said the same earlier this year, stating, “Frankly, I hate dialogue. Dialogue is for theatre and television. I don’t remember movies because of a good line, I remember movies because of a strong image. I’m not interested in dialogue at all. Pure image and sound, that is the power of cinema, but it is something not obvious when you watch movies today. Movies have been corrupted by television.”

He’s right, by the way. Image and sound-making are sparse in the televised-driven cinema we currently have, and it’s a rare feat when a filmmaker releases a movie solely driven on its visual/aural storytelling. John Woo did so with his incredible Silent Night last year, and now we have Gints Zilbalodis giving us an animated visual story with Flow (Straume). Told without dialogue and entirely reliant on its images, the story is one of great importance. It raises awareness of the climate cataclysm coming our way if none of us change course. Sadly, with the election of climate-denying politicians, it seems that we’re very well on this way!

It also doesn’t patronize, but shows how bad it will get not only for humans, who seemingly don’t exist in the world Gilbalodis paints, but for nature’s balance. It puts a black cat in the middle of a disastrous flood that wipes out most of the environment he lives in, forcing him to team up with many animals, including dogs, lemurs, capybaras, and eventually secretarybirds. What’s most compelling about Zilbalodis’ film in its first half is how it introduces a clear rivalry between animals – dogs and cats being the most classic of all. In fact, Zilbalodis introduces them fighting over a fish until the flood occurs, leading to them putting their differences aside. 

The way communication is captured between the animals is also impressive. Zilbalodis never judges the characters he depicts within his entirely virtual world, but empathizes with them as they are forced to work together in the hopes of finding another place to live that isn’t submerged by water. But everywhere they go, waters have risen to unlivable heights. This is all deftly shown through its striking visuals, rendered on the free (and fun) software Blender. 

If you’ve ever worked on such a platform, you’d think that Zilbalodis used something else to give this film its look. But he didn’t. As a technical achievement alone, Flow showcases the bountiful opportunities free software like Blender can bring if we dream big enough. Zilbalodis has undoubtedly pushed the boundaries for what’s possible to capture, animate, and render in such a platform, and he deserves all the commendations he’s been getting in that regard. 

And yet, there’s something so plastic about Flow that one can’t help but feel distanced from everything occurring on screen, even if it is consistently visually arresting, contains soothing music, and its sound design envelops us in its wholly imaginative world. As much as I was always compelled to see what would happen next and would gasp in horror every time the film’s cat would go into the water (because he can’t swim!), I also felt that its structural approach seemed more like an elongated quick-time event cutscene than an actual visual story. 

I was waiting for button icons to appear on screen every time Zilbalodis would wait for a few milliseconds before a character completed an action, almost as if a Flow video game was in the works. Usually, I try not to compare apples to oranges. Still, it isn’t hard to make that contrast when Zilbalodis renders his entire movie on a software also used for game development. This, unfortunately, makes Flow feel a tad emotionless. The animals do have differences in how they speak to each other, which makes this wholly imaginative world lived-in and authentic, but they feel more like commands than characters imbued by true feeling, as illustrated in Chris Sanders’ wonderful The Wild Robot. 

The world of that movie was all synthetic, but we’re eventually bought into its impeccably crafted, lustful animation by a camera that’s always in proximity to the animals (and robot) it humanizes. While the animals in Flow certainly have some qualities that distinguish them from each other, they don’t feel fully realized. Sure, some impressively jaw-dropping sequences make us care about the group, but I’d be lying if I said my investment in the proceedings was at a maximum. I always felt emotionally distant from what was on screen, even if Zilbalodis drew a decent enough technical exercise. 

But the technical exercise isn’t enough for me to give the movie the flowers most gave it. Of course, it is a reminder that images trump dialogue all day, every day. But the images must be filled with immense emotion for our senses to be so overwhelmed by what we’re watching that we always look at things to draw from the frames. Unfortunately for Zilbalodis, this is never the case with Flow, as breezy and crowd-pleasing a watch as it is. It may go all the way at this year’s Oscars, which honestly wouldn’t be a terrible choice, even if an animated movie like SPY x FAMILY: Code – White deserves far more attention – and accolades – than it had upon its release.

Grade: C+

Director: Mike Cheslik
Writers: Mike Cheslik, Ryland Brickson Cole Tews
Stars: Ryland Brickson Cole Tews, Olivia Graves, Doug Mancheski

Synopsis: In this 19th century, supernatural winter epic, a drunken applejack salesman must go from zero to hero and become North America’s greatest fur trapper by defeating hundreds of beavers.

When you watch a lot of movies, like literally thousands of movies, you sometimes feel like you have seen it all. You’ve heard this before. There are only seven types of stories. This is derivative of that. Show, don’t tell. Style over substance. Pick your cliché. It’s not that these things cannot be true, it is that they can be severely limiting and box us in as viewers. But every great once in a while, something wholly original comes along to shake things up. And this year, that experience has arrived. I promise you that you have never seen anything like Hundreds of Beavers, and god bless it for being completely itself.

With a title like that, you might assume that Hundreds of Beavers is infantile, silly nonsense. You would be both wrong and right. After all, this is a movie featuring people in beaver costumes, sometimes attacking humans and sometimes chewing through wood, like you do. But, this should not be a movie that you dismiss out of hand. The plot follows Jean Kayak (Ryland Brickson Cole Tews), who is a successful applejack (an alcoholic beverage made from apples) salesman, whose orchard is destroyed by a rogue beaver chewing through the legs a giant keg.  That keg goes rolling down the hill, demolishing everything in its path. All of this occurs before the opening credits and sets the stage for the type of movie it is perfectly. There is basically no dialogue, everything feels handcrafted, and the focus is on humor, with touches of drama. Think 1920s-1930s silent, slapstick comedy with a relatively modern sensibility.

There is no way this should work. You might think that the schtick would wear thin, but director Mike Cheslik has a firm grasp on exactly how long each bit should last, aided by a lovely screenplay, from Cheslik and Brickson Cole Tews. As the story continues, Jean Kayak reawakens in the winter, without a penny to his name. He attempts to hunt for food, repeatedly failing in increasingly spectacular ways. Eventually, he injures himself and is taken in by trappers, who teach him their trade. After the trappers perish in a both funny and haunting sequence, Kayak starts his own path using his learned trade and this is where the film could have gone horribly awry.

As he has finally learned to trap some animals, he travels to a merchant to sell. There, he meets the merchant’s daughter (Olivia Graves). Despite the lack of dialogue, there is an immediate romantic connection and both actors should be commended on their performances. Sadly, her father demands, you guessed it, hundreds of beaver pelts as a sort of dowry for his blessing on their union. The scenes in which she teaches Jean how to remove the fur and innards of the animals is oddly romantic. There is no gore here, this is all managed in slapstick style and is completely endearing. But honestly, this relationship carries the film.

There are, of course, many more joys in Hundreds of Beavers yet to come. A duo of beavers investigating Jean’s traps, repeated failures from Jean leading to enormous success, dozens of beavers combining into an almost Voltron like figure to chase down the humans, the list goes on and on. There is never a dull moment here, but it is not just madcap hilarity. Don’t get me wrong, it has many belly clutching moments of humor, but the humanity is what carries it through.  Somehow, some way, I found myself actively rooting for Jean and his lady love, and by the time the film comes to fruition, I challenge you not to leave with a gigantic smile on your face. 

Hundreds of Beavers is an absolute gem and we are lucky to experience it. In terms of creation, it is also an honest-to-god inspiration. The idea for this film began in 2018 and was created almost solely by Cheslik and Brickson Cole Tews. The process was lengthy, and they even chose to distribute the film themselves. And, from this reviewer’s perspective, it was all worth it. Against all possible odds, the tandem created a funny, touching, romantic, action-packed, original film. Hundreds of Beavers could not be more worth your time.

Grade: A-

Director: Kathryn Ferguson
Writers: Eleanor Emptage, Kathryn Ferguson
Stars: Lauren Bacall, Ingrid Bergman, Humphrey Bogart

Synopsis: Explores the iconic actor’s journey to stardom through his relationships with his mother and four wives, including Lauren Bacall, using rare footage and his own narration to offer an intimate portrait of a deserving star.

“Funny, I considered myself never particularly well-liked. I really never knew before how many friends I did have.” For the first time, a full-length feature documentary about legendary actor Humphrey Bogart was made with the support of his estate, led by his surviving son, Stephen Bogart. Being protective of his parents – including his mother Lauren Bacall – Stephen most likely had full control of how director Kathryn Ferguson put together this montage of Hollywood history. However, being a sucker for something of Hollywood’s Golden Age made it easy for me to give it a fair shot.  

The documentary follows Bogart’s life, starting from when he was born to wealthy parents in New York City. His father was a doctor with a very successful practice, while his mother, Maud Humphrey, was a famous illustrator. Maud used baby Humphrey for her illustrations in ads in newspapers and magazines all over the country. However, the lack of affection for him plays a role in his social development and he rebels against his parent’s expectations in school, so Humphrey joins the Navy. By the time he gets out of there, Bogart takes an interest in being an actor and starts to work on Broadway, first as a stagehand, then gets his shot at acting. He would marry his first wife, Helen Menken, a successful actress on stage, but it didn’t last because her career came first. It’s a theme that would affect Bogart in the next two marriages he would go through. “If you’re not married or in love,” Bogart says, “then you’re on the loose. And that’s not comfortable.”

Due to the Depression, Bogart went westward to Hollywood like other stage actors and got his first studio contract with Fox Studios. Some of those first films tell how young Bogart was at the time being in his early ‘30s. Warner Brothers then signed him and Bogart’s standout performance in The Petrified Forest opposite Leslie Howard confirms his stay in California. His third wife, Mayo Methot, was an established actress whose career began to decline when the Hays Code began, but still helped Bogart’s career. It was a fiery marriage, called “the Battling Bogarts,” by the press, with pervasive arguments, a shooting, and Bogart being stabbed. All of this before he met Lauren Bacall on the set of To Have and Have Not. Bogart’s stardom only came to fruition with John Huston directing The Maltese Falcon, the start of film noir. Soon afterward, Casablanca.

The entire film is a mix of archive footage, home movies from the Bogart estate, and clips of movies he was in. Voiceover of his words is being read out by a soundalike (Kerry Shade) and accompanied by audio interviews with those who knew Bogart, including Huston, Bacall, Bogart biographer Eric Lax, and Howard Hawks, among others. Bogart’s love for smoking and drinking is highlighted; he died of esophageal cancer in 1957 with footage of his funeral played at both the start and the end of the documentary. In between, Bogart’s words reveal his opposition to censorship and resented the intrusion of one’s personal views, as well as his dislike for the new method of acting of actors like Marlon Brando. “These actor studio types, they mumble their lines…This scratch-your-ass mumble school of acting doesn’t please me.”  

Bogart: Life Comes In Flashes doesn’t give enough to go deep into the rest of his career, but gives enough to satisfy the casual Hollywood fan. Bogart is part of the high standard of stardom and hearing his thoughts being said, even from a voice actor, is different. It would have been better to go into depth with his major films. This isn’t a docuseries, but a 1-hour-and-38-minute movie that brisks through each moment key to his life like flashes, as the title says. 

Follow me on BluSky: @briansusbielles.bsky.social

Grade: B-

Directors: Scott Beck, Bryan Woods
Writers: Scott Beck, Bryan Woods
Stars: Hugh Grant, Sophie Thatcher, Chloe East

Synopsis: Two religious women are drawn into a game of cat-and-mouse in the house of a strange man

Finally, a mainstream movie about religion that dares challenge viewers on their preconceived beliefs, religious or otherwise. In Heretic, writing/directing duo Scott Beck and Bryan Woods use Mormonism as a framing device to criticize not only religion but how we have deluded ourselves that ‘believing’ in a figure designed to control every aspect of our lives will reward us in any way. I say this as someone who is a confirmed catholic (this was accomplished after following a three-year program at the Church) who progressively rejected religion when beginning to study how spirituality is frequently misinterpreted for personal and monetary gain. One could say I’m a lapsed catholic. However, truth be told, I remain fascinated by the relationship religion has in art and cinema as an experience of pure enlightenment when directors imbue their films with spiritual imagery as signifiers or embellish a miraculous moment on screen. 

Oscar-hopeful Conclave looks to be the religious film of the year. However, it does absolutely nothing in exploring why religion, and in this case, Catholicism, corrupts the soul when scripture is perverted for one person to be fully rewarded by controlling others in making them ‘believe’ in things that don’t exist. Director Edward Berger takes a rather incurious stance on electing a new Pope and the conspiracies that arise when Cardinal Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes) begins to be far more involved than he should, ultimately sinking what could’ve been an incredible film. Add a baffling, soap opera-lite final twist in the movie, and you’ve got a movie that people who have never stepped foot in a Church will laud, while others more critical of the religion and have experienced time inside will have a disparate opinion on. 

With Heretic, Beck and Woods see the traps Edward Berger deliberately fell into with Conclave and transcend their religious discussion into a confrontation on society’s position on Earth and their innate beliefs of their place in this world. It’s in that vein where we discover Sisters Barnes (Sophie Thatcher) and Paxton (Chloe East), Mormon missionaries of the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-day Saints on their way to convert Mr. Reed (Hugh Grant) to their religion. Immediately, one knows Mr. Reed isn’t to be trusted – his house door has a timed lock, and his wife is noticeably absent even if the missionaries have rules to follow for the conversion to be enacted. Even worse, the host has made several uncomfortable comments that challenged them on the nature of belief and Mormon faith.

One such comment occurs at the top of the movie, where Mr. Reed discusses polygamy, which was practiced by leaders of LDS in the 1800s as, according to one of its fundamentalist leaders, Joseph W. Musser in Celestial or Plural Marriage, “a proper marriage system” that “leads towards God’s plan and disavows that of Satan.” This belief is still perpetuated – and practiced – today by many adherents of the Mormon faith. 

The details of Reed’s explanations are accurately illustrated, showcasing the fundamentally broken belief in which religion is based on: control. You can ‘believe’ all you want, but when a ‘prophet’ of God tells you to do something, you must obey His commands. If someone like Musser states (and by deliberately misinterpreting spiritual texts) that polygamy is supported, then adherents of the faith must follow suit and control the lives of themselves and others through this practice that the Bible itself has properly condemned. This isn’t belief, and it’s what Reed attempts to expose to the two followers of Jesus Christ who blindly follow the teachings of their leader without question. He does it sickeningly, sure, but they will likely have a far different perception of what religion does to people when they are done interacting with Mr. Reed. 

Deliberately paced, Beck and Woods spend the first half of Heretic assuredly building tension through a three-handed conversation between Mr. Reed and the two missionaries. What’s most impressive about these scenes isn’t necessarily Grant’s incredibly chilling turn as a man who wants to ‘test’ ideals of belief or Grant and East’s palpable chemistry as two innocent devotees wrestling with what their ‘belief’ means but in Chung-hoon Chung’s indelible photography.

Known for his collaborations with Park Chan-wook, Chung’s juice has unfortunately lost itself in making a sea of corporate gunk for a cheap buck (i.e., the supremely ugly-looking Obi-Wan Kenobi, Uncharted, and, most recently, Wonka, among others). But in Heretic, he’s in complete control of how his camera guides the story and characters and reveals crucial parts of the frame that immediately posit a different atmosphere than the conversations were leading into. It begins with symmetrical images worthy of his contributions to Park Chan-wook (think specifically of The Handmaiden) until it gets more elaborate.

One such instance occurs when Sister Barnes learns that the ‘blueberry pie’ Reed’s wife is cooking is actually just a scented candle. The camera swifts around the candle, never revealing what it says as Barnes turns the label to her face until it cuts to an extreme close-up of her reacting to what she’s now learned. Such an approach maximizes dread and pulls us further into the drama that, sadly, becomes less theological as it goes along. However, Chung always remains in control of its visual style, giving us enough to sustain our excitement, but never the complete picture until it is shockingly revealed.

It’s in that section, though, that Heretic began to lose me. The otherwise compelling conversation on what religion is and why the people who support it don’t realize what they’re enabling gets diluted in favor of cheap thrills that, while compellingly shot, aren’t as horrifying as the directors think they are. It’s one of those “bold swings” that, on paper, sounds tantalizing but is far more confounding than its initial proposition set up the movie. It does have its fair share of unexpected moments, especially in its conclusion, but it doesn’t delve deep into its horrific images the way it should execute it. 

And if its central message is on how religion controls, its final section seems to forego this altogether until it’s haphazardly brought back to twist the miracle of resurrection and the belief that there is life after death. The final scene certainly gives us hope that this could be attainable, but never in a spiritually-charged fashion. The best movies that challenge viewers on religion utilize images of spiritual power to vehemently reject what they convey. John Woo did so in The Killer by having its climax set in a Church (the place where hope and miracles are attainable), only for its protagonists to suffer the most cruel, crucifying fates.

Beck and Woods utilize plenty of religious paintings and references to how pop culture movies can be interpreted in a theological light but don’t have the courage to surpass this discussion further than what they introduce. However, they don’t fall into the traps of Conclave because they meaningfully give enough information for the audience to interpret what they are seeing on their own. It may lead to similar conclusions, but it at least deepens its study enough to have material that will make all of us think of our place in society amidst cults that basically perpetuate the same ideals that will never make its followers achieve something real from a spiritual, and personal perspective (Scientology is, of course, its worst offender).

As such, Heretic miraculously (pun intended) does what Conclave doesn’t and, in turn, becomes the defining religious film of 2024. It may not offer profound meditations on the questions it raises. Still, in an era of incurious filmmaking and criticism, it may be one that will turn the tide in favor of more religiously challenging films to hit our big screens. Plus, no generative AI was used in the making of this film (as bluntly stated in the film’s end credits), so this is a movie everyone needs to support. As a result, Beck and Woods should be thanked for championing human-made art. Here’s hoping for more of them in our theatrical ecosystem than any machine-made junk.

Grade: B+

Director: Sarah Young
Writer: Sarah Young
Stars: Tori Ernst, Charlie McElveen, Katharine Chin, Ryan Nicholas Cooper

Synopsis: When her husband turns strange and violent, a wife becomes convinced he is possessed. But will anyone believe her?

“It’s fine,” said no one ever when things were actually fine. But that’s how Michelle (Toni Ernst) begins describing her relationship with her husband John (Charle McElveen) to her best friend Kim (Katherine Chin). Key word: begins. In the same breath, Michelle says, “And then, all of a sudden, he’s just… wrong.” Wrong how, exactly? Kim suggests that John is probably just stressed at work – or, better yet, that he’s simply being a pain in the ass because he’s hungry – the tried and true excuse for the unraveling male whose actions cannot be made sense of by anyone other than the person enduring them. When Michelle raises the possibility that John could be possessed, it’s met with Kim’s scoff and a thinly veiled, “Do you hear yourself?” After all, the John that everyone else sees must be the same version that Michelle sees behind closed doors.

Isn’t that the case in every outwardly-perfect marriage? It’s this question, among other simply-posed yet deftly-executed ideas, that Sarah Young’s mysterious and dark short, Not Him, examines. In just 14 minutes, Young crafts the indelible image of a union that, for those involved, is crumbling due to the spirit that wishes to dismantle it from within, while what friends and neighbors chalk it up to is the need for a buffer. But Michelle is hardly crazy: John, the man she loves, is no longer the same man she married, but not because of his job nor an unsatisfied appetite. When he returns to their apartment after a long day at the office, his strange behavior is far closer to that of a violent stranger than a frustrated finance bro. There’s just one problem: Who will believe the only woman who can see what’s really going on here? Especially when whatever is inside John is doing a bang-up job masquerading as the handsome, charming guy who buys pizza and beer for the gang?

“You can scream to the world that your husband isn’t your husband,” the clearly-possessed John demonically tells his distressed better half. “But how do you think that’s going to go for you?” For much of the film’s brief runtime, the answer, insofar as there is one, is “not well.” But the more aggressive “John’s” behavior becomes, the blacker his eyes go, to the point where it’s unclear what (or who) is behind them. Young, who has plans for a feature-length adaptation of the short, would do well with more room to operate, yet the demented possibility that Not Him raises doesn’t require concrete answers given its command over tension and the raw factor of fear with which it is imbued. If anything, the lack of context that Young’s script provides makes the desire for a deeper look that much more intense.

I spoke with Young about her plans for the extended adaptation, the genesis of her short’s idea, and the depiction of domestic violence in today’s cinema. Our conversation includes spoilers for Not Him.

Will Bjarnar: How did the idea for this film – your first as both writer and director – come about?

Sarah Young: I am primarily a director, so yes you’re right this was my first time writing my own script. I have always been a fan of genre filmmaking as I think it’s a great opportunity to explore challenging subjects in a more accessible way. So I knew I wanted to work in the horror genre. One night I had a nightmare that was basically the opening of the short, I woke up, and furiously started writing based on that image. It became clear to me that what I was writing about was domestic violence through the lens of demonic possession so I dove into that concept.

WB: Let’s talk about that opening sequence. Not Him starts with a familiar image, that of a husband moving his hand to his wife’s as they lay in bed, sleeping. But then John’s grip tightens, and we see him climb atop Michelle as his eyes go black, almost as though a switch has been flipped in a manner of seconds. Why did you choose to open the film this way?

SY: That’s it exactly! That was my nightmare. Sadly I think that’s everyone’s nightmare, and an all too real one for a lot of folks. The person you love, the person who is supposed to protect you, turning on you and hurting you. Like most people unfortunately I too have a personal relationship with domestic violence, so I have my own experience to draw from, and I’ve had really intense conversations with many survivors. I wanted to give the audience a glimpse into the emotional experience of domestic violence with this opening, a peaceful night that turns on the whims of the abuser. 

WB: Immediately following that moment, we see Michelle recount her experience to her friend Kim, who initially brushes John’s actions off as one of either work-related exhaustion or hunger. However, Kim later comes to understand that Michelle really did see what she described. How crucial was it for you to deploy that juxtaposition between initial skepticism and eventual belief, especially in a narrative that is so clearly entrenched in, as you’ve described it, the fight for domestic violence victims to be believed?

SY: Extremely. I’m so pleased to hear you describe it that way. It’s a challenge to tackle a subject as big as domestic violence in a short film (the film is just under 15 mins) and it was very important to me that this was a story about a victim who is eventually believed, which helps her find her strength again. But it’s not an easy thing to ask for help, and it can be a struggle for people, even those close to the victims, to fully grasp the situation. We want to believe the best in people, we don’t want to think that those around us could be monsters in their own homes, especially if they are people we already have relationships with. But sometimes all it takes to save a life is one person to believe a victim to save their life. 

WB: You’ve previously mentioned that films like The Babadook and Smile were on your mind in relation to Not Him, especially how those are films that explore mental illness and grief. Were there any standout cinematic influences you had in crafting the thematic contents of Not Him? As I watched, I felt like I could see some shades of Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, specifically in relation to that film’s titular character struggling to find someone who would believe her. Gaslight was on my mind, too.

SY: Yes, The Babadook in particular is one of my favorites and a big influence on me as a filmmaker. Smile is another great example of using horror to talk about mental health. Gaslight and also The Shining were very much on my mind when I wrote the script. I’ve actually never seen Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore! I’ll have to add it to my list. Barbarian is another horror film I absolutely love and although it’s not as direct a comparison I still think it’s an incredible example of using horror to make a really profound social commentary that’s not always as accessible in traditional drama. 

WB: What were you looking for when it came to the John character? I was so struck by Charlie McElveen’s dual performance. I’m curious, what made him stand apart?

SY: I was looking for an actor that could very quickly (again the problem with it being a short film) show us all aspects of John; the loving husband worth fighting to keep, the abuser, and the possible victim of the demon itself. Charlie is naturally charming and charismatic, which makes it all the more frightening when he turns cruel and violent. He’s got a wonderful big creepy smile in his actor toolbox as well which is a big help. And he’s a wonderful person and extremely caring to his scene partners, which was important to me in casting. It takes trust to do intense scenes of physical and emotional abuse. 

WB: It might be a less-direct dual performance given, but Michelle similarly has to play two roles in this story, that of a terrified wife who no longer recognizes her husband and that of someone who has to put on a brave face just to get through interactions with people who don’t believe her. How did you and Tori Ernst craft that balance, if you will? The story may be a work of fiction, but its ideas are certainly entrenched in horrifying, familiar truths.

SY: Absolutely. That’s the truly insidious thing about domestic violence, it’s happening behind closed doors. The abuser is pulling every trick in the book to keep their victims quiet, to make them feel isolated and incapable of leaving or getting help. So many folks have experienced that double life, the need to keep up the appearance of normality while their world is falling apart at home. The need to lie to everyone around them, constantly. Tori Ernst as Michelle gives an incredible and nuanced performance that captures that struggle perfectly. She and I spoke about the character at length as I was writing the script. It was important to us to capture as many aspects of domestic abuse as possible in this short story, that dual life, the experience of being gaslighted, having a loved one threaten self harm if you leave. Her fantastic performance and insight as the character was written were invaluable. 

WB: I know you’re planning on expanding the short into a feature. What more do you hope to explore with a feature version that perhaps isn’t broached in the short?

SY: A feature gives us an opportunity to expand on the world we’ve built. I think the world is very ready for a domestic violence horror film and the success of the short shows that. The short is about Michelle discovering the truth about her husband and turning to her best friend Kim for help. It ends with Michelle convincing John to let them go for the night but promising he will “see her tomorrow”. Then Kim and Michelle open the door to leave but we cut before we see them walk through it. In the feature I want to go further into Kim and Michelle’s relationship, it’s so important to me to highlight the experience of Michelle, but also to expand on the effects on those close to her, in this case her best friend Kim. It’s a Hitchcockian journey for Kim to learn the truth about John, and it becomes a fight for both women to try and get Michelle away from him. And we’ll get to learn what happens when Kim and Michelle attempt to walk out that door. 

Grade: B

Director: Dallas Jenkins
Writers: Platte F. Clark, Darin McDaniel, Ryan Swanson
Stars:  Judy Greer, Pete Holmes, Sebastian Billingsley-Rodriguez

Synopsis: Nobody is ready for the mayhem and surprises that ensue when six of the worst youngsters disrupt the town’s yearly Christmas performance.

On the surface, the new holiday film The Best Christmas Pageant Ever may seem like a family drivel that stars experiencing a box-office dry spell would take on to keep their careers afloat. However, when an adult delivers a holiday ham, everything begins understated and turns touching without using cheap theatrics. The scene is so well-written that it sneaks up on you.

I wouldn’t call this the genius behind The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. The real strength may lie in the fact that this second adaptation of Barbara Robinson’s bestselling novel, directed by Dallas Jenkins, uses his penchant for religion as a backdrop to expose the judgmental hypocrisy of a flock that has lost its way. Additionally, Jenkins shows respect for past holiday comedy classics, which is evident throughout the film in nods to A Christmas Story, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, and Home Alone.

The story follows the Bradley family, who take on the task of reining in and reaching out a helping hand to the Herdman family—a group of six dirty, rude, mean, rowdy, and even thieving siblings who have been terrorizing the community for years. Known as the worst kids in the world, they begin to show interest in community activities, particularly the town’s premiere event of the year, the local holiday church pageant, but only for the free, sugary treats.

Grace (Judy Greer) takes on the responsibility of pageant director after Mrs. Armstrong (Mariam Bernstein), who rules with an iron fist, drops out due to an injury. Grace accepts the role partly because the snobby church elite believe she cannot handle it. However, she soon realizes she may have taken on the role for a greater purpose, as the Herdman children—led by Imogene (Beatrice Scheider)—bully their way into the play’s most significant roles.

Grace’s husband, Bob (Pete Holmes), initially seems like the type of husband who might be annoyed that his wife has taken on such a task without having dinner ready at the usual time. However, he turns out to have the same heart of gold as his wife, paying particular attention to the Herdman clan and lending a helping hand. They have two children: their youngest, Charlie (Sebastian Billingsley-Rodriguez), and Beth (Molly Belle Wright); with the latter taking on the responsibility of acclimating the Herdman kids to the pageant experience.

Jenkins, best known as the creator and showrunner of the historical faith-based series The Chosen (there was a free preview of the upcoming season during early screenings this past weekend), does a remarkable job using faith-based community activities as a backdrop to enhance themes of acceptance, love, compassion, forgiveness, serving others, humility, and gratitude. However, you never once feel that the film tries to shove its religious message down the viewer’s throat.

The setting in The Best Christmas Pageant Ever is familiar to anyone who has lived in a middle-class, predominantly white suburb—something I was all too familiar with in an era when the church was much more prevalent in family life than it is today. Anytime any of the children act up, religious leaders like the reverend, his wife, or the Bradley family take the time to reach these kids rather than demonize them, despite the pressure from others who choose to do so. It’s a difficult battle against those pressures.

While the movie has excellent messaging for a family film, it also effectively mixes heartwarming moments and laughs. In between, there are adorable performances from Wright as Beth and Lorelei Olivia Mote as Beth’s friend, Alice. Then there’s Kynlee Heiman, who steals every scene she’s in. And, of course, Beatrice Scheider, who gives her character, Imogene, well-rounded characteristics in what is arguably the most challenging role in the film—she needs to be funny, abrasive, and deliver accurate, poignant moments that resonate.

The Best Christmas Pageant Ever has flaws but has so much genuine heart that it’s hard not to get lost in it. With excellent narration from Lauren Graham and wonderful supporting performances from Greer and Holmes, this winning film is well worth watching this holiday season.

You can watch the new film The Best Christmas Pageant Ever only in theaters on November 8th!

Grade: B

Director: Pat Boonntipat
Writers: Pat Boonntipat, Thodsapon Thiptinnakorn
Stars:  Putthipong “Billkin” Assaratanakul, Usha “Taew” Seamkhum, Sanya Kunakorn

Synopsis: M, a university dropout low on money and luck, volunteers to take care of his terminally ill grandmother, in the hope of pocketing an inheritance.

As increasingly rare as it is for one’s first discovery of a film’s existence to come via the pages of a newspaper, that’s precisely what happened to this critic in July. Eager to stay abreast of the world’s ongoings while traveling abroad for a wedding, I made a habit of stealing the hotel’s international edition of The New York Times. On this particular day, I flipped to the arts section, as I do, and came across a headline that captured my interest: “Why Southeast Asia Is Crying Over This Movie.” Color me intrigued.

The subject, Pat Boonnitipat’s feature-film debut, How to Make Millions Before Grandma Dies, wasn’t a title I had heard of. But these gray, hallowed pages told me that the film – the tale of an aimless young man called “M” (Putthipong Assaratanakul, better known in his home country by the stage name “Billkin”) who quits his job to care for his dying grandmother, Amah (Usha Seamkhum), hoping to win her over in order to inherit her fortune upon her death – was a box office hit in Thailand and a sensation across Southeast Asia. Daniel Nico Laudit, a content creator who chose to document his viewing experience for his then-4.5 million Tik Tok followers, told the Times, “I went straight to the restroom after the movie because I wanted to cry out loud.” Other reactions were similar: Ian Jeevan, a financial consultant in Singapore, captioned his own reaction video, “Running over to hug my grandma now!!”

Such sentiments are bound to be a dime a dozen when it comes to How to Make Millions, as the film, at its simplest, is an excellent excuse for a good cry, whether alone in a restroom or buried in your grandmother’s arms. It’s conceit, simple and familiar, isn’t exactly ambitious in nature, as it places an apathetic gamer in the position of caregiver for his grandma; the perfect recipe for a weepy dramedy the likes of which we’ve seen before. Yet despite that notion, Boonnitipat’s film manages to transcend the trappings that a movie with a similar logline would willingly drown in, placing the intricacies of its principal relationship at the forefront as opposed to leaning to unnatural antagonism between two people living on opposite tracks of life. It helps that, even with the telegraphic nature of its plot – whether or not this greedy grandson will grow to cherish time with his elderly relative as opposed to merely desiring her fortune isn’t much of a question at all – it’s an easy story to root for. 

Inspired by its co-writer’s own families, How to Make Millions begins with a family gathering for the Qingming holiday, a ritual during which families come together to honor their late loved ones by visiting their tombs and leaving flowers, snacks, and other gifts at their feet out of respect. At Amah’s request, all take part, though M stays on the sidelines, his attention entirely consumed by his phone. (He dropped out of college to pursue a career in streaming, a goal his parents find difficult to support, leading to his distinction as “good for nothing” per the adults who find themselves drowning as they attempt to keep him afloat.) When Amah falls and a visit to the hospital reveals that she has stage four cancer, the family elects to keep the diagnosis to themselves, but M has plans of his own: To tell her the truth, curry favor, and to follow in the footsteps of his cousin Mui (Tontawan Tantivejakul), who was gifted her grandfather’s house after taking care of him for an extended period of time. 

In M’s eyes, the task, once a nuisance, isn’t as much of a bother when a sizable reward sits on the horizon. In turn, it doesn’t take too long for How to Make Millions to expand its own vision, embracing M’s evolving worldview as he becomes more willing to test the bounds of the world he’d trapped himself in. He takes in his surroundings, looking up from a screen to feel raindrops trickle onto his lanky arms, to see flower petals drifting away in the breeze. The ever-changing seasons play a significant role in Boonnitipat’s narrative, appropriate for a Taiwanese film, as the nation’s overall culture believes in the importance of man and nature finding ways to coexist, to benefit one another. Fitting, too, is the very idea of coexistence itself: between youth and experience, ambition and indifference, and even simpler, between two people who would have nothing in common if not for shared blood.

As such ideas unfold, they shouldn’t be too difficult for viewers (and skeptics alike) to clock, even to dismiss. But “cheap” is the last word one should use to describe what Boonnitipat and his How to Make Millions co-writer, Thodsapon Thiptinnakorn, do with their characters’ emotions. They craft seemingly-inconsequential yet intimate set pieces that connect to the past or present, with a ripple effect still to come in the future, all of which are authentic, if still emotionally-charged. One of these moments in particular, which involves M accessing a memory from his childhood in which his grandmother tells him something pivotal, may be sniffed out by viewers who wish to put their detective skills to work, but it’s more about how hard it hits M than how successful a revelation it is to the audience. If nothing else, it’s a scene that provides its main character with a moment of reflection, which Boonnitipat depicts with a simple yet beautiful camera pan-to-the-past move that nearly reduced this critic to a blubbering puddle of tears. 

Then again, he was on the brink of that tender state for much of the film’s runtime. You’re still human if you don’t find yourself a weepy mess by the time the credits roll, but only just, as the true magic of Boonnitipat’s debut is its universality. It’s specific enough for distant viewers to latch onto as an emotional narrative they can get behind, but plenty broad, a quality that should allow heartstrings of all creeds to feel a tug. That won’t be enough for some. Then again, for those that need a story of its ilk, How to Make Millions will be just right. Perhaps that’s what Boonnitipat was after.

How to Make Millions Before Grandma Dies is now streaming on Netflix in Southeast Asia. It will become available in other territories later this year.

Grade: B