Director: Josephine Decker
Writers: Josephine Decker
Stars: Helena Howard, Molly Parker, Miranda July

Synopsis: A theatre director’s latest project takes on a life of its own when her young star takes her performance too seriously.

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Josephine Decker’s Madeline’s Madeline is one of the more rapturous and disorienting experiences you’ll have in 2018. It’s an astounding work of art where Decker actively attempts to redefine the boundaries of storytelling in how she edits, stages and composes Madeline’s journey. It’s bold, invigorating and stimulating filmmaking. Sure, it’s also experimental, but Decker is somehow able to find an emotional root that still feels familiar and relatable.

Madeline’s Madeline tells the story of Madeline (Helena Howard), a young teenager who is struggling from some sort of mental ailment, but she finds comfort in the theater troupe that she participates in daily. Her home life has its up and downs, which makes her condition all the more volatile. Her single-mother, Regina (Miranda July), is caring and protective even if she doesn’t always understand Madeline. This leads to more volatility and resentment toward Regina. In an attempt to remedy the missing gaps of that relationship, Madeline looks to the theater troupe’s leader Evangeline (Molly Parker), who form a bond that eventually becomes exploitative in its own right.

Behind the bizarre and clever editing that makes Madeline’s Madeline a unique experience is something more concrete. If you peel apart the abstractness, you’ll find a steady dichotomy of the mother/daughter relationship that truly centers the film. Madeline and Regina are two women who are driven apart by an unspecified mental illness, but also they are fundamentally very different people. Madeline is able to express every thought and emotion with a deep vigor while Regina mightily lacks the ability to express herself at all. You could argue their race is a barrier as well. Regina is white, Madeline is biracial, and while the never speaks to it directly, Decker does highlight in her direction how this becomes another hurdle they have to jump over. Throughout the entire film, this dichotomy is always on the razor’s edge, tugging back and forth between empathy, love, impatience and disconnection.

Decker then smartly mirrors that duality with the evolution of Madeline’s relationship with Evangeline, another adult woman who doesn’t seem to comprehend the gravity of her choices. She wants to use Madeline’s life as a narrative vehicle for the theater troupe, but becomes blind in her ambitions.

What makes Madeline’s Madeline so striking, and almost unnerving, is how vulnerable Madeline is throughout the film. She’s very charming and endearing, but clearly struggling with something intimate. Yet, the *adults* around her lack empathy or understanding, and presumptuously have no self-awareness as to how their actions effect her. Regina is a mom that does love her daughter – there’s a great scene in a park is really heartwarming – but she’s often times impatient, forces control and lashes out at Madeline. Evangeline, in an equally disturbing way, exploits Madeline’s anxieties and fears for her own benefit. All of this leads to some fascinating questions around ethics and manipulation. Decker sets out to examine if it’s right to tell someone else’s story, something so personal and raw to the individual, when they clearly are not comfortable with it. It becomes even more gray and complicated as Madeline doesn’t fully voice her concerns either. In the end, Madeline’s Madeline becomes a powerful mechanism that taps into the importance of empathy and understanding. The presumptuousness by Regina and Evangline take their toll and it leads to one of the best endings of any film in 2018.

There’s a scene where Madeline acts out being her mom, as part of a theater troupe exercise, and it becomes extremely cathartic. It’s heartbreaking as both Madeline and Regina realize the truth of just how devastating the gap is in their relationship. The aftermath only gets more intense though. Decker focuses the camera on Evangeline, who is astonished by the “performance” that Madeline gave in depicting her mom. Yet again, not fully grasping what had just happened, she continues on as the bystanders around Madeline (other members of the troupe) are jaw-dropped. Everyone in this moment is stunned. The potency of Madeline’s truth is vivid and provocative, yet for Regina and Evangeline it was something else entirely for them. It’s a powerful moment that wonderfully demonstrates the ramifications of exploitation and how it can lead to isolation.

Those notions are impressivley poignant because, Decker’s direction is incisively visceral, but also because the performances are fantastic. Howard in particular demonstrates a scintillating prowess that is extraordinary. The way she immerses herself into Madeline’s plights is dazzling in every way. For as vulnerable and volatile as Madeline is, she’s never untruthful. Madeline is always grounded and human in her emotions, and Howard does a great job of giving Madeline a strong empathetic quality. July is also great in emulating Regina’s frustrations and what drives her actions. Parker gives an alluring performance that gracefully weaves between ignorance and ambition, two elements that lead to murky actions for Evangeline.

Ashley Connor’s cinematography is noteworthy as well. She lingers on many close-ups, sometimes extreme close-ups, and it gives the film an intimacy that amplifies it thematically. There’s a hazy focus that wonderfully compliments the blurring of lines we see between Madeline, Regina and Evangeline. Additionally, the editing, sound design and score all help take Madeline’s Madeline to another level.

Understandably, Madeline’s Madeline will not be for everyone. Some will find it pompous. Others will see it as mundane and empty. I find it fearless. Decker’s ambition and inventiveness establishes her voice in ways that are stunning. Howard is a star in the making. For as biting as this film is at times, it’s equally as soft and emotional. That ending shot is as evocative as anything I’ve seen all year.

Overall Grade: A

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Director: Richard Eyre
Writers: Ian McEwan (screenplay by)
Stars: Emma Thompson, Stanley Tucci, Ben Chaplin

Synopsis: As her marriage crumbles, a judge must decide a case involving a teenage boy who is refusing a blood transfusion on religious principle.

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Richard Eyre’s The Children Act dazzles with pristine performances but fizzles out before the film even picks up steam. Fiona Maye, portrayed effortlessly by Emma Thompson, is a judge in the High Court of London who oversees cases of family law which are both ethically sensitive and magnets for the media. She must exhibit compassion for the cases brought before her, even at the risk of angering one side of the issue or the other. The immense toll on her affects every aspect of Maye’s life, such as her damaged relationship with her husband, Jack (Stanley Tucci). Her constant awareness of the cases on which she works causes her to deprioritize her marriage, of which she has not been an active participant in years. When a case involving Adam (Fionn Whitehead), an extremely intelligent boy whose religious beliefs forbid him from accepting a blood transfusion, comes to her attention, Maye grapples with a decision that could change everything.

Based on Ian McEwan’s novel of the same name, The Children Act forces audiences to look deep within themselves with regards to the crucial choices Fiona Maye faces. The ethical questions brought forth are deeply engaging and thoughtful. However, the film lingers on these questions only slightly. The main interest of The Children Act seems to be how a woman who has never had children of her own, exists in a fractured marriage, and has little room in her life for love, presides over life-and-death decisions that have the potential to destroy families. How Maye deals with these consequences when they begin to affect her personal life is deeply underdeveloped. The questions that arise in the aftermath of her decision on Adam’s case are never fully explained or realized. The second half of the film loses the intensity of the first half and the interest of the viewer begins to wane. Unfortunately, this is due to the lack of exposition with regards to the main character, Fiona Maye. The audience can never quite get a peek behind her carefully crafted visage. Perhaps this is the filmmaker’s intention all along; to forbid the audience entrance into the brilliant mind of Fiona and witness the chess match she must play in order to reach her verdicts.

This hidden agenda complicates her relationship with Adam and it becomes difficult to understand her motivation as she steps out of character and commits questionable acts. All in all, The Children Act is a well-crafted, deeply moving film. The performance of Emma Thompson holds this film together as it constantly tries to fall apart. Enjoyable and thought-provoking, The Children Act toys with your emotions, but never enough to make you care too much about the main character. Perhaps this is the point; to keep the audience at a cold distance, mimicking the barrier of law that Fiona Maye uses to protect herself from her crucial decisions. This creates an interesting environment for the viewer; depending on which side of the argument with which your side, your feelings regarding Maye will develop differently. The opinions you form dictate your reactions to her actions, which makes The Children Act a slightly interesting film, or does it?

Overall Grade: B

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Director: Jeremiah Zagar
Writers: Daniel Kitrosser, Jeremiah Zagar, Justin Torres (based on the novel by)
Stars: Evan Rosado, Raúl Castillo, Sheila Vand, Josiah Gabriel, Isaiah Kristian

Synopsis: Manny, Joel, and Jonah tear their way through childhood and push against the volatile love of their parents. As Manny and Joel grow into versions of their father and Ma dreams of escape, Jonah embraces an imagined world all on his own.

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Transitioning from documentary filmmaking to your first scripted feature can sometimes be problematic, as documentaries are defined by the way they document information, usually as a means of education or for historical context. We often say how movies should show and not merely tell, but documentaries require a crucial yet unique form of telling to succeed, a tactic that doesn’t always work in fictional drama.

But with We the Animals, Jeremiah Zagar’s scripted debut, I cannot recall ever seeing a documentary filmmaker tackle his first scripted feature with this much opacity.

There is a script to be sure in We the Animals (co-written by Zagar alongside Daniel Kitrosser, based on Justin Torres’ loosely autobiographical novel), but it’s one that refuses to let you in on the film’s inner thoughts. You know what happens narratively, but maybe not-so-much thematically, a tactic that purposefully mirrors the mentality and confusion of our young central hero. Zagar understands that children are nature’s most confused beings, which makes We the Animals wildly inventive and immersive in its innocence, and a primitive and tribal visualization of family life in pastoral America.

We the Animals almost unfolds like a series of vignettes; there is an overarching story, but it’s a refreshingly simple one with very little setup. The film follows a family of five on the economic fringes of rural eastern Pennsylvania, seen through the eyes of youngest brother Jonah, played magnificently by Evan Rosado. Jonah and his brothers Joel and Manny (Josiah Gabriel and Isaiah Kristian) experience firsthand the “bipolarity” in their parents’ relationship at the hands of such economic hardships; Paps (played by Raul Castillo, in a performance that should be garnering more awards consideration) periodically takes out his abusive frustrations on Ma (a wonderful Sheila Vand), acts of violence that all three young boys are sadly present for. Time and time again, Ma and Paps resort to their own form of reclusiveness and neglect, inadvertently creating a distance between themselves and their boys; this forces Jonah, Joel, and Manny to fend for themselves among the natural Pennsylvania landscapes, where their brotherhood is all they possess to keep each other warm (a reoccurring chant where the boys whisper “Body Heat” serves as that warmth).

Ma and Paps’s actions may be flawed, but their love for their three boys is not. Zagar is equally as concerned with their mistakes as he is with their affections, and that awareness in both trickles further into Ma and Paps’ own self-awareness, knowing how their selfish acts have an effect on their children. In one of the film’s best scenes, Paps eventually returns home after a long stretch of reclusiveness, and in an instant where he briefly shows his physical affections for Ma, he neglects to see Jonah, Joel, and Manny tempting him for a game of hide-and-seek. Paps then embraces the game, only for the scene to conclude with all three boys beating their father while screaming, “You were supposed to find us.” In the short term, their screams merely reflect that moment of gameplay neglect, but their screams take on a completely different meaning when viewed in the long run. Their lashings of violence are clearly influenced by Paps and his abusiveness toward Ma (tendencies that Joel and Manny eventually grow into), but following Paps’ long stretch of selfish absence, perhaps the phrase “You were supposed to find us” actually translates to “Where were you when we needed you?” Paps has finally come home, but perhaps the boys’ father didn’t come back with him.

This is just one of many “vignettes” in We the Animals, but their narrative importance is merely secondary to Zagar’s primary intent. Zagar is more concerned with simply capturing a fragment of time in one boy’s confused youth, one that unfolds like scribbles in Jonah’s own secret notebook. These events, all seen from Jonah’s point of view, progress with fragility and uncertainty, but never lack in bright and optimistic coloration, as visualizations of Jonah’s notebook pages come to life. There’s plenty of magical realism at play here, sometimes to the point of fantasy (sequences under water and a muddy grave are standouts), but Zagar never explains them to us; his approach is clearly influenced by the likes of Terrence Malick, as well as Barry Jenkins’ masterpiece Moonlight, but Zagar’s voice is still his own. This may make for a narrative that feels too scatterbrained for some, but from the point of view of a child that’s precisely the point; if we’re confused, that’s because Jonah is confused.

However, there is a reveal of sorts in the film’s climax that does recontextualize much of Jonah’s confusion, which in truth may be more rooted in loneliness and sexual identity. At one point, while in the family truck with Ma and his brothers, Ma asks if he would like to go to the city, to which he asks, “Are there more people there like me?” While in the moment this “revelation” didn’t fully work for me (I initially found it somewhat pandering), I accepted it when I understood that Jonah himself doesn’t even realize a revelation took place at all, and perhaps these feelings of his have been there all along. For only a brief moment, Jonah seems to reach some sort of clarity, but sadly that feeling is short-lived; if anything, Jonah’s confusion and isolation only strengthens by the film’s final minutes, regressing back to that earlier lonely spirit of his. Love was once strong in his family, but now neglect feels stronger than ever, even if it’s only he who feels that way, never quite knowing why.

Initially I had little idea how much I enjoyed We the Animals, but like all primitive beings (especially children), Zagar’s approach had a way of sneaking up on me, and as such the film continued to evolve. But never once did it merely evolve into just one idea; the film remained open-minded about one’s fragmented innocence, continuously scribbling itself away like a young boy’s secret notebook. I found myself warming up to We the Animals the more I pondered on it, even as I considered my own personal biases (as a Philadelphia native, the eastern Pennsylvania setting is literally near and dear to me), but I view that warmth as synonymous with love and affection, bringing us one step closer to Jonah himself. Adoration is what warms the body and soul, and sadly our central hero leaves this story colder than before.

Find those you love and continue to keep each other warm (#BodyHeat).

Overall Grade: A-

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Director: Ruben Fleischer
Writers: Scott Rosenberg, Kelly Marcel, Jeff Pinkner, Todd McFarlane (character), David Michelinie (character)
Stars: Tom Hardy, Michelle Williams, Riz Ahmed

Synopsis: Journalist Eddie Brock is trying to take down Carlton Drake, the notorious and brilliant founder of the Life Foundation. While investigating one of Drake’s experiments, Eddie’s body merges with the alien Venom — leaving him with superhuman strength and power. Twisted, dark and fueled by rage, Venom tries to control the new and dangerous abilities that Eddie finds so intoxicating.

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In May of last year, Sony caught everyone off guard by announcing out of the blue a solo Venom movie to be released in 2018. People were even more surprised to find out that Tom Hardy would portray the infamous character/villain Eddie Brock. Now that it’s finally come full-circle and to fruition, is a solo Venom film even capable of functioning on its own? Will it set the precedent(s) for future solo villain/anti-hero installments? The argument that can be made, and that I’ve seen being made with standalone comic book films centered around an antagonist have been making big waves with the release of this film. I’ve seen constant statements that all fit under the category of, “What’s the point of a Venom movie without Spider-Man?” and most recently with the announcement of Todd Phillips’ standalone Joker film, “What’s the point of a Joker film without Batman?”, have all come across as different perspectives of this new era of superhero or in this case, supervillain storytelling. With Venom being a potential door for more villain centered projects to be greenlit, does it ultimately live up to those specific standards?

The character of Eddie Brock himself is definitely one of the more notable (and clever at that) personas to be adapted to the the big screen from Marvel’s discography. After the calamity of Brock and Venom’s live-screen adaptation debut in 2007’s Spider-Man 3, Tom Hardy’s depiction of the journalist turned part alien is definitely one of the more fulfilling larger-scale successes of Venom. He fully establishes and embodies a character we don’t mind rooting for throughout the entirety of the films lackluster tale. As he maneuvers in this almost hard-headed, wiseguy attitude yet still incorporating a side of masculine charm and confidence. He’s perhaps the most superior component to have been taken from this film. While he’s not given much to go to work with in terms of storytelling and structure, himself and nearly every other relevant supporting cast member harness what minimal material they’ve been given to accentuate the film from being less of a potential disaster than what it eventually ends up being.

You would think that a team of around 2 or 3 writers would be capable of executing a fleshed out, balanced and absorbing narrative that remains intrinsic to the Venom comic. Yet in such a case, that does not seem to happen here. This lackadaisical effort of a screenplay is merely a rough outline of a Venom film that’s comprised of inept character development/study, a provisional main plot with the inclusion of essentially poor contrasting elements attached, and a last-minute rising action and a finale that rarely achieves anything redeeming about our protagonist.

While Tom Hardy gives an incredibly solid outing (as stated before) of playing the role of Eddie Brock/Venom, The character arc and evolution of Brock that’s set before him runs quite inferior to his portrayal. This is quite applicable to everyone else too. Riz Ahmed as our villain Riot, is just another joke within itself. Not to be mistaken that Ahmed isn’t skilled enough to wear the pants of a commanding antagonist, but his eventual transition into those shoes is so blatantly rushed that it seems as if it’s coming out of nowhere. The climax also has little to no effect on the audience whatsoever. The movie becomes arrayed so far off track both before and after Brock has made contact with the symbiote, that once incidents are about to transpire, it’s by far too late and they’re unprepared to attempt to rescue the mishap they’ve just set. It has no sense of direction of where it wants to head until ⅔ of the movie is over with. I also am not convinced that Brock has fully accepted the powers of Venom that continue to engulf him as the film goes on. It hardly ever feels like Brock has a fulfilled connection with the manifestation of Venom inside of him that’ll allow him to continue to grow and thrive. Additionally, the humor between the two, while quite funny at times, is also a fault of the inconsistencies between its tone and lack of fundamentally sound plot escalation and storytelling.

Since the initial news that was published containing an early design for the symbiote along with the first official trailer last April that ultimately unveiled the final design of Venom, left me then and more than ever now, not fond of its final appearance. Especially when taking into consideration how the character is being integrated parallel to the tasteless choreographed action sequences. Venom himself looks abundantly tacky—with an overly muscular, meathead upper body and a noticeably hysterical pair of chicken legs. It also isn’t beneficial when the CGI brinks on borderline horrid at times. The practical effects (car chases, explosions) are perhaps a nominal highlight for the film, yet everything else that’s computer generated, consisting of Venom’s look and any other ample occasion too big to be conducted in real life, is so ridiculous and unjustifiable for a project of this brand and value. Sony and the remainder of the crew could’ve done a much more affluent job in attempting to nail the efficiency of such a key aspect.

Venom easily leans more toward the negative side of the spectrum. But with that being said, this venture of a film is most certainly watchable and tolerable for something that abides by the bare minimum of filmmaking standards. It can be very irritating throughout the story when recognizing the variety of characteristics and facets that they should’ve capitalized on, that they didn’t. However, it’s definitely still a linear tale that maintains an integral origin of schlock, while also playing off of its inconsistent tonal nature. All we can hope for now is that the upcoming batch of villain centered projects don’t all fall victim to something of this similarity.

Overall Grade: C-

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