Director: Antonin Baudry
Writers: Antonin Baudry, Bérénice Vila
Stars: Simon Abkarian, Simon Russell Beale, Benoît Magimel

Synopsis: June, 1940. France collapses and signs the armistice. In the midst of the chaos, one man refuses to give up. Alone against the odds, this unknown general flees to London to save what remains of freedom.

Antonin Baudry’s De Gaulle: Résistance, the first in a two-part epic based on Julian Jackson’s “De Gaulle: Une certaine idée de la France,” Marvelizes a figure whose role in history remains the subject of controversy. Some laud the general-turned-President as a hero; others vilify his policies and style of governance. The film, of course, refuses to interrogate any of it. Some audience members will likely dismiss it as nothing more than “propaganda,” and they would be correct to think so. After all, glorifying such a figure without ever attempting to examine the thought behind his decisions seems strange, but at least most of its star-studded cast will repeat “LA FRANCE!” a thousand times to reinforce the sentiment of patriotism seeping across the country, right? Right?!??

The Marvel comparisons are exacerbated when, later in the movie, as French resistance protestors Fernand Bonnier de La Chapelle (Florian Lesieur) and Olivia (Anamaria Vartolomei) must flee Paris after the Nazis overtake a protest on November 11, Jean Moulin (Félix Kysyl) is introduced as if he’s Nick Fury. I was almost waiting for the “Jean Moulin will return in Moulin” tagline after the film’s post-credits scene (yes, there’s a post-credits scene, I’m not joking) to link this interpretation of the resistance hero to Gilles Lellouche’s portrayal in László Nemes’ upcoming film, but that didn’t happen. 

Of course, the bulk of a “Part One” will mean lots of table-setting and exposition before the (likely) action-heavy second part, and that is what Résistance (mostly) delivers. A good chunk of the film examines the power relations between a once-unknown Charles de Gaulle (Simon Abkarian) and Winston Churchill (Simon Russell Beale), who doesn’t know whether he should unquestioningly trust the general’s instincts in the wake of France’s capitulation. Its Head of State, Philippe Pétain (Alain Libolt), and his second-in-command, François Darlan (Mathieu Kassovitz), have succumbed to Nazism and are now working hand-in-hand with Hitler to integrate the party’s core ideologies within France. 

Churchill is, of course, strongly opposed to Hitler’s totalitarian reign and the Nazi ideology as a whole. He is looking for allies across all countries. However, the United States President, Franklin D. Roosevelt (Campbell Scott), wants no part in the war, and most governments believed the Germans would win World War II and capitulated. De Gaulle is the Prime Minister’s last hope, but his methods in toppling the Vichy government to liberate France are complex and unorthodox. 

We thus get a fairly sanitized examination of De Gaulle’s methods, alongside frictions between the United Kingdom and France, as the general’s actions may very well put the future of the war in jeopardy. Simultaneously, we examine the story of Fernand, an anti-Vichy protester and member of the French resistance whose disdain for the country’s current authoritarian government will ultimately lead him to assassinate Darlan, resulting in his execution. This event removed a massive hurdle for the Allies and ultimately led to De Gaulle becoming the leader of Free France, though this part is reserved for the second installment. 

Most of the first part occurs through tense, closed-door conversations between Churchill and De Gaulle, as the general’s actions don’t seem any closer to ending the war. These conversations are of varying quality, but the one undeniable thing is how great its massive ensemble is. Abkarian impresses as De Gaulle, perfectly embodying his stern mentality even during times of great uncertainty. There’s a certain stoicism to his performance that feels as if De Gaulle was brought back to life; the intonations of his words always feel urgent and necessary, as composer Volker Bertelmann reheats his All Quiet on the Western Front and Conclave nachos (yet again) to draw pressure-cooker compositions even when there’s no “action” on screen. 

Even with the same string-heavy patterns as his most recent scores (hopefully, Clayface will be different), Bertelmann’s music still punctuates the film’s images well, which are of sweeping grandeur and scale. In an era where American blockbusters look smaller in scale and have the ugliest possible aesthetics, Antonin Baudry reminds us all what a massive motion picture should not only look, but feel like. The film’s final battle in Bir Hakeim is what the French call “un grand morceau de bravoure,” because the sense of scope and immediacy that such a scene evokes is genuinely awe-inspiring. Baudry also doesn’t shy away from showing the brutal, inhumane, cost of war, even if he’ll occasionally veer into jingoism, especially when “LA FRANCE!” is screamed and repeated ad nauseam. 

The climax sets the table for what’s to come, which, from the looks of its post-credits trailer, will be much grander (and more patriotic) than this drawn-out, but admittedly entertaining first part. One can complain that the movie does feel very much in the line of modern-day propaganda pieces such as Tsui Hark, Chen Kaige and Dante Lam’s The Battle at Lake Changjin diptych, but the thing is: there’s enough here that feels more like a real movie than something so blatantly nationalistic. There’s texture in the character work. The performances are genuinely impassioned. The action scenes have genuine scale and clarity. The tension is simmering, and the exchanges between diplomatic figures cut deep. It sometimes veers into dull nationalism, but never to the detriment of the film’s emotional experience. 

When the credits ultimately rolled, the question that was at the back of my mind was simple: will I return to the cinema next month for Part II: Liberté? No hesitation that I will be there, and I assume the Québec audience will also fly out in droves, considering how packed my 2 pm public showing of the film was on a bright, sunny Friday afternoon…

Grade: B-

Director: Julia Hart
Writers: Laura Hankin, Julia Hart, Jordan Horowitz
Stars: Sunny Sandler, Melanie Lynskey, Stephanie Beatriz

Synopsis: Sophie Birenbaum is ready for the spotlight as the lead in her high school musical — until suddenly she’s living with even more drama at home than on the stage.

I cannot remember a movie from Happy Madison Productions like Don’t Say Good Luck, this heartfelt, this poignant, or this beautifully done. We are talking about a company that has given us some of the quintessential sophomoric comedies, from Happy Gilmore and The Waterboy to films Adam Sandler made for his friends, like Grandma’s Boy and the Deuce Bigelow franchise.

Yet, a funny thing happened a couple of years ago when Sandler made You Are So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah. That family affair was sweet, unlike anything the brand had made before, while still carrying dashes of Sandler’s comedic sensibilities. However, with Don’t Say Good Luck, he has produced something entirely different: something wonderful, tragic, and deeply moving.

Yes, Don’t Say Good Luck isn’t as intimate in nature as Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.

nor does it capture the coming-of-age awkwardness of Eighth Grade or the visceral antipathy of the mother-daughter dynamic in Lady Bird. However, this Netflix film is so heartfelt and grounded that it makes you appreciate what you have or long for what you don’t.

The story follows Sophie Birenbaum (Sunny Sandler, wonderful here), a seventeen-year-old shy theater kid who tries to win a small part in her high school’s production of “Waitress.” Sophie is the oldest daughter of Elizabeth (Melanie Lynskey of Heavenly Creatures fame) and Ted (New Girl’s Max Greenfield), who are also raising her rambunctious young twin brothers.

However, Sophie’s parents, in a charming and poignant running bit throughout the film, have a habit of accidentally calling their daughter. One of those times, Sophie picks up and hears something she was never meant to hear: her mother’s cancer has returned. She calls her best friend (Scarlett Estevez), and her grandparents (Bebe Neuwirth, Steve Buscemi) come to help.

Ted runs a local delicatessen, making it a family affair. Sophie comes running in to announce that, with the support of her teacher (Stephanie Beatriz), she has landed the coveted lead role. Soon, she is paired with the theater heartthrob (Avatar: Fire and Ash’s Jack Champion), navigating the awkwardness of coming-of-age just as her mother’s health begins to deteriorate.

Don’t Say Good Luck comes from director Julia Hart, who wrote and directed the criminally underseen streaming crime thriller I’m Your Woman. Hart co-wrote the script with Laura Hankin and La La Land producer Jordan Horowitz, with the story reportedly inspired by Hankin’s own life. Hankin, an acclaimed novelist, makes her first screenplay, where the characters feel lived-in.

In a coming-of-age drama, it is unusual to see teenage life portrayed with so little sensationalism. Sophie’s parents and grandparents don’t threaten the teenage boy dating their daughter. The kids are empathetic, treating each other with respect and kindness. Where another film might turn a friend spending more time dating into a major rift, here, fences are mended with tenderness and care.

A clever storytelling trick is that much of the anxiety and conflict surrounding her mother’s deteriorating condition plays out in the background whenever Sophie puts on her headphones. The most critical moments where family members snap at each other happen with Neuwirth’s character, whose anxiety about her daughter’s health is understandable. 

Also, there is a scene where Sophie becomes angry that her mother cannot see her performance. Some may be quick to call the teenager selfish. However, what they may fail to understand is that this is a young woman projecting her fear and anxiety over the possibility of losing her mother. Over the course of the movie, the screenplay connects these two perspectives. 

Lynskey’s performance shows viewers the profound selflessness of motherhood. This being a Netflix film, it is a genre picture, designed to pull at your heartstrings and build to a finale designed to open the waterworks. Or at the very least, put a giant-sized lump in your throat. This isn’t a raw look at cancer like in Our Friend. This is designed to be a tearjerker, but not a shameless one. 

Hart, Hankin, and Horowitz’s film is indeed a tearjerker, but unlike many others, it knows exactly which emotional buttons to push and earns every single one of them. Sunny Sandler steals the show in the finale, as a warm family film gives way to inevitable sorrow. Yet it’s the moments lived in between that make life worth living, in a story about a young woman finding her voice, guided by love, by family, and, to a point, by community. 

You can stream Don’t Say Good Luck exclusively on Netflix August 13th!

Grade: A-

Director: Cal Brunker
Writers: Cal Brunker, Bob Barlen
Stars: Carter Young, Mckenna Grace, Ron Pardo

Synopsis: The Paw Patrol lands on a mysterious dinosaur island after a storm, where they meet Rex, a stranded pup. When Humdinger’s reckless mining triggers a volcano, the team faces their biggest rescue mission yet to save the island.

Perhaps I’m not the right person to be reviewing PAW Patrol: The Dino Movie, because this isn’t really an animated film destined for a broad audience. It’s only going to function as something truly entertaining if you’re under the age of 3 (or maybe 2). Anyone else might be too old for such a coddling adventure film that takes zero screenwriting (or thematic) risks and is so easy-to-follow you don’t even need to pay attention half of the time, because the film will constantly tell you what’s going on. 

If you’re a parent, though, you might be asking yourself the following question: should I bring my child to the cinema to see this? After all, there probably isn’t a more exciting outing for kids than the movie theater, where they can munch on popcorn and be wowed by the transformative power of the silver screen. Perhaps they will run in the aisles and begin talking loudly during the movie, but they will learn valuable lessons on how to behave in public spaces, and the cinema is probably the best place for them to know how to watch – and appreciate – a movie with an audience. 

The core problem at the heart of PAW Patrol: The Dino Movie is how adult viewers will probably be bored out of their minds watching this. It’s easy to say “I’ll bring my kid to this film,” but the thing is: you have to watch the movie, too. In many cases, studios understand that mainstream animated movies should be for a broad audience, because parents are seeing the film with their children. In the case of PAW Patrol, it’s hard to see a parent enjoying a movie that won’t activate their inner child, because it will only stimulate audiences that don’t really know how to watch something on a screen just yet. 

This is a film that one can easily watch in the comfort of their living room and understand what’s going on in the background instead of having your full attention directed towards it. Director Cal Brunker will show you something – a ravine filled with water that could stop the eruption of a long-dormant volcano – and will have a character say “I must get to this waterfall to stop the lava!” or something along those lines. I’m not trying to denigrate the film at all, but this is truly a product for babies who are still trying to understand how the world works, through the eyes of characters that will bring them safety and comfort. 

In that regard, it’s thus unsurprising that PAW Patrol: The Dino Movie, while grander in scale than the previous two films, has zero stakes. Oh, sure, they put Marshall (Carter Young) in mortal danger in this one, and even give him a textured flashback that’s highly reminiscent of the drive Carol Danvers had while training in the military in Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck’s Captain Marvel (shades of Zack Snyder are also present in these scenes). Let’s be real, though: is Brunker ever going to kill a member of the PAW Patrol? Of course not! 

However, part of the enjoyment of watching The Dino Movie is seeing how the titular patrol will get out of a dangerous situation, and there is a bevy of well-mounted (and superbly animated) action scenes that are sure to enthrall younger moviegoers who probably can’t watch Steven Spielberg’s Jurassic Park. Montréal’s Mikros Animation has greatly improved itself from The Mighty Movie to this one and realizes sequences of actual grandeur that are constantly kinetic and involve the audience’s active participation in wanting the characters to be out of harm’s way. The level of detail is far more staggering than the TV show, and Brunker has also improved his skills as a director to make this third outing more cinematic. 

The voice cast is also particularly inspired, with Young a standout, giving Marshall the depth he needs to be the beating heart and soul of The Dino Movie. The dinosaur world itself needed a bit more development for it to feel tangible, but the film stops dead in its tracks in fleshing it out to bring back Mayor Humdinger (Ron Pardo) and his umpteenth evil plan. While Pardo’s vocal turn is as dynamic as ever, the villain has grown to be tiresome, since none of the characters meaningfully evolve or learn anything along the way (minus Marshall). 

This is where the televisual language comes into play, something that Brunker and co-writer Bob Barlen can’t fully overcome. At the end of the day, this is an extended episode of the TV show. And while it looks much better and flows more like a movie than usual, PAW Patrol remains an IP exclusively for (very) small children. I can’t say that, from a technical standpoint, the film is “bad” by any means. It is competently made, the animation is rock-solid, the action is fun, and there are surprising attempts at deepening the characters that television doesn’t allow. However, I also can’t recommend this film to anyone who isn’t a very small child. If you’re a parent, it would be preferable to watch Toy Story 5 with your child than a big-screen adventure made primarily for babies. 

That said, by bringing your child to PAW Patrol: The Dino Movie, it will likely be their first big-screen experience, and could unlock a lifelong passion for movies. This is what happened when my parents brought me to the cinema for Shrek 2. At the end of the day, just remember who you’re doing this for, and why it’s important that your child is exposed (at a young age) to the transformative power of cinema. Who knows? You might be raising the next Steven Spielberg…

Grade: C-

Director: Michael Russell Gunn
Writer: Michael Russell Gunn
Stars: Jeff Daniels, Jared Harris, J.K. Simmons

Synopsis: President Reagan races to save a nuclear deal with Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev as pressure mounts all around him. Every word spoken could move the world closer to peace – or destruction.

The Cold War is one of the most fascinating conflicts in humanity’s brief but destructive history. Despite lacking the large-scale military clashes of more famous conflicts, civilization has arguably never been as close to mutually assured destruction as it was at the height of hostilities. Angel Studios’ historical political drama The Brink of War aims to capture that feeling, focusing on one of the Cold War’s most pivotal moments as humanity stood at a crossroads and delivering a movie that history buffs are bound to enjoy.

The Brink of War takes place over 36 hours during the now-infamous 1986 Reykjavík Summit. The unprecedented gathering saw then-President of the United States Ronald Reagan (Jeff Daniels) and his trusted confidant George Shultz (J.K. Simmons) meet with Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev (Jared Harris). Under immense pressure from their respective advisors and intelligence agencies to reach a resolution, the summit presented a remarkable opportunity for the two leaders to find common ground as they attempted to pull their countries back from the threat of nuclear confrontation.

Brought to life by debut writer-director Michael Russell Gunn, the movie has clearly been meticulously researched, aided by Shultz’s transcripts. This is most apparent in the scripted exchanges between Reagan and Gorbachev, whose verbal jousts and constant one-upmanship provide some of the movie’s most entertaining moments. Their dialogue is consistently sharp and cutting, creating palpable tension that could be cut with a knife as their strategic chess match unfolds.

From the outset, there’s an evident deep-rooted mistrust between the two leaders. Even as much needed breakthroughs appear to be imminent, the “trust but verify” mentality underpinning the negotiations means everything could fall apart at any moment. It creates an unnerving sense of anxiety around their discussions, yet Gunn’s tight script almost always keeps things moving forward.

That’s not to say it’s perfect. There are more than a few occasions where the historical accuracy of what is unfolding feels questionable. In one particular scene, at the height of the disagreements between the leaders, Gorbachev can be observed in his private quarters lauding Reagan’s achievements, something that feels strangely out of place given the circumstances. There’s also some forcibly inserted political mudslinging that sees Democrats become the butt of several jokes, which doesn’t fit the otherwise serious tone of the movie.

More significantly, Reagan is painted as a patriotic hero who remains virtually immovable in his stance, with his stubbornness presented as the primary catalyst for change. Gorbachev, meanwhile, is portrayed as the weaker of the two and seemingly willing to concede ground at every opportunity. It reduces one of the most complex political relationships ever into an oversimplified “I’m more stubborn than you” dynamic. History tells us that Reykjavík was not simply defined by one leader standing firm and the other yielding, but by two men pursuing ambitious nuclear-arms reductions while remaining divided over Reagan’s Strategic Defense Initiative. By sacrificing some historical nuance in favor of a more flattering portrayal of Reagan, it prevents The Brink of War from becoming anything truly special. 

The movie also struggles whenever it leaves Reagan and Gorbachev’s meeting room. Scenes elsewhere feel like palate cleansers designed to break up the dialogue-heavy negotiations, but they mostly serve as distractions. They’re considerably less compelling and repeatedly halt the momentum of the developments unfolding behind closed doors. A more focused approach may have made the movie stronger.

True to form for many Angel Studios productions, the heavy-handed religious messaging can also be a little on the nose. Admittedly, it’s less distracting than regular viewers may be used to, but it’s still weaponized in a way that belittles the Soviet Union, which at times seems to be deemed morally inferior partly because of the state atheism associated with its Marxist-Leninist ideology.

That said, there is something slightly ironic about the core message of the Reykjavík Summit. The prevailing sentiment throughout is that building a lasting peace, even with your greatest adversaries, is ultimately more beneficial than going to war. Given the increasingly confrontational posture of many world leaders today, that message carries renewed weight at a time when history often seems in danger of repeating itself.

Of course, for a dialogue-heavy movie of this nature to work, the performances have to keep audiences engaged. That’s where Jeff Daniels and Jared Harris excel. Their back-and-forth tête-à-têtes are completely captivating as they transform themselves into two of the most famous leaders of the 20th century. J.K. Simmons, in a much more limited role, threatens to steal the whole movie with an effortlessly commanding performance that brilliantly captures the gravity of what is at stake should the negotiations fail.

For a movie predominantly shot in one location, Gunn, alongside cinematographer Magdalena Górka, makes an admirable attempt to create interesting and inventive shots that keep things visually fresh. Set decorator Marta Luiza Macuga also provides impressive period detail that helps transport audiences back to the ’80s.

Less impressive, however, is the dreadfully misplaced whimsical score. The world is staring down the possibility of nuclear catastrophe, yet the music wouldn’t feel out of place in a fantasy drama. It’s a baffling creative choice that rarely captures the gravity of what is unfolding on screen and easily becomes one of the movie’s weakest elements.

Overall, it’s safe to say The Brink of War is a mixed bag. Those who aren’t fans of historical political dramas will likely be bored to tears. But for those who are, there’s enough to admire, particularly in the sharp dialogue and commanding performances, to make it a worthwhile trip to the cinema. Its oversimplified political framing prevents it from becoming the definitive Reykjavík Summit drama it might have been, but when Daniels and Harris are sitting across the table from one another, it’s difficult not to be captivated.

Grade: C+

Director: Dave Green
Writer: Samy Burch, James Gunn, Jeremy Slater
Stars: John Cena, Lana Condor, Will Forte

Synopsis: A story set in the ACME warehouse, the manufacturer of anything and everything used by the Looney Tunes characters.

What you will find absurdly ironic about the new film Coyote vs. Acme only strengthens the movie and, for that matter, the source material’s satire. The once-great and mighty studio that produced films like Casablanca, A Clockwork Orange, Goodfellas, and The Lord of the Rings trilogy tossed the Looney Tunes film into the ACME dustbin of corporate history.

Then, somehow, some way, Ketchup Entertainment found a bucket of ACME paint, threw it against a wall, and found the film, bringing a great comedic brand back to the people. A David-versus-Goliath story in its own right, Coyote vs. Acme has finally seen the light of day,  bringing back the Looney Tunes brand’s classic recipe that remains sophisticated and subversive. 

The experience is full of incredible, escalating, visceral visual gags and intellectual satire that few can match, even fewer can replicate, and that remains timeless. How many comedic institutions can be so cultured while combining social satire with an anarchic slap in the face of the establishment? In that sense, Coyote vs. Acme is practically punk rock: erudite, irreverent, and hilarious.

The story follows Wile E. Coyote, who is sick and tired of ACME putting dangerous products in the hands of him and his cartoon compatriots, placing them in almost daily peril. Coyote then travels to see Kevin Avery, Esquire (Saturday Night Live’s Will Forte), a personal injury attorney he sees advertised on billboards along a desolate desert highway.

Kevin wants nothing to do with the case, probably having read “A Civil Action,” because taking on a corporation like ACME could bankrupt his practice. However, his niece, Paige (Lana Condor of To All the Boys fame), is an idealist who encourages him to take the case. After Wile E. takes matters into his own legal hands, Buddy Crane (John Cena), ACME’s corporate lawyer and Kevin’s former Harvard classmate, tends to buy their way out of this mess. 

However, before Wile E. is sent packing with a bindle full of cash, the desert-dwelling canine refuses the offer. Despite objections from Kevin’s staff, including Sal (Tone Bell) and Dottie (Euphoria’s Martha Kelly), the case moves to court, sparking a national debate over what matters more: our enjoyment versus the exploitation required to produce it?

Coyote vs. Acme comes from Dave Green, in easily his best film to date, working from a script by, get this, Academy Award nominee Samy Burch (May December). It’s hard to believe the studio wanted to bury this film, considering the enduring popularity of the source material and Hollywood’s insatiable need for intellectual property in the streaming content wars. 

The movie strikes a near-perfect balance of nostalgia, comedy, innovation, and satire. The film turns a cartoon premise into a surprisingly sharp commentary on product liability and corporate accountability. Then there is the endlessly clever legal and entertainment-industry subversion, which is about as meta as it gets. 

Then there are the Looney Tunes easter eggs and “cameos” from classic characters, dropping one-liners and sight gags that will induce the giggles for kids and belly laughs for adults. The animation is beautiful and wonderfully playful, while at times harkening back to the live-action/animation heyday of Who Framed Roger Rabbit. 

Yet, at the end of the day, it is the nature of what Wile E. is actually trying to accomplish that gives the film some unexpectedly ominous juice. Is he really fighting for cartoon rights, or is he using the legal system to trap his nemesis finally? It is a surprisingly sophisticated question that Burch’s script layers into the story, giving the film an unexpected degree of moral ambiguity.

While Will Forte is no Bob Hoskins, he is the perfect straight man for the nonverbal, obsessive canine because Forte can be naturally sympathetic and awkwardly earnest. There is a surprisingly emotional scene in the third act where both Kevin and Wile E. lay their cards on the table and face their own demons, giving unexpected depth to the typically nonverbal scavenger.

Yet, Coyote vs. Acme, beneath all those observations of exploitation and commodification, are enough anvils that drop like rain to the sky, cartoon explosions, and classic Looney Tunes mayhem that make this David-versus-Goliath one of the year’s best comedies and most heartfelt. See it in a theater near you, and let the corporate bigwigs and Warner Bros. Discovery know they made an ACME-size mistake. 

You can watch Coyote Vs. Acme exclusively in theaters August 28th!

Grade: A

Director: Aaron Strand
Writer: Aaron Strand
Stars: Millie Rose Evans, Brent Michal

Synopsis: A passionate young songwriter and her rebellious boyfriend must withdrawal from heroin to keep her conservative parents from sending her to rehab.

The Georgian film scene is becoming more active, with films spanning documentaries and gritty social dramas, including director Aaron Strand’s latest film, Withdrawal; a tale of artistry, love, addiction, and a night of terror that would change everything for our heroes. It tells the story of two disillusioned artists, Viv and Jay, who dream big of making it in New York. But dreams turn into a nightmare when Viv’s wealthy parents stage an intervention, stop her credit cards, and give her an ultimatum, either go clean or be admitted to rehab. That’s when Viv and Jay change the course of events for each other. 

The indie feature is a striking and highly ambitious addition to a string of kinetic social realism films like Trainspotting and Requiem for a Dream. If Darren Aronofsky and Danny Boyle were heralded for their work on those two masterpieces about addiction and its inevitable humanist fall from grace, then Strand deserves the highest compliments for continuing what they started, and stripping addiction off the newest trend of dreampop, glittery, glamorization of addiction and drug use (Euphoria, are you listening?). Especially in the artistic sphere, drug use has always been linked with looking cool or finding inspiration, so the attempt to dethrone that idea by giving us a grim dissection of how a life is ruined by that.

It’s a tale as old as time. The relentless pursuit of inspiration and all the dark routes it leads to. Passion spiraling out of control, and artistry done wrong in the hopes of feeling something grander than a provincial life that others are so comfortable living without second-guessing.

The movie wouldn’t work without the two leads, Millie Rose Evans and Brent Michal as Viv and Jay, respectively. Michal has the aura and the charm of a sexy, dark king vampire à la Sam Reid as Lestat in the AMC adaptation of Interview with the Vampire. Michal steals every scene he’s in, and it’s undeniable it’s not just his acting talent, but his charm and sex appeal as the drug-soaked painter Jay, the dichotomous half of the toxic lovestruck pair. Evans, as Viv, on the other hand, does all the heavy lifting. Her sacrificial, dark poetess, musician persona requires a more grounded approach to the performance which she masters. Both actors have great chemistry together and that’s what makes their unbelievably toxic relationship work for the audience.

Strand and Director of Photography Emily Marquet create a drug-hazed, blurry screen that unsettles and immerses the viewer in this psychedelic rush of images. The camera is handheld, chaotic, and unstable. It has a voyeuristic, pink-hued quality to the scenes, especially when we are trapped with the two leads alone in their isolated bubble of lust and getting high. Kudos to indie cinema for holding on to boldness and sexuality on screen, where sex scenes are realistic, raw, and awkward. After recent comments from a certain director that sanitized their latest big budget sex comedy to be devoid of sex scenes, it’s refreshing to see works still faithful to the craft rather than catering to nonexistent audiences. This is all thanks to Strand for handling the subject matter with realistic poignancy without exploitation of the female lead, especially since sex scenes are integral to the progression of the central character’s relationship.

The director doesn’t shy away from the grime and splatter of drug withdrawal, or whatever comes after that. The only takeaway that this review can give him is that his future scripts need more polishing, a bit of creative flair. Strand would reach even more authentic levels of storytelling when paired with the right screenwriter, even if he is aiming for the actors’ improv and naturally flowing dialogue, but that’s a story for another day.

Withdrawal doesn’t try to make a big statement about drug abuse. But if film lovers truly want to watch real cinema, this one is a great opportunity to soak themselves in it.

Grade: B+

Director: Lee Kirk
Writer: Lee Kirk
Stars: Mason Thames, Kylr Coffman, Ryan Foust

Synopsis: Three buddies drive cross-country in a van, causing mayhem and mischief while racing to LA for their big break: opening for Green Day on New Year’s Eve.

It’s hard to be a dreamer. For most of our lives, those of us who pursue passions, are nodded at politely by those who down shifted and chose a more traditional and risk averse life path. For a teenage dreamer, not to be what they want and do what they feel they need to do with their life is absolutely unfathomable. This yearning and need often makes for a great coming-of-age story. Nimrods succeeds in many ways, but has some flaws that get in the way of a good story.

It’s strange to think of an intelligent member of the band as a flaw, but it really is. To have Chad (Ryan Foust), the bookish drummer, who doesn’t really fit in with Tommy (Mason Thames) or Fred (Kylr Coffman), repeat that this idea that they would be opening for Green Day is too good to be true, is like a squealing sound in your car you don’t like, but don’t want to get fixed. You know it needs taking care of, but to do that would put a damper on just making sure you get from A to B. It’s annoying after a while to have the issue repeated logically so many times. We understand, and know for a fact as we saw Wayne (Keen Ruffalo), Tommy’s older brother, and his friend Keith (Ignacio Diaz-Silverio) play the prank, that this situation is a fool’s errand on the part of these teens, but it’s more enjoyable to watch them have fun failing. We want to see that their climb to this level of gig will be hard fought and that they will have some setbacks more than we want to have our nagging thoughts personified.

Writer and director Lee Kirk’s script does address this idea, though. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that Tommy knows he’s not actually opening for Green Day. It’s not completely farfetched that he would take his dream this far. The fact that Tommy’s father, whom he still worships, is gone. The fact that he wishes to not feel like he’s drowning in mediocrity and tedium.  The fact that music makes him feel better than anything else in his world, makes him want to believe in this break. It’s sweet and heartbreaking to watch him not be able to fully process this time in his life. It keeps the shenanigans grounded to know that he’s going through a really rough time.

Nimrods’ most major flaw, though, is that it has one sequence that nearly takes you out of the story completely. Any road trip story like this is going to have some moments that stretch credulity. They can be funny and easy to brush off. Yet, having a cameo with Fred Armisen as a creepy motel operator, or possibly an escaped mental patient masquerading as a motel operator, completely takes us out of the film. Out of context of the rest of the film, it’s the funniest sequence. Armisen is firing on all cylinders and is in his element as a stone cold weirdo. Within the context of the film, though, it’s just completely unnecessary and ruins the grounded wackiness of everything that took place before it. There’s an important scene in the middle, but everything around it is just fluff for fluff’s sake. It’s too bad that they felt they needed this because the film really does well building on the drama and comedy of the situation otherwise.

Where Lee Kirk shines as a director is in the musical sequences. It’s fun to watch the Anal OG Dogs, always misread as Anal Dogs (the band pronounces it analog dogs), shred in the garage as they lay down their demo track. The Steadicam shifts frenetically between members as they rock out. It’s a bit scary at first to watch them be utter punks at a country roadhouse as they play Green Day’s “Dominated Love Slave.” Though, the crowd gets into it and the camera spends much time with the audience singing along as they get into the joy of the song. It’s an absolute blast to watch the underground punk show at the junkyard, which includes pouring rain that turns into mud-caked chaos. This one is shot from the crowd angle to make us feel like we’re there. Then there’s the final show at the Hollywood Palladium. This one is shot like a standard concert film, but it works for the context and is fun to watch Green Day do what they do best.

It’s hard not to like Nimrods. It’s a film about dreamers and people that know they have something that they need to get out into the world. It’s flawed and rough around the edges, but many would say the same about punk rock. As you can imagine, being a film that concerns Green Day, Nimrods does end with a final sequence set to the song “Good Riddance (Time of Your LIfe),” which is maudlin, on the nose, and saccharine, but fits the catharsis of the story perfectly. Nimrods is not one of the great coming-of-age films, but it is an enjoyable one, flaws and all.

Grade: C

Director: Pierre Salvadori
Writers: Pierre Salvadori, Benjamin Charbit, Benoît Graffin
Stars: Pio Marmaï, Anaïs Demoustier, Gilles Lellouche

Synopsis: A painter in 1928 Paris, unable to work since his wife’s death, unknowingly participates in fake spiritualist shows staged by a carnival worker. As he regains his inspiration, she falls in love with the man she is deceiving.

Critics hailed Pierre Salvadori’s The Electric Kiss as “the best Cannes opener of this decade” which doesn’t really sound like a ringing endorsement, because the iconic festival is known for opening with some of the most tepid and unremarkable French productions released in a given year. Clearly, none of them saw Leos Carax’s Annette, which had the decency to be memorable,  or Quentin Dupieux’s The Second Act, which at least had something to say about the devastating future of cinema. 

Compared to these two, The Electric Kiss might be the most disappointing Cannes opener of this decade, because there isn’t a single thing about it that makes it worthy of being presented at the world’s most prestigious film festival. It is competently made, more so than Amélie Bonnin’s nearly unwatchable Leave One Day, but is it any good? That is a question this review will attempt to answer, but you can already guess that, by reading these lines, this critic was not a fan of it. 

What starts off as a relatively standard drama morphs into something else entirely by the time Salvadori reaches his midway point, as he tracks the story of Suzanne (Anaïs Demoustier), a circus performer known around France as “Venus Electrificata,” whose seductive kiss produces an electric shock. One night, she meets a grief-stricken Antoine (Pio Marmaï) in the room of a clairvoyant. A painter by day, who hasn’t drawn anything since the death of his wife, Irène (Vimala Pons), Antoine seeks spiritual guidance to communicate with her. 

Pretending she is the clairvoyant Antoine has been looking for, Suzanne makes Antoine “see” Irène, and his condition begins to improve. So much so that he resumes painting, which pleases his dealer friend Armand (Gilles Lellouche), who reaches out to Suzanne to make sure these “séances” continue, even though they are fake, and she isn’t communicating with anyone in particular. Suzanne then begins to immerse herself in Irène’s private diaries, and discovers a complex relationship that brings her much closer to Antoine than she had thought, with the painter also feeling the same way towards Suzanne.

It’s also at that point where Salvadori creates labyrinthine parallels between Suzanne/Antoine, Irène/Antoine, and, eventually, Armand, but revealing more would mean unpeeling some details that are better left on your own. The filmmaker makes some interesting visual and editorial choices throughout his drawn-out 122-minute runtime that keep us semi-engaged, despite the familiarity of a screenplay that never strays from well-established conventions. Suzanne is fooling Antoine. Of course, he’s going to find out. It’s only a matter of time. Imagine if he didn’t for a change. The film would’ve been all the better for it, because as soon as he does, it begins to derail. 

The way that Salvadori links Irène’s story to Suzanne’s is genuinely thoughtful. The editing smartly mirrors the two characters, to the point where the protagonist eventually embodies who Antoine’s wife was, creating a strange juxtaposition that doesn’t fully convince us until we fully believe in her trickery. As she experiences feelings towards Antoine, what occurs between them is no longer fake, but genuinely tangible, and the way in which the cinematographer Julien Poupard’s camera holds on Demoustier and Marmaï’s faces during those scenes is particularly important. 

Both actors have been at the top of their game for some time (they’ve also given the best performances of their respective careers in Quentin Dupieux’s Daaaaaali! and Yannick), and continue to excel in a movie that requires a great deal of emotional complexity for their characters to feel believable. Unlike Lellouche’s telegraphed and frankly dull portrayal of a friend who is more concerned with losing money than supporting his depressed and isolated Antoine, both Demoustier and Marmaï give The Electric Kiss the spark (pun intended) needed to keep us invested in their respective plights. 

However, the screenplay never fully develops both stories compellingly, despite a visual precision rarely seen in Salvadori’s corpus to date. The blocking is genuinely astonishing, and lures us into a story that, on the outset, sounds simple, until it isn’t. It’s thus unfortunate that Salvadori forgoes all of that with one of the most ridiculous magical realist endings we’ve seen since André Forcier’s Ababouiné. Unlike that movie, though, which used it sparingly (and in places where it works best), The Electric Kiss’ conclusion is nothing more than a manipulative cop-out that sinks the semi-textured character work at the heart of the picture. 

After Salvadori’s film opened the 78th edition of Cannes, Thierry Frémaux’s overall lineup was met with rather tepid results. One will eventually be able to see most of these films on our screens or at fall festivals, but if The Electric Kiss is any indication, formal and thematic innovation in our moviegoing economy seems to be at an all-time low…

Grade: C-