On this episode, JD is joined by Megan Loucks and Isaiah Washington to discuss Ryan Coogler’s new vampire movie Sinners! Coogler is a filmmaker we already adored, but it’s clear that he found a completely new gear with Sinners. This is a film people will be talking about all year and for good reason. It’s a stunning work of art and we had the greatest time talking about what makes it so special.
Review: Sinners (4:00) Director: Ryan Coogler Writer: Ryan Coogler Stars: Michael B. Jordan, Hailee Steinfeld, Miles Caton
Director:Amalia Ulman Writer:Amalia Ulman Stars: Joe Apollonio, Camila del Campo, Guillermo Jacubowicz
Synopsis: A media crew mistakenly ends up in the wrong country while trying to profile a musician. As they collaborate with locals to create a viral trend, relationships form amid an unfolding health crisis.
Argentine-Spanish filmmaker Amalia Ulman made a name for herself in the independent film scene and film festival circuit with her feature-length debut, El Planeta. Drawing from the aesthetic of ’80s indie flicks and Noah Baumbach’s writing—especially Frances Ha—Ulman explores Spain’s economic crisis through two women navigating a faux high-end lifestyle. Their experiences are conveyed through absurdist and darkly comedic dialogue set pieces. Ulman has used that tone as her trademark or calling card for her directorial and writing voice. And she ups the ante in her sophomore feature, Magic Farm, to the point where Ulman unfortunately loses the personal element and smartly witty quips that her debut contained.
Magic Farm follows a film crew that works for a Vice or MTV News-like, edgy, teen-oriented media company called Creative Lab Network, in search of a musician named Super Carlitos, an internet sensation who performs with bunny ears, with a fascinating background worthy of a profile. The crew consists of a ragtag team of scandalous, narcissistic characters that are heightened portrayals of dysfunctional journalists during travel expeditions. There’s the tired, annoyed boss Edna (Chloë Sevigny), her boyfriend and manager Dave (Simon Rex), lover boy Jeff (Alex Wolff), blank canvas Justin (Joe Apollonio), and the camera operator who has secrets of her own, Elena (Ulman).
As a team, they don’t function properly; individually, they are even worse. They are so unfit for their roles and duties that it is hard to believe they have a functioning media company. In their latest assignment, during the search for Super Carlitos and his fascinating grooves, the team heads to San Cristobal, Argentina, for a chance to interview him and the locals who have championed the local musician. However, as expected from their inability to make anything work out, they manage to book a flight to the wrong San Cristobal. Edna bears a headache from the strenuous, constant mistakes, especially when it matters most. Since they are already there, Edna and company decide to talk to the townsfolk in search of another worthy story for a piece.
They seek outrageous stories, focusing on the town’s “weirdness” rather than its authenticity. Most interviews reveal the governmental injustices affecting San Cristobal, as well as the effects of agrochemicals that corporate businesses pollute the city with. As expected, none of them is the least bit interested. Elena is the only one who pays attention to the locals’ worries, being the only morally bound character in the film. Ulman provides a path for her characters to grow and become more empathetic towards the locals later in the narrative, as the conversations become more personal and the crew reaches a level of understanding. However, for the most part, these characters are absent-minded and out of touch with reality.
Their scopes are limited to the experiences they undergo in their supposed high-class lifestyle back home—a theme that Ulman utilizes once again for her sophomore feature. And that thin layered satirization of the characters causes the film to feel weightless in most of its runtime. Ulman places them in unfamiliar territories, where they must interact with their surroundings and the townsfolk to uncover a story worthy of telling. Their ignorance gets the best of them, causing them to dismiss everything except their well-being. There are many stories ready to be told to the world, and yet these opportunistic “journalists” ignore them for ones that deliver more traction.
In the case of those on Magic Farm, they are there to exploit the people they deem “weird” for clicks and likes, to be the first to hop on the trend train. While the film nods to decades of exploitative journalism, it often sacrifices realism for exaggerated, comedic beats. However, only one sequence reflects that theme in a more nuanced manner. Elena points out that the crew is taking advantage of the people they cover on their profiles and pieces. She is then told that, if she feels that way, she has picked the wrong profession and company to be in. The rest of the film is more heightened and comedy-dependent, lacking the subtlety that not only that key scene has, but also Ulman’s debut contained.
In El Planeta, Ulman focused on making her characters feel grounded, relatable, and multilayered as they went through the ups and downs of their economic struggles, seen via comedic, sometimes too fictional scenarios, inspired by the New Wave and Noah Baumbach, whose early work served as the voice for the lost, mid-20s adults that have trouble speaking their minds and spilling their emotional guts. (Much like Ulman, who takes that aspect and transcribes it for a contemporary audience, brilliantly so.) Meanwhile, Magic Farm has characters who are difficult to sympathize with due to their constant frivolity. You don’t want to be near them or hear them; they become annoyances for the film rather than characters that elevate the story and its satirical viewpoint of faux journalism and modern-day content creator culture.
The only character that you want to hear more from is Elena; Ulman herself explores the thematic thread without the help of her cast of unmerry journalists. Elena is the vessel of morality and integrity, from which the crew slowly and gradually learns. However, her character is sidelined, with the key focus shifting to Edna, Jeff, and Justin, who are less interesting and become tiresome. There is a fascinating thematic thread within the care of Magic Farm regarding the blinded media and their ignorant actions when covering struggling communities. Unfortunately, it all gets lost in the work’s comedic pandering and the disparity between the various plot lines. Magic Farm aims for sharp satire but falls short, settling instead for caricature. Ulman’s gift lies in empathy and intimacy—when those are lost, so is her voice.
This week on the InSession Film Podcast, we discuss the incredible success of Sinners at the box office and with critics / audiences, giving us a defining cultural moment for 2025! We also continue our Best Picture Movie Series with the 1968 musical Oliver!
– Sinners Success (12:23) After some opening banter, we begin the show this week by discuss the remarkable success of Ryan Coogler’s new film Sinners, a movie that dominated the cultural discourse over the weekend. The film opened to great numbers at the box office. For the longest time it sat at 100% on Rotten Tomatoes. It’s the first horror film in a really long time (maybe ever?) to get an “A” CinemaScore. Simply, Sinners will be a defining film of 2025 when it’s all said and done.
– Best Picture Movie Series: Oliver! (1:18:51) We continue this series with a film that might not have the historical legacy as others in the ’60s, but it’s not a complete bust either. Oliver! might be a weird step backwards in that it doesn’t fit the American New Wave that had already begun, however it is more in alignment with the rest of the ’60s than it isn’t. It’s also a fun little musical that is really well crafted. You can see the appeal and why it was popular at the time. Even if it’s a far cry from the best of the Best Picture winners in totality.
If you want to help support us, there are several ways you can help us and we’d absolutely appreciate it. Every penny goes directly back into supporting the show and we are truly honored and grateful. Thanks for your support and for listening to the InSession Film Podcast!
This week on Women InSession, we are joined by Matthew Anderson of The Lone Screenplay Nominee Podcast to discuss intermissions in film! Are they simply bygone or can they make a comeback in modern cinema? With The Brutalist having a popular intermission that made the rounds on social media last year, perhaps they could be on the way back into the current landscape. It could also be a one-off and that’s all it will ever be. We debate.
Panel: Kristin Battestella
On that note, check out this week’s show and let us know what you think in the comment section. Thanks for listening and for supporting the InSession Film Podcast!
On this episode of Chasing the Gold, Shadan and Erica discuss the exciting news that the Academy is starting a brand new Best Stunt Design Oscar and all the chaos of Emmy Season with so many great shows out right now! It’s been a long time coming, but we’re quite thrilled to see The Academy finally embrace the greatness and skill of the stunt. It’s a game-changer that will surely bring a great new dynamic to the ceremony.
On that note, check out this week’s show and let us know what you think in the comment section. Thanks for listening and for supporting the InSession Film Podcast!
Director:Ryan Coogler Writer:Ryan Coogler Stars: Michael B. Jordan, Hailee Steinfeld, Jack O’Connell
Synopsis: Trying to leave their troubled lives behind, twin brothers return to their hometown to start again, only to discover that an even greater evil is waiting to welcome them back.
Ryan Coogler’s syncretic masterwork Sinners combines elements of the Southern Gothic, the diaspora of Black identity, Delta blues, hoodoo and rootwork conjure, Juke joints, sharecropping, prohibition bootlegging, the KKK, and… vampires. Set in a Mississippi town called Clarksdale, which is built on cotton picking for exploitative white landowners in 1932, Sinners explodes genre expectations by embracing multiple folkloric mythologies and tales of the American South.
Author Flannery O’Connor wrote in 1960, “I have found that anything that comes out of the South is going to be called grotesque by the Northern reader, unless it is grotesque, in which case it is going to be called realistic.” Although she was writing of the tendency for audiences of a certain class and comfort level to be attracted to a literature and history, they could maintain a distance from; while still marveling at the margins they experience vicariously through the tales of “The South,” O’Connor’s observation is prescient in its description of Coogler’s authorial mode in Sinners. In the same essay she continues, “The Southern writer is forced from all sides to make his gaze extend beyond the surface, beyond mere problems, until it touches that realm which is the concern of prophets and poets.” Coogler merges the real social conditions of Mississippi sharecroppers and broken Black communities – traditionally and continually othered in American history with a gaze that opens itself to ecstatic possibilities through rebellion and a sustained belief in self-determination. Although Ryan Coogler himself is Californian, his modality in Sinners embraces the South as a core aspect of the Black experience in creating the historical, contemporary, and future identities of Black Americans.
Twin sons of Clarksdale, Smoke and Stack Moore (Michael B. Jordan) have been absent for years. They fought in the trenches of World War One and then tried their luck as gangsters in Chicago working for Al Capone. In one day and night the ambitions of the brothers to create a Juke joint (Juke itself originally stemming from the Gullah word juk) for the local Black community to gather, turns into an epic fight for survival. It isn’t only a battle for the safety of the people against racist abusers, but one for the survival of the soul conducted outside the confines of Christian dominance. Smoke and Stack are sinners who have given up the idea of redemption through the church run by their Uncle Jedidiah (Saul Williams) and imagine a more earthly garden of delights to uplift the all but in name cottonfield “slaves” still working under white landowners who lynch and burn crosses. The brothers are charming and dangerous tricksters whose braggadocio belies two wounded and intertwined hearts that beat for their Delta home.
Coogler sets the scene with precision and patience. His opening gambit places a bloodied and scarred Sammie “Preacher Boy” Moore (newcomer Miles Caton) stumbling into his father’s church clutching the fretboard of a resonator guitar. Jedidiah exhorts his son to finally give up the “Devil’s instrument” and devote his prodigious musical talents to worshipping the lord. As Sammie wordlessly stands shocked and shaken the film goes back a day to fill the audience in on the world of the Devil and sin that Sammie has potentially witnessed.
The arrival of the Smokestack twins back in their hometown sparks several conflagrations. The prodigal sons of Clarksdale have a plan to use their particularly ill-gotten gains from Chicago to make money for and from the town. They buy a disused sawmill from the sneering Hogwood (David Maldonado) and warn him that they will shoot any White man that comes on to the property. Hogwood smiles and assures the brothers that they don’t need to worry about the KKK as that’s “all done with.” Smoke especially understands that the past is never done with and wears the burden slightly more heavily than his younger and more chaotic twin, Stack. They pick up Sammie and go their separate ways preparing for the opening of “Club Juke” which will be the premier barrelhouse offering music, dancing, gambling, food, and drinking.
While Smoke takes care of the money side of the business, bargaining and bartering with Bo (Yao) and Grace (Li Jun Li) Chow, two Chinese Americans who have successfully set up the fresh and dry good groceries in town; Sammie and Stack find the talent who will light up the club. Sammie’s skill as a bluesman is untested for a large audience, but whispers of his skills reverberate around his rural home. Stack introduces him to the old-school jaw harp and piano player Delta Slim (Delroy Lindo) who is convinced to tickle the ivories with the offer of unlimited Irish Beer. A chance meeting on the train platform where Slim is busking with Stack’s former girlfriend, Mary (Hailee Steinfeld) is hilarious, foulmouthed, and lust-filled, but also speaks to the Jim Crow segregation and anti-miscegenation laws where a woman perceived as White cannot be seen engaging in a sexual relationship with a Black man. Mary isn’t the type to give up, forgive, or forget and with the swagger of a woman who refuses to be denied ensures she will be at Club Juke come hell or highwater. Another beautiful young woman is standing on the platform, the married songbird, Pearline (Jayme Lawson) who has captured Sammie’s young eye and heart.
Slim and Stack educate the eager Sammie on the ways of the wider world, from the joys of cunnilingus to the pains of the chain gang (in an incredible audio sequence which turns Slim’s telling of a lynching into the soundscape of it). Sammie is at a crossroad (a deliberate allusion to the Robert Johnson story) wanting to escape his hardscrabble life and become a dedicated bluesman, which in itself is a hardscrabble life in 1932 but carries with it the dream of becoming legendary. In Coogler’s South (as in the real post-emancipation South) there are few routes of escape and self-determination for Black folk and music is one that promises a self-made and collective legacy.
The other two legacies are money and family. It is these legacies that Smoke struggles to reconcile. He meets with his ex-lover and mother of his deceased child, Annie (Wunmi Mosaku) a Hoodoo conjurer and rootworker who fears that Smoke is once again hurtling into danger that her mojo bag and prayers cannot save him from. Their pent-up desire for each other is as palpable as the pain that has separated them. Annie agrees to be the cook at Club Juke if only to keep her on her beloved. Smoke convinces a soon-to-be father, Cornbread (Omar Miller) to act as the bouncer for the club and the night of their collective lives is coming together. What none of them expect is that night they will be fighting for their lives against a centuries-old Irish vampire named Remmick (Jack O’Connell) who hungers to create his own mind-controlled flock of the undead.
Ryan Coogler throws so many references and subplots within Sinners it can be dizzying just to keep up. The vampires, which at first would appear to be the core story, become almost a set-piece subplot to illustrate the voracious appetites of those who crave ownership over individual cultures through violent means. Coogler has Remmick waiting in the background seeking to feast on Club Juke after a failed attempt to “convert” Mississippi Choctaws. He quite easily finds his way into the home of Klan members Bert (Peter Dreimanis) and Ruth (Lola Kirke) who later turn up at the door of Club Juke asking for entry and playing Irish folksongs. Coogler adheres to vampire lore that the revenants must be invited in. The friendly and “brotherly” demeanor of Remmick soon turns sour as he speaks of another “Brotherhood” who will arrive to erase the revelers in the club.
Although bloody and action filled, the vampire attack is nothing compared to what precedes it. A musical sequence which is so ecstatic it reaches through time connecting Sammie’s pure bluesman’s voice with the rhythms and songs of shamans, tribal priests, rappers, DJs, futuristic guitar players, and Chinese Kunqu performers. The spectacle shot by Autumn Durald Arkapaw, edited by Michael P. Shawver, scored by Ludwig Göransson and choreographed by Aakomon Jones represents not only the finest set piece of Coogler’s film, but also the essence of the erotic, wild, and unburdened freedom of expression that creates a resonant guiding rhythm that pulsates beyond all worldly limits.
It would be hard to find a film quite like Sinners in contemporary blockbuster fare because few creators would be brave enough to attempt such a wild and potentially unwieldy cinematic behemoth. It is particularly difficult to make a genre-busting horror/action/musical/historical fiction piece and sustain characters that people care about. Improbably and impressively, Ryan Coogler has done it. Collaborating with his longtime leading man, Michael B. Jordan, and entrusting him with two distinct roles as the Smokestack twins more than pays off as Jordan creates believably different and inextricably connected men each striving for a “home” to protect. Hailee Steinfeld and Wunmi Mosaku each inhabit their characters as women who are not adjuncts to the men they love but are filled with their own desire and reasons for needing connection. Delroy Lindo and Omar Miller add levity (and tragedy) to their characters. Jack O’Donnell’s vampire certainly kissed the Blarney Stone when it comes to offering a “life without pain” in eternal night – it will only cost your “self”.
Sinners is a lot to take in and it keeps pushing boundaries until Coogler has the audience in their own timeless revelry. Could the film have been tighter and more focused? Absolutely. Should it have been? Probably. But the massive scale of the movie is what makes it touch “that realm which is the concern of prophets and poets.” Sweaty, sultry, and seductively Southern – Sinners is an ambitious masterpiece that raises roofs and burns brightly as it thrums with its infectious rhythm.
Director:Quentin Tarantino Writer:Quentin Tarantino Stars: Uma Thurman, David Carradine, Michael Madsen, Daryl Hannah
Synopsis:The Bride continues her quest of vengeance against her former boss and lover Bill, the reclusive bouncer Budd, and the treacherous, one-eyed Elle.
When Kill Bill was unleashed upon audiences, it was famously split into two volumes. Vol. 1 was a whirlwind of stylized carnage; a lean, mean, genre-bending revenge machine. Vol. 2, arriving months later, offered something different: a slower, talkier, more contemplative conclusion that delved deep into the backstory and emotional core of The Bride’s bloody quest. Revisiting it today, Kill Bill: Vol. 2 stands as a fascinating counterpoint to its predecessor. Baggier and more prone to Quentin Tarantino’s signature self-indulgence; but ultimately a richer, more emotionally resonant experience that cements the saga’s complex legacy.
The shift in tone is immediate. Where Vol. 1 sprinted, Vol. 2 ambles, taking its time with extended dialogue scenes, flashbacks (including the full wedding chapel massacre), and character moments. This pacing, controversial upon release, feels more rewarding now. Watching it years later, in my case, through the lens of parenthood, or even simply different life experiences, allows the emotional stakes to land with greater force. Unlike Vol. 1, where enemies often felt like stylish obstacles, Vol. 2 fleshes out the relationships more – the twisted sisterhood with Elle Driver (Daryl Hannah), the weary resignation of Budd (Michael Madsen), and crucially, the complex history between Beatrix Kiddo (Uma Thurman) and Bill (David Carradine). It trades some of Vol. 1’s visceral thrill for a deeper, more satisfying character study.
At the center, Uma Thurman delivers a career-defining performance across both volumes, but Vol. 2 truly showcases her range. Beyond the convincing physicality required for sequences like the brutal trailer fight or the iconic Pai Mei training montage, Thurman navigates Beatrix’s emotional labyrinth with stunning dexterity. She embodies the righteous fury, the moments of vulnerability (especially when buried alive), the maternal instinct, and the conflicting tangle of love and hate that defines her relationship with Bill. In the final confrontation, you feel not just her thirst for vengeance, but the painful history and undeniable connection that makes the inevitable conclusion so potent.
Much of the film’s power hinges on the eventual arrival of Bill himself. Withheld for most of Vol. 1 and much of Vol. 2 – like Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now his presence looms large. When David Carradine finally takes centerstage, he doesn’t disappoint. His Bill is captivating – charming, folksy, philosophical, dangerous, and undeniably cool. Carradine crafts such a compelling antagonist that he risks overshadowing the other members of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad. The film’s structure, however, deliberately dedicates significant chapters to the remaining Vipers, allowing them substantial space. Michael Madsen is entertaining as the washed-up Budd, and Daryl Hannah effectively channels venomous rivalry as Elle, each making a strong impact in their respective confrontations. Rather than serving as detours, these encounters feel like crucial, distinct stages on The Bride’s journey, serving to further heighten the anticipation for the final encounter with Bill.
This volume feels unmistakably like Tarantino unbound, perhaps for the first time since Pulp Fiction. While Jackie Brown adhered more closely to its source material and Vol. 1 was a tighter genre homage, Vol. 2 luxuriates in QT’s signatures: lengthy, quotable monologues (including the infamous Superman speech), playful directorial flourishes, deep-cut soundtrack choices, and loving nods to Westerns, Kung Fu flicks, and ’70s exploitation cinema. This indulgence occasionally leads to a looser feel compared to Vol. 1’s relentless momentum, a trait seen in later Tarantino films, but it’s also where much of the film’s unique flavor resides.
Beneath the surface of revenge, the film is saturated with a powerful sense of regret, a theme arguably more pervasive than vengeance itself. Nearly every character reckons with past decisions and paths not taken. Budd laments his squandered potential, Elle seethes with bitter jealousy, and even Bill seems tinged with a melancholic awareness of how things went wrong. The Bride’s final act feels less like triumphant revenge and more like a necessary, almost sorrowful, closing of a chapter – an acknowledgment that things had to end this way, but tinged with the sadness that they ever reached this point.
How does it hold up in 2025? Tarantino’s work consistently walks a fine line regarding violence, representation, and cultural homage versus appropriation. Kill Bill, with its pastiche of genres and sometimes provocative content, remains a point of discussion. For many, (including me) it manages to stay on the right side of the “depiction vs. endorsement” line, functioning as homage rather than parody, but your mileage may vary. While perhaps less tightly constructed than its predecessor, Vol. 2’s strengths – Thurman’s phenomenal performance, Carradine’s magnetic presence, and its surprising emotional depth , ensure it remains a vital, fascinating film. It might be the more indulgent volume, but its willingness to explore the complex heart beneath the carnage makes it essential viewing and a journey well worth revisiting.
Director:George Miller Writer:James McCausland, George Miller, Byron Kennedy Stars: Mel Gibson, Joanne Samuel, Hugh Keays-Byrne
Synopsis: In a self-destructing world, a vengeful Australian policeman sets out to stop a violent motorcycle gang.
It’s October 2023, and my friends and I decide to go see a Mad Max marathon playing at a local theater starting at 10PM and going till around 6AM the next morning, with breaks in the middle of each movie. It is a night we remember fondly to this day, particularly in terms of how it completely ruptured our sleep schedules for a long while after, but it doesn’t change the wonderful night that preceded our insomnia, or the fresh coffee and breakfast we got at a cafe only minutes after they had opened for the day. Sitting in a 100-year-old theater surrounded by several dozen people, some even dressed as characters from the movies, and watching each movie play on the gigantic canvas in front of us, was an unforgettable experience.
Ever since its inception in 1979, the Mad Max series has become a pioneering force in action cinema, with incredible chase sequences and vehicular carnage showcased with incredible direction from the mastermind of the franchise, George Miller. While the series may have reached its zenith in 2015 with Mad Max: Fury Road, and its prequel Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga; the first movie remains an interesting look into how the world began to lose its way and turn into the Wasteland audiences will come to recognize it as. Shot on a rather shoestring budget of $350,000 in Melbourne over six weeks, the first Mad Max tells the story of Max Rockatansky (Mel Gibson), a police officer in the Main Force Patrol (MFP) trying to keep law and order in place as war and chaos have overtaken everything and led to criminals on the streets committing more heinous crimes and causing more reckless damage and stealing commodities like fuel, eventually clashing with a motorcycle gang run by Toecutter (Hugh Keays-Byrne).
46 years since its release, it’s interesting to revisit Mad Max, especially as the scale of the franchise has radically transformed, while also appreciating its standalone nature within the series. Each movie feels like its own separate tale as Max moves through the wasteland and society crumbles further, though it is fascinating seeing the ideas chronicled in The Road Warrior, Beyond Thunderdome and Fury Road be introduced here, such as the importance of fuel as more and more of the environment is pillaged and reduced to ruins, with machines and vehicles creating a religion of their own. Tying in Max’s V8 Pursuit Special to an almost holistic version of V8 by the time Fury Road happens is a particularly fun detail, as well as the inclusion of Keays-Byrne, who appears later as Immortan Joe in Fury Road.
As Max, Gibson is cast well, not quite the version of the character he eventually becomes, but teetering on the edge of it more often than not, though still reserving a chunk of his sanity and rational thinking for his wife, Jessie (Joanne Samuel), and son, “Sprog” (Brendan Heath). This is tested, however, by Toecutter, whose gang also wants to eradicate the police officers after them like Max and his partner “Goose” (Steve Bisley). Keays-Byrne plays Toecutter in menacing fashion, expressing his disdain for everything through his extreme actions such as eventually killing Goose by having his gang burn him alive and run down Jessie and “Sprog,” acts which eventually make Max lose his moral compass and hunt down the gang in more lethal ways. As entertaining as it is to see Max go after everyone who has wronged him, it also comes with a sense of tragedy and sadness over seeing someone like him losing his sense of humanity, which leads to his change in later movies. The action that ensues is brutal, often more grounded in nature than its future installments, and loaded with the hyperactive editing unique to the franchise, making for an effective visual spectacle.
While Mad Max may not be the best movie from George Miller, given his work in The Road Warrior, Fury Road and Furiosa, it serves as an incredibly effective entry into the world of fire and blood Max sees on a daily basis, a world past the brink of almost all sensitivities and emotion and one built almost solely on people watching everything burn while having a smile on their face. Cynical and dark in its approach, but more tragic in its aftermath, showing the audience a man who embraces being the man he is nicknamed to be at the MFP: Mad.
Director:Luca Guadagnino Writer:Barbara Alberti, Ivan Cotroneo, Walter Fasano Stars: Tilda Swinton, Flavio Parenti, Edoardo Gabbriellini
Synopsis: Emma left Russia to live with her husband in Italy. Now a member of a powerful industrial family, she is the respected mother of three, but feels unfulfilled. One day, Antonio, a talented chef and her son’s friend, makes her senses kindle.
There’s always a first time for everything. First kiss. First acquired taste. First designer brand item bought. First salary. First time discovering a movie or director. In 2012, I wasn’t as much of a film expert as I am now. I was part of an active local literary scene when I encountered a different visual language of alternative cinema than the one I was accustomed to watching while growing up. I remember that writing mentor we had, she had very pointy black eyes and wild curly hair. We were sitting together in this cafe, waiting for other friends -poets, directors, short story authors, dancers- to join us, gushing over Tilda Swinton whom we both adored. This androgynous human being, an artist defying gender expression in a time when it was still revolutionary to be chameleonic, working her way through roles regardless of gender she’s playing. My writing mentor whispered in my ears, “Did you watch I Am Love? If not, do yourself a favor and watch it.”
Swinton plays Emma, a calm, kind woman married into wealth. She lives a life of luxury and excess but lacks passion. As a latent passionate woman, we viewers walk with her on this journey of self-exploration and finding the eros in her dead life as she starts an affair with her son’s friend, a chef, while handling the lives of her sons and daughter. Emma meets Antonio (Edoardo Gabbriellini), her son’s friend, and this awakens something within her that had long been dead, that neither riches nor palaces can satisfy in her poetic soul. As parties and festivities continue non-stop in the hallways of large mansions, Emma hides in her room, knitting and dozing off. Emma’s senses are reawakened through Antonio’s cooking, and that stirs the haute bourgeoisie domesticity she’s been comfortable in, though unhappily, arousing her into someone entirely different.
Back in the day I had no clue who Luca Guadagnino was. I was director-oriented, but seeking the director of a random film I liked was not on my radar back in the day. My entire focus was on Swinton. However, as I analyzed the film more, I realized there was a reason Swinton portrayed that ethereal being- delicate and feminine, unlike her more enigmatic, gender-defying roles. Some of these roles veered into the menacing lane, while others were more ambiguous, like a transparent fluid. Swinton, like water, takes the shape of every medium she is put in, regardless of the genre she’s starring in.
Guadagnino channels Éric Rohmer and Wong Kar-wai somewhat in this film. He traps the characters in frames within frames, utilizing wide shots to emphasize their lack of individuality and the insignificance of individuals within the larger context of powerful oligarch families. His meticulous attention to detail here bizarrely diverts from his later freer pictures, where the detail is more character-focused than aesthetic and design-focused. It’s a strange faithfulness to form that strangely seems out of the ordinary for him, resembling a Merchant Ivory production in the larger context. But at its heart, I Am Love is a Guadagnino picture to the core, with his complicated relationships, projection of desire, fluid sexuality, and characters yearning for what they can’t have.
Guadagnino’s sensual piece of cinema, part of his self-described Desire trilogy, relies on the awakening of the senses. A young Alba Rohrwacher portrays a fragile artist who conceals her truth as a lesbian from her family. Gabbriellini plays Antonio, the sensual and rebellious chef who steals Swinton’s heart. Beauty is the main word in this film, it’s insane seeing how Guadagnino’s outlook on life has changed with his more recent films, as his first three have nothing but pure refined beauty, gorgeous settings, and dazzling people falling in and out of love. There is no place for the gruesome or the gross-out in his Desire trilogy, so it’s his most restrained work, and his most poetic at that. Bringing to mind how Martin Scorsese found violence in The Age of Innocence, even with all the confinements of the period piece.
The wardrobe alone is a feast for fashion aficionados. Raf Simons brings to life every small detail in Emma’s fancy world through her outfits but also the assortment of Birkin and Hermes bags she casually carries around and places nonchalantly as a woman accustomed to the highest status of living without a care in the world. The jewelry, both elegant and perfectly worn by Emma, enhances her ethereal presence as she moves throughout the film like a mid-century ghost. As for the soundtrack, those pre-existing compositions by John Adams completely fit the mood, seeping underneath the skin, further complicating Emma’s situation as a bridge between two opposing worlds; those of her motherhood and member of the bourgeoisie, and a passionate wild lover.
I Am Love is a film for those who want to taste the screen and feel the silence. It’s a movie for the dreamers, those who still take long walks on the beach, and despite it shifting tonally completely at the end, it is still a soothing feature made for audiences who exist beyond a high-tech world.
On this episode, JD and Brendan review Duke Johnson’s first solo effort in The Actor, starring André Holland! We’ve been looking forward to this film for a few years now given Johnson’s relationship with the great Charlie Kaufman, and for reasons that are apparent, Kaufman’s influences are all over it. It might not be perfect, but there’s still plenty to discuss, in particular a great performance from Holland.
Review: The Actor (4:00) Director: Duke Johnson Writer: Duke Johnson, Stephen Cooney Stars: André Holland, Gemma Chan, Toby Jones
One of the best sports movies in years, Carson Lund’s Eephus, is now available to watch at home. It’s a somber film in many ways, but also one that is deeply romantic and full of comfort. From the gorgeous visuals to capturing just how poetic a sport baseball can be, Eephus is a film perfect for baseball fans, cinephiles, and anybody who has ever experienced the beauty of having a third place in their life. I was able to chat with writer/director/editor Carson Lund and cinematographer Greg Tango about their process, the unpredictable nature of baseball on film, and what a third place means to them.
Alex Papaioannou: I figure there’s no better place to start than by asking how you both got into baseball.
Carson Lund: Well, I’ve been playing forever. Greg, maybe you weren’t even a baseball guy before this [Laughs.] Did I bring you into baseball through Eephus?
Greg Tango: I played a lot growing up and in high school with friends. I didn’t play to the level that Carson did, but when I was a kid, it was Little League. Then in high school, it was playing pickup with my friends. That’s sort of why this story resonated with me in the first place.
Carson Lund: I should also say we played some pickup games as a cast and crew, and Greg was one of the better hitters. [We all laugh.] But I’ve been playing forever. I played in travel leagues when I was a kid, and when I moved to LA, I joined an adult rec league. So for the last 10 years, I’ve been playing in that, and it’s a big influence on the film. It’s all in the people that I play with and the characters I’ve met over the years. It’s just such a great kind of escape from daily life, and I wanted to capture the feeling of playing a game like that on a Sunday.
Alex Papaioannou: One of my favorite things about this film is it embodies the essential nature of a third place. We’re losing so many of them for a variety of reasons, and I’m curious about the impact it may have had on the film. Have you had any examples of losing a place that meant a lot to you, like the players do in the film?
Carson Lund: There are honestly too many to count. One of the most direct ways is how now that I live in LA, I don’t just have access to a park like I did in the past. There are parks, obviously, but I have to drive quite a ways to them. I mean in the sense of just a place that I can walk to and run around and shoot a basketball or something like that. All the space is already accounted for. That’s a space I always had in my life: a park that I could quickly get to. There’s also the change that’s occurred in going to the movies at the movie theater. Obviously, those can be a for-profit space, so it’s not quite the same. But I just remember growing up, and theaters being such a rallying point for people. Same thing with coffee shops. They were places where people all hung out. I think of my hometown library. It used to be really busy all the time, and now people don’t go in as much because everyone reads on their Kindle or they stream whatever. Mine had a great media section, so I grew up there while talking to people… And you know what? The biggest one is the video store. For me, losing a video store in my hometown cuts off such a great source of discovery for people. When you just doom scroll through a streaming service, it’s not quite the same.
Alex Papaioannou: Here’s hoping places like these, to lounge and connect and be off your phone, make a comeback. By any chance, are either of you familiar with John DeMarsico?
Carson Lund: The broadcaster, right?
Alex Papaioannou: Yes! The game director for the Mets on SNY. I’m a big fan of his, and what he’s doing for the live telecast of baseball is exciting. He’s been quoted as saying that baseball is inherently cinematic, more so than other sports. He provides his own details, but I’m curious: After shooting a baseball film, in your own words, what do you think it is about baseball that makes it such a cinematic experience?
Greg Tango: In a lot of ways, baseball is all about reacting, right? It’s a lot of waiting, which is one of the themes of the movie. I think what makes it cinematic is that you never know where something’s going to go. The ball moves from person to person, and it’s almost like a dance in a weird way. You’re capturing these people move. With our film, we constructed it based on how baseball is played. There are people crossing the frame. There’s a lot of movement and depth. I feel that in other sports, everything follows the ball in one direction. It all starts in one place and goes back and forth. In baseball, we go to every corner of the field. You can hit a ball to left field, then it might come back all the way to home, or quickly head to third base, or something like that. It moves around quite a bit. And as that happens, the depth of the area changes. You’re seeing people in both the outfield and infield. It just has a lot of range to it.
Carson Lund: Yeah, that’s a great point. The spacing is very different from a lot of other sports, where people move in a group or in a big chunk. And I think that’s always fun within deciding composition and cinematography. How can you place people quite far away from each other, but still make sure they have a relationship? You can work with deep focus to guide the eye around a very wide frame. That was something we really enjoyed doing with this film. I’d say the other part of it that makes it inherently cinematic is that it’s a sport that facilitates socializing. All that downtime results in people just chatting. That’s something I always enjoy seeing: how people fill their time with small talk. And then the dugout itself is so much like a Plato’s cave situation. At least the one we picked is. Everyone’s enclosed, and they’re looking out on this world that, when we’re shooting into the dugout, we don’t see. But we watch their faces watch it. And I think that’s always a very cinematic feeling: being able to look in at someone who’s looking out, and not being able to see what they’re looking out into.
Alex Papaioannou: Greg mentioned one of the things about baseball that is exciting is how unpredictable it is. You’re hitting a small ball with a bat that’s rounded, and it could just go anywhere. So, in terms of shot composition and planning out a film around the game, can you both talk about the challenges of capturing the unpredictable side of the sport?
Carson Lund: It’s almost a casting question. When we cast this film, I was looking for people with baseball experience, but you also have to be flexible. It’s a very specific thing that we needed: men in their 40s or 50s, or 60s even, who had somewhat recent experience and had some athletic skill in the Boston area. It was a very small peg we were trying to hit [said while laughing.] So inevitably, the skill level was not quite where I would have hoped or expected it would be, but I think that actually ended up being a blessing and produced a lot of very comical sloppiness. And so we just tried to embrace that. Part of that was by shooting in master shots, so we could see everything happening at once. There’s a lot of funny stuff happening, and I’ve seen it a few times in theaters recently, and people always laugh at certain moments. I think it’s because you can see everything happening. It sort of follows Chaplin’s idea of comedy being in long shots, and tragedy being in close-up. As far as choreographing it, a lot of the time it was very carefully thrown to a specific part of the frame. So Greg and I would have to collaborate on that. Usually, I’d be the one throwing because no one else in the crew had that accuracy. [Laughs].
Greg Tango: And sometimes, there were certain things we were worried about taking a long time to get, and we would get it really quickly. Or the opposite would happen, and things we weren’t worried about would take longer. Baseball is funny in that way. There’s one shot specifically that I’m thinking of. I think the ball comes from third to first, and I’m kind of shooting from behind first base, looking towards third. I remember we had a wall of flags around me. We had a crew member ready to jump in front to try and grab the ball if it happened to go over. So we did a lot of protecting the camera and ourselves. Luckily, we never even came close to hitting the camera or anything like that. It all ended up being pretty smooth.
Carson Lund: I will say one thing about that. There was one time when we had the camera set up between the mound and home plate. We put up a huge tent around the camera, so there was only a little hole where the lens could see out. And I remember Ethan [Ward] was hitting, and he hit it a few inches away from that little lens hole. But otherwise we were fine. If it went through that hole, the very expensive lens would have been shattered, and it would have thrown off the shoot, but we didn’t really have another way. We didn’t want to resort to VFX. So everything you see is a real ball moving through space, and real people catching it or throwing it.
Alex Papaioannou: Going off of what you’re both saying, a lot of baseball feels miraculous. That meant both in the context of baseball being played and in capturing it in a way that translates to an audience. And there are a lot of moments that feel organic and spontaneous throughout the film. Were some of these moments where you just followed the dugout or batters prepping the swing? Did you have these images in your mind going into the film, or was it after the fact that you could play around with the items commonly found on a baseball field?
Carson Lund: The film was thoroughly shot-listed and storyboarded. Greg and I did so much work in the run-up to the film. We just went over every single shot and talked it through to make sure we understood exactly what we were trying to capture. That was really important for scheduling, in terms of figuring out where the sun would be at any given moment. As the editor, I’m editing the film in my head as I make the storyboards, and even as I write the script. So we don’t always feel that we need anything extra on set. But there’s always going to be something that happens that excites you, or there’s a detail that a character does that you then want to spotlight in some way. A lot of this was figured out very carefully, but I should also note that sometimes an actor had their schedule change, so they couldn’t be on set. You might have to suddenly think about how a shot needs to be shrunk entirely if there’s nobody to fill the spot from far away. So there were cases where it wasn’t exactly what we planned, but we always had a lot of people on set, so we could always figure something out to get the shot.
Alex Papaioannou: There’s a lot of idle time, both in the film and in baseball in general. It works so well in the film. Greg, there are moments where you’ll just be shooting the outfield, and the characters aren’t really doing much of anything, and it’s intentional. Sometimes they’re muttering to themselves or chatting. Can you talk about whether there was any challenge in making “nothing” look cinematic?
Greg Tango: Yeah, we talked a lot about it in prep. It goes for any sort of movie as well. You just ask the question: What’s the point of the scene? What are we trying to say? We might to build something up visually before the payoff later. It’s figuring out the point of the scene and just building around that. One example is how we see Dilberto (David Torres Jr.) build up to getting mad in the film. Sometimes you’ll see him in the background looking off at other things, or there’s a shot where you see him getting ready to start leaving the field. It’s all about figuring out what the point of a moment is, and then layering your shot that way.
Carson Lund: Sometimes there’s what you call a pillow shot, where it’s just the clouds or the trees. I think those are really important for the editing flow. And here we also have people just hanging out when there’s not a play happening with them. We really did talk about all those moments. The script was written in such a way that every unit of time was accounted for. Every out. Every inning. What is happening now? And how is that advancing something that happens later? So it really was constructed in such a way that everything had some kind of payoff, even if it’s just a very small, subtle payoff. But the film just keeps planting seeds.
Alex Papaioannou: It all lends itself to the naturalistic feeling the film has, and it capitalizes on it in a wonderful way. We mentioned comedy beats earlier, and this is also a very funny film. The Linda Belinda line gets me every single time. I adore it. But it’s also a very somber film at the end of the day. It’s upsetting, but in a cathartic way. So can you talk about balancing that comedy versus that sadness, and never sacrificing one for the other?
Carson Lund: I think the somberness or melancholy is just inherent in the scenario: this is the last time they’re going to do this. The whole film is a slow march towards the end. And the conflicts that arise in the film have everything to do with light and the passage of time, right? The ball disappears, the light fades. People start leaving, and they get sore. It’s a very funereal film. So it’s hard to escape that somberness. And for me, the comedy is there to evade the darkness. It’s in all these men trying to find ways to ward off that creeping feeling of the end. And they’re using their old tricks, their old jokes, and their old lingo to avoid talking about the end. So in a way, I see the beginning to be just as somber as the ending. In some sense, if you’re really watching it and thinking about what these guys are doing, it’s like they’re all just performing this ritual for the last time. They’re just being a version of themselves in a very active, deliberate way so that they can avoid the fact that they’re actually quite sad about this. So I don’t really think of the two as completely different. But the film certainly does slow down in its pacing, and then as it gets darker, we play with a lot of new visual ideas that create bigger areas of darkness. It makes that feeling very literal. Greg, could you talk about shooting some of that night stuff?
Greg Tango: Shooting the night stuff was super fun. It was a big, elaborate setup. We created layers with the headlights and the park itself to make the streaks of light sort of separate the space between the players.
Alex Papaioannou: Greg, this is a very natural film in terms of its imagery and shot composition, but there are two moments that I was just blown away by. There’s such a stark shift in the style and visual language of the film. One is when the eephus pitch is first brought up, and we just see the ball in the frame. It’s almost like a moment from a Wong Kar-Wai film, that slow-moving blur, as if it’s frozen in time. And then there’s a home run scene at golden hour, which follows the batter through some slow motion. Can you talk about filming those two specific moments and the shift they take?
Greg Tango: For the eephus pitch, the first few shots focus on the pitcher in that really weird light. It was just a moment where we got to set, and it was one of those days that was a little hazy, and the sun wasn’t up yet. Carson and I were like, “We gotta get this. Let’s get the camera.” I think it was just me, Carson, and Nate [Fisher]. Everybody else was still getting ready. But we knew we just had to roll. And then it changed five minutes later. So I think we only got two or three shots, and one made the film. And then that shot you’re talking about with the ball itself, that’s actually Carson. He did that in LA afterwards!
Carson Lund: [Laughs.] It’s funny, you picked one of the only shots in the film that was a pickup we did away from the East Coast. Originally, that scene was just playing purely as a dialogue with comedy. But I wanted to get at some other level of the idea that he’s talking about. It’s kind of like the essence of the film. He’s talking about trying to stop time and achieve this dream-like state through a pitch or through the game. So I knew I wanted that kind of thing there. I didn’t know if it would completely work because, you’re right, it is sort of an outlier. But I didn’t have the right camera or lenses to pull that off on set. It wasn’t the same stuff we shot with, but I did my best to color it the same. Essentially, we tried a lot of different ways to capture that shot. At first, I was actually planning with the ball being thrown. But it was just too fast to follow, so I knew I wanted that slow shutter effect, like Wong Kar-Wai. I was thinking about David Lynch, too. But we ended up actually dangling a ball from a string, and the camera is actually in one place. My friend was holding the camera, and I was dangling the ball. He was slowly turning the camera, and we were dangling the ball so that the slight pan of the camera created that background motion. It’s just very small-scale trickery [laughs.] But it ends up looking pretty real. I had to paint out some moments where the string was falling into frame, but I can’t think of another way to capture that shot, short of maybe having a studio and some complicated wind rig.
Greg Tango: For the home run moment, I think that was the first time of two moments that we used slow motion in the movie. We just wanted to build up this moment, and then, as they come into home plate, to slow it down. We did a lot to try and keep flair out. I’m not big on a lot of flair, but this felt like a good moment to have some. We could sort of make it a little more cinematic, to use that term. But it’s a Steadicam shot pushing in and following him home. And then we have all the players come in. That’s one of my favorite shots, just because there are so many moments that happen with all the different players as he comes in from the home run. It’s one of those things that, the more times you watch the shot, the more funny interactions you observe between all the players.
Carson Lund: Totally.
Alex Papaioannou: It’s magical.
Carson Lund: And we really didn’t want it to be a hard cut from slow motion back to regular 24 frames per second. So we actually speed ramp it all the way back to normal. I just wanted this very smooth viewing experience where you slip into a dream-like state in a very almost unnoticeable way. It’s just: suddenly you’re in it. I think a hard cut would feel too jarring in this context.
Alex Papaioannou: At the end of the day, this is also a film about guys hanging out. So I’m curious if either of you has a favorite hangout film, or one that you just throw on thinking, “I need this as a comfort watch right now.”
Carson Lund: Honestly, I don’t really have that kind of movie for myself. There are films I like, like Dazed and Confused, for example, that I just absolutely love. I very rarely turn on a film just to hang out now. I’m always watching something new or going to the movie theater. If a 35-millimeter print of Dazed and Confused is playing down the street for me, I’ll go watch it again. But I guess I’m always trying to discover something new in the movies, so I don’t necessarily have that sort of comfort thing. But I’m sure Greg does. I’m probably the outlier here.
Greg Tango: I mean, it’s not always my go-to, but it makes a nice story. Right before we shot Eephus on, I think the last day of prep, for whatever reason, I was by myself in one of the houses where we were staying. Nobody else was around, and I watched Everybody Wants Some!!, which is one of the things we referenced a little bit in pre-production. There are some baseball scenes in there, where people are practicing, but it’s Linklater, so they’re also just hanging out. That was a fun one to get myself in the headspace to work on a baseball movie for six weeks.
Carson Lund: I did see that three times in theaters! At least one of those viewings was just pure comfort. At first it was discovery, but then I was like, “I just got to go back.” Two Linklater answers. He is the master of that; he knows how to hang out.
Director:Nadia Conners Writer:Nadia Conners Stars: Elizabeth Reaser, Walton Goggins, Lois Smith
Synopsis: A stranger crashes a party, sparking a comedy of errors, and a reordering of life.
Nadia Conners’ debut feature, The Uninvited, is a chamber piece set in the Hollywood Hills where three women each dissect their relationship to performance, age, and motherhood within the confines of what is expected of an actress. The gendered nature of their contributions to intransience inside a machine that celebrates youth as achievement. Rose (Elizabeth Reaser) is preparing for a post-shoot celebration for her husband Sammy’s (Walton Goggins) most celebrated client at his artist management firm. The director, Gerald (Rufus Sewell), who has known Rose and Sammy for decades is the special guest at the garden party; but it is an uninvited and unknown guest, Helen Hale (Lois Smith), whose presence sparks a mental reckoning for Rose who has found herself a useful adjunct to her husband’s career but failing in her own.
Rose and Sammy are Hollywood insiders with Sammy’s company representing a director who has made a billion dollar “property” and is now in a position to greenlight any project he wants. Sammy is desperate to please Gerald and his new girlfriend, the up-and-coming talent, Delia (Eva De Dominici). Rose and Sammy are parents to Wilder (Roland Rubio) a six-year-old who is carelessly minded by the phone obsessed Tracy (Kate Comer) but carefully monitored by Rose. One of the ironies of the day of the party is that Rose receives a call stating that she’s too old to play the mother of a six-year-old, “Nobody would believe it.”
It doesn’t help Rose that she’s also “mothering” her husband whose insecurity is in overdrive leading him to constantly snipe at her as he tells her he’s “Not sure you’d stick around with me if this grand project of ours were reduced to survival.” Rose has organized the party to what she believes is his specifications, yet she’s consistently interrupted each time she tries to get dressed to attend. First, it is by Helen who has driven “home” to their house – a place she once lived in with her husband also named Sammy. Helen is clearly confused and, as Rose finds out, is dying. Her memories of the house and her life there become a surreal prism that echoes Rose’s current reality.
Another uninvited guest who arrives to unbalance the already stress-laden evening is Lucien (Pedro Pascal) a Hollywood A-lister who has been recently released from rehab. Lucien is Rose’s ex-lover from the years when she was a heralded stage actress. His presence leads to Sammy having another crisis of faith: what if Rose is still in love with the man whose charisma is widely feted?
At its heart, The Uninvited is a story of the permanent impermanence of women who were once “somebody” until the system decided they weren’t. Helen talks about her time spent going to parties with stars such as David Niven (Delia doesn’t know who she’s talking about) and wonders who has kept the memories of her? Delia, who has been given a film role that Rose originated on stage with Lucien almost twenty years ago and is set to play opposite Lucien in the film, looks at Rose’s life and assumes she’s happy as a mother. Rose adores her son, but she’s not happy at having lost her career and being spoken about in the past-tense. While the three women interact, the men at the party wheel and deal and congratulate each other. Gerald, in particular, has decided he’s a Godlike figure. As much as he admires Rose, he doesn’t stop for a moment to consider what she may feel when he tells stories of her groundbreaking performance in the play that he’s not even considered her for despite the leading man remaining the same.
“If you were ten years younger,” says Gerald to Rose when he arrives with Delia who is treading a similar path to what Rose did in her “lost youth.” The solipsism and blindness of the men would be funny if it weren’t so casually entitled. Lucien waltzing back into Rose’s life and telling her he still loves her and only broke up with her all those years ago because he was threatened by her talent. Sammy speaking of how much he adores Rose to Helen as Rose “works the party” for him, but he clearly has forgotten that his wife has, not had, ambition as an actress. When Sammy is imagining his dream team for a new venture he forgets to include Rose’s name on it.
Because The Uninvited clearly wears its origins as a play, the immediate focus is on both script and performance. The performances are the defining strength of the film. Elizabeth Reaser, Lois Smith, Rufus Sewell, and Walton Goggins are eminently watchable as they interpret Connors’ script into a cinematic creation. The themes are expertly conveyed even when the script finds itself on shaky ground. For example, there’s a recurring bit about a glow fish fairytale that Rose tells Wilder which Connors gives undue weight to as a philosophical key, and some of the “reveals” that prove the core thesis of the film are easily spotted. Plus, a subplot about aura photography at the party doesn’t add anything to the work beyond shallow visual flair (flare?).
Clunkiness aside, The Uninvited is an earnest, sometimes scathing, but predominantly heartfelt examination of how little things change for women over the ages when it comes to having to choose career, motherhood, or being a support system for the insecurities of men. Being seen and heard as people rather than projections is incongruent in the Hollywood Hills where success is surface. When the party is over heartbreak might await, but if it does, there is still a heart to heal.
Director:Patricia Riggen Writer:Caitlin Parrish, Erica Weiss, Logan Miller, Noah Miller Stars: Viola Davis, Anthony Anderson, Antony Starr
Synopsis:Terrorists take over the G20 summit with President Sutton, bringing her governing and military experience to defend her family, company, and the world.
There’s no denying that Prime Video’s G20 sounds like the fakest movie in existence, especially when one watches the opening scene. Within the first two minutes introducing us to its antagonist, Corporal Rutledge (Antony Starr), the words “crypto,” “blockchain,” and “bitcoin” are mentioned without an innate understanding of what cryptocurrencies are. It’s as if the screenwriting team, comprised of four writers, heard those words in passing and decided to make an entire political thriller based on a terrorist who would want to enrich himself in bitcoin when the global economy collapses.
To be fair, G20 can now be considered a documentary, because the global economy did collapse in real life just a few days ago, and the current President is very much a fan of cryptocurrency. That said, I couldn’t explain, for the life of me, how Rutledge can actually accomplish the collapse of the world economy to enrich himself via unstable currencies, especially when “AI” and “deepfake,” more buzzwords blended in the script, are thrown in the mix. Essentially, the villain wants to hijack the G20 summit set in Cape Town, South Africa, to make all world leaders read a pangram, a sentence that uses every letter of the alphabet at least once, to program their AI software to generate deepfake videos of these leaders explaining how their ill-defined treaty will enrich themselves, thus crashing the dollar, and boosting bitcoin?
What the terrorists didn’t expect, though, was that the U.S. President, is not only a military veteran, but kicks major ass. This is Danielle Sutton, played by Viola Davis, who has now become the world’s last hope at saving the leaders held hostage by Rutledge, and bringing back the global economy to what it once was. It’s as politically muddled and profoundly misguided in its understanding of current economic and geopolitical trends as any good Cannon Group movie (think Invasion U.S.A. or Assassination), but it’s also what makes G20 surprisingly fun.
I still wouldn’t call the movie good, by any means. Within the first 20 minutes, you’ll be able to pinpoint exactly who in the President’s team is in on it and works hand-in-hand with Rutledge in ensuring Sutton’s term will prematurely end, and you’ll also be able to guess how POTUS will foil the villain plot, with the help of her rebel daughter, of course. Why is that? Because in the opening scene, a parallel bait-and-switch, her daughter, Serena (Marsai Martin), is able to foil the Secret Service and party at a bar without a security detail with her. That will absolutely come in handy when Rutledge’s team hacks the keycards given to the attendees of the G20 summit.
Obviously, there are frictions with Sutton and her daughter, because Serena thinks her mother doesn’t allow her to do what she wants, which, duh, she’s the President! You would think that Serena would at least understand that the daughter of the most powerful individual in the world travelling with a security detail isn’t stopping her from living her life, but it does cause a divide in the family, notably in how she thinks their parents are controlling her, when Danielle believes it to be the exact opposite. Because a video involving her leaked online, sparking controversy at the President’s ability to lead the country when she can’t keep her daughter in check, she decides to take her entire family to the G20 summit, including First Gentlemen Derek (Anthony Anderson), and son Demetrius (Christopher Farrar).
We do know that their narrative arc will be emotionally resolved once they’re stuck in a life-or-death situation and can also predict who, in the broader White House security team, will sacrifice their lives and take a bullet for the President as soon as one specific character is introduced. For the ones who will want to see this movie, I won’t reveal it, but let’s just say director Patricia Riggen and her screenwriting team are absolutely not doing the movie any favors by making it the most predictable in existence. Every story, character, and thematic beat is seen a thousand miles away, even when Riggen attempts to fool us by including many contrived moments, and several fakeouts during an action scene. We can see right through them, and realize exactly where this entire script is going even an hour before the movie wraps up in a conclusion that absolutely recalls Invasion U.S.A. Once the villain is defeated, the movie abruptly cuts to credits. Incredible.
And yet, with all of these telegraphed arcs and screenwriting platitudes, the movie still manages to contain enough B-movie thrills to keep us invested. For a direct-to-streaming offering, the action is surprisingly kinetic and exciting, which is even wilder considering this comes from the director of Miracles from Heaven and, her most known effort, Lemonade Mouth. There’s intent behind some of the quick cuts (we can actually see the fight movements clearly), Checco Varese’s cinematography is surprisingly sweeping and playful, whilst the setpieces themselves bring about some well-dosed adrenaline to our seats. One in particular, set in a kitchen, rules incredibly hard. I never expected such a movie to contain this much well-mounted hard-R action, but if there’s any actor who deserves such a vehicle to at least nail that department, it’s undoubtedly Viola Davis.
We already knew the Oscar-winning actress kicks ass, especially if one saw Gina Prince-Bythewood’s incredible The Woman King. It’s no surprise that she does exactly the same in G20, though bringing a surprising amount of emotional heft to her portrayal of the President, given relatively flimsy material to work with.
The best parts of her performance aren’t exactly the most crowd-pleasing moments, where she delivers scene-chewing one-liners such as, “I was elected…coward!” Rather, the most memorable parts of her turn are when the movie reaches surprisingly heartfelt territory, either in her relationship with her family, or in how she teams up with U.K. Prime Minister Oliver Everett (Douglas Hodge), Elena Romano (Sabrina Impacciatore), South Korean First Lady Han Min-Seo (MeeWha Alana Lee), and agent Manny Ruiz (Ramón Rodríguez).
Each aforementioned character has their time in the spotlight and gets at least one satisfying moment. One can think about the U.K. Prime Minister and Elena driving “The Beast” while attempting to evade missiles – it’s one of the biggest highlights of the picture. Antony Starr is also unsurprisingly great as the antagonist, though it is not as nuanced of a character as Homelander is in The Boys. That, of course, isn’t his fault, but the screenplay’s. A-list actors stuck in a B-movie, but all of them are embracing this inextricable fact and fully know they are not in this to win Oscars or instill some perennity as a future classic.
And that’s exactly why the movie gets the job done. Again, it’s not anything to write home about, but it’s far from being the worst of the year, especially on Prime Video, where Tyler Perry’s Duplicity released not long ago and is the contender to beat for the most appalling film of 2025. As a disposable, ultra-generic action movie, G20 is one of the most serviceable streaming offerings you can watch. It has enough excitement to sustain your attention for its 110-minute runtime, though you likely won’t remember it by the time you wake up the following morning. It’s nothing more than a mere distraction watch after a long day at work. For many moviegoers, that’s exactly what they’re looking for.
On this episode, review the Alex Garland and Ray Mendoza war film Warfare, starring Will Poulter and D’Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai! For whatever reason, the Garland discourse has become quite strange in recent years. Some of it is warranted. Some of it is self=inflicted on Garland’s end. A bunch of it is disingenuous social media rage bait. And it’s somehow all become entangled with the Warfare discourse, which has been frustrating and hard to decipher. All of that to say, maybe we saw a different movie than a lot of other people? Not sure, but we had a great time breaking this one down.
Review: Warfare (4:00) Director: Ray Mendoza, Alex Garland Writer: Ray Mendoza, Alex Garland Stars: D’Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai, Will Poulter, Charles Melton, Joseph Quinn
“Fair of face and full of grace.” Emilie Blichfeldt on the ferocity of fairy tales
We all know that fairy tales aren’t real, right? That fairy godmothers don’t turn mice into footmen and pumpkins into carriages. That gingerbread and candy houses don’t exist deep within a forest for lost children to find. Or this kiss of one true love can break an enchantment from a wicked witch (or fairy) and usher in a happy-ever-after. Fairy tales might not be real, but they are certainly part of an oral tradition that would take aspects of people’s real lives and turn them into moral tales. No big bad wolf is coming to huff and puff and blow the house down – but it’s a good idea to use the best building materials possible to create a stable home. Bluebeard might not have locked his curious wives in a chamber and murdered them, but Gilles de Rais did torture children and historically existed, and he’s the model for Charles Perrault’s tale. Stranger danger becomes a wolf on the pathway to Granny’s house. Food shortages mean children are abandoned. Both maternal and infant mortality rates mean the “evil stepmother” exists.
There are versions of Cinderella, Aschenputtel, or Mossycoat (the titles alone would take an essay) reaching from Asia to Africa to the European tradition – the one we know best via Charles Perrault and the Grimm brothers. The often-unnamed heroine (she only gets her name when she is made into a servant of the kitchen smut) resonates across continents and countries as an example of how true beauty and obeisance can never be eclipsed by falsity and trickery. The noble and gentle young woman will be found by her true love and saved from a life of drudgery. The proud and wicked stepsisters and stepmother might be forgiven (Perrault), or they might have to cut parts of their feet off and end up with their eyes pecked out by birds as punishment (The Grimm brothers).
Emilie Blichfeldt’s The Ugly Stepsister (Den stygge stesøsteren) imagines Cinderella from the perspective of one of the stepsisters who is as much, indeed more, a victim to the demands of a being a noble and gentle young woman who will attract the eye of the prince. Elvira is a bookish and awkward teen who is hauled in tow with her younger sister Alma to the house of minor aristocrats in Swedlandia where her mother, Rebekka is marrying a man she believes will raise them all out of poverty. When that doesn’t happen as planned, Elvira is pitched against Agnes (Cinderella) to be the fairest of all, leading Elvira down a terrible path of pain, delusion, starvation, and madness.
Nadine Whitney speaks to Blichfeldt about the horrors of beauty and how fairy tales are quite real: real enough that we believe in the moral coding that they have spun around our collective understanding.
Nadine Whitney: I love the way that you used a kind of indistinct 19th century. It has a Brontë Sisters Jane Eyre stylization at the beginning with the mid-century look and moves into a much later belle epoque style. So, you’ve got this stretched-out 19th century…
Emilie Blichfeldt: I love that you’re knowledgeable on this!
Nadine Whitney: Oh yes! The film is unanchored in time because it uses a fairy tale, but even more unanchored in time within its diegetic world because of the synth soundtrack and the visual references to Cinderellas across the ages. Angela Carter said there is no way to tell a folk or fairytale because the tale changes with each teller. You have remade Perrault and the Brothers Grimm, plus placing it into an everlasting context that points out the reality behind the fantasy.
Did you expect to get such a strong response from the film?
Emilie Blichfeldt: First of all, I just want to say, I love how you just you’ve just seen my film so beautifully, like all the delicate weaving I’ve done with the times and genres. So, thank you so much for that. But no, I didn’t expect the response. It’s totally overwhelming and also my dream scenario. I knew that in taking on the Cinderella story, there was a potential commercial aspect to it, in that it could speak to the whole world because it’s so well known. But I also knew that the body horror part of it could also make the film quite niche.
I hope that my way of creating it, tricking the audience into this fairy tale beauty and soft, feminine world and then twisting it slowly before it explodes in your face at the end, could be a way to kind of easing people into it. The Ugly Stepsister has been eight years in the making, and then, in the meantime, Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance came out and was trailblazing. So, when I released my movie, everyone knew what body feministic body horror was, and they were like, “This is so cool. I want more!” And then my film is released, and I couldn’t dream of better timing.
Nadine Whitney: Your film is doing some great and very original things, but the feminist fairy tale in itself isn’t new. In a lot of ways, because women are so often at the center of fairy tales, either as protagonists: tricksters or victims, princesses or witches –it’s a genre where women tend to be more represented than men. We grow up with the “old wives’ tales,” and the fact that they’re called our old wives’ tales means that, whether real or imagined, it is women telling the stories.
The first book I was given on the day of my birth was a huge compendium of fairy tales that I still have. I couldn’t believe the cruelty of them. People cut off fingers and toes, and they dance in hot shoes; crows come and pick out their eyes for transgressions, and vipers and toads fall from the lips of “bad girls.”
What you’ve done in The Ugly Stepsister, beyond the body horror, is to boil down the Cinderella story to the economics of the female body. Rebekka (the ‘evil stepmother’ played by Ane Dahl Thorpe) and her daughters, Elvira (Lea Myren) and Alma (Flo Fagerli), only have their bodies to sell to survive.
What is happening with Elvira is that her mother is forcing her body into a state of being saleable, which is being marriageable. The obsession with beauty becomes all-consuming.
Emilie Blichfeldt: I knew very early that the mother-daughter relationship would be very central to the film. Because this is not only the way these ideals, as you say, are passed on from one generation to the other through our common cultural heritage, like the fairy tales, but also through mother-daughter, right?
So, you are trained to think of yourself in one way as a woman, and you start living that way, and you place your value in how you appear and appeal to others. It’s really hard to deconstruct that when mothers who have daughters want to make them in their own image somehow. And that the daughter also strives within this world that she learned to navigate as a woman where appearance has been a big part of womanhood.
I think that kind of everlasting cycle is also one of the reasons why we’re still stuck with body issues after thousands of years of being objects, right? We’ve been partially emancipated, but we’re still doing this dance, and it’s so hard to unravel because it’s so personal for every single woman, and it’s such a big part of our identity.
We are taught very early to self-objectify, and then if you start self-objectifying, it’s so hard to unlearn it because you’ve integrated with your identity. So, to stop doing that, or to stop putting your primary value in your looks, if you’ve invested a lot in them, is really, really hard and very, very vulnerable.
I also thought a lot about how we have this idea that Cinderella is a story about class, in the sense that we talk about the Cinderella story being like rags to riches, but really, in most of the European versions, she is a noble girl that is just put in the kitchen for some time before she marries the prince. The whole time, she has had nobility and a comfortable life. She had an upbringing with manners, education, and proper food. While the stepmother is a widowed woman with two children, and what does that actually, practically mean? That her body is her asset. I think that’s also present in so many of the versions. She’s often described as this vixen, this evil vixen, that’s like carrying herself with sex appeal or with a kind of sensuality, and it’s very looked down upon. But actually, it’s like, “Who can blame her? It’s her way of surviving, right?” But it’s so looked down upon, and that’s the real class role. You know, if you have no money, that’s the only way you go. Cinderella has so many other assets. She’s not poor with her perfect face.
Nadine Whitney: Your Cinderella, Agnes (Thea Sofie Loch Næss), is not a maiden or virgin in your telling, which I think is great. You’ve taken the Charles Perrault version and knocked out the moral lesson at the end of the tale.
Emilie Blichfeldt: I thought that it was really shocking to me when I found out that she was having sex, but it also helped me to find my Cinderella. Because I still wanted her to have like a Cinderella quality as an archetype. For me, her archetype is this natural beauty, and she also has this natural way of being in life where nothing is really natural. Her emotions and her sexuality. She has no shame, you know, and that’s also what makes her free and beautiful. She is also kind of like an aspirational role model, right? I really love that for her, that she could still be a kind of a role model, but in a modern and real way. Not in the moralistic, just be nice and shut up.
I think so many “purified” versions of fairy tales leave out eroticism. I really wanted to put that in there to make them people of the flesh.
Nadine Whitney: Very much of the flesh! We can start talking about the horror aspects. I don’t think I’ve ever seen “eye cam” quite that way, with the POV being sewing through the eyelid, through the point of view of the eye. That was a lot!
I was just reading about plastic surgery in the 19th century, and I was also reading a book by Harper’s Bazaar called The Ugly Girl Papers, published in 1875, telling “self-identified” ugly women how to not be ugly. Beauty being a pain is far from something that we’ve come to learn only in the 20th century. It has been women’s duty to be beautiful and suffer for centuries.
Emilie Blichfeldt: That is also a very big part of the Chinese version of the fairy tale with foot binding. Chinese poetry says about the binding of women’s feet that if a woman has unbound feet, there is no way for a man to “know” where the woman has been. She can run around with people, and with unbound feet, she has to work. If you bind your feet, you don’t have to work. An unbound foot is like a broken piece of jewelry. It doesn’t have any value. Morality via “beauty” turns women into objects, and their job, their trajectory, is to become the perfect objects. I think that’s so creepy.
Nadine Whitney: One of the aspects of your story that I found very interesting is Alma hiding her menses from her mother because she knows as soon as anyone becomes aware that she is of bleeding / marriageable age, she will be forced into the corsets and starvation that Elvira is suffering through.
Emilie Blichfeldt: I love Alma, and she’s such an important character. When I was writing the script, I came to understand her role because I knew I wanted two stepsisters, but I didn’t want one just to follow the other. I thought hard about how I utilized her sisterhood. I thought about how the younger sister sees the older one and what she is going through in front of her. She gets a chance to kind of see what is happening before she’s a victim of it herself.
I saw her as the only sane character in this insane world. She’s the audience surrogate. You look at the film, and everyone’s crazy, desperate, or corrupt, but Alma sees. Alma is also a representation of me as well in the story. In the end, with Alma being the rescuer, I wanted Elvira to get the worm out, but I didn’t believe that she would be able to do that herself, or she would be emotionally thinking, “Oh, I didn’t get the prince. Now, let’s get this worm out,” as she’s so frenzied and lost by that point.
I thought, of course, Alma wants her sister to get the worm out. When I had that idea, I got quite emotional because I think there’s a beautiful and very important truth in surviving body dysmorphia. You really get affected by unreasonable beauty ideals and start objectifying yourself. It’s so hard to get out of that space because your thoughts, and your gaze on yourself, and on others is obsessive and unhealthy.
That’s what I myself have suffered from for a long time. And if it hadn’t been for the people around me who saw that I was suffering and who said, “Please, here’s my gaze. Here is how you really are. You know this is, this is not okay. You know, the things that you’re seeing or believing are total bullshit.” If it hadn’t been for them, I wouldn’t have gotten out. It’s almost impossible to get out of that by yourself. And I think that’s just so powerful because when you suffer from things like that, you feel so lonely. You think that you’re the one to blame. It’s some kind of personal secret, a private thing. But actually, it’s something we have to deal with together and really talk about more publicly.
There is a big industry that’s earning a lot of money from us and pushing women into those unhealthy spaces. And we have to help each other get out from that mindset.
Nadine Whitney: Khloe Kardashian said that she wanted to take a tapeworm at one point. Part of one of the most famously aspirationally rich and beautiful families in the world was talking about ingesting tapeworms, which is insane.
Emilie Blichfeldt: It’s insane. I don’t know what to say to that. Actually, I try not to think too much about that because then I get very overwhelmed, and then whatever happens with my movie feels like a drop in the ocean. I know you can’t save the world in a day. I’m trying to nudge the narrative or at least present another narrative.
It’s also very important for me to say that I don’t judge anyone trying to navigate that space of “how to be a woman.” It’s so such a hard, hard space to navigate. I don’t judge anyone for the choices they make in that space. But I think we have to dare to go into that space and talk about how we are influenced, how we are influencing each other, and how we can try to make that space a freer one.
Nadine Whitney: Hopefully, we can all be Almas for the Elviras and write new fairy tales where the one true love is a firm, supported, and healthy sense of self.
Director:James Griffiths Writer:Tom Basden, Tim Key Stars: Tom Basden, Tim Key, Carey Mulligan
Synopsis:The Ballad of Wallis Island follows Charles, an eccentric lottery winner who lives alone on a remote island and dreams of getting his favorite musicians, McGwyer Mortimer back together.
It’s strange to be nostalgic for the late ’00s and the entirety of the ’10s folk music boom, but it was quite a phenomenon. All a band had to have was a powerful, melodic group of voices, at least one guitar, a kick drum, and someone playing an instrument like the banjo, lute, or mandolin. It was an acoustic sound that filled, and in some cases still does fill, arenas, stadiums, and amphitheaters. The Ballad of Wallis Island reminds us of what that kind of music can evoke within us. Folk music is intimate, rhythmic, and moving; just like this film.
The concept of a man hiring his favorite artists to play a private show for him, and having that be funny and not creepy, would not work without a strong script behind it. Tom Basden and Tim Key have written a very eclectic charmer of a film. The blended plot points weave in and out of each other like a beautiful melody. It’s raucously funny at times and utterly heartbreaking at others. The references fly at the speed of light and are often beautiful plays on words. The next time you’re caught in a rainstorm you’d be hard pressed to find a better one liner for the story than calling yourself, “Dame Judi Drenched.”
Though, as good as the script is, the chemistry between all of the lead actors is unquantifiably exquisite. The comic pairing of Basden and Key is so great and funny. They’re reminiscent of great cinematic comedy pairings with Key being the motor-mouthed goof and Basden the exasperated straight man. Even with as well known an actress as Carey Mulligan in the film, you only see her as Nell. The three of them together are very close to comedic perfection.
Tim Key is the clear standout of the group. His scenes of drama tend to land a bit harder and his scenes of comedy are absolutely perfect. While we get snippets of who Charles is, an eccentric wealthy man who lives alone in a large house on an island, it’s through Key’s reactions that we see the man underneath. In one of the quieter scenes, Herb (Tom Basden) comes back with his guitar so that he and Nell can sing one of their more romantic ballads. After a few chords, the camera stays on Charles. It pushes in as he has a strong emotional reaction to the song and the people singing it. He’s trying to swallow his tears with gulps of air. It’s written all over his face that this isn’t just a gimmick or a way to spend his money, but that this music means more to him than anything else that exists in the world. It’s a beautiful piece of beautiful dramatic acting within a comedy reminiscent of John Candy in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.
It’s also a point where we notice the filmmaker’s hand. James Griffiths’ style as a director looks to be to let the comedic moments fuel the film, but there are moments when he and his team go the extra mile to land the scene. After Herb questions Charles’ wealth, Charles shows Herb the framed winning lottery ticket that made him wealthy. He gives a story about how he spent it all and felt a little empty. In a stroke of genius, as Charles is avoiding Herb’s follow up questions, Griffiths and cinematographer G. Magni Ágústsson track the camera with Charles as he reveals his second framed winning lottery ticket. It’s a small moment, but it’s a moment that lands the joke better than any other could.
Even if you aren’t a lover of folk music, the original songs in the film are beautiful and human in their exploration of love, joy, and pain. Even if you like your comedies uncomplicated, the interpersonal relationships in The Ballad of Wallis Island are worth it. It’s a film that is the very definition of the phrase, “It made me laugh, it made me cry.” There is beauty in a small cast and a goofy concept that is well executed. The Ballad of Wallace Island is very much one of those rare beauties.
This week on the InSession Film Podcast, inspired by Warfare coming to theaters, we had a war movie draft discussing the best war movies of the 21st century so far! We also continue our Best Picture Movie Series with the 1967 winner In the Heat of the Night.
– War Movie Draft (8:15) After some opening banter, we begin the show this week with our War Movie Draft, where we discussed the best war movies of the 21st Century so far. There have been some incredible war movies over the last two decades and we thought it would be a fun exercise to do a draft (pun intended?) to see whose lineup would make for a great film festival. After listening and hear our picks, who do you think won this draft between JD and Brendan?
– Best Picture Movie Series: In the Heat of the Night (1:18:51) We continue this series with another fascinating entry into the Best Picture canon given the context of 1967. In the Heat of the Night might not go down as one of the best films to ever win the award, however, it was the right film for the year in which it won. Just three years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964, as tensions were still immensely high, comes a movie with a revolutionary lead character and remarkable performance by Sidney Portier. That cannot be overstated, giving In the Heat of the Night an importance that makes it a worthy winner.
If you want to help support us, there are several ways you can help us and we’d absolutely appreciate it. Every penny goes directly back into supporting the show and we are truly honored and grateful. Thanks for your support and for listening to the InSession Film Podcast!
Director: Robert Livings, Randy Nundlall, Jr. Writer: Ben Groves, Robert Livings, Rob Macfarlane, Randy Nundlall Jr., and Peter Paskulich Stars:Brenda Yanez, Samantha Laurenti, and Norah DeMello
Synopsis: While sorting through their late friend’s belongings, two women discover VHS tapes showing them in haunting, unfamiliar scenes, each one drawing them into the grasp of a mysterious, malevolent entity.
There’s a beauty to found footage/anthology horror films in which the rawness of a discovered video changes the course of events in the fictional world in which it takes place. It creates a microcosm of multiple stories within stories, a Decameron taking place in the land of the macabre. With the recent surge in low-budget horror making significant box office successes and shifting audiences’ attention toward a different formula for scary movies, there has been an openness for new frightening feature experiments.
For starters, this is what Conjuring Tapes is about: two friends who discover a set of tapes with themselves as heroes of morbid stories. A seance gone wrong, two influencer ghost hunters who meet more than they bargain for, a haunted therapy session, and a creepy cult set in the podcasting world. The further they dig into the tapes, the more they discover, not only about the events unfolding, but also about a malevolent entity that may or may not hold all the threads to their existence.
The film, as faithful as it is to its source material, starts with a slow burn. Too slow at times, but it is a significant precedent to the horror that happens later. The indie setting allows for a low-key, laid-back atmosphere. The unknown actors make the eeriness of the situation more believable and the horror more significant. The multiple roles that actresses Brenda Yanez and Samantha Laurenti play bring so much to the table as they go back and forth between characters and storylines while retaining the personalities of the original protagonists as they weave all the stories together. The beauty of their acting works in the film’s favor despite the script struggling to keep up, and it complements the dread that anticipates both the characters and the characters they portray in the VHS metaverse.
The camerawork is the highlight of this feature. Robert Livings is the co-director -along with Randy Nundlall Jr.- as well as the cinematographer, and he deserves all the credit for creating a pulsating, shaky screen that never lets the viewer rest with his magical handheld camera work. The biggest obstacle in this horror piece is that the narrative doesn’t hold up to the visual work, so there seems to be a disconnection between the two; while one elevates the game, the other drags it down. The jump scares are fantastic, but the build-up to them is what the script struggles with, for the most part.
One of the main reservations I have about this horror flick is its tameness. Imagine it with gorier, more brutal storylines and some scenes that will stick in your mind like glue. This one relies more on psychological horror than on explicit gore and sadistic violence. While some found-footage anthology horror films use that element to perfection, this feature, directed by Nundlall Jr. and Livings, needs a bit more spice.
Does this take away from the fun? Absolutely not. There’s a spark of creativity in this film that calls for not only fans of the genre but also avid admirers of horror family dramas, engaging them in a puzzle-solving game, interacting with the stories unfolding one after the other like Matryoshka dolls. Surprisingly -or not- Conjuring Tapes works perfectly as a horror family drama where the horror lies within the family dynamics and the interactions between characters: traumas resurfacing, old grudges and wounds dug from shallow graves, etc.
Conjuring Tapes feels like the film someone shoots in their basement. Indie horror filmmaking at its finest might work for some, while others won’t necessarily connect with the stripped bare aesthetic that makes it more like a home video footage without the cinematography prowess of films that use found footage as a formulaic cinematic medium. It’s still fun, though, and very spooky, in a way that will most definitely leave fans of the genre satisfied, regardless of relating to the meatiness of the film.
This week on Women InSession, we continue our critic spotlight series as we get to know ISF founder JD Duran and his experience becoming a critic and starting the website/podcast! JD talks about the movies that inspired him as a young person, the challenges of balancing film with family and even how sports plays a role.
On that note, check out this week’s show and let us know what you think in the comment section. Thanks for listening and for supporting the InSession Film Podcast!
Director:Francis Ford Coppola Writer:Francis Ford Coppola Stars: Gene Hackman, John Cazale, Harrison Ford
Synopsis:Harry Caul, a meticulous and intensely private surveillance expert, is hired to record a conversation between a young couple. As he painstakingly pieces together the fragmented recording, he becomes increasingly obsessed and guilt-ridden, believing he may have uncovered a potential murder plot. His professional detachment crumbles into paranoia as he grapples with the moral implications of his work and the ambiguity of what he has heard, leading him to question everything and everyone around him.
Francis Ford Coppola’s staggering run in the 1970s – The Godfather, The Godfather Part II, Apocalypse Now often overshadows the quieter, more introspective film nestled right in the middle: The Conversation (1974). Yet, revisiting this paranoid thriller today reveals it as not just a product of its Watergate-era anxieties, but a chillingly prescient and masterfully crafted character study with themes that echo louder than ever in our hyper-surveilled world. It’s a film that leaves you feeling both tense and deeply thoughtful, grappling with ambiguity long after the credits roll.
At its heart is Harry Caul, arguably Gene Hackman’s finest, most understated performance. In the wake of Hackman’s recent passing, revisiting his portrayal of Caul feels particularly poignant. This isn’t the bombastic Popeye Doyle or Royal Tenenbaum; this is a deeply internalized study of a man at the absolute peak of his clandestine profession – audio surveillance – yet profoundly tormented by its moral implications. Hackman embodies Caul’s meticulousness, his crippling social awkwardness, and the gnawing guilt stemming from a past job gone wrong. He’s a virtuoso haunted by his own expertise. Weathered and competent, yet unraveling under the weight of his conscience. We see glimpses of pride in his craft, particularly during a revealing party scene in his workshop fortress, but mostly we witness a man desperately seeking detachment, only to be drawn inexorably into the lives he records.
The plot, like Caul himself, operates with a slow-burn intensity. Tasked with recording a seemingly innocuous conversation between a young couple (Cindy Williams and Frederic Forrest) in a busy San Francisco square, Caul becomes obsessed with deciphering its meaning and potential consequences. Coppola masterfully uses ambiguity, is Caul uncovering a murder plot, or is his paranoia projecting sinister interpretations onto fragmented phrases? The film refuses easy answers, layering Caul’s escalating anxiety onto the narrative, forcing the viewer to question what is real versus what is perceived. This deliberate pacing and refusal to spell everything out are central to the film’s cumulative impact.
Released in the shadow of Watergate, The Conversation was undeniably a commentary on burgeoning surveillance technology and governmental overreach. Yet, its exploration of privacy, guilt, and the dehumanizing potential of technology feels startlingly contemporary. Coppola seemed to anticipate the anxieties of our modern surveillance capitalism. The tech may look quaintly analogue now, but the core dilemma – the trade-off between technological capability and personal privacy, the unease with relentless progress – remains potent. One can easily imagine a modern Caul as a conflicted Silicon Valley engineer, eschewing the very tools he helps create.
Crucially, the film’s power relies heavily on its groundbreaking sound design, orchestrated by Walter Murch, and David Shire’s unsettling score. Sound isn’t just accompaniment; it is the subject. The repeated playback of the titular recording, gradually revealing different layers and potential meanings, draws the viewer directly into Caul’s obsessive analysis. Shire’s piano-led score, balancing melancholy melody with jarring, discordant notes, perfectly mirrors Caul’s fractured psyche and amplifies the pervasive sense of unease. Watching with headphones truly immerses one in the film’s meticulously crafted soundscape – a debt clearly owed by modern scores like that of Severance.
While The Godfather films and Apocalypse Now sprawl with epic grandeur, Coppola adopts a more austere, claustrophobic approach here. The focus is tight, the mood oppressive. Much of the film unfolds in confined spaces – Caul’s workshop, anonymous hotel rooms, crowded convention floors enhancing the sense of isolation and paranoia. It’s a testament to Coppola’s directorial range, proving he could craft a taut, character-driven psychological thriller as effectively as a sprawling crime epic.
Though Hackman dominates, the supporting cast is superb. John Cazale, in another tragically brief but memorable turn, brings a nervous energy to Caul’s assistant Stan. Their dynamic subtly mirrors Harry’s own internal battle: Harry admonishes Stan for his curiosity about their subjects’ lives, a projection of the very impulses Harry struggles to suppress within himself, attempting to convince himself as much as his colleague. A young, almost unrecognizably sinister Harrison Ford makes an impact in a small but pivotal role, and Allen Garfield provides a contrasting note of sleazy professional bravado as competitor and counterpoint, Bernie Moran.
The Conversation doesn’t offer neat resolutions. Its famous ending is a haunting tableau of paranoia consuming itself, leaving the audience, like Caul, surrounded by questions. It’s a film that demands reflection, provoking debate decades after its release. In its meticulous craft, its profound themes, and its unforgettable central performance, The Conversation remains an essential, deeply unsettling masterpiece – a quiet film whose echoes continue to reverberate powerfully.
