Director: Cristian Mungiu
Writer: Cristian Mungiu
Stars: Sebastian Stan, Renate Reinsve, Lisa Carlehed

Synopsis: An immigrant Romanian family living in Norway is subject to an investigation and faces the scrutiny of the local judicial system.

Everyone knows how a move to a new place feels. It can be disorienting, complicated, and feel as though you don’t fully belong. As such, your life and the inner workings in your household can sometimes differ from others, despite ordinary appearances. This is something to be expected, but what if they end up resulting in a massive divide that challenges whether the new family is in the right or doing the wrong thing? Such is the initial setup of Cristian Mungiu’s Fjord, the winner of this year’s Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival.

Inspired by true events, Fjord follows Mihai and Lisbet Gheorghiu (Sebastian Stan and Renate Reinsve), who have just moved to a quaint village in Norway along with their five children for work and to start a new life. A conservative Christian family that follows the teachings of the Bible to a T, the Gheorghius are quickly subject to scrutiny and questions from their neighbors as some notice the children seem to have too many constraints and punishments lined up in case they make a mistake. When wounds are noticed on their eldest daughter Elia (Vanessa Ceban), the Gheorghius are immediately swarmed by their neighbors and child protective services, who take their children away. What follows is an intense drama as their values and practices are placed under a microscope and every decision in their lives is questioned.

Fjord rides its very fine tightrope of both morality and acceptance in complex ways, never really picking a side when it comes to its central conflict and which side may be the most correct. As much as some may not agree with the practices of the Gheorghius and how they sometimes discipline their children (a mistake means no attending a birthday party, no smartphones, or watching YouTube allowed, prayers every night), there is empathy to be had in them potentially losing their children for good and not getting to see them grow, as the love for them is sound. Challenging their parenting is also fair, especially as the more progressive neighborhood finds these practices bizarre and dangerous, especially challenging them when the children try to bring religious teachings to school. At the same time, there is some hypocrisy highlighted in how they waste no time in rushing to judgment regarding the Gheorghius and taking away their children, in some cases without proper evidence upfront. It’s thorny, and Mungiu is aware of this with his direction and the presentation, making Fjord sometimes incredibly frustrating to watch. It can be argued, however, that that’s the point of the movie, and how not everything can always be black-and-white.

Stan plays Mihai with a stern coldness, as a father having an iron grip over his beliefs and virtues and how he raises his children, while Reinsve plays the more emotionally concerned mother wondering where she may have gone wrong with her children and questioning the system in place. The movie’s highlights, however, are with said children, as a majority of the runtime is spent with Elia and the eldest son, Emmanuel (Jonathan Ciprian Breazu), who eventually befriend their neighbor’s daughter Noora Halberg (Henrikke Lund-Olsen), who is often trying to get the Gheorghiu children to have more fun and experience life, while also learning from them about having a more structured system at times to live by, once again keeping that tightrope walk in play.

Amidst all its heavier subject matter unfolding, Fjord also remains a stunning movie throughout. Shot gorgeously by Tudor Vladimir Panduru, the quaint town, quiet streets, and gorgeous vistas of cliffs and mountain sides are strikingly captured, with its interior scenes having an increasingly claustrophobic feeling as the story progresses, further elevated by the minimal score from Kaspar Kaae that adds some eeriness to the events. Supporting turns from Lisa Carlehed and Markus Tønseth as Mia and Mats Halberg also provide gravitas to the movie, with Carlehed eventually becoming a key part of the events unfolding with the Gheorghius and wanting to try and help them in some ways.

Over its 2 hour and 26 minute runtime, Fjord eventually becomes a courtroom drama that lights a fuse under itself in multiple ways, bringing everything from tense deliberations to online support campaigns becoming increasingly louder and more hostile, to the table and escalating the stakes for the Gheorghius. Sometimes it can almost feel satirical seeing some of those moments play out, as the way of life of the family is questioned even more so. While many of these events are effective in getting the frenzy and desperation of the situation across, Mungiu does not always expand more on how morally twisted everything can get, sometimes keeping things to the surface level and nothing more. As a result, it can occasionally not feel as provocative as thoughtful as it intends to. In some of those moments, the movie makes use of some effective visual cues, some that aim to provide a bridge or a connection to the two sides represented by the Gheorghius and the town, leading to one particularly terrific moment towards the final act of the movie that feels perfectly placed.

By the end, Fjord proves a rather complex and purposefully frustrating experience that asks many difficult questions and does not always provide the simplest answers, if any at all. Backed by Cristian Mungiu’s solid direction at the helm and stellar work from Sebastian Stan and Renate Reinsve, the movie is one that may not work for everybody, but is definitely one of the more fascinating watches of the year, and one that may bring up some interesting conversations long after the credits have rolled.

Grade: A

Director: Jennifer Peedom
Writer: Luke Davies
Stars: Willem Dafoe, Tom Hiddleston, Genden Phuntsok

Synopsis: The untold and inspiring tale of one of the most important mountain climbers in history who, with Edmund Hillary, became the first person to reach the summit of Mount Everest..

Summiting Mt. Everest remains one of the most impressive feats any human can achieve. The first successful ascent came in 1953 courtesy of a British expedition that, rather humorously, relied on a New Zealander in Sir Edmund Hillary to finally reach the top. Hillary, though, wasn’t alone at the summit, as he was joined by the lesser-known Tenzing Norgay. Thanks to Australian filmmaker Jennifer Peedom, Tenzing tells the truly remarkable story of the man whose name is so often overshadowed by his climbing partner.

Scripted by Luke Davies, Tenzing blends together three distinct timelines. Starting in the 1920s, audiences are introduced to a young Tenzing growing up in a remote Tibetan village. There, unbeknownst to him at the time, he meets legendary climber George Mallory (Johnny Flynn), who sets in motion Tenzing’s fascination with Chomolungma, the Tibetan name for Mt. Everest.

From there, the movie settles into its main storyline in 1953. An adult Tenzing (Genden Phuntsok), caring for his two daughters following his wife’s passing, has been selected as head Sherpa for Britain’s latest attempt to summit the mountain. Alongside a British contingent headed by Colonel John Hunt (Willem Dafoe), Tenzing must endure the perilous climb and grueling physical environment while navigating a number of personal challenges. Making those challenges slightly easier is his flourishing friendship with Ed Hillary (Tom Hiddleston).

However, in nonlinear fashion, Peedom also weaves in the story of a younger Tenzing (Tenzin Dalha), exploring how he met his wife and how, together, they risked everything to leave their home village for Darjeeling. There, Tenzing could pursue his dream of becoming a Sherpa, guiding European expeditions up Everest and providing a better life for their prospective family.

On the surface, Tenzing is a fairly formulaic biopic. It tells the story of an extraordinary individual who becomes one of the first two people confirmed to have reached the summit of the world’s highest mountain. To Peedom’s credit, the use of nonlinear storytelling is at least an attempt to make this tired genre feel a little more exciting. Unfortunately, it can also be to the movie’s detriment. During some of the most intense and anxiety-inducing climbing sequences, audiences are suddenly taken out of the action for a flashback to Tenzing’s past.

That has a real impact on the pacing and tone. Audiences can be fully immersed in this fast-paced rollercoaster, sitting on the edge of their seats and not knowing what to expect next, only to suddenly be transported back to a village where their emotional heartstrings are being tugged at. It creates severe tonal whiplash, like a car accelerating to 100 miles per hour only to slam on the brakes before immediately hitting the accelerator again. It definitely keeps you on your toes, but not always for the right reasons.

On the flip side, Davies’ script and Peedom’s direction give Sherpas a level of prominence rarely afforded to them in a major Western production. Often discriminated against and treated as lesser than their European counterparts, they are instead shown to be indispensable to these expeditions. It’s a genuine celebration of just how astounding the Sherpas are while presenting their culture in an incredibly respectful light. Western audiences should come away with a much deeper understanding of just how vital these people have been to the history of Everest.

Discrimination remains at the forefront throughout the movie. While the Sherpas understandably bear the brunt of it, rather surprisingly, even the Kiwi members of the British expedition find themselves targeted. The film portrays Colonel Hunt as someone whose traditional way of thinking remains firmly entrenched even as the expedition approaches the climax of the climb: if your face didn’t fit, you weren’t worthy. His reluctance to put Hillary and Tenzing in position to summit, despite their obvious ability to do so, becomes another example of the prejudices the pair have to overcome.

Undeniably, the best aspect of Tenzing is simply how beautiful it looks. It would be easy to lose count of the sheer number of breathtaking visual sequences cinematographer Stefan Duscio creates. The sweeping frames of Nepal’s mountains result in some of the most striking imagery you’re likely to see. That makes it a shame most will only experience them on a screen at home, as these vistas were created to be seen on the biggest screen possible.

While the film doesn’t provide the most convincing foundation for how their blossoming friendship begins, Genden Phuntsok and Tom Hiddleston do some extremely solid work in making audiences buy into the relationship. Neither is given extensive material to show off everything they can bring, but both make the most of what they’re given. Phuntsok brings a believable sense of emotion alongside an undeniable charm, while Hiddleston proves to be a very convincing Kiwi, delivering some lines that will inevitably bring a smile to your face.

As the credits begin to roll, there is a lingering sense that a story as remarkable as Tenzing Norgay’s could have been told slightly better. Tenzing is undoubtedly an easy and enjoyable watch, elevated by breathtaking cinematography, a pair of charming central performances and a long-overdue celebration of the Sherpas who made these historic expeditions possible. But a story as momentous as this should leave you wanting to jump out of your chair and give it a round of applause. Instead, while you might, like me, give it a firm nod of approval, it never quite earns the rapturous reception its subject deserves.

Grade: C+

Director: Danny Boyle
Writer: James Graham
Stars: Jack O’Connell, Guy Pearce, Claire Foy

Synopsis: A group of misfits and visionaries had an idea for a new kind of news – one that would give the people what they want, and would change the face of the world we live in today.

Danny Boyle has cemented himself as one of the most ingenious filmmakers working today. So it feels like the perfectly ironic match made in heaven that he was chosen to create a biographical drama about Larry Lamb and Rupert Murdoch, the two people in charge of the downfall of the art of journalism. For large parts of Ink’s runtime, that proves to be an inspired choice, which makes Boyle’s egregious use of generative AI all the more baffling as he falls foul of the exact slop that he is tasked with portraying.

Set in 1969, Ink is based on the stage play of the same name and tells the true story of Rupert Murdoch’s (Guy Pearce) acquisition and transformation of The Sun, a failing tabloid that was the laughing stock of Fleet Street. In a bid to turn the fortunes of the paper around, Murdoch installs Larry Lamb (Jack O’Connell) as its new head honcho, encouraging him to do something bold and unconventional to attract a whole new audience of readers.

That sets in motion the now-infamous downfall of “real news” as Lamb assembles his team, headed up by Jules Davies (Claire Foy), who are dead set on achieving the highest possible sales figures no matter the cost. It’s at that very moment that they figure out they no longer have to feed readers the information they need and can instead focus on giving them what they want. Thus, the sex, violence, and at times outright lies that The Sun is infamous for were born.

For those expecting Rupert Murdoch’s story to take center stage, unfortunately, you’ll be slightly disappointed. Instead, the movie largely focuses on Larry Lamb and how he pioneered the trashy reporting that didn’t care for basic verification while becoming an early architect of the original clickbait headline. That’s shown to full effect with a brilliant montage featuring some of the most shocking examples that, as the film points out, The Sun clearly didn’t give Boyle permission to use. Within those thirty seconds, audiences get a sense of the sheer number of sensationalized headlines created to shift copies, with little concern for the lives they would go on to ruin.

In that regard, Boyle, alongside writer James Graham, captures just what an evil man Larry Lamb evidently was. Nothing would get between him and a story that would sell. It depicts him as a man willing to ruin the lives of those around him if it meant getting to the very top. That ruthlessness is captured superbly when Lamb goes against even those closest to him to publish stories that result in a crime that shocked a nation and led to mass walkouts at the paper.

For anyone who is aware of Rupert Murdoch, they will know he will stop at quite literally nothing to get what he wants. Whether that be involvement in phone-hacking scandals or using his publications to influence political voters, there’s seemingly no level he won’t stoop to. In that respect, Graham’s screenplay can feel somewhat generous in its portrayal of him. At times, it makes it seem like Murdoch cares about real stories and the consequences that could come from the reporting The Sun was putting out, which feels painfully ironic given his checkered history. Thankfully, even in these moments, the screenplay saves itself by showing that despite any moral objections Murdoch might have, he is willing to let virtually anything slide as long as the money keeps rolling in.

Boyle’s famous innovative filmmaking style is on full display throughout. The fantastic kinetic camerawork he is known for is here in abundance, with multiple shots likely to make for viral clips once the movie drops on Netflix. There are all the crazy close-ups and insanely inventive camera angles you would expect, making what could have felt like a routine biopic completely exhilarating. There are also these magical touches, with London made to look vibrant and colorful while the north of England is shown in black and white. It helps portray the drab nature and perceived difference between the two, particularly at that time. Boyle really is working at the very top of his game for almost the entire runtime.

That’s what makes the egregious use of generative AI all the more perplexing. Boyle has previously spoken about his refusal to work with real animals following a run-in with animal charities decades ago, so he uses AI to generate mice in the mailroom for his first infraction. It’s a shot that lasts a mere second, which begs the question of why it was included in the first place. The more bewildering use, though, and what is genuinely an eyesore, comes during the finale. When he could’ve simply used an actress to portray former Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, he instead utilizes AI to generate her likeness and deliver one line. For most, it will go unnoticed, but for myself, as an eagle-eyed Brit, it quite frankly looked like flaming trash compared to the rest of the movie.

One thing that definitely isn’t up for debate, though, is the pitch-perfect casting of Jack O’Connell and Guy Pearce. O’Connell especially is coming off a career-high stretch that continues here. He begins by somehow getting audiences to root for him as he sets about contributing to the downfall of the news through his charm and charisma. But what is even more impressive is the way he’s able to transform into a whole other character at the snap of a finger. He becomes cold-hearted and utterly ruthless when it comes to taking down his rivals, delivering that transformation in a way that will send shivers up your spine.

Guy Pearce is just as compelling and, despite knowing what a terrible man Rupert Murdoch is, somehow gets you to feel somewhat bad for him at times. He has the necessary charisma that Murdoch must have possessed in his younger days to reach those positions of power and earn a seat at the table. Despite having a smaller role, Pearce is able to make every second he is on screen memorable. When the two are together, though, is where the film shines brightest, with Boyle allowing several scenes to breathe as the sharp dialogue and verbal jousts between them unfold.

Ink is undeniably entertaining and arguably even more than it should be given the subject matter it tackles. There’s enough here to give audiences nightmares about the state of journalism and the people who feed it to them, while also never telling them exactly how to feel. Boyle remains at the top of his game for the most part, despite his attempt to self-sabotage through unnecessary experimentation. One thing is for sure, though: Netflix is going to be very happy when it sees the inevitable streaming boost for this electrifying biopic.

Grade: B+

Director: Lee Chang-dong
Writers: Lee Chang-dong, Oh Jung-mi
Stars: Jeon Do-yeon, Sul Kyung-gu, Cho Yeo-jeong

Synopsis: A story of two married couples — a laid-off worker and his spouse, and a documentary filmmaker and her spouse — crossing paths to film a documentary and facing their different lives and hidden desires.

In the opening section of Lee Chang-dong’s Possible Love, the South Korean auteur makes a bold statement at the gate, directly citing the tenth commandment: “Thou shalt not covet.” Anyone with a slight interest in cinema history might immediately clock that Lee’s first film in eight years since 2018’s Burning is (loosely) basing its story on Krzysztof Kieślowski’s Dekalog: Ten. Unsurprisingly, the film’s end credits text, a dedication of Kieślowski’s ultimate episode of his Dekalog compendium, proves exactly in which headspace the film was floating.

While Dekalog: Ten is certainly more comedic than most entries in Kieślowski’s series, Lee keeps a darker edge that permeates the conversations of two families throughout his 164-minute melodrama. Some of it is deliberately funny, but within that comedy lies an inherent sadness that begins to surface as the two couples at the center of the film spend more time together. Many Western critics will (sadly) compare Possible Love to Parasite, as it tells a story of class disparities – a poorer couple is the subject of a documentary from an upper-class couple who continually manipulates them to get what’s needed on camera – but the two projects couldn’t be more different. 

It’s actually quite reductive to compare Possible Love to Parasite (or any contemporary South Korean film, for that matter – expand your horizons!), because it acts as a continuation of Lee’s oeuvre. He has always been at the forefront of social realist dramas that explore class inequalities, but none more so than his latest motion picture, which confronts audiences with this reality head-on. At first, I didn’t know what to make of the film. It’s laborious, incredibly slow, and contains several mundane conversations that made me go, “Damn. This isn’t hitting. Is Lee blowing it?” The comedy that cuts through most of the first half comes from filmmaker Ye-ji (an incredible Cho Yeo-jeong, who, yes, also starred in Parasite, which is why some may be keen to compare this film to Bong Joon-ho’s 2019 Oscar-winning feature) getting to know the family she will document. 

Ye-ji wants to make a movie about Ho-seok (Sul Kyung-gu), a laid-off worker still reeling from the trauma of a violent, harrowing labor strike. Ho-seok doesn’t talk much, but he drowns his sorrows in soju, which he keeps justifying, even though his wife, Mi-ok (Jeon Do-yeon), believes he has a drinking problem. He refuses to open up to anyone, least of all Ye-ji, because she only cares about her camera and only puts on a façade to get the couple to open up to her. Ho-seok sees through her completely, especially her husband, Sang-woo (Zo In-sung), whom the filmmaker touts as the Korean Steve Jobs. 

It takes a long while for Possible Love to actively get going. Maybe too long. I’ll admit Lee’s filmmaking can often feel alienating, but this film strictly rewards patient, attentive viewers. The first half of the movie is deliberately slow, because it gives us points of reference to understand exactly who these people are and what they will do when they eventually go on vacation together. On that vacation, Possible Love quickly becomes one of the year’s most thematically rich and aesthetically invigorating motion pictures. The film’s poetic visual language hardens as we’re directly confronted with Ho-seok’s past, and the thematic layers come to the forefront as Lee gives the marginalized the story they deserve, without resorting to exploitative documentary tactics. 

Kim Ji-yong’s cinematography blurs the line between documentary reality and fiction, but the cameras remain omnipresent as they surveil Ho-seok and Mi-ok’s every move. It eventually (almost) becomes a horror movie because nothing Ye-ji says feels natural or friendly. It’s always about making a movie at all costs. The perfect scene that exemplifies this occurs in a conversation where the director asks the couple to share a fairly heartbreaking story. They do, and break down on camera in a moving display of emotional vulnerability. Mi-ok then asks Ye-ji if she has a similar story. Instead of incorporating it into her film, she shuts down the camera. It’s all trickery, whether or not the couple actively realize it. And it’s infuriating. In every single one of those scenes, Cho Yeo-jeong shows how contemptible her character is even when you don’t think she is (her performance is nothing short of masterful).

Cinema is a machine of manipulation; we know this. But the way Lee puts this manipulation at the forefront will genuinely make you sick to your stomach, especially in the latter half, as Ho-seok finally musters the courage to talk about what happened and potentially fracture his relationship with both his wife and his children forever. In that moment, Sul Kyung-gu delivers a performance of real authenticity, and we feel every ounce of his emotion as he lays it all out on camera. But which camera are we talking about? Lee’s? Or Ye-ji’s? That’s where the movie really starts to make a number on us, because it’s never clear which perspective the director floats between. Are we watching a subjective documentary with a clear bias toward the couple, whereas the filmmaker keeps looking down on them in pity and attempts to exploit their suffering, or the objective lens of Lee Chang-dong observing two diametrically opposed couples that will never be on the same page?

In any event, when Lee eventually shows us the demonstration, our perception of the documentarian changes. And our perception of the protagonists are enlightened as they finally realize what most matters. It’s in that section where the “comedy” stops dead in its tracks and finally reveals what has been lurking all along, and when that occurs, the resulting emotional catharsis you feel while viewing Possible Love is almost overwhelming. It’ll take some time before the film will sweep you up, but once it does, you will never be able to look away from the screen. That’s Lee Chang-dong’s power right here. Hopefully, we won’t have to wait eight years for another masterpiece from one of the great auteurs who has always pushed the cinematic form forward. With Possible Love, he does it again.

Grade: A

Director: Lukas Dhont
Writers: Lukas Dhont, Angelo Tijssens
Stars: Valentin Campagne, Emmanuel Macchia, William De Schryver

Synopsis: Pierre, a young Belgian soldier wants to prove himself on the battlefield during the First World War. Behind the frontlines, he meets Francis, who is asked to find a way to boost morale.

You’re not exactly devoid of choice if you’re looking for a movie that pays tribute to the sacrifice of brave young soldiers in World War I. One thing is for sure, though: you’d be hard-pressed to find a movie centered around war with as much heart as Belgian filmmaker Lukas Dhont’s latest turn, Coward, which delves deeply into the complex emotions of courage, bravery, and cowardice, all through the lens of a forbidden love on the battlefield.

Set in 1917 on the Belgian front lines, Coward follows Pierre (Emmanuel Macchia), seemingly just another young man drafted into the endless meat grinder of one of the deadliest conflicts in human history. There, he meets Francis (Valentin Campagne), the flamboyant leader of a band of “rejects,” a group of soldiers deemed unfit for battle but still drafted in to provide theatrical entertainment for their battle-weary comrades.

Pierre, despite being captivated by Francis and the dramatics, is resistant at first and remains committed to his duties as a soldier. Francis, however, has no such problem being immediately drawn in by the handsome new face around camp. From there, despite all the madness surrounding them, a forbidden romance begins to flourish. Their relationship soon feels like the only sane thing in an otherwise chaotic world, resulting in Pierre facing what could become a life-and-death decision over whether to continue it.

For a movie like Coward to work, the romance could never feel forced. In that regard, Dhont and fellow writer Angelo Tijssens’ original screenplay really excels. They allow the relationship between Pierre and Francis to naturally develop across the first half, creating the sense that every moment they share becomes increasingly precious as the walls between them slowly begin to come down.

Despite the love taking place over a condensed timeline, it never feels rushed. Each scene they share feels like a carefully placed building block as they both begin to discover emotions they’ve never experienced for another man before. At the same time, you can see the pair wrestling with the moral dilemma of such a relationship and the internal pressures that come with it. Those feelings begin to affect their ability to carry out their duties while forcing them to consider just how far they would be willing to go for one another.

Undoubtedly, the performances of Macchia and Campagne are what make this relationship work. Macchia, in his first film role, is often forced to be quiet in terms of dialogue but does a remarkable job with his facial acting, allowing audiences to connect with his feelings almost instantly. As the film progresses, you get a genuine sense of the internal conflict he’s wrestling with beginning to consume him. You feel every bit of pain he’s going through, which is a real testament to the strength of this debut performance and provides a glimpse into what will surely be a long and successful career.

Campagne, on the other hand, is asked to be much more outgoing and flamboyant, and that’s a challenge he rises to fantastically. Despite the facade he puts on, you can tell there’s a deep sense of pain underneath it all. Performing becomes a personal escape, but also something that feels necessary to give his fellow soldiers a brief moment of respite from everything surrounding them. It’s a demanding role given the complexities of the character, but one Campagne rises to brilliantly.

Together, though, their chemistry is electric. So much rests on their shoulders to make the audience believe in this forbidden love and that the pair would be willing to risk their lives for one another. The quality of their performances ensures that not for a single second does it feel like these two don’t belong together. From the minute they begin to share the screen, it feels like a fairytale romance, and in those fleeting moments of alone time, their connection becomes the only thing that matters.

It’s evident from the outset just how much research Dhont has put into every detail behind the making of Coward. As a veteran myself, the element that stood out most was the authentic bond and camaraderie between the soldiers that Dhont has been able to capture. It’s something that remains sacred to those who have experienced it during a deployment. It’s a connection unlike any other, one that is difficult to explain with words and remains largely unspoken, yet somehow Dhont has managed to wonderfully capture the realism of it throughout.

Equally striking is Dhont’s depiction of the war. While combat never threatens to take center stage, the devastation is captured in much more subtle and hard-hitting ways. Most notably, it can be seen in the faces of the rookies, who arrive filled with hope and a sense of purpose that they are going to make a difference. As the runtime progresses, you see the trauma begin to grip them more and more until their transformation becomes haunting.

The sound design from Yanna Soentjens is another standout addition that sends shivers down your spine. The screams of anguish from soldiers dealing with horrific injuries reverberate to your core, conveying the dread and fear that completely consumes them in their final moments. While these scenes never take center stage, they constantly lurk in the background, ensuring audiences remain fully aware of the torturous environment these young men are forced to operate in.

Valentin Hadjadj’s score is another memorable element that, while providing some of the film’s more uplifting moments, never loses sight of everything unfolding around the soldiers. The musical numbers feel meticulously researched and contain some genuinely affecting lyrics that will ensure audiences need to pack some tissues for the inevitable tears. The choreography accompanying these sequences is also a joy to behold, with one particular scene inside a bomb crater standing as one of the most compelling things put to screen this year.

Coward is far from your ordinary war film. While still highlighting the atrocities of war and the death and anguish these soldiers are forced to endure, its intimate exploration of the bravery and cowardice of the men on the front lines is allowed to take center stage. The result is one of the most poignant films within the genre in recent memory. Thanks to some terrific writing, direction, and two deeply affecting performances at its center, Coward will move audiences to their cores and become a film you think about long after the final credits have begun to roll.

Grade: A-

Director: Andrew Haigh
Writers: Andrew Haigh, Colm Tóibín
Stars: Martin Freeman, Ebon Moss-Bachrach, Kit Connor

Synopsis: Set high in the mountains, fall comes to an end and a family prepares for the long winter ahead.

A filmmaker’s trademark can elevate a multitude of different genres and stories. Andrew Haigh is a filmmaker who utilizes restraint and delivered exceptional results in All of Us Strangers. However, in his latest film, A Long Winter, it sort of drags the film along, keeping the two diverging paths within the film’s narrative sluggish. We, as viewers, can appreciate what is being said here, but how we get to its conclusion is slow and left me exasperated. A Long Winter feels long and cold – much like the title suggests – which is unfortunate as there is a lot of interesting stuff to dig into, but by the time the viewer can sit with it all we have is the discarded remains of plot and body.

A Long Winter follows the aftermath of tragedy and how a father and son come to terms with said loss set in the backdrop of 1950s Colorado. The father, Lester (Ebon Moss-Bachrach), has a complicated history with his neighbors and the tragedy works as a bridge to connect him back to his community. The son, Mike (Fred Hechinger), is bright-eyed and naive to the world around him, but in the midst of this tragedy he is digesting his own feelings of affection to other men which would be controversial to the times. The winter is oppressive and isolating, much like the feelings and emotions of the main characters.

Andrew Haigh is a filmmaker who exercises restraint to allow room for the film to speak for itself rather than moments or dialogue. In this film, the exercise is pushed to the limit. At moments where restraint is exercised the result is something visually and mentally compelling. Dream sequences that don’t outright annunciate its motive result in stirring emotional moments. The momentum within is meticulously drawn carefully like the string of a bow. But by the end of the film, the string is slowly released to its starting position. While this sort of filmmaking can be done to incredible results, this specific instance leaves the viewer frigid.

The film operates with two parallel story lines for most of the film until it merges together into something about release and emotional freedom. How we get to that point is not pretty, however. We see these two points emerge and, once the overarching tragedy in the film concludes, the remainder of the film sort of meanders until it lands on the main point of the film. Then once the main point becomes the primary focus it does very little to keep the drive going. Hechinger plays a really good and really shy individual, and you’d be hard pressed to find someone else to nail a role in the way he does here. Moss-Bachrach also plays a hardass with a lot of skeletons in his closet that he’s keeping sealed tight incredibly well. But despite that, the overall plot within the film doesn’t serve them or their work well.

One element that I do appreciate about A Long Winter is how thematically layered it is. It’s abundantly clear how each element within the film– the winter, the tragedy, and the setting– plays into the fact that a gay man of the time would be suffering. The writing on the larger scale, and the purpose within is incredibly pieced together and the impact is well done. The restraint and lack of forward progression is the point, but with all of this being said, the point lands with little weight. I won’t argue that the content isn’t arranged well, but there seems to be a disconnect between the context of the themes and the execution of the plot.

Frustratingly, A Long Winter suffers from a lack of body. Nothing that lurches into the viewer, and pulls something out of you. There are moments of psychological analysis and suppressed urges with Hechinger’s character, but it simmers to the surface and stays there – nothing less, nothing more. The restraint keeps a film that could’ve been a little more to being an inoffensive and piece of cinematic mishmash. How we see the characters and the tribulations they go through are so bogged down that the film has already made its own conclusions before we the viewer can make our own. Sure, it’s a stylistic choice, and it’s not the filmmaker’s objective to make films for the audience, but we aren’t being let in at all to make our own interpretation.

I hate to write a review where the setting is winter, and I use a bunch of adjectives that can be commonly associated with cold. It isn’t an attempt to be funny, but I can’t really describe it any other way than Andrew Haigh leaving his viewers on ice with A Long Winter. There is little personal flair, the film is tightly written, and it is inoffensive. By the time this review is edited and posted, I will have forgotten about this film. There is a lot to enjoy with A Long Winter, but not enough to rise it above the sludge of mediocrity. In the end, A Long Winter is a film whose death is a death by a thousand restraints.

Grade: C

Director: Jesse Eisenberg
Writer: Jesse Eisenberg
Stars: Julianne Moore, Paul Giamatti, Halle Bailey

Synopsis: When an unassuming housewife is unexpectedly cast in a community theater production, she loses herself in the role under the spell of a strong-willed director.

Hyperbolic words and phrases like “masterpiece” and “best film of the year” are becoming all too common in an increasing attempt to grab attention and garner views, with a new “best movie” seemingly releasing week in, week out. However, when it comes to Jesse Eisenberg’s latest, The Debut, those compliments finally feel fitting. This is a movie likely to be in contention for several of the biggest awards on offer come awards season.

The Debut follows Mona Friedman (Julianne Moore), a middle-aged woman with graduating twins and a husband who is more concerned with his crosswords than listening to a word she says. Desperately disillusioned with her life after decades of mistreatment and searching for a sense of purpose, she auditions for a small supporting role in a local theater production.

Initially, the part goes to local celebrity and theater veteran Serena Cherry (Bernadette Peters), but when she discovers she is not the star of the production, she drops out. That leaves the director, Jerry (Paul Giamatti), quite literally no other choice. As Mona was the only other person who auditioned, she comes in to take her place. The movie goes on to follow Mona’s story from her first rehearsal to the opening night performance, creating one of the most distinctive cinematic experiences you’re likely to have this year.

The Debut could’ve gone down a similar path to Eisenberg’s last outing as a director, A Real Pain, focusing on the emotional side of the story and tackling the raw feelings Mona faces as an underappreciated housewife. Instead, it goes down the comedic route, and it’s all the better for it. It allows Eisenberg to take risks with the script, taking the story to places you would never dream up.

You never quite feel like you know what is about to happen because even when you think you do, Eisenberg takes you in a completely different direction. Scenes that appear to be heading toward an obvious punchline or emotional conclusion often veer into something far more absurd, and that unpredictability is a huge part of what makes the comedy work. It’s something that may not work for everyone, but for most, this is going to be a raucous crowd-pleaser.

Eisenberg has always been a terrifically talented comedic actor, but here, he shows that his writing is just as strong. It’s one of the funniest original comedies of the year thanks to its endless one-liners, which are enough to give you a bellyache from the deep laughs they generate. There are also a couple of situational jokes that continue throughout the entire runtime and somehow get more hilarious the longer they go on, even causing my theater to burst into an unplanned cheer.

Something that is equally remarkable to me is the fact that Eisenberg has also written a bunch of original songs for the production depicted in the movie. Going to the lengths of creating an actual original musical for the purposes of the film is noteworthy enough, but the songs themselves are genuinely really good. By the end, once they’ve all had their third playthrough, the infectious, happy vibe almost certainly translates into a theater full of people tapping their feet and dancing along to these wonderfully crafted songs.

The staging of the show is elevated further by some excellent production design from Anne Ross, who has visually created a stage show for the big finale that I would be buying tickets to in an instant. The cinematography from Drew Daniels is just as accomplished. By deploying a mix of wide shots and some beautiful close-ups, Daniels ensures the audience can be completely immersed in the finale, almost as if they were sitting in the theater themselves.

For everything that is undoubtedly superb about The Debut, Julianne Moore is still the shining star of the whole production. She’s an actor who already has countless incredible performances under her belt, resulting in five acting Oscar nominations to date, but her performance here is arguably among the best of them. The complexity of this performance cannot be overstated. Eisenberg demands so many layers from Moore that it’s scarcely believable she’s able to capture every element so well. She goes from a downtrodden shell of a person at the beginning to a bold character actor bursting at the seams by the end. But what is so striking are the portions in between, where Moore is able to show Mona’s growth through her body language, tone of voice and even the posture she adopts.

It means Mona’s transformation never feels sudden or forced. You can almost see her confidence building scene by scene, with Moore making subtle changes to the way Mona carries herself as she becomes increasingly comfortable in this completely new environment. It’s the sort of performance where the character at the end feels almost unrecognizable from the one we meet at the beginning, yet you completely believe how she got there. It all culminates in a mid-movie speech that is the most enjoyable five minutes of cinema I’ve seen in years. This actually resulted in a standing ovation in the middle of a press screening, something I have never witnessed before.

While Moore will rightfully be receiving all the flowers, Paul Giamatti cannot be forgotten in what is yet another stellar turn. It’s a performance that may be overlooked because it’s nowhere near as showy, but his fantastic chemistry with Moore is crucial. Giamatti brings a sternness that perfectly complements her performance, allowing Moore to shine even brighter. It’s hard to think of another working actor who would’ve been able to pull off the character of Jerry, who in many ways is similar to Paul Hunham in The Holdovers. Beneath the hard exterior is a level of vulnerability and empathy, something Giamatti has been able to perfect throughout his performances in these types of roles.

The Debut may only be Jesse Eisenberg’s third turn as a feature-length director, but if this is anything to go by, despite being a very accomplished actor, the director’s chair may be his true calling. Powered along by two exceptional performances and a fantastic script, this is a real awards contender across the board and will make it onto many people’s favorite movies of the year lists.

Grade: A

Director: Matthew Rankin
Stars: Brian Mulroney, John Diefenbaker, Joe Clarke

Synopsis: In 1976, Brian Mulroney launched a charm offensive the likes of which Canada had never seen, dismantling the political establishment one dad joke at a time. In this psychedelic doomscroll through the mind of a master politician, filmmaker Matthew Rankin charts the flamboyant rise of Canada’s 18th prime minister

“When Irish hearts are happy, 

All the world seems bright and gay. 

And when Irish eyes are smiling, 

Sure they steal your heart away.”

There might not be a more essential National Film Board of Canada documentary made in this century than Matthew Rankin’s Ladies and Gentlemen, Brian Mulroney. It’s probably the most striking piece of political cinema we’ve seen in this country since Denys Arcand’s Comfort and Indifference, and you won’t realize what Rankin is doing until long after you’ve left the cinema and caught your breath from having laughed so incredibly hard. Because, yes, the collage of images (and colors) that Rankin proposes in his hybrid docu-sh*tpost is akin to an extended episode of Infoman on acid, as it tracks the rise of one of Canada’s most popular prime ministers before he became the face of the nation. 

Brian Mulroney, or “Le p’tit gars de Baie-Comeau,” (The little boy from Baie-Comeau) started from humble beginnings until he vied for the leadership of the Progressive Conservative Party of Canada. His first bid was unsuccessful. Mulroney was beaten by Joe Clarke, who eventually became Prime Minister of the country for six meager months, and was upended by Pierre-Elliot Trudeau once more after his budget failed to pass the House of Commons. Rankin treats each of these moments in history as lesson in backstabbing, where Mulroney plotted his ascension from the first time he lost the leadership bid, even if he attempts to publicly support Clarke’s reign. 

Through six unwieldy episodes, Rankin exposes the moral rot at the center of not only the Conservative Party of Canada (Mulroney’s charm offensive was extremely popular…until it wasn’t and the party became what it is now) but of every single federal party who attempt the same type of showmanship as did Trudeau. The whole thing looks and sounds like a farce. At least, that’s what you’ll believe upon witnessing a bevy of hyper stimulating kaleidoscopies that assault your senses and pervert much of what Mulroney said or did at the time. It looks and feels like complete ridicule, but it won’t be long before you begin to parse what he’s actually doing, and it’s there where Ladies and Gentlemen, Brian Mulroney begins to open up in front of you. 

At face value, Midnight Madness sounds like the perfect vehicle to unleash this beast in front of an unsuspecting audience. And who doesn’t like making fun of politicians? After all, most filmmakers like to poke fun at more popular figures like Trump or George W. Bush. There hasn’t been a movie that attempts to humoristically approach Brian Mulroney, because most pundits agree that his demeanor and tenure was relatively human. By the end of the movie, perhaps you’ll have a different idea of the public perception of Mulroney, who, of course, possessed the charm of both Paul Newman and Robert Redford to convince anyone to vote Conservative, and loved to sing “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling” at whatever occasion he had. 

The man had an unmatched aura, but his motivations seemed to have been driven by ego, especially when attempting to upend the leadership bid of Joe Clarke, despite saving face in public and saying that Clarke is the right person for the job. All the while, the ghost of John Diefenbaker looks down upon Mulroney, as if he acts as a sort of Jor-El for the Tories. Rankin actually expresses this through a Fortress of Solitude-esque museum where Mulroney asks Diefenbaker’s brain for guidance in the hopes that he will prevail to upend Clarke and become the next Prime Minister of the country after Trudeau successfully took down the Conservative minority government six months after its tenure. 

It looks and feels stupid, but please trust me that Ladies and Gentlemen, Brian Mulroney is far from being so. Rankin successfully distills at least fifty years of political and cinematic history by incorporating the biggest movements of the time – the question of Québec sovereignty (and “le beau Risque” once Parti Québécois leader René Lévesque supported Mulroney), the figures that made their way into the sphere upon Mulroney’s reign that would have a tangible impact on the future of Québec politics. One of them is Lucien Bouchard, one of Mulroney’s closest friends and colleagues that eventually left the conservatives to form the Bloc Québécois, and the other is John James Charest. No one knew him when he joined Mulroney’s government, but his name will soon be forever etched in Québec’s collective history…

With Mulroney born and raised in Baie-Comeau, it’s inevitable that Québec would have an intrinsic part of Rankin’s documentary. Perhaps Western audiences unfamiliar with Canadian and Québec politics might not vibe with Ladies and Gentlemen, Brian Mulroney as much as the ones who understand Rankin’s almost esoteric parallels, but even a layperson will have a firm grasp of Mulroney’s impact within Canada and the world. Rankin purposefully stops dead in his tracks when he becomes elected as Prime Minister, which might act as a deterrent for anyone looking for a deeper exploration of how bad he was as a leader, but we don’t need to go through those events for now. Maybe in a sequel…

Grade: A+

Director: Kris Rey
Writers: Caleb Hearon, Ruby Caster
Stars: Caleb Hearon, Zooey Deschanel, Kyle Marvin

Synopsis: A twenty something gay man travels from Chicago to his home in rural Missouri following the death of his father — an obsessive hoarder who has left a house full of items, some valuable and some not so, to pick through.

At first glance, it would be easy to dismiss Trash Mountain as just another formulaic dramedy. After all, it has many of the same ingredients and follows a similar plot structure to successful movies we’ve seen within the genre before. The key difference here, though, is star and co-writer Caleb Hearon, who seemingly brings some of his own personal experiences to the story, providing a level of heart and emotion that many similar films can only dream of conjuring up.

Directed by Kris Rey and co-written by Hearon and Ruby Caster, Trash Mountain follows Gavin (Hearon), a drag show host living in Chicago. There, he’s able to express himself freely, has a close-knit community and support network that embraces him for who he is, and he can be open about his sexuality. That picture-perfect life is abruptly interrupted by a call from his half-sister Abbi (Zooey Deschanel), letting him know that their father has passed away.

Gavin is forced to return to his hometown in rural Missouri, where what he thought would be a quick trip to pay his respects turns into a logistical nightmare from hell. As it turns out, on top of being an alcoholic, his father was a reclusive hoarder who left behind a literal trash mountain. What Gavin imagined would be a brief visit to say goodbye instead becomes an extended stay in the very place he had always tried to escape. Now, he has to face challenges and grief that have seemingly been suppressed for years.

On the surface, the movie doesn’t seem too dissimilar from others within the genre, but that changes when you dive a little deeper into Hearon’s life and understand where he has personally come from. The fictional rural Missouri setting isn’t entirely removed from reality, as Hearon himself grew up in a similar community. That connection gives Gavin’s experiences an added sense of authenticity, particularly when it comes to the hostility he faces regarding his sexuality.

The narrow-minded townspeople provide plenty of comic relief throughout the story, but there’s also a sense that the humor is masking something much more painful. The screenplay directly takes aim at that conservative way of thinking, whether it be through the sheer number of guns found inside their hoarder dad’s home or the way the devout Christian faith of many members of the community shapes their opinions of Gavin’s choices. It feels informed by the type of prejudice someone in Gavin’s position could experience in a place he once called home, making the movie far more grounded and thought-provoking than its familiar setup initially suggests.

Hearon has made a name for himself through self-deprecating comedy, and Trash Mountain is no different. Whether it be his size, sexuality, or even his personality, Gavin is often the butt of jokes that hit time and time again throughout the runtime. But there’s an overwhelming feeling that he uses humor as his own unique defense mechanism, allowing him to avoid the unresolved trauma that is clearly eating away at him beneath the surface.

That continues through a large portion of the movie until the brother-sister dynamic that the story is crying out for finally takes center stage. It’s here where the performances of both Hearon and Deschanel are allowed to shine brightest. Their chemistry together is wonderful as they begin to recapture their childhood connection even in the most tragic of circumstances. Watching that relationship gradually rebuild is genuinely touching and gives the movie much of its emotional weight.

Hearon, as expected, is hilarious, but in his first leading performance, it’s the more dramatic elements of his work that prove the most captivating. Anyone familiar with Hearon will expect him to be funny, but the ease with which he switches things up and delivers the movie’s more emotional moments is particularly impressive and somewhat unexpected. It’s clear evidence that he has the tools at his disposal to take on much bigger parts going forward.

Deschanel recaptures the charm that made her a star in the first place, but there’s more going on with Abbi than that. She brings an air of vulnerability and fear to the character, all while Abbi is trying to hold everything together and be a mother to her own family. It’s the type of performance that makes you wish Deschanel appeared on the silver screen more often, as she clearly still has the talent to be a leading presence in a feature-length movie.

There are also some terrific supporting turns. Kyle Marvin, as Abbi’s husband, is the most prominent, and he makes the most of every second he has on screen. From the moment he’s first introduced to his last, he delivers some of the funniest one-liners in the movie. Jaboukie Young-White, as Jerome, Gavin’s love interest, provides a comforting presence that gives the story room to explore some of its more hard-hitting emotions. But it’s Jacki Weaver as Grandma Helen who threatens to steal the movie every time she appears.

While the way Trash Mountain unfolds will feel somewhat familiar, it’s the journey to get there that matters most. In that regard, the film delivers, leaving you with the kind of warm, fuzzy feeling that might just make you want to hug your family members a little tighter as the credits roll. Undoubtedly hilarious, with plenty of charm and heart to boot, Trash Mountain is one of the more surprisingly entertaining titles at this year’s Toronto International Film Festival.

Grade: B+

Director: Jonathan Schey
Writer: Jonathan Schey
Stars: Taron Egerton, Mia McKenna Bruce, Jessica Henwick, Sophie Simnett, Charly Clive

Synopsis: An original razor-sharp dark comedy thriller set in the world of modern dating in London.

Modern-day dating, particularly in large cities, is nothing short of a minefield. The original scam of catfishing seems so far removed from today’s day and age, with things having developed much further and the deception becoming even more elaborate. In Jonathan Schey’s sharply named feature-length bow, Everybody Wants to F*ck Me, he cleverly deconstructs the so-called “nice guy” persona and its corrosive effect on modern dating in a darkly comedic way. There’s enough shock and awe along the way to leave a lasting imprint on your brain long after the final credits roll.

Everybody Wants to F*ck Me follows Adam (Taron Egerton), a serial womanizer who regularly love bombs his dates, utilizing his charming persona to lure unsuspecting women into one-night stands before dropping them like a rock in the ocean. There are no two ways about it, he’s a complete jerk, but what’s worse is that he’s proud of it and always on the lookout for his next conquest.

That is until one night when he meets Sophia (Jessica Henwick). Adam, of course, thinks he’s in for a night of passion, but unfortunately for him, he gets more than he bargained for. When he wakes up the next morning, all is not as it seems, as she appears to have put a curse on him that makes every woman want him. It sounds like the perfect situation for Adam, but it quickly becomes apparent there’s something far more sinister going on than initially meets the eye.

Schey’s screenplay brilliantly tears apart the performative nice-guy persona Adam has relied on for so long. While it’s done in a humorous fashion, there are some genuinely pertinent messages underneath those surface-level jokes that audiences can take away, although you are forced to look a little deeper than you perhaps should have been. At times, the film’s determination to push its premise to increasingly absurd places threatens to overshadow the very commentary it is trying to make, but that message is always bubbling away underneath.

It feels especially relatable to younger generations who have only really known the swipe-left, swipe-right kind of dating. Many of them have been victims of emotional coercion through endless love bombing and narcissistic behavior, all of which is rife in the contemporary dating pool on display throughout. By exaggerating those behaviors to their most ridiculous extremes, Schey manages to make them funny without completely losing sight of how damaging they can actually be.

The film definitely feels like a comedy first and thriller second, and for the most part that’s to its advantage. Those humorous elements feel distinctly British, as you’d expect given the cast and crew involved, so the jibes are very much on the nose. It’s the sort of dry, sharp, biting humor that can either make you wince in your chair or leave you with a pain in your stomach from laughing so hard. It’s no different here, with plenty of big swings, the majority of which are knocked out of the park, although a few inevitably fall by the wayside.

To Schey’s credit, whether everything lands with audiences or not, he can’t be accused of failing to fully commit to the absurd nature of the premise. He has managed to pack in two of the most outrageous scenes in recent memory, both of which had an audience over a thousand strong audibly gasping at the filmmaker’s audacity. The film isn’t afraid to be uncomfortable or take risks, and in that regard it’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion. As much as you want to take your eyes off it, for some reason you just can’t.

There’s also something haunting about the script being flipped and turning a man into the prey rather than the predator. Going for a more horror-based angle alongside the satire is a stroke of genius. Rather surprisingly, the film provides some of the most effective jump scares I’ve seen in a while, the kind that out-and-out horror movies would dream of achieving. More importantly, that reversal gives the film an uncomfortable edge beneath all the absurdity, forcing Adam into a position where the attention he once relentlessly pursued becomes something he can no longer control.

For all that is good about Everybody Wants to F*ck Me, it admittedly treads a fine line between being funny and outright cringe, sometimes for the wrong reasons. For me, it just about stays on the right side of that divide, only really blurring it a couple of times, and given the gambles it takes, that feels worthy of applause. However, it’s very easy to imagine others feeling the complete opposite and becoming completely lost along the way, with the tone almost certainly going to prove divisive. In some ways, that feels like an inevitable consequence of a film so determined to push its central joke as far as it possibly can.

One thing is for sure though, Taron Egerton is at the top of his game. He’s an actor who appeared destined for greatness after Kingsman and Rocketman, yet his career trajectory since hasn’t quite matched what those performances seemed to promise. That’s made all the more baffling when he shows time and again just how versatile his range is. Here, his comic timing, natural charisma and sheer commitment to the role are easily the highlight, with several of the movie’s most unforgettable sequences engraved in your brain largely because of his performance.

Egerton is, of course, supported by some incredibly talented women who make the absolute most of their screen time. Of note, Jessica Henwick is a commanding presence, delivering some sly and cutting lines that strike right at the core of Adam’s behavior. Charly Clive, as Adam’s longtime best friend and somewhat of an enabler, is also a standout, bringing a stern and assured presence that provides just enough for him to realize how abhorrent his behavior has been.

Undeniably flawed in places and guaranteed not to be for everyone, don’t be surprised to see a broad spectrum when it comes to the initial reception for Everybody Wants to F*ck Me. Yet despite those shortcomings, there are enough genuine laughs and heart at the core of the story to make it a worthwhile trip. That, coupled with yet another stellar performance from Egerton, ensures Everybody Wants to F*ck Me is a wildly entertaining and unapologetically outrageous ride that, for better or worse, you’re unlikely to forget anytime soon.

Grade: B-

Director: Zack Snyder
Writer: Kurt Johnstad
Stars: Stuart Martin, Fra Fee, Jackie Kay

Synopsis: An ex-DEA agent searches South American mountains for his murdered diplomat siblings’ children, aided by a junkie photographer who saw the killers, confronting past demons as reality blurs in remote wilderness.

Is the camera an object of truth, or does it have the power to distort our conception of the world? This question lies at the heart of Zack Snyder’s long-gestating The Last Photograph, a project the director says has been in the works for almost twenty years, as he unveiled the film at the Toronto International Film Festival. Almost immediately after the screening, vitriolic responses from critics and audience members flooded social media, creating a strange disconnect as a Q&A was still underway with the director and cast, who were likely oblivious to the real-time reactions. 

To be fair, The Last Photograph is Snyder’s clunkiest film. It presents many unwieldy ideas without actively developing them. Unlike his pre-director’s cut Rebel Moon diptych (or the theatrical cuts of Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice and Justice League), there’s no extended edition to further flesh out what’s on screen. The core relationship between Wallace (Fra Fee), a heroin-addicted war photographer who is still trying to numb himself to the horrors of the world, and Ethan Black (Stuart Martin), an ex-DEA agent who looks for his missing niece and nephew, also takes time to establish itself as thoughtful. 

It’s also extremely violent. Snyder’s most violent film. Whereas he purposefully restrained himself within the studio system, the 60-year-old director no longer has any major studio to deal with and can finally deliver a vision at his most uncompromising. Perhaps that allowed him the freedom to go all in on violence and explicit sexual imagery, a shift that was most boldly perceived in Rebel Moon – Chapter One: Chalice of Blood. Audiences have to sit through endless sequences of torture, where women are brutally beaten, children are killed, and they are put in multiple harrowing situations that often feel excessive and gratuitous. 

But is there a point to such senseless acts? The consensus across the John Bassett Theatre after its premiere might be, “No,” but it also offers an interesting treatise on our desensitized society, which no longer feels emotion when it sees real violence filtered through someone’s camera on a screen. Don’t get me wrong, The Last Photograph borders on exploitation, but one can’t say such torture is pointless when it’s mostly seen through the eyes of a disillusioned photographer observing a world where his subjective nightmares and the harsh nightmares of reality are blurred. 

Butterflies recur visually as Wallace and Ethan travel across Colombia to find the missing children, in a story that owes a lot to John Ford’s The Searchers and Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now. Of course, though, John Boorman’s Excalibur remains the ultimate reference for understanding Snyder’s visual gestures, as he continues to expand his conception of mythological artifacts through a disillusioned agent who will stop at nothing to find his niece. Bar none, the most thought-provoking sequence of the film occurs close to the end, where Ethan becomes the film’s myth, but, again, like all his ideas, doesn’t get expanded further than what is introduced. 

It’s the most frustrating aspect of The Last Photograph, a movie that brims with enough thoughtful ideas to stimulate our minds, but doesn’t have the patience to develop any of them. The first forty minutes or so are dedicated entirely to “moody” storytelling, where Snyder presents images with tons of thematic resonance but rarely interiorizes the characters on parallel journeys that eventually coalesce into a spiritually charged arc that brings incredibly strong emotions to the forefront. It takes a while for those emotions to materialize, but once they do, it’s hard not to be swept away by Snyder’s knack for intensely arresting image-making, where each frame tells an intriguing story in its own right. 

While smaller in scale than his superhero films or mythological epics, there’s a reason why Snyder is so far ahead of his contemporaries when crafting action, as small or as large as it can be. The gunfights of The Last Photograph rank high among some of the most emotive work of his career, even if the violence is at times horrific to look at. But the camera tells us things that our eyes cannot see, and the way in which Snyder, acting once again as his own cinematographer, points his device at senseless explosions or bodies being piled up, their faces shot, and bodies horribly mutilated. It’s a confronting experience to reckon with such violence, as the camera never ceases to capture these horrors, while never forgetting to highlight the beauty amid its desolation. 

Is The Last Photograph an examination of Snyder’s own conception of images as he reaches a new stage in his life? One could absolutely interpret it this way, especially as he’s still continuing to be his own director of photography amid the flurry of negative comments Snyder has received since Army of the Dead. He doesn’t care, and likely never will, but his photography is actually a genuine improvement (or evolution) of his own craft. Snyder (mostly) ditches gratuitous slow-motion for an overabundance of soft-focus, which might be a deterrent if each frame didn’t feel so spiritually urgent. There’s a specific image of a horse attempting to cross a river that is fully embedded in my retina, and the entire flashback where Ethan attains total awareness ranks high in the pantheon of Snyder’s most striking images. 

That’s why it’s so hard for me to entirely dismiss The Last Photograph. It’s not perfect, sure, but it contains enough of Snyder’s real humanism to overcome some of its most glaring flaws. To say the film is “racist” or “misogynist” is to completely miss what Snyder is actually saying about the images that he – and his photographer – capture. There might not be a salient point to be made about the violence itself, but the thing is: we’ve grown so numb to violence that it almost feels unimpressive when we actually see real acts of terror inflicted upon people when they appear on our screens. This isn’t an observation, but a fact. Snyder attempts to remind us of violence’s true horrific nature, as his photographer develops a strange fascination with beauty inside an environment that has lost all sense of hope. 

In this case, Fra Fee delivers what is probably the most moving performance of his career, far more emotive than anything in the Rebel Moon franchise. He’s directed so wonderfully by Snyder, who seemingly sees a lot of himself in how Wallace perceives images. When you look back at Snyder’s oeuvre and begin with his first-ever major movie, Michael Jordan’s Playground, the fascination is seen loud and clear. That desire to create, to demonstrate that cinema still has the potential to move us and stun our souls, is still present almost thirty years later. Whenever I’m about to see a new Zack Snyder film, I always look back at one of the final scenes of his Michael Jordan video, where the NBA star dances in passionate glee to the music of Full Force. It’s possibly Snyder’s most exhilarating sequence before the grand finale of Man of Steel, because it reminds us what he can do with a camera, and how he sees the world through his own subjective lens. 

The Last Photograph rekindles his relationship with an object he has complicated feelings about. He now needs to rethink what image-making should be, especially in an era that has lost the power to create frames that linger deep in our memories. It’s easy to reject a movie that tells us to look at cinema in a new way none of us are accustomed to, but it’s something Snyder enjoys doing. There’s doubt the movie will actively find distribution. It’s violent, deeply inaccessible, and confronts our ideals of what an image should achieve in ways I haven’t seen a filmmaker – let alone Snyder – do. 

However, anyone with an open mind should probably give it a chance if it ever moves past the John Bassett Theatre. It probably won’t, but Snyder is showing no signs of stopping, as he’s set to helm a remake of John Carpenter’s Escape from New York shortly. Maybe this stint in fully independent, auteur-driven filmmaking has given him a new lease on why he chose to make movies and filter his own perception of the world around him, because, as he said while introducing the movies, he’s going to keep doing it until someone stops him. And even if someone dares stop him, he’s probably not going to…

Grade: B