Bingo may not be the first activity you associate with cinematic drama or comedy, but it has found its way into numerous films, often with memorable results. From suspenseful thrillers to uproarious comedies, bingo scenes have a knack for adding quirky tension or levity. If you’re a film buff with a love for unexpected moments, these top picks featuring bingo might just become your new favourites.
Big Momma’s House 2 (2006)
In Big Momma’s House 2, Martin Lawrence returns as FBI agent Malcolm Turner, disguised once again as the larger than life Big Momma. One standout moment comes during a wild bingo game. Big Momma brings her signature flair, shouting, “Don’t mess with a big momma and her bingo!” This scene brilliantly captures the competitive energy of a bingo hall, blending comedy with a dash of chaos. For fans of lighthearted action comedies, this moment offers a delightful take on what might otherwise seem like a mundane pastime.
Rampage (2009)
Uwe Boll’s Rampage is a violent, gritty thriller that surprises audiences with its inclusion of a tense bingo scene. Amid the film’s high octane sequences, the bingo hall provides a startling juxtaposition. As the main character walks in, the quiet tension of numbers being called contrasts with the film’s otherwise brutal pace. It’s a unique take on the game, showcasing how even their favorite bingo games can heighten the suspense in unexpected ways.
Hotel Transylvania (2012)
Who knew vampires and bingo could coexist? In Hotel Transylvania, the quirky monsters’ retreat, bingo becomes a hilarious activity for Dracula’s friends. With a setting full of eccentric characters, this scene is a playful nod to how universally enjoyed the game can be—even by the undead. The humour in watching these creatures take their bingo so seriously is a testament to the film’s cleverness, adding charm to a family friendly romp.
Better Call Saul (Season 1, Episode 2, 2015)
While not a movie, Better Call Saul deserves an honorary mention for its unforgettable bingo sequence. Jimmy McGill, played by Bob Odenkirk, is hosting a seniors’ bingo game, delivering his lines with a mix of dry humour and quiet desperation. The monotony of the game is underscored by Jimmy’s personal struggles, creating a poignant yet amusing scene. This moment highlights how bingo can serve as a backdrop for both comedy and character development.
Cocoon (1985)
Ron Howard’s Cocoon offers a heartwarming portrayal of seniors discovering a new lease on life. One of its memorable moments involves a lively bingo game. It’s more than just a leisure activity; it reflects the vibrancy and community spirit of the film’s elderly characters. This scene is a charming reminder of bingo’s role as a social activity, emphasising connection and joy.
Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds might not immediately come to mind when you think of bingo, but the underground bar scene operates much like a tense bingo game. The slow build, the anticipation of each moment, it’s all there. Though no bingo cards are in sight, the suspense and strategy mirror the psychological play of a high stakes game, making it a fascinating inclusion on this list.
From lighthearted comedies to intense dramas, bingo’s versatility as a cinematic tool is undeniable. Whether played for laughs, suspense, or community spirit, these films prove that even the humblest games can be a winning addition to the big screen.
Although Demi Moore is currently experiencing a meta renaissance thanks to The Substance, she hasoften had career ups and downs over the decades. After the success of Ghost, Moore starred in three 1991 films varying from excellence to misfire and absurdity. It’s intriguing to revisit this now relatively obscure trio – a microcosm of the highs and lows in Moore’s oeuvre.
The Butcher’s Wife
Blonde psychic Demi Moore, hepcat psychiatrist Jeff Daniels (Speed), and more familiar faces intersect in this fantasy romance that admittedly warns you it’s going to be unusual with a silly opening narration, coastal quaint, comets heralding love, and snow globes in the sand. Barefoot and naive Moore – with a wavering Southern accent and a magical family clock – is waiting for a husband to wash ashore and whisk her away to New York. The cute score tells us it’s so charming when her husband puts his shoeless wife of one day to work in his butcher shop! Marina’s like a child tearing the wrapping paper, putting on all the aprons at once, and ringing the counter bell as her Carolina simple contrasts the initially harsh city. Everyone smokes in almost every scene – shocked this beautiful, magical woman is the eponymous bride yet spontaneously telling her their problems. Marina tells them destiny will find a way, and even with the bad accent, it’s best when she is able to share her insights, compassion, and understanding rather than being dimwitted with her wispy white dresses, flowers, and wind chimes. The skylines, rooftops, and retro street look like old mid-century sets, and the audience has to shut off today’s red flags to accept these conflicts of interest and fears of commitment as sweet and innocent.
After humorously paying $3.50 for $350 shoes, Marina continually intrudes and oversteps her bounds, but it’s supposed to be okay because she knows deliveries will be late and can predict customers’ dinner needs. People never remember her exact words but know what feels right – leading to what Marina says are mistaken interpretations that people want to hear. Naturally, the men drink and argue that she can’t rule everyone’s lives based on primitive female intuition while women insist she never change who she is. Couples that are meant-to-be, meet amid the crisscross swanky and roller skating, bewitchment contrasting the rational therapy demanding the id remain in check. Marina’s aware people think she is touched in the head, admitting she is simple but not stupid yet can’t help her clairvoyance and may have made a mistake. Moore doesn’t seem comfortable on top of the distracted direction, but it’s great when Marina is able to explain her visions– using the clairvoyance for character insights rather than just contrived confusion and stubborn arguments. Of course, not utilizing the lesbian couple to amplify the loving who you are meant to love when our split souls unite themes is unfortunately expected in the post-Reagan era. Viewers are also ready to wrap up the star crossed romances before the ninety minute mark, yet the destined reunions are rushed in the final ten minutes. This could be a pleasant watch with what if whimsy, but the execution is imperfect and the innocuous screwball charm is fifty years too late.
Mortal Thoughts
Glenne Headly (Mr. Holland’s Opus) and detective Harvey Keitel (The Piano) join then-real life couple Bruce Willis (Die Hard) and Demi Moore in this unconventional murder mystery told in flashback. It’s best to go into this cold, and viewers must pay attention to the witness testimony recounting the crime – especially when it doesn’t quite match what we see. Retro camera equipment recording the interrogation accents the Bayonne-specific tackiness and attitudes with big hair, bad fashions, and acid denim. Macho arguments and casual misogyny disrupt the wedding fanfare, and secondhand accounts of the tumultuous marriage include abuse, drugs, and nonchalant comments about wanting to get rid of the handsy husband. Nobody’s really going to put rat poison in the sugar bowl though, right? Beauty parlor humiliations layer the men versus women good cop/bad cop interview and Keitel’s probing Honeymooners quips. Willis is despicably sleazy alongside the on form Headly and Moore as the tension between the forever friends escalates. Well done editing balances the van perils, carnival fun, and violence both seen and hesitantly told. Who’s going to dump the body and get their story straight? The camera pans as hectic events are recalled and dialogue from the past crime bleeds into the interrogation scenes. A woman has to look after herself amid bloody knives, chicken races, and criminal bungling at every turn. Slip ups and funeral hysterics make others suspicious amid claustrophobic family interference, cursing in Italian, and Catholic touches. Babies cry while their mother scrubs away the blood and burns the evidence. Cops dissect the holes in the story, husbands distrust wives, and a woman will choose to talk or keep her mouth shut to keep the peace as necessary. The vintage Christmas is ruined by paranoia and gunshots, and what happens outside of our point of view casts doubt thanks to subtle slow motion and ambiguous up close shots. This could have been awards worthy if not for such a packed year, and it remains a compelling thriller that doesn’t deserve to be forgotten as one of Moore’s finest films.
Nothing but Trouble
Writer/director/producer Dan Aykroyd (Ghostbusters) wears every hat possible including not one but two prosthetic performances for this notorious lark starring mogul Chevy Chase (National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation) and lawyer Demi Moore. The vintage New York City swanky and sweet Beemer give way to road trip detours and backwoods circumstances in a well paced start with simple sight gags and sinkholes. Our yuppies complain about the smelly scenery of American industry – abandoned factories, landfills, burned out towns – before not pausing at a stop sign. They laugh at the local constable’s high speed pursuit despite the off road dangers and rural trigger happy. Unfortunately, the Brazilian stereotypes, mock Spanish, and hammy performances are already over the top. Straight man Chase also makes all the wisecracks and never takes the insular implications seriously. We leave the yuppie point of view for demented roller coasters chewing up other jerky traffic violators, and these superfluous scenes reveal the village peril too soon.
Aykroyd’s grotesque, self-righteous Judge dispenses justice on his whim when not passing the can of Hawaiian Punch at the suspect hot dog dinner, for his family was betrayed in a worthless deal decades ago and he’ll make everyone else pay for it. Silly set pieces, shootouts, and more tangents detract from the bemusing idea that everything will be alright once they’re back on the freeway. Our rich folks think money can make the scrap metal heaps and piles of accumulated Americana trash go away, and the leads lack chemistry – awkwardly kissing but caring little for each other as they fall for every booby trap behind each fun house door. Dumb gags and mixed motivations make little sense, and John Candy’s (Spaceballs) dual role as the sensible constable and his mute sister is inspired but underutilized. Dirty as her little white outfit gets, Moore’s pearls remain demure, and the Digital Underground hip hop interlude is surprisingly fun. However, everyone splits up for time wasting junkyard chases littered with confusing overlapping dialogue and flat punchlines. Social statements on the elite getting what they deserve are ruined by the pointless farce – lost in the Valkenvania title change, delayed release, and PG-13 cutting. Our tycoon feigns prayer while never asking what’s happened to his friends despite explosions and slimy, deformed man babies, and but wait there’s more twists. The symbolic coal fire avalanche and any warning of the hellish collapse of American infrastructure culminates in a cartoonish mess ultimately best known for The Judge’s penis shaped fake nose.
Directors:Scott Beck, Bryan Woods Writers:Scott Beck, Bryan Woods Stars:Hugh Grant, Sophie Thatcher, Chloe East
Synopsis:Two religious women are drawn into a game of cat-and-mouse in the house of a strange man
Finally, a mainstream movie about religion that dares challenge viewers on their preconceived beliefs, religious or otherwise. In Heretic, writing/directing duo Scott Beck and Bryan Woods use Mormonism as a framing device to criticize not only religion but how we have deluded ourselves that ‘believing’ in a figure designed to control every aspect of our lives will reward us in any way. I say this as someone who is a confirmed catholic (this was accomplished after following a three-year program at the Church) who progressively rejected religion when beginning to study how spirituality is frequently misinterpreted for personal and monetary gain. One could say I’m a lapsed catholic. However, truth be told, I remain fascinated by the relationship religion has in art and cinema as an experience of pure enlightenment when directors imbue their films with spiritual imagery as signifiers or embellish a miraculous moment on screen.
Oscar-hopeful Conclave looks to be the religious film of the year. However, it does absolutely nothing in exploring why religion, and in this case, Catholicism, corrupts the soul when scripture is perverted for one person to be fully rewarded by controlling others in making them ‘believe’ in things that don’t exist. Director Edward Berger takes a rather incurious stance on electing a new Pope and the conspiracies that arise when Cardinal Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes) begins to be far more involved than he should, ultimately sinking what could’ve been an incredible film. Add a baffling, soap opera-lite final twist in the movie, and you’ve got a movie that people who have never stepped foot in a Church will laud, while others more critical of the religion and have experienced time inside will have a disparate opinion on.
With Heretic, Beck and Woods see the traps Edward Berger deliberately fell into with Conclave and transcend their religious discussion into a confrontation on society’s position on Earth and their innate beliefs of their place in this world. It’s in that vein where we discover Sisters Barnes (Sophie Thatcher) and Paxton (Chloe East), Mormon missionaries of the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-day Saints on their way to convert Mr. Reed (Hugh Grant) to their religion. Immediately, one knows Mr. Reed isn’t to be trusted – his house door has a timed lock, and his wife is noticeably absent even if the missionaries have rules to follow for the conversion to be enacted. Even worse, the host has made several uncomfortable comments that challenged them on the nature of belief and Mormon faith.
One such comment occurs at the top of the movie, where Mr. Reed discusses polygamy, which was practiced by leaders of LDS in the 1800s as, according to one of its fundamentalist leaders, Joseph W. Musser in Celestial or Plural Marriage, “a proper marriage system” that “leads towards God’s plan and disavows that of Satan.” This belief is still perpetuated – and practiced – today by many adherents of the Mormon faith.
The details of Reed’s explanations are accurately illustrated, showcasing the fundamentally broken belief in which religion is based on: control. You can ‘believe’ all you want, but when a ‘prophet’ of God tells you to do something, you must obey His commands. If someone like Musser states (and by deliberately misinterpreting spiritual texts) that polygamy is supported, then adherents of the faith must follow suit and control the lives of themselves and others through this practice that the Bible itself has properly condemned. This isn’t belief, and it’s what Reed attempts to expose to the two followers of Jesus Christ who blindly follow the teachings of their leader without question. He does it sickeningly, sure, but they will likely have a far different perception of what religion does to people when they are done interacting with Mr. Reed.
Deliberately paced, Beck and Woods spend the first half of Heretic assuredly building tension through a three-handed conversation between Mr. Reed and the two missionaries. What’s most impressive about these scenes isn’t necessarily Grant’s incredibly chilling turn as a man who wants to ‘test’ ideals of belief or Grant and East’s palpable chemistry as two innocent devotees wrestling with what their ‘belief’ means but in Chung-hoon Chung’s indelible photography.
Known for his collaborations with Park Chan-wook, Chung’s juice has unfortunately lost itself in making a sea of corporate gunk for a cheap buck (i.e., the supremely ugly-looking Obi-Wan Kenobi,Uncharted, and, most recently, Wonka, among others). But in Heretic, he’s in complete control of how his camera guides the story and characters and reveals crucial parts of the frame that immediately posit a different atmosphere than the conversations were leading into. It begins with symmetrical images worthy of his contributions to Park Chan-wook (think specifically of The Handmaiden) until it gets more elaborate.
One such instance occurs when Sister Barnes learns that the ‘blueberry pie’ Reed’s wife is cooking is actually just a scented candle. The camera swifts around the candle, never revealing what it says as Barnes turns the label to her face until it cuts to an extreme close-up of her reacting to what she’s now learned. Such an approach maximizes dread and pulls us further into the drama that, sadly, becomes less theological as it goes along. However, Chung always remains in control of its visual style, giving us enough to sustain our excitement, but never the complete picture until it is shockingly revealed.
It’s in that section, though, that Heretic began to lose me. The otherwise compelling conversation on what religion is and why the people who support it don’t realize what they’re enabling gets diluted in favor of cheap thrills that, while compellingly shot, aren’t as horrifying as the directors think they are. It’s one of those “bold swings” that, on paper, sounds tantalizing but is far more confounding than its initial proposition set up the movie. It does have its fair share of unexpected moments, especially in its conclusion, but it doesn’t delve deep into its horrific images the way it should execute it.
And if its central message is on how religion controls, its final section seems to forego this altogether until it’s haphazardly brought back to twist the miracle of resurrection and the belief that there is life after death. The final scene certainly gives us hope that this could be attainable, but never in a spiritually-charged fashion. The best movies that challenge viewers on religion utilize images of spiritual power to vehemently reject what they convey. John Woo did so in The Killer by having its climax set in a Church (the place where hope and miracles are attainable), only for its protagonists to suffer the most cruel, crucifying fates.
Beck and Woods utilize plenty of religious paintings and references to how pop culture movies can be interpreted in a theological light but don’t have the courage to surpass this discussion further than what they introduce. However, they don’t fall into the traps of Conclave because they meaningfully give enough information for the audience to interpret what they are seeing on their own. It may lead to similar conclusions, but it at least deepens its study enough to have material that will make all of us think of our place in society amidst cults that basically perpetuate the same ideals that will never make its followers achieve something real from a spiritual, and personal perspective (Scientology is, of course, its worst offender).
As such, Heretic miraculously (pun intended) does what Conclave doesn’t and, in turn, becomes the defining religious film of 2024. It may not offer profound meditations on the questions it raises. Still, in an era of incurious filmmaking and criticism, it may be one that will turn the tide in favor of more religiously challenging films to hit our big screens. Plus, no generative AI was used in the making of this film (as bluntly stated in the film’s end credits), so this is a movie everyone needs to support. As a result, Beck and Woods should be thanked for championing human-made art. Here’s hoping for more of them in our theatrical ecosystem than any machine-made junk.
This week on Women InSession, Amy wanted to give her passionate thoughts on David Fincher after missing last week, so we dive further into Fincher and his incredible filmography. As you can imagine, we have a lot of fun with this discussion and let loose a little bit.
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: Sarah Young Writer: Sarah Young Stars:Tori Ernst, Charlie McElveen, Katharine Chin, Ryan Nicholas Cooper
Synopsis:When her husband turns strange and violent, a wife becomes convinced he is possessed. But will anyone believe her?
“It’s fine,” said no one ever when things were actually fine. But that’s how Michelle (Toni Ernst) begins describing her relationship with her husband John (Charle McElveen) to her best friend Kim (Katherine Chin). Key word: begins. In the same breath, Michelle says, “And then, all of a sudden, he’s just… wrong.” Wrong how, exactly? Kim suggests that John is probably just stressed at work – or, better yet, that he’s simply being a pain in the ass because he’s hungry – the tried and true excuse for the unraveling male whose actions cannot be made sense of by anyone other than the person enduring them. When Michelle raises the possibility that John could be possessed, it’s met with Kim’s scoff and a thinly veiled, “Do you hear yourself?” After all, the John that everyone else sees must be the same version that Michelle sees behind closed doors.
Isn’t that the case in every outwardly-perfect marriage? It’s this question, among other simply-posed yet deftly-executed ideas, that Sarah Young’s mysterious and dark short, Not Him, examines. In just 14 minutes, Young crafts the indelible image of a union that, for those involved, is crumbling due to the spirit that wishes to dismantle it from within, while what friends and neighbors chalk it up to is the need for a buffer. But Michelle is hardly crazy: John, the man she loves, is no longer the same man she married, but not because of his job nor an unsatisfied appetite. When he returns to their apartment after a long day at the office, his strange behavior is far closer to that of a violent stranger than a frustrated finance bro. There’s just one problem: Who will believe the only woman who can see what’s really going on here? Especially when whatever is inside John is doing a bang-up job masquerading as the handsome, charming guy who buys pizza and beer for the gang?
“You can scream to the world that your husband isn’t your husband,” the clearly-possessed John demonically tells his distressed better half. “But how do you think that’s going to go for you?” For much of the film’s brief runtime, the answer, insofar as there is one, is “not well.” But the more aggressive “John’s” behavior becomes, the blacker his eyes go, to the point where it’s unclear what (or who) is behind them. Young, who has plans for a feature-length adaptation of the short, would do well with more room to operate, yet the demented possibility that Not Him raises doesn’t require concrete answers given its command over tension and the raw factor of fear with which it is imbued. If anything, the lack of context that Young’s script provides makes the desire for a deeper look that much more intense.
I spoke with Young about her plans for the extended adaptation, the genesis of her short’s idea, and the depiction of domestic violence in today’s cinema. Our conversation includes spoilers for Not Him.
Will Bjarnar: How did the idea for this film – your first as both writer and director – come about?
Sarah Young: I am primarily a director, so yes you’re right this was my first time writing my own script. I have always been a fan of genre filmmaking as I think it’s a great opportunity to explore challenging subjects in a more accessible way. So I knew I wanted to work in the horror genre. One night I had a nightmare that was basically the opening of the short, I woke up, and furiously started writing based on that image. It became clear to me that what I was writing about was domestic violence through the lens of demonic possession so I dove into that concept.
WB: Let’s talk about that opening sequence. Not Him starts with a familiar image, that of a husband moving his hand to his wife’s as they lay in bed, sleeping. But then John’s grip tightens, and we see him climb atop Michelle as his eyes go black, almost as though a switch has been flipped in a manner of seconds. Why did you choose to open the film this way?
SY: That’s it exactly! That was my nightmare. Sadly I think that’s everyone’s nightmare, and an all too real one for a lot of folks. The person you love, the person who is supposed to protect you, turning on you and hurting you. Like most people unfortunately I too have a personal relationship with domestic violence, so I have my own experience to draw from, and I’ve had really intense conversations with many survivors. I wanted to give the audience a glimpse into the emotional experience of domestic violence with this opening, a peaceful night that turns on the whims of the abuser.
WB: Immediately following that moment, we see Michelle recount her experience to her friend Kim, who initially brushes John’s actions off as one of either work-related exhaustion or hunger. However, Kim later comes to understand that Michelle really did see what she described. How crucial was it for you to deploy that juxtaposition between initial skepticism and eventual belief, especially in a narrative that is so clearly entrenched in, as you’ve described it, the fight for domestic violence victims to be believed?
SY: Extremely. I’m so pleased to hear you describe it that way. It’s a challenge to tackle a subject as big as domestic violence in a short film (the film is just under 15 mins) and it was very important to me that this was a story about a victim who is eventually believed, which helps her find her strength again. But it’s not an easy thing to ask for help, and it can be a struggle for people, even those close to the victims, to fully grasp the situation. We want to believe the best in people, we don’t want to think that those around us could be monsters in their own homes, especially if they are people we already have relationships with. But sometimes all it takes to save a life is one person to believe a victim to save their life.
WB: You’ve previously mentioned that films like The Babadook and Smile were on your mind in relation to Not Him, especially how those are films that explore mental illness and grief. Were there any standout cinematic influences you had in crafting the thematic contents of Not Him? As I watched, I felt like I could see some shades of Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, specifically in relation to that film’s titular character struggling to find someone who would believe her. Gaslight was on my mind, too.
SY: Yes, The Babadook in particular is one of my favorites and a big influence on me as a filmmaker. Smile is another great example of using horror to talk about mental health. Gaslight and also The Shining were very much on my mind when I wrote the script. I’ve actually never seen Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore! I’ll have to add it to my list. Barbarian is another horror film I absolutely love and although it’s not as direct a comparison I still think it’s an incredible example of using horror to make a really profound social commentary that’s not always as accessible in traditional drama.
WB: What were you looking for when it came to the John character? I was so struck by Charlie McElveen’s dual performance. I’m curious, what made him stand apart?
SY: I was looking for an actor that could very quickly (again the problem with it being a short film) show us all aspects of John; the loving husband worth fighting to keep, the abuser, and the possible victim of the demon itself. Charlie is naturally charming and charismatic, which makes it all the more frightening when he turns cruel and violent. He’s got a wonderful big creepy smile in his actor toolbox as well which is a big help. And he’s a wonderful person and extremely caring to his scene partners, which was important to me in casting. It takes trust to do intense scenes of physical and emotional abuse.
WB: It might be a less-direct dual performance given, but Michelle similarly has to play two roles in this story, that of a terrified wife who no longer recognizes her husband and that of someone who has to put on a brave face just to get through interactions with people who don’t believe her. How did you and Tori Ernst craft that balance, if you will? The story may be a work of fiction, but its ideas are certainly entrenched in horrifying, familiar truths.
SY: Absolutely. That’s the truly insidious thing about domestic violence, it’s happening behind closed doors. The abuser is pulling every trick in the book to keep their victims quiet, to make them feel isolated and incapable of leaving or getting help. So many folks have experienced that double life, the need to keep up the appearance of normality while their world is falling apart at home. The need to lie to everyone around them, constantly. Tori Ernst as Michelle gives an incredible and nuanced performance that captures that struggle perfectly. She and I spoke about the character at length as I was writing the script. It was important to us to capture as many aspects of domestic abuse as possible in this short story, that dual life, the experience of being gaslighted, having a loved one threaten self harm if you leave. Her fantastic performance and insight as the character was written were invaluable.
WB: I know you’re planning on expanding the short into a feature. What more do you hope to explore with a feature version that perhaps isn’t broached in the short?
SY: A feature gives us an opportunity to expand on the world we’ve built. I think the world is very ready for a domestic violence horror film and the success of the short shows that. The short is about Michelle discovering the truth about her husband and turning to her best friend Kim for help. It ends with Michelle convincing John to let them go for the night but promising he will “see her tomorrow”. Then Kim and Michelle open the door to leave but we cut before we see them walk through it. In the feature I want to go further into Kim and Michelle’s relationship, it’s so important to me to highlight the experience of Michelle, but also to expand on the effects on those close to her, in this case her best friend Kim. It’s a Hitchcockian journey for Kim to learn the truth about John, and it becomes a fight for both women to try and get Michelle away from him. And we’ll get to learn what happens when Kim and Michelle attempt to walk out that door.
Director: Dallas Jenkins Writers:Platte F. Clark, Darin McDaniel, Ryan Swanson Stars:Judy Greer, Pete Holmes, Sebastian Billingsley-Rodriguez
Synopsis:Nobody is ready for the mayhem and surprises that ensue when six of the worst youngsters disrupt the town’s yearly Christmas performance.
On the surface, the new holiday film The Best Christmas Pageant Ever may seem like a family drivel that stars experiencing a box-office dry spell would take on to keep their careers afloat. However, when an adult delivers a holiday ham, everything begins understated and turns touching without using cheap theatrics. The scene is so well-written that it sneaks up on you.
I wouldn’t call this the genius behind The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. The real strength may lie in the fact that this second adaptation of Barbara Robinson’s bestselling novel, directed by Dallas Jenkins, uses his penchant for religion as a backdrop to expose the judgmental hypocrisy of a flock that has lost its way. Additionally, Jenkins shows respect for past holiday comedy classics, which is evident throughout the film in nods to A Christmas Story, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, and Home Alone.
The story follows the Bradley family, who take on the task of reining in and reaching out a helping hand to the Herdman family—a group of six dirty, rude, mean, rowdy, and even thieving siblings who have been terrorizing the community for years. Known as the worst kids in the world, they begin to show interest in community activities, particularly the town’s premiere event of the year, the local holiday church pageant, but only for the free, sugary treats.
Grace (Judy Greer) takes on the responsibility of pageant director after Mrs. Armstrong (Mariam Bernstein), who rules with an iron fist, drops out due to an injury. Grace accepts the role partly because the snobby church elite believe she cannot handle it. However, she soon realizes she may have taken on the role for a greater purpose, as the Herdman children—led by Imogene (Beatrice Scheider)—bully their way into the play’s most significant roles.
Grace’s husband, Bob (Pete Holmes), initially seems like the type of husband who might be annoyed that his wife has taken on such a task without having dinner ready at the usual time. However, he turns out to have the same heart of gold as his wife, paying particular attention to the Herdman clan and lending a helping hand. They have two children: their youngest, Charlie (Sebastian Billingsley-Rodriguez), and Beth (Molly Belle Wright); with the latter taking on the responsibility of acclimating the Herdman kids to the pageant experience.
Jenkins, best known as the creator and showrunner of the historical faith-based series The Chosen (there was a free preview of the upcoming season during early screenings this past weekend), does a remarkable job using faith-based community activities as a backdrop to enhance themes of acceptance, love, compassion, forgiveness, serving others, humility, and gratitude. However, you never once feel that the film tries to shove its religious message down the viewer’s throat.
The setting in The Best Christmas Pageant Ever is familiar to anyone who has lived in a middle-class, predominantly white suburb—something I was all too familiar with in an era when the church was much more prevalent in family life than it is today. Anytime any of the children act up, religious leaders like the reverend, his wife, or the Bradley family take the time to reach these kids rather than demonize them, despite the pressure from others who choose to do so. It’s a difficult battle against those pressures.
While the movie has excellent messaging for a family film, it also effectively mixes heartwarming moments and laughs. In between, there are adorable performances from Wright as Beth and Lorelei Olivia Mote as Beth’s friend, Alice. Then there’s Kynlee Heiman, who steals every scene she’s in. And, of course, Beatrice Scheider, who gives her character, Imogene, well-rounded characteristics in what is arguably the most challenging role in the film—she needs to be funny, abrasive, and deliver accurate, poignant moments that resonate.
The Best Christmas Pageant Ever has flaws but has so much genuine heart that it’s hard not to get lost in it. With excellent narration from Lauren Graham and wonderful supporting performances from Greer and Holmes, this winning film is well worth watching this holiday season.
You can watch the new film The Best Christmas Pageant Ever only in theaters on November 8th!
This week on Chasing the Gold, Shadan is joined by ISF Writer Zach Youngs to discuss this year’s Gotham Awards nominations! Awards Season is now in full swing and it’s time we start digging into these nominations, and how it might affect the larger picture as the year rolls along. We had a lot of fun dissecting these nominations and giving our reactions to them.
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, JD and Brendan discuss Benjamin Ree’s latest documentary The Remarkable Life of Ibelin! Ree’s last film The Painter and Thief was one of the best films of 2020, so we were quite excited to see what he had up his sleeve next, and boy did he not disappoint at all.
Review: The Remarkable Life of Ibelin(4:00) Director: Benjamin Ree
On this episode, JD and Brendan discuss Aaron Schimberg’s incredible new film A Different Man, starring Sebastian Stan and Adam Pearson! While Schimberg is a discovery for us, we’ve been big fans of Stan for quite some time and Pearson has always been memorable in Under the Skin. So there was a lot to look forward to, and yet the film deeply transcended our expectations.
Review: A Different Man(4:00) Director: Aaron Schimberg Writer: Aaron Schimberg Stars: Sebastian Stan, Renate Reinsve, Adam Pearson
Synopsis:M, a university dropout low on money and luck, volunteers to take care of his terminally ill grandmother, in the hope of pocketing an inheritance.
As increasingly rare as it is for one’s first discovery of a film’s existence to come via the pages of a newspaper, that’s precisely what happened to this critic in July. Eager to stay abreast of the world’s ongoings while traveling abroad for a wedding, I made a habit of stealing the hotel’s international edition of The New York Times. On this particular day, I flipped to the arts section, as I do, and came across a headline that captured my interest: “Why Southeast Asia Is Crying Over This Movie.” Color me intrigued.
The subject, Pat Boonnitipat’s feature-film debut, How to Make Millions Before Grandma Dies, wasn’t a title I had heard of. But these gray, hallowed pages told me that the film – the tale of an aimless young man called “M” (Putthipong Assaratanakul, better known in his home country by the stage name “Billkin”) who quits his job to care for his dying grandmother, Amah (Usha Seamkhum), hoping to win her over in order to inherit her fortune upon her death – was a box office hit in Thailand and a sensation across Southeast Asia. Daniel Nico Laudit, a content creator who chose to document his viewing experience for his then-4.5 million Tik Tok followers, told the Times, “I went straight to the restroom after the movie because I wanted to cry out loud.” Other reactions were similar: Ian Jeevan, a financial consultant in Singapore, captioned his own reaction video, “Running over to hug my grandma now!!”
Such sentiments are bound to be a dime a dozen when it comes to How to Make Millions, as the film, at its simplest, is an excellent excuse for a good cry, whether alone in a restroom or buried in your grandmother’s arms. It’s conceit, simple and familiar, isn’t exactly ambitious in nature, as it places an apathetic gamer in the position of caregiver for his grandma; the perfect recipe for a weepy dramedy the likes of which we’ve seen before. Yet despite that notion, Boonnitipat’s film manages to transcend the trappings that a movie with a similar logline would willingly drown in, placing the intricacies of its principal relationship at the forefront as opposed to leaning to unnatural antagonism between two people living on opposite tracks of life. It helps that, even with the telegraphic nature of its plot – whether or not this greedy grandson will grow to cherish time with his elderly relative as opposed to merely desiring her fortune isn’t much of a question at all – it’s an easy story to root for.
Inspired by its co-writer’s own families, How to Make Millions begins with a family gathering for the Qingming holiday, a ritual during which families come together to honor their late loved ones by visiting their tombs and leaving flowers, snacks, and other gifts at their feet out of respect. At Amah’s request, all take part, though M stays on the sidelines, his attention entirely consumed by his phone. (He dropped out of college to pursue a career in streaming, a goal his parents find difficult to support, leading to his distinction as “good for nothing” per the adults who find themselves drowning as they attempt to keep him afloat.) When Amah falls and a visit to the hospital reveals that she has stage four cancer, the family elects to keep the diagnosis to themselves, but M has plans of his own: To tell her the truth, curry favor, and to follow in the footsteps of his cousin Mui (Tontawan Tantivejakul), who was gifted her grandfather’s house after taking care of him for an extended period of time.
In M’s eyes, the task, once a nuisance, isn’t as much of a bother when a sizable reward sits on the horizon. In turn, it doesn’t take too long for How to Make Millions to expand its own vision, embracing M’s evolving worldview as he becomes more willing to test the bounds of the world he’d trapped himself in. He takes in his surroundings, looking up from a screen to feel raindrops trickle onto his lanky arms, to see flower petals drifting away in the breeze. The ever-changing seasons play a significant role in Boonnitipat’s narrative, appropriate for a Taiwanese film, as the nation’s overall culture believes in the importance of man and nature finding ways to coexist, to benefit one another. Fitting, too, is the very idea of coexistence itself: between youth and experience, ambition and indifference, and even simpler, between two people who would have nothing in common if not for shared blood.
As such ideas unfold, they shouldn’t be too difficult for viewers (and skeptics alike) to clock, even to dismiss. But “cheap” is the last word one should use to describe what Boonnitipat and his How to Make Millions co-writer, Thodsapon Thiptinnakorn, do with their characters’ emotions. They craft seemingly-inconsequential yet intimate set pieces that connect to the past or present, with a ripple effect still to come in the future, all of which are authentic, if still emotionally-charged. One of these moments in particular, which involves M accessing a memory from his childhood in which his grandmother tells him something pivotal, may be sniffed out by viewers who wish to put their detective skills to work, but it’s more about how hard it hits M than how successful a revelation it is to the audience. If nothing else, it’s a scene that provides its main character with a moment of reflection, which Boonnitipat depicts with a simple yet beautiful camera pan-to-the-past move that nearly reduced this critic to a blubbering puddle of tears.
Then again, he was on the brink of that tender state for much of the film’s runtime. You’re still human if you don’t find yourself a weepy mess by the time the credits roll, but only just, as the true magic of Boonnitipat’s debut is its universality. It’s specific enough for distant viewers to latch onto as an emotional narrative they can get behind, but plenty broad, a quality that should allow heartstrings of all creeds to feel a tug. That won’t be enough for some. Then again, for those that need a story of its ilk, How to Make Millions will be just right. Perhaps that’s what Boonnitipat was after.
How to Make Millions Before Grandma Dies is now streaming on Netflix in Southeast Asia. It will become available in other territories later this year.
This week on the InSession Film Podcast, we discuss more movies we’ve caught up with in the last week, including My Old Ass, Ghostlight and Music by John Williams! We also talk some fascinating box office narratives and Interstellar‘s 10th anniversary.
– Opening / Box Office (0:30) After some opening banter, we open the show with our usual box office conversation, which is full of some fascinating narratives at the moment. The Wild Robot increased(!!) in its 7th weekend. Conclave may be the return of the adult drama. Anora has some really great potential for Neon. Juror #2 also surprised despite the very limited theatrical distribution.
– Robert Zemeckis / Interstellar (44:40) One of the nice things about the show’s new(ish) format is that sometimes we find ourselves in these unexpected rabbit holes, which explains how we ended up doing an impromptu Robert Zemeckis retrospective. His career up until Cast Away wasn’t bad at all, and included a few masterpieces along the way. Post-Cast Away it has been bleak, and his new film Here doesn’t seem to buck that trend. As for Interstellar, while we’ve talked about it before, we wanted to once again discuss why it’s both Chris Nolan’s best and worst film.
– My Old Ass / Ghostlight / Even More 2024 Catch-Up (1:06:41) Keeping with the theme of last week’s show, we had more films to discuss that we recently caught up with in the last week. My Old Ass may just go down as the best surprise movie of the year. Ghostlight was another delightful surprise and features some of the best performances of the year. We also had to get into the documentary Music by John Williams as we are, of course, massive fans of the GOAT.
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:Kenneth Branagh Writer: Mary Shelley, Steph Lady, Frank Darabont Stars: Kenneth Branagh, Robert De Niro, Helena Bonham Carter
Synopsis: When the brilliant but unorthodox scientist Dr. Victor Frankenstein rejects the artificial man that he has created, the Creature escapes and later swears revenge.
Unconventional university doctor Victor Frankenstein (Kenneth Branagh) leaves his betrothed Elizabeth (Helena Bonham Carter) to defy science and create life from death. Rejected by his creator for his grotesque visage, Frankenstein’s monstrous abomination (Robert De Niro) demands a mate like himself, vowing fatal revenge in a tragic chain of events.
Star Kenneth Branagh (Hamlet) also directs Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, and this two hour 1994 adaptation’s framework is indeed more faithful to the novel than other pictures that often have very little to do with the famed 1818 source. Ship bound iceberg perils and North Pole isolation establish the tension as our tale is told in flashback, beginning with colorful 1773 Geneva happiness for our boy Victor. White gowns marred with blood and the death of his mother in childbirth spur the studious youth on to gadgets, electrical experiments, and an obsession to cease death itself. Onscreen annotations update the timeline and location changes as Victor moves on to his Bavarian university and creepy attic laboratory, but the constant hop, skip, and jumps are indicative of how hectic the first half of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein will be. Victor objects to the established scientific teachings, citing medieval occultists and alchemists amid expelled mentors, friends fainting at autopsies, and medical exposition. Love letters have no room for emotion thanks to distracting narrations and intercut montages busy with heretical arguments and contrived classroom tension. The camera is always moving and panning as if it must match the fast talking debates on life preservation, abominations, and 18th century anti-vaxxers. Victor screams and shouts as the overhead camera spins – even when he is alone reading aloud to himself. This speedy camerawork becomes inadvertently humorous, an unnecessary intensity jarring against the better eerie moments. Frankenstein steals a body from the gallows, peruses cholera victims, puts a brain on ice, and pays for fresh amniotic fluid to reanimate a frog, never heading scholars warning him that the body is not mere tissue to be reused.
Already unlikable, Victor becomes visually insufferable, and Branagh clearly was not the right director for Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Instead of focusing on Frankenstein’s shoving away his love, Branagh showcases his own increasingly dirty, sweaty, shirtless action. Disturbing hatchets, stitching limbs, beakers, and tubes give way to heaving pulleys, massive chains, and steam as Victor sits on top of his fiery birthing sac and wills his creation to live. Sexual visuals amid the experiment are fine. However, after all the in your face, fast paced, ridiculously noticeable camerawork; the slippery birth, goo, nudity, and squirming are drawn out in an equally ridiculous slow exaggeration. Frankenstein’s zeal inexplicably turns to regret at his pitiful creation. He vows to destroy his journal, reunite with his fiancee, and retire to a medical partnership. The change is rapid and confusing after such labored experimentation, and now Victor cries in bed with overlays of everyone chastising him. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein falls back on more montages and silly slow motion as Branagh’s self-indulgent direction doesn’t want to leave Victor to focus on other characters. Fortunately, the romance is lovely once it becomes the focus – a telling visual difference between the beauty of real love versus the monstrous birthing sequence. Inevitably, of course, the man-made horror ultimately enters in with desperation, blood, and beating hearts. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein deviates from its source in the creature’s demands for a bride of his own. However this time the panoramic chains and frenetic creation lead to excellent disturbing imagery. The ring is placed on the graying finger for a warped dance of decrepit love and tragic realizations.
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein excels in the quiet, subtle scenes with Robert De Niro (Goodfellas) once the on-the-run sadness and village folk screaming are allowed to take center stage. The Creation steals food amid plague fears, coming to hide in a struggling family’s barn. He becomes their silent benefactor during the harsh winter, a “good spirit of the forest” to the innocent girl and blind man. Instead of the earlier arrogant, frenetic science, we’re now learning at the Monster’s pace as he reads Frankenstein’s journal. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein slows down for tender scenes halfway through when the Creation finally talks. The uneven, busy first half may make this time with the Monster seem boring for some viewers, but the sobbing loneliness and misunderstandings over his ugly visage are the consequence of all the devil may care mad science. He treks in the snow to picturesque Geneva – exacting a fiery revenge with boys in peril, fatalities, and family shocks. Torches and storms accent the literary terror as mistaken culprits and angry mobs begat disturbing hangings and one on one conflicts between the man and his Monster. Rather than heavy handed direction, Shelley’s existential science fiction parables come forth. Does he have residual knowledge from his composite parts or were they mere biological materials? Why give life but then leave him to die? We don’t blame the Creature for his vengeance against his maker, but he has learned the ways of men and caused innocent deaths. He knows this makes him a monster indeed, but did he ever have a soul anyway? Sadly sympathy and peace cannot be found in his demand for a female creation thanks to selfishness and broken promises.
Initially the playful family ward, Helena Bonham Carter’s (A Room with a View) Elizabeth, blossoms as Victor’s love. Their one-on-one dialogues are well paced, soft spoken and bittersweet compared to his monstrous fervor, and Elizabeth’s red frocks and bridal gowns foreshadow her fate. Several more familiar faces – including ship captain Aidan Quinn (Legends of the Fall), professor John Cleese (Monty Python), and Baron Ian Holm (Alien) – pepper the existential gravitas. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein looks the part with arctic frigid contrasting the grandiose interiors. Massive gray halls and an epic winding staircase recall an exaggerated Expressionism alongside candles, shadows, and lightning. Sweeping balls and lovely scenery make room for happiness, kites, and storms. Although the epic baroque music is pleasant in itself, the intrusive orchestration makes every scene unnecessarily intense. This heavy handed score is often up when the diabolic onscreen feels more tragic. The audience needs no such heraldry when the morose is allowed to play to its expected climax. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is entertaining for its period gothic mood, and its overall literary faithfulness with scenes that aren’t often presented on screen remains watchable. Quiet character moments invoke the novel better than the frenetic cinematography, sweeping crescendos, and over the top camerawork. Adhering to the page structure means the story changes per character, however instead of episodic acts, the uneven, back and forth pacing makes Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein feel as if it doesn’t truly begin until the second half. Shortening the self-indulgent first half down to an opening half hour would have gotten to the meatiest science fiction questions faster without having sacrificed the source. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is excellent when the picture stays still long enough to let the horror unfold in a fitting, fiery finish.
Synopsis: Journalist Shiori Ito investigates her own sexual assault, seeking to prosecute the high-profile offender. Her quest becomes a landmark case, exposing Japan’s outdated judicial and societal systems.
“Now let me tell you my story.”
Shiori Ito is speaking to a camera phone. She’s scared but she wants to talk about the truth of her sexual assault, two years previously. She is a journalist and if she comes forward with the facts, she will be the one stigmatized. Her family discourages her. People call in to television and radio stations abusing her. Shiori Ito is making a stance in a country where making a stance is akin to proclaiming oneself a pariah.
The man who allegedly assaulted her is a senior political journalist and in the inner circle of Prime minister Abe. Ms. Ito is consistently stonewalled by the police when she tries to get proof of what occurred, so it is now up to her to run her own investigation. She begins with the driver who dropped her off at the hotel. Ms. Ito was highly intoxicated but asked the driver several times to drop her off at the station. Mr Yamaguchi, the man who had bundled her into the car, refused to let the driver stop. CCTV shows Ms. Ito and Mr. Yamaguchi get out of the car. She is barely able to stand, and he is pulling her across the hotel foyer. It is 2015. May 29th, 2017, Ms. Ito makes her public and filmed press statement at the National Press Club. From that moment she is repeatedly re-victimized and becomes ‘persona non grata’. However, she feels that if she “shuts up” she feels she will be contributing to the culture of silence for sexual assault victims in Japan.
In investigating her own rape, Ms. Ito learns she has almost no chance of bringing the man to ‘justice’, so her next recourse is to question the misogynist systems that control meting out ‘justice’ in Japan. From the Tokyo and National police to the bureaucratic government offices – including the male staffed Office for the Safety of Women, Ms. Ito finds either a wall of silence or a culture of inaction. She also becomes tangled in her own ethical dilemma when people who do come forward off the record to assist her risk their jobs and livelihoods if she publishes what they have said in her book, “Black Box.” Her family will be put in danger if the book is published. One detective (known as Detective A) who informed her that the police were told not to arrest Yamaguchi on the order of chief Nakamura, the head of the Tokyo police, can never testify or be quoted by name.
Parliamentary records are ignored, or the stenographer told to not record what is being said if it relates to Ms. Ito’s case. The press refuses to cover the story – what would otherwise amount to a major scandal. Mr. Kanehira of the TBS Network newsroom (who refuses to be filmed) apologizes for his junior colleague, Hamaguchi, and notes how quiet the press has been. The corridors of power form a maze Ms. Ito is trapped within and even the truth as a beacon is unable to guide her through.
Her apartment is wiretapped. Her physical safety isn’t guaranteed. Ms. Ito has been a prisoner in her own city, unable to go outside without someone accompanying her. As time passes, she speaks of forgetting what the cherry blossoms look like.
In 2017, she is told that her criminal case will not be re-opened despite the proof gathered by Ms. Ito and her team of fellow journalists. The Prosecution Review Board denies all requests and Ikaru Yamaguchi threatens legal action against anyone reporting or writing on him suggesting he is a criminal. “Bring it on,” says one of Ms. Ito’s colleagues.
“Rape is murder of the soul,” Ms. Ito writes. She is also afraid enough to write in her will that that she is not suicidal and if she dies during her trial and the investigation, she wants people to take note. Later, she does find herself on the edge and destroyed by the constant stonewalling, harassment, and victim blaming she ends up in the hospital. How many other young women have been through the same thing?
“Journalism is about monitoring power,” she pronounces during a conference of women journalists and academics. Many come forward speaking of their experiences. For the first time she is speaking in public to an audience who embrace and uplift her. They wholeheartedly believe her, and because of her feel enabled to add their voices. Ms. Ito’s stance is one they wish they’d taken. She stands as the face of a movement. The relief she feels at being vindicated by other women and having people to share her shame and horror is palpable and she cries.
“Every time I speak, I feel like I am standing naked. But today I feel like I am being covered in blankets.” Ito’s tears are shared, and her burden shouldered by other women making it easier to carry on. Japan is facing its own ‘Me too’ moment.
Shiori Ito has limited legal recourse against Yamaguchi because there will never be criminal charges filed; however, she takes the case to civil court in 2018. Along with her book and her tireless self-advocacy she has spent most of her twenties reliving the worst night of her life. She tried to deal with her case as a journalist, in the third person, but it is impossible for her to keep the barrier between ‘objectivity’ and the fact she is the human being who was drugged and violated.
Shiori Ito’s documentary is an astounding record of tenacity and bravery in the face of systemic misogyny. One doesn’t have to imagine the professional, personal, and emotional cost of bringing to light the crime she endured. Almost every step she has taken has been filmed. Her personal video diaries, her phone calls, the interviews, the progress of the civil trial, the emails she received – they each form a mountain of evidence not only against Yamaguchi but against Japan. “The black box is a social problem,” Ito says. The black box is where the evidence of sex crimes go when they have been deemed too difficult (read: too challenging) for the authorities to pursue.
Shiori Ito is emblematic of too many Japanese women. In the film, the audience is shown home videos of Shiori as a child pretending to read the news. All she ever wanted to be was a journalist. In one night, over what she had assumed would be a professional meeting, the bright-eyed child was murdered and was replaced by a woman who, bruised and bleeding, became a statistic in Japan’s shameful neglect of victims of sexual assault. She also became an icon of resistance. A woman whose case was mentioned in parliament. A woman who put herself in the direct firing line of every colluding bureaucracy and spoke not only for herself but for the women who could not. Ito’s work is a national testament opening the doors for other people to stand up and fight.
“I’m still here,” Ito says. After eight years of battling for herself and others she has retained her integrity. Panic, intimidation, dark nights of the soul, public and personal shaming, and countersuits were all weathered, and her civil case was successful. Yamaguchi is proclaimed guilty, but he will never be imprisoned. Shiori Ito, in the end, wasn’t fighting to put Yamaguchi in jail but rather to get herself out of the prison that victims of sexual assault are forced into.
Presented with veracity and straddling the line between objectivity and intimacy, every fact Shiori Ito brings to light is a wrecking ball pounding at the walls obstructing justice for women in Japan. Vital and remarkable, Black Box Diaries is a towering feat in documentary filmmaking.
Director: Tim Fehlbaum Writers: Moritz Binder, Alex David, Tim Fehlbaum Stars: Peter Sarsgaard, John Magaro, Ben Chaplin
Synopsis: During the 1972 Munich Olympics, an American sports broadcasting crew finds itself thrust into covering the hostage crisis involving Israeli athletes.
The events that occurred during the Munich Olympics in 1972 have been told multiple times, most notably in the Oscar-winning documentary One Day In September and in Steven Spielberg’s Munich. Black September, the infamous Palestinian terrorist group that formed in the aftermath of the Six-Day War, broke into the Olympic Village apartments where the Israelis were staying and took 11 hostages. The end result was tragic: the police’s bungled attempt to ambush the terrorists resulted in the deaths of all the hostages. Fifty-two years later and some of the worst moments of the Israel-Palestine conflict currently going on, the events of that day are very relevant and, just like last year’s The Zone of Interest, September 5 is a reminder of what is going on now.
What makes this film distinguishable is that the entire events are told from the perspective of ABC Sports led by executive Roone Arledge (Peter Sarsgaard) who simply completes the schedule for their sporting coverage the day before. What begins with a crew tired after the previous day’s events led by American swimmer Mark Spitz winning 7 gold medals turns quickly on its head when they hear distant gunshots from the Olympic Village not far from where they are. Quickly, Geoff (John Magaro), a producer in to cover other sports happening that morning, scrambles to get everyone up to speed with Marvin (Ben Chaplin), the head of operations, and their translator Marianne (Leonie Benesch), trying to get information first.
As night turns to day, the studio uses every trick they have such as sneaking one of the assistants into the village by dressing him up as an athlete living there to film as close as he can towards ground zero of the attack. This is decades before the advent of social media. Roone fights for the satellite control with CBS – the rival studios took turns on timeslots covering the Olympics – Marianne runs inside and out and translates every word coming from German police and media while fighting for respect from her colleagues, and Geoff works to fend off ABC news for full control on their side even though they are just for sports. Suddenly, you finally see the camera tighten up on everyone with every second passing as day becomes night and the climax moves away from them to the airport.
The film edits itself tirelessly between the archival footage, such as the shots of a mask-cladded terrorist on the balcony, and the studio as they work fast to cut between cameras with their footage outside and in-studio where lead anchor Jim McKay (only archive) is giving the up-to-date news. The sound design is also flawless with the overlapping voices, sounds with the controls, and radio announcements, whether it be German radio or Peter Jennings (Benjamin Walker) relaying from outside what is happening. It is terrifying to watch as they see these shocking images from their own well-placed cameras and then to realize that the terrorists are watching their feed since it’s also in the Olympic Village. TV journalistic ethics come into major question with what Roone and Geoff want to broadcast, especially when accosted by Munich police brandishing semi-automatics at the crew.
Co-writer/director Tim Fehlbaum (Hell) is perfect in telling this very compelling, heart-pounding drama of the first terrorist event happening live worldwide. (The post-script says 900 million people saw it on TV.) The whole ensemble syncs perfectly to every turn in the story with Magaro and Benesch being the standouts. September 5 succeeds beyond expectations as a docudrama that holds on to viewers and will never let go as the hours tick on by to its tragic conclusion. Leaving the theater will have the same realization as with The Zone of Interest: nothing has changed in this conflict many, many decades later on with the Middle East.
Since the release of the first Mission: Impossible film in 1996, Tom Cruise has captivated audiences worldwide with his portrayal of Ethan Hunt. Throughout the changing franchise, Cruise has been exceptional and even surprising, as he can combine physical actors with emotional ones.
Let’s take a deep dive into how Cruise has defined the role of Ethan Hunt, elevating the Mission: Impossible series into one of the most successful action franchises in cinematic history.
1) Ethan Hunt – The Evolution of a Character
In the first Mission: Impossible movie, Ethan Hunt starts as a skilled yet somewhat inexperienced field agent of the Impossible Mission Force (IMF). The character of the niche professional Tom Cruise in this film created the kernel of the character Hunt.
He starts as a regular Joe, Setting out to find out why his wife has come into contact with a man, magically zipping through the retreat, in consideration of the American hero in the film Kyle Crane. He is completely perfect to them – restrained fury and panic no less brilliant than portrayed by Mr. Cruise.
Hunt’s character does not remain the same as the film’s advance. By the time we reach Mission: Impossible – Fallout (2018), Ethan Hunt is no longer the young agent he was in 1996. Instead, this time, Cruise gives his character real confidence and likens Hunt to an old soldier, tormented by his past and forced to make tough choices.
His relationships become more complex, and his stakes are higher, culminating in a richly layered performance that grows with each film.
2) Physicality and Stunt Work
One of the most distinguishing features of Tom Cruise’s performances in the Mission: Impossible series is his commitment to performing his stunts. This dedication has become a hallmark of the franchise and a key factor in its success. From scaling the Burj Khalifa in Ghost Protocol (2011) to clinging to the side of an airborne plane in Rogue Nation (2015), Cruise constantly pushes the boundaries of what an actor can physically do on screen.
In this regard, he is unique, especially in an age of ‘big’ computer-generated images with much movement and no action, by making the change effortlessly from fighting to the quartan’s back, which does come to the center. He is physically and mentally involved in the act, as the stunts in the movie represent Ethan Hunt’s life, where his missions override everything else, even justice at times.
3) The Mind of Ethan Hunt
This is perfect logic since there is nothing to complain about, especially in the rocky-cliff seventy’s Chapter. Apart from the action highlights, which indeed deserve a lot of focus, Cruise’s depiction of spa expectant despite the action-heavy constraints also crosses into some gritty detail regarding characterization. This is because Hunt is not simply a one-sided action hero. He often bears the burden of his choices and, sometimes, their impact on his loved ones.
In Mission: Impossible III (2006), we see Hunt dealing with personal loss and love. He becomes emotionally attached to Julia (Michelle Monaghan), a nice addition to Cruise’s character in terms of emotional volume. Hunt is torn between his responsibilities for the IMF and his wish to be ordinary. Ethan’s frustration in this film is genuine, especially during the climactic parts, where he sees his working life blended with his home life.
4) High Stakes and Realism
Even in the most unbelievable situations, Tom Cruise can always make Ethan Hunt seem like a highly relatable character. Disarming a nuclear bomb or capturing a fortified target – no matter what the task is, the determination and realism of Michelle Monaghan always transfer over to the easter-than-summer audiences.
One of the factors that makes Cruise’s performance believable is his ability to reach out to Hunt’s character even when performing the toughest of activities. In contrast with a significant number of action movie heroes, Hunt is not a superhero. He gets beaten, messed up, and confronted with dire situations and odds, but he always manages to deal with them. This is the definition of Cruise’s character: the wits and the skills that make Hunt a survivor and a strategist.
Conclusion:
Tom Cruise’s portrayal of Ethan Hunt in the Mission: Impossible series is a masterclass in action filmmaking. Over the years, his performances have somehow had IDF visuals intertwining annoying actions with cognitive and interpretive facets.
As Ethan Hunt, Cruise has created a character that is both larger-than-life and deeply human, ensuring the Mission: Impossible franchise’s enduring success and his place as one of Hollywood’s greatest action stars.
Director: Malcolm Washington Writers: Virgil Williams, Malcolm Washington, August Wilson Stars: Samuel L. Jackson, John David Washington, Danielle Deadwyler
Synopsis: Follows the lives of the Charles family as they deal with themes of family legacy and more, in deciding what to do with an heirloom, the family piano.
August Wilson’s second Pulitzer Prize-winning play (after Fences) becomes the latest work from the late playwright to receive the movie treatment, again from Denzel Washington as producer. This time, it is a more family affair as it is his youngest son, Malcolm Washington, adapting (with co-writer Virgil Williams) and directing The Piano Lesson as his debut feature and directing his brother, John David Washington. Their younger sister, Katia, is also a producer on the film. Although it is set in Pittsburgh during the 1930s, it is very much based in the South and it has entered the house where its ghosts begin to haunt everyone, all surrounding the family history carved into a piano.
The opening scene, set on July 4, 1911, in Mississippi sets the tone to what is to come after. The Charles family flees the farm to move up to Pittsburgh before a small group of Klansmen burn down the house, thinking they have killed everyone inside and destroyed everything. Cut to 1936 and Boy Willie (John David) with his friend Lymon (Ray Fisher) enter the home of his sister Berniece (Danielle Deadwyler) with a plan to sell the piano, their most valuable asset, to buy land for his own farm back in Mississippi. Once a piano player, Berniece hasn’t played since the death of their mother and lets it sit in the living room. She refuses to sell it or move it, noting the carvings that depict their ancestors going back to when they were slaves.
Uncle Doaker (Samuel L. Jackson, who played Boy Willie in the play’s first production at the Yale Repertory Theatre) plays mediator between the conflicting siblings with his mellow tone and gives the full story of the piano, its origins, and the events after July 4, 1911. A White man named Sutter, whose family were the slave owners of the Charles’ family descendants, led the charge to take back the piano that was built for his family and killed Boy Willie and Berniece’s father. However, he mysteriously fell to his death sometime later. It is Sutter’s ghost that lurks in the house and makes his presence known at times during the film.
The strength of the film comes in its acting; Deadwyler is by far the MVP of the film. John David does his best to duplicate his father and glimpses are very much there with Michael Potts as Wining Boy Charles sharing stories with Doaker to give light into a heavily dramatic tale. A preacher (Corey Hawkins) is also around looking to court the single Berniece and, even though she’s in for only a few minutes, the flashback to Lucille Charles (Erykah Badu) as the slave being sold to the Sutters in the beginning is very a firm representation, even in silence, of the family’s – and the piano’s – origins.
Of all of Wilson’s plays, The Piano Lesson is probably one of the more difficult ones to adapt because of its supernatural tone, but does work well as a movie. It didn’t need to play like it did on stage with the extra exposition in certain scenes and the climax which carries on a bit long, but Malcolm Washington and crew (and family) succeed in giving Wilson’s story a solid screen adaptation about family coming full circle around one singular object and the importance of knowing your ancestry and keeping it all costs, regardless of what comes with it.
Director: Adam Elliot Writers: Adam Elliot Stars: Kodi Smit-McPhee, Eric Bana, Sarah Snook
Synopsis: A bittersweet memoir of a melancholic woman called Grace Pudel – a hoarder of snails, romance novels, and guinea-pigs.
The story is not about an actual snail, but a snail-loving young woman in Grace Pudel (Sarah Snook) who wears a snail cap all the time. Talking to an actual pet snail, Sylvia, Grace tells the story of her life and her encounter with the free-spirited Pinky (Jacki Weaver), who has just died. It is a sad tale: Grace’s mother dies after giving birth to her and her twin brother Gilbert (Kodi Smit-McPhee). The dad, Percy (Dominique Pinon), is a former street performer who is a paraplegic and alcoholic after getting hit by a car, leaving Grace and Gilbert to their own devices for the most part. They do, however, still have some fun with their dad, but the siblings are mostly preoccupied with themselves and comforting each other.
Gilbert is protective of Grace, willing to give her blood when undergoing surgery for her cleft lip and stopping bullies from mocking her for it. However, Gilbert is a pyromaniac who wants to become a street performer just like his dad while Grace takes on her deceased mother’s love of snails and gets anything snail-related. Sadly, this happiness ends when Percy dies and child services comes in to send the pair to separate foster homes and they can only communicate through letters. Gilbert goes to a deeply religious family who run an apple farm while Grace goes to a childless couple who are nudists and seem to neglect her.
It is here when Grace meets the elderly Pinky who has had an adventurous life, including making love to John Denver in an airplane. Pinky becomes Grace’s confidant and fills the void left by Gilbert being separated from Grace. Her grandmotherly manners helps Grace gain confidence with herself, especially when she meets a neighbor who becomes smitten and the two move in together. That happiness, not surprisingly, pops with a shocking revelation, returning Grace back to gloom. It is a perfectly paced, scene-by-scene transition with every beat shown clearly and not a single word of dialogue offline.
This is an R-rated animated film, so don’t bring in the kids to see claymation breasts pop out. However, this tragicomedy is one of more emotional films of the year and writer/director Adam Elliot (Mary And Max) absolutely knows when to pull the strings to set off some tears. Accompanied by Elena Kats-Chernin’s score, which can go unnoticed sometimes, Elliot is able to construct every detail with pinpoint accuracy in tone shifting between the years. Being a stop-motion feature adds that authentic feel being not made with CGI and perfectly captures that darkness Elliot wants to capture, his “clayographies” as he calls it.
As a totally Australian production, it feels refreshing to hear the actors speak in their normal accents. You probably would not have guessed that Shiv Roy was the voice of Gracie but Snook’s voice performance matches the right tone for Gracie like telling a bedtime story. As someone who never heard of Adam Elliot and the fact it took over a decade to get this made, it is one of the biggest surprises for me this year and will be for others too. The deeply somber tone of Memoir Of A Snail, how dark and real it can be, removes the fact that this is an animated movie and is one of the more human films in recent memory.
Director: Justin Kurzel Writers: Zach Baylin, Gary Gerhardt, Kevin Flynn Stars: Jude Law, Nicholas Hoult, Tye Sheridan
Synopsis:A series of bank robberies and car heists frightened communities in the Pacific Northwest. A lone FBI agent believes that the crimes were not the work of financially motivated criminals, but rather a group of dangerous domestic terrorists.
The Order is an extraordinary crime film by a director with an unconscious power that is hard to put a finger on. It captivates with an intense, suspenseful atmosphere due to its modern themes, which have remained relevant for nearly forty years. In this “based on a true story” thriller, a young, brash white nationalist seeks radical change, while his superior, the Grand Minister, prefers a patient, long-term strategy.
The scene is particularly powerful: after the older and more strategic white supremacist outlines his plan—to place members in high government positions to effect “real change”—you can’t help but reflect on what has unfolded in our country by the end of the past decade. It’s a chilling realization of the consequences of their long-term ambitions. Perhaps the most terrifying aspect is that the subject matter of The Order continues to resonate today.
The story follows a federal agent who accepts a post in a remote area of the Pacific Northwest. Burdened by personal demons, Terry Husk (Jude Law) wears every beautifully weathered crease on his face. When he learns of a missing person, he enlists help to investigate in the form of young local sheriff, Jamie Bowen (Tye Sheridan). Together, they uncover a labyrinthine conspiracy hiding in plain sight. Well, except for the Nazi leaflets flying around town, spreading the good “White” word.
A series of bank robberies spans multiple northwest states, each occurring just before a domestic terrorist attack, such as a synagogue bombing in Boise, Idaho. Bob Mathews (Nicholas Hoult), the mastermind behind these audacious robberies, robs banks to fund his radical agenda. His beliefs are based on a book called The Turner Diaries, which depicts a violent revolution to overthrow the “cult” federal government and establish a white supremacist regime.
The issue is that no one is taking Terry seriously enough; his only support comes from an old FBI agent friend (Jurnee Smollett), who calls in some favors when she feels he deserves to enjoy the crisp Idaho mountain air and indulge in hunting and fishing to his heart’s content. However, Terry is obsessive, working tirelessly in an era with weaker laws against terrorist groups, limited digital technology and surveillance, and poor communication between law enforcement agencies.
Some may argue that The Order is underdeveloped in its themes of extremism, radicalization, violence, and law enforcement. However, I would argue that the film is subtle in its approach, internalizing these themes because Justin Kurzel reflects the source material’s exploration of the government’s failure to recognize hate groups and define them as domestic terrorists, only getting involved when they fund their operations through illegal means.
The Orderis a powerful film that thrives on Jude Law’s and Nicholas Hoult’s performances, which are the best of their careers. An extraordinary amount of relentless intensity and obsession fuels each turn. In particular, Law’s Agent Husk, when Hoult’s Matthews keeps raising the stakes, brings a gripping emotional urgency to the core of the film, in particular resonating with the audience today. The past decade reveals just how little we have come as a society, as extremist groups and mindsets still exist today because of the division of hate we continue to find ourselves in.
On the flip side, Hoult is mesmerizing, bringing the dark side of obsession when it comes to hate distorting a false sense of identity and superiority. In one of the film’s best (and most disturbing scenes), Hoult channels the power of a young Brando with a dominant brooding intensity that is, frankly, terrifying. Not in fear, mind you, but in the fervor he brings out of the radical group he has spawned within his extremist community.
The Order is a one-of-a-kind film. This story feels like a precursor to and sparked Tim McVeigh and the Oklahoma City Bombing because the government failed to act swiftly. Somehow, Justin Kurzel has made a film that takes you to a different time and place that still feels relevant with scenes that stay in your memory long after the film is over.
You can watch Jude Law and Nicholas Hoult in The Order only in theaters on December 6th!
Synopsis:A woman pauses her career to be a stay-at-home mom, but soon her domesticity takes a surreal turn.
“I feel like I’m stuck in a prison of my own creation … I’m deeply afraid I’m going to be smart, or happy, or thin ever again.” Mother (Amy Adams) internally answers the question of what it is like being a stay-at-home mom to a woman who she meets in the supermarket who now has her job in the city art gallery she used to run. Mother’s spoken answer is, “I love being a mom.”
Marielle Heller’s adaptation of Rachel Yoder’s novel Nightbitch imagines the loss of identity a middle-class woman experiences once she moves to the suburbs and takes on the role of ‘mother’ to her toddler son (Arleigh Patrick Snowden and Emmett James Snowden). Mother’s well-intentioned, but oblivious, husband (Scoot McNairy) is absent four days a week leaving Mother with only son for company. The routine of her life is consuming her; yet apart from Son’s sleep refusal, he’s a pleasant and lively little tyke. Mother understands that she chose her life, she quit her job, and they moved out of the city, but had she realized what having limited adult contact, and the impact of giving up her career as an artist (one she is too exhausted to contemplate) would do to her – she might have done something, she can’t yet define what, differently. She certainly wouldn’t have walked willingly into 1950s style suburban malaise.
Mother’s assumptions about other mommies keep her away from most daytime child friendly activities. Her horror of ‘Book Babies’ at the local library is rooted in her belief that other mommies blissfully love just being mommies. The idea of bonding with another woman simply because they have both given birth is pathetic in her mind. What do these women even talk about? Is it as mind-numbing as the repeated duck song played by the storyteller? If only she could find one sophisticated, beautiful, and interesting woman to talk to who hates it all as much as she does. Instead, she finds Jen (Zoë Chao), Miriam (Mary Holland), and Liz (Archana Rajan) who don’t make her feel like an alien from another planet. The alienation Mother feels comes from herself. The trio just laugh when Son loudly proclaims, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” in front of the group. Liz is fascinated by the fact that Mother is an artist. Jen knows what installation art is. Miriam used to be a stripper. They were all people in the ‘before time’ – before kids.”
“Giving birth changes you on a cellular level,” Mother says to the trio when she has begun to open up about her experiences. Chimerical cells travel from a fetus’ body into the mother. Those cells create a bond between mother and child that changes their very physiology. Mother had become resigned to the changes happening to her body. Playing with Son, he says, “Mamma fuzzy.” Mother goes to the bathroom and sees a patch of coarse hair on her lower back. She examines her face. “What fresh hell am I due today?” she asks. More grey hairs, more wrinkles, her figure no longer svelte. Strange body hair barely raises her eyebrows, but her teeth seem sharper too. Also, why is she suddenly able to smell everything so clearly? “I guess that’s where we’re at,” she says but she does mention feeling different to Husband who jokes with her. The jokes stop when Mother loses her temper with Husband as he snores through Son’s restlessness in their bed. “Can you not hear him? Would you fucking do something?” Husband is blithely ignoring Mother’s dissatisfaction because she has turned so much of it in upon herself. She is not a good mother if she complains. She was the one who decided to quit her job. Husband is surprised when she snaps at him. She acted like a bitch. Maybe that’s what she is, a Nightbitch. As he’s taking an Uber to the airport for another four days away, he tells her she should make a schedule and reminds her “Happiness is a choice” – in her mind she slaps his face. In reality she smiles weakly and nods.
Something is happening to Nightbitch. She’s recalling her childhood in a Quaker community and the deep sadness that surrounded her own mother. And she is changing – at least in her dreams. Dogs come up to her at the playground and she takes Son with her to chase them. She remembers her grandmother cooking or perhaps casting spells in Pennsylvanian Dutch. She goes to the library and asks Norma (Jessica Harper) for a book on women and animals, or women turning into animals. Norma hands her a book of ethnographic mythology titled, ‘A Field Guide to Magical Women’ where she reads about the bird women of Peru and Dog goddesses. Nightbitch imagines herself flying.
Nightbitch finds herself ravenously hungry in the supermarket. She begins playing “doggies” with Son. She wolfs down her food court meal directly from the container – people stare but she doesn’t stop. Norma comes over to her table and says it’s so much fun having a son and playing games. She joins in the barking. Nightbitch is surprised she has children and wants to ask her how she got through it all – did she work when they were young? Nightbitch is desperate for some kind of wisdom, some assurance that she’s not cracked. She can’t ask her mother who is deceased. The dreams she has – if they are dreams – are of a pack of dogs stripping her of her clothing and bringing her tributes.
Marielle Heller remains coy on whether Nightbitch is turning into a dog or if she’s simply connecting to something ‘primal’ within herself which rejects the sameness of suburban living and allows her to release a long held in howl. Heller’s use of Yoder’s prose as Nightbitch’s internal monologue affords Amy Adams some lyrical and sometimes raw insights into motherhood and the state of being for women. Women who have extinguished their own flames and wildness by sanitising the experience of their bodies. Bodies that can grow human beings. Bodies so powerful they create life. Bodies that give until they are empty. Protect, nurture, attack. Bodies on the edge of exhaustion. Animals run on instinct, but as Nightbitch she can run free – growl, snap, bite, and nuzzle – and decide who is allowed in her territory.
While there are some salient points about the continued struggle women encounter with social expectations of what a ‘mother’ should be in a certain stratum of society, Heller’s film is firmly entrenched in privilege. Nightbitch wants to be an artist and a mother. She wants to find her pack – no longer her inner-city graduate school friends with their conceptual art and expensive lifestyles. Maybe her pack is the other suburban moms who also ache to not let their flames be extinguished by permanent caregiving. Perhaps they too hear the call of the wild and become ‘Baby Yoga Moms Who Run With Labradors.’ Nightbitch and the other mommies in her circle don’t need to worry about how they’re going to pay the bills, or whether they have secure housing, or deal with violence or physical abuse. They’re quite literally wine moms who go hiking and have the money to go to therapy if they choose.
The penultimate scene of the film where Nightbitch, Husband, and Son play together in a cushion filled outdoor blanket fort/tent in a neatly forested park denotes how sanitised Heller’s film is at its heart. Nightbitch flirts with the animalistic but refrains from sinking its teeth too deeply into female ferity.
Nightbitch makes observations about, and comments with purpose on, the inherent violence of childbirth and how (in optimum circumstances) despite the pain, the blood, the sweat, piss, and tears involved in bringing a human being into the world the instinct is to immediately love the person who just tore a women’s body open. Nightbitch never regrets being a mother, she adores Son, she simply needs to be more than Mother.
Amy Adams, like Nightbitch, is reclaiming her art. After a string of disappointing performances in disappointing films, Nightbitch is her best role and performance in dog’s years. Scoot McNairy is well cast as Husband – a man who loves his family and wants to support Nightbitch but too often uses the “If you don’t tell me precisely what you want and need, I don’t know how to intuit it” excuse a little too often. Husband is not a bad man, but he is one who says he is babysitting his own son. Nightbitch, because of its tame nature will appeal to a broader audience than if it leaned harder into transgression and the “monster/mother” themes it purports to investigate. ‘Educated white woman gets a bit dirty and has a breakdown in her nice neighborhood, then insists on equitable parenting and finding her joy as a woman/mother/person/artist’ and lets her son eat out of dog bowls and sleep in a dog bed isn’t exactly she-werewolf tears out the throat of the capitalist patriarchy leaving a trail of dead bodies in her wake. Nightbitch may not be excoriating and revolutionary, but it is often funny and mildly cathartic as tame feminist allegory.
This week on Women InSession, we are joined by M.N. Miller once again to discuss our favorite David Fincher movies! Fincher has had a fascinating career through the 90s, revolutionizing digital in the 2000s and his turn to streaming in the 2010s. He provokes some compelling conversation and we do our best to get into it all.
Panel: Kristin Battestella, Jaylan Salah
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!
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