Synopsis: REAL aims to delve into the ongoing metamorphoses triggered by our relationship with digital technologies, through an associative mosaic of stories, shedding light on different aspects of living in a hyper-connected reality.
Eight years ago, Eduardo Williams premiered a film at the Locarno Film Festival that not only won him the Golden Leopard–one of the top coveted prizes in Europe–but silently redefined modern filmmaking and the visual language as we know it. That film was The Human Surge, a fragmentary piece about the alienation of today’s youth and how technology has both helped and distanced them through these social media-induced times. Not so many people have heard about this film. Upon its release, it did not make much of a splash in the U.S. cinema market; Williams’ cinematic experiment caused more waves across Europe and Asia. However, as the years have passed and people have grown more dependent on technology, The Human Surge has become more prominent worldwide.
More people have started to bask on what drew the 2016 Locarno jury into Williams’ inventive world. It is a creative and transcending feature that looks vastly different from most films we see today. With the use of virtual reality, he put the audience in a trance where we were stuck in between realms: physical existence and the artificial one caused by technology. The Human Surge was an out-of-body experience; the images stuck with you for days and maybe weeks. You kept thinking about the film even though, from the initial viewing, it was hard to express your thoughts about it. Williams followed it up with The Human Surge 3. Although it was a bit messier than its predecessor, he created yet another fascinating, experimental portrait of our hyper-connected world.
Illusory imagery covered the canvas throughout the film via Williams’ use of the Insta360 titan camera. That helped him cover the world around him, traveling from one country to another like a ghostly presence. Director Adele Tulli has taken these two films as an influence to tell us her own thoughts about people and their connection to technology, both as a remedy for this lonely, cold world and an excuse not to explore your surroundings. For her latest work, REAL (screening at this year’s Locarno Film Festival at the Concorso Cineasti del Presente program), Tulli delves into the relationship we all have with social media, told through a mosaic-like structure that shows the different variations of this bond.
There is no narrative structure to REAL. Instead, we get small fragments into people’s lives worldwide and their format of choice. Whether vlogging on Twitch or YouTube, going on Only Fans, or just talking to an assistive A.I. like Siri or Alexa, these people we see on screen are all using these programs daily, acting like their own obsessions. Even though the title of this film suggests that there is a form of tangibility or palpable human element able to be perceived by all five senses, Tulli more so prompts how this means of communication and connection is “real” and emotionally perceptible to these people. Some of them even get a chance to speak more broadly about why they stream or do videos, particularly during a montage of recollections in which we see content creators opening up about their struggles and how their community helps them feel better.
Even though you might have a specific misconception or be dubious about content creators or influencers, you understand them deeply. The world is cold, and many people fear the harmful things that happen once they open up to the world. So, they use social media, video games, and other outlets to express themselves more profoundly. Through the networks, you have more room to find people with the same interests, sensibilities, and preferences as ever. Everybody has found friends in these mediums, yet, somehow, there is still this preconception made by our addiction to them. Adele Tulli does not shy away from the drawbacks that social media has on us. But that exploration comes across as rather bland and too on the nose.
Tulli is more interested in the positives than the negatives, which makes her project lack that long-lasting curiosity about our “dependence”. If you are covering this topic, you should be open to dissecting it thoroughly, especially since it is very prevalent. Nevertheless, Tulli immerses herself and the audience in this hyper-connected world, like a world tour, to see various perspectives. What Tulli does here is similar to the two Human Surge films that Williams has made so far. The latest documentary by Benjamin Ree, The Remarkable Life of Ibelin, also comes to mind. The acclaimed Sundance doc centered on parents finding out after their son’s death that he was not lonely or living an isolated life; he had hundreds of online friends who cherished him.
It is yet another exemplary work that showcases the impact of the bonds we make through the Internet. There is less experimental cinematography and a weaker visual language in comparison with the works of Williams and Ree. But the montage style offers a passage into these people’s lives–their joy, anguish, and lingering sadness as the online community saves and deteriorates them slowly but surely–that is fascinating even if the structure itself is flimsy. The whole project has a PowerPoint presentation layout, which hinders the effectiveness of its depiction of topics. Despite its poor editing and lack of a more gripping visual language, everything presented rings true and makes viewers think about their involvement in this hyper-connected world.
It’s very hard, if not impossible, to declare one year as “the best ever” in the history of film. 1955, 1977, and 1999 are all common candidates for this title holder among critics and audiences, but one can never be too definitive about art. These years all received their praise in retrospect, as we look back several decades later and realize the impact many of these films have had on culture, and film as an art. Charles Laughton’s Night of the Hunter, for example, was totally dismissed upon its release in 1955, but is now rightfully recognized as a masterpiece and major influence upon modern day cinema. To declare that the current year we are living in was the “greatest year” before the year is even over would be ridiculous, right? Well, the big studio execs in 1938 didn’t think so.
In 1938, movies were seeing a slight dip in attendance for reasons financial, cultural, and social. In order to combat this crisis, a group of Hollywood executives from all the major studios banded together in an effort to promote moviegoing. They did so through an ill-conceived public relations campaign titled “Motion Pictures’ Greatest Year”. Introduced in the summertime, the campaign challenged the average American to see as many movies as they could within the last six months of the year as a sort of duty to the nation’s well being. Advertisements and articles essentially guilted consumers into going to the movies to help stimulate the economy and promote the common good, and created contests in which audiences could win cash prizes by answering trivia about the year’s films.
This didn’t work.
Generally, 1938 is a largely forgotten year in film history. At this time, critics and audiences felt unheard in their demands to studios to actually consider the quality of their movies over quantity. But studios appeared to have finally got the message the following year in 1939, a year which critics and historians actually call “the greatest” in film history.
The amount of classics to come out of 1939 is staggering. Why this happened probably evades explanation, but it perhaps has something to do with what came after this year, that is, the second world war, which would fundamentally change the cinematic landscape and make audiences nostalgic for the time “before”. After this, everything will change. 1939 had a bit of everything for everyone which allowed for waves of moviegoing and some of the most financially successful films of all time. Now, 85 years later, we have the gift of retrospect to help us understand why that year was so important. In order to better understand what made this year so great, I have tried to pin down and elaborate on just five of the many contributing factors, from the films themselves, to the people that made them, to us, the audience.
Enter John Wayne
By 1939, John Wayne had been acting for well over a decade as an extra and in supporting roles. He was a familiar face around the Hollywood backlot, but it is John Ford’s seminal western Stagecoach where “The Duke” would make his real entrance on the world stage. In the film, a group of four passengers take a coach on a southwestern trail. On the way, they are halted by Ringo Kid, a dangerous outlaw played by Wayne. “Hold it!” he shouts. The camera zooms in as he twirls his shotgun in his hand in front of a desert backdrop, and a star is born. This moment in Wayne’s career is undeniable, and indicates the power of the movie star in Hollywood’s golden age. Throughout the 1930s, the western which had defined the years of early moviemaking had been largely discarded by studios in favor of stories of urban living, but 1939 was a year that helped revive the genre. And with the war just over the horizon, Wayne and a stable of other western stars would come to define a new era of cinema and mid-century American masculinity.
Gone with the Wind Makes Bank
To say that Gone with the Wind was a phenomenon would be a vast understatement. Adjusted for inflation, it is recognized as the highest-grossing film of all time, no small feat for a female-led period piece with a four-hour runtime. The craze around the film even preceded its production, as the quest to find the perfect Scarlett O’Hara was greatly publicized in order to generate more buzz. Today, we can watch a handful of screen tests from starlets of the era testing for the role, but none come even close to matching the genius of Vivien Leigh, who as a British stage actress seems to have almost been born to play the iconic southern spitfire. Her co-star, the devilishly handsome Clark Gable, was so famous as to be dubbed “The King of Hollywood” of his era as the natural successor to Douglas Fairbanks. My own grandmother, who saw the film in Northern Ireland during the war, specifically remembers swooning over Mr. Gable along with her girlfriends and the rest of the audience. Visually, the film is stunning, and a terrific example of early three-strip Technicolor. It does, however, show its age in its story and themes. Even at the time, critic Frank S. Nugnent for the New York Times called the undoubtedly ambitious film “a major event in the history of the industry but only a minor achievement in motion-picture art.”
It would be wilfully ignorant to not mention the vast controversy elicited by the film then and now. At the time, Black critics called attention to the film’s nostalgic view of the South’s efforts during the Civil War and its perpetuation of the Lost Cause mythology, which claims that the Confederacy was motivated by heroic and noble preservation of southern heritage rather than the right to keep slaves. Writes Melvin B. Tolson:
“Birth of a Nation was such a barefaced lie that a moron could see through it. Gone with the Wind is such a subtle lie that it will be swallowed as truth by millions of whites and blacks alike”
The film was nominated for thirteen Oscars at the 12th Academy Awards, and won eight, the most notable being that of supporting actress Hattie McDaniel. McDaniel plays “Mammy,” one of the film’s many stereotypical Black characters who misguidedly portray a friendly, mutually respectful relationship between slaves and plantation owners. Still, within this highly offensive role, McDaniel manages to portray the character with nuance and sympathy, offering a consistently vibrant and memorable performance. McDaniel would be the first Black person to ever be nominated for and receive an Academy Award, and her reaction, which can also be viewed on Youtube, is very moving. She seems to be genuinely touched by the honor. Unfortunately, even her groundbreaking success in this moment was not enough to launch her into greater stardom. She continued to play supporting archetypal roles as maids and cooks. Perhaps most heartbreakingly, her deserved wish to gain the respect and fair treatment by mainstream society was unreachable even in death, as she was denied burial at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery because it was reserved for Whites Only.
“We must be Over the Rainbow!”
On a cultural level, it is perhaps impossible to name another film with a greater legacy than The Wizard of Oz. Its impact on yours truly cannot be overstated. From perhaps the greatest use of Technicolor of all time, to iconic imagery like the Emerald City and the Yellow Brick Road, masterful supporting performances from the likes of Frank Morgan and Margaret Hamilton, and its importance to the LGBTQ community as a tale of self-discovery and chosen family. Not to mention the score and the soundtrack full of instantly recognizable hits, composed and written by Harold Arlen and E.Y. “Yip” Harburg. Of all the memorable tunes, none stands the test of time, or moves listeners more than “Over The Rainbow”. The song comes early in the film, while we are still surrounded by sepia-toned Kansas farmland. Dorothy, played by the incomparable Judy Garland, sings to the sunlight poking through the clouds, Toto at her side, as she dreams of another world far from home. The song won that year’s Oscar for Best Original Song at the Academy Awards, and was recognized by the American Film Institute as the number one song in the history of American cinema. They don’t make em’ like this anymore, that’s for sure. But what’s so special about The Wizard of Oz is that there had never been anything like it beforehand, and nothing can even come close to matching its magic.
Garbo Laughs!
By 1939, Swedish actress Greta Garbo had been just about the biggest name in Hollywood for over a decade. She was one of the few actors to successfully transition from silent films to talkies, despite (or perhaps because of) her European accent and deep voice. Her foreignness made her excitingly exotic for the time period, and her androgynous appearance made her all the more attractive to men and women alike. From the late 1920s and throughout the 1930s, she played the part of the temptress, the diva, or the tragic romantic lead who often found herself dead by the end of her films or in some state of heartbreak. That’s what makes her performances as the titular role in Ernst Lubitsch’s Ninotchka all the more special.
In the film, Garbo plays Nina Ivanovna Yakushova, a stoic Soviet agent who travels to Paris to study the ways of the western world, and soon finds herself in love with a French bachelor and man-about-town. She finds herself in a role like never before, showing audiences a totally different side of herself and her talents. To promote the film, posters featuring the smiling actress proclaimed “Garbo Laughs!” to drive home just how special an occasion it was that the great drama queen of 1930s Hollywood was trying her hand at comedic acting. To put it one way, she is very “cute” in the film, a word that could rarely be applied to Garbo and I in no way mean that disparagingly. Her deadpan humor early in the film is spot on, and soon turns into a charming, childlike fascination with the finesse of French society and luxury of western excess.
What makes this film all the more important is its position within Garbo’s filmography, that is, at the end. This would be the second to last film of Garbo’s illustrious career. She would go on to make one more comedy, The Two Face Woman, which didn’t go over so well with critics or audiences, and she soon after ended her contract with MGM. She had always been at odds with the conceit of film stardom, and generally preferred to be alone. With this as her (almost) swan song, Garbo left behind a far more dynamic legacy as an actress of supreme talent, one who can shatter expectations and adapt to the most unpredictable of circumstances.
Jean Renoir breaks the rules
Jean Renoir, son of the notable French painter Pierre-Auguste, was already a well-respected director by 1939, with classic titles like La Grande Illusion and La Bête under his belt. But it is his 1939 project, The Rules of The Game, which would go on to be both his most controversial, and eventually his most celebrated.
The film takes place at a French countryside chateau over the course of a few days, as the refinement of the upper classes quickly descends into debaucherous chaos. In this French Comedy of manners, the oncoming war is conspicuously omitted in order to illustrate the bubble within which the upper crust so happily operates.
The film was heavily promoted and very expensive. Though it caused significant fanfare upon release, its notoriety was for all the wrong reasons and would eventually lead to its downfall. Much of its early criticism came from French rightwing groups who found the film distasteful and unpatriotic. To salvage his and the film’s reputation, Renoir cut up the film into pieces, resulting in an 85 minute runtime which only lead to further criticism that the film was rushed and convoluted. The film was soon banned for, in the spirit of Socrates, having a corrupting influence on the youth of France.
For some time, the film was thought to be lost completely. In a story all too familiar to the early decades of cinema, the lab that held the original negative was destroyed in a bombing during the war. Thankfully, an 85-minute print was discovered in 1946, and it did the rounds at cinematheques and began to be recognized as an unappreciated work of satire. In the 1950s, film enthusiasts found negative prints of the original version of the film and other materials to ultimately restore the film to a 106-runtime. Renoir was reportedly delighted upon viewing the restoration, and the film would soon be regarded as a masterpiece of French cinema. Two decades removed, and with the New Wave on the horizon, critics praised the prescient criticism of the upper classes and trivials rules of society. Renoir, for his part, is regularly named as a major influence on a number of the world’s premiere filmmakers. Today, it routinely finds itself highly ranked on “greatest of all time” lists, and stands as a point of pride in the history of French cinema.
The greatest or not, it is impossible to deny that 1939 was one of the most important and impactful years in the history of film. If you are someone daunted by the scope and variety of the earlier decades of cinema, I imagine this would be a pretty great place to start. If you consider the classic days of filmmaking to be boring and uninteresting, I invite you to seek out this year and its abundance of classics to perhaps change your mind.
On this episode, JD and Brendan discuss Fede Álvarez and his latest entry into the Alien franchise with Alien: Romulus! If you follow us on social media, you may already know where we land on this film, but be assured that our frustrations come from recognizing what is truly great about the film. We talk about those nuances and how we could come around on Romulus in the future.
Review: Alien: Romulus(4:00) Director: Fede Álvarez Writers: Fede Álvarez, Rodo Sayagues Stars: Cailee Spaeny, David Jonsson, Isabela Merced
This week on Chasing the Gold, Shadan and Erica discuss their list of candidates who are likely to get their first-time Oscar nominations in the near future! There are many actors and actresses who find themselves in the moment, and are hot on the trail for a nomination, but who will be the first to get their nominations? We talk about our favorites who are well on their way to the Oscars.
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: Cesar Diaz Writer: Cesar Diaz Stars: Bérénice Bejo, Fermín Martínez, Leonardo Ortizgris
Synopsis: A Guatemalan activist battles a corrupt dictatorship in 1976 and flees to Mexico, leaving her son. Ten years later he joins her, forcing a choice between motherhood and her cause.
Last year, Chilean filmmaker Manuela Martelli presented us with her Hitchcockian thriller, Chile ‘76. The film created a fearless depiction of the Pinochet dictatorship through the eyes of a wealthy woman who had to hide an activist. The film covered a few months in the life of people undergoing an authoritarian regime, and paranoia and fear were felt at every moment. And that sensation is replicated by the audience watching. This political nail-biter was made to show a portrait of how it was to live during that time, and the effects of rebellious acts, even in their slightest, felt like you have people tracking your every move. Martelli focused on the blurring of the mind induced by the dread in the atmosphere.
There is a hesitation behind each decision made and its outcomes, and Chile ‘76 thrives in its pressure-cooker suspense built from the possibility of the characters getting caught in their activist acts. Like Martelli, Belgian-Guatemalan film director and Camera d’Or-winner César Díaz wants to capture a particular time in Guatemalan history that was riddled with violent political turmoil caused by cruel dictators with irremovable blood on their hands. In his sophomore feature, Mexico 86 (playing in the Piazza Grande at this year’s Locarno Film Festival), Díaz paints a portrait of an activist who has to take on the role of being a mother and the division she faces upon her revolutionary actions and the parental ones she must adapt.
César Díaz takes his own life as inspiration for this political thriller to develop a more personal delicate lining to the narrative. While it may not be as compelling or gripping as Martelli’s aforementioned film, Díaz ensures that we are sunk into the dramatic elements he presents, as poverty, racism, and social exclusion are prevalent during this period. The film begins in Guatemala in 1976. We hear tons of clamoring through the halls and streets. The bloody-handed police are searching for somebody–an activist part of a revolutionary group that is protesting the cruel, corrupt injustices plaguing the country via its mad dictator. That person is Maria (Berenice Bejo), who is trying to hatch a plan to escape the country after her rebellious actions have alerted the government and put her family in great danger.
As she holds her infant son in her arms and sees the body of her murdered husband on the other side of the street, Maria heads to her mother’s house. She grabs the essentials and says her goodbyes–leaving her son behind so that this dangerous act does not hinder his chance at a better life. During these initial minutes, Díaz showers the scenery with urgency and worry. The camera shakes as the characters restlessly get everything together so that Maria can hide from the world elsewhere. You get that sensation of persecution, a life-and-death situation that makes the audience feel anxious to a heightened degree. And with the nail in the coffin that is a mother having to leave her son behind for his safety–the ultimate sacrifice a parent in this situation must make–adds more impact to the story being developed.
Maria heads to Mexico, and as the title suggests, the film flashes forward a decade into her life in hiding. She is still an activist. But she is working from afar–handling and moving guns to the other activists in her region. Her current life mainly focuses on teaching young journalists in a newspaper company to make pieces and scriptures that target the Guatemalan government. Maria does not reveal to them her true intentions or involvement in the matter. Yet she shifts their perspectives and makes them see the cruelty happening nearby. The problems arise when her past catches up with her upon the arrival of a secret document that might place her under fire and her ailing mother bringing back her son Marco (Mattheo Labbe).
This is where Mexico 86 thrives, the tension boiling between a mother and son, both of whom have not been a part of each other’s lives, amidst the political turmoil blazing the setting’s streets aflame. Díaz takes part of his own life to fuel the two sides his latest work is divided into: the political thriller from Maria’s revolutionary past and the mother-son drama about fractured relationships and understanding. Both the director and the characters are performing a balancing act. While the former forges thrilling set-pieces and touching moments between its leads, Maria and Marco (particularly the latter) deal with this new connection as they are searched for. This cinematic forge does not mend to its potential; the division keeps the story tied up in genre tropes that take you away from the turmoil.
One continuous-shot chase sequence is exceptionally made with excellent, muscular direction. But the rest of the time spent on the thriller side of the story does not suffice, nor does it reach the effectiveness of the introduction. Nevertheless, the drama is where Mexico 86 finds its heart and captivates the audience watching. In essence, Marco is not Maria’s son, as she did not raise him. So, Marco must learn how to construct this relationship forged by blood, yet the person he is supposed to be attached to is a total stranger. Not only does Marco not recollect his mother, but he has never seen a picture of Maria to keep her identity secret. What the Our Mothers director brilliantly does is not make this young kid constantly question why she left him behind.
Instead, Marco understands her situation and tries to learn how this new relationship could work, considering her activism. Meanwhile, Maria must decide whether to develop a new life away from her activist work to be with her son or try to balance both, which might end in a sticky situation. This complexity elevates Mexico 86 to a point of narrative fruition. You begin to wonder about the multiple stories similar to this one and how each person felt about having a parent absent from your life to provide change for a great cause. Through Díaz’s vision in the film, it is clear that what happened is still affecting him to this day. It is a mixture of endearment and understanding. He does so with a delicateness that helps bring out the importance behind his story, although one might feel overwhelmed by the weak thriller elements that come with it.
***This Op-Ed Contains Both Spoilers and a Frank Discussion of Domestic Abuse***
As a domestic abuse survivor, I often ponder the impact of on-screen portrayals of domestic abuse. Media helps shape and reflect how we see ourselves and the world around us; depictions of abuse can perpetuate or challenge myths and stereotypes. Watching It Ends with Us, the film adaptation of the best-selling novel, I couldn’t help but think about my own experiences.
I’ve had three abusive relationships over the years. I felt (and sometimes still feel) a tremendous amount of shame about my abuse for a long time, despite logically knowing that I didn’t do anything wrong. I suffer from PTSD and what I endured still haunts me to this day. I have talked and written about my abuse for many years now, as a way to process what happened to me and as a way to (hopefully) eventually heal. For years, I’ve undergone therapy, including trauma-focused therapy. I feel fairly comfortable opening up about my past and I do so as I know many people who aren’t comfortable talking about their own experiences. I share my own story in part so others know they’re not alone.
I’m drawn to narratives about abuse. Watching depictions of abuse catalyzes a multitude of reactions: feeling triggered, fury, exploitation, numbness, dissociation, validation, catharsis. Sometimes, I simultaneously feel a combination of seemingly contradictory emotions.
No guarantee exists that movies will depict abusive scenes with sensitivity and a trauma-informed lens. And even when done well, seeing scenes of abuse is still often extremely triggering. Although, it should be noted that each person’s experiences are unique. Watching Leigh Whannell’s fantastic horror film The Invisible Man, for instance, was a visceral nightmare for me. It conjured many violent memories and feelings of terror that I endured in abusive romantic relationships. After it ended, I ran to the theater bathroom and suffered a panic attack. Watching It Ends with Us, I felt anxiety and apprehension throughout because I knew it involved a narrative including abuse. While I enjoyed the first half of the film, I got that jaw-dropping pit in my stomach, a wave of panic, a few times throughout.
Based on the novel by Colleen Hoover, It Ends with Us is a melodrama romance starring Blake Lively as protagonist, Lily. Directed by Justin Baldoni, who also stars as Ryle, the film shifts back and forth in time. In the present, Lily fulfills her dream of opening a flower shop in Boston and embarks on an exciting romance with Ryle; in the past, we see Lily’s tender teenage romance with Atlas (Brandon Sklenar) and her controlling father abuse her mother.
When Lily meets Ryle, an attentive neurosurgeon, the beginning of their relationship feels romantic and sexy. They meet on a rooftop, the city lights romantically glittering behind them. I like how the film uses long takes with no musical score to let moments breathe, rather than relying on maudlin musical cues. It’s a choice that also reifies how only Lily and Ryle exist in this moment.
I kept watching thinking maybe this movie isn’t quite about what I think it’s about. I exhaled, letting my guard down a little. When the abuse does eventually occur, it could feel frustrating or like a betrayal in another film (one that doesn’t have a best-selling source material with a plot to google). But it also made emotional and thematic sense to me, since many abusers are initially extremely captivating and charming. However, there are clues right from the start that Ryle is toxic, a harbinger of his abuse. We witness his explosive temper, as he violently kicks a chair in his introduction to Lily and the audience.
For a while, Lily spurs Ryle’s advances, as he admits he’s not a relationship guy. But they keep running into each other, facilitated by Lily inadvertently becoming best friends with his sister (Jenny Slate). Their palpable chemistry is undeniable and they eventually become a happy couple.
At a restaurant, Lily and Atlas, who owns the restaurant, run into each other. They haven’t seen each other for many years and they’re both delighted to discover each has pursued their dream career.
Later into their relationship, when Ryle burns his hand taking a pan out of the oven, he hits Lily. She’s convinced it’s just an accident, merely a reaction to pain, but it’s a violent act that should not be ignored. When Lily and Ryle return to Atlas’s restaurant, he sees her concealed bruised eye. Atlas follows Lily into the bathroom and tells her to leave him.
After finding out about Lily and Atlas talking (something she should be able to divulge without being worried), a furious Ryle runs out of their apartment. When Lily follows, Ryle pushes her down the stairs. After losing consciousness, Lily awakens and Ryle tends to her wounds. Even though he’s a doctor, it’s gross he doesn’t take her to a hospital. He vilely lies and gaslights her into believing it was an accident. Abuse plays tricks with your memory. It’s not uncommon to question your own sanity: Did I really see and experience that?
Ryle’s jealousy over Atlas fits into romance tropes, which often normalize the toxic side of jealousy. His behaviors — telling Lily that she can’t talk to him — speak to his need for control, power, and dominance, which can fuel abuse. Even his initial relentless pursuit of Lily is unsettling as he should respect her boundaries. But the film subtly denounces these insidious toxic tropes. It also conveys how seductive and charming abusers and these tropes can be.
Lily eventually opens up to Ryle and shares her painful childhood of how her father abused her mother. Ryle is incredibly sensitive and supportive, a lovely reaction. Unfortunately, he can’t admit or see his own abusive behavior. But it speaks to the dialectical complexity in people, that contradictory things can simultaneously occur.
I’m not thrilled that the film (and book) includes a tragic backstory for Ryle: He accidentally killed his brother as a child with a handgun. While it’s a tragedy that occurs in real life, it feels like an explanation of his abuse. Sometimes there is no rationale or certainly not one that can be traced so clearly.
Two of the film’s most harrowing scenes continue to haunt me. As a teenager, Lily’s abusive father beats Atlas so badly that he almost dies and goes to the hospital. It’s visceral and brutal. The other triggering scene is the attempted rape scene. After Lily’s flower shop is featured in a Boston magazine’s best-of-list, Ryle sees Atlas’s restaurant is also featured. In an interview, Atlas alludes to his love for Lily, which enrages Ryle. Lily begs Ryle to stop, desperately pleading with him. She tries de-escalating the terrifying situation and to ground him, telling him to look at her. The scene cuts and we see Lily going to Atlas for consolation. He accompanies her to a hospital. Lily talks to a doctor who wants to do a rape kit, but she insists it isn’t necessary. During the examination, the camera focuses on a bite wound over her heart tattoo, which she got years earlier to commemorate Atlas. Vile and sickening, Ryle inflicted brutal pain, a controlling and territorial violation and desecration of her body.
We also learn that Lily is pregnant. After this, she leaves Ryle, which I’m glad the film included. Many narratives about intimate partner violence erroneously act as if once a woman leaves an abusive relationship, that’s it, it’s over. Leaving is the most dangerous time, when abusive partners often kill women. Films like The Invisible Man, Enough, and Sleeping with the Enemy show that abuse and stalking continue even after someone leaves. One of my abusive exes stalked me after I ended the relationship and moved out of our apartment.
We don’t know much about Lily besides the things that happen to her. We know things about her: Her dream of opening a flower shop, her abusive childhood, eclectic fashion (ahem, or rather Blake Lively’s bold style). We learn about her generosity as a teen through Atlas: She brings him food when he was homeless and she defends him from taunting by kissing him on the school bus. But I still don’t feel that I have much of a sense of Lily as a character as an adult. Perhaps that’s due to the limitations of the writing or Blake Lively’s limitations as an actor. Don’t get me wrong, I like her in Gossip Girl and A Simple Favor and she’s likable here. But a character who is a domestic abuse survivor needs an actor who can imbue their role with more interiority.
I appreciate how Lily has supportive women in her life: her best friend (although she’s also Ryle’s sister) and her mother. But we don’t see many other people in her life. Isolation is something many abusers do in order to more easily gaslight and control their partner. Unfortunately, Atlas feels somewhat like a male savior. Although, it is so helpful to leave an abusive partner when you have support.
Once an abuser is out of your life, you’re not automatically healed. Flashbacks, triggers, and nightmares can linger long afterwards. While everyone is different, it can be a long road to recovery. Not enough films depict or explore the ramifications of abuse.
The ending conflicted me. It feels a bit too tidy, as Lily effortlessly convinces Ryle that he’s abusive after the birth of their daughter. Confronting Ryle about his abuse could have gone horribly wrong, as he could have violently lashed out. Lily asks him what he would do if their daughter came to him and shared that her partner was hitting her. Ryle tearfully says he would tell her to leave. In that crystalline moment, he finally realizes why Lily wants a divorce, why she refuses to stay. But something missing here is that abusive people don’t always just abuse their spouse or romantic partner; they can go on to physically or emotionally abuse their children too, or at the very least have toxic and controlling behaviors, something visible with Lily’s father. While having children is life-altering, this scene also reminds me of how some men talk about realizing the value of women’s rights after they have a daughter. But what about all the other women in their lives?
But including Ryle’s charm with his compassion and empathy — alongside his toxicity, controlling behavior, and explosively violent temper — paints not only a complex character portrait, but a realistic example of an abuser. People are complicated and contradictory. This thorny combination contributes to why it’s so difficult to leave an abusive partner. Many reasons exist and asking someone why they stay is never the right question. Instead, the onus should be placed on abusers. Yet Lily gently asks her mother why she stayed with her father, who is now deceased. To the film’s credit, this scene feels organic and somewhat understandable, considering Lily just left her own abusive relationship, realizing the cycle of abuse and the parallels between herself and her mother.
But the ending also provides a moment of relief; when Lily says she wants a divorce, the audience at my screening clapped and cheered.
While numerous films confront misogyny, the objectification of women’s bodies, and violence against women, not enough films tackle the complex power dynamics of abuse in a nuanced way from the perspective of abuse victims and survivors.
Some criticize the novel “It Ends with Us” for romanticizing domestic violence. While I haven’t read the book, author Colleen Hoover based the novel on her parents. Looking at the press tour for the film, some writers and those on social media have observed the different perspectives in discussing the film between Blake Lively, who took a more lighthearted approach, and director/actor Justin Baldoni, who talked sensitively and passionately about the film’s intense portrayal of abuse and the responsibility of men. To me, the film tried to be sensitive and thoughtful in its approach.
Roger Ebert famously called movies the “empathy machine,” for their ability to foster empathy and understanding, enabling audiences to get a better sense of other people’s lives, experiences you may never have lived before. I hope people watching depictions of abuse will have a better understanding of abuse survivors, which might help facilitate vital conversations. I hope those watching who are in or have been in abusive relationships might feel some catharsis.
So why do I continually subject myself to watching depictions of abuse? I yearn for validation of the horrors I endured. These scenes make me feel seen, that I didn’t imagine, exaggerate, or hallucinate my abuse. They make me feel that I’m not alone. Simultaneously, it breaks my heart that myriad others have undergone the same pain. Perhaps in watching these films and viscerally feeling the protagonists’ trauma while reliving my own, I’m seeking recovery. I’m seeking my own salvation.
Director: Fede Alvarez Writers: Fede Alvarez, Rodo Sayagues Stars: Cailee Spaeny, David Jonsson, Archie Renaux
Synopsis: While scavenging the deep ends of a derelict space station, a group of young space colonizers come face to face with the most terrifying life form in the universe.
When a 45-year-old franchise gets a new chapter, there’s a bit of a, “here we go again,” mentality. The films in the Alien franchise are spread out enough that their takes on the perfect, homicidal xenomorphs can feel fresh. Yet, as the franchise has continued, the films have gotten farther away from the gobsmackingly brilliant first entry. They have sprawling casts, bigger, badder aliens and yet another piece of new mythology added to the dystopia of humans owned by corporations. That’s where Alien: Romulus takes a sharp turn, as it brings the franchise back to its minimalist roots.
The beauty in the grime of this retro-futurist vision is awe-inspiring. Like Blade Runner 2049, Alien: Romulus doesn’t evolve its technology by leaps and bounds, but keeps the ideas of what the future would look like from the late ’70s perspective. Production designer Naaman Marshall designed a world populated by tubes and wires, pipes and physical buttons. This gives the setting the feel that this film does actually take place in the same universe as the Nostromo and her ill fated crew. It’s wonderfully gritty and grim.
This is where the stunning visual effects compliment the physical environment. As much as it is so incredible to see those practical sets, there are alsoterrific things done with CGI. The opening scene is haunting, especially when supported by Benjamin Wallfisch’s tremendous score. It takes place in near silence letting the eerie choir build our tension as well as stun us with the audacity of what we see on screen. The light from a spaceship bouncing off floating debris and then an accurate laser cutting tool bisecting an unknown substance are jaw-dropping in execution. These effects coupled with an incredible sound design that ruptures silence with metallic groans, breaking glass, and alien screeches are a feast for the senses.
Thanks to the solid script by Fede Alvarez and Rodo Sayagues, these visual elements put the horror back in this franchise. There is plenty of dialogue to go around, but these films work best when everyone just shuts up and Alvarez and Sayagues deliver that tension. Seeing the thoughts come across these character’s faces is so much better than if they blabbed absolutely everything they were feeling or thinking. It’s a refreshing change from where the series was before this.
However, the plot within the script is weak. That’s what comes with 45 years worth of entries. After a moment or two, it’s very easy to see where the story is going. With the addition of a tacky and obvious cameo, it’s even easier to predict what will happen next. It hits the beats of an Alien film with little digression. Even the central relationship of the film seems far too familiar at times, but there is a hitch in this dynamic that makes it unique and compelling.
The characters, while archetypes, do feel different because of the unique nature of Rain (Cailee Spaeny) and Andy’s (David Jonsson) relationship. The franchise has a complicated dynamic between its heroine and the synthezoid, or artificial person as these artificially intelligent androids prefer to be called. Rain and Andy have an opposite relationship with the synthezoids as compared to Ripley (Sigourney Weaver, Alien, Aliens, Alien3, Alien Resurrection), Shaw (Noomi Rapace, Prometheus), or Daniels (Katherine Waterston, Alien: Covenant). Their synthezoids were knowing, condescending, and in control. Rain and Andy function as an older sister taking care of a younger brother as Andy is a machine repurposed from his original programming. It isn’t until the fundamental nature of Andy has to be changed that his being becomes more franchise recognizable. It’s in this emotional arc that the film’s script shines. These two are complicated and intriguing. It helps that Cailee Spaeny and David Jonsson are actors who can really sell this aspect of the story and inject a little pathos into the carnage.
Alien: Romulus is a familiar, but refreshing and ultimately invigorating entry to the Alien franchise. It thrills with complex and beautiful visuals, chills with the horrifying xenomorphs, and amps up the themes of capitalist corporations being the downfall of humanity. Fede Alvarez brings his trapped in one place brand of horror to outer space and it works very well. They may not be able to hear you scream in space, but we can definitely hear you as you gasp in the theater.
Directors: Julian Brave NoiseCat and Emily Kassie Stars: Julian Brave NoiseCat, Willie Sellars, Charlene Belleau, Ed Archie Noisecat, and Chief Willie Sellars
Synopsis: An investigation into abuse and missing children at an Indian residential school sparks a reckoning on the nearby Sugarcane Reserve.
Julian Brave NoiseCat and Emily Kassie’s masterful Sugarcane could ostensibly be (and has been) called a true crime documentary, but that feels far too trite a distinguisher for a film as deep and considerate as it is. Of course, it does focus on and exist because of crimes committed, specifically by the Catholic Church with Indigenous families as their victims. But the film focuses its attention on the granular details, the shared pain by those living in a community that has been violated and ravaged by figures that they should have been able to trust, both because they were instructed to and because of the symbolic expectations of religious figures.
Sugarcane lacks the presence of well-tailored investigators and historically-trained talking heads; it eschews the case-to-investigation-to-truth structure that so many lesser documentaries tend to follow blindly, almost as though there is only one formula that allows a mystery to be solved on film. Perhaps that’s because the mystery here isn’t so much “Who killed who?” or “Why?”, but “How do we move forward knowing what was done to us in the past?”
That question isn’t answered in Sugarcane, at least not outright. No one, not even Canadian prime minister Justin Trudeau, manages to approach a podium with concrete conclusions as to how old, deep wounds can be healed. But a documentary like the one that NoiseCat – who also serves as one of the film’s main subjects – and Kassie have made is a start. Surely you’ve heard something similar before, that “Film A” or “Documentary B” is the first step toward achieving justice for a people. But one thing is certain: You’ve never heard this type of message be told with such certainty as Sugarcane manages to achieve.
NoiseCat and Kassie’s work began when hundreds of unmarked graves were found on the grounds of St. Joseph’s Mission, a residential Catholic school near the Sugarcane reserve – part of the Williams Lake First Nation (commonly referred to as “Sugarcane”) of the Secwépemc Nation – that Indigenous children were once forced to attend by the Canadian government. Their placement began in 1894, when the government moved to “solve [its] Indian problem.” For what was almost a century, reports of missing students were ignored, as were allegations of abuse, rape, and torture made by children from the school and their families. Among the school’s survivors are NoiseCat’s father, Ed, and his grandmother; and NoiseCat spends part of the documentary attempting to learn the truth about their experiences, a journey that is evidently marred with anguish. During one of their early conversations, NoiseCat’s grandmother tells him that the school tried to pull the student’s native language out of them in favor of English. When he presses for more, she chokes up, unable to continue.
Furthermore, NoiseCat and his father, Ed, share a complicated history. While they are now in contact, Ed abandoned his son at a young age due to intense addiction and depression. Near the end of the film, as father and son recount the ups and downs of their relationship through tears, Ed shouts, “I didn’t leave you, son,” almost as though he’s trying to convince Julian that there was no other way to escape the darkness and the trauma of his then-present; Julian was merely abandoned in the process, not directly. It’s a crushing moment in a film chock-full of them, yet it’s also another profound example of how the tribulations of one’s past can help pave the way for another’s future.
Sugarcane’s other crucial narrative threads follow Rick Gilbert, a former chief of the Williams Lake First Nation who struggles to grapple with the crimes committed within his community, particularly due to his devout Catholicism; Charlene Belleau and Whitney Spearing, two investigators who work with the nation’s people to uncover the truth about what happened at St. Joseph’s, only without a forceful hand that might otherwise come from an outside, governmental operation; and the Nation’s current Chief, Willie Sellars, whose work with the aforementioned prime minister helped to institute the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation, an annual Canadian holiday that recognizes those affected by the actions of the Church, the government, and the schools they built. While these subjects hardly get short shrift from the filmmakers, it’s fair to note that all three likely could have been explored more deeply. The intimacy dedicated to everyone whose face appears on screen never falters, though there’s a furious, nagging feeling that an expansive docuseries may have served their stories more effectively. Heck, a slightly longer film could’ve done the trick.
And yet, this being a film is the most important thing, as the story within is neither something to be binged through, nor something worthy of endless detours, reliance on archival footage, et al. Sugarcane is more urgent than any other work to hit screens so far this year, and impressively, it’s not one that feels the need to over-bang its principle drums in order to make note of the film’s import. It is so sophisticated, so beautiful despite its darkness – thanks in part to Kassie and Christopher LaMarca’s cinematography, as well as Mali Obomsawin’s stunning score – that it’s fair to assume its co-directors would be far from invasive no matter how involved they were in the community on which they’re focused. “Poetic” might be the best descriptor, actually, as long as you’re willing to acknowledge tragedy as poetry. And you should, for often what is looming on the other side of the most tragic tales is a glimmer of hope, something the members of the Williams Lake First Nation are becoming more familiar with as time goes by. If nothing else, that’s a start.
Synopsis: An exotic dancer is desperate to become a mother and accepts her reluctant boyfriend’s suggestion that she be impregnated by his best friend.
What else can be said of Jean-Luc Godard, the influential French-Swiss cinema legend and pioneer of one of the most significant film movements of all time in the French New Wave? He is more than a recognizable figure in the medium. The man has sculpted pieces that will stand the test of time in ways that few filmmakers would. Thousands have discussed his work on podcasts and think pieces. Hundreds have written books about his importance and contributions to cinema. And millions have ventured into his eclectic, occasionally cryptic filmography, basking in his ingenuity and knack for breaking the mold of narrative cinema as we know it. Innovation is a certain compulsion for Godard, who drives himself mad to give audiences vastly different cinematic experiences, both intellectually and artistically.
After introducing himself to the film world with the revolutionary work that many hold in high regard in 1960, Breathless, he decided to do his spin on American musicals, but with his usual dry wit and societal commentary in his third feature, A Woman is a Woman (Une Fumme est une Femme)–and a new 4K restoration is having its world premiere in the Piazza Grande at this year’s Locarno Film Festival. Made from the negative 35mm original copy, a new life is breathed into the 1961 film. It looks better and sounds crisper than before. But the most important aspect of A Woman is a Woman receiving a restoration is how modern audiences can now have a proper glimpse and think about its notions of gender roles and relationships across the ages presented in the film, which is, in my books, one of Godard’s best.
Jean-Luc Godard’s neorealist musical centers around an exotic dancer named Angela (Anna Karina, at the height of her career) who yearns to have a child sooner rather than later. But her partner, Emile (Jean-Claude Brialy), does not want to settle down with her just yet. Emile wants to live free of any burden or hassle while young and without many preoccupations. Angela has tried many times to convince him to give her a child. She grows piqued that the man she loves is not making any sacrifices in their relationship. Even though the two share many charming, joyous moments, that dark cloud is still above their heads.
In her performance, Anna Karina offers a mixture of emotions as the events of A Woman is a Woman unfold. But during the initial strand, she uses the blend of joy and anguish–both a mask and the genuine feeling in her soul. You can see both easily as Godard places her at the forefront of each frame, swallowing the canvas in her lonely wallows and the audience’s empathy for the young woman. Each argument the lead characters have about their reasonings behind having a child or not at that particular time has the French-Swiss director exploring, in his own unique way, how all of us are emotionally foolish and irrational, with love being the anchor to our various woes, bliss, and everything in-between.
They are unable to rationalize with one another. It isn’t until the very end of the film that Angela and Emile come to some sort of understanding. And still, the two clash due to their nature and naivety. We see them call each other names, forcing one to subject themselves to their sexes’ stereotypes, and question their reasonableness on not just love but the sacrifice that comes with having an intimate relationship with a person. All of this escalates upon the arrival of a third member to the party, Emile’s best friend and neighbor, Alfred (Jean-Paul Belmondo). He is one of the many men vastly in love with Angela. The difference is that he sees more in her than the others, at least in comparison. Alfred is still a man with many flaws and unreasonable deductions concerning love.
With the three leading players now in the mix, Godard plays his trump card in A Woman is a Woman. He raises questions about women’s social roles (specifically seen through the lens of sex work), the difference between men and women in society, and how love blinds. What differentiates Godard from other filmmakers is that he never intends to answer the questions he raises nor provides his thoughts on them. He is known for his pretentiousness, which annoys me from time to time. But I admire his tenacity in making the audience think–they ponder about similar situations in their societies and compare them to the one being depicted. In this case, Godard covers early ‘60s France via three lovebirds trying to understand each other and come to a prosperous resolution, failing to communicate in each standing moment.
No matter the time or place, the dynamics between Angela, Alfred, and Emile are translated into each generation and society, yet with a change in their political backbone and philosophies. Ultimately, this story is replicated, whether it happened to someone else or yourself. Not many works in his filmography contain those elements of empathetic, universal comprehension. Later in his career, during the ‘80s and beyond, he started drifting into a more portentous territory. But in the ‘60s, Godard created many rich, detailed stories that were universal to them. Godard may have added his touch to this commonly seen tale. However, many moments and anecdotes in AWomanisaWoman are relevant and relatable.
Arguments that lead nowhere, such as the couple not opening up with one another, foolishness when making brash decisions, and thinking without understanding the other’s situation—these are the sort of irrationalities that make up relationships over the decades. Godard’s exploration of gender roles and love contains many other details that can be relevant to our current day. He even provides moments of awkward silence upon cutting the dazzling score by Michael Legrand (known for his work with Jacques Demy) at sporadic, random moments, which serve as contemplative pauses that take the characters and viewer out of the magic that musicals are meant to provide.
Upon restorations and reassessments, you begin to notice more minute details that might have flown by, which add something new to your experience. It leaves a lasting impression on you, particularly some lines that revolve around why we lean towards love even though it hurts. And like the ingenious magician he is, Jean-Luc Godard does so with much cinematic flair and uniqueness. I hope this restoration helps cinema lovers worldwide access this film and reflect on past, present, and future relationships–encountering and perhaps embracing the foolishness that arises when deeply in love. This isn’t close to being the definitive film about relationships. But it has plenty of emotional potency.
On this episode, JD and Brendan discuss the Tilman Singer horror film Cuckoo! And also donuts. Because we’re cuckoo for…donuts. All joking aside (although we talk about donuts and cereal for real), we had some interesting reactions to Cuckoo and some of its strange choices.
Review: Cuckoo(4:00) Director: Tilman Singer Writers: Tilman Singer Stars: Hunter Schafer, Dan Stevens, Jan Bluthardt
It would appear that this is the year of Thai cinematographer Sayombhu Mukdeeprom!
Having previously written a piece for Chasing the Gold on his stellar work in Challengers, it’s no secret he’s quickly becoming a favorite DP of mine. I was introduced to his work in Call Me By Your Name and Memoria. Both serve as beautifully patient and naturalistic films that capture the world around them in as touching a manner as the characters they focus on. The same can be said about his work on Suspiria, a film that arguably roots itself in the chosen setting of the film more than anything else via visual excellence. But to me, Challengers was unlike anything else I had seen from him up to that point. And as if I couldn’t have gotten any more excited for a new M. Night Shyamalan film, seeing Mukdeeprom attached to Trap sent me into high gear. And even better, it was being shot on 35mm! I would have been there opening night regardless, but my giddiness as I took my seat was palpable. With Mukdeeprom’s inventive ideas about capturing the link between character, setting, and the incredible visual storyteller that Shyamalan is— this film was always bound for greatness. And dear reader/fellow Lady Raven (Shyamalan’s real-life daughter, Saleka Shyamalan) fan, this article and this film are certainly not traps: you will not be disappointed by the concert this fearsome director/cinematographer duo brought to the big screen.
As briefly touched upon earlier, several films Mukdeeprom has worked on revolve around nature. And I don’t think that’s an accident. Take Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s Memoria, for example. So many extended sequences simply focus on the earth around Tilda Swinton’s character. Mukdeeprom forces us to scan the frame, not looking for anything but embracing the crystal-clear earth instead. The grass sways under Swinton’s body as she sleeps, with the water in a nearby stream ever so slightly flowing by. In very simple ways, Mukdeeprom captures beauty with his curious and reverential lens. It’s a touching way to capture the world around us and around the characters within the film. So how exactly does he capture the world of Trap? In the complete opposite manner of the film I just detailed. Wherein Memoria’s visuals seem interested in slowing down to realize the inherent beauty and mystique around us all, Trap feels more interested in viewing the entire environment as a playground designed to encase or allow for an escape by any means necessary. If the environment, or those who inhabit it, suffer during the course of the film, so be it. The reason for such hostile aggression? Shyamalan and Mukdeeprom center everything in the film around and through Josh Hartnett’s Cooper (also known as the Butcher).
So much of Trap plays out through the lens of the Butcher, a psychopathic serial killer. And with that, Mukdeeprom practically shoves his camera into the brain of the sociopath. Frankly, much of the movie feels like it’s framed with contempt in mind. Shyamalan has played with point-of-view a lot throughout his career, but his later films almost hinge on them in a few ways.
There’s The Visit, which plays out as found footage. We see what the characters are experiencing through the lens of their handheld cameras. With Glass, Shyamalan positions us to see through the lens of all three principal characters (heroes and villains, alike). At one point in that film, canted angles are even used to depict Elijah Glass’ (Samuel L. Jackson) POV as his head slinks off to the side. So it’s no surprise that Trap, being touted as a “new M. Night Shyamalan experience, is playing with the same cinematic ideas. After all, it’s there in the tagline: this is an experience. And we’re experiencing each moment, not as an audience member removed from the film, but as an onlooker stuck in the mind of a madman. Think Inside Out, but way more messed up and ripe for mayhem.
We see everything that Shyamalan and Muldeeprom want us to see. We’re at the whim of the script and the images, and more than anything, we’re at the whim of the Butcher. So much of the thrill of Trap lies in the unknowable lengths to which Cooper will go to escape capture. As his eyes wander more and more frantically, we, too, begin to feel the unease. We may not sympathize with him in the slightest, but we’re stuck with him as onlookers. If he gets caught, there, too, goes the thrilling cinematic experience. It’s a brilliant way of inextricably linking the visual language of the film with the audience’s emotions. We don’t want this to end. Let the stakes build and build and build, and take us along for the ride—reprehensible actions of the Butcher be damned.
Looking at the film through this POV lens, one can’t help but focus on the close-ups Shyamalan has also used throughout his career. We’ve seen countless examples of Shyamalan shooting dialogue exchanges in some of the most visually exciting manners possible. Think of the opening scene in Unbreakable, an unsettling, claustrophobic, handheld long take that uses a mirror and simple camera movements to capture the fright of a baby delivery having gone awry. Hell, we could even use the very next scene in the same film, where Shyamalan employs another long take that simply shifts between two sides of a train seat to highlight shifting perspectives as the conversation continues. But in Trap, much of the dialogue is captured in a simple shot/reverse-shot setup. And that’s exactly what it sounds like. One person speaks with the camera pointed at them, and then another speaks, and so on and so forth. It’s used quite literally all the time in film and television. The reason being? It’s simple. But Shyamalan and Mukdeeprom aren’t merely taking the easy way out. There’s purpose behind this decision, and it again lends credence to the notion that Mukdeeprom’s camera is taking the place of the Butcher’s wandering, yet laser-focused, gaze.
There’s this sense that every single character that isn’t Riley (Ariel Donoghue), the Butcher’s daughter, angers him to no end. Perhaps anger isn’t even the right word. It’s as if everybody around him is just an NPC (non-playable character) in a video game. This film has been compared to the Hitman game franchise, and it couldn’t feel more true. Anyone around Cooper, aside from his loved ones, is merely framed as cannon fodder to aid, interrupt, or distract. They’re captured in centered, isolated close-ups or teetering at the edge of the frame in complete focus. There’s even a split diopter shot employed at one point, and that’s cause enough for parades through the streets in celebration of Trap.
In the centered close-ups, Mukdeeprom captures the subjects as if they’re under intense scrutiny. Through the eyes of Cooper, as written earlier, you can practically feel his contempt in speaking to somebody he feels is lesser. He loves Riley and hopes she is happy. But speaking to Marnie McPhail’s unnamed character, the mother of a girl who has been giving Riley a hard time, it’s as if he wants to snap and drop any notion of being a well-adjusted human. There’s a slight tilt to the camera, where Mukdeeprom utilizes the very efficient trick of having the viewer, in turn, looking down at this mother as well. The same goes for when Cooper is in the frame. We are looking up at him. He’s in a position of power, and we can’t help but gaze at his ability to quickly lie his way through any scenario. He just wants to move on to more engaging and essential interactions. In conjunction with the editing, Mukdeeprom’s imagery intentionally feels rushed. Trap is moving rapidly because Cooper is desperately trying to find the escape path of least resistance. And just when we get used to such scenes, Mukdeeprom and Shyamalan throw a curveball. When being ambushed by the same mother, she is way off to the far right of the frame. There’s an altercation between police and a suspect so, of course, that’s all Cooper can think to focus on. If the film is partially about the balance between work and family, Mukdeeprom shows it play out in real-time. Cooper’s ability to focus on both is impressive, as he rapidly escapes both the attention of the police and the wrath of this mother. And this literal split in interests comes to a crescendo when Mukdeeprom finally whips out the split diopter.
Spoiler Warning: For those worried about blatant plot developments, perhaps skip to the next paragraph, but you’ll miss an exciting and quick lesson on split diopter shots!
Cooper and Riley find themselves backstage at one point. It’s an exciting moment for both father/killer and daughter! Her dreams of dancing with Lady Raven in the spotlight are coming true, and for Cooper, his escape seems to be laid out in front of him. Only then do we see the FBI profiler who set the entire trap in motion. And Mukdeeprom literally shows this divide to us. A quick rundown on split diopters for those who are curious: If you’ve seen basically any movie of Brian De Palma’s, you’ve seen a split diopter shot. There are far more technical definitions and explanations available, but it’s essentially when a piece of convex glass is placed on the main lens of a camera, usually centered. When this is done, the image captured is split in half. One half of the image will appear in the background and the other in the foreground. What makes it so exciting, though, is that both halves of the image will be in complete focus. A great way to tell if a split diopter is authentic is to look in the center of the frame; it will appear to be a bit distorted (The piece of convex glass). Next time you’re watching practically any movie from the ’70s, keep your eye out for the technique. It was used incredibly often and to beautiful effect. Anyways, back to the Lady Raven concert/trap. Mukdeeprom has Riley and Cooper on stage in the background and the FBI profiler patrolling nearby in the foreground. The two sides of Cooper’s brain are at work here, and it’s the first time we really see the two at direct odds with one another. Up until this point in Trap, Cooper and in turn, Mukdeeprom have done all they can to keep the two sides of this man separated. It’s only here when his being a father and his being a crazed serial killer collapse in on themselves to give us one of the most striking images of the film. One of the highlights of Riley’s life will now be forever tainted with this wedge between them. And Mukdeeprom conveys it literally!
Another simple reason for the visuals of Trap deserving acclaim? It was shot on beautiful 35mm film! The images look gorgeous and bring a real vibrancy to the entire film. Aside from Christopher Nolan, Quentin Tarantino, and Paul Thomas Anderson, we so rarely see other filmmakers celebrated for shooting on film. Those three are massively responsible for the resurgence of shooting on film, but Shyamalan has continued to shoot on film throughout his career with the rare digital exception. Shyamalan has also worked with some of the greatest living cinematographers, from Roger Deakins on The Village to Tak Fujimoto on Signs. Mukdeeprom, rightfully so, now has a spot in such esteemed company, and his accolades should reflect that! That’s not to say awards inherently add more value to an artist, but it would be a justifiable thrill to see him nominated for any of his stellar work this year.
All in all, Trap is indeed an experience from Shyamalan. Very few filmmakers continuously astound with their grasp on visual language in such distinct ways. When paired with undeniable talent, his vision takes us on unforgettably cinematic thrill rides. It’s also abundantly clear at this point that Mukdeeprom can alter his approach to cinematography in ways that necessitate the vision of the director, and the film as a whole. Where his work on Challengers revels in digital chaos and almost a sense of experimentation, his work on Trap exists in the analog and very much in the physical moment. That’s fitting for a film about a man doing all he can to remove himself from such a moment. It’s a sight to see, making the notion of revisiting Trap all the more exciting.
On this episode, JD and Brendan discuss the nuances of unlikable characters in movies! Depending on context and execution, some work gloriously and others are more hollow, but either way they’re a fun part of the movie experience.
Director: Paul Feig Writer: Rob Yescombe Stars: John Cena, Awkwafina, Simu Liu
Synopsis: In the near future, a ‘Grand Lottery’ has been newly established in California – the catch: kill the winner before sundown to legally claim their multi-billion dollar jackpot.
Hello everyone, it’s time. Yes, we need to talk about John Cena. The last ten films in his filmography are a cry for help. And no, I refuse to credit him for the cameos in Barbie and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem. Mr. Cena’s last nine films are so bad I haven’t seen a career this mismanaged and sabotaged since Ben Falcone ruined Melissa McCarthy’s once-stellar comic career.
Just look at some of the jaw-droppingly bad films that John Cena has led since playing Peacemaker in the well-received The Suicide Squad. His “movie star” roles include Vacation Friends, The Independent, Fast X, Hidden Strike, Vacation Friends 2, Freelance, Argyle, Ricky Stanicky, Die Hart 2: Die Harter (yes, I threw that in), and now Jackpot!—another misfire and what may be the final nail in the coffin of Cena’s once-promising action/comedy career.
Remember John Cena’s lovable, sweet, funny, and endearing turn in Blockers? Or his charisma and appeal in Bumblebee? The willingness to take comedic risks in cameos, like in Trainwreck? Or just picking good roles in good movies, like the gripping Doug Liman film The Wall? No? That’s okay. Most people have short memories. This brings me to my point: If Mr. Cena doesn’t start to pick his projects more carefully, he will have no one to blame but himself—and certainly not Ben Falcone.
And that’s not to say Cena is bad in Jackpot!—almost everyone is—but he is undoubtedly the best part of this poorly conceived streaming comedic spin on The Purge. He plays Noel, a warm-hearted former mercenary with a heart of gold, helping out Katie (Awkwafina), a former child star picked for the “Grand Lottery,” a new California cash grab where you can win billions. The only catch?
Katie has to survive the night until sundown. What’s that, you say? Anyone who kills her—using anything allowed besides a bullet from a firearm—will receive the multi-billion dollar cash prize. If she survives, the money will be hers, and she can live out her dreams. All Katie has to do is hand over 10% of her winnings to Cena’s Noel, an amateur lottery protection agent, who agrees to keep her alive until they can become richer beyond their wildest imaginations.
You know how they say another man’s trash is another man’s treasure? Well, director Paul Feig (Bridesmaids), working from a script from Rob Yescombe (Netflix’sOutside the Wire), proves the one’s treasure is the audience’s crumpled up fast food wrappers. Jackpot! is the sort of interesting film premise that turns into a gutless comedy with no conviction. As soon as the word is out Katie is the target, her “fans,” as the film describes them, immediately begin to attack her. The action is stagnantly staged wire-fu, there hardly is one time someone is kicked where it doesn’t defy physics and a villain is sent flying 40 feet and spinning around a dozen times, where you can tell the wires were removed with post-CGI.
Jackpot!’s script is utterly predictable. The comedy is forced, mostly due to cringeworthy dialogue that even Awkwafina cannot save. There is a scene at the end when Cena’s character yells at Katie to stay away from the story’s main villain, which will make anyone want to passive-aggressively yell at the screen, just as Captain Obvious would. The movie is filled with such tedious and grating moments of nothingness.
Along with bad acting, almost everyone in the film—except for two good cameos by Sean William Scott and Triangle of Sadnessstar Dolly de Leon—is subpar, which is putting it politely. The film is unfunny, wooden, hackneyed, and completely predictable, with virtually nothing new to say on subjects like greed, conformity, community, and violence (Shirley Jackson will surely be rolling over in her grave). Jackpot! continues the downward trend in John Cena’s once-promising film career.
You don’t hear Adrian Lyne’s name being mentioned when it comes time for AFI’s Lifetime Achievement Award. Or Honorary Oscars. Or in articles written by fans about how criminal it is that this person doesn’t have an Oscar. He is not mentioned alongside the likes of Spielberg, Scorsese, Altman, Coppola, and Jewison as directors of “that” generation. It’s possible that many people couldn’t tell you the name of one of his films based on his name alone. Yet- say the line “I won’t be IGNORED, Dan” or mention bunny rabbits, and people stop and shudder. Why? Because Fatal Attraction is part of our American iconography. And while critics and film historians may not have found his work groundbreaking, thought provoking, or intellectual; his films did indeed define the eras from which they came. They may not have broken new ground, but they entertained us, and made us sigh and swoon. Adrian Lyne is a wildly underrated film director.
The year is 1983. If you are a teen or a child in the US, you are most likely wearing a sweatshirt with the neck cut open so it falls flirtatiously off one shoulder. Why? Because you’ve seen Flashdance, Adrian Lyne’s classic about a female welder by day/ dancer by night. This movie had everything: a beautiful young new actress (Jennifer Beals) playing an underdog named Alex, great dancing, and a killer soundtrack. It’s so charming one forgets that she’s only 19 years old, and it’s creepy that her boss keeps following her around and hitting on her. And… is it possible to get accepted into a Ballet Conservatory if you’ve never taken actual ballet lessons? HAS she taken ballet lessons? Who cares! Alex is cool! She looks awesome, she lives in this huge warehouse, and dances to great music. Now- the dancing. No, it was not, in fact, done by Jennifer Beals. And, when you’ve watched this classic as much as I have, you can pick out at least 3 different performers (both male and female), doing that dance at the end. Again, let’s forget about that. Who among us still doesn’t gasp when Beals does her first dance, pulls that chain, and has water dump all over her body…TWICE. Incredible. In 1983, I was much too young to see this film in theaters, but we did own the record. Remember those? And I remember my sister and I dancing around to “Maniac” and, of course, the anthem of 1983, “Flashdance (What a Feeling)” by the Queen of 1980s films about performance, Irene Cara. The impact that song had on popular culture in the 1980s cannot be overstated. To look at some facts, this movie cost 7 million to make, and made 200 million dollars, according to Forbes magazine. I still get chills when I hear that opening song.
In 1987, America became a dangerous place for married men who wanted to cheat on their wives, and pet bunnies. I am talking, of course, about one of the greatest movies of the 1980s, Fatal Attraction. Dan (Michael Douglas) spends two hot nights cheating on his wife, Beth (Anne Archer) with a sexy woman he has just met, Alex (Glenn Close). While he thinks he has gotten away with a hot weekend while his wife is away, Alex shows him nothing is ever that simple. Mayhem ensues. This movie easily could have been a simple low budget revenge film. Lyne, however, elevates the material to make it an enduring classic. Glenn Close shed the “mother” image she created in The World According To Garp and The Big Chill to play the unhinged Alex.With her untamed blonde curls, and her husky voice, she toys with Dan over dinner while his wife is away. Douglas is a seemingly dutiful husband who seems to fall into bed with another woman. It has always been my feeling that this is not the first time Dan has cheated on Beth, as he lies about it too easily, and tries to move forward. This is not what occurs this time. What elevates this film is that Alex does not start as a monster. Honestly, I felt for her and understood her anger at Dan. What kind of a man cheats on his wife? Alex points out to him that he is not, in fact, thinking of HER, he is thinking of himself. That Dan is not an innocent victim adds a depth to what could have been a shallow film. While Archer and Close both received Oscar nominations, I’m still annoyed that Douglas wasn’t nominated for his masterful performance of a man who cannot shake a weekend fling, no matter how desperately he tries. Fatal Attraction is a masterful film.
Lyne was still making a cultural impact in the 1990s. In 1993, Demi Moore received an Indecent Proposal from Robert Redford, and the entire country was talking. In this film, a downtrodden and very much in love couple, Woody Harrelson and Moore, go to Las Vegas to try to change their luck. While in a dress shop, she runs into a stranger who happens to be a billionaire. And ALSO happens to be Robert Redford. After Moore proves to be a good luck charm to Redford at a craps table, Redford invites the couple to a party. During this party, he proposes to Harrelson that he will give the couple 1 million dollars for a night with his wife. The concept seems silly. Yet, it works. Moore and Harrelson have real chemistry. We feel the passion in this young couple. Moore has never looked more stunning, especially in that iconic black gown. Redford is as charming as ever as the Knight in Shining Armor who wants to sweep Moore off her feet. Is the plot contrived? Sure! Did I get swept up in the magic? Absolutely. And I wasn’t the only one who felt this way. The film cost 38 million dollars to make, and made 260 million dollars world wide, making it the 6th highest grossing film of the year.
So where is the acclaim Adrian Lyne deserves? He gave us so many great, iconic films that were wildly entertaining. His films are not “guilty pleasure” films, they are excellent! He makes us explore our dark, naughty sides in ways so many other filmmakers do not. Like Alex from Fatal Attraction, his films shouldn’t be ignored.
On this episode, JD and Brendan discuss Sean Wang’s incredible coming-of-age film Dìdi! After winning two awards at the Sundance Film Festival earlier this year, Dìdi has been heavily on our radar since then. We were very excited to finally catch up with it, and the film did not disappoint at all.
Review: Dìdi(4:00) Director: Sean Wang Writers: Sean Wang Stars: Izaac Wang, Joan Chen, Shirley Chen
This week on the InSession Film Podcast, we look the movies that have recently been reevaluated and talk about our favorite movies that are getting a different treatment these days! We also talk about D23 and everything Disney has in store for audiences.
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!
– Box Office (11:01) After some opening banter, we once again dive into our recurring segment of “Is the Parade On or Off?” talking about the box office. As Deadpool & Wolverine continues to dominate, it was Ryan Reynolds’ better half in Blake Lively’s new film It Ends With Us that took the box office by storm. Was it the film though or the drama behind the scenes? We discuss that and the major flop that was Borderlands.
– D23 (27:24) After discussing San Diego Comic-con a few weeks ago, we were anticipating that Marvel would announce something new/big at this year’s D23 as it appears there are gaps in the current MCU timeline. That, however, did not happen. We discuss why that may be the case, among all the other stuff Disney announced at the event. There was plenty of Star Wars, Pixar and Disney Animation news as well that we briefly get into as well.
– Joaquin Phoenix (1:11:02) While we are fans of Joaquin Phoenix’s body of work, it was very disappointing to hear what he did last week pulling out at the last minute of Todd Haynes’ new film. Leaving the crew jobless and stranded like that wasn’t great, but hopefully he makes it up to them in some way in the near future.
– Reevaluating Movies (1:20:27) Time always offers up great perspective in our lives and it’s no different with art. Sometimes it takes years, or even decades, for audiences to come around on a work of art. It’s fascinating to see what films are reevaluated years after its release, especially when those movies either bombed or were critical failures – often times both. So, we wanted to talk about our favorite movies that have been reevaluated over the years and have seen a new light since their original release.
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!
Accept the titillating cheekiness; for these steamy, mature, and surprisingly high brow thrillers still deserve your time and attention.
Bound
Art Deco designs, leather jackets, lingerie, and two cups of coffee that go both ways set the tongue in cheek, vintage mood for this 1996 Wachowskis’ (The Matrix) saucy starring Jennifer Tilly (High Spirits), Gina Gershon (Showgirls), and Joe Pantoliano (Memento). Attention to detail between lookalike women and flirtatious camera blocking upend the male gaze with a lesbian point of view. Dirty white tank tops versus black lace lead to plumbing, tattoo titillation, wet fingers, and pillow talk. Up close lips distract viewers – we think we see more than we actually do amid the nipples, nibbles, wrapped legs, and tawdry flexing. Seductive heist montages hinge on the 50s wife dressed for her man with his drink at the ready – speaking in that Marilyn breathlessness when telling him what he wants to hear. Men with feminine names are camp stereotypes in colorful suits playing mobster big alongside symbolic pick up trucks and red nail polish. It’s our man doing the domestic duty of literally laundering, drying, and ironing the bloody money. Retro lighting, choice zooms, and swanky overhead angles accentuate character realizations while reminding us how feminine film noir can be. The men go off half-cocked, hysterical with hammy colloquialisms when coppers knock on the door, and it’s the women who fix the betrayals and double crosses. Tom Jones cues punctuate the elevators, staircases, and minimal location claustrophobia before gunshots and white paint culminate in a preposterous noir satire.
The Hand That Rocks The Cradle
Curtis Hanson (L.A. Confidential) directs Rebecca De Mornay (Risky Business), Annabella Sciorra (The Sopranos), and more familiar faces in this 1992 potboiler. Medical assaults, miscarriages, and consequences disrupt the idyllic home, and our vengeful nanny is initially a saving grace. They never check her letter of reference, and it’s easy for De Mornay to enter and exploit, deliciously feigning a softer voice as private rage and disgusted threats reveal Peyton’s true instability. Intercut tension and pain parallel our mothers, however blonde versus brunette women ascend or descend the staircase, interchangeable as their powers shift in the congested house. There’s even a certain intimacy as domestic duties are shared and the women talk about sex. Ineffectual men admire the supple see-through nightgown and wet clothes in the rain before Peyton secretly nurses the son that she thinks is hers. Handyman accusations show how easy it is to insinuate, make innocent meetings appear deceitful, and sow suspicion. Real filming locations and bright bay windows mean everything happens in broad daylight under our nose. The camera zoom lingers, leering where it shouldn’t before fists, shovels, knives, shattering glass, and domestic destruction. Greenhouse dangers, empty asthma inhalers, and attic confrontations make for memorable vignettes and alluring, scene chewing performances.
Knight Moves
Chess and murder collide for then-couple Christopher Lambert (Highlander) and Diane Lane (Unfaithful) in this clever 1992 thriller opening with a very creepy black and white 70s chess match. The clock ticking pressure leads to violence at the loss before our current winner Lambert puts his daughter to bed. He then gets right to the juicy “I Put a Spell on You” black garter belt montage but denies the casual dalliance when she ends up dead. Testy interrogations with no nonsense cops Tom Skerritt (Alien) and Daniel Baldwin (Homicide: Life on the Street) mean everyone is ridiculously macho amid crime scene graffiti, squad room chalkboards, and a killer always one step ahead of the phone trace. Psychologist Lane is steamy in the sauna indeed with drinks, cigarettes, slow motion saucy, and suspicions on who is playing whom. Real estate connections, big old computer details, and mad lib ransom notes lead to well paced bait and switch police stakeouts. Certainly there are preposterous contrivances, but this takes some unexpected turns before children in peril demands our over the top chess masters fight mano y mano. The grainy feel, shadowed lighting, and cigarette smoke may be too low budget eighties for some viewers and there may not be much repeat value, however the hammy, self-aware performances embrace the clichés. Who knew chess was so dangerous and provocative?
The Passion of Darkly Noon
Injured Brendan Fraser (The Whale) intrudes upon the tempting Ashley Judd (Kiss the Girls) and her mute boyfriend Viggo Mortensen (Lord of the Rings) in a surreal, quaint wood for this 1995 psychological thriller. The idyllic springs, pretty outdoors, and hidden grotto are no match for tight tops, tiny dresses, and sweaty mellow. We don’t see the titular trauma but immediately sense the disturbed attraction and late blooming Oedipal complex. Despite the backwoods colloquialisms, kooky characters, and buttoned up repression of the perceived sinful, the naughty atmosphere rises with obsession and mea culpa harm. Religious stewing, evil bewitchment, fear mongering and slow burn symbolism add to the secrets, punishment, and bizarre visions. The brooding drama becomes increasingly unreliable as this purgatory cycle repeats with hellish flames and howling. Granted some attempted tender or scary scenes are dated and infantile. However, this character study on passion and sacrifice makes for an interesting, trippy morality play.
Jaylan Salah, after reviewing The Serena Variations, sat down with director Warren Fischer.
Jaylan Salah: What compelled you to write this story?
Warren Fischer: The Serena Variations emerged from a personal exploration of the intersections between fine art, music, and the human psyche—areas I’ve long been fascinated by. My background in projects like Fischerspooner has always been about pushing boundaries, and this film felt like a natural extension of that journey. Drawing on my own experiences with music and the challenges that come with creative pursuits, I wanted to delve into the psychological impact of striving for perfection, particularly for a neurodiverse protagonist. The story reflects a very personal side of my life, and it’s my hope that it resonates with others who have walked similar paths.
JS: How do you think horror as a medium can be used by filmmakers for social commentary?
WF: Horror is a genre that has always intrigued me because of its ability to tap into our deepest fears and societal anxieties. When used thoughtfully, it can be a powerful vehicle for social commentary, allowing filmmakers to explore issues that are often left in the shadows. In The Serena Variations, horror helps to illustrate not just the protagonist’s internal struggles but also the external pressures that come with being neurodiverse. I was inspired by the way experimental cinema often uses unconventional methods to challenge viewers’ perceptions, and I tried to bring some of that energy into this film to evoke a deeper understanding of the character’s experience.
JS: Dylan Brown was amazing as Serena, how did the casting process go and was she your first choice?
WF: Dylan Brown was our first choice for Serena, and I feel incredibly fortunate that she agreed to take on the role. From the beginning, it was clear that her unique perspective and experience would bring an authenticity to the character that was crucial for the story we wanted to tell. The casting process felt more like finding the right partner for this journey than simply filling a role. Dylan brought a depth and sensitivity to the character that aligned perfectly with the film’s exploration of neurodiversity. Her commitment to the project was deeply inspiring and played a significant role in bringing Serena to life.
JS: How difficult was it to visit childhood memories for inspiration in creating The Serena Variations?
WF: Revisiting childhood memories was certainly a challenging process, but it was also essential to the authenticity of the story. These memories are woven into the fabric of the film, and they helped ground the narrative in something real and personal. Including actual recordings and images of my mother, as suggested by my editor, John Walter, was a way to bring a piece of my past into the present. It was emotional, yes, but it also felt necessary to connect with those experiences in order to tell this story with the honesty and depth it required.
JS: How do you think the film succeeded in showcasing the thin line between brilliance and madness?
WF: I believe The Serena Variations succeeds in exploring the thin line between brilliance and madness by immersing the audience in Serena’s internal world. The film’s structure and sound design were crafted to reflect her psychological state, creating an experience that mirrors the disorientation she feels. I drew inspiration from the experimental cinema tradition, where narrative boundaries are often blurred to reveal deeper truths. However, my approach was not to present this as a definitive statement but rather as an invitation for the audience to engage with the material in a personal and introspective way. It’s a complex subject, and I hope the film offers a nuanced exploration of it.
JS: As a storyteller, what is the most important theme that you want audiences to take from your film?
WF: The most important theme I hope audiences take from The Serena Variations is the resilience of the human spirit, particularly in the face of adversity and the pressures of artistic ambition. The film is a reflection on the cost of obsession, the sacrifices made in pursuit of perfection, and the challenges that come with being different in a world that often demands conformity. I wanted to create a narrative that respects the complexity of these experiences, and I hope viewers find something in Serena’s journey that resonates with their own lives. It’s not about offering easy answers but rather about opening a dialogue on these important themes.
JS: Which were the most difficult scenes to shoot?
WF: The scenes that required the most emotional intensity, particularly those involving the psychedelic experience, were among the most challenging to shoot. These moments were crucial to the narrative, serving as a turning point for Serena’s character. Capturing the balance between enlightenment and disorientation was essential, and it required a lot of trust and collaboration between the cast and crew. I was inspired by the experimental cinema tradition of using altered states of consciousness to explore deeper psychological themes, and I wanted to approach these scenes with a sensitivity that honored the complexity of those experiences.
JS: When you are overwhelmed as an artist and creative person, where do you find your footing?
WF: When I feel overwhelmed, I find grounding in the simple, everyday aspects of life—music, nature, and spending time with loved ones. These moments allow me to step back from the intensity of the creative process and reconnect with the core of who I am. It’s a practice rooted in mindfulness, something I’ve learned to value over the years. In the tradition of experimental cinema, where the artist’s process is often as important as the final work, these moments of reflection are crucial. They help me return to the project with renewed clarity and purpose, ensuring that my work remains true to my vision.
JS: In such an intense shoot, how do you as a director ensure the safety of your film set so that your actors would be able to become fully vulnerable while feeling completely safe?
WF: Creating a safe and supportive environment on set is something I take very seriously, especially when working on a project as emotionally intense as The Serena Variations. It’s important to me that everyone involved feels respected and supported, which is why I prioritize open communication and collaboration from the very beginning. Working with a neurodiverse cast and crew, including our lead actor Dylan Brown and editor John Walter, required particular attention to creating an inclusive and understanding atmosphere. The presence of intimacy coordinators and mental health professionals was invaluable in ensuring that the set remained a safe space for everyone. My goal was to foster an environment where the actors could explore their characters fully, knowing that they were protected and cared for throughout the process.
JS: What are you working on after The Serena Variations?
WF: After The Serena Variations, I’m excited to delve deeper into Serena’s story with a feature-length version that will explore her journey to process childhood trauma in more detail. This project will allow for a more expansive exploration of the themes that were central to the original film, particularly the intersections of identity, memory, and neurodiversity. I’m also beginning to explore a new project that examines the influence of technology on our sense of self, which feels like a natural progression from the themes I’ve been working with. Both projects are opportunities to continue pushing boundaries and exploring new ideas, always with the hope of creating work that resonates on a deep, personal level with audiences.
Synopsis: A sprawling family’s futile attempts at capturing a family photo take a dreamlike turn when the matriarch vanishes and one daughter becomes desperate to find her.
One naturally expects that a film with a title like Family Portrait (2023) will function as an incisive dissection of the suffocating impact that bourgeois conventions can have on familial relations and social bonds. There’s simply no chance that it won’t come freighted with a tone of semi-ironic detachment and a slightly disaffected worldview. In-the-know cinephiles who have already caught up with the acclaimed short films that Lucy Kerr has been churning out in recent years will already have a sense of her very specific stylistic and thematic preoccupations going into the film. The same cannot be said for individuals who might be expecting something even more elliptical or even, as is the trend nowadays, meta-textual. Kerr’s work feels oddly timeless in its freshness and simplicity. There is a purity to the images that she crafts that stays with you long after a first viewing of any of her output.
With this, her first feature film, she looks to break into the festival circuit and extend her reach beyond short-form storytelling. In loose terms, the film chronicles a day in the lives of the members of a large, wealthy extended family. They gather frequently to show off their individual accomplishments and boost their social status within the familial structure but appear incapable of feeling or displaying completely unselfish love. Their desire to take a family photo together is complicated by the disappearance of the family’s matriarch. As the day goes on, a harried young daughter, Katy (Deragh Campbell), becomes increasingly fixated on her mother’s sudden, unexpected absence. Her desperate attempts to track her down take on a dreamlike, unnerving quality as it becomes clear that these efforts may not yield tangible results.
The film’s rigid and precise, yet associative, editing style seemingly calls back to the early days of the Berlin School movement. Kerr’s touch is less delicate than that of, say, Angela Schanelec but she nevertheless finds a way to put her own spin on aesthetics that have traditionally been deeply rooted in a German cultural context. In spite of its European arthouse trappings, Family Portrait is the unmistakable product of an American artist hoping to capture something of the enigmatic nature of “The South” as a concept. The affluent Texan milieu that these characters inhabit is regarded with a cool objectivity by Kerr, who steadfastly refuses to condemn or pass judgment on the figures at the center of this tale. Her efforts to weave distancing effects into her storytelling repertoire could have felt like the reductive, highly imitative work of a recent film school graduate, but her point of view has been developed and refined enough to ensure that these techniques are employed with great rigor. This is more than just a proof-of-concept piece that allows Kerr to prove that she has sophisticated taste in contemporary arthouse cinema (although, to be fair, it does seem to indicate that fact).
Kerr’s willingness to allow Family Portrait cling to its American identity while still dipping its toe in the pool of European affectations robs it of the tension that dominates most attempts to craft “American arthouse cinema” but also frees it from certain expectations. This playful, totally unfettered quality extends to Kerr’s morally ambiguous, occasionally discomfiting consideration of the natural landscape that surrounds the family and the effect that it has on their behavior. Far from taking the easy way out and drawing obvious contrasts between the stilted, artificial narrative of strained family dynamics and the wild, untamed beauty of nature – Kerr hints at the idea that human beings, and their egos, can only be contained by the overwhelming force of the natural environment. To be in awe of the clear, impenetrable surfaces of the lakes that surround you is to know how small and insignificant you really are in the grand scheme of things. None of the members of this family can come to terms with the fact that their place in the universe is not as grandiose as they would have hoped it could have been. It is only when forced into a position of submission in the face of the overwhelming force and cruelty of the natural environment that we can actually gain a sense of perspective on our lives.
This week on Women InSession, we once again talk about the great Montgomery Clift as we discuss our Top 3 Clift films! We’ve talked about him before, but we now have new voices in our lineup who wanted to add their thoughts on the great Montgomery Clift and what made him so special.
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!
