When rating a film I ask myself these three questions: What is the director’s goal or purpose? How does the director try to achieve it? Is the director successful? Hence a big box office hit may get a “5” while a Eurosleaze sexploitation flick gets a “7”. My rating system in a nutshell:
10 = Brilliant!
9 = Exceptional
8 = Very Good
7 = Good
6 = Average
5 = Forgettable
4 = Bad
3 = Dismal
2 = Dog Barf
1 = Beyond Awful
~ ~ ~ ~
The Velvet Underground (USA 2021) (7): I must admit that aside from buying his “Transformer” album as a mildly rebellious teen and walking out of one of his concerts in the ‘80s I really haven’t thought much about the late Lou Reed. Watching Todd Haynes’ flashy and oh-so-experimental documentary on Reed and his band “The Velvet Underground” hasn’t exactly changed my mind either, but it was fascinating just the same. Tracing the ups and downs of Reed and fellow bandmates John Cale, Sterling Morrison, and Maureen Tucker (with Euro diva and guest vocalist “Nico” thrown in for good measure) from relative unknowns to avant-garde bad boys whose grungy anthems shocked radio stations with songs about transvestites, gay boys, and Lou’s love-hate relationship with heroin, Haynes’ use of split screens and psychedelia hovers somewhere between acid trip and tabloid exposé. Andy Warhol’s Factory—New York’s ground zero for everything subversive and outré in the late 60s/70s—figures prominently and talking head inserts from the likes of David Bowie and Jackson Browne offer the appropriate accolades. Reed himself is portrayed as a sometime petulant artiste and constant poet, but it is the music (and groovy concert footage) which ultimately propels the film forward.
Dark River (UK 2017) (6): After her estranged father’s death, Alice Bell (Ruth Wilson) returns to the family’s old Yorkshire sheep farm intent on inheriting it. But her brother Joe (Mark Stanley) intends to have it for himself citing Alice’s fifteen-year absence as proof of his right to ownership. Meanwhile the farm, which has fallen into disrepair, is threatened with foreclosure by the company which owns the land. But there is more behind Alice and Joe’s rancorous relationship than mere sibling rivalry for they have both been carrying a dark and terrible family secret which has left Alice a neurotic whose painful memories of dad (Sean Bean in flashback) intrude into her waking hours like a series of phantoms and caused Joe to become an embittered loner angry at the world. Pessimistic and unrelentingly dreary, writer/director Clio Barnard’s very loose adaptation of Rose Tremain’s novel turns a dilapidated ranch and it’s harsh rocky environs into a psychological battle zone with roiling storm clouds above and a nearby swimming hole that serves as both refuge and emotional trigger. A spare music score and bleak cinematography (even nature seems caught up in the melee) emphasize a pair of fine—if only one-note—performances, but for those expecting some degree of resolution the film’s skewed yet shocking epilogue will offer little compensation. Family trauma always makes for compelling cinema, and in this case Barnard serves up one hell of a downer.
The BFG (UK 2016) (8): Once upon a time there was a Big Friendly Giant (a CGI-enhanced Mark Rylance) who snuck into the world of humans each night to deliver dreams to all the sleeping children. One day a willful orphan named Sophie (Ruby Barnhill, superb), who had stayed up way past her bedtime, happened to spy the BFG on his nightly rounds thus forcing him to steal her away to the Country of the Giants lest she give away the secret of his existence. But all was not well, for a gang of even bigger giants with a taste for human flesh (and nasty names like Fleshlumpeater and Childchewer) were planning their own visit to our world and it was up to BFG and Sophie to stop them… Despite being a Disney production helmed by Steven Spielberg, this live action adaptation of Roald Dahl’s beloved children’s book is both a technical marvel—did they hire actual real giants?—and a little heart-tugger which delivers menace and charm in equal measure without giving you a sugar hangover. Rylance and Barnhill are perfectly cast as the mumbling slang-spouting ogre and his little headstrong sidekick, and the special effects team create a magical storybook world of hazy sunsets, craggy tors, and a workshop full of bottled dreams that flit about like neon fireflies. And of course, being a Roald Dahl book, there is a certain amount of tot-sized horror and potty humour—a farting epidemic at Buckingham Palace had me grabbing my sides. Unabashedly sentimental, but carried off with such panache that you may find yourself wanting to pay it another visit. A bit of cinematic sweetness in these bitter times.
Crimes of the Future (Canada/Greece 2022) (7): Definitely not for the squeamish or perpetually offended, this dystopian shocker proves once again that even at the age of 79 writer/director David Cronenberg still has what it takes to goad audiences into uncomfortable spaces. In the near future a pandemic of “Accelerated Evolution Syndrome” is causing humans to develop new and bizarre organs which may or may not serve a purpose. Thrust into this biological maelstrom are three men with very different views on what it all means: an artist (Viggo Mortensen) who has his nascent organs regularly removed for a series of very messy performance pieces; a renegade genetic tinkerer (Scott Speedman) who sees this as an opportunity to advance the species starting with changing our digestive tract so we can actually consume our own industrial waste; and a cop (Welket Bungué) tasked with apprehending those who would fiddle with our genome lest the very definition of “human” become twisted beyond recognition. Drawing on tropes from his extensive canon Cronenberg’s signature obsession with extreme body modification, the dubious nature of celebrity, and the interaction between individuals and their environment is augmented by the usual glut of eroticized stomach-churning effects—machines ooze organically and an “autopsy module” is pretty much what you’d expect. But behind the gore and entrails loom a host of loaded questions regarding what it means to be human, the need to adapt to a world we ourselves are changing, and the limits of the State in controlling bodily autonomy. Co-stars include Kristen Stewart as a secretary with a scalpel fetish (“Surgery is the new sex!”), Don McKellar as a petty bureaucrat with a secret, and Léa Seydoux as Mortensen’s enthusiastic assistant who discovers the future may not be as rosy as she once thought.
Pygmalion (UK 1938) (8): In order to win a bet, arrogant and somewhat repulsive language professor Henry Higgins (Leslie Howard, who also co-directed) attempts to transform cockney guttersnipe Eliza Dolittle (Wendy Hiller) into a proper lady simply by changing her appearance and diction. But the experiment backfires when the remodelled Dolittle proves to have a mind of her own much to Higgins’ dismay. Based upon George Bernard Shaw’s play which in turn was based upon the Greek myth about a sculptor who falls in love with his statue of the “ideal woman”, co-directors Anthony Asquith and Howard’s witty comedy gleefully pokes holes through England’s rigid caste system. As the headstrong Eliza—now passing for a Hungarian princess (LOL!)—sizes up London’s elite, the power dynamic between her and her pretentious mentor begins to shift with the overbearing and very confirmed bachelor suddenly finding himself on the defensive… Hiller and Howard are dynamite together as both characters undergo something of a sea change—her shrill street urchin morphing into a society darling, his blustering egomaniac eventually brought to his knees. And they’re buoyed by a sterling supporting cast which includes Wilfrid Lawson as Eliza’s scheming father, Jean Cadell as Higgins’ no-nonsense housekeeper, and Scott Sunderland as a soft-hearted fellow linguist who sees in Eliza what others cannot. Nominated for four Academy awards including Best Picture and Best Actor/Actress, the film’s only Oscar ended up going home with Shaw for the screen adaptation of his play.
Medea (Denmark 1988) (7): Unceremoniously dumped by her lover Jason (of Argonaut fame) after having supported him in his quest for the golden fleece and borne him two sons, Medea’s intense anguish causes her to commit a horrifying act of vengeance which will ruin both their lives forever. Using an original script by Carl Dreyer as his blueprint, director Lars von Trier strips away the mythological elements of Euripides’ darkest tragedy (written in 431 B.C.) and gives us an arthouse treatise on grief, fury, and madness made palpable by lead Kirsten Olesen’s superb performance as the shattered woman who feels she has nothing left to lose and cinematographer Sejr Brockman’s surreal camerawork which juxtaposes raging seas with wind-ravaged fields of grain, murky exteriors with dingy fire-lit interiors, and green screen backdrops of storm clouds and sleeping children. A prime example of “cinema of the mind” wherein motives—crystallized with the logic of nightmares—lead to actions which are pitiable as much as appalling. But whether Medea is an unconscionable monster or a tragic victim driven over the edge is a question neither director nor playwright are willing to commit to. Disturbing, unsettling, and deliberately confrontational…in other words, Lars von Trier.
RBG (USA 2018) (7): Much like their subject, Julie Cohen and Betsy West’s documentary about legendary Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg is decidedly low-key and free of bombast. Following her life from the child of immigrant parents to her early days as a soft-spoken maverick whose entry into law school was itself a quiet act of defiance (in the 1950s this was NOT a woman’s place) to becoming one of SCOTUS’s biggest movers and shakers—her earlier landmark victories for equal rights, particularly for women, still resonating today. And, along the way, she became something of a pop icon earning the nickname “Notorious RBG”. Now a frail and diminutive 85-year old grandmother struggling with cancer (she died two years after filming) but still possessing that sharp wit and ready smile, she was a study in contradictions—demure yet tough as nails, the bane of the Right Wing yet nurturing a lifelong friendship with conservative blowhard Antonin Scalia, and a pragmatic workaholic who nevertheless found time to indulge her passion for opera. A fitting tribute to a tiny woman who changed the landscape of American law. Equal Rights pioneer Gloria Steinem is among the talking heads paying homage along with the late Republican senator Orrin Hatch, the late Antonin Scalia, and Ruth’s devoted husband of 56 years, Martin, who had passed away eight years earlier.
The Croods: A New Age (USA 2020) (6): A disappointing sequel to the far superior original in which the stone age Crood family, still searching for a new home after theirs was destroyed in a string of natural disasters, literally stumbles upon a veritable garden of Eden. But this pastel-coloured paradise is already owned and maintained by the more evolved Betterman family (“better…man” get it? Ha!) who take a dim view of the bare-footed interlopers. Despite attempts at social niceties, class warfare eventually erupts between the slovenly Croods and their more civilized hosts with teenaged Eep Crood (voice of Emma Stone) and her boyfriend Guy (voice of Ryan Reynolds) finding themselves on opposite sides of the squabble. The animation is still top notch, placing viewers squarely in the middle of a psychedelic prehistory brimming with flamboyant plants and Day-Glo wildlife (Punch Monkeys and Wolf Spiders!) while the non-stop action and sight gags keep things going at a fair clip. It’s just too bad that Dreamworks chose the obvious route by making the women strong and resourceful Amazons and the men little more than doltish comic relief while the intellectually and technologically superior Bettermans are reduced to privileged, passive-aggressive snobs sporting flip-flops and man buns. Can you guess who ends up saving the day when adversity suddenly strikes? Nicolas Cage, Peter Dinklage, and the late Cloris Leachman also lend their voices.
Good (USA 2020) (6): The acting may waver between poignant realism and awkward improv, and the cliché-riddled script may not offer up any surprises, but when you consider this first feature length film from director Justin Etheredge (who also wrote, produced, and starred in) was actually his film school thesis project it is still a remarkable achievement. Recently unemployed slacker Payton (Etheredge) has a dilemma: he’s about to marry into one of Atlanta’s more affluent families…and he’s about to become a father thanks to an indiscretion with his working class ex. Haunted by childhood memories of growing up without a father and facing an ultimatum from his exasperated fiancee, Payton must choose between doing the right thing or the easy thing. But when he accepts a job caring for a cantankerous old man (Keith David, stealing the spotlight) who happens to be estranged from his own grown daughter, Payton winds up getting a crash course in Responsibility… Featuring an all-black cast (even the late Sidney Poitier makes a cameo of sorts) Etheredge tackles the thorny issue of absentee fathers and the emotional devastation they often leave in their wake and he does so with a natural assurance. Stark city skylines mirror his characters’ inner turmoils while a neighbourhood diner provides a psychological focal point, and a quiet piano score manages to keep things on the right side of melodrama. Not a great film, treading as it does that rather sketchy line between authenticity and soap opera, but one which promises better things to come.
Affair in Trinidad (USA 1952) (7): After several years out of the spotlight former screen siren Rita Hayworth returned to cinema in this rehash of Hitchcock’s 1946 noir classic, Notorious, and the result is watchable but lukewarm at best. When her deadbeat husband is found murdered, an American cabaret singer living in colonial Trinidad becomes entangled in a dangerous web of ruthless foreign agents after the authorities persuade her to aid them in their investigation. All signs seem to suggest that the murderer may be a shady millionaire whom her late husband befriended, a man who has now set his romantic sights on her. And then the dead man’s dashing brother (Glenn Ford) arrives in town and everyone’s hormones start to boil even as the stakes get deadlier… Columbia Studios’ backlots provide a convincing tropical idyll and Hayworth doles out a couple of “exotic” song & dance routines in an awkward attempt to reassert her sex goddess image (“A chick-a-chick boom! Your ticker goes boom-boom-boom for the Trinidad Lady!”). But the plot thickens nicely with just the right amount of shadowy suspense and gunplay while Hayworth and Ford’s tepid onscreen chemistry is compensated by some fine back-up performances—most notably choreographer Valerie Bettis as a drunken saboteur and Juanita Moore, decked out in native frock and headscarf, as Hayworth’s oddly prescient housemaid.
Dead Ringer (USA 1963) (8): As a crime thriller director Paul Henreid’s neurotic tale of murder and deception is a big sloppy mess of plot holes and illogical devices—but as a camp melodrama it is pure gold! Estranged middle-aged twins Edith and Margaret (the incomparable Bette Davis giving us two bitches for the price of one) are reunited at the funeral of Margaret’s husband. But although they look alike their lives couldn’t be any more different: thanks to her late husband’s fortune Margaret is a wealthy society snob while Edith barely makes ends meet managing a rundown cocktail lounge. Eventually driven by financial desperation and a past transgression of Margaret’s for which Edith has never forgiven her, Edith kills her sister and assumes her identity. In the tangled web which follows Edith comes to realize two things—simply looking the part doesn’t mean you can fool everyone, and Margaret wasn’t exactly the innocent victim. Hoo boy! Davis’ gloriously overdone performance pits herself against herself thanks to the use of body doubles and clever split screens while a superb supporting cast manage to keep the ruse going including Karl Malden as a heartbroken police detective, Peter Lawford as a vindictive gigolo, and character actress Estelle Winwood as a bible-toting dowager aunt. Good twisted fun from that first sisterly cat fight right up to that unintentionally hilarious final twist.
The Friends of Eddie Coyle (USA 1973) (7): The title is ironic for aging gunrunner Eddie Coyle (Robert Mitchum) has no friends. Now, facing the prospect of yet another prison sentence he opts for leniency by turning police informant. But if life in the mob is precarious, life as an informant can be downright deadly especially when those you felt you could trust the most have the most to gain from your misfortune. True to the aesthetics of ‘70s crime thrillers, director Peter Yates’ slow boiler, set in and around Boston, sticks to the seedier sights of the city with a funky soundtrack in the background and stock character actors like Alex Rocco and Joe Santos turning off the charm as Coyle’s bank robbing acquaintances. However, despite the film’s pervasive sense of corruption and moral decay—the robbery sequences are carried out with a chilling emotional detachment; Coyle’s police contact is a study in cynicism—there is an undercurrent of sadness to this story of a career criminal trying to evade the sins of his past even as he digs his own hole ever deeper. Mitchum is superb as a weary tough guy who just wants to live out the remainder of his life with his family and he finds counterbalance in Peter Boyle as a “friend” in snake’s clothing.
Lucy (France 2014) (5): When the highly experimental dope she's smuggling in her abdomen begins leaking into her system, an involuntary drug mule (Scarlett Johannsen) finds herself suddenly imbued with amazing powers. Starts out as a winning hybrid of Marvel superhero and Korean gangster genres as an angry Johannson evens the score with the men who recruited her—a high speed chase through Paris has cars and bullets flying every which way. But as his protagonist's powers increase, director Luc Besson overdoses on so much flashy CGI and cerebral mumbo-jumbo (including a silly nod to Michelangelo's "Creation of Adam") that it all unravels in a mess of trippy travelogue cutaways and melting circuit boards with Johansson and co-star Morgan Freeman (playing a neurologist) both giving perfunctory performances. For a film that poses such heavy questions as "what is our ultimate destiny?" and "what does it all mean?" Besson settles for pat Hollywood answers.
Cat People (USA 1982) (5): Paul Schrader’s technicolor remake of the 1942 thriller forgoes finesse for more boobs, blood, and a killer theme song from David Bowie resulting in a stylish yet inconsistent mess of contrived dialogue and wooden performances. Irene Gallier (a dazed Nastassja Kinski) and her estranged brother Paul (a leering Malcolm McDowell) share a family curse—sexual arousal causes them to become vicious man-eating leopards. Now, with Paul consuming a steady diet of hookers and Irene falling for a zookeeper (John Heard) disaster is pretty much inevitable. The shabby New Orleans settings are appropriately goth and the special effects surprisingly creepy, however the psychosexual angle which gave the original film such muted eroticism is here driven home with all the artistry of a backseat quickie. But Schrader did manage to salvage one key scene from the 1942 version—a nightmarish dip in a public pool (this time with tits)—and that final scene certainly gives one pause. It may be little more than cinematic kitty litter, but at least it’s the more expensive brand. Ed Begley Jr. and Ruby Dee co-star, he as an unlucky zoo assistant and she as a patois-spouting Hollywood cliché.
No Time for Love (USA 1943) (4): Wealthy photojournalist Katherine Grant (Claudette Colbert) is asked to document the building of an underground tunnel beneath New York’s Hudson river and winds up getting more than she bargained for when she crosses swords with volatile construction worker Jim Ryan (Fred MacMurray), a hot-tempered Irishman with a chip on his shoulder the size of Manhattan. But when she inadvertently causes Ryan to lose his job guilt drives her to hire the big lug as an assistant thereby losing her heart (and common sense) in the bargain. Apparently leering misogyny and a shitty attitude are all it takes to turn a girl’s head in this terribly dated attempt at an “opposites attract” romantic comedy which tries to generate a sparkle but instead gets mired down in a bunch of he-man vs pampered dame clichés. Colbert’s independent career woman is undermined by MacMurray’s obnoxiously toxic blue collar boor while her high society friends are reduced to impotent dandies and shrill spinsters. In one risible dream sequence MacMurray even dons cape and tights to play superhero to Colbert’s distressed damsel. Meanwhile, closeted director Mitchell Leisen shamelessly indulges his homoerotic fantasies with lots of shirtless construction types wrestling in mud and a ridiculous passage involving a macho pissing contest between MacMurray’s swaggering neanderthal and a glistening beefcake model straight out of one of those “physique magazines” gay uncles used to hide under the mattress. One scene in which Grant tries to avoid yet another fistfight between Ryan and his meathead buddies by having them play a game of musical chairs instead is mildly amusing, however the weak smile it generates quickly evaporates after a ludicrous plot twist reveals that Ryan is so much more than what he seems. Are you kidding me?
Good Boys (USA 2019) (8): Just what the world needs, a gross-out tween comedy which goes down smooth like a delinquent hybrid of Diary of a Wimpy Kid and Superbad. Grade 6 is proving to be a bit of a trial for best friends Max, Lucas, and Thor as they try to fit in with the cool crowd while at the same time deal with impending adolescence (Thor is already bragging about his six pubic hairs). But when they’re invited to an exclusive spin-the-bottle “kissing party” where the girl of Max’s wet dreams will be waiting for him everything goes to hell. Thanks to an innocent prank the boys suddenly find themselves in possession of a small cache of drugs much to the annoyance of two ruthless high school girls intent on getting it back. The resulting madcap pursuit will land them in trouble with a frat house full of angry college guys, cause them to play in traffic, and finally risk the wrath of Max’s father who may very well ground him for life after he finds out what Max did to his beloved drone copter. And to top it all off, they have no clue what kissing even involves. Rude, crude, and completely inappropriate (Seth Rogen was involved in the production so beware) this is one hell of a funny pre-pubescent romp about three misfits who have the vocabulary of a sailor—F-bombs drop like flies—but the naïveté of your standard eleven-year old: “I found these weapons in my parents’ bedroom!” states Thor laying out a collection of dildos, vibrators, and S&M regalia, “These nunchucks smell like shit…” replies Lucas handling a string of anal beads. And Writer/director Gene Stupnitsky found the perfect trio of young actors to handle a script rife with mispronounced and hilariously misunderstood sex and drug references: Jacob Tremblay plays Max like a timid little mouse about to find its roar; Keith L. Williams, as Lucas, gives us a kid with a pathological inability to lie; and Brady Noon shakes the rafters as the hot-headed Thor, a loudmouth who is perhaps the most insecure of all. Stupnitsky’s ability to push the envelope with juvenile glee yet have his characters ultimately emerge wiser and perhaps a bit more mature at the end makes for one highly entertaining farce with a satisfying coda. If the idea of three crass but oddly innocent young boys cursing and posturing their way towards a greater awareness doesn’t sit well with you then give this one a miss, but for those of us who can remember what it felt like to be a pre-teen this is a gold mine of LOL! moments.
The Blue Angel (Germany 1930) (7): One of cinema’s quintessential tragedies, director Josef von Sternberg’s seamy tale of l’amour fou has lost little of it’s impact almost a century after it premiered in Berlin. When the respectable and fastidious college professor Dr. Immanuel Rath (the great Emil Jannings) becomes smitten with libertine cabaret singer “Lola Lola” (a rising Marlene Dietrich) his infatuation quickly transforms into an obsession for the long-legged, gravelly voiced seductress—an obsession she appears to actively stoke. Now, with passion overriding rationality, Rath’s personal life and professional standing begin to crumble especially after the object of his desire finally reveals her true nature… Art Director Otto Hunte’s sets effectively juxtapose reality and expressionism, contrasting Rath’s orderly apartment and classroom with the tawdry backdrops and stage lights of Lola’s world, connecting the two realities with a twisted cobblestone street haunted by alleycats and prostitutes. Jannings is magnificent as the professor who is gradually whittled down from blustering juggernaut to listless clown while Dietrich’s man-eater—all thighs and panties—remains aloof like temptation made flesh. But the film’s undercurrent of eroticism is weighed down by a profound melancholy for here is an otherwise intelligent man with no real friends or attachments (the film even opens with a tiny yet significant loss) who risks it all for an illusion that was never within his reach. A gloomy tale of love and blindness which culminates in one of filmdom’s more bitter fades to black.
Tower (USA 2016) (7): On August 1, 1966, a heavily armed and deeply disturbed young man went to the top of the bell tower on the University of Texas campus at Austin and began shooting. By the time police were finally able to take him down he had killed sixteen people and injured twice that many. Director Keith Maitland’s multi-media docudrama delves into what happened that day employing witness transcripts, low-resolution archival footage, survivor interviews, green screen reenactments, and rotoscope animation. The resulting narrative presents a mosaic of interconnected stories which include the pregnant woman who lay next to her dead boyfriend while pretending to be dead herself, the policemen who braved a direct confrontation with the shooter, and the TV journalist who provided live on-scene updates to his listeners. While some took cover in doorways or behind statues others risked their lives to try and save others—most notably a young woman who rushed to the aid of the pregnant victim only to be pinned down herself. Maitland, along with writer Pamela Colloff and a cast of actors, skillfully navigates what was admittedly a chaotic situation and his panel of actual surviving witnesses—drifting seamlessly between real life and their animated avatars—give testament to the resilience of everyday people despite their lingering emotional scars. “I forgive him…” says one elderly survivor of the man whose rampage forever altered her life, “…how can I not forgive him when I’ve been forgiven so many times.” Unfortunately, a closing diatribe by the late and esteemed newsman Walter Cronkite aimed at American society’s preoccupation with violence (in which NRA lobbying is never mentioned) rings somewhat hollow when one considers the lack of significant progress in regulating gun ownership almost six decades later.
Cowboy Bebop: The Movie (Japan 2001) (7): In the latter part of the 21st century the Martian metropolis of Alba comes under attack from a shadowy terrorist in possession of a mysterious new infectious agent capable of killing anyone who comes in contact with it. What is this deadly weapon…and what are the madman’s motives? With millions of dollars being offered for his arrest, a group of mercenary bounty hunters set out to capture the villain and unwittingly uncover a heinous plot which stretches from Mars all the way to the moons of Saturn. This high-tech thriller gives fans of Japanese anime something to celebrate with its meticulously inked visuals and complex cast of characters including rogue bounty hunter “Spike”, conflicted enemy agent “Elektra”, and manic androgynous computer geek “Ed”. Unleashing improbable gymnastic moves and karate chaos, good guys and bad guys battle it out over a fantastical multilingual city which seems to be slapped together using parts from Manhattan, Berlin, and Paris with a bit of Tokyo and Morocco thrown in. Although the supposed Martian setting never quite gels (I kept having to remind myself this wasn’t New York) and the characters are more fanciful than realistic with their impossibly long limbs and elastic spines, the animators’ art is still evident throughout whether it be a glowing Halloween parade wending its way through a canyon of grubby skyscrapers, a kaleidoscope of ethereal butterflies flitting past a Martian sunset, or a jet-powered dogfight over a desert of craters and pink dunes. Based on the short-lived animated TV series.
Asteroid City (USA 2023) (6): In a quasi-mythical American southwest circa 1950s, the tiny desert outpost of “Asteroid City” is hosting a convention of brilliant teenaged inventors and their oddball parents which include an aloof actress (Scarlett Johansson) and a grieving widower (Jason Schwartzman) accompanied by his trio of precocious little daughters-cum-muses. But things don’t go quite as planned for it seems that everyone in Asteroid City is either hurting or longing in some way and after a very unexpected visitor drops in things proceed to go from surreal to outright ludicrous… Writer/director Wes Anderson is up to his old tricks in this colourful star-studded psychodrama with a satirical edge but his bag of tricks—stylized visuals, eccentric characters, deadpan script—is starting to fray around the edges. Credit to his technical crew however for Asteroid City is rendered like a Road Runner cartoon come to life all crayon colours, period decor, and cardboard mesas stretching to a false horizon. Delineated by a rickety gas station, a diner with attached hotel, and an ancient impact crater from which the the town gets its name, the “city” is bisected by a single highway on which cops chase bad guys promptly every afternoon and mushroom clouds from atomic tests rise unnoticed into the distant sky. Not content to simply remain “quirky” however, Anderson goes full meta with actors breaking character and B&W cutaways featuring an officious host (Bryan Cranston) reminding us that we are merely watching the latest work of celebrated playwright Conrad Earp (Edward Norton), a man currently working through a case of writers’ block. “I still don’t understand the play!” bemoans one actor going from colour to B&W as he walks off stage, “Doesn’t matter. Just keep telling the story!” shoots back the director (Adrien Brody) and thus the show goes on. What, exactly, Anderson is trying to accomplish with this cinematic experiment is anyone’s guess. Could it be a phantasmagorical bit of nostalgia for an era that never actually existed? An existential trek into the mind of the artist? A lampoon of mid-century Americana? A popcorn treatise on the importance of hopes and aspirations? “You can’t wake up if you don’t fall asleep!!” chants a B&W drama coach (Willem Dafoe) as he tries to provide Earp with some much needed inspiration, but given the film’s dreamlike preoccupation with art and representation—brought out in photographs, role-playing, and singing cowboys—you’re left wondering whether this is a plea or a warning. Still, despite a whole lot of eye candy failing to add up to much, I can’t help wondering what Thornton Wilder would have made of it.
