Stress Positions

Terry is a bit of a mess, but he now needs to keep it together to care for his 19-year-old nephew Bahlul, who has a broken leg. Surely he can do so for a little while, right?

Well, first step is to get rid of all the sex-party stuff from the house—his ex-husband’s aging townhouse, by the way; the only thing Terry can afford to live in, because Terry hasn’t worked in years. And did I mention that Bahlul’s mom/Terry’s sister is disgusted by Terry’s gayness? Covid is striking, too, and none of this is stopping Terry’s friends from wanting to meet the “little brown-boy” male model that is Bahlul.

Welcome to Stress Positions! It is wit, heart, and cringe that’s hard to summarize, but fun to watch!

We follow Terry as he spins around his house trying to maintain a calm and care for Bahlul. It is comically stressful and charming. Disinfectant sprays will choke people, kitchen messes will break people, and banter will bite people.

Balancing out the high nervous energy is calm, patient narration from Bahlul and Terry’s friend Karla. Everyone is trying to live together, it seems, while also carving out a space all their own.

The moviemakers hint strongly that fiction can be freeing; that you can think of yourself the way you want to. For Terry, this might be the root of his unhappiness, but for Bahlul, it might be the path to a healthier life. Who knows? Let’s get some food delivered, drink too much, and talk about it.

Can’t clink pots; dirty hands.

Stopmotion

Stop motion animation is hard work. You move a puppet a centimeter, take a picture . . . and then repeat the process thousands of times.

If you’re lucky, that’s all you need to do to bring your work to life. But if you’re unlucky?

This is precisely the fun of Stopmotion. While Ella works hard at creating her own stop motion animation (which is of course driving her crazy), things outside the job begin to feel very creepily like the job itself. Almost like her project is taking over her life . . .

This is truly unsettling stuff, and all sorts of moviemaking techniques jerk us around in ways we don’t want to be moved. Hinges will squeak on your joints; putrid lighting and waxy meat will have you questioning your perception.

Are several scenes too long, making the movie feel dragged out? Yes. And is there a moral to the story? I can’t tell. But, this is a movie that shows how creation can sometimes bring agony; its sights and sounds are truly immersive, showing us thoughtful, professional moviemaking minds at work.

Whose movie is this?

As We Speak

This one flick at Sundance

(I killed to get in),

As We Speak it was called,

about rap as a sin.

About rap as a tool

to impeach and imprison;

and not as reflection,

creation, or vision.

It showed us the law,

prosecutors precise,

who twist up a lyric

just thinkin’ they nice.

That man who was shot?

At that store down the block?

Well Kemba once said:

All my competition’s dead…

So isn’t it clear?

He looks like he did it…

But that’s not PC so

let’s look at his lyrics.

Follow pattern, you see,

which is way way way old,

contra human responses

like blues jazz and soul.

So with Kemba we travel

to the poetry cradles:

libraries, floors,

of course diner tables;

to those jesters performing,

to those jokers locked up,

asking what happened?

and who gave a fuck?

And we see it’s just people,

calmness and eyes.

Jokes, explanations,

just done to survive.

So long story short,

this doc is a fluid:

factfiction blurring like

ain’t nothin’ to it.

One moment we’re student,

one moment on trial.

One moment we crumble,

another we smile.

So rap is on trial.

As we speak

yes right now.

Speech is on trial.

As We Speak

shows us how.

In a Violent Nature

Nature seems to go like this: You eat until you’re eaten. In a Violent Nature seems to have been written with this in mind.

It follows Thing, who has been awakened, and who will not eat or sleep until it kills those who’ve disturbed it. Like those people staying in that cabin . . .

And so we trail a few steps behind Thing as it walks ever so patiently, step by step through the crunchy leaves, to do what it does. Its prey are so close—we can hear them talking, just out of our sightline. Moviemaking techniques like these make this a hair-raising, heart-pounding watch.

And yet, walking with Thing for minutes on end (even if weirdly therapeutic forest-bathing), we begin to consider: Why? And why do we care?

We learn very little about Thing; even less about its prey. So what if nature is violent, do we need a reminder of that? Another horror movie full of slaughter, just because somebody’s feelings were hurt?

If you like to see gore, this movie has it, and I suppose is creative in that way. But otherwise?

Guess who?

Wonka

Please share Wonka with someone you love. Not only does it capture the excitement that chocolate can bring, it reminds us of the deeper truth behind the feeling: It is a gift to share moments with your special people.

The story is that Willy Wonka finally has a chance to sell chocolate in the big city! He’s poor, young, and illiterate, but the lad has a heart of gold—and well, the most incredible chocolates the world has ever seen! Made with fantastical ingredients, these chocs can somehow create a feeling that the eater needs, right then.

Of course, small print and big business want to take advantage. They make it difficult for Wonka (and his new friends) to live their dreams.

What to do? Give up, or use creativity and hard work and friends to make the day brighter? Become greedy, or sing songs to express your emotions, because you’re too important not to be yourself?

Folks, take notes and enjoy. Wonka is the best of cinema: both entertaining and meaningful.

Holding Back the Tide

Holding Back the Tide is a fascinating but slippery documentary.

It wants to teach us some things about oysters—and just maybe, ourselves. As with eating the things, I think opinions will differ.

By interviews and interludes we learn. Did you know that a New York-oyster made oysters famous? That they’ll float until they find community, or that they’re gender-fluid? Interesting!

And yet, the movie’s free-form nature makes it hard for us to grab onto anything for long. We learn a thing, then we move on to a recital, or some performance art, then we move on again. And so on. Any idea we’d like to stick with we find floating away all too soon.

If you’re here to feel, welcome! But if you’re here to learn more about oysters or the trans community, you might feel at the end, like I did, that we could’ve learned a heck of a lot more.

A pearl; a thing transformed; an object of beauty and desire.

Leo

Leo follows the fifth-grade pet lizard as he observes this year’s group of kids. Though it starts at surface-level, at some point it blasts through itself with such pure heart, again and again, that it becomes a real tear-jerker. Both sweet and meaningful.

Unexpected! Because everyone expects an ordinary year this year. Same teacher; bully; clown. Then a substitute arrives and forces each student to take home gross old Leo for the weekend. Until this point the movie is just an onslaught of gags (which sometimes are hilarious and sharp, like the piranha-esque kindergarteners causing mayhem, and which are other times eye-rollingly cheap); but soon, it’ll transform.

Another year; another batch.

As Leo learns at the students’ homes, these kids have problems. Instead of helicopter parents, a drone. Instead of hugs, a deceased loved-one. And so on. So Leo, who has seen it all before, decides in his old age to do something meaningful with his up-until-now-oh-so-meaningless life. And to do it he breaks the biggest rule there is.

What follows is a series of funny and deeply tender interactions, about as realistic as you could expect it to be when a benevolent lizard speaks human. With some coaxing the kids sing about their problems, and Leo, all wobbly and phlegmy, sings back.

Teaching. An art and a science.

Sure, the pacing can be jerky and uneven. And sure, we could do with quite a few less jokes. But the way the moviemakers capture real concerns—and real solutions to them—is as patient and beautiful as kind old Leo is.

Tótem (Totem)

Totem is a masterpiece, and a masterpiece of simplicity. It’ll transport you to childhood and all its feelings.

In it we follow Sol, a calm little girl who needs to keep herself busy. As her family bustles around the house preparing for Sol’s father’s birthday celebration, each member is in their own universe.

Will we see him soon? Maybe; but for now, like always, he needs to stay in the back room to rest. Dad just needs to rest, OK?

As Sol follows her boredom and curiosity around the property; as she’s shuffled from room to room by a different nervous wreck this time; as the camera shows her daydreaming face and stays low with her eye-line, we can’t help but feel her feelings. The picture, writing, and acting—from the entire ensemble, truly—are so naturalistic that never once did I think of this as fictional tale. I still don’t.

Sol, sola.

Together, we’ll stress about cake; give up on vacuuming; and gossip instead of preparing. We’ll live, we’ll cry happy and sad, and we’ll feel some deep truths of life.

Totem is beautiful, and a totem in itself.

No words.

The Survival of Kindness

I too want kindness to survive, but The Survival of Kindness is frustrating.

It follows BlackWoman (you read that right) as she tries to survive in a terrifyingly inhospitable world. It’s barren; there’s a sickness going around; and people in masks violently isolate or eliminate the non-masked. Maybe because of the sickness, but maybe because of their skin-color.

This scene made me thirsty.

It’s bleak stuff. And yet for the majority of the movie, BlackWoman is nice. She’s journeying through this scary place, to find what, it’s not clear, but maybe someone else who’s nice? The actor’s performance is contained and raw, creating a Christ-like presence for us to consider. With just the clothes on her back she finds a way to be generous with others.

The production quality is also impressive. Soft dissolves and artistic direction highlight how simple the world can be: beautiful here, harsh there. But most of all the movie frustrates.

On this journey we never learn about BlackWoman or this world or how things came to be this way. The dialogue-less writing is somehow both on-the-nose and cryptic, and its moral is arguably that being kind is antithetical to surviving. Or maybe not? It’s hard to enjoy a movie that either stands for that idea or is this confusing.

Searching for meaning in this movie.

Once Within a Time

Once Within a Time is a hazy, twisted fairy tale—that’s somehow instantly recognizable.

Its moviemakers are scared about how now, within our time, technology hijacks our every thought and action. So as a sort of prayer and last laugh, they’ve created an hour-long play for us to consider.

The images are nightmarish and lush, but we get the picture. Our story began with mother nature’s song; then a face appeared, one that smiled and engaged us and offered us something shiny. And of course, we took the bait.

Now we spend our time watching grotesquely-shaped characters dance. Adults (in age only) wither away in digital cages, too scared to interact with the tangible world that gave them life.

And so, this movie is a trip. It’s an uncomfortable and sobering and striking incarnation of what we’re all feeling these days: Something is wrong.

Killers of the Flower Moon

Killers of the Flower Moon is the kind of movie that you can’t help but watch, even as it breaks your heart. It is a towering and overwhelming creation.

The short story is that a simpleton named Ernest moves to Osage County. This place is flat, harsh land on which only the Osage people had lived, but now that oil has been discovered, everyone and their mothers are coming to see if they can strike it rich, too.

The long story is that, with the Osage now rich, non-natives have become bitter and resentful. As we follow Ernest on his odd jobs and drunken adventures, splitting time between his influential uncle Bill and his darling Molly (an Osage), we learn a heck of a lot.

World 1. Ernest and Molly; land and love.

Then Osage begin to die. High in number but low in age. It’s suspicious, it’s terrifying—and it’s probably about money. Might Bill know something about it? Or might Ernest, straddling two worlds?

Mixed montages; rolling music; exquisite production and set design all create these worlds for us. And superb acting throws us into the thick of them.

Filled with love and loss, Killers of the Flower Moon offers drama and intrigue, yes. But also, an ode to an entire people.

World 2. Ernest and Bill. Another lesson.

L’Été dernier (Last Summer)

Last Summer some shit went down. It was indecent and frustrating and I’d rather not talk about it.

So here goes: Anne is a seemingly level-headed person who does something terrible. Though she oh so calmly succeeds at maintaining a house, two children, and a job defending young women from sexual predators, she changes tack after her underage stepson moves in. Apparently, the kid has things that her corporate-bellied husband simply cannot provide . . .

Yes, it’s gross. And yes, you can guess the plot of this movie.

Though the direction is thoughtful and the performances leave nothing to be desired, real-life talent is wasted on this story. It is an unexplained, uncomfortable, and gratuitous affair.

No One Will Save You

No One Will Save You . . . from how unbelievable this movie is?

For most of its runtime, it’s an impressive and gripping watch—a sci-fi horror with writing that’ll keep you guessing and acting that’ll have you sweating! But at some point, it’ll confuse you; and by doing so, it just may lose you.

The movie follows Brynn, who lives alone, and is clearly lonely. Though her home and town seem quaint, they seem to be missing needed connections.

Seems cozy, though!

Soon enough we learn why, and soon after that, the spooks begin: Thing(s) seem to be visiting Brynn’s house at night. My oh my are these moments scary, and zero dialogue adds to the natural tension, making you almost wanna scream.

All this makes for a fun and striking watch, for sure! But don’t be disappointed when you can’t find a deeper message: What the movie gains from technique, it loses from screenwriting that tries to do too much. To say that there’s a resolution here, other than the credits rolling, would be an overstatement.

Oppenheimer

Oppenheimer can be too much.

It is, of course, wildly interesting and exciting. It follows (i) a brilliant theoretical physicist (ii) as he’s recruited by his nation (iii) during wartime (iv) to lead a team of geniuses (v) who must ideate and construct the first ever atomic bomb—(vi) before the enemy does. If you aren’t intrigued by this set of facts, I don’t trust your judgment.

First-half scenes move with gusto, launching all this in our direction at the same time as they establish what sort of person this J. Robert Oppenheimer can be; perhaps just as likely to daydream about the quantum or learn another ancient language as he is, say, to sleep with your partner . . . And so, there’s a fair amount of instability in this (based on a true) story. Oh, and politics.

Looking? Seeing? Feeling?

For three straight hours the movie builds, exhaustingly, to two separate climaxes. Tension always as all actors involved nail their parts. Some scenes—heck, even some storylines—seem gratuitous, and the average scene-time feels maddeningly short. But in the end, it is an impressive and meaningful movie.

Forget the science the fidelity the bureaucracy; this one is about choice. When you have the brain you have; when you find yourself where you find yourself; what’ll you choose to do and who’ll you choose to surround yourself with?

And once you’ve made your decisions, will you choose differently next time? Will others even allow you to?

The whirring of life, or the dust of death?

And the King Said, What a Fantastic Machine

Wow, Fantastic Machine is PURE DANG FUN! Think of it as a clip show—of the most wonderful and goofy and disquieting moments that humans have ever recorded with a camera.

I mean, do you know how many thousands of generations couldn’t re-live their baby’s first steps? Couldn’t see the Earth for the pale blue dot it is? We have context and comfort now, thanks to this fantastic machine.

Does a horse at gallop always have one leg on the ground? Only with the camera could we settle the (rich man’s) bet.

And just as beautifully, it’s helped us laugh. If you don’t believe me, here, take this teaspoon of cinnamon powder. Look at how silly this woman is, hanging off the world’s tallest building with one arm to take the perfect pic. And when you’re done we can watch bloopers from a terrorist recruitment video—you know, the one that models its explosions on Hollywood movie trailers(?!).

Of course, we’ve done terrible, awful things with the camera, too, and the moviemakers force us to reckon with that fact. Like when that movienerd talks, completely enthralled, about her art—and not about how she was the pawn of a murderous dictator. Like when we see a deceased young girl swarmed by paparazzi. Yes, the camera can commodify even death.

What becomes clear is that as much as we’ve evolved this fantastic machine, it has evolved us. In reminding us of this, and in having us think about whether it’s OK, Fantastic Machine is a treasure.

The Arc of Oblivion

The Arc of Oblivion wonders if humans are dumb. (After all, we do try to preserve things in a universe in which seemingly everything decays.) It is a playful documentary, full of connections.

For example: The director/narrator decides to build a big ol’ boat on mom and dad’s land-locked property, because, why not?

Yep. And with each step things become more curious. See this cement? Well, apparently you can’t make it without limestone, which apparently you can’t make without a million seashells being pressure-crushed at the bottom of the ocean. And by the way the phrase “in the limelight” is somehow related to this. And did you know that tree rings are like a permanent record? Like bat poop?

Look at my Ark, me Mommy, and despair!

The narrated adventures we embark upon start at our director’s curiosity (or concern?), and are many. But the movie’s best parts are when the people we meet along the way share their thoughts. Tree-ring scientists and poets, carpenters and neuroscientists; all are invited to see the ark and chit chat. And if that sounds boring, don’t worry, we go to the Alps and the Sahara and the Antarctic, too.

Sure the topic is morbid, but the movie watches light. It’s like a visual diary from that smart kid from the fourth grade trying to think through a timeless and complex problem that the teacher knows they won’t be able to answer—but that’ll be fun, interesting, and perhaps just the tiniest bit insightful to follow along with anyway.

No commentary necessary here; completely straightforward.

BlackBerry

Oh, BlackBerry.

I wanted to like you! You’re an underdog story inspired by true events, in which nerds get rich and change the world! Oh, how I wanted to like you.

You were too much like your subject, though. You became pompous and focused on the wrong things.

To be fair, things weren’t all bad; kudos to the good stuff. While two nerds wonder if they’re on to something with this idea they’re calling a “smartphone”, we the audience know they are. The movie’s early scenes are therefore fun for us. Energetic, even. Pretty cool to be in the room where this world-changing idea was born.

And even better, fun becomes funny! When our nerds can’t get their idea off the ground, it seems that only a narcissistic, offensive megalomaniac can help them. This guy—his screaming at unsuspecting people—is equal parts magnetizing and comical. The actor’s portrayal of him? Impressively, scarily good.

So that’s the story. A revolutionary idea grows around these three, from diner booth to corporate powerhouse, with intrigue and legal trouble along the way.

Just a few nerds, in motion.

Lovely. But as the real BlackBerry company can attest, good parts do not guarantee a great product.

Take the camerawork. It’s a shaky, zippy, disorienting mess trying to convince us that we’re watching a documentary—which makes no sense, because in the beginning, the movie tells us that we aren’t. And despite the suit, nerd #1, and a couple of other folks delivering convincing performances, nerd #2 is so childlike and oblivious that he feels more like a movie character than a human being.

The most difficult part to overlook, though, seems to be why the movie was made in the first place.

Yea yea, it’s fun to see corporate intrigue and visionary nerds being socially incompetent, but why does this failed-company movie dumb down the failures? If these three people are important enough to center a movie around, then why aren’t we learning more about where they came from, or what motivated them as the years passed? Is corporate all the audience cares about?

In telling us a story of a company, BlackBerry fails to tell us a story about the people who built it. It is a hollow product that doesn’t live up to its potential.

A moment of contemplation. Or rage. It’s hard to tell with this guy.

Angel Applicant

Hi. I’m glad you’re here, because you deserve to watch Angel Applicant.

It’s nothing less than a non-religious religious experience. Like crying into your grandma’s arms and feeling better. Heck, like confronting all of life with gentleness and curiosity and hope.

But I’m waxing philosophic about it way more than Ken would—and this is Ken’s movie. He’s our subject, narrator, and director, and he’s the one living with a disease that tightens his skin like plastic wrap. Maybe his organs, too. Might be why his speech is so soft.

If this sounds morbid, it’s not. Sure, he’ll tell us what it’s like to be mistaken for a mannequin or be unrecognizable to his niece, but he’ll also tell us about how he came across—serendipitously—an artist from 100 years ago whose work seems to capture the very essence of what Ken has been feeling with his disease, even as his feelings change. The coincidence is almost unbelievable.

Ken went to art school before his corporate job and before getting sick, so he has an eye for things. The way he presents this newfound art to us, the way he looks at it with us and asks questions with us, is every bit as gorgeous as the world-class art itself. The movie is perhaps the most patient, deliberate, meaningful montage you’ll ever see, created by two minds and bodies years and cultures apart.

Angel Applicant is poetry and philosophy, tenderness and wonder.

Ken August Meyer, observing art by Paul Klee. Or, Paul Klee, speaking to the future.