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.

Mamacruz

Grandma’s feelin’ frisky!

Hey, if that makes you uncomfortable, you’re not alone. Cruz herself is ashamed and confused about feeling sexual urges after all these years.

Don’t ask her to ask what Jesus would do; she tried that and it brought her face to face with a life-size, tall young thing. His beard was so thick . . . his torso, so toned . . .

Agh! Cruz’s church-going friends are no help either. Almost as bad as her husband’s snoring. Anyways, we begin to wonder whether abuela is destined to suffer in silence.

And yet, God always gives us a sign, doesn’t God? I mean, the flyer was right outside church!

Soon we see Cruz attending a new kind of service. It’s called sex therapy, and though its devoted are also trying to live better lives, there is no judgment here for confessing fears and desires. Until this point the movie had been delicate, funny, and interesting, but from now on the goodness compounds. Smart moviewriting dissolves witty jokes with touching tales; balances heavy stuff perfectly with light.

Without a doubt Mamacruz would upset a few of Cruz’s old friends. They’d be overreacting, though. Even if ever-so-mildly explicit, it’s a wholesome movie about a person trying her best. Whether by edits or imagery, breathing or focus, it knows just how to build. And release!

Cruz somehow turning a bland moment into a peep show.

All Dirt Roads Taste of Salt

Hands, I think. This one is about hands.

I’m joking mostly, which means I’m serious a little bit. All Dirt Roads Taste of Salt looked like it’d be a folksy and powerful tale about connection in rural Mississippi, but its extreme focus on details (like hands) hurts the experience.

I think it’s supposed to be about Mack’s life, of which we can see only moments. Of which she can live only moments. So for now we watch her learning fishing from dad or party manners from mom. And we care about all this because how Mack learns is pretty interesting.

When trapping fish, for example, she’ll take time to look at the water. She’ll caress it with her fingertips before squeezing the mud at its base and staring into the depths of her catch’s eyes. Stuff like that—sights and sounds that are beautiful and beautifully caught on camera for us.

Got it. Mack is a watcher more than a doer, sensitive and tactile. Problem is, the moviemakers not only fuel the story with these scenes (which can be emotive and thought-provoking), they make the whole movie about them. Any charm or meaning they carry gets bogged down by repetitive and lengthy close-ups. How long do we need to watch a person hugging to feel the feelings? How long do we need a close-up of hands touching other hands to think about what might be happening between them?

The movie’s structure tugs us out of the story, too. Mack is a young girl in one scene, riding bikes with her friends; then in the next, she’s a grown woman, hugging someone. In the one after that she’s young again, we’re looking at hands again. And so on. This jumping around might show us the different interactions that have made Mack who she is, but it doesn’t make for much of a story until the very end of the movie, when things finally begin to get comprehensible.

Heck, maybe that’s the point, that life is nothing but moments, and that these moments can’t truly be described or weaved together in a coherent way. I think we all feel that way sometimes. But do we need an hour and a half of repetition to remind us?

Mack at peace with Momma and Mississippi.

Mami Wata

The screen drowns in it, a squid-ink dark so dark it almost hurts my eyes. It’s making me think danger.

It’s also a good way to spotlight something. And so we can see a woman standing alone where the waves crash—decorated, like them, with flourishes of white. Ah! Light can live in this darkness, can pierce it.

Artsy, right?! So begins Mami Wata. Its masterplays of light, positioning, sound- and costume-design never end, guaranteeing gorgeousness throughout. But the movie isn’t just pretty. It’s also a gripping small-town drama and allegory, filled with twists.

At its center sits Mama Efe. She’s the intermediary, the one who can (supposedly) channel the power of Mami Wata, the spirit of the water. Kid sick? Take ‘em to Efe. Crop good? Sacrifice it by giving it to Efe. Some of the villagers are fine with this, but a few are not. They ask loudly and often: How come Mama Efe lives in luxury while we still have no hospitals, schools, or roads? Why do we allow her to lie to us? Even Efe’s two daughters struggle with believing.

Eventually, tensions break like waves. Again and again the spiritual folk can’t answer questions about the practical. Will Mami Wata let them down after all these years? And are the alternatives any better? If the movie draws us in with its visual/aural beauty, then it keeps us interested with a cycle of tension and surprises. Think spirits, daughters, warlords.

Moviemakers, I am impressed. For a while I even believed.

Mama Efe, concerned.

The Menu

The Menu is big-time saucy. As slick and entertaining as it is . . . discouraged and disappointing.

The idea is that Margot goes to dinner. She’s wondering why Tyler is so excited about it, but the restaurant’s boat takes them to its island where the staff lives. Other diners include food critics and movie stars. Margot, if you don’t want your rez, I’ll take it!

The intro to all that is a bit bland and choppy, but next comes the meal, when things really get tasty.

Course by course, the chef explains what’s happening. This dish is this, but also, it means that. Moviewriting like this pokes fun at fancy restaurants and their diners just as often as it plays with our expectations. This is smart and funny stuff.

And horrific. To give more detail would spoil the fun, but basically, the diners get way more than they paid for. I have changed my mind about that rez.

The casting, acting, and editing (like almost every aspect of this movie) illustrate professional execution of a distinguished variety. Well done!

And yet . . . I am disappointed. It feels like the moviemakers wanted to say nothing matters in the most beautiful, cinematic, opposite way. What’s the point in that?

Ah yes, the meat and scissors course.

Loan Wolves

You are forgiven—unless you took a loan to pay for your education, in which case you are very not forgiven. In which case, you are unforgivable.

Silly, right? But according to Loan Wolves, this is largely how United States law conceives of student-loan debt.

If you’re wondering how that’s possible, so was Blake, our documentary’s director and overall guide. Luckily for us he asked around.

Economists, journalists, civil servants, politicians; even regular folk answer. It all started with the quiet addition of two lines to a 1998 congressional education bill. What followed was 45 million Americans with student debt. Less marriages, less homeownership, less spending in the community. Vivian the OB-GYN having to work at a higher-paying job rather than at the low-income-community health center that was her dream. Scott, with a wife and two children, contemplating suicide. The more we learn the more the student-loan system seems predatory and hopeless.

Mercifully, the movie’s tone is much more upbeat. Blake’s thinking-out-loud narration is curious, not accusatory; his humor, just as practiced as his Washington, D.C. connections. Potshots aside this moviemaker (and investigative journalist, and former political staffer) has a knack for being likeable.

If you’re looking for drama, comedy, adventure, and mystery that’s real, you could do worse than to watch Loan Wolves. (A line that’s all my own, for the record.)

Blake amused—I mean, Blake following it all.

Retrograde

I hadn’t thought about it before. Then I saw, and knew. Souls can scream.

Retrograde, a documentary about the American retreat from a decades-long war in Afghanistan, is proof. Its moviemakers have snuck us into a theatre of war and exposed all its intimacy and apathy.

First we meet the Green Berets, a selection of exceptional American soldiers. They train Afghans on fighting the common enemy. What we see in these faces and hear in these voices, though, is true care. Family.

Then the bad news arrives. We have been ordered to leave you. Afghans and Americans alike remain seated, hardly moving, but their eyes can’t hide the truth deep down in their souls. You are leaving us to pain, punishment, death. Little yellow birds chirp around the room for some reason as a couple Afghans ceremonially play music—to celebrate the closeness that’ll soon vanish. It’s the human condition in one scene: We came, we tried, we know we’re going to die.

For the rest of the movie we sit, stand, crawl, and stress with General Sami Sadat. The native Afghan tells his story. But mostly, he leads. It is a strange thing to watch with him in realtime the latest news that the enemy is regaining territory that it took allied forces years to capture.

It’s all simple, but scary. The moviemakers squeeze us into the cockpit of that bomb helicopter, push us face-to-face with the innocent translator who is begging to escape the impending nightmare—while the twenty-year-old new American recruit must shout back with the weight of decisions made thousands of miles away.

Retrograde does not opine. It simply and beautifully exists in places and allows us, for a few moments, to exist there too. If documentaries were made for anything, they were made for this.

One of many indescribable moments that Retrograde’s moviemakers somehow managed to capture.

Don't Worry Darling

Don’t Worry Darling is extraordinary. Sumptuous; heart-pounding; layered.

In this one we follow Alice, a (young, vivacious) wife who keeps house for her husband. Each morning, smiles are wide and true. Each night, the dinner table’s perfection is outmatched only by the couple’s sexual chemistry. Indeed the entire community seems similar, with zesty, neat families filling picture-perfect houses in the middle of the desert. What gives?

Gossip holds that the men might be making weapons for their employer—and therefore, big money. One resident whispers of something even more sinister, though. Something about “they”. Alice, for some reason, is the only one who listens.

When strange things now happen to Alice—and to Alice alone—the dreamworld we’ve all been experiencing turns nightmarish. How did nobody else see that? Why aren’t they listening to her? Hmm, maybe she’s losing her mind. Or maybe the nefariousness of this place is just that intoxicating to everyone else.

From its very first moments, the movie’s astonishingly detailed production design and joyous music plug us into the dreamlife. Dang, I wanna live here! As the story continues, eery sound-design and darker metaphoric imagery take over. Hm, maybe there’s a reason why everything seems too good to be true. Powerful portrayals—most fantastically, by the actor who plays Alice—have us salivating for resolution.

Don’t worry if the synopsis lacks detail and sounds like nothing special; the mystery here is. Don’t Worry Darling both illustrates and was written with that most human of traits, imagination. It is entertaining and meaningful at the same time.

Have a great day!

Official Competition

Movie people suck. They’re pretentious and vacuous, unabashed and flighty (kinda like this sentence!).

Well, maybe not all of ‘em, but certainly the ones we see in Official Competition. And that’s why this movie is SO MUCH FUN.

In this one, a rich old man funds the production of an artsy movie. He wants awards guaranteed (LOL), so he engages a decorated and eccentric director to help (further LOL). After a well-paced intro establishes all that, the bulk of what we watch is our director and her two lead actors preparing for their new project.

Lola, the free-spirited, genius director that she is, is overbearing. Repeat-that-word-five-times-in-five-different-ways overbearing. Félix gets paid so much he couldn’t care less. Iván, an actor’s actor who thinks the world of himself, puts up with the both of them for the love of his art. Or maybe for the opportunity to win another award.

Their rehearsals are cringe-worthy; each a crapshoot of who will be the most self-serious and antagonistic this time. Not only are their idiosyncracies somehow both silly and creative, the constant uncertainty of who’ll be normal this time adds to the hilarity (helping us identify with otherwise unsympathetic characters).

Smart story-structuring unveils the climax of our movie and their movie at just the right time. Sincere, subtle, and suspenseful when it needs to be, and observant, charming, and funny as all heck, Official Competition is the work of excellent moviemakers. These people don’t take their job too seriously, but they do seriously appreciate its virtues.

Um . . . let’s take a break?

Finding Sandler

What’s the worst mistake you’ve ever made? And what if you could make it right?

In the documentary Finding Sandler, David answers these questions. Apparently he once turned down movie star Adam Sandler’s invitation to chat; so years later—while living his thirties in grandma’s basement and working on local TV instead of on pop movie production—David makes another decision: track down Adam and finally have that drink. It’s an outlandish and impractical idea—realized in a believable and heartwarming fashion.

As (budget but effective) computer animation illustrates that past, David narrates. He said “no” to networking because other people were depending on him to do his job. He explains how he never could forget that moment, and that how now, he has formulated an offer that Adam won’t be able to refuse. Friends and loved ones share their thoughts—all on grainy video captured before cell phones had cameras. Grandma is adorable and supportive; the parents have mixed emotions. It’s all so real, and really, uplifting.

David himself adds entertainment to the already curious story. He’s witty and earnest, whatever height he lacks being made up for with personality and verve. Watching him convince himself, then his loved ones, then random strangers—again and again—is just plain fun. The journey of body and mind takes him and others to places nobody would have seen coming.

Finding Sandler’s production value might not be taught in film school, but its oh-so-painfully-modern hero’s journey might be worthy of that honor. In a world that makes it easy to dwell on past decisions, this movie shows us the value of making a new one.

So, what’s the worst mistake you’ve ever made? Ready to make a movie about it?

Adam chasing his dreams! By following his dreams! To Hollywood!

Sweet Adventure

What’s adventure to you?

Maybe it’s something simple you can do on a whim, like saying hi to a stranger. Or maybe it’s a bit more involved, like jumping out of a helicopter into the ocean off the coast of a country you’ve never been to before which houses a language you don’t understand and a nature so unmarred by humans that you can sit and stare at it for hours, to surf. Either way, I think you’ll like Sweet Adventure.

At its most basic it’s a surf movie. Montages with humans doing dope things on planks in the ocean—these magnetize and invigorate us in equal measure. And all that good stuff, that natural beauty, is captured in crisp detail. Awesome.

The moviemakers elevate the experience, though. They personalize it.

We learn about our cast of characters (three surfers) as their adventure unfolds (traveling from Hawaii to El Salvador to ride waves). Taut but familiar narration from Selema reminds us that world class athletes and adventure-seekers are just like you and me. Watching this, then, becomes a bit like listening to an elderly parent explaining what made each of their children special. So Nora might be a decorated pro skateboarder, but did you know what she thinks about sloths? Let’s see. Do you know what her hometown looks like? Here’s a photo. Had you any concept about how drawing an arrow on a compound bow can make Matt feel? Let’s watch him do it. Right now, we have time for it; it’s all part of it.

Relaxed like a Saturday afternoon and sweet as summer watermelon, Sweet Adventure is full of detours and poignant moments. It’ll help you soak in another sunset, for sure. But it’s also a contemplation of those times in our lives that somehow feel different and memorable. Having watched it, I feel the urge to embark on a new adventure myself.

Yep. Sweet Adventure is definitely your typical surf movie.