Carousel

Life! So much hard work, over and over again. And where does it get us?

Carousel feels this. In the way it pieces together moments from the lives of two homegrown locals, it brilliantly illuminates where that feeling can come from—and what we can do about it.

From the very beginning we can feel the movie’s gentle charm. The camera sits still, reminding us that in this anytown—where exhaustion and fear and work and debt and heartbreak live—there are other things, too. Potted plants and bees and love can flourish, a gorgeous music that, if you haven’t noticed, we gloss over when dazed by stress.

So what happens? Noah, who is juggling his failing medical practice, the aftermath of a divorce, and raising his smart but sad teenage daughter, goes through the motions. But he stops for just a moment when encountering Rebecca, a gifted politico who is tired of work in D.C. yet tired of coming home too. We wonder why. Then the movie does its thing.

This may sound boring or like it’s been done before, but not even for one second does this movie feel tired. Masterful, glorious writing/directing has even leftovers-for-dinner-again and people’s location in a room surprise our brains. Sure, we’re zoomed in on a hand and not a face, or we’re thinking about napkins once more, but actually, personalities and emotional states are being framed for us. Amazing.

Aside from this writer/director being a revelation, the production design, location scouting, editing, and other technicals are quiet perfection, allowing the outstanding performances from our three leads to throb through the screen into our chests.

Folks, what the moviemakers did here was jolt the carousel for a moment, showing us the beauty that truly exists on it, even as it spins in the same place, over and over and over again.

Death of a Unicorn

Death of a Unicorn has a premise made to catch our attention. Too bad the movie can’t hold it.

The idea is that a father and daughter accidentally kill a unicorn. They do this on the way to a secluded estate, at which the father will have a sort of job interview with a wealthy family that owns a pharmaceutical company.

If you can believe it, that’s about as believable as the movie gets. The characters are one-dimensional (evil tycoon and spoiled son; emo daughter of over-worked father, etc.). Any time there is about to be a moment of genuine communication, something interrupts; this happens far too much to be realistic. And with landscape visuals that are computer-generated in a bad way, we’re taken out of this story a lot.

The comedic acting does range from good to great, though; kudos to the spoiled son, the calmly conniving mother, the bald butler. And the direction can be smart and subtle (for example, when the camera focuses on the mother walking over a printout of the daughter’s, it’s letting us know how the mom thinks, even if it seems like she was approaching sweetly). But we’re also given too many quick cuts of nothing actions to transition between scenes. It feels like the director knows the writing isn’t great, and is trying desperately to keep our attention.

To reveal any other plot points will spoil the movie, but if you use your imagination, you can make a pretty good guess about where this story will go.

DJ Ahmet

DJ Ahmet is the one where a sheep walks into a dance party. What a brilliant, brilliant movie.

It follows Ahmet, a good-natured teen who’s just trying to bring some joy to his currently dull life. This can be hard in his North Macedonian village—a tuft of sheep fuzz laid on one of countless hills, hills so vast that they serve as constant reminders: without each other, we cannot survive.

It’s actually a joyous movie, though there’s plenty that dampens the mood. Ahmet’s mother has passed, leaving a vacuum that his father’s coldness and his younger brother’s traumatized silence cannot fill. Each day Ahmet faces reality, milking the sheep and missing school to support the family.

And yet . . . he finds moments to listen to some bangers—true dance music gold. He’s sure to nurture his younger brother and interact, somehow, with that one girl who also seems to value this music/dance stuff.

At the risk of drowning in superlatives here, every aspect of the moviemaking seems perfect. The writing wisely balances lingering emotion with pops of pure joy or silliness. Editing smoother than silk never gets in the way of the story and the expertly-chosen cast acting expertly. The direction is oh-so subtle and smart, letting the whipping wind do all the talking one time, tantalizing us with the random lighting from fireworks another. And the sound, the music? Driving; wonderful; fun!

DJ Ahmet is the way. Have heart, spend time with your people, and make time to let it all go with some music once in a while.

Big hills big sky small people.

My Old Ass

What would you say to your younger self, if you could? Anything at all?

My Old Ass knows that we’ve all asked ourselves these kinds of questions before, and it builds a whole story around the idea. How funny, sad, deep, and wonderful it is.

We’ll follow young-adult Elliott as she prepares to move from home to the big city—and then just before, somehow, comes into contact with an older version of herself.

It’s, like, so weird! And honestly, pathetic! How her old ass still hasn’t settled down. I mean, she’s had so many years . . . Why is she being so cagey?

Part of what makes this watch so fun and charming is that these are different people with different senses of humor and life experiences—but also, not. The extraordinarily realistic performance by young-Elliott pulls at our heartstrings just as much as old-Elliott’s more muted, knowing facial expressions do.

Other technical aspects like the editing, direction, and location-managing are fantastic, too, but kudos go above all to the idea; to the writing. In the veins of time passing, people changing, and family aging, this movie finds gold.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

Elvis

Elvis is a jerky, jam-packed marathon of a movie. You just might like it.

If nothing else, you’ll learn a thing or two about the poor white boy from the poor Black neighborhood who grew up to be world-famous. Elvis Presley, singer, actor, and cultural phenomenon, remains to this day the best-selling solo musical artist of all time.

I do not exaggerate, though this movie does. Often. It warps our field of vision, camera zipping around like a mosquito that drank too much soda. The narration (like its narrator) is campy and carnivalesque.

All of that makes the movie feel especially Hollywood. Aside from reintroducing Elvis’s hits with wonderful, booming sound, it remixes songs and adds contemporary ones, seemingly trying to explain to us what the “cool” energy of the past was by melding it with some “cool” energy of today. I think it misses its mark, and got the feeling it was stereotyping the very cultures and communities it was trying to pay homage to.

And yet . . . and yet, this movie is filled with goodness. It shows off the talented titans and everypersons of Black culture who so heavily influenced Elvis’s music. It shows us a man who was both softie and outgoing, devoted to his Momma and to creating happiness in this world. As for the acting, Elvis is portrayed masterfully; the performances of Elvis’s family are good at worst.

We follow Elvis from childhood inspiration through untimely death, one formative moment at a time—of which there were apparently many. Although early scenes can feel both too long and too short, the final 40 or so minutes are simply riveting. These by themselves make the movie worth a watch. Ladies and gentlemen, Elvis has re-entered the building.

Something old, something new; something borrowed, something pink.

The Electrical Life of Louis Wain

Louis was an odd cat, and this movie revels in it. What a unique and charming experience!

Our proper Victorian narrator hints at what it’ll be early on. While speaking the hard facts of Louis’s life, she makes sure to pepper in phrases like “positively geriatric” and “vomited immediately”. Think silly sprinkled over serious.

Most every other technical aspect of the movie builds this whimsical vibe, wobbling between the seemingly contradictory. When Louis navigates the world through oddjobs, for example, we are made to feel energy and not just concern. When he stares into the eyes of someone a beat longer than is polite, we sympathize just as much as we are discomfited. Even a detail as small as the flicker of a candle is put to use.

OK, so Louis and this movie are goofy, we get it. What else? Well, his curiosity is insatiable and directionless. And one day it lands on something new: Emily.

As governess to Louis’s many sisters, Emily knows and can teach the basics of human interaction. Even more intriguing is that Emily is more open-minded than others in Louis’s social class. (The first time we meet her she is sitting in a closed closet . . . )

As the two begin to see virtue in each other, Louis’s sketches for the local newspaper reach new levels of beautiful. What’s this feeling? This electricity? It seems to move him and her and so many people out there . . .

Whatever it is, it’s what makes the story so romantic. And heartbreaking.

The more I think about this movie, the more I’m a fan. Its casting and performances are super; its colors, inspired; its music, somehow capturing the simultaneously insane and inviting nature of our existence. Everything about this one is a celebration.

Aftershock

Being Black and pregnant in the United States? Like being a Black man pulled over at a traffic stop. Scary.

An expecting mother tells us so. The story here is many, but at its simplest, Aftershock is about Black American women dying around childbirth; how; why; and what their loved ones and community are doing about it. It is without a doubt a distressing topic.

But just as a good parent does when speaking with their child about the facts of life, this movie delivers its message to us with empathy and stoicism. Its subjects—our stars in a cold, seemingly unforgiving space—shine bright. Their reactions to tumult are creating positive energy; power for the powerless. Stars indeed.

The statistics are appalling and scary: Black American mothers die around childbirth at an alarmingly high rate, at a disproportionately high rate compared to other women in the United States, and in a country which itself already has disproportionately high rates of maternal mortality around childbirth compared to other rich nations.

That’s a lot to take in. First, we spend time with Shamony. With Amber Rose. These two young women were ready to raise the future, and home video captures some intimate moments of their family and promise. What a joy life can be!

And then we lose them.

Why? Experts at medical schools, hospitals, and non-hospital birthing centers weigh in. A bit of old-fashioned interpersonal racism here, a bit of a healthcare complex that incentivizes faulty algorithms, quick turnaround, and drug-induced surgeries there. A big business which (rather like a fast food chain) advertises happiness while providing product that’s cheap, quick, and unhealthy.

So is it all sadness? No. We follow Omari and Kevin, who Shamony and Amber Rose left behind. They create art and spread the word, respectively. They help other people process and grieve and learn and be held accountable. Shamony’s mother, Shawnee—herself a healthcare professional—speaks in a manner so composed and powerful and insightful. Helena Grant, CNM and Dr. Neel Shah teach us about empathy and history and paths forward. Seeing these people is inspiring and makes me proud.

How lovely, to see people create power out of pain. And yet, the better thing would’ve been that this pain never happened. Death is natural, but negligence is preventable. To make sure none of this happens again, then, we need to first listen. And so Aftershock is for us a gift.

Hustlers

Hustlers is about strippers, but not stripping. About beautiful women: beautiful because of their human trials, not their genes. It is funny, serious, and tender all at once.

And it begins with energy. In the first, unbroken scene, Destiny walks out onto the floor of the strip club. With every step the anticipation builds. Music pulses; bodies twist; glitter shimmers. Could this be the way to support grandma?! Then quick edits show us what a shift truly looks like. Glamorous maybe, but work, definitely. And Destiny is not as popular as the other girls.

Then the answer walks into our lives. Gorgeous and experienced, intelligent and independent, she is what Destiny wants to be. So Destiny reaches out for tips (so to speak). 

As Ramona teaches the newbie about how to carry oneself—and gauge the clientele—the two become fast friends. They see themselves in each other, each wanting to be a provider. Destiny especially finds in Ramona the mother she has always wanted. Friendship and commerce? Talk about beauty! 

Then the money dries up. It is 2008, and Wall Street’s excesses have destroyed these Main Street jobs. The movie was delightfully engaging until this point, but now is when the show really gets good. 

When the only way our leads are able to make money is taken away from them, they brainstorm a bailout of their own: Hustle the grand hustlers. The plan is bold and intriguing; creative and creepy. But is it tenable?

Destiny’s part is performed with both range and depth. Big time acting. Her growing closeness with Ramona and their co-workers is touching, even as their plan spirals out of control. Subtle social commentary adds oomph to the show, as do other fantastic moviemaking decisions (like precise use of music and sound effects to emphasize a feeling).

Not only is Hustlers surprising, it is surprisingly good.

Spider-Man: No Way Home

It’s way deep down, I think. The one, irreducible reason why we watch movies. We want to feel again how we felt that very first time, when something on a screen had us thinking, just, WOW.

Sometimes I think chasing that sensation is useless. And then a movie like Spider-Man: No Way Home comes along and I have hope again. Just, WOW.

I’ll get to the story in ten seconds, but at the risk of overstating things, it’s hard to understate how well written, produced, and acted this movie was. The action/adventure/thrills are entertaining, yes; but more importantly, they are held together by the strands of a believable coming-of-age story. In this one, empathy and love don’t always make things easier. Characters—both good and bad—have nuanced internal struggles. This is a superhero movie, matured.

Peter Parker therefore struggles for much of it. This good-natured, rather jacked teen is trying to figure out how to best live in a world that villainizes his superhero alter ego, Spider-Man. His loved ones (Aunt May, girlfriend MJ, friend Ned) usually keep him grounded, but he’s tired of the dramas of his life hurting theirs. So he asks an older, wiser fellow superhero, Dr. Strange, for help. Oh child, how the problems do follow.

If you ever have the chance, I would recommend not pulling on a loose string in the fabric of space and time. To share any other plot points with you would be to spoil (several, wonderful) WOW moments, but it’s sufficient to say that this movie is as fun and funny as it is surprising and deep. Truly a blockbuster.

Sure, you’ll enjoy the story far more if you’re a fan of comic books, previous Marvel or Spider-Man movies. But I wouldn’t consider myself much of either, and boy—no, man—have I been trapped in this web. I am so happy about it.

Ema

Ema adopted Polo. And when she didn’t like the fit, she gave him right back.

So begins one of the stranger stories I’ve encountered in some time.

Gastón fights with Ema about it. Though hubby directs her dance troupe, he takes no responsibility for what just happened. The snipes are as weak as they are disingenuous—hinting at what sorts of people would abandon a young soul, and why.

Our lead herself may have been adopted, maintaining to this day a disturbingly intimate relationship with her family. She considers freedom to be life’s ideal; dance and sex, interchangeable expressions of it. Gastón is also out-there, but interested in countering what he perceives to be pop culture’s dumbing down of society. The average person in Valparaíso, Chile—let alone Polo’s social worker—has trouble dealing with such idealists. She is dismissed as seedy and naive; he, spacey and gay.

So what’s this couple, a veritable middle finger to their community, to do next? Sleep around; create, for sure. But the crux of this movie is Ema’s devious, intricate plan to get Polo back. The story, if nothing else, is original.

It’s also worth a watch if you care about thoughtful and beautiful construction of movie scenes. As Ema ensnares more and more people in her plan, the screen pulsates with life. Every image (like a golden sunset, or a pupil shining bright against the grey odds of big city life) is vivid and meaningful. And then there’s the music. Strings discover an unexplainable emotion just before sliding into another one; reggaetón bass thumps our already overbeating hearts.

But pretty in pieces is not enough. The dialogue is too often unnaturally expository, taking us right out of the story. A strange choice for a movie that otherwise moves at a snail’s pace, introducing heavy ideas slowly and deliberately. And though having us think through things like sex, alienation, dependency, and incest is laudable, the story leaves so much open to interpretation that I fail to find a moral in it.

Perhaps that was intentional. Ema is undoubtedly a movie to confuse over and marvel at. But enjoy it or learn from it, I did not.

Users

I was at a loss even as the credits ended. Users was a movie so beautiful and sad; its parts so basic but its whole so unique. Only some time later did I realize: This movie made me grateful that movies exist. It was a learning experience unlike any I have had.

Looking at the story one way, it’s nothing special. Not a story at all, in fact. Just a narrator thinking out loud about the world technology is creating for her child. Thoughts we’ve all had before.

But Momma’s musings—her questions and concerns—are not about what the next generation of cell phone might look like. She is thinking about the very core of human interaction with this container we call Earth. And she is speaking to us.

See these cold, uninviting spaces? This is life now. These iced shoeboxes are the new womb. In this factory we grow plants without soil or sunlight. All our memories and communications? Instantly accessible, everywhere, but kept on quarter-inch-thick cable surrounded by millions of gallons of murky green water at the bottom of the ocean. Good luck restarting.

In pondering what life might look like, our narrator (the director) takes the time to show us what life does look like. And in doing so she spotlights how technology has already changed the course of humanity. For example, thinking about a baby being raised by a computer without its mother’s touch is scary, but so too is a scene where hundreds of TV screens glow in the faces of airline passengers. The perspective out the window—the perspective from the miracle of flight—has become so commonplace that we ignore it. Comparisons like these are powerful and plenty.

The scenes are simple, usually static, rarely showing more than one thing to focus on at a time, and yet the movie is an overwhelming sensory experience. A masterclass in direction, editing, camera- and sound-work, music.

Sure, a minutes-long rainstorm of recycled motherboard chips will have you feeling bad about the excess of our world. But the moviemakers pass no judgement here; rather than illustrating our “forgotten” connection with nature, they remind us that it is multi-faceted and ever-changing. We pass from the warm electricity of a baby at its mother’s teat to a computer assuring its child at play in the forest that it is safe. (Computers do not forget.) Each scene is beautiful; each ultimately reminding us that we are just animals trying our best in the universe.

From beginning to end, the imagery is crisp, incisive, and breathtakingly gorgeous. Tides of life and breath, water and memory, geometry and physics take turns washing over us.

I won’t tell you to watch this before you die. If there’s anything to take away from it, it’s that watching the world around you is what’s important. But if you’d like to do that from a new perspective—or if you need a reminder of how to do so, or whether it’s even worth it—then you’ll want to add this experience to your bucket list.

The Father Who Moves Mountains (Tata mută munții)

What is it about those movies which we know are good—but that we still don’t like?

Take The Father Who Moves Mountains. It’s a stirring character study with an inescapable draw: Once his son goes missing on a mountain, Mircea does all he can to find him. We can’t help but root for a win here, and the suggestive title keeps our interest piqued.

This setup, though disconcerting, moves us. Mircea’s ex-wife; his current, pregnant wife; his son’s (also missing) girlfriend and her family; the rescue team—every one of these characters is in a limbo, and we feel for them.

Indeed, smart writing has given us a metaphor of what we all know and fear: parents can’t protect their children forever; people cannot protect themselves foralways; humans are smart and resourceful, but even their most capable cannot defeat nature’s long arc.

It sounds a downer, but our natural optimism keeps the story compelling. What might the latest search uncover? What sorts of tricks does Mircea have up his sleeve this time? And about that, who the heck is this guy anyway? What does he do when he’s not on a manhunt . . . or cheating on his wives?

This one-two punch of mortality and unsavory protagonist is actually refreshing. This is thoughtful construction which makes you think, and it’s what makes the movie good.

But it does not save the day. The movie remains a downer, and some of its other aspects frustrate in a far less constructive way. If you’re a woman in this story, you are mentioned only in relation to motherly duties; rarely discussed, rarely viewed, you’re just a pawn in a man’s storyline. Mircea’s power to move mountains (so to speak) is not explained or justified. And the ending, though successful in proving a point, feels more like a nail in a coffin than a satisfying resolution.

Vivo

Has your life gone the way you thought it would?

Or does it sometimes feel like you’re just a monkey, flailing around in a complicated world? Well, Vivo can relate with the latter.

OK, he’s a kinkajou, not a monkey. Irrelevant! What matters is that he can sing and dance! Along with friend Andres, he busks at the local plaza. Connection and fulfillment in sunny Havana, Cuba; what’s not to love?!

A letter. A letter written by someone from Andres’s past, asking him to travel all the way to the United States. The old man is ready for this, probably his last big adventure. But Vivo is not. His world was once big and scary, before he found meaning in Andres and his music, and he’s not ready to lose either.

But life happens, doesn’t it? Vivo finds himself journeying alone to Miami, and in doing so, re-learning what it means to engage with his surroundings.

It’s a sweet story, and very often funny. This world is colorful; its animation, in that sweet spot between campy and hyperrealistic. And though a cute, singing animal can do no wrong, Vivo’s friend-along-the-way Gabi, played by Ynairaly Simo, steals the show. Not only is her character (arc) adorable and instructive, Ynairaly’s performance hits high notes across the emotional spectrum.

Music, of course, rounds out the movie. The songwriting is recognizably modern (and recognizably Lin-Manuel Miranda), though rooted firmly in its Afro-Cuban inspiration.

Vivo’s earliest scenes may be on the nose, but that doesn’t bog it down. It’s an energetic, fun family movie—and one whose best parts, funnily enough, are its heavier scenes. When the music stops and the hard work of feeling begins, characters and audience alike have a chance to reflect.

So what if life doesn’t always go the way you thought it would? If it did, how could it ever be better than you had imagined?