The Weekly Gravy #166

I think it’s time to review another batch of shorts, yes?

• Two Faces (1968) – A series of semi-abstract images of faces (two to an image, of course) pass before our eyes; some are easier to make out than others, and they express a wide range of emotions, including anxiety, pride, resentment, and detachment. These are accompanied by Derrick Newman’s starkly stringed score (Alex North came to mind) and a poetic narration, written by director Alison de Vere and delivered by William Abney. The images are varied and intriguing and the music is haunting and dissonant, but the poem is obscure and frankly a distraction. Score: 77 – ***½
• Arabesque (1975) – John Whitney Sr. was a major figure in the early years of computer animation, and this work is, by the standards of the time, quite ambitious and accomplished. Multicolored patterns, from oscillating waves to morphing forms (including floral and possibly yonic imagery) flicker across the screen in concert with Manoochehr Sadeghi’s score, played on the santur, a traditional Persian dulcimer. The variety of the images and the pace at which they “dance,” along with the fluidity of Whitney’s animation, make for hypnotic viewing. Score: 83 – ***½
• Last of the Persimmons (1972) – For a minute and a half, we see people milling around at a fair. Then, we see someone pick and eat a persimmon, which is laid over footage of the fair, then over some very basic line animation of flowers, while “Is It Love?” by T. Rex plays. The song is good, the persimmon looks tasty, and I have no idea what the song and the fruit have to do with one another, or what the prologue is about. Not bad, exactly, but distinctly pointless. Score: 56 – **½
• Yuki’s Sun/Yuki no taiyō (1972) – An early work by Miyazaki, intended as the pilot for a series that never came to fruition. An orphan girl grows up in Hokkaido, indulging her free spirit at every turn and displaying a wealth of good cheer and compassion – despite a habit of hitting people when she’s happy. We see what would probably have been a season’s worth of her adventures – getting adopted, her adopted family being broken up, her taking to the road on her own, her being reunited with her birth parents – in montage form. The animation isn’t on the level of Miyazaki’s film work, but it’s still solid and I’d have liked to see more of Yuki and her adventures – but her spirit can be seen in Miyazaki’s later heroines. Score: 82 – ***½
• Machine Story (1983) – A neat little short by Doug Miller tracing the history of machines from the inclined plane 10,000 years ago to the satellites and space probes of the then-present. The pace quickens as we reach the modern age; it’s certainly startling to think how we walked on the Moon just 167 years after the first steam locomotive. The appeal of the film itself, besides its informative value, is in the ever-shifting shapes (think Malevich) and the knowing, often darkly humorous touches – namely the reminders that weapons have been developing this whole time, from the knife to the spear to the nuclear bomb. Dane Davis’ sound effects are a treat as well. Score: 85 – ***½
• Ch’an (1983) – Bit of a mixed bag, this one. The last film by artist Francis Lee, it draws on his works in the medium of sumi-e ink wash painting, and combines slow paced, meditative pans and zooms across images which look like nebulae or desolate landscapes with faster-paced semi-animations of abstracted symbols. The former, especially in concert with Christopher Atwood’s score (I was reminded of Philip Glass’ work on Koyaanisqatsi, especially the title track) is quite moving and haunting. The latter did very little for me. Score: 78 – ***½

May December (2023) – ****

Although I won’t claim that 2019’s Judy was a great film in of itself, I fully supported Renée Zellweger’s Oscar for Best Actress before she was even nominated. In my review, I noted that she triumphed, not because she perfectly imitated Judy Garland, but because she didn’t try to; she approached the part as a part, not as an impersonation. A real person can never truly be replicated in a performance, but a part can be fully understood by a sufficiently capable performer.

23 years before May December takes place, Gracie Atherton (Julianne Moore) had a sexual relationship with 13-year-old Joe Yoo. Her subsequent arrest, pregnancy, and imprisonment led to much media coverage, a made-for-TV movie, and after Joe came of age, their marriage. Now Gracie Atherton-Yoo and the mother of three children with the adult Joe (Charles Melton), the notoriety has faded a bit – but not enough that actress Elizabeth Berry (Natalie Portman) isn’t preparing to star in a film about the case.

Elizabeth spends time with Gracie and Joe, trying to emulate Gracie’s manner and understand them both as people. But she also researches the case and speaks with other involved parties, from Gracie’s first husband to her lawyer to her troubled son (who was a friend of Joe’s), and as she learns more about the complexities of these people, the less she is able to reduce them to those elements she can use to construct a character.

The film puts us in the same boat. It opens at a register of heightened camp, the pounding piano score (making extensive use of Michel Legrand’s score for The Go-Between) and visual language suggesting the basic-cable trash Gracie and Joe’s story was reduced to years before, while Moore’s delivery of the line “We don’t have enough hotdogs” suggests we’re in for a delightfully over-the-top time.

But as the film progresses, as what seem like bombshell revelations are undermined or not explored at greater length, so we are forced to confront the real messiness of human nature through the prism of an intensely disturbing relationship and the complicated people involved. In Hamlet, Claudius asks “May one be pardon’d and retain the offence?” and can Joe accept as his wife the woman who, by all objective standards, sexually abused him, even as he professes not to think of himself as a victim, and she professes no shame for the crime she committed?

Elizabeth, in her investigations, more than once thinks she’s found to key to understanding Gracie, but the certainty slips away for her and us as we cannot reduce her to simple motives. She does appear less introspective and less hindered by conscience than those around her – but realizing that is not the same as solving her. Likewise, Joe may seem at times like an adolescent in an adult’s body, but we’re also given to see how thoughtful he can be and how devoted a father and husband he is.

As for Elizabeth, she might seem at times to be the quintessential capital-A Actress who lives in a bubble of character beats, motivations, and Method, and she has moments of camp absurdity (her visit to the pet shop) and profound narcissism, but she too is not so easily reduced to tropes of vanity and pretense. She is, perhaps, more than anything naive about the difference between reality and performance, or at least her ability to bridge the gap by doing her makeup the same way Gracie does or watching how she bakes a cake.

So yes, Samy Burch’s script (from a story by Burch and Alex Mechanik) offers a lot of food for thought on the divide between art and life. It’s not always as successful at telling the story of these particular human lives, and the choice to leave some stones unturned, while in keeping with the fundamental ambiguities of the matter, makes it just a bit less satisfying than it might have been.

Todd Haynes’ direction is superb; as noted, he draws on elements of heightened camp, at times suggesting a modern-day Sirk, but then carefully dials them down as the complex reality begins to sink in, while still allowing for highlights like Elizabeth’s reading of a love letter from Gracie to the young Joe. Christopher Blauvelt’s cinematography makes fine use of the humid haze of the Savannah setting and the visual language of tacky TV film – it’s amusing how close this great film comes to being a piece of utter trash.

And, of course, the actors came to play. Portman neatly balances the polite awkwardness of Elizabeth’s position among the real people she’s trying to dramatize and the risky curiosity she shows in trying to learn the truth, whether it be simply talking to people or trying to live their experiences for herself. Moore, a longtime collaborator of Haynes’, subtly shows Gracie’s controlling, even cruel aspects (like the remark she makes about her daughter’s arms) without allowing us to pigeonhole her as this or that archetype. Melton is deeply sympathetic as Joe, showing how he simply wants to live his life and love his family, and how circumstances force him to confront the foundations of his marriage – and the character of his wife.

There are also fine supporting turns from Cory Michael Smith as Gracie’s eldest son, a temperamental musician who may be telling bitter truths and may simply be looking for attention, Elizabeth Yu as her youngest daughter, trying to live her own life (she graduates high school in the course of the film) while dealing with the pressures of Elizabeth’s presence, and Lawrence Arancio as Gracie’s wry, unassuming attorney, just the kind of guy to share a thorny truth or two with a smile on his face.

I’m not as anxious to revisit May December when it hits Netflix as I was to revisit The Killer, but I still may do so – and I certainly recommend you check it out at least once.

Score: 87

Napoleon (2023) – ***½

I’m not sure when Ridley Scott’s Napoleon will hit streaming, but when it does, there’ll be a longer version – around four hours in length, rumor has it – to complement the hearty 157-minute version now playing in theaters. I knew this going in, and feared the theatrical cut would play like a truncated stopgap rather than a polished whole, on top of those concerns based on Scott’s erratic track record. It doesn’t come off that way, not exactly; I suspect the flaws of this version will not be completely remedied in the longer cut.

Those flaws are rooted partly in the sheer ambition of the story. Spanning 30 years, from the execution of Marie Antoinette to Napoleon’s death on St. Helena, it tries to cover an incredibly eventful life and career, attempting to encompass his genius on the battlefield, his political career, and his personal life, with an emphasis on the psychosexual elements of his relationship with Joséphine; this Napoleon is highly sensitive, often awkward, and at times childish.

Given the amount of time that must be devoted to his major battles (Toulon, Austerlitz, Waterloo) and to the key events of his life, it’s no surprise that the film feels episodic and overstuffed; that it’s considerably better than one might have feared is balanced by its not being quite as good as one might have hoped. It’s a good film, at times very good, but something about it never quite catches fire.

Case in point, Joaquin Phoenix’s performance as Napoleon. While he’s arguably too old and certainly makes no effort to sound like anyone other than himself, the mannerisms he uses are certainly consistent with the film’s take on Bonaparte, whose ambition and vanity are directly tied to his insecure nature, and whose idiosyncrasies place him at odds with those around him – which is fine, as long as he’s winning battles.

But while Phoenix is as watchable as ever, and while there’s no question about his commitment to the part, there’s no surprise in his work either, no spark of genius. He plays all the beats of the script as they should be played (well, aside from an inspirational speech that just isn’t that inspiring), using his beady-eyed glare and crooked grin well, but he never quite knocks it out of the park.

Likewise, Vanessa Kirby’s Joséphine, here imagined as a savvy social navigator with a hold on Napoleon’s sexual imagination that suggests a dominatrix without the whip, is properly seductive, insightful, charming, intelligent, and ultimately sympathetic – but again, never quite takes off into true inspiration. In a key scene, she forces Napoleon to say he is nothing without her, but we’ve never seen anything to indicate she actually influenced his career. More’s the pity.

The rest of the cast are consistently competent, but aside from Rupert Everett’s sneering Wellington, who perks up the third act enough that you wish there were more of him, none of them really stand out. That’s part of the problem with the film, which parades so many characters before us and hits so many historical beats that they begin to blur together. I never found it exhausting, but a little more depth and a little less breadth might have made it more genuinely enthralling.

The film is better when it focuses on the spectacle. The battle scenes show Scott in fine form, from the cunning strategy of Toulon to the frigid outfoxing at Austerlitz to the pathetic chaos of Waterloo. Yes, the crumbling ice and drowning soldiers at Austerlitz are strongly reminiscent of Alexander Nevsky, and yes, the startling death of Napoleon’s horse at Toulon is marred by some very dodgy CGI (which hampers a few other scenes), but in general, the battles are neatly staged and easy enough to follow.

There’s also the striking scene where Napoleon rides into the deserted Moscow, searching in vain for the opponents that would make this a meaningful conquest, and finally sits upon a throne covered in bird droppings. It combines lavish spectacle and puckish humor as well as any moment in the film, which does inspire a fair amount of sincere amusement (“You think you’re so great because you have boats!”), but as with most of the film’s virtues, it’s of a modest quality.

There’s no denying the splendor of the sets and the brilliance of the costumes; Martin Phipps’ score and Dariusz Wolski’s cinematography are comparably effective, even if the latter is occasionally compromised by the desaturated palette and obvious effects. But like Scott’s direction, David Scarpa’s script is on the whole too functional, too professionally competent, to put this film on the level of Abel Gance’s silent epic (which was unabashedly romantic) or Scott’s own The Last Duel (which was far more focused and told a far less familiar true story).

Scott really is one of the most frustrating and unpredictable major directors (and, of late, one of the most cantankerous). Sometimes he’s unexpectedly bad. Sometimes he’s unexpectedly great. And sometimes, as here, he does his job with skill, delivering a consistently solid epic that’s the more frustrating for not being truly great. How on-brand.

Score: 81

Saltburn (2023) – ***

Mild spoilers.

Emerald Fennell impressed a lot of people with Promising Young Woman, earning an Oscar for her screenplay and being nominated for her direction. But I had very mixed feelings about the film – especially the writing – and felt it was Carey Mulligan’s brilliant performance that should’ve earned those laurels. Going into Saltburn, I had my concerns about Fennell’s writing, more so because the premise seemed highly derivative, but I had hopes for the cast, especially Barry Keoghan and Jacob Elordi, who’d impressed me just a few weeks ago with his take on Elvis, and for Fennell’s direction, which showed considerable promise in her first film.

In a sense, my expectations, tempered by the relatively mixed reviews, were met; it’s a film which is very well acted, handsomely shot, and sporadically provocative, but like Promising Young Woman it undermines itself with an enormously frustrating final act, like Triangle of Sadness it carries itself like it has more to say about the pathologies of wealth and power than it actually does, and like Three Billboards it seems to be saying something about our society (or at least British high society), but couches that in a plot which falls to pieces when you think about it for very long.

But those films all made it into the Best Picture race, and while I doubt Saltburn will follow suit…we’ll just have to see.

Oliver Quick (Keoghan) is a shy, unpopular student at Oxford. He’s fascinated by Felix Catton (Elordi), a scion of the landed gentry who’s also handsome, charismatic, and seemingly friendly. After giving Felix a helping hand at a crucial moment, he’s drawn into his inner circle, gradually revealing his unhappy, impoverished upbringing to the sympathetic Felix, who insists on keeping him around even as the rest of his circle look down on him. After revealing that his father has died and that he has no plans to go home for the summer, Felix invites Oliver to spend the summer with him at Saltburn, the Catton estate.

Oliver is warmly welcomed by Felix’s mother Elsbeth (Rosamund Pike) and father James (Richard E. Grant), but his sister Venetia (Alison Oliver) is more ambiguous in her reactions, and his cousin Farleigh Start (Archie Madekwe), already a foil of Oliver’s, teases him constantly. As the summer progresses, however, Oliver reveals his capacity for manipulation and deception, and the inertia of the Catton’s wealth may not be enough to stop his hunger for…well, it’s hard to say just what it is he wants.

Does he want Felix? Does he want Venetia? Does he want money? Does he want to belong? Or does he want the kind of wealth that only a family like the Cattons possess, the kind of wealth Chris Rock so well described as being distinct from merely being rich?

Part of the problem with the film is that it doesn’t commit to an answer, and not in a way that amplifies the ambiguity of an amoral character like Oliver, but in a way that suggests Fennell hadn’t nailed down the quicksilver nature of her protagonist. It’s a problem which is multiplied in the final movement of the story, when well after we’ve realized that Oliver was a scheming little shit, Fennell gives us a twist which reveals that he was…an even more scheming, even bigger shit.

Not just that but possessed of comic-book-villain levels of foresight and blessed with a remarkable amount of luck and patience; there appears to be a time-skip of around 15 years towards the end of the film which little else in the acting, makeup, or production design would suggest. Like other aspects of the story – the convenient absence of the police, the disappearance from the story of not one but two potentially inconvenient foils for Oliver – it suggests a hand-waving approach to narrative logic. For me, at least, it grew frustrating.

But not as frustrating as Oliver’s own murky characterization. The problem isn’t Keoghan’s performance; he gives a committed turn, playing the creepy obsession, the callous manipulation, the sociopathic temperament, and the moments of sheer transgression (the bathtub scene, the gravesite scene, the final dance) with total conviction. The problem is the writing, which peels back the awkwardness to reveal a rather fascinating capacity for sexual manipulation – shown in two scenes which are among the best in the film – then rolls them back to try and convince us of Oliver’s pathetic status, only to peel them back once more, this time to reveal a far less compelling variety of chessmaster.

The film also fails to say much about the absurd obliviousness of the wealthy that Triangle or Parasite hadn’t already conveyed, the former with far more force. Some of the reactions I’ve read online suggest the film plays better for a British audience, and that may well be true – their class system is, after all, quite different from America’s – but I still found myself little struck by their vapidity, amusing though it could be.

Pike and Grant certainly hold their own in showing how Elspeth and James, for all their breeding and good manners, struggle with basic humanity, trying to cling to polite conversation in one of the most trying moments of their lives, dismissing the misfortunes of others with breezy indifference at other times; Grant is underused until late in the game, but Pike generally shines. Elordi was better in Priscilla, but he’s very fine here, convincing us of Felix’s magnetic pull while showing the limits of his generosity. Oliver does well enough with an ill-defined role; Madekwe is suitably obnoxious; Mulligan has an amusing cameo as a troubled family friend.

Fennell does continue to display promise as a director, and with cinematographer Linus Sandgren she crafts some handsomely colored images (the breakfast scene is especially well done), some unsettling close-ups, and some affecting tableaux (the gravesite scene). The production design of Saltburn itself, along with the carefully chosen costumes, are praiseworthy. But to what end? For me, frustration.

Score: 74

Next Goal Wins (2023) – **½

I’ve made no secret of my ambivalence towards Taika Waititi, and when this long-delayed (principal photography was in 2019-20) based-on-the-inspiring-true-story outing, after a distinctly underwhelming trailer, opened at TIFF to the worst reviews of Waititi’s career, I was anxious to tear into it. Not a very healthy approach to reviewing movies, but it’s not like I’m getting paid for this.

But I’ll own up to my pettiness and readily admit that Next Goal Wins could have been worse. Granted, it opens with an introduction by an American Samoan priest played by Waititi, wearing a ridiculously fake moustache and hamming it up in the way he’s done to my irritation since What We Do in the Shadows. I won’t claim he’s devoid of talent as an actor, but does anyone find this mugging funny or cute? It’s the kind of thing you might amuse your friends with, but not a paying audience.

Thankfully, aside from a few snatches of voiceover and a comparatively painless cameo, Waititi the actor disappears from the film – but there are, unfortunately, far more fundamental problems at play.

Based on the true story of Thomas Rongen, a Dutch-American soccer coach who helped guide the American Samoa national football team to their first victory in years (especially notable as they suffered a record 31-0 loss to Australia in a World Cup qualifier match some years earlier), it focuses on Rongen (Michael Fassbender), who’s in a position to take the job because he’s finished in American soccer, and a depressed alcoholic to boot.

Naturally, he faces issues with the bumbling players, the quirks of Samoan culture, and his own hot temper, but with the help of football federation head Tavita Taumua (Oscar Kightley) and his closest friend on the team, fa’afafine player Jaiyah Saelua (Kaimana), he eventually accepts the necessity of letting go of the past which haunts him, and motivates the team not only to their first goal in years, but to a surprise victory.

The bones of the story are true, but in Hollywood fashion the particulars are heavily dramatized; that in itself is no sin, but it’s always irksome when a film fudges the facts for the sake of clichés and doesn’t even deploy them very well. Such is the case here, as Rongen’s redemption arc is simply not compelling as presented. A key reason for his depressed state – the loss of his daughter – is not revealed until late in the film, and for no good reason, given that we badly need reasons to be invested in the film’s Rongen.

Many reviews have pointed out that Fassbender is badly miscast here. He’s brilliant at playing intensity and at giving antiheroes and even villains human complexity. But he’s not a natural comedian (the humor in The Killer is rooted in his self-serious deadpan), and he’s not effortlessly charming. So while you believe that his Rongen is prone to fits of rage and self-destruction, you struggle to accept that there’s a heart of gold underneath.

Much has also been made of the scene where Rongen deadnames Jaiyah, provoking her repeatedly until she knocks him to the ground; it’s a nasty, gratuitous scene, but I was even more put-off by the subsequent scene where Jaiyah takes it upon herself to apologize for knocking him down, bringing him lunch as a “peace gesture”; only then does he apologize for his own actions, and from that point on they’re buddies. To my knowledge, the real Rongen never deadnamed Jaiyah; not only is the scene historically false, but it works against the film’s own story.

Even if he weren’t gratuitously nasty before the inevitable mellowing, Rongen just isn’t that interesting. We have no real investment in his professional redemption because we’re more told than shown that he’s in need of it, and we have no investment in his personal redemption because he’s a jerk who thinks it’s a joke when he’s told Jaiyah’s a member of the team (a woman on a man’s team, why I never) and regards American Samoan culture with frustration and contempt until he embraces it. And what’s with the laughably fake beard he wears early on?

Waititi’s treatment of that culture, however, doesn’t help; it’s a very othering take on American Samoa, with the lovably quirky natives having little depth and jokes about the primitive conditions and customs like the sa, a prayer curfew during which everyone seems to fall into a trance (which is at least derived from real custom) so Rongen can be comically baffled at first and graciously accepting later. Well, ostensibly comically – Fassbender doesn’t play these scenes too well.

The Samoan characters are on paper more compelling, but aside from Tavita and Jaiyah, and to a degree Tavita’s wife Ruth (Rachel House), they’re ciphers. Kightley gives the film a boost with his cheerful comic sagacity, and Kaimana (a nonbinary fa’afafine themselves) is likable and charismatic enough to make the film’s focus on Rongen all the more wearisome. It’s telling that the climactic match, which is more about the players than about Rongen, is considerably more rousing than anything else in the film.

The rest of the film, unfortunately, is a mix of weak comedy – the scene with Rongen and his superiors, including his estranged wife (Elisabeth Moss) and her smarmy new boyfriend (Will Arnett), is Waititi at his most mannered – and standards sports-drama montages which gloss over the story we really want to hear. There’s a weirdly perfunctory feeling to much of the film, which along with Waititi’s very sporadic narration suggests much tinkering in the editing room; that four editors are credited is an especially bad sign.

There’s a well-regarded documentary of the same name that tells the true story of what happened. I haven’t seen it, but it can be streamed for less than the cost of a ticket to this film, which Searchlight long since lost faith in, given its muted release. There’s no really no reason not to see that instead.

Score: 56