Genre: Drama

Welcome to Marwen (2018) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / Leave a comment

“I Was a Hell of a Good Artist, an Illustrator. I Loved to Draw, and Now, I Can Barely Write My Name…” – Mark Hogancamp

Co-written and directed by Robert Zemeckis (Back to the Future, Forrest Gump, Cast Away), Welcome to Marwen, released in 2018, is a dramatisation of the 2010 documentary; Marwencol, which recounted the true story of Mark Hogancamp, who, on April 8th, 2000, was brutally assaulted by five men who beat him almost to death, thrusting Mark into a nine-day coma and a forty-day hospitalisation period before he was discharged, woefully bearing severe brain damage that left him with little memory of his past life. Welcome to Marwen takes the tragic story of Mark Hogancamp and aims to provide it with a tint of optimism, romance and fantasy through its unique storytelling approach and dazzling visual effects. Yet, the film ultimately falls flat due to its confused tone and graceless screenplay, making Zemeckis’ invitation to enter the village of Marwen a leisurely one to decline. 

Plot Summary: After being ruthlessly assaulted by five men who left him for dead outside a bar in Kingston, New York State, yielding severe memory loss and trauma. Aspiring artist, Mark Hogancamp, constructs a remarkable therapeutic outlet on his property known as Marwen, a miniature World War II-era Belgium village compromised of period-dressed dolls. But, when Mark is requested to attend the court hearing of the men who mutilated him, his anguish returns to torment him…

Mark Hogancamp, the real individual upon whom the film is based, suffered injuries on every part of his body following the assault, subsequently placing him into a coma for nine straight days. As a result, most of the memories of his life before the assault were virtually extinguished, and the limitations of his health insurance prevented his continued rehabilitation. Sadly, only three of his assailants ever went to prison, with all three getting released within two years. Welcome to Marwen ignores many of these bleak details and outcomes, however, instead attempting to lace the story with more sanguinity and merriment as the film plays out over two planes; Mark’s plane of existence (our own) and that of the dolls, who, are enlivened via CGI in a fashion that could be described, as a more photo-realistic version of Toy Story (1995). It’s an admirable method of trying to infuse Mark’s despairing reflection of his assault with a dash of imagination and humour, but it’s predominantly an unsuccessful one, as this approach renders the film immensely inconsistent in terms of its pacing, tone and authenticity to the actual account of Mark’s horrific assault.

In a somewhat bizarre casting choice, Mark Hogancamp is portrayed by Steve Carell, who, whilst not awful, by any means, feels as if he lacks the acting aptitude required to depict Mark’s agonising trauma and isolation. But, Carrell does (of course) prevail with the more comedic moments, even if the gags themselves generally flop as Capt. Hogie (Mark’s gallant, plastic alter-ego) has a plethora of oddly placed witticisms. The supporting cast of Merritt Wever, Diane Kruger, Janelle Monáe, Eiza González and Gwendoline Christie all deliver passable performances (barring Christie’s overbearing Russian accent) yet possess little characterisation as the so-called; Women of Marwen, dolls that populate the tiny, make-believe village of Marwen, inspired by the powerful women Mark knows in his real life. Leslie Mann also makes an appearance in the film as Mark’s friendly, inexplicably curious neighbour, Nicol, who eventually becomes an object of affection for Mark in both his worlds, which occasionally comes across as rather uncomfortable as Mark lives out some of his romantic fantasies with Nicol through his dolls. 

Despite spending almost half of the runtime in the imaginary village of Marwen, Mark’s fantasies of himself and his female companions as heroes of the Second World War are often short on memorable shots. Lacking stimulating action sequences or grand set pieces to truly justify how much screen-time is spent in the village of Marwen, the rarely inventive cinematography by C. Kim Miles makes the scenes of the dolls socialising or firing at Nazis relatively visually flat, that is, barring the well-rendered visual effects.

On the more positive side of things, the original score by Alan Silvestri is equally adventurous and diverse, with tracks such as Magic, You Got This, Beautiful Moon and Marwencol, all harmoniously balancing sorrow, yearning and genuine tension while featuring a snare drum to further play into the World War II setting of Marwen. The score also includes some auditory references to Zemeckis’ earlier filmography, including a callback to the signature motif of the Back to the Future trilogy.

Nevertheless, the finest aspect of Welcome to Marwen is, by far, its CG effects, which brilliantly utilise motion capture to employ the faces and body movements of its cast onto plastic figurines clothed in World War II-era outfits/uniforms. As such, every scene within Mark’s fantasy world oozes with detail and toy-related visual gags, even if the animation of the dolls periodically appears overly fluid compared to the somewhat rigid reality of poseable figurines.

In summary, the current stage of Zemeckis’ career has long been repressed by his obsession with visual effects, repeatedly concentrating on style over substance. Welcome to Marwen is no exception to this rule, with the numerous sequences set within Mark’s fictitious world being the film’s most enjoyable moments. Thus, Welcome to Marwen fails to flourish as a wonderous, period-set adventure or a rumination of violent hate crimes and personal trauma, merely existing as a creatively ambitious misfire. Rating: low 5/10.

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Deepwater Horizon (2016) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / 1 Comment

“I’d Think You Money-Hungry Sons of Bitches Would at Least Be Good at Math…” – Mike Williams

The Deepwater Horizon Oil Spill, commonly referred to as the BP Oil Spill, is, to this day, regarded as one of the widest-reaching environmental disasters in human history. An industrial catastrophe that began on April 20th, 2010, off the coast of the United States in the Gulf of Mexico, the event caused the deaths of eleven oilfield workers and was estimated to have spilt over two hundred and ten million gallons of oil into the ocean, forcing industry giant BP to pay more than $60 billion in criminal and civil penalties, natural resource damages, economic claims and cleanup costs for their reckless corporate culture of cost-cutting and excessive risk-taking. The 2016 cinematic interpretation of this true-to-life tale; Deepwater Horizon, makes effective use of its titular location and subsequent tragedy to deliver a lamentable yet nevertheless gripping thriller, admiring the bravery of those who escaped with their lives whilst never losing sight of the affliction and distress they endured on that faithful day.

Plot Summary: Manned by one hundred and twenty-six workers, the semi-submersible, offshore oil-drilling rig, Deepwater Horizon, operates as usual over the Gulf of Mexico, forty-one miles southeast of the Louisiana Coast. But, before long, Chief electronics technician, Mike Williams, and seasoned rig supervisor, Jimmy Harrell, discover that the critical examination of Deepwater Horizon’s cement foundation was bypassed by BP’s frugal executives, consequently inducing a devastating explosion that kills several oilfield workers and traps Mike and his remaining colleagues on the cadaverous rig amidst the flames…

Upon its announcement, many oilfield workers from the Gulf of Mexico were against the production of Deepwater Horizon, declaring that they believed the film would dishonour the men who sadly perished during the event. However, Mike Williams (one of the survivors) thoroughly supported the film, assisting the crew throughout production alongside another survivor, as they felt it was a suitable method of depicting the terrifying circumstances they and the other oilfield workers endured, with the leading intent of director Peter Berg (Hancock, Lone Survivor, Patriots Day) being to make the disaster feel as real as possible for the audience, encapsulating the sensation of workers’ shared dread in 2010.

In keeping with this sense of realism, the dialogue throughout Deepwater Horizon remains authentic to the vocabulary of oilfield workers, repeatedly tossing around the shorthand terminology of the position. Similarly, the screenplay is precise in defining the various components of the oil rig without becoming overwhelmed, making the eventual catastrophe that unfolds appear merited and tangible. Regrettably, however, even with most of the central cast, including Mark Wahlberg, Kurt Russell and Gina Rodriguez, being introduced before they set foot on the rig through an assortment of brief, home-set sequences, the majority of these preliminary scenes only provide insight into their industrial roles along with some clumsy exposition concerning the Deepwater Horizon, conveying that each of the oilfield workers has loved ones, but not much else.

For the production of Deepwater Horizon, an extensive oil rig set was constructed in Chalmette, Louisiana (where filming predominantly took place). One of the largest-scale sets ever built at the time, the rig-inspired set was assembled using over three million pounds of steel in a two-million-gallon water tank. And while this commitment to building an expansive set is indeed impressive, appearing immensely accurate to the actual Deepwater Horizon, the set design is partially hindered by the cinematography by Enrique Chediak, which remains relatively uninspired throughout the runtime, primarily consisting of hand-held mid-shots and the occasional sweeping wide shot of the rig and surrounding ocean.

The third instance composer Steve Jablonsky has collaborated with Peter Berg following 2012’s Battleship and 2013’s Lone Survivor. Berg and Jablonsky’s staple as a director-composer duo seems to be taking sampled mechanical sounds and using them as the cornerstones of each original score. On Battleship, this sound was the whining, clanging cacophony of a medical MRI machine whereas, on Deepwater Horizon, it’s the incessant ping of an active SONAR alongside a combination of electronic tones and instruments. As such, the score lacks melody and harmony, yet successfully creates suspense through tracks like The Rig, Negative Pressure Test and Cut the Pipe, up to when the rig explodes.

Once the rig does eventually burst into flames, it’s suitably nightmarish as Peter Berg doesn’t attempt to ‘wow’ the audience with impressive visual effects or exhilarating set pieces, but rather never lets the audience forget that this is a man-made disaster, pointing the finger squarely at BP for their monumental mistake and proving that while there may have been some temptation to provide the story with a glossy finish, Berg found a way to present blockbuster-level effects without sacrificing any of the realism or torment of the actual event.

In summary, whilst most disaster flicks are usually guilt-free confections, given that they often centralise on an act of nature and feature destruction so grandiose in appearance that it lessens the impact of the on-screen devastation to the point that the audience can relish in the utter mayhem. Deepwater Horizon takes a drastically different approach to the disaster genre, with its story being based on true events. By embracing this realism, the cataclysm that occurs within the film becomes more immediate and horrifying. And while there are feats of courage here and there, Deepwater Horizon is predominantly presented as a real-world calamity, not a comforting tale of heroism and optimism. Rating: 7/10.

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The Green Knight (2021) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / Leave a comment

“One Year Hence…” – The Green Knight

Written, produced, directed and edited by David Lowery (Pete’s Dragon, A Ghost Story, The Old Man & the Gun), The Green Knight, released in 2021, is a visually stunning fantasy odyssey based on the 14th-century Middle English poem; Sir Gawain and the Green Knight by the Gawain Poet. Steered by a spectacular performance from Dev Patel, The Green Knight takes the timeless legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table and deconstructs many aspects of the famed fables, leaving a lot of its story open to interpretation while casting a captivating spell on its audience through a slow-paced, mature and stylistic fantasy adventure.

Plot Summary: On Christmas Day, before the noble King Arthur and his loyal Knights of the Round Table, the King’s headstrong nephew, Sir Gawain, agrees to a challenge from a formidable foe; in a year’s time, travel to the remote Green Chapel and face its ghastly lord, the Green Knight. But, as the one-year milestone arrives, Gawain embarks on his peril-laden journey with great apprehension, traversing the land in an effort to honour his promise and prove his mettle…

A large majority of The Green Knight‘s narrative revolves around the five traditional knightly virtues of friendship, generosity, chastity, courtesy and piety. Throughout the runtime, Gawain, when tested, fails at all five of these virtues through a variety of situations, demonstrating that Gawain is not yet ready to be a knight and adding to the subtext of his journey. Moreover, in order to make his vision of the Arthurian world appear more distinct, Lowery’s screenplay freely capitalises on folk elements derived from Welsh, Irish and English stories, as well as the French chivalric tradition of the Middle Ages to flesh out the world-building and Gawain’s mystical encounters that are only alluded to in the original verse.

Whilst the supporting cast of Alicia Vikander, Joel Edgerton, Sean Harris, Barry Keoghan and Erin Kellyman are all sublime in their various roles, Dev Patel truly knocks it out of the park performance-wise, portraying Sir Gawain as a troubled yet well-intending relative of the celebrated hero and monarch, King Arthur, evidently anxious about overcoming his personal flaws to find his honour and live up to the legacy left by his uncle and his faithful Knights, all in the hope of one day becoming the monarch himself. Patel is simply a magnet for the audience’s sympathy and the protagonist Gawain is a character anyone can get behind, with his journey of trials, temptations, trouble and self-discovery only adding to his subtle characterisation.

Primarily shot in Ireland, presumably to capture much of the island’s natural beauty. Practically all of the cinematography by Andrew Droz Palermo is visually astonishing, depicting a grounded and eerie fantasy world that makes fantastical concepts like spirits, giants and a talking fox seem almost ordinary. From soggy marshes to lonely mountain roads and extensive forests wrapped in mist, the camerawork never fails to visually grasp the looming dread that grips the land, mirroring Gawain’s fear of the Green Knight. The set design is also remarkably impressive, assuring the shadowy interiors of each structure are equally atmospheric. The only real downside concerning the visuals would be the CG effects, which often appear too glossy and clean when compared to the rest of the unkept visual aesthetic. Still, all of this is somewhat to be expected, as Lowery has always been a gifted visual storyteller, especially when it comes to colour usage, and The Green Knight is no exception, retaining a wildly diverse colour palette of earthly tones, making the film perhaps Lowery’s most sumptuous work to date.

Similarly, the original score by Daniel Hart manages to convey the setting, time period and action/emotion without performing the same tricks too many times over. Through tracks like Excalibur and Now I’m Ready, I’m Ready Now, the Pagan-like percussion and xylophone come and go, frequently followed by a whistle or pipe lead and rattling backing, making for an almost medieval-like dance rhythm. The score also utilises acoustic drums, bass strings, angelic vocals, bottles and harps. And it’s this unique combination of instruments that allows the soundtrack to expertly back up Gawain’s journey across numerous scenes, whether triumphant or fearful.

Given that the character’s name is the very title of the film, the Green Knight needed to leave an impact on the story and the audience. Luckily, he does just that. Sporting overgrown, corroded armour engraved with the Sabaic alphabet (Sabaic being a South Arabian language spoken from 1000 BC to 6th Century AD), the Green Knight has a tremendous on-screen presence, appearing ancient, imposing and authentic as a result of his flawless costuming and prosthetic makeup, the Green Knight’s towering appearance only being rivalled by his baritone voice, well-provided by actor, Ralph Ineson.

In summary, The Green Knight is a visually breathtaking fantasy flick, in addition to another exceptional release from production company; A24 Films, outside of its usual brand of horror and drama-centric films. Although its pacing is occasionally too slow for its own good and many audience members will undoubtedly be turned off by its assortment of interpretive scenes and heavy emphasis on underlining themes. David Lowery employs almost every ounce of his imagination to craft an audacious and demanding Arthurian adaptation that warrants multiple viewings to increase its allure. Rating: low 8/10.

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The Lighthouse (2019) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / 1 Comment

“Why’d Ya Spill Yer Beans?” – Thomas Wake

A psychological horror only in the vaguest sense, 2019’s The Lighthouse is a strange yet wondrous cinematic venture, incomparable to many other modern releases due to its distinct visual aesthetic and often genre-defying narrative. Led by an outstanding pair of performances from Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe, The Lighthouse is the type of film that relentlessly sears itself into its audience’s memory, employing striking visuals, Lovecraftian influences and ominous, atmospheric sound design to craft an unnerving flick that closely resembles the fever-induced night terrors many actual lighthouse keepers endured during their lonesome, off-shore excursions tending to a beacon.

Plot Summary: Off the coast of late 19th-century New England, two lighthouse keepers, the taciturn former lumberjack, Ephraim Winslow, and the elderly lighthouse caretaker, Thomas Wake, set foot on a remote island to begin their monthly duties. But, as the tight-lipped men spend more and more time in each other’s company, a mutual resentment begins to arise as their collective sanity unravels…

Co-written and directed by Robert Eggers (The Witch, The Northman), the story of The Lighthouse is loosely based on a real-life affair that occurred in 1801 known as the Smalls Lighthouse Tragedy, during which two Welsh lighthouse keepers, sharing the name Thomas, became trapped at their station during a storm. When one of the men died, it is said to have driven the other insane. The story also takes some influence from the seafaring literature of renowned authors, including Herman Melville, Robert Louis Stevenson and H.P. Lovecraft, all of which lends the film a sense of historical accuracy and unseen oceanic horror. According to Eggers, earlier versions of the screenplay were more coherent, however, this was later changed as Eggers’ felt the best way to approach the film was to make the audience feel like they were losing their minds alongside the characters. As a result, The Lighthouse can occasionally be quite difficult to follow, yet this ultimately works in the narrative’s favour as the audience, much like the characters, struggle to tell reality from delusion. Even the very concept of time gets thrown out the window by the end of the second act, as it becomes almost impossible to tell how much time has passed between certain scenes, forcing the characters (and the audience) to question exactly how long they have been on the secluded island.

As the only two cast members, Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe are superb throughout the runtime as fellow lighthouse keepers, Ephraim Winslow and Thomas Wake. Simultaneously appearing layered and accurate to the time period, both characters flourish on-screen thanks to Pattinson and Dafoe’s electric performances, which are only enhanced when combined with the continuously compelling dialogue. This period-accurate dialogue bleeds through every scene, with the screenplay’s emphasis on 19th-century terminology and expressions instantly transporting the audience to the time and setting of the story, enriching Ephraim and Thomas’ persistent back-and-forths as they become increasingly infuriated at their situation. What makes the characters even more interesting is that neither one can be sighted as a reliable point-of-view, no matter how much they claim the other to be untrustworthy or deranged under their boozy breath.

Shot on Double-X stock, which requires much more light to get exposure. So much so, that the crew had to use about fifteen to twenty times more lights on set when filming at night or indoors to successfully capture footage. The cinematography by Jarin Blaschke is imposing and hypnotic, exhaustively utilising the isolated location of the treeless, storm-susceptible island along with its adjoining greyscale colour palette to create an array of hauntingly beautiful shots. Many of the visuals almost seem like depictions of a sailor’s nightmare, with the dense black-and-white grain of 35mm capturing every shadow and contour, lending the visuals a sensation of 19th-century expressionist horror, where even the tight aspect ratio proves to be claustrophobic. Furthermore, The Lighthouse employs several exceptional practical effects to depict the story’s more fantastical elements, such as its visual references to Greek mythology and seafarer folklore, like mermaids, sirens and the mighty Kraken.

Moving onto the original score, composer Mark Korven adds to the film’s foreboding atmosphere through doomy tracks like Arrival, Curse Your Name and Stranded. However, much of the unsettling atmosphere could also be attributed to the immersive sound design, central to which is a bellowing foghorn, which sound designer, Damian Volpe, turned to J.J. Jamieson to create; a craftsman in Shetland, Scotland, who makes YouTube tutorials on operating and maintaining foghorns. Using Jamieson’s samples, Volpe manipulated the sound to create a period-accurate foghorn that was suitably startling and memorable.

Another favourable aspect of The Lighthouse is its authenticity, not merely in relation to its time period, but in regard to its restraint to filming on-location, which allows the film to retain a consistent level of practicality throughout, similar to its sense of dread, both of which are only broken up by the handful of well-timed, darkly comedic moments.

In summary, disorientation is clearly the primary intent of The Lighthouse as Eggers offers hints towards a grander narrative, but never fully commits to a sweeping, readable story, even avoiding an easily discernible conclusion. As such, instead of serving as a straightforward psychological horror or a disturbing historic folk tale, The Lighthouse is more of a surreal exploration of masculinity, guilt and seclusion, in addition to standing as another impressive showcase of Robert Eggers’ screenwriting/filmmaking abilities. Rating: 9/10.

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Thirteen Lives (2022) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / Leave a comment

“We Do Nothing, We’ll Be Bringing Them Out Dead for Sure. But, if They Die While We’re Bringing Them Out, at Least We Will Have Tried.” – Rick Stanton

Suspenseful, meticulous and gripping, Thirteen Lives is a diverting, claustrophobic drama/thriller and a hidden gem of the straight-to-streaming releases of 2022. Offering an incomplete yet engrossing dramatisation of an incredible true-to-life tale, Thirteen Lives succeeds in recounting the real story of a global effort to rescue a Thai soccer team who became entrapped in a flooding cave system in 2018. And while some aspects of the film appear rather drab, thanks to director Ron Howard (Apollo 13, A Beautiful Mind, Solo: A Star Wars Story) and his somewhat vanilla style of filmmaking, it’s an immersive and engaging recount, nonetheless.

Plot Summary: Faced with insurmountable odds, a team of the world’s most proficient divers navigate a treacherous maze of flooded, narrow cave tunnels in an attempt to rescue a Thai soccer team of twelve children and their coach after they become trapped in the Tham Luang cave in Thailand following an unexpected rainstorm…

Even though the real story behind Thirteen Lives has been recounted before, most notably in the National Geographic documentary, The Rescue, released in 2021. Thirteen Lives is a similarly fact-based account that holds true to what really occurred, rarely playing with the details to manipulate the audience’s emotions or adhere to a more conventional story structure. The film even retains the involvement of numerous countries in the almost three-week-long rescue as, in reality, multiple nations took part alongside Thailand, such as Australia, Denmark, Japan, China, Laos, Myanmar (Burma), Great Britain and the United States. In fact, around ten thousand people contributed to the rescue effort, including more than one hundred divers, nine hundred police officers, two thousand soldiers and numerous volunteers.

Viggo Mortensen, Colin Farrell, Joel Edgerton, Tom Bateman and Paul Gleeson portray written interpretations of the actual heroes who ventured into Tham Luang cave, portraying them as modest and down-to-Earth and never representing them as hero-like archetypes, despite their unquestionably brave actions. Unfortunately, however, the screenplay doesn’t do so well at detailing who the individuals are outside of their adept diving skills, which is inexcusable given the film’s rather excessive runtime. The only specific trait any of the divers exhibit is their distinctly British obsession with Custard Creams, which I’m assuming was written into the screenplay to make the divers seem more relatable.

Similar to the rest of Ron Howard’s filmography, the cinematography throughout the film is rather bland, as cinematographer Sayombhu Mukdeeprom largely falls back on hand-held close-ups and mid-shots. Yet, in spite of that, the film usually thrives visually due to its enveloping set design and dim lighting, which make the submerged cave tunnels appear tight, precarious and dingy. For many of these scenes, Mukdeeprom actually used the actors themselves as a lighting source, requesting them to lift their heads and look around after delivering a line to throw some light into the cave. This technique (and others) helped with lighting the sets, which were built in an enormous hangar-sized studio using double Olympic-size water tanks. The film also employs an array of on-screen schematics to visually inform the audience of what segment of the cave the children/divers are currently in, as well as text to notify the audience of how much time has passed between certain scenes on account of the film covering most of the three-week-long rescue.

Through tracks like Tham Luang, Rain, Dive and Oxygen, the original score by Benjamin Wallfisch predominantly defies musical norms as the filmmakers sought to avoid overly sentimental or manipulative pieces when it came to the soundtrack, concentrating instead on using the score as a tool of abstraction and disorientation. Interestingly, Ron Howard initially sought to work with his collaborator of many years, Hans Zimmer, who subsequently recommended Wallfisch for the project as he was preoccupied. Together Howard and Wallfisch hashed through strategic approaches to the score over several months, seeking ways to incorporate Thai influences and experimental electronic suspense techniques. All to the score’s benefit, I might add. With that said, a few scenes do suffer due to the original score’s presence, where I feel atmospheric sound design would’ve been far more effective.

In regard to realism, professional diver, Rick Stanton, praised the film’s accuracy, stating that one of the only cinematic changes was that the cave water was muddy. In reality, the divers had zero visibility, but “That Would Be Impossible to Demonstrate Because Then the Viewers Would Not See Anything.” Furthermore, the young actors portraying the trapped Thai soccer team were all cast from Northern Thailand, so if they wound up improvising any dialogue the unique dialect and accent would be authentic. This emphasis on accuracy is always something I admire when it comes to adapting true stories, and Thirteen Lives is no exception.

In summary, Thirteen Lives is a predominantly compelling drama/thriller with its own unique selection of minor flaws. While the first half of the film feels like it’s simply treading water, waiting for its tense final act. The second half is a riveting depiction of a daring, foolhardy rescue, capturing much of the same fear, confusion and determination the actual divers must have felt during those fateful few weeks in 2018. As such, even if you already know how the story ends, Thirteen Lives largely prevails in plunging its audience into a submerged rescue scenario. Rating: 7/10.

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Carol (2015) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / Leave a comment

“You Seek Resolutions Because You Are Young. But, You Will Understand This One Day.” – Carol Aird

A period-set romantic drama with a pleasant festive aesthetic in the former half of its runtime, 2015’s Carol is based on the novel; The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith. Powered by the fantastic performances of Cate Blanchett and Rooney Mara in the lead roles, Carol is a well-told and engrossing tale of forbidden love between two women that lives up to its cherished source material. Thanks in part to its elegant production design and magnificent original score by Carter Burwell.

Plot Summary: During the Christmas season of 1952, aspiring photographer, Therese Belivet, meets Carol Aird whilst working at a boutique store in Manhattan. Semi-divorced and entrapped in a loveless relationship with her former husband, Carol quickly sparks a connection with Therese over their shared romantic hardships. Yet, amidst the strict social norms of their time, their undisguised interest in one another soon turns into profound affection…

The original novel the film is based upon was actually inspired by a blonde woman in a mink coat who ordered a doll from Patricia Highsmith when she was working as a temporary salesgirl at Bloomingdale’s in New York City during the 1948 Christmas season. Highsmith recalled feeling; “Odd and Swimmy in the Head, Near to Fainting. Yet, at the Same Time, Uplifted.” Highsmith completed the outline for the story in about two hours that same night. Moreover, the character of Carol Aird was inspired by Virginia Kent Catherwood, a Philadelphia socialite six years older than Patricia Highsmith, with whom the author had a love affair in the 1940s. Catherwood subsequently lost custody of her daughter after her homosexuality was used against her with a taped recording of a lesbian liaison she had in a hotel room. Director Todd Haynes (Velvet Goldmine, Far from Heaven, I’m Not There) sufficiently employs all these ideas into a grander narrative in his adaptation, primarily concentrating on the senseless consequences of a lesbian relationship in a time when they were strongly frowned upon.

When it comes to the cast, the pairing of Cate Blanchett and Rooney Mara is superb, with Blanchett portraying the thirty-two-year-old, Carol Aird, as a woman chafing against the constraints of her role as an upper-class wife and mother, continually expressing her sexual desires for women as a method of rebelling against her husband and her conformist world. While Mara’s performance as nineteen-year-old, Therese Belivet, is more suppressed, depicting the quiet young woman as a self-deprecating, novice photographer who prefers to hide behind her camera than engage with others. Softly spoken and sweet-natured, Therese is as single-minded in her relationship with her boyfriend as she is in her pursued career. As such, it’s easy to see why the pair bond, given that they provide a sense of escapism for each other, and upon their first meeting, the sexual tension between them is palpable.

Although the cinematography by Edward Lachman is doubtful to blow any audience member away with its framing or use of colour, Carol still features a number of visually interesting shots that occasionally even illustrate what the characters are feeling. For instance, in the opening shot, we see an iron floor grille from which the camera slowly pulls out, visually representing the entrapment that Carol and Therese feel at the beginning of the narrative. Another intriguing attribute in regard to the visuals is that Carol was shot on Super-16 millimetre film to better resemble the look of photographic film from the late 1940s/early 1950s. Many of the shots are also directly influenced by the photojournalism of Vivian Maier, Ruth Orkin, Helen Levitt and Esther Bubley, respectively.

Moving onto the original score, through orchestral tracks like Opening, Datebook, Christmas Trees and Waterloo, the score by Carter Burwell consistently sounds wrapped in a gauze of wistful minimalism, with the leading duo being audibly identified by two instrumental markers; Carol by piano and Therese by woodwinds. In addition to the wonderful original score, Carol makes terrific use of songs from the time period. In fact, prior to the start of production, Todd Haynes compiled a playlist of seventy-nine songs that were popular during the era the story is set within to further understand the period. A few of the songs that were ultimately chosen for the film include; One Mint Julep, Easy Living and Smoke Rings.

From start to finish, the production design of Carol is also outstanding, capturing the polish and aristocratic nature of the ’50s without seeming excessive. This praise can be applied to all parts of the production, but, most notably, the costume design. What makes the costume design even more spectacular is that excluding the suit Therese wears in her first and last scene(s), all of Rooney Mara’s costumes were actually well-worn, vintage clothing pieces.

In summary, whilst Carol isn’t one of the finest romantic dramas ever made, it is still a tremendous flick in more ways than one. While the pacing is sometimes too slow for its own good, and the original score occasionally does a lot of the heavy lifting during the more emotionally impactful moments, Carol is an indelible and captivating story, all the same. On top of that, even though many may see Carol as a rather strange choice for a Christmas viewing. I feel the joyous, snowy aesthetic that the film presents during its first half is enough to make the flick a reliable, less whimsical pick for the festive season. Rating: low 7/10.

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Room (2015) – Film Review

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“There Are So Many Things Out Here. And Sometimes It’s Scary. But, That’s Ok. Because It’s Still Just You and Me…” – Jack

Based on the best-selling novel of the same name by Emma Donoghue, 2015’s Room is a captivating and immensely well-crafted drama, guided by a pair of astonishing performances from Brie Larson and the young Jacob Tremblay. Simultaneously showcasing the best and worst of humanity, Room undoubtedly begins in a very dark place narrative-wise, but that doesn’t necessarily make it a bleak film, as Room is filled with just as many uplifting moments as it has sombre ones. Ultimately making for a harrowing yet equally rewarding piece of both filmmaking and storytelling.

Plot Summary: Held captive for seven years by a rapist, eventually giving birth to a baby boy. Joy Newsome, and her now five-year-old son, Jack, spend their days trapped inside a small room, this enclosed space being the only world Jack has ever known. Knowing that Jack’s growth has made their situation precarious, however, Joy, with the help of her son, orchestrates an escape plan in the hope that they can finally gain their freedom…

Maintaining the same narrative stance as the novel the film is based upon, much of Room‘s story is told from the perspective of Jack, with many of the plot points being childishly interpreted as the sheltered youngster can barely comprehend much of what he sees. By telling its story from the point of view of a child, the film is able to easily differentiate Jack’s distorted understanding of the world from the real world that lies just outside his view, all the while leaving the more unsettling aspects of the story, such as Joy’s abduction and subsequent sexual abuse, to be tastefully implied as opposed to occurring on-screen, as those events transpire out of Jack’s presence/eyesight.

Predominantly shot in chronological order to make it easier for the then-eight-year-old Jacob Tremblay to perform as his character matures. The pairing of Brie Larson and Tremblay as mother and son is no doubt one of the best elements of Room, as the pairs’ performances are astoundingly believable, with the development of their characters only furthering this sense of realism. To Jack, the ten-foot square room he and his mum live within is the entire world, where objects such as a table, a rug and a wardrobe are the only ones of their kind. Whereas for Joy (repeatedly referred to as “Ma” by her son), this room is her prison. A cell in which she has been kept for over seven years since she was kidnapped at seventeen by a man who has raped her countless times, ultimately fathering Jack. Yet, through sheer willpower and the love she harbours for her son, Joy keeps all these harsh truths to herself. And throughout the runtime, Larson turns in a tragically punishing performance to match this broken yet incredibly resilient character, finding courage from the need to protect her child from the enormity of their tormentor, only ever referred to as “Old Nick.” With that in mind, it’s not too much of a surprise that Larson later went on to win an Oscar for her performance in 2016.

Shot over a period of ten weeks, the first month of Room‘s production primarily took place inside a tiny set with immovable walls. As such, director Lenny Abrahamson (Adam & Paul, Frank, The Little Stranger) and his crew had to work entirely within the confines of the limited space. Nevertheless, the cinematography by Danny Cohen still manages to remarkably capture the innocent outlook of childhood, employing a number of low-angled close-ups in just the right shaft of light to illustrate how Jack finds enjoyment in his everyday life. Many of these shots also display the grubby surfaces and worn objects in the claustrophobic space Jack and his mother reside, reminding the audience that this sealed room is closer to a dungeon than an inviting family quarter.

Similar to the narrative itself, the original score by Stephen Rennicks is the perfect combination of beauty and trepidation, with some tracks, most notably; Opening, Mouse, In the World and New End, standing as beautiful piano-led pieces that bring a level of warm comfort. Whilst other tracks, like I’m Scared and Roll Up, are much more atmospheric and even somewhat unnerving. In many ways, these two types of tracks could be seen as representations of Jack and Joy, respectively, as the piano melodies are direct and naïve with very little room for movement, a.k.a. Jack. While the violin arrangements could be personified as Joy, being mature, tense and somewhat damaged.

In terms of its structure, Room is a film that is largely divided into two halves. And whilst I don’t want to reveal too much regarding how the plot develops, I will note that the film does lose some of the dramatic steam it builds up in the first half of its story due to a substantial change in the direction and tone of its latter half.

In summary, Room is undeniably a depressing and challenging viewing at points, but it’s also more sanguine in its storytelling than many may expect from a film with such a horrific setup. Through its tremendous performances, thoughtful use of visuals and detailed sets, Room is a terrific drama (and an effective thriller) that explores the uncomfortable topic of abduction from a unique perspective. Formulating a tear-jerking adaptation that occasionally makes too much room for melodrama, but is an expertly told tale, nonetheless. Rating: high 8/10.

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What If (2013) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / Leave a comment

“In Fairy Tales, Love Inspires You to Be Noble and Courageous, but in Real Life, Love Is Just an All-Purpose Excuse for Selfish Behavior. You Can Lie and Cheat and Hurt People and It’s All Okay, Because You’re in Love.” – Wallace

Based on the novel and later stage play; Toothpaste & Cigars by T.J. Dawe and Michael Rinaldi, 2013’s What If (alternatively titled; The F Word), is a light-hearted romantic-comedy that largely overcomes its familiar framework and few derivative elements. Continuously mindful of the many clichés associated with rom-coms, What If employs an abundance of witty dialogue, subversive story decisions and the effervescent chemistry of its leads: Daniel Radcliffe and Zoe Kazan, to deliver a charming, self-aware romantic-comedy that will appeal to those well-acquainted with the genre (and its typical shortcomings), as well as those who prefer the ‘com’ to the ‘rom’ portions of a rom-com.

Plot Summary: After being repeatedly burned by bad relationships, medical school dropout, Wallace, decides to put his love life on hold while everyone around him seems to be finding the perfect partner. But, when Wallace meets Chantry at a house party, an endearing animator who lives with her long-time boyfriend, Ben. The pair form an instant connection, striking up a close friendship and leaving Wallace to contemplate whether his newly-found friend could also be the love of his life…

Directed by Michael Dowse (It’s All Gone Pete Tong, Goon, Stuber) and written by Elan Mastai. In many ways, the screenplay for What If feels as if it was conceived as an unabashed tribute to the exemplary romantic-comedy; When Harry Met Sally from 1989. Primarily due to its underlining theme/question of whether a man and a woman can truly just be friends. However, unlike that renowned rom-com, What If places a heavy emphasis on its characters and their relationships, alongside its hilarious gags. As a result, many of the cringe-inducing comedic moments feel very natural and in-character, as opposed to feeling like embarrassing scenarios the screenwriter conjured up on the spot. As previously mentioned, What If is also continually conscious of the numerous painful clichés that plague the rom-com genre, attempting to avoid them at every turn. As such, the film crafts many of its amusing yet romantically uncomfortable situations in unpredictable ways, rather than what the audience would typically expect, which works remarkably well.

Portrayed by Daniel Radcliffe, the story’s polite and self-effacing protagonist, Wallace, is close enough to Radcliffe’s actual personality that the actor rarely feels as if he is portraying a fictional character, yet he is immensely entertaining to watch, nonetheless. And when paired with the charismatic and equally likeable Zoe Kazan, whose character, Chantry, is luminously quirky, the pair’s excellent chemistry quickly bubbles to the surface. In addition to the leading duo, Wallace’s outlandish best friend, Allan, portrayed by Adam Driver, provides a considerable amount of the film’s most amusing moments, as his wild personality is a fantastic foil to Wallace’s often pessimistic view of the world. Then there is Rafe Spall as Chantry’s long-lasting boyfriend, Rob, who, thankfully isn’t written as a simplistic, cheating miscreant designed to simply push his girlfriend into the arms of the protagonist. If truth be told, the only character the film squanders is Wallace’s sister, Ellie, portrayed by Jemima Rooper, as she is incredibly under-utilised, only appearing in two (inconsequential) scenes.

When it comes to visuals, the cinematography by Rogier Stoffers maintains a light touch throughout the runtime, allowing the photogenic city of Toronto to function as a vibrant setting without ever seeming overly romanticised, which is a satisfying contrast to many other city-set romantic-comedies. Additionally, to correspond with Chantry working at an animation studio, What If seizes the opportunity to add some flair to its visuals by having many of its characters sporadically daydream. These mental fabrications are represented by Chantry’s cartoonish sketches coming to life and appearing alongside the characters, usually in a projection-like form via their surroundings.

Despite What If presenting its song choices as the focal point of its audio instead of its acoustic-led original score, many of the tracks by composer A.C. Newman, including Beach Bummer and Packing with Dalia, are cordial and possess a delightful little motif. Still, the licensed songs are naturally the most memorable part of the soundtrack, with upbeat tunes like Best of Friends, Big Bird in a Small Cage and Let’s Get High, sufficiently supporting the story and its central underlining theme.

Sticking with the notion of avoiding romantic-comedy tropes, the ending of What If is a rather restrained piece of storytelling that merely gets across what details it needs to before cutting to black. The ending is a terrific throwback to a line of dialogue from earlier in the film, bringing the story to completion. That is essentially why I prefer that original ending to the extended ending that was shot eighteen months later, as where the original climax is drawn-back and concise, the extended ending feels unnecessarily long and even falls into a couple of the stale plot points What If was trying to sidestep throughout its narrative.

In summary, What If is a feel-good flick that frequently flirts with rom-com clichés yet skillfully evades the worst of them, all while traversing into unexpected territory, both comedically and dramatically. Whilst I’d argue the film has widespread appeal, those who enjoyed Michael Dowse’s previous outings are especially likely to appreciate What If, as it similarly blends a warm, earnest attitude with shocking, irreverent jokes. Repeatedly pointing out how much better romantic-comedies can be when you have fully-formed characters and exceptional performances, in addition to side-splitting wisecracks. Rating: low 8/10.

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Thoroughbreds (2017) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / Leave a comment

“The Only Thing Worse Than Being Incompetent, or Being Unkind, or Being Evil, Is Being Indecisive.” – Amanda

Originally written for the stage, 2017’s Thoroughbreds juggles many conflicting tones, but does so with such panache and charm that it’s rare to find deficiencies within its tonal shifts. With a straightforward yet deeply engrossing plot, elegant visuals and a pair of top-notch performances from Olivia Cooke and Anya Taylor-Joy, Thoroughbreds delivers a sharply written and refreshingly unpredictable entry into the black comedy genre. Placing far more emphasis on its characters and their internal issues than anything other black comedy in recent memory.

Plot Summary: In suburban Connecticut, a pair of childhood friends reconnect after many years when the sharply-witted sociopath, Amanda, arrives at the residence of the wealthy and academically inclined, Lily, for a private tutoring session. After rekindling their friendship, however, Lily soon learns of Amanda’s peculiar philosophy, prompting the pair to hatch a plan to solve both their problems, a plan that begins with the murder of Lily’s detestable stepfather…

Stuck in limbo for almost two years, the production of Thoroughbreds technically ceased in mid-2016, yet the film wasn’t released into cinemas until March 9th, 2018. This was due to several factors, but most notably, this was a result of the film’s lengthy and extensive festival circuit in 2017. During this festival run, Thoroughbreds received many positive reactions, which in a way, surprises me, as even though the plot of Thoroughbreds may sound like a set-up for a compelling thriller, the plot twists and suspenseful moments are never the main attributes of the film. Instead, Thoroughbreds is far more focused on having its characters use their words to eke the darkness out of one another, which ultimately leads to an outcome that, in its theatricality, may feel anticlimactic to some. But, for others, will feel like a unique take on what could’ve been a poorly executed sequence for a lower-budget crime-thriller.

The two central characters of Amanda and Lily, expertly portrayed by Olivia Cooke and Anya Taylor-Joy, are unquestionably the primary focus of Thoroughbreds, with much of the runtime being spent developing the pair and depicting many of the similarities and differences between their respective personalities. For instance, since their early days of horseback riding, Lily has turned into a polished, upper-class teenager with outstanding grades and a coveted internship on her resume. Meanwhile, Amanda has developed a strong sense of perception and a stern attitude, all in the process of becoming a social outcast and unregistered sociopath, which is flawlessly depicted through Cooke’s impassive performance. Sadly, Thoroughbreds was also the final project to feature a terrific performance from actor, Anton Yelchin, as the small-time drug dealer, Tim, before his tragic death on June 19th, 2016, at the age of twenty-seven. As such, the film is dedicated to him.

Despite writer-director Cory Finley (Bad Education) bearing a more extensive background in theatre than filmmaking, Finley displays a natural cinematic instinct right from the opening scene. Depicting the baroque, marble-lined mansion where Lily, her mother and her stepfather reside as more of a prison than a utopia, as the cinematography by Lyle Vincent stalks through the location in lengthy, restless takes. Lingering on specific elements, such as an SUV driving up the gravel driveway or two characters staring at each other from adjacent rooms. Furthermore, the visuals retain a surprisingly vibrant colour palette when considering the grim nature of the story, utilising luminous whites, greens and greys for the majority of the runtime.

For the original score, composer, Erik Friedlander, manipulated various instruments to achieve a number of atonal sounds like boinks and sproings, which all serve as disconcerting counterpoints to the refined visuals. And while there are many excellent tracks throughout the seemingly unstructured score as a result of these unusual sounds, the final track; Win Win, is undoubtedly the best track of the original score, concluding the black comedy on a bittersweet note thanks in part to the optimistic piece.

Bleak yet direct in its underlining commentary on the turmoil of being a teenager in the modern world, Thoroughbreds takes the problems of the young and privileged and explores them through the narrative. With many teenagers (particularly teenage girls) often being told to act or react in specific ways, this story of two girls who are both removed yet acutely aware of their emotions is something to be appreciated in modern character studies. Still, as a consequence of this gradual exploration of the two central characters, I believe many audience members will be turned off by the film on account of its slow pacing and total lack of on-screen violence. However, that’s not to say that I agree with these conceivable criticisms, as even with Thoroughbreds‘ slow pacing, I actually feel that the runtime could’ve been slightly extended, providing more time for characterisation in the first act before the girls reunite.

In summary, Thoroughbreds is a quirky, darkly comedic and entertaining crime-thriller anchored by some exceptional performances and praiseworthy filmmaking. Although the film may not be for everyone given its harsh perspective on teenage life, shortage of blood/gore and frequently slow pacing, Thoroughbreds‘ lavish presentation and snappy dialogue are immensely effective. To the point that the screenplay even manages to make the audience empathise with a character that is completely incapable of empathy, which is a rather impressive feat. Rating: 8/10.

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Loving Vincent (2017) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / 1 Comment

“You Want to Know So Much About His Death, but What Do You Know of His Life?” – Marguerite Gachet

An arduous labour of love by a team of over one hundred professional artists, Loving Vincent, released in 2017, turns the renowned artwork and tragic life story of the celebrated post-impressionist artist, Vincent van Gogh, into an extraordinary biopic. Initially filmed in live-action before every frame was then hand-painted over in the distinct style of van Gogh’s artwork, Loving Vincent impressively employs hundreds upon hundreds of oil paintings and transforms them into a hypnotic and ambitious animated biography, even if its story and characters are less effectively crafted than its dazzling visuals.

Plot Summary: In the summer of 1891, one year after the presumed suicide of unwonted artist, Vincent van Gogh. Postman, Joseph Roulin, tasks his reluctant son, Armand Roulin, with delivering one of the artist’s final letters to his brother, Theo van Gogh, in Paris. But, when Armand arrives in the French capital, learning that Theo has, too, met his demise, he pledges to investigate van Gogh’s untimely death by venturing to the scenic town of Auvers-sur-Oise…

Obtaining a large amount of attention after its nomination for an Academy Award for Best Animated Picture in 2018. Loving Vincent is one of the most unique films to emerge from the animation genre in recent years, as immediately from the hand-painted opening title sequence, preceded by van Gogh’s quote; “We Cannot Speak Other Than by Our Paintings.” The audience is pulled into van Gogh’s hyper-sensual worldview through the film’s striking aesthetic. Aside from the astonishing visuals, directors Dorota Kobiela and Hugh Welchman also provide an alternative take on the historic biopic by having the life of Vincent van Gogh viewed from the perspective of a young man, via the stories he is told by those who knew him. And even though this investigative storyline doesn’t quite match up to the amazing visuals on display, it’s an engaging story, nonetheless.

While the main cast of Douglas Booth, Eleanor Tomlinson, Saoirse Ronan, Robert Gulaczyk, Jerome Flynn, the late Helen McCrory and Chris O’Dowd, are all terrific in their performances, none of the characters possess a French accent. And considering that the story takes place in 1800s France, I feel the immersion of the time period/setting could’ve been greatly increased should the filmmakers have chosen to cast English-speaking French actors/actresses. Moreover, similar to the narrative, the characters of Loving Vincent are one of the film’s lesser impressive aspects. Whilst Armand Roulin is serviceable as a headstrong protagonist, eager to fight and drink before he is pulled out of his slump and instructed to deliver van Gogh’s final letter, subsequently becoming more and more invested in the alleged suicide of the gifted yet largely detested artist. The majority of the characters are given little characterisation and merely serve as plot devices to edge Armand towards his next acquaintance/eyewitness.

Moving onto the visuals, Loving Vincent was predominantly animated through the rotoscope technique; an animation process that consists of tracing over live-action footage frame-by-frame. This technique allowed the filmmakers to implement the characters into a number of visually stunning environments, along with numerous recreations of Vincent van Gogh’s paintings. However, only the sequences set in 1891 are animated in the style of van Gogh’s artwork, as flashback sequences are animated in the style of black and white photographs of the time period, providing a clear visual distinction. Additionally, details such as cigarette smoke, clouds or flowing rivers make for fantastic transitions between scenes. On the whole, the visuals of Loving Vincent almost appear like purified echoes of Vincent van Gogh’s artwork, as the cinematography by Tristan Oliver and Lukasz Zal, combined with the vibrant colour palette and beguiling art style, results in countless enchanting shots.

From the outset, the original score by Clint Mansell backs up the stylistic visuals with a sombre and atmospheric soundscape. Through tracks like The Night Café, The Yellow House, Marguerite Gachet at the Piano and Five Sunflowers in a Vase, the score creates a sense of sadness that parallels the difficult life Vincent van Gogh led. Furthermore, despite having a noticeable lack of movement in the background of certain scenes, the sound design goes a long way in fleshing out the environment around the characters, whether that be the bustling streets of Paris or a quaint farm in Auvers-sur-Oise.

According to Loving Vincent‘s official website, the collective effort of the many talented artists that worked on the project resulted in a total of eight hundred and fifty-three oil paintings, as each art piece was utilised multiple times, with succeeding frames being painted on top of the original paintings. In the final film, there are around fifty thousand hand-painted frames, which is truly an incredible feat of artsy when taking into account how much time went into just a single scene.

In summary, Loving Vincent is an outstanding achievement, not only in the genre of animation, but also in the world of filmmaking. While the story and characters do leave room for improvement, these minor issues hardly detract from Loving Vincent‘s main attribute; its ravishing visuals. From the phenomenal use of colour to the detailed backdrops and innumerable visual references to van Gogh’s most recognised artwork, Loving Vincent is a captivating tribute to one of history’s most influential artists. And, as such, I’d say Loving Vincent is a biopic well worth seeking out, even if it’s merely for the experience of witnessing the craftsmanship of hundreds of animated oil paintings on-screen. Rating: low 9/10.

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