There are two sides to Whalefall: One is an cracking A-budget B-picture idea about a guy swallowed by a humongous sperm whale. This is entertaining as far as it goes, especially in 4DX. The movie gives a terrific sense of the sunken depths into which the guy dives and the entire episode of him getting tangled with a giant squid and then vacuumed into the whale's maw is cheer-worthy. He spends most of the remaining movie time inside the whale, first attempting to plow through the whale's gut (bad idea) and then trying to make his way back up. If the movie had kept its focus on the mechanics of the escape, which are sufficiently gooshy and entertaining in themselves, this would have been an immersive fun ride.
But it has A-picture ambitions, and so we also have a sodden drama with the most confounding of allusions. Our leading man (Austin Abrams) is called "Jay", harking back to the Old Testament story of Jonah and the Whale. Briefly, God wants Jonah to obey his command. But naughty Jonah runs the other way in a sailing boat, so God busts him by rousing up a storm (literally) and having him swallowed by a whale. When he repents, he is let out in a torrent of whale vomit. Happy ending.
For Jay, God is replaced by his father Mitt (played by Josh Brolin, doing his best geezer Nick Nolte impression). When the film begins, Mitt has committed suicide by drowning himself at sea because of his cancer. He and Jay have had a very troubled relationship, so much so the boy has not attended the funeral. But for some reason, Jay gets the idea of finding his father's remains. In flashbacks, whose clumsiness even Pietro 'JFK ' Scalia's cutting skills cannot conceal, we learn that Mitt was an overbearing dad forever on Jay's tail about diving and survival. He is also a drunk and an eco-nutter that resents the idea of the majestic whale reduced to a tourist selfie opportunity. And yeah, he has cancer, the sort that is clearly geared at garnering award nominations. Mitt's "tough love" parenting (which seems restricted to Jay, his girls only have loving memories) and demand that the son match his rigorous discipline drives the son away to landlocked Iowa (thus mimicking Jonah's attempt to escape). But after he is trapped in the whale, his father's rants are suddenly revealed as life-saving strategies that Jay applies to survive in and ultimately escape his whale-cell.
To say that the father-son drama is boring is an understatement. Every time the film cuts away from the present to a flashback, it flops like a fish out of water. With the film's pointed agenda of making the drunk nutter cancer patient father a spiritual guide to the boy, the portrait we get of Brolin's character is not even consistent, and you want to throw beer cans at him. Heck, I would pay to see this movie with all the drama bits stripped out and remade as a Meg sequel with Jason Statham punching his way out of the damn whale.
Tokuzo Tanaka's The Betrayal could almost be a prequel to Kihachi Okamoto's Sword of Doom, in that it shows how a loyal Samurai becomes disillusioned with the traditional honor code and could eventually turn to amorality. Raizo Ichikawa, who I mainly know from the Shinobi no Mono movie series, is the honorable and skilled warrior forced by his clan senior (and father of his fiancee) to take the blame for the back-stabbing murder of a rival clan member in order to save the home clan's face. Ichikawa does so on the promise of the matter being resolved in a few months, only to find that the old man has died in the interim and there is no one that can vouch for his innocence (although I don't know why his fiancee - Kaoru Yachigusa from Hiroshi Inagaki's Samurai trilogy - who is a witness to this conversation, cannot vouch for his innocence, especially after her father is dead).
Ichikawa becomes an outcast, hunted by both the rival clan and his own clan. He disclaims Samurai honor as meaningless, although his conscience still pushes him towards a personal ethical code. He has multiple encounters with the various clan members in which his skills help him to escape. In the end he is surrounded by a literal army of enemies - his own clan, the rival clan and people interested in the bounty for his head. It is a scene of highly exaggerated combat: Ichikawa slays more than a hundred foes coming at him with swords, lances, ladders, ropes, handcarts. Even his enemy is forced to admit that with such skill and valor, he could not have been the backstabber, but for the sake of clan honor he must slay him.
For all the action, The Betrayal is primarily a melodrama, and it does lay it on a bit thick. Like I said, I am not sure why the fiancee character could not clarify matters to her clan (it would be another matter if she did not know). But the film is shot with style (Japanese film expert Tom Mes' selected scene commentary nicely dissects the visual choices Tanaka makes) and subverts some expectations - a thief character who attaches himself to Ichikawa sees his ethical behavior, but does not flinch from betraying him later. The climactic fight is a doozy, although a lot of the time the enemy pretty much fall on to Ichikawa's sword while making the most inept stabs at him (There is no way he could have overcome those odds if they had shown the slightest competence). The film ends on an ambiguous note where we don't know if Ichikawa's character will be left alone or further pursued by his enemies. Who knows, may be he could end up as the amoral character Tatsuya Nakadai played in Sword of Doom.
Radiance's blu gives a fine presentation of the B&W widescreen feature, with solid grayscale and contrast. The audio is a mixed bag, with significant distortion in the upper registers, especially noticeable during Akira Ikufube's excellent score. Extras include the aforementioned selected scene commentary, a visual essay by Mes where he discusses Tozuki Tanaka's style (I feel he extrapolates a bit too much here about the thematic elements), and a nice comparison by Philip Kemp of The Betrayal to a silent-era movie of which it is said to be a remake. The booklet in the limited edition contains a scholdarly essay by Alain Silver.
It was heartening to see the 700-seater Regal cinema hall on a weekday evening full of young viewers lined up for a more-than-70 years old film. To make a confession, I had never seen Do Bigha Zamin (DBZ) in its entirety before, only selected clips on TV especially the cycle rickshaw race with its calamitous end. Said to be inspired by watching Vittorio De Sica's Bicycle Thieves, DBZ is a grounded drama about the downtrodden in society. Our protagonist Shambhu Mahto (an unforgettable Balraj Sahni) is a farmer forced to look for work in the city to earn enough to clear the mortgage on his farm, after he refuses to sell the land to the rich zamindar (Murad) for the construction of a mill.
Shambhu lands in the sprawling chaos of Kolkata with his stowaway son Kanhaiya (Ratan Kumar), while his wife Parvati (Nirupa Roy) is left in the village with his ailing father. In the metropolis, they meet a motley of characters, some of whom - like the fiery-tongued slum landlady or the street-smart boot-polishing urchin Lalu (a young spirited Jagdeep, devoid of excessive buffoonery) are sympathetic enough to help them out. To put the money together before his repayment term ends, Shambhu works like a dog, refusing himself even basic necessities as a good meal or rest after an accident.
With Shambhu and his family's life Roy depicts the hardship of poor folk in the country, the struggle to make a living or hold on to their most meager possessions, while still trying to maintain a shred of dignity and avoid taking the path of crime. It is a sensitive and sympathetic tale helmed by someone that truly believed in the power of cinema for social change. Roy would later go on to make other striking social dramas like Bandini and Sujata; even his gothic melodrama Madhumati has a strong social backdrop of oppression by the privileged class.
The film's production design and cinematography are wholly married to the vision of social realism. Even the songs (composed by Salil Chowdhary) are an integral part of the narrative, with no extravagant escapist dream sequences. DBZ ends, as it should, on a tragic and poignant note: Shambhu finds himself fenced out of his own land after it is auctioned by the debt court, not allowed to even take a handful of dirt from the earth that he and his forefathers had tended for so many generations.
Kudos to the Film Heritage Foundation and Janus-Criterion for undertaking the 4K restoration of this classic. Largely free of any heavy damage and showing painstakingly calibrated contrast that reveals the vision of its makers, the restored version is a marvel.
Assi is story-wise probably the best film Anubhav Sinha has made thus far because, as Baradwaj Rangan in his review says, he constantly subverts our expectations about what the film is about. When we think it will be a grandstanding courtroom drama where a woman lawyer snatches justice from a biased system for her assaulted client, it goes in another, more interesting direction. It looks at the vicious spiral of violence and retaliatory violence, and how in celebrating an act of vigilante justice, the original victim is no longer a factor.
Of course, Anubhav the storyteller is often tripped over by Anubhav the writer of clunky portentous dialog and his need to virtue signal. To no fault of these terrific actors, Mohd Zeeshan Ayub's sensitive husband and Taapsee Pannu's firebrand lawyer are less credible people than idealizations of the script. Where the film is saved is in the introduction of Kumud Mishra's character - I won't spoil it with any further description, but in both the writing and Mishra's committed performance (including an amazing body transformation that makes you see the actor in a different light), a new dimension is added to what could have been a cliched Pink 2 kind of story. Sinha as director also breaks the fourth wall with periodic reminders that a rape crime takes place at least every 20 min in this country (Adding up to the title's eighty in a day, and that's counting only the reported ones).
All things considered, Assi's core is IMO strong enough to make an impact - the climax is beautifully written in terms of how it again restores focus on the person who was originally violated, and only by systemically addressing the 'might is right' thinking which governs our social conflicts - be they gender, religion or caste based - can we truly aspire to be civilized.
In Sirai aka Prison, Kathiravan (Vikram Prabhu) is a policeman involved with the escort of prisoners in transit. These escort cops must often rely on public transport, and during the entire journey they are responsible for keeping the prisoner confined and the public safe. At the beginning, Kathir is shown to open fire in a public place to stop an escaping convict. He is placed under enquiry. In the meantime, he takes on another escort job, of an under-trial Muslim boy called Abdul Rauf (a stunning LK Akshay Kumar, who reminds me of a young Basil Joseph).
Kathir's two teammates in the mission treat it more like an outing where they can drink and make merry. When they are caught in a public scuffle after one such carouse, Abdul is unsupervised in the bus. It gets worse: Even the rifle meant for guarding the prisoner is left behind with him. The cops chase after and catch up with the bus, only to find both Abdul and the rifle missing. It is at this cliffhanger moment that the intermission comes.
Sirai's second half deals with Kathir and his team meeting again with Abdul, and learning the circumstances that led to his incarceration. It is not a novel story; 70's and 80's mainstream Indian cinema was rife with narratives where an upright cop finds sympathy for a law-offender and they ultimately team up against the actual bad guys.But within this archetype, Sirai imbues its characters and situations with sufficient substance for them to engage the audience.
Abdul's situation comes about as a consequence of the communal divide in his village, and the opposition to his transgressive romance with the Hindu girl Kalai (Anishma Anilkumar). Supporting characters like Abdul's mother (Remya Suresh) and Kathir's wife (Ananta Thambiraja) show a welcome fire instead of being the stereotype doormats. I also loved that the Sirai did not feel obliged to have a climactic showdown reinforcing the cop's badasserie. This is a refreshing change from the ultra-macho 'my beard/dick biggest' leanings of today's masses-oriented cinema.
Of course, all is not great here. The second half of Sirai leans hard into sentimentality - sometimes to the point of obvious manipulation - with repetitive scenes of characters being oppressed or bursting into tears. Also, the visual grammar becomes unnecessarily jerky, insisting on cross-cutting flashbacks where a few lines of dialog would have sufficed to convey the information. It is as if the makers felt that the audience constantly needs to be shown stuff happening. But there is enough goodness here that flaws notwithstanding, Sirai is an excellent example of what I wish more mainstream cinema would aim for.
PS: The film is also an example of how using people born within the industry does not in itself constitute nepotism. Vikram Prabhu comes from an acting family that includes father Prabhu and grandfather the late Sivaji Ganesan. LK Akshay Kumar is the son of the film's producer SS Lalit Kumar. But both are so well-suited for their parts that you do not see them as privileged insiders denying more deserving candidates.
Occasional violence notwithstanding, Tokyo Godfathers -Satoshi Kon's 2003 Xmas themed movie - is his most family-friendly effort. The title is a hat-tip to John Ford's 1948 Western Three Godfathers, in which a trio of thieves led by John Wayne are landed with the care of an orphaned infant.
Kon's heroes are three hobos that find the baby while scavenging in a dumpster. Hana the melodramatic transgender is overjoyed at the prospect of being a 'mother' although it is soon clear that she is less prepared for the practicalities than the middle-aged taciturn alcoholic (ha!) 'Gin', who has a tragic backstory that may not necessarily be true. Rounding out the trio is morose teenage runaway Miyuki.
Initially, Gin and Miyuki want to hand the baby girl over to the police, while Hana - who names the child Kiyoko - is determined to raise her, even if it means striking out on her own. They reach a compromise in deciding to hand the girl back to her parents using the meager clues they find to their identity. Their winding journey includes meeting a mafioso, bearing witness to an assassination and learning about a former bar girl that may be Kiyoko's mother. In this process they also learn more about each other and about their own selves.
Kon is normally known for bizarre dream-logic enterprises like Perfect Blue, Paprika and his series Paranoia Agent. His 2001 fictional biopic Millennium Actress - which traces the life of a former film star, and in the process gives a history of the Japanese film industry - was the closest he had till then got to a conventional drama. Tokyo Godfathers is again a more grounded narrative, remaining in a real world, albeit one with some very colorful characters. While Kon does not sugarcoat the melancholy of his characters, this is ultimately a film of hope, and that is what Xmas season is all about, isn't it?
In Michael Curtiz's The Breaking Point, Harry Morgan (John Garfield) is a married sailor that leases out his boat for fishing trips. He is aided by his first (and only) mate Wesley (Juano Hernandez), a colored man with whom he and his family share the sort of friendly bond that would surely have raised audience eyebrows at the time. On one fishing trip, he meets the provocative Leona (Patricia Neal), who is accompanying her sugar daddy. Leona throws him strong feelers but he doesn't bite. He also turns down a proposal from sleazy broker Duncan (Wallace Ford) to carry some illegal human cargo for cash. But fate does not side with our honest family (sea)man. The sugar daddy defaults on his payment (and dumps his mistress), and there are bills that need paying. So Harry has no choice but to take on the job.
Unfortunately things go further wrong and he ends up accidentally killing a man. Harry throws him overboard, and after dropping Leona ashore, goes back to his wife Lucy (Phyllis Thaxter, who I only knew previously as Superman's foster mum, Martha Kent) and two kids. Now the coast guard impounds Harry's boat on suspicion and he still needs to provide for the family. Lucy well-meaningly nags him to give up on the boat and move to her father's farm. Harry loves his wife and daughters, and wants to do his best by them, but he wants none of the farming business: The sea is his lifeblood. He's in the pressure cooker and now it's getting hotter.
Desperate for a paying job, once Harry gets the boat back, he gives into Duncan's new job offer, which actually involves him being the getaway boat for a gang of bank-robbers. Does he actually go through with this? Will he get out alive, and if so, can he face his family again? These are the questions raised in this steamy noir drama.
Early on the film emphasizes the strong romance between Harry and Lucy's married couple. It's the backbone of the drama and one makes believable his actions, be it his rejection of Leona's repeated advances or his resistance to the temptation to make a shady buck. Harry's not a boy-scout but there are lines he will not cross. The threat to his family life is what raises the stakes in how the film plays out. The characters are beautifully written - while Lucy is the 'good wife' pitted against Leona's provocateur, neither of them are archetype 2D cutouts. You completely empathize with Harry's recognition of his fallibility and his resolve to keep certain ties sacred; his monogamy is not a cliche. Leona is also not the archetype 'whore with a heart of gold'; she understands why Harry is committed to Lucy, but does not let that stop her from trying to pull down his defenses. This nuanced struggle between faith and temptation is the powerful engine propelling Breaking Point's drama.
The boiling pot screenplay eventually explodes in the climax with a shootout on the boat. Without spoilers, the end is not a happy return to status quo. But apart from the haunting final image, it is mostly hopeful, and we are glad for that. Shot mostly on real locations, the film carries verisimilitude; Ernest Hemingway, who wrote the story To Have and Have Not, upon which it is based, is supposed to have declared it the best film adaptation of his works.
Coming off a 2k restoration by Warner Bros, the transfer is a solid one, with good detail and excellent contrasts that do justice to the visuals by Ted McCord (The Treasure of Sierra Madre, The Sound of Music). The mono track is good enough to get the job done. Extras include a 20-min video essay by critic Alan Rode, a shorter piece by the people behind the popular cinephile Youtube channel Every Frame a Painting and a featurette with John Garfield's daughter Julia talking about her father, his rise and fall in Hollywood, and his work in The Breaking Point.
I was excited about Ronth (aka Patrol) because writer-director Shahi Kabir wrote the script for Nayattu and directed Elaveezha Poonjira, two of the most ball-squeezingly tense movies I've seen in recent years. The latter was a terrific Hitchcockian exercise with just two characters for most of the running time.
Ronth is another cop story, but of a different nature. In its premise of following two policemen - sub-inspector Yohanan (Dileesh Pothan) and his constable-driver Dinnath (Roshan Mathew) - doing their night patrol, it features a more sprawling and episodic narrative. On their rounds the cops, who share a prickly interaction with each other, encounter a series of different situations, which expose their vulnerabilities as well as their hidden strengths. Pothan is especially remarkable as the experienced officer, a credible mixture of bullying and empathy, corruption and integrity to his job. Mathew's rookie is a bit of a caricature in terms of how naive he is shown to be. The situations they face go from the mundane to the bizarre (in one instance they have to deal with a madman that has imprisoned his young child in the belief that it will be stolen from him...a situation similar to the one faced by Takashi Shimura's warrior in Seven Samurai). In the course of the night they learn more about each other, and the audience learns about them. When the morning comes, they face a sudden crisis that may destroy them both.
Where Ronth falls short compared to Kabir's previous efforts is in its lesser subtlety. We already see the inspector's complex nature from the way he handles his psychologically afflicted wife, the petitioners they meet, and the way he reacts to the constable's family emergency. But Kabir feels the need to include a scene where Yohanan has to explain himself to Dinnath; why spend more time telling what you have already shown? As the night goes on, the sheer number of locations the cops have to visit begins to seem a little improbable; it's like they singlehandedly represent the whole force. Also, compared to Nayattu, the crisis of faith/betrayal they face has a more manufactured feel, and is handled with less nuance than one has come to expect from the maker.
But overall, Ronth is very much worth the watch, and I'll definitely keeping a watch for more outings from Shahi Kabir.
I have come to love the chameleonic Basil Joseph (Sookshmadarshini, Ponman, Paltu Janwar) and, given his limitations, Prithviraj Sukumaran can be quite decent with the right part (like in Ayyappanum Koshiyum). But damn, the best way I can describe Guruvayoor Ambalanadayil (GA), the supposed family entertainer from 2024 is...toxic masculinity portrayed in the light of an amusing and harmless trait.
Prithviraj and Basil are Anandan and Vinu, would-be brothers-in-law (BILs) who have for some reason developed an intense bonding (apparently over phone conversations alone), so much so it appears Vinu's bride Anjali (Anaswara Rajan) is a mere afterthought in their interaction. Perhaps they are united by their self-entitled fragile-ego perspective: Vinu is still sulking over a broken affair he attributes to a selfish and fickle woman. He seems only interested to marry so he can be closer to the BIL; draw your conclusions from that. Anandan is separated (though not divorced) from his wife and young child. He appears unconcerned about reconciling till Basil goads him into bringing his 'Aniyathi' (sister-in-law) home. It then turns out that Vinu's ex and Anandan's current are the same woman. How this impacts their quasi-homoerotic mutual admiration society and how the matter is finally resolved forms the rest of the film.
What makes it so galling is that GA is structured as a farce. We are supposed to find the antics and attitudes of these overgrown men-children cute. Anandan's courtesies towards his wife Parvathy in the intended reconciliation come across as an act antithetical to his true nature - Nikhila Vimal in the part is mostly reduced to staring with a disgruntled expression. When things go awry Anandan totally immediately declares Parvathy a pariah, discarding all notions of trust and mutual respect in a marriage. It turns out that Vinu's treatment of his ex has not been honorable either. This woman has been wholly victimized by these two bullies. The third perpetrator is the film's script, which treats her as a mere prop with no agency of her own. Even worse, Anandan's sister seems wholly okay with this fact and has no problem marrying the man at least partially responsible for her SIL's troubled status. Instead of more incisively exploring this issue we get a welter of pointless sub-plots, including one with Yogi Babu as a man wanting revenge on Vinu for another past sin (which reinforces him as a habitual asshole).
The narrative has a so-called happy ending in which Vinu marries the girl he wants (or whose brother he covets), and gets off with just a token apology to the woman whose life he has probably doomed. GA may have achieved its ends at the box-office, but in terms of the quality of writing, this is certainly not one of Malayalam cinema's better moments.
In the creative sphere, poet Emily Dickinson is rarely cited as anybody's conscious influence, but her most-quoted line hits upon such a fundamental truth, its underlying sentiment has powered almost every major humanist work in our world. Hope is truly what keeps us going, whether in terms of taking on herculean challenges, grappling with powerful opposing forces or even merely surviving. I realize this sounds like an overly profound opening; in that sense it mirrors Payal Kapadia piloting us into her film's world, the bustling Mumbai metropolis where millions jostle each other. Their thoughts spoken out Wings of Desire style, we hear these jostlers individually, taste their unique cocktails of despair and hope.
Then we zoom into a microcosm of this universe, the hospital - not by coincidence, a place of hope and healing - and our main characters Prabha, Anu and Parvathy. Prabha (Kani Kusruti, Girls will be Girls) and Anu (Divya Prabha, Ariyippu / Declaration), both nurses* and flatmates, are linked by their Malayali heritage. Prabha is senior in both age and rank, and serves as an elder sister / guardian to Anu. Prabha is married, but has not seen her husband , an expat worker in Germany, since many years; even the telephonic conversations have died off. Anu meets her Muslim boyfriend Shiaz in secret, certain that her parents will never approve of the match. The feisty Parvathy (Chhaya Kadam), a Maharashtrian who serves as cook at the hospital, has troubles of her own in the form of real estate bigwigs that are forcibly acquiring her tenement flat in the name of redevelopment.
Prabha is like a forlorn flower, withered from the absence of romance. She is helpful and nurturing to her subordinates, but appears to have lost all hope of personal happiness. A message-less gift of a rice cooker is the only communication she has had in years from her absent spouse; one night, in an almost sexual manner, she hugs the appliance. But it also serves as a reminder of the obligation she has bound herself with - when the new doctor courts her, she gently brushes him off citing her married status. Anu is fresher, livelier. In her telephone conversations with home, she hides her relationship with Shiaz (Hridhu Haroon). During their clandestine meetings she is often the bolder party, talking dirty and initiating their lovemaking. But this boldness seems to come from a desperation to squeeze as much as she can from the relationship before its inevitable end. Parvathy comes across as more pragmatic than her educated colleagues - she is no defeatist for sure, but also sees no sense in prolonging a fight that cannot be won.
While episodic, All We Imagine...'s screenplay roughly has a three-part structure, one for each protagonist. The resolving act is spearheaded by Parvathy quitting her job and shifting back to her seaside village. Prabha and Anu help move her things (discovering in the process that she has shoplifted several hospital implements as 'souvenirs') and stay over. One evening a man is rescued from drowning, and Prabha uses her skills to tend to him, in a sense bringing him back to life. What follows between them is, depending on your POV, either a fantastic contrivance, a game of benevolent deceit or a fantasy playing in her mind. But it releases her from her emotional prison; she at last learns to love herself again. In the final scene, our three women are sitting side by side by the beach, their hearts at least for that moment in sync, fluttering with the thing called "Hope".
*Kerala in southern India is the biggest source of qualified nursing staff from the country.
In terms of plot, Dhanush's Raayan (which he has directed himself) is a fairly standard mainstream action movie. A B&W prologue establishes that the lead character Kathavaraayan aka Raayan, after the disappearance of his parents, becomes responsible for his younger siblings - two boys and an infant girl - and will go to any lengths to protect them.
The boy grows up to be Dhanush, who runs a food stall and conceals his toughness under a meek exterior (but he still has a reputation for being a badass). His brothers Muthuvel and Manickavel (Sundeep Kishan and Kalidas Jayaram) are more reckless and frequently get into scrapes. The sister Durga (Dushara Vijayan) is the apple of Raayan's eye, and he is closer to her than the brothers. They have a father-figure in Sekhar (Selvaraghavan) who'd helped Raayan out after he escaped from his village as a child with his siblings.
The main plot is driven by a devious police commissioner (Prakash Raj, stereotyped but effective) that engineers a quarrel between local dons Durai and Sethu (Saravanan and SJ Suryah) with the idea of eliminating them both. One of Dhanush's brothers gets somehow implicated in this quarrel. To protect the family, especially the sister scheduled to be married, Dhanush has to kill one of the dons. This sets into motion a second set of events, one that tears the family apart, and ignites a trail of bloody vengeance.
Raayan's script is a mixed bag: on one hand it's filled with the usual cliches and eye-rolling contrivances of a star-driven film, but on the other, it explores nuances not normally seen in mainstream masala. The dynamics between the brothers, and the transformation of the hitherto pampered sister into an avenging angel justifying her name infuses freshness into the stereotypes - Dushara Vijayan in the film's second half is a revelation - the scene where Durga fends off an attack by goons on a mortally wounded Raayan is nail-biting, and she becomes the main driving force of the vendetta. One applauds Dhanush for permitting her to overshadow his own character. Even the shading of the bad guys is interesting - there's some wicked humor courtesy Suryah's Sethu getting buffeted between his two wives.
There is also some serious visual chutzpah on display, especially in the action scenes and the choreographed festive number that comes late in the film. Om Prakash's cinematography uses overhead tracking shots, slow motion and colors in spectacular ways. If Raayan's script had lesser concessions to 'mass' pandering this could have been an amazing masala movie. But it still has several moments of interest, per se.
The legend of the 47 Ronin is one of the most celebrated in Japanese history. Briefly, after their master Lord Asano is forced by decree to commit sepukku / hara-kiri as penance for an altercation in the Shogun's court, the warriors of Ako castle plotted and carried out revenge against the person they held responsible for the altercation. By this action they also registered their protest against the Shogunate for its wrongful verdict. Interpreted as a symbol of adherence to the Samurai honor code and extrapolated to patriotic fervor, the story has had countless adaptations in Japanese popular culture including at least half a dozen film versions, some by celebrated makers like Kenzi Mizoguchi (Ugetsu, Sansho the Bailiff) and Hiroshi Inagaki (Samurai trilogy). I haven't seen any of these previous films, and if the idea of Mizoguchi, known more for his feminist melodramas, making a Samurai vendetta flick seems somewhat preposterous (it's like if Douglas Sirk made The Dirty Dozen or Kamal Amrohi made Sholay) one can take comfort in knowing that this was also the opinion expressed by Akira Kurosawa (interestingly enough Kurosawa himself never undertook to adapt this tale).
FoAK is only the second jidaigeki (period drama) in Fukasaku's career. It is certainly amusing to see characters in the opening of a Fukasaku film swaddled in ornate kimonos, adhering to the courtly etiquette of 18th century Japan. Lord Asano (Teruhiko Saigo) is seen to attack the influential courtier Lord Kira (Nobuo Kaneko) after the latter insults him. Although he only wounds the man, the display of violence in the royal court is a shameful affair. As per the royal decree, Lord Asano must kill himself, and his clan is ordered to be disbanded, leaving his loyal retainers leaderless.
Furious at the forced suicide of their master, the Ako clan warriors led by chief retainer Oishi (Yorozuya Kinosuke) wish to kill Lord Kira. But the latter, after being relived of his duties - in itself, an admission by the Shogunate of the one-sidedness of its verdict - lives in a protected citadel with his spies constantly monitoring Ako castle. Oishi instructs the clan members to lay low, pretending to accept the Shogun's verdict, till the time is right for action.
It is nearly two years before the moment comes. During this period, the Ako clan members become ronin (clan-deprived warriors), struggling to fend for their families, while Oishi seems to sink into debauchery. South East Asian film expert Tony Rayns in his video essay for FoAK states that in this while, the clan eroded from an original 600 members to the final number of the legend. Fukasaku personifies this in the character of an ex-Ako warrior whose belief in the cause fails after he suffers humiliating penury where his wife must sell her body to support the family. Sonny Chiba plays another Ako-ite who remains loyal to the clan and shows his mettle in the final revenge, while Toshiro Mifune makes an appearance as a warlord sympathetic to the Ako cause. Non-Japanese viewers only familiar with Chiba and Mifune's names may be disappointed to find that they have limited screen time (adding all his footage, Mifune probably has less than 2 min).
At long last, Oishi gives the call for revenge, and the remaining squad of Ako loyalists launch a full-scale raid on Lord Kira's stronghold. After they fulfill their mission, they surrender to the Shogunate which, in tacit sympathy with their honor code, does not order for their execution; instead, it permits them to commit honorable ritual suicide. Their bodies were later buried with that of their late lord in Sengaku-ji temple, where they are still commemorated.
FoAK has the pedigree of a bonafide epic (aided in no small measure by the cinematography of Yoshio Miyajima, who worked on several of Masaki Kobayashi's classic films), but somewhere in all the grandeur, its soul gets stifled. Not that the film is devoid of good moments - the panic of the Ako retinue outside the palace wanting to know the fate of their master, the initial failed attempt to assassinate Lord Kira, the relentless climactic assault are rendered with Fukasaku's trademark vitality. The fate of the Samurai whose life and faith crumble to circumstances during the terrible waiting period also generate empathy. But the political drama is stuffy, and the majority of characters are overly familiar archetypes whose actions and fate fail to engage us. This lack of grip means that nearly 160 min runtime hangs heavy, and I found my attention repeatedly wandering. Your mileage may vary.
The film is presented as part of Eureka's prestigious Masters of Cinema series. The back cover simply says "Presented in 1080p HD from a restoration of the original film elements by Toei [Studios]", but this is a handsome video presentation with lush colors and filmic texture. There may be a slight green tint, as often seen in vintage Japanese movies, which may be endemic to the source. The lossless Japanese mono audio is strong in terms of dialog, sound effects and the eclectic score (Toshiaki Tsushima). On-disc extras include a video essay by Japanese film expert Jasper Sharp, but what I loved was Tony Rayns' supplement, which is a masterclass on the true history of the 47 Ronin legend and the multiple adaptations of it in theater and cinema. The included booklet features an essay by Jonathan Clements, which talks about the disagreement between Fukasaku and lead star Kinnosuke, which may have led to the tonal discrepancies in the film. The cover features vintage poster art on the reverse side. While the film was not entirely satisfactory to me, this blu-ray release is highly recommended to people who are already fans or want to check it out.
Based on a story by the famous Russian author Alexander Pushkin, 1949's The Queen of Spades (QoS) is a fabulist melodrama on the themes of want and greed. When the Russian captain Suvorin (Anton Walbrook) visits the clubs where women and wine are aplenty, and games of chance are played, he himself refrains from gambling. Unlike his rich royalty-descended fellow-soldiers, he must scrimp and save for his future. In his own words he cannot afford to 'risk the necessary for the lure of the superfluous'.
In a tome purchased from a rather sinister (one could say Mephistophilean) bookseller, he learns the story of a certain countess Ranevskaya (Dame Edith Evans), who after selling her soul to the devil, obtains the secret of winning at cards. He becomes obsessed with extracting the secret from the Countess, now aged and crippled, yet still a strong-willed dominating woman (and looking rather like a Queen of Spades). He decides to make his way to the Countess by seducing her ward Lizaveta (Yvonne Mitchell). Liza is an innocent, bullied by the Countess who uses her as a lady's maid, and not wise to the ways of wily men. She succumbs to Suvorin's (copied) passionate love messages and secretively admits him into the house.
Suvorin instead makes his way to the Countess' room, to beg her to tell him the secret. He first offers to take her sin upon his head, then threatens her with his pistol. The countess falls dead from fear, and a frazzled Suvorin runs to Liza's room where he confesses all. Disgusted to learn the true motives for his 'passion' and his role in the Countess' death, Liza asks him to get out of the house and her life.
Later, Suvorin gets (or imagines?) a visitation from the dead Countess, who gives him the secret of the winning cards (Three...Seven...Ace), on condition that he marry her ward. He tries desperately to mollify Liza but is soundly rejected. Armed with the Countess' secret, he draws out his life's savings and enters the club. In a febrile humor, he plays a succession of games, each time betting the total of his previous winnings. In the third and last game, when he thinks he has the winning ace, he reveals his card, only to find that it is the Queen of Spades. He has been damned.
QoS is less a horror film than The Innocents (1961), more a fevered melodrama with supernatural underpinnings. Incidentally, Jack Clayton who directed that one was associate producer here. Director Thorold Dickinson (who was apparently hired only a few days before shooting began) generates, through deep focus and shadowy corners (DoP Otto Heller), an atmosphere of eerie unease that surely inspired Clayton (as does the impressive production design, contrasting the Countess' overbearingly lavish homestead with Suvorin's bare quarters). Anton Walbrook and Edith Evans are the two main cornerstones in the cast, and they are terrific in their respective parts. I also love that Suvorin's greed comes from his hatred of his circumstances and the derision he faces from his more prosperous fellowmen at the cards table. If I have any complaint, it is only that in the quest for a more cheerful final image, the film focuses on its least interesting characters.
But if B&W gothic melodramas are your thing, then you definitely need to deal yourself this hand.
The disc boasts a terrific transfer, equaling Criterion's work on The Innocents, if we're talking B&W masterpieces. Comparing with screenshots of the earlier Kino Lorber release, I'd say the image is appreciably refined with better contrast and grain resolution. The lossless mono audio is clear, both dialog and the evocative audio effects (the scene where Suvorin hears the thump of the ghostly Countess' walking stick and the swish of her gown approaching his room is a sterling example). Extras include a commentary track, multiple featurettes, and archival audio interviews with the director. There is also a slim booklet included in the case. The slipcover is useless for me as it's the same front and back image as the inside cover.
If one were to look for a common thread in all of Dibakar Banerjee aka DB's filmography (at least the full-length features), it would be the interplay between truth and deceit. His comedies Khosla ka Ghosla! and Oye Lucky! Lucky Oye! prominently feature swindlers that live by pulling the wool over people's eyes. The characters are either deceiving someone else or blinding themselves to reality for the sake of wealth / happiness. Shanghai and Detective Byomkesh Bakshi! have protagonists driven by a search for the truth hidden behind the wall of deceit. In the fitfully interesting Sandeep aur Pinky Faraar (which was almost buried for want of takers) the characters are a bit of both. It would appear that, like his favorite detective, Mr. Banerjee is also through his films a 'Satyanweshi' (Truth-Seeker).
The first Love, Sex aur Dhokha (LSD) featured the camera as its ultimate protagonist, both an unbiased observer and a tool of deceit. In the world of 2010, it was handycams, CCTV and sting operations with hidden cameras that provided the voyeuristic view. 14 years later in LSD-2 (aka Like-Share-Download), it is reality TV, mobile phone cameras, virtual worlds and live-streaming / social media coverage that peers into our lives.
LSD-2's first episode focuses on Noor (Paritosh Tiwari), who after undergoing gender change surgery is now a participant in a talent show called Truth or Dance. Here the participants, challenged to dance or reveal a sensational truth about themselves, constantly work to up their audience ratings with emotional hooks. By choice I am not a major consumer of reality TV outside of cooking competitions, but this segment recalled my skims of shows like Kaun Banega Crorepati and India's Best Dancer when sitting with mum, their naked attempts to hold audience interest by milking sob stories or generating "behind-the-stage" content that's supposedly candid/unrehearsed. Noor's game is to bring in the mother (Swaroopa Ghosh) she has not spoken to in years, and who still refers to her as male. Their on-camera meeting is all sugary tears, but behind it is a still uneasy alliance, forged not so much by rekindled love as an arrangement to share fame and money. Noor is also desperate for her lover, a co-participant on the show, to publicly acknowledge her. Banerjee's script - with co-writers Shubham and Prateek Vats - fluidly mixes Noor's growing destabilization with the on-camera drama she generates for audience points (with cheeky references to notorious Indian reality TV imbroglios like 'Iske oopar nahin bolne ka!'). He brings the proceedings to a furious boil, aided in no small measure by terrific performances from Tiwari and Ghosh as the estranged mother-son/daughter joined only by their common greed.
Episode 2 has Swastika Mukherjee as Lovina, manager for a social work outfit integrating transgenders into mainstream employment. When one of their subjects Kullu (Bonita Rajpurohit), a Delhi Metro attendant, is found raped and beaten, Lovina raises hell with lax law authorities demanding a full-scale investigation. But the truth is more complicated and it's not a black and white world. Lovina finds herself backed into a corner to get out of which she herself must play the games of power. This segment is remarkable mainly for how nuanced its characters are. Their natures are neither good nor evil, only human (with all that the term implies).
The last segment is probably what will polarize most viewers with its stratospheric launch into surrealism. Live-streamer Game-paapi (Abhinav Singh) garners a following for his channel where he dispenses macho trash-talk while playing a Counter-Strike clone shooter. When an anonymous hacker posts sleazy morphed pictures of GP in a homosexual context, he is outraged. But this makes for a giant spike in his online viewership, leading to sponsorship deals linked to his "new identity" as an LGBT spokesperson.Tormented by the insult to his heterosexual masculinity and the fickle warping of his 'social influencer' career, GP is driven to madness and even death...or is it? Banerjee here goes into full bore whatever the fuck mode, bringing in cyber messiahs and virtual celestial worlds. I can't say it made a lot of sense to me, on the other hand I couldn't help but admire his courage in pulling out something so audacious.
As my previous review would show, I wasn't too thrilled by the first LSD. The sequel on the other hand proved far more gripping and imaginative, maybe even profound. No late cash-in this, but a strong return to form for the auteur. Showing now on Netflix:
You have to wonder, when Ishiro Honda helmed the first Godzilla film in 1954, did he have any inkling at the time of the enduring cinematic icon he was to forge? 70 years and 37 films later (and that's discounting the American studio films), his monstrous reptilian creation has been villain and hero, monster and god. In Honda's original film, Godzilla personified the horror of the destruction wreaked upon Japan by nuclear explosives. It was a serious melodrama punctuated with memorable scenes of monster destruction. Later installments brought a more comic-book sensibility. Godzilla, either as destroyer or protector, grappled with other outsized creatures or technological threats in battles that increasingly resembled costumed wrestling bouts. 2016's Shin Godzilla was a return to roots for the franchise, re-emphasizing the big G as a nigh-insurmountable force of destruction upon humanity. My only issue was that the film's satire on the red-tapism of Japanese bureaucracy while dealing with the Fukushima crisis took up huge swathes of the narrative without being dramatically interesting.
The long gap till the next live-action Godzilla feature was primarily on account of a no-competition agreement between franchise owner Toho and Hollywood based Legend Entertainment who'd obtained a license to make their own set of Monsterverse pictures featuring Godzilla with other giant creatures in more technologically advanced versions of the costumed wrestling bouts. The SARS-CoV-2 pandemic further postponed the project from 2019-2022. But it would seem that the additional time was well used by writer director Takashi Yamazaki, because at least in my humble opinion, Godzilla Minus One (GMO) has the best human drama in a Godzilla film since the 1954 original.
Set in the aftermath of WW2, when Japan is still reeling under the loss of the war and the untold destruction of the atomic bomb, the film is yet another reboot of the giant reptile's cinematic legend. Our protagonist Shikishima (Ryunosuke Kamiki) is a kamikaze pilot landed on the repair base on Odo island, ostensibly due to technical issues. The aircraft technician Tachibana (Munetaka Aoki) rightly guesses that Shikishima has abandoned the mission, not wanting to throw his life away on a lost cause. That night, Godzilla in a smaller avatar emerges from the sea and attacks the base. Shikishima's fear paralyses him from trying to save the island crew from the creature.
After Shikishima returns to a ravaged Japan, he meets young Noriko (Minami Hamabe), a survivor who has adopted an orphaned baby, and they form a makeshift family. But like Joseph Conrad's Lord Jim (or its Bollywood inspiration in Amitabh Bachchan's Vijay Pal Singh from Kaala Patthar) Shikishima cannot escape guilt over his cowardice. It colors his whole outlook, reflects even in his choice of profession, clearing deep sea mines off the Japanese coast. In this situation, he faces the return of an old nightmare - Godzilla resurfaces, now several times bigger and more powerful, an angry God laying waste all around while every attempt to counter him fails miserably.
Unlike the Hollywood Godzilla films (and several of Toho's own), GMO's human characters are not dull fodder to endure while awaiting the next episode of monster mayhem. In fact Shikishima's saga of failure and eventual redemption is the main story here, and people looking purely for monster thrills should check their expectations. That's not to say that the film lacks in destructive spectacle, far from it. Director Yamazaki was himself responsible for the visual FX which garnered the Oscar for Best Visual Effects for what it achieved on a fraction of Hollywood budgets. Like in Shin Godzilla, the big G is a unstoppable force. The recreation of the iconic scene from the '54 film where Godzilla attacks a train gives one goosebumps. Shusuke Kaneko's genre-revitalizing kaiju films from the 90's are also respectfully referenced. The more somber arc of this narrative means that humans must pay a heavy price for the destruction the monster wreaks. But it is in the face of ultimate crisis that from our innermost recesses we dig out hope.
Iranian movie-maker Jafer Panahi first garnered an international name in 1995 with The White Balloon, a soul-warming realist fable with children. While White Balloon was a hopeful humanist film, his 2003 feature Crimson Gold (scripted by his mentor and Iranian cinema giant Abbas Kiarostami) tells a far bleaker tale.
The film opens with a jewelry shop robbery in which the perpetrator attacks the owner, while his accomplice waits outside with a bike. He demands to see a jewel, and then asks for the safe keys. The attempt ends in the shop owner's murder, after which the criminal is pointing the gun to his own head.
The film shifts to a few days earlier: we see the to-be criminals Hossein (Hossein Emadeddin) and his sycophantic companion Ali (Kamyar Sheisi). They are wage workers at a pizza delivery. Hossein is a war veteran and is apparently taking medication for PTSD. Ali's sister is to marry Hossein. When they go to a high-end jewelry store they are turned out by the proprietor, advised to go to cheaper gold stores. We see that Hossein is deeply offended by the owner's condescension.
We then follow Hossein in various situations as he makes his deliveries: One customer turns out to be a former war comrade, who embarrassedly hands him a huge tip. In another place he is held up by the police staking out an apartment to arrest party-goers. One day, on his way to work, he sees a fellow pizza delivery man killed in an accident.
He then makes a delivery to a posh apartment, only for the customer to tell him that the girls he ordered pizza for have abruptly left. The young man (Pourang Nakhael) invites Hossein to come in and share the pizza, and proceeds to tell him his woes. He whines about the fickleness of women. He has come from America where his parents have shifted because he felt homesick for Tehran, and now finds himself a stranger in this country, living alone in an all too large house. For a while Hossein experiences the life of the rich, drinking wine from the man's fridge, even jumping into his swimming pool. Something triggers in him, and the next scene we see is the beginning of the robbery attempt that the film opened with, before the credits roll.
Panahi's film looks at class differences in his country and suggests that each class feels isolated and disenfranchised in its own way. There is an entropy that arises from a sense of collective hopelessness. This is a dark film - none of the characters seem to have any scope of real happiness. Hossein as a medicine-dazed ex-soldier slaving in a low-paying job where he is hassled by the police is representative of the abandonment of the people by those in power.
Kiarostami's script includes his favored motif of people driving around, and several scenes are conducted as bike rides through the city. Crimson Gold is definitely not a cheerful experience, but it's an interesting watch.
A close friend coined for me the "10% Rule" wherein supposedly I develop an immediate distaste for any piece of entertainment enjoyed by more than 10% of my friends list (this was before Facebook, when that phrase had a little more meaning). It is of course wholly untrue: I love Chennai Express and despise Ghostworld as much as all of you, so there.
Anyhoo, this came to mind because of the hype I encountered about Aavesham from Malayalees of my acquaintance as an "event" movie. With only a teaser that showed star Fahadh Faasil doing a dhappaankoothu dance number in bath-towel and glares, I went in without many preconceptions.
In Aavesham, Faasil's introduction is nearly a third into the film and one that flips over the usual "mass star" dick-waving even as it takes place in a urinal. And the build-up is its own interesting character, because the story's actual protagonists are a trio of Kerala teens (Mithun Jai Shankar, Hipzster and Roshan Shahnavaz) enrolled into engineering college in Bengaluru. A sly vein of humor outlines the difference between the expectations of college from these young men and their naive parents.
For a little while we see our guys spreading their wings; they're not wastrels, they just want to have a bit of fun alongside their education. Hipzster's Aju is the street-smart one, urging all the newcomers to go united as a gang to avoid getting hazed by the seniors. But when one of them gets too cocky, that plan backfires and they are subjected to a humiliating beating. Interestingly, the seniors gang leader Kutty (Midhutty) is not all sneer and brimstone. Once his ego is satisfied, he hands out drinks and calls them his 'bros', accepted members of his troupe. But Aju wants vengeance and comes up with the foolhardy scheme of befriending a local gangster to aid them.
It is in their trawling through shady local bars that our trio meets up with Ranga (Faasil). Ranga is a conglomeration of the archetypes of on-screen toughies. He wears an all-white outfit and is laden with gold jewelry. Branded sunglasses and a well-oiled handlebar mustache complete the outfit.
Ranga takes the kids under his wing and shows them a good time. Regaled with booze and legends of Ranga's badassery told by his burly right-hand-man Amban (Sajin Gopu), it isn't long before the colorful nightlife eats into their academic schedule. At last, taking the opportunity, they let Ranga know of their humiliation, coaxing him into exacting retribution from Kutty's gang. But all actions have consequences; so does their association with the gangster for the purpose of petty revenge.
On paper, Aavesham has a lot going for it. The 3 youngsters have the right combination of cockiness and naivete that you can believe their sticking together for this cockamamie business. It helps that there is no romantic sub-plot for any of them. For a while, there is a delicious ambiguity as to whether Ranga's past
exploits are real or just tall stories; during most of the fights, the kids only see
him barking instructions to his lackeys, not actually taking part. The writing and Faasil's commitment to a 'big' performance glorify the gangster archetype while simultaneously poking fun at it. Sajin Gopu provides an able foil to Faasil. Their Ranga and Amban have a rapport that pleasantly harks back to the Munnabhai-Circuit scenes from that franchise, and Faasil does not hesitate taking the character to psychotic extremes when needed.
In short, the ingredients are great, but alas, the final dish turns out overcooked. The major issue for me was, the pacing is way off on this one. What could have been a riveting and joyful sub-100 min black comedy (One part of the climax recalls a similar moment from The Shining) is stretched out to a fatiguing 160min. Ranga's full-vein swag is fun the first couple of times, but the movie piles it on ad nauseam. The sub-plot with Mansoor Ali Khan as Ranga's jealous ex-mentor Reddy is amusing in itself, but an unwieldy addition to an already stuffed narrative. Even with all its interesting bits the movie became a bit of an ordeal.
At the risk of my 'Mallu' friends sharpening their 'tools' to skewer me, I have to say that this Aavesham is marred by the 'anaavishyam' (excessive and unnecessary) amount of swag. YMMV.
55 years ago Haskell Wexler, known primarily as a cinematographer (Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, In the Heat of the Night, One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest), made a film called Medium Cool. Wexler's film was an auteur-driven enterprise, written, photographed edited, co-produced and directed by him. In it, a young Robert Forster (Jackie Brown) played a Chicago TV news cameraman dispassionately capturing sensationalist stories with his 16 mm in the period leading up to the rioting at the Democratic National Convention. While not a period of actual civil war, there was a strong element of unrest among the American people on account of opposition to the Vietnam War and the assassination of Equal Rights activist Martin Luther King. With its nouvelle vague inspired freewheeling journey, Medium Cool captured the zeitgeist of that period in a manner few films have. As critic Vincent Canby says in his review, it portrays "...a picture of America in the process of exploding into fragmented bits of hostility, suspicion, fear and violence."
Alex Garland's Civil War is set in an even more chaotic dystopian near-future, with the White House a fortress occupied by a Fascist dictator and the country torn apart by violent secession. Veteran combat photojournalist Lee Smith (Kirsten Dunst) and her comrade Joel (Elite Squad and Narcos fame Wagner Moura) plan to travel from Brooklyn to DC to interview the president. Tagging along is their mentor Sammy (Stephen Henderson). Sammy has played the game a long time, but now he's "too old and fat to run", even to save his life. They have another fellow traveler in Jessie (Cailee Spaeny) a wet-behind-the-ears novice lugging around her father's film camera. Having seen her lose it at a riot event they previously met at, Lee is reluctant to take the girl on board, but Sammy and Joel convince her.
In their road journey to the capital, the group see violence in multiple forms, including armed assault, cruel vigilantism and even mass civilian murder by militia groups. Garland dishes out some mordant humor: The once-almighty US dollar is shown to be hugely devalued ($300 can only buy a ham / cheese sandwich). In a shootout between two bands of snipers, one of the men mockingly answers Joel's question about which faction they are fighting with "The guys trying to shoot us".
While Garland originated as a writer, the most gripping parts of Civil War are the visuals (DoP Rob Hardy, who handled cinematography for Garland's previous features Ex Machina, Annihilation and Men). The scenes of rioting and armed conflict are captured with veritable intensity. Garland also uses the full height of the IMAX screen, especially noticeable in the scenes where helicopters glide over troubled vistas or during the large scale climactic battle in the capital. The format also gives tremendous depth of field and a 'window effect' into the happenings on screen.
The visuals are sadly undercut by the predictability of the narrative. Where Medium Cool or Oliver Stone's Salvador (also about an American journalist caught in a civil war) echoed the chaos and desperation of unrest and gave it a personal edge, Civil War mostly follows a conventional coming of age drama - Lee is the aging camera-slinger that takes a maternal interest in Jessie (even Joel who is said to be hitting on her never crosses any line) and the youngster in the course of her adventures wises up to emulate her idol (this is contrasted with Lee suddenly losing her nerve during the final conflict). A certain "circle of life" metaphor hinted at early in the narrative is given a groaning realization in the climax.
Don't get me wrong here, Civil War is admirable for its technical audacity - Garland achieves the kind of spectacle that would normally require 2 or 3 times the budget, and he does not trivialize his material with fake heroism. The actors are fine too, adjusting to the physical and emotional needs of their characters. But the rote writing reduces the film's power as a statement on the brutality of civil war.
P.S. If you are seeing the film, make sure to catch it on the largest screen format.
Posts
