A collection of informal movie reviews for the purpose of documenting my thoughts on the films that I watch.
Sunday, November 25, 2018
Lovers of the Arctic Circle: Julio Médem
Julio Médem's Lovers of the Arctic Circle is an oneiric phantasm, a poetic fever dream of forbidden love more Möbius strip than movie. Charting the life-long love affair between step-siblings Otto and Ana, the film swirls and sways as it charts the disparate coincidences, cosmic chances, and karmic phenomena that seem to pull them apart and bring them back together. This is a film of cyclical images and actions--airplanes, both paper and real; car crashes; palindromic names--as well as memories that are repeated from the viewpoints of conflicting observers, such as a ski accident that's remembered differently by Ana and Otto. Curiously, the film doesn't try to decode which of these recollections is the right one because neither can be truly "right" in the eyes of a film that sees memory and reality as equally malleable and plastic. But at its heart, the film is a romantic melodrama, something that my (admittedly cursory) glance at then-contemporary critical appraisals seemed to miss. It's gorgeous, haunting, more than a bit perverted, and maddening.
Rating: 9/10
Can You Ever Forgive Me?: Marielle Heller
Saw CAN YOU EVER FORGIVE ME?
— Nathanael Hood (@NateHood257) November 25, 2018
I’ve always said you don’t have to make a protagonist likable to make them interesting, and this is proof positive. I mean, here’s a woman who actually roles her eyes when she’s literally, LITERALLY told “You need to be a better person.”
Melissa McCarthy and Richard E. Grant’s chemistry really make the whole film pop. I’m not sure the film would’ve worked if they hadn’t been such deliciously wicked together.
— Nathanael Hood (@NateHood257) November 25, 2018
I do, however, agree with @odienator that the film ignores the fact that Israel’s whiteness was probably essential to her:
— Nathanael Hood (@NateHood257) November 25, 2018
a) getting away with it for so long
b) getting a veritable wrist-slapping for multiple federal crimes
c) becoming a lost-conviction celebrity
Get the feeling this is one of those sleeper movies that sounds odd because the trailers don't know how to describe it in a good way using standard PR-speak but then turns out to have merit.
— Emi (@shruburbia) November 25, 2018
Oh definitely. It’s a meaty, talky movie for people who enjoy great dialogue and quiet, poignant performances. Doesn’t really ingratiate itself to the superhero crowd.
— Nathanael Hood (@NateHood257) November 25, 2018
Rating: 7/10
Saturday, November 24, 2018
May the Devil Take You: Timo Tjahjanto
To read this review, go to: https://www.theyoungfolks.com/review/127414/may-the-devil-take-you-is-a-satisfying-gruesome-tribute-to-haunted-house-chillers/.
Rating: 7/10
The City That Sold America: Ky Dickens
To read this review, go to: http://www.unseenfilms.net/2018/11/nate-hood-on-city-that-sold-america-208.html.
Rating: 6/10
Overlord: Julius Avery
It was a mean trick for J. J. Abrams and Paramount Pictures to make a pitch-perfect Wolfenstein movie and not tell anybody. It was an even dirtier trick for them to bury it in early November under a false name with a lukewarm, underwhelming advertising campaign. Here I sit in the aftermath, trying to wrap my head around Julius Avery’s Overlord, a film that scratches a very particular itch I doubt many people know needs scratching. Centering on a ragtag group of conspicuously multiracial 82nd Airborne paratroopers—the United States Armed Forces weren’t actually desegregated until 1948—the film begins much like a Samuel Fuller infantry flick bloated with a proper Hollywood budget, watching as they parachute from an exploding bomber behind enemy lines in occupied France. Their mission: invade a small village and neutralize a Nazi radio tower, thereby freeing Allied air support for the Normandy invasion. Avery holds his cards close to his chest at first, luring us in with several white-knuckle sequences of infantry heroics that wouldn’t feel out of place in an HBO miniseries. (The Fuller comparisons are particularly strong in a minefield sequence reminiscent of Fixed Bayonets! and in their gruff, cynical CO who seems the lost cousin of Gene Evans’ Sergeant Zack in The Steel Helmet.) But when they finally get to the village, mad science starts to bleed through the realism as they discover that the tower is actually a front for a secret Nazi laboratory hard at work on an immortality serum. Before we can get our bearings the paratroopers are fighting literal Nazi zombies, complete with all the gleeful, exploitative carnage such a preposterous scenario would suggest. Overlord is a perfect example of great execution trumping originality, as the script leans hard on stock characters that were worn out by the late 40s: the mama’s boy hero with an unflappable moral code, the French peasant woman who aids the GIs, the monstrous SS officer, the plump, bespectacled Nazi scientist. They even have a gum-chewing, wise-cracking Italian! But the pleasure in Overlord comes from Avery’s wide-eyed enthusiasm for his absurd material, playing everything—even the bits about Nazi zombies—completely straight. We never get the sense that he’s rolling his eyes at anything, even when a super-powered Nazi fistfights a super-powered paratrooper in the third act. Overlord is the rare genre film done perfectly right.
Rating: 8/10
The Grinch: Scott Mosier, Yarrow Cheney
In the The Grinch, the Who's down in Whoville sing “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” and sing the verse about Jesus. Which means that in this universe there was a Who Jesus Christ. And since there are no other population centers shown, we can only assume that Whoville was where he was crucified. It makes you wonder what Dr. Seuss' in-universe version of Christianity might be like. Even more, it makes you wonder what the Whoville Bible is like. You think it's written in rhyme?
“What happened next, well in Whoville they say/That Jesus the Christ came back the third day.”
Seriously though, this new Grinch movie isn’t terrible, just sorta blasé and unnecessary. Like most Illumination films, the art direction and individual gags can be inspired. But they still have no idea how to tell original, meaningful stories without wholesale stealing from better films. A lot of the slapstick worked really well! But it was in service of a poorly told story. Did we really need to give Cindy Lou Who a gang of elementary school troublemakers? Did we need that fat reindeer character and his story arc?
Rating: 5/10
Friday, November 23, 2018
The Sorrow and the Pity: Marcel Ophüls
Marcel Ophüls's The Sorrow and the Pity is a towering, exhausting work of documentary that stands alongside Alain Resnais's Night and Fog (1956) and Claude Lanzmann's Shoah (1985) as one of the seminal cinematic texts on Nazism during World War Two. But while those two latter films focused on the Holocaust, The Sorrow and the Pity turns to a less clear-cut subject: the Nazi occupation of France. During Ophüls' dizzying arrays of interviews with survivors, instigators, and bystanders, he portrays a populace equally--if not more--eager to collaborate and ignore the Germans than to actively resist them. The general theme emerges that people will do anything to justify their own comfort, even if it involves turning a blind eye to an occupying force that executes innocent people in the streets. Horrifying. Necessary. Essential.
Rating: 9/10
Wednesday, November 21, 2018
Widows: Steve McQueen
In some alternate reality, Steve McQueen’s Widows would be a tight, schlocky 85-minute 70s thriller, helmed by some second-string director with a fourth-string budget, destined for a crepuscular half-life of midnight revivals and wistful blog retrospectives. Instead, it’s a languid, measured 10s prestige noir with murderer’s row of Hollywood A-listers in front of and behind the camera. It might masquerade as a heist film about a group of widows pulling off a job after their husbands are all killed in a robbery-gone-wrong, but this is a steely-eyed interrogation of a city. That city: Chicago, microcosm of America—den of racial disharmony, economic disparity, police brutality, and less-than-good people forced to do worse-than-bad things. McQueen has stated that the film was his dream project for years, and there are many scenes where he unleashes his inner adolescent, conjuring scenes of pulpy excess and brutality. (Usually these come at the hands of Daniel Kaluuya as a ruthless mob enforcer with an dizzying repertoire of ways to humiliate, torture, and kill targets. A scene where he executes two lazy henchman while making them beatbox is bowel-drainingly chilling.) But McQueen has the instincts of a painter, not a clockmaker, and effective thrillers need the talents of the latter, not the former. And while he may mimic Michael Mann’s need to excavate the psychological interiors of his players, McQueen has none of Mann’s equally obsessive drive to construct gripping set-pieces. The central heist is treated like a bit of unfinished business late in the third act, taking no more than five minutes in which time one character is shot, two killed, and four betrayed. But unlike other directors who would’ve made the suddenness and brutality of the sting some nihilistic point about fate or human nature—consider the anti-climactic yet Shakespearean denouement of Martin Scorsese’s The Departed (2006)—the heist feels brief because McQueen appears to have cared little about it. But his unflinching examinations of gender and race makes us forgive this, especially considering his fastidious craftsmanship. Few directors know better where to put the camera and when and how to move it; and one tracking shot of a bickering politician’s car driving the one mile between desiccated projects and a palatial planned community on the same street is worth any number of thrilling heist scenes by lesser directors.
Rating: 7/10
Saturday, November 17, 2018
The Night Comes for Us: Timo Tjahjanto
Watched Timo Tjahjanto's The Night Comes for Us and...holy crap, you guys. This combined with the Raid series proves that Indonesia appears to be the up-and-coming Mecca for gritty, gruesome, and inventive action movies. Boiler-plate plot: a hitman leaves the Triad after refusing to kill a little girl, all the other Triad hitmen try to hunt him down. But it's the execution what makes it. Timo Tjahjanto isn't so much a director as a butcher, meticulously devising the most horrific ways the human body can be smashed, bashed, sliced, diced, chopped, cubed, torn, and thrashed. And sometimes all while the people on fire are on fire! Some of the cinematography reminds me of the 80s neon chic of Michael Mann or early John Woo, but never so much that it becomes overbearing. Everything here serves first and foremost to better frame the pulse-pounding violence. This is my favorite kind of action movie: one where the characters get battle damage. By the end, all the characters are hobbling around, barely able to keep their limbs from falling off or their organs from falling out. It raises the stakes more than if they were invincible.
Rating: 8/10
Thursday, November 15, 2018
A Little Wisdom: Yuqi Kang
Yuqi Kang's A Little Wisdom moves at the rhythmic of monastic life itself. Slow, meditative, measured, it regards the young boys, particularly the two precocious brothers at its core, at a Nepali Buddhist monastery as they play and fight, grow and learn. Actually it's mostly the fighting and playing--but that's the point. Instead of fully separating the boys from the world of sin, the monastery seems to have created one on a micro level, one they must navigate on their own. We realize this is a microcosm of the world in a Buddhist sense—full of pain, suffering, cruelty, but the truth (the Buddha way) surrounds them, if only they can see past the illusion of childish things. It's a nice film. A bit long an unfocused, though.
Rating: 7/10
Monday, November 12, 2018
Pyaasa: Guru Dutt
Watched Guru Dutt's Pyaasa (1957) on Mubi. Watching this, I'm reminded that non-Satyajit Ray cinema from the Indian subcontinent is one of my most embarrassing blind spots as a critic. I wish I was more familiar with classical Bollywood modes of storytelling and of genre syncretism. This is a brutally cynical romantic melodrama that occasionally veers into wacky comedy, particularly a number of shtick pieces involving an over-eager street masseur. It flagrantly mixes tone and technique, too. There's a suicide attempt at a bridge at night that feels ripped from German Expressionism. Elsewhere, there's a dream sequence between two lovers that looks consciously modeled after classic Hollywood musicals à la Astaire/Rogers. My modern Western film lens tells me I should be leery of the plot which boils down to a misunderstood male genius getting supported by a hooker with a heart of gold. But it feels like there's a specifically Indian cultural context I'm missing. Again, I can't help underscoring just how nasty and cynical this film is. There's a plot where two brothers plot to keep their brother--the hero--locked in an insane asylum so they can profit off his poetry (long story). That's something out of a Von Trier film.
Rating: 7/10
Exit: Karen Winther
To read this review, go to: http://www.unseenfilms.net/2018/11/nate-hood-on-exit-2018-doc-nyc-2018.html.
Rating: 7/10
Hillbilly: Sally Rubin, Ashley York
To read this review, go to: http://www.unseenfilms.net/2018/11/nate-hood-looks-at-hillbilly-2018-doc.html.
Rating: 5/10
Decade of Fire: Vivian Vazquez, Gretchen Hildebran
To read this review, go to: http://www.unseenfilms.net/2018/11/nate-hood-ponders-decade-of-fire-2018.html.
Rating: 7/10
Grit: Sasha Friedlander, Cynthia Wade
To read this review, go to: http://www.unseenfilms.net/2018/11/natehood-on-grit2018-doc-nyc-2018.html.
Rating: 7/10
Beautiful Boy: Felix Van Groeningen
[This piece was originally written for the newsletter of First Presbyterian Church of Del Ray.]
It shouldn’t—it couldn’t—have happened to them. They might not have been wealthy, but they were well off. The father was a writer, one of the few who could afford a comfortable living off his work with a book here, a Rolling Stones article there. They had a beautiful house on the California coast, far removed from the scuzzy streets and slums of nearby San Francisco. Theirs was a cozy life of books, music, and finger paints floating through an endless Indian summer; in short, the perfect environment to raise healthy, happy children. They were affluent, intelligent, loving, and to put an uncomfortable point to it, white. So why, then, was their eldest son, their precious Nic Sheff—aspiring writer and artist, lover of F. Scott Fitzgerald and David Bowie, teenage prodigy accepted to six colleges—found in an alley with a needle in his arm?
This incredulity lurks at the heart of Felix Van Groeningen’s astonishing Beautiful Boy, an adaption of David Sheff’s real-life memoir Beautiful Boy: A Father’s Journey Through His Son’s Addiction. There have been many incredible films about addiction, but few have ever turned such a knowing gaze towards not just the addict, but the people who love them, specifically the emotional and psychological toll of caring for somebody they know they can’t truly help. In fact, the addicted son Nic, brilliantly played by Timothée Chalamet, is merely a supporting character, drifting in and out of the film, stealing the POV for maybe 5-10 minutes at a time before returning it to the actual protagonist, his father David. If Chalamet dazzles with his portrayal of a self-loathing addict, then Steve Carrell gives the performance of his career as a father perpetually cycling through the five stages of grief. We see his initial denial when he interrogates his son after he goes missing for two days and returns withdrawn and shivering. We see his anger as he explodes at Nic for being stupid, his ex-wife in Los Angeles for not being present in his life, at himself for not being a better father. We see him bargaining with his son, agreeing to pay for his college if he attends a detox clinic and spends half a year in a halfway house. We see his depression as Nic relapses and OD’s again and again, breaking promise after promise. And finally, tragically, horrifically, we see his acceptance that he will never cure Nic and that the son, the beautiful boy he held in his arms as a newborn and raised to manhood with his own two hands, may have been dead this entire time.
Noted film critic Matt Zoller Seitz commented that the film Beautiful Boy reminded him of the most was William Friedkin’s The Exorcist (1973), as both center on parents struggling to save a child who seems possessed by evil forces, and indeed it’s easy to see otherworldly, supernatural horror in David’s eyes as Nic melts into a demonic gargoyle of hatred whenever he refuses to lend him money or demands he clean himself up. But in writing his memoir, David Sheff realized was that addiction does more than turn addicts into monsters, it strips the humanity from their support group as well. In one of the most telling scenes in the movie, a tearful Nic calls his dad and asks if he can come home for the umpteenth time after robbing their house for drug money and watching a friend overdose in an alley. An exhausted David gives him a flat, dead-eyed no. He can’t take it anymore. He’s not strong enough to survive watching his son kill himself and betray his family again.
Miraculously, in real life Nic survived his ordeal and has been sober for several years, even writing his own memoir from which Van Groeningen borrowed heavily. But let’s not kid ourselves—as residents of one of the national epicenters of the opioid crisis, we know the day-to-day reality of living with and around addicts and that the success rate for recovery is miniscule. The catharsis in Beautiful Boy, then, comes less from the triumph of Nic’s recovery (which is in fact largely glossed over at the end), and more in recognition of the emotional exhaustion addiction leaves behind on bystanders. Knowing and loving an addict is difficult, superhuman work. But you don’t have to do it alone.
Consider one of the many scenes in the film where David attends an An-Anon meeting with Nic. Hanging above the empty auditorium is a banner emphasizing the three C’s of recovery: you didn’t CAUSE it, you can’t CONTROL it, and you can’t CURE it. The key is understanding that the banner speaks for both patient and sponsors alike. It’s not your fault. It’s not their fault. Remember: acceptance is the first step in recovery.
Sunday, November 11, 2018
Venom: Ruben Fleischer
Finally saw Ruben Fleischer's Venom. Whatta trainwreck. It wants to be this gritty, hard-R story that SAYS THING about the evils of CAPITALISM and ADDICTION. The problem is that it only really works when it embraces its destiny as a campy slapstick buddy comedy. I totally get why so many audiences liked it: once it gets going, it has a charming irreverent humor that feels more organic than all the eye-rolling sarcasm of James Gunn’s films. Eddie and Venom’s relationship was genuinely entertaining and fun to watch! The problem is that to get there it has to slog through the blandest, most paint-by-numbers first act I think I’ve ever seen in a superhero origin story. And even after it gets going the story beats could be predicted by a toddler. Given the stupid amount of money it made, a sequel is inevitable. Hopefully this time it’ll focus more on the Eddie/Venom dynamic that audiences actually enjoyed instead of rote save-the-world, science-is-evil story beats.
Rating: 5/10
Saturday, November 10, 2018
Wild Guitar: Ray Dennis Steckler
Rating: 7/10
Thursday, November 8, 2018
See You Tomorrow, God Willing: Ainara Vera
To read this review, go to: http://www.unseenfilms.net/2018/11/nate-hood-on-see-you-tomorrow-god.html.
Rating: 6/10
The Other Side of the Wind: Orson Welles
To read this review, go to: https://www.theyoungfolks.com/review/127008/the-other-side-of-the-wind-sees-long-awaited-lost-film-is-a-tired-yet-furious-bridge-burning/.
Rating: 6/10
Monday, November 5, 2018
Suspiria: Luca Guadagnino
Someone on twitter once said that Dario Argento’s Suspiria (1977) didn’t really have a story, plot, or characters. Instead, it was a film of architecture—of somnambulants wandering its labyrinthine dance studio, discovering rooms and corridors that can not and should not really exist. If this is true, then Luca Guadagnino’s remake is a film of dance—of ecstatic movement and rhythm, of limbs stretched and torn this way and that to unheard drumbeats from before the dawn of (wo)man. Guadagnino and cinematographer Sayombhu Mukdeeprom have created a filmic space where the camera becomes a dancer itself, swirling in a ceaseless pas de deux with the performers as it dollies and tracks, zooms and whip pans even in moments of relative stillness. It echoes one of the story’s central ideas: that movement is an expression not just of self, but an invocation of the very forces of nature. By overindulging in stylistic camera flourishes that would make a film student blush, Guadagnino appears to be invoking the full force of cinema itself in this stunningly realized maximalist phantasm. Trading Argento’s fever-dream colors for washed out Brutalist palettes and his steady succession of gory kill centerpieces for, at most, only three moments (though excruciatingly prolonged ones) of explicit carnage, this remake seeks to transform the original film into a political fable set in 1977 Berlin, transforming the central witch coven from an army of wicked demons to a thinly veiled metaphor for post-Nazi Germany. Does Guadagnino succeed? Not precisely. His pretenses towards venerating the rebirth of a pre-patriarchy woman’s cult in the wake of the Holocaust as anathema to a national zeitgeist perforated with political violence and social upheaval have the effect of gendering Nazi war crimes—and political instability itself—as inherently masculine, erasing German women of wartime culpability. At best, this was a simple miscalculation on Guadagnino’s part, a moment of a talented director biting off more than he could thematically chew. But at worst, it’s disturbingly regressive and reactionary. Still, the film’s missteps are outnumbered by its wonders, chiefly in its back-breaking choreography (unlike the original, this one contains a good deal of actual dancing), razor-wire tension, and marvelous performances. I, for one, would not be surprised if Tilda Swinton became the first person in history to be nominated for Best Actress, Best Actor, and Best Supporting Actress for the same movie.
Rating: 7/10
Saturday, November 3, 2018
Nostalghia: Andrei Tarkovsky
To read this review, go to: http://theretroset.com/they-wont-let-you-go-home-again-tarkovskys-nostalghia-and-his-quest-for-self-realization/.
Rating: 6/10
Andrei Rublev: Andrei Tarkovsky
To read this review, go to: http://theretroset.com/andrei-rublev-and-what-hate-has-wrought/.
Rating: 9/10
Thursday, November 1, 2018
All About My Mother: Pedro Almodóvar
Ever now and then I get around to watching another Pedro Almodóvar movie. And each time it feels like I'm rediscovering the cinema. All About My Mother is the latest revelation I've come across: a story about dead sons, newborn sons, old mothers, new mothers, old women, new women. Filled with equal parts knowing camp and earnest sincerity, it toes the line between self-parody and serious drama without tipping over the edge. I wish I had the time (and outlet) to write about how this film is deeply, DEEPLY Catholic. The various uses of transvestites impregnation (virgin birth), explicit miracles, play-acting as worship...it might be his most explicitly religious film.
Rating: 9/10
Friday, October 26, 2018
It Follows: David Robert Mitchell
I finally, finally, finally saw David Robert Mitchell's It Follows. It's a fascinating blend of 50s teen monster movies à la The Blob (1958) and The Great Gila Monster (1959), 70s slashers, and, bizarrely, coke-slathered 80s techno-sludge. An unusual mish-mash of aesthetics that somehow works! Mostly. As with so, so many 00s and 10s horror films, it constructs rules and lore surrounding the supernatural which it scrupulously follows to the letter until the third act climax where the rule-book gets thrown out the window so the heroes can brute force the big bad out of their lives. It pissed me off when Gore Verbinski did it with The Ring (2002), it pissed me off when the Final Destination movies did it, it pissed me off whenever the Saw movies ignored the point of Jigsaw's games so it could indulge in more death scenes, and it pissed me off here. If anything, it served to help me appreciate how much more of a masterpiece Jennifer Kent's The Babadook--released the same year--was. It created rules and stuck to them, right down to its inevitable and controversial conclusion. Still, it's a welcome piece of pop-horror. Legitimately amazed it hasn't become a franchise.
Rating: 8/10
Sunday, October 21, 2018
A Star is Born: Bradley Cooper
I simply cannot wait for the arguments I’m bound to have with @lhbizness tonight over this film. pic.twitter.com/yBCBSKY4eo— The Executioner’s Hood (@NateHood257) October 21, 2018
It’s good! Was mystified by some of its creative decisions though, particularly its anxiety to be taken seriously as a Big Kids movie by injecting itself with Scorsese language and full frontal nudity.— The Executioner’s Hood (@NateHood257) October 21, 2018
Also, was disappointed with how the film chickened out from exploring its early theme of how the music industry forces female artists into a pop star mold they don’t force on men.— The Executioner’s Hood (@NateHood257) October 21, 2018
Rating: 7/10Is it the best movie of the year? No. Not even close. But it’s still good. Let’s not even bother with the ceremony and just mail Gaga, Elliott, and “Shallow” their Oscars.— The Executioner’s Hood (@NateHood257) October 21, 2018
Saturday, October 20, 2018
Sombre: Philippe Grandrieux
Watching SOMBRE (1998). Is this movie supposed to be almost unwatchably dark or is there something wrong with my TV or Blu-ray player? Serious question.— The Executioner’s Hood (@NateHood257) October 21, 2018
Also, have I been tricked into watching a softcore porno? Because some of these sex scenes are downright gynecological.— The Executioner’s Hood (@NateHood257) October 21, 2018
You know what’s nonsense? I’ve seen at least six separate women totally buck-ass naked. I mean, not even given a merkin for their dignity. But I’ve yet to see a SINGLE penis!! pic.twitter.com/oT1I6aRfj6— The Executioner’s Hood (@NateHood257) October 21, 2018
So...the only way to “save” the prostitute-killing serial murderer is for the ingenue to sacrifice her virginity to him. Did Lars Von Trier write this?— The Executioner’s Hood (@NateHood257) October 21, 2018
Rating: 3/10Well, that was definitely the kind of 3deep5me "slasher" film a lot of high-brow critics might like. I'm not one of them. I found it ponderous, boring, and misogynist in a manner that didn't interrogate its own misogyny.— The Executioner’s Hood (@NateHood257) October 21, 2018
Errementari: The Blacksmith and the Devil: Paul Urkijo Alijo
I remember growing up, I devoured books about the occult and supernatural. One of them involved monsters from Europe, and it contained one of my favorite bits of demonology: the forces of Satan could be distracted by scattering chickpeas or mustard seeds on a person's roof, as the monsters couldn't help but count them until the wee hours of the morning when sunlight destroyed them. I think Paul Urkijo Alijo's Errementari: The Blacksmith and the Devil might be the first movies I've ever seen that acknowledged it and made it a plot point. Oh, it's a fine little movie, replete with some excellent practical effects and makeup, a delicious Basque folklore tale, and a truly horrifying depiction of hell. But the chickpea method will forever keep it in my memory.
Rating: 7/10
Friday, October 19, 2018
Empire Records: Allan Moyle
Is it any wonder why Allan Moyle's Empire Records is a cult classic for people of my generation? It's the kind of movie that could only have been made in the 90s: a breezy teen dramedy about young people safely ensconced in general economic security who have little more to do then worry about relationships, hang out with their genuinely benevolent employer/father-figure, and glue quarters to the floor. Yes, the film deals with subjects like sexual immaturity, drug addiction, and suicide, but these are clearly depicted as aberrations. This is a world where the only pressing problems are personal ones--the world outside is nonexistent. It also helps that the music rocks and Liv Tyler spends the entire movie in an amazing plaid short skirt that, combined with her long brown hair, informed more about my pubescent interest in girls than I'm willing to admit.
Rating: 7/10
Tuesday, October 16, 2018
Season of the Witch: George A. Romero
The first thing you notice watching George A. Romero's Season of the Witch is how central the rapid-fire editing is. More than any of Romero's other films, the editing seems to be the central artistic crux of the film, disassociating the images into sharpened fragments that predict the climactic montages in Tobe Hooper's The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974). It's fascinating to watch and actually makes one look past the dime-store campiness of the props and sets (including a grimoire simply titled something like "Becoming a Witch: A Primer") as its hallucinatory dreaminess imbues everything with a veneer of deliberate artificiality. The problem here is that the interesting bits make up maybe a third of the film. The rest are soul-crushingly tedious scenes of people sitting around in bedrooms and livings rooms talking about this and that, having sex, and smoking pot. And trust me, none of that is as interesting as one would expect from an almost-exploitation film from the early 70s.
Rating: 4/10
Monday, October 15, 2018
Hold the Dark: Jeremy Saulnier
Watching HOLD THE DARK. I completely understand why a LOT of Jeremy Saulnier fans might not like this movie, particularly in light of the wacky hyper-violence of MURDER PARTY (2007) and the nail-biting suspense of GREEN ROOM (2015).— The Executioner’s Hood (@NateHood257) October 16, 2018
But you guys, this movie is right up my alley. Love the harsh, suffocating textures of the Alaskan wilderness and the scorching Middle Eastern desert. Love the understated performances, the muffled dialogue. It all just works perfectly.— The Executioner’s Hood (@NateHood257) October 16, 2018
Rating: 8/10Oh yeah...that barn shoot-out is an all-timer.— The Executioner’s Hood (@NateHood257) October 16, 2018
Sunday, October 14, 2018
Private Life: Tamara Jenkins
— The Executioner’s Hood (@NateHood257) October 14, 2018
One of my favorite little details in PRIVATE LIFE is that it has a soundtrack ripped straight out of a 90s Nora Ephron romcom. It even has Harry Nilsson's "The Puppy Song," the piece that played over the opening credits of YOU'VE GOT MAIL (1998).— The Executioner’s Hood (@NateHood257) October 15, 2018
Rating: 8/10Superb film. Loved its refusal to feel ashamed or abashed by any of the nitty-gritty details of conception and childbearing. It's also so achingly authentic in its emotions.— The Executioner’s Hood (@NateHood257) October 15, 2018
Pontypool: Bruce McDonald
Bruce McDonald's Pontypool might be the most wildly inventive horror film in decades. Why? Because it isn't about what we see--the crux of 99% of all horror films. It's about what we hear. The idea of a viral language that infects people through words, English words, is amazing. But even better than the concept is the execution: framing it as a single-set horror film much like George A. Romero's Night of the Living Dead (1968). But even more than that, making it like an old school radio drama like Orson Welles' infamous War of the Worlds broadcast. It's perfect perfect in every way. And hey, centering the film around Stephen McHattie's amazing voice was brilliant!
Rating: 9/10
Seaman and 207: Sophia Tewa
REPRINTED FROM THE NEWSLETTER OF FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH OF DEL RAY
Up north in Manhattan, past the Cloisters and Bennett Park, past where the rigid city grid starts to melt and stretch to the right like taffy, there sits a van at the corner of Seaman Avenue and 207th. The signs in the window read “Believe & Repent!” while the windshield declares “Come Out of Religion!” The van has been there in the same spot for five years, never moving, come rain and sleet and snow. Sometimes the two passengers crack the window at night to let air in so they don’t suffocate, and sometimes they keep it all closed tight so passersby won’t spit or throw dog feces at them. But day after day, night after night, Yacahudah Harrison and his wife Danetia Harrison keep their eternal vigil as missionaries for Jesus Christ, preaching for those who will listen, praying for those who will not. When they met in 1994, he was a bodybuilder and she a psychoanalyst. But after a few years Yacahudah read a book by Arthur W. Pink, famed British evangelical, that tore his mind from his life of professional vanity and directed it towards Christ. So together with his wife they left their jobs and set up their impromptu chapel. “They don’t know where to put us, in terms of categorizing,” Danetia wryly murmurs, “they never heard of missionaries in the United States, because we have so many churches and we’re not trying to convert anybody.” And they’re not. If there’s one thing we learn from Sophia Tewa’s documentary Seaman and 207, it’s that Yacahudah and Danetia are not interested in mobbing people in the street and shoving a Bible under their nose. Instead, theirs is a ministry of presence—they give of themselves their time and attention to anyone who comes by. Most of the day they sit in their car listening to audio books of the Bible or roaming the two parks near their intersection, playing chess with the old-timers and waving at the children crossing the street to school. They don’t know where their next meal will come from, they don’t know if they’ll have enough money for gas to keep the engine going and the heat flowing when it grows cold. But they persist. And miraculously, it works. Over and over again we see strangers from the neighborhood come up to their car and tap on their window. Who are you two, they ask? I always see you two here on my way to work, but I never thought to ask. And invariably the topic turns to Jesus. Some of them are struggling Christians hungry for affirmation, some are nonbelievers who want to challenge their theology, and some are people who just want to know who this Christ is they keep talking about. And they always answer. Seaman and 207 is one of the more fascinating portraits of missionary work in some time, in part because while the film clearly admires Yacahudah and Danetia for their efforts, it isn’t afraid to cock an eyebrow of doubt and incredulity towards their odd behavior. It pairs scenes of Yacahudah facing down a belligerent, mentally ill man harassing Danetia with Christian love— “You will never make me hate you,” he bellows—with moments where he has to be restrained by neighbors from physically attacking someone trying to call the cops on them. It zeroes in on the inner sadness of Yacahudah, a convert from the Black Hebrew movement, who still yearns for the Jewish prayers and community for his childhood. Little attention is spared to Danetia and her reasons for going along with Yacahudah in their self-imposed homelessness—but one gets the feeling it may have been reticence on her part, not carelessness on Tewa’s. Still, Seaman and 207 burns and sears the emotions with its simple, earnest portraits of two elderly voices crying out in the wilderness. Few times in modern history has the Church struggled more to connect with the public at large and the prevailing zeitgeist. Partly it’s due to increased scientific skepticism and other socio-economic forces. But partly it’s due to our own failings as a community for Christ. We are too insulated, too myopically concentrated on outdated traditions, ceremonies, and prejudices. But as Yacahudah and Danetia demonstrate, sometimes all you need to do is sit down, meet the world on its own terms, and let it come to you.
Rating: 7/10
I Am Cuba: Mikhail Kalatozov
To read this review, go to: http://www.unseenfilms.net/2018/10/nate-hood-declares-i-am-cuba-1964-nyff.html.
Rating: 10/10
Ash Is Purest White: Zhangke Jia
To read this review, go to: http://www.unseenfilms.net/2018/10/nate-hood-on-ash-is-purest-white-2018.html.
Rating: 7/10
The Ballad of Buster Scruggs: Joel Coen, Ethan Coen
To read this review, go to: https://www.theyoungfolks.com/review/126145/the-ballad-of-buster-scruggs-movie-review/.
Rating: 8/10
They'll Love Me When I'm Dead: Morgan Neville
To read this review, go to: https://www.theyoungfolks.com/review/125764/theyll-love-me-when-im-dead-movie-review-nyff-2018/.
Rating: 7/10
Tuesday, October 9, 2018
Carmine Street Guitars: Ron Mann
To read this review, go to: https://www.theyoungfolks.com/review/125552/carmine-street-guitars-is-a-breezy-look-at-one-of-the-last-true-craftsman-of-greenwich-village-nyff-2018/.
Rating: 7/10
Shoplifters: Hirokazu Kore-eda
To read this review, go to: https://www.theyoungfolks.com/review/126175/shoplifters-is-the-latest-emotional-sucker-punch-from-japanese-maestro-hirokazu-kore-eda-nyff-2018/.
Rating: 8/10
Grass: Sang-soo Hong
To read this review, go to: http://www.unseenfilms.net/2018/10/nate-hood-takes-in-grass-2018-nyff-2018.html.
Rating: 4/10
Monday, October 8, 2018
Lucía: Humberto Solás
To read this review, go to: https://www.theyoungfolks.com/review/125769/the-film-canon-lucia-1968/.
Rating: 9/10
Burning: Chang-dong Lee
To read this review, go to: http://www.unseenfilms.net/2018/10/nate-hood-on-burning-2018-nyff2018.html.
Rating: 7/10
Angels Are Made of Light: James Longley
To read this review, go to: https://www.theyoungfolks.com/review/125555/angels-are-made-of-light-is-a-devastating-look-at-the-struggles-to-educate-the-next-generation-in-war-torn-kabul-nyff-2018/.
Rating: 7/10
Sunday, September 30, 2018
A Cock and Bull Story: Michael Winterbottom
Laurence Stern’s Tristram Shandy is a novel about the impossibility of writing a novel. So it makes sense that a movie adaptation would be about the impossibility of making a movie. That’s exactly what Michael Winterbottom did with A Cock and Bull Story (2005), his “adaptation” of Sterne’s 18th century masterwork. The film follows a disastrous attempt to adapt the novel into a lavish costume drama. But various difficulties keep popping up—casting difficulties, creative differences, incompetently (and expensively) shot battle sequences that prove completely unusable in the final cut. At the center of it all is Steve Coogan playing a caricature of himself as a vain actor playing Stern’s titular role. During the first fifteen or so minutes which recreate the four early traumas of Tristram’s life—his “disturbed” inception, the smashing of his newborn nose, his inauspicious naming, his accidental circumcision by falling window-pane (don’t ask)—Coogan’s character acts as an omnipresent narrator who actually gets into arguments with the various figures populating the story. These scenes are brilliantly executed and get the chaotic rhythm of Sterne’s non-chronological storytelling down perfectly. They even preserve one of my favorite unspoken jokes in the book: Tristram’s male relatives merrily talking about nonsense for an hour and nonchalantly testing out the accursed forceps that would crush his infant nose all the while happily oblivious to the shrieks of his mother going through labor in the room right above them. But after the birth scene the production gets stalled and we enter “real” life as Coogan and his co-stars try to figure out what the bloody hell is happening to their movie. From there the film loses quite a bit of steam, feeling at times an improvised directionless mess. Sometimes the result is brilliant, such as a historical reenactor of eighteenth century warfare brought in to coordinate the battle scenes whose meticulousness mimics the obsessiveness of Sterne’s Uncle Toby. There’s also a brilliant bit of business about casting American actress Gillian Anderson at the last minute as Uncle Toby’s amour, the Widow Wadman. But too much of the film centers around not-Coogan’s abortive relationship with his personal assistant Jennie (Naomie Harris), a film buff who—unlike almost everyone else—has actually read and understood Sterne’s novel. Put bluntly, this affair is tedious and uninteresting. A Cock and Bull Story is an admirable effort, but an ultimately disappointing one.
Rating: 6/10
Wednesday, September 26, 2018
My Life as a Zucchini: Claude Barras
Ever since I heard of Claude Barras' My Life as a Zucchini, I've been fascinated by what a movie with such a title could be about. As it turns out: orphans and child abuse. Not what I would've expected from a colorful claymation movie. Curious, then, that the movie comes out quite wonderfully. The juxtaposition between subject matter, art style, and the different tones of grief, misery, and joy blend quite well. I do wish it was a bit longer, though. But the vignette storytelling helped compensate.
Rating: 7/10
Monday, September 24, 2018
Exit Music: Cameron Mullenneaux
Ethan Rice’s music is odd and crunchy—like mid 50s Thelonious Monk it revels in odd atonal rhythm chords and chromatic melody lines that blossom into strange, unpredictable shapes. Clearly influenced by 90s indie rock like Neutral Milk Hotel, his music feels like a blown raspberry at all things stuffy and self-serious. There’s precious little of it, and there will never be more, for Ethan Rice is dead now. He was twenty-eight years old, surviving approximately 27 years and 9 months longer than his doctors expected when he was diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis as a newborn. Refusing to give up, his family reshaped itself to provide him with around-the-clock care, his father Ed even becoming a stay-at-home dad. A Vietnam veteran with PTSD, Ed had retreated into a world of therapeutic art, one he eagerly shared with Ethan as he grew and struggled and, somehow, survived. Yet Ethan’s time was limited—everyone knew the oxygen tanks, chest massages, and antibiotics were only stalling tactics. But these gave Ethan the time to create and his family the time to love him. Cameron Mullenneaux’s Exit Music is an almost impossibly moving and poignant documentary of Ethan’s last days, charting his fatal decline, hospice preparations, and final moments, all while painting a portrait of a young man defiant to the last to drink every drop of life the cosmos owed him for his unfair existence. But instead of regarding Ethan as a passive subject, Mullenneaux engaged with him as a collaborator, using his original music as a soundtrack and his stop-motion animations with action figures and Play-Doh as interludes. The result is a cinematic hybrid literally conversant with its subject, giving Ethan the dignity of setting the tone and timbre of his dying. Exit Music is also the portrait of a family struggling to cope with a dying child they know they can do nothing to protect. There are multiple interviews with Ed where we realize his ordeals with Ethan pulled him from the hell of PTSD into one possibly even more traumatic, and we get the sense from his mother and brother that Ethan’s survival was both a blessing and a prison. But Ethan lives now, forever, here in these 75 minutes. He can’t suffer or hurt anymore—there’s just a young man, his memories, and his music. Rest now, Ethan. And thank you.
Rating: 8/10
Sunday, September 23, 2018
Commander Arian - A Story of Women, War and Freedom: Alba Sotorra
To read this review, go to: http://www.unseenfilms.net/2018/09/nate-hood-on-commander-arian-story-of.html.
Rating: 7/10
First Stripes: Jean-François Caissy
To read this review, go to: http://www.unseenfilms.net/2018/09/nate-hood-on-first-stripes-2018-camden.html
Rating: 6/10

















































