(For Day 14 of NaPoWriMo, the prompt was for a poem of at least ten lines featuring anaphora, or starting each line with the same word. Such repetition is a good way of setting the rhythm, and the word “north” seemed only appropriate for this animated journey.)
North – the direction I’m going. North to the ends of the earth. North where the blizzard is blowing. North to prove my own worth.
North where the polar bear shivers. North where all hotheads are cooled. North where aurora-light quivers. North where the sky is bejeweled.
North where the sea is unstable. North where the glacier ice looms. North where presumption is fatal. North where the icebergs are tombs.
North where the sun is unblinking. North where the ocean is heaving. North has my wiser side thinking… North – the direction I’m leaving For home. _________________________
MPA rating: PG
Unless the Academy happens to nominate one for Best Animated Feature (i.e., Persepolis, Ernest and Celestine, I Lost My Body, last year’s Robot Dreams), most people are probably unaware of animated films from overseas. Anime has its built-in fanbase, but there are plenty of low-profile international cartoons out there worth attention. Long Way North, a French-Danish production from director Rémi Chaye, is a prime example.
In 1882, young Russian aristocrat Sasha (Christa Théret) idolizes her explorer grandfather, who disappeared on a voyage to the North Pole, and while all the search parties have come up empty, she believes she knows how to locate his specially designed ship. Leaving her life of comfort and social expectations, she makes her way north, intent on convincing a crew to take her into the harsh and forbidding Arctic Circle.
Long Way North has a simple plot with little in the characterization that hasn’t been seen before, but the film executes its story flawlessly. Sasha is an admirable protagonist, able to prove her mettle alongside the hardened sailors while also receiving a Captains Courageous-style eye-opening to the harsh realities of the laboring class. The lineless animation style has a gorgeous simplicity to its colors and shadows, and I loved the true-to-life depictions of breaking through ice floes while navigating the half-frozen ocean. Long Way North may not stand out next to the big dogs of animation, but it’s a lovingly crafted indie adventure.
(For Day 13 of NaPoWriMo, the prompt was both general and specific, a poem playing with rhyme and based on a “word bank” of various types of words. Taking inspiration from this recent sequel, my words included “glare,” “rumble,” “parched,” “reek,” “worm,” “divine,” and “save,” and I tried out an alternating rhyme scheme I found rather challenging. It’s imperfect but maybe that’s for the best.)
From space, the occupiers came To reap what they had never sown, Their every footfall laying claim And conquering an empty throne. Or so they thought and sought to tame This planet, stark and harsh and parched, But everywhere the jackboot trod, The sands would cover where they marched. Awaiting their crusading god, The natives hid from wanton force. Invaders rarely spare the rod Nor care enough to alter course Nor wait for saviors come to save, And so they spread their tyrant reek And swept the desert like a wave, A deadly game of hide and seek. Wherever eye could bear the glare, They flaunted strength upon the weak Who lived off prophecy and prayer.
But even worms will one day turn When hatred hounds the hot and humble. Can you feel their rancor burn, Sense immense commencing rumble Of the conquered, quick to learn The ways by which a war is waged? Plunderers, your plunder’s mine, I’m the one at whom you’ve raged, One who broke your sandy line, Tore your plan for us to shreds. Believe it human or divine, I bring justice on your heads. ____________________________
MPA rating: PG-13
As a huge fan of science fiction, I should love Dune. I rewatched Part One of Denis Villeneuve’s adaptation of the famed Frank Herbert novel, and I was struck a few times by the thought “Maybe I ought to add this to my list of favorites.” The sheer magnitude and impeccable quality of the Dune universe is a marvel to behold, yet for some reason, the story still doesn’t fully connect with me. I was hopeful that Part Two might change that, providing a fitting conclusion to the epic journey of Paul Atreides.
Picking up directly where Part One ended, Paul (Timothee Chalamet) and his Bene Gesserit mother Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson) are taken in by the desert-dwelling Fremen after the Atreides have been wiped out by a Harkonnen ambush. Soon, rumors spread through the Fremen that Paul might be the Lisan al Gaib, the promised messiah destined to lead them to prosperity and freedom, rumors lent credence by how easily Paul adapts to their lifestyle and the riding of the giant sandworms. As he falls in love with Fremen warrior Chani (Zendaya, finally getting more screentime), Paul must grapple with whether or not to embrace the mantle of messiah, if only to take revenge on the Harkonnens.
From Arrival to Blade Runner 2049, Denis Villeneuve has truly distinguished himself as the king of serious sci-fi and one of the finest directors working today. Dune: Part Two is further proof of his talents, continuing the same high quality of Part One and delving deeply into its themes of predestination, Machiavellian control, and religious fervor, which were mostly lost in translation in the 1984 David Lynch adaptation of Dune. (My VC is still very fond of that one for some reason.) That film presented Paul as the actual Fremen messiah, no questions asked, while Villeneuve’s version casts doubt by exploring how the Bene Gesserit have been manipulating such savior myths for centuries, now pushed onto Paul by his mother and unborn telepathic sister. It was interesting how the psychotic Harkonnen champion Feyd-Rautha (an unrecognizable Austin Butler) was shown to be part of these machinations, and quite a few details of the storyline and politics were definitely lost on me in the 1984 film’s speedrun through the plot while being properly fleshed out here and even diverging by the end.
There’s absolutely a place for Dune in the annals of top-tier sci-fi, but for all its deep world-building and desert spectacle, I still admire it more than I actually like the story. With Paul as its potential false prophet protagonist, it’s a subversion of the typical hero’s journey that leaves no one happy by the end, though I am still intrigued to see what the planned third film adapting Dune: Messiah would do, since I’m not at all familiar with what lies beyond the first book. With Oscar-worthy production values, excellent acting, battle scenes on a grand scale, and an ending that gives more finality than Part One while also leaving the door wide open for more, Dune: Part Two stands apart and above any recent film vying for the descriptor of “epic” and delivers exactly what its fans would want. I want to love it more and perhaps I will with time, but I can certainly praise its merits all the same.
Best line: (Paul Atreides) “He who can destroy the thing has the real control of it.”
(For Day 12 of NaPoWriMo, the prompt was for a poem related to a tall tale, so I borrowed a certain larger-than-life character from Tarantino.)
Now hear the tale of Django, who was once a lowly slave, But given chance and some romance, he rose as from a grave.
His finger was born itchy, and his bullets ne’er ran dry, And eye for eye meant nothing once his foe could not reply.
The white folks watched their words whenever Django wandered free, And when an N was uttered, they were dead before the G.
The hooded ones who lived off fear, of Django were afraid; And if a hundred gathered, ninety-nine would flee for aid.
They tried to hang him once, believing numbers were the key, But Django fought and with one shot, felled them and then the tree.
He was villain to the villains; he was vengeance none would dare. His story isn’t history, but Django wouldn’t care. _________________________
MPA rating: R (for very good reason)
This was definitely out of character for me. While I did previously review Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood (because it was part of a 2019 Best Picture nominee marathon at Regal), I generally steer clear of Quentin Tarantino movies. His reputation for gratuitous violence and profanity is the kind of indulgence I prefer to avoid, but Django Unchained happened to come on TV at least somewhat “cut,” so I opted to give it a chance.
Set in the antebellum South and taking its hero’s name from the 1966 spaghetti western Django, the film follows its own Django (Jamie Foxx) as he grows from slave to avenger, thanks to the colorful intervention of Dr. King Schultz (Oscar-winning Christoph Waltz), a bounty hunter who trains him in the ways of killing bad guys for money. After some success at doling out bloody justice, the duo set their sights on the despicable Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio), a gleeful plantation owner holding Django’s wife Broomhilda (Kerry Washington) and unlikely to part with her easily.
First, the good stuff. It’s obvious from his first scene why Waltz won his second Best Supporting Actor Oscar (following his previous win for Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds); Schultz boasts an undeniable charisma and charm to match his ruthlessness, and Waltz embodies the silver-tongued mercenary to a T. It’s a perfect case of a fine actor distinguished further by great dialogue, and, while Foxx and DiCaprio are also pitch perfect in their roles, the scenes that shine most are their interactions with Waltz. I can also appreciate Tarantino’s skill as director and storyteller, blending western and blaxploitation tropes into a compelling tale with an iconically anachronistic soundtrack.
Yet every R-rated movie for me is a balancing act between the laudable and the hard-to-watch, and which side has more weight by the end determines my opinion of it. Despite its good points, Django Unchained is excessive in multiple ways, from the cruelty of its slaveholders to the almost cartoonish amount of blood sprayed in the shootouts. (Watching on TV, I was spared the non-stop N-words and some brief nudity, but it certainly didn’t feel like a “cut” movie by most standards.)
Tarantino’s MO seems to be taking already hateful figures, whether Nazis, slaveholders, or the Manson family, and tweaking history to allow the heroes to slaughter their caricatures en masse with justifiable vengeance. Racism is terrible so why feel bad when Django shoots an unarmed woman? I get that it’s intended to be some form of catharsis, but it just leaves a bad taste in my mouth to make gory violence something cheer-worthy. The film was rightly controversial upon release as well, so even mainstream critics took some issue with its excesses. I suppose you could call it a mixed bag: entertaining and off-putting, well-made and ill-advised, impressive and nasty. I assume that was Tarantino’s intent, but, despite some masterful scenes, it’s not something I’m likely to revisit.
Best line: (Calvin Candie, after being given an exorbitant offer) “Gentlemen, you had my curiosity; now you have my attention.”
(For Day 11 of NaPoWriMo, the prompt was for a monostich, or one-line poem, which often relies on its title for full context. I figured this laconic form could lend itself to some creepiness.)
Ignorance Is Bliss
I try not to think that, wherever I am, somebody has died there.
_________________________
MPA rating: R (for language, sex, and bloody violence, more of a medium-level R)
I consider myself picky when it comes to the horror genre, and the hackneyed slashers or gorefests have little interest for me. But every now and then a scary movie stands out by breaking the mold with its superior quality. Last Night in Soho may have been a disappointment at the box office, thanks mainly to COVID, but Edgar Wright’s psychological timebender has a special blend of cast and craft that deserved far better.
Aspiring fashion designer and lover of 1960s culture Eloise (Thomasin McKenzie) moves from her grandmother’s rural home to the bustling metropolis of London, and, after having enough of college dorm life, she opts to rent a room near campus. While sleeping, Ellie finds herself seemingly transported back to the ‘60s and living the glamorous life of Sandie (Anya Taylor-Joy), a singer who is wooed by her would-be manager Jack (Matt Smith). It’s literally a dream come true, yet the more Ellie delves into this vicarious other life, the more she becomes haunted by frightening visions from the past.
First off, Last Night in Soho looks fantastic, conjuring the neon-lit enchantment of 1966, and as with Wright’s previous film Baby Driver, his butter-smooth camerawork is a joy to watch. The soundtrack is likewise perfectly chosen, replete with the best of Cilla Black, James Ray, and the Kinks, immersing Ellie and the audience further into the Swinging Sixties. It’s a crying shame that the film got zero Oscar attention when its cinematography, sound, and production design could easily have stood with the best that year.
As for the story, the film is a masterclass in gradual genre shifting, as it starts out as a fantasy with wide-eyed Eloise marveling at her chance to see a decade that has fascinated her with its fashion and music. McKenzie is a perfect ingenue, further proving her talent after Leave No Trace and Jojo Rabbit, while Taylor-Joy excels as her yesteryear counterpart, also proving her singing chops by contributing to the soundtrack. The way mirrors were employed to juxtapose the two was fascinating, and I loved a dance sequence where they seamlessly trade places. Eventually, though, the scares kick in as the dream falls apart. While some of them could be trimmed, Wright nails those disturbing moments as well, putting a nightmarish filter on misogyny and abuse. And though some consider the end to fall apart, I thought it made for a unique subversion of expectation, forcing the audience to question their own sympathies.
Last Night in Soho has its brutal and uncomfortable moments, but it’s a cut above the typical scarefest, boasting more visual flair and originality than any number of slasher sequels. With its rising-star actresses and confidently elegant direction from Wright, it’s the kind of film that I hope will only grow in reputation with time.
Best line: (Ellie) “Has a woman ever died in my room?” (Ms. Collins) “This is London. Someone has died in every room in every building and on every street corner in the city.”
(For Day 10 of NaPoWriMo, the prompt was to take inspiration from the old newspaper clippings and headlines featured on the Yesterday’s Print website. What caught my eye was from The Tennessean, Nashville, Tennessee, 11/16/1909: “Hundred years hence, women will then run the government, be rich and reign generally.” No surprise then that this film felt like a perfect fit.)
Call her a doll, call her a dame, Call her some other undignified name, Call her a damsel or call her a lass, Consign her to some subservient class At your peril.
Call him an oaf, call him a jock, Call him a chip off the barbarous block, Call him a wanker or call him a stud, Pigeonhole him as a chad or a chud At your peril.
Down with the queens and up with the kings. Down with the gods and up with the goddess. Always we swing to such eager extremes, Thinking so narrow we know not how broad is Our peril. __________________________
MPA rating: PG-13 (for some sexual references)
It took longer than most of the planet, but I finally got around to watching Barbie, Greta Gerwig’s billion-dollar juggernaut that made up the pinker half of the Barbenheimer craze. (I really should try to review Oppenheimer, considering I actually saw that one in the theater.) I’ve heard all manner of opinions for Barbie, some decrying it as feminist trash while others hailed it as a masterpiece of franchise reinvention that brought many female audiences to tears. Well, as a man with no former interest in the famous doll brand, I can declare that I fall squarely in the middle, considering Barbie equal parts dumb, fun, and thematically interesting.
In near-perfect casting, Margot Robbie plays Stereotypical Barbie, the blond archetype who is just one of countless Barbies ruling the life-size toy world of Barbieland, while the second-class himbo Kens mainly focus on trying to impress their Barbies of choice. Robbie’s Barbie begins having “irrepressible thoughts of death” and cellulite, real-world problems shunned by Barbieland and forcing her to seek answers in, naturally, the real world, accompanied by her eager-to-please Ken (Ryan Gosling). There, she gets help from harried mother Gloria (America Ferrera) while Ken discovers the wonders of patriarchal society and plots to change Barbieland in ways beyond their ken (pun intended).
I should note that I watched this film, after much coaxing, with my dear Viewing Companion (VC), who was utterly against it at first. (I think Gosling’s stellar performance of “I’m Just Ken” at the Oscars might have convinced her to give it a try.) She has a very particular view of Barbie from when she was growing up, and the modern incarnation of the doll threatened to corrupt those happy memories. And while I found things to appreciate about the movie, she thought it was an altogether stupid waste of time with muddled messaging and overexaggerated acting. But at least she liked “I’m Just Ken”; that’s one thing even the haters seem to agree on.
The thing is that I don’t entirely disagree with my VC’s complaints. Barbie does have an annoyingly shallow view of the patriarchy and, despite giving voice to some downsides, seems to consider a similarly stratified matriarchy a better alternative, which may please girlbosses but is really no better. Yet the film also has fun playing with its various stereotypes and manages to mix in genuine laughs with the eyerolls, like Helen Mirren’s asides as the narrator or the awesome Pride and Prejudice joke. And while I didn’t find the cringy exaggerations of Barbieland particularly funny, I could see it appealing to other audiences’ sense of humor. I know everyone loves Gosling as Ken, but, despite his great song, I don’t really get his appeal, sorry.
While the pink production design and attention to brand detail and history deserve praise, I’m also mixed on the screenplay from Gerwig and Noah Baumbach. While it plays its excesses off for giggles, the plot is a mess, especially when Barbieland and the real world collide, not helped by the changing motivations of Will Ferrell as the CEO of Mattel (a caricature of corporatism that I’m surprised Mattel approved). Its treatment of what Barbie represents, how patriarchy shapes people, and the pros and cons of living in the real world all seems to play both sides of the argument. I loved her adaptation of Little Women, so, while some dismiss that duality as lazy writing, I have enough faith in Gerwig as a writer to believe it was all intentional to give the film more nuance than the simple narrative at its core would indicate. And the film’s climactic tearjerker scene that goes on a little too long at the end does a lot to deepen the film’s message into poignancy, despite being a drastic shift in tone.
Ultimately, Barbie is not as egregious as its detractors insist nor as innovative as its fans proclaim. It actually recycles quite a bit from The Lego Movie, complete with Will Ferrell as the real-world authority figure. While many decried the Oscar snubs of Gerwig’s direction and Robbie’s leading role, I can’t say I disagree with the Academy here, considering the competition. I will forever wish that “I’m Just Ken” had won Best Original Song over Billie Eilish’s “What Was I Made For,” which is also good but just not as iconic as the anthem for Kens everywhere. Barbie likely won’t become a favorite in my house, but its mixture of dumb fun and existential questions certainly left its mark on the cultural zeitgeist.
Best line: (Ruth Handler, creator of Barbie, with an absolute gem of a line) “We mothers stand still so our daughters can look back and see how far they’ve come.”
(For Day 9 of NaPoWriMo, the prompt was for an ode to an everyday object. While it may not be in everyone’s house, I’m sure many have a manuscript or poems or drawings they’re too nervous to share with the world, so I addressed this irregular sonnet to them.)
You mock me, you pile of papers, You unread manuscript, hiding in the corner. You say “Am I not fruit of all your labors? Am I not worth another pair of eyes? Is it better to be a cipher than a mourner, Lest someone dare to share or criticize? I’ll outlive you, your fear and blushing cheeks; I’ll wait till someone else will spy my corner And read what you had guarded from critiques And grieve its author’s sad, unknown demise.” I know that’s what you’re saying as time flies, The time that’s killing me and stalling you. The world can’t know what’s missing till it peeks, Until the shy apply for their debut. ____________________
MPA rating: Not Rated (should be PG for some drama but quite clean)
While not every international run can be on the level of Your Name or The Boy and the Heron, I am quite glad that smaller anime films are getting at least a limited release in American theaters, even if it takes a year to get here. The Tunnel to Summer, the Exit of Goodbyes may have a rather cumbersome title, but it’s one of the better under-the-radar anime movies, with appealing animation and a nice short runtime to deliver its poignant themes.
Kaoru is a high school student living in quiet grief with his abusive father, and he forms a bond with equally aloof transfer student Anzu, a budding manga artist unsure of her own talent (and inspiring the poem above). The two happen upon the fabled Urashima tunnel, which can supposedly grant a person’s greatest wish for a price. Mirroring the Urashima namesake, which is basically the equivalent of Rip Van Winkle in Japanese folklore, they discover that time passes differently inside the tunnel, where glowing trees line a watery path to their distant wish. After performing experiments on the tunnel’s strange properties, the duo must decide whether their wishes are worth giving up on their current life.
While there are plenty of films with this same romance-plus-supernatural storyline, I liked the natural progression of both, as the two main characters are actually smart about testing the temporal phenomenon, while also growing closer in the process. Though it can’t quite compare in scale or artistry, the film had some similarities to Your Name, and I suspect fans of one will also enjoy the other. It may be largely predictable, but The Tunnel to Summer, the Exit of Goodbyes is a lovely little movie to satisfy fans of star-crossed romance.
(For Day 8 of NaPoWriMo, the prompt was for a poem about a relationship between two people or things that should never have met. The encounter of an aspiring astronaut with the notoriously inhospitable vacuum of space seemed like a good odd couple to serve as inspiration.) _________________________
Hello, space! I’ve waited.
You don’t know me, but I’m a fan. I’ve loved you from afar. You wink your stars at every man, But only few can follow. I know your history, your rules, And where your dangers are. But I can’t claim the finest schools Or have much pride to swallow.
You’re wonderfully indifferent To the differences in man. You don’t say, “It’s an immigrant! An indigent, so kill it!” Oh, no, you want to kill us all Quite equally, and can. But knowing that will neither stall Nor stop our trespass, will it?
I’ve only ever craved a chance To challenge you up close, To prove that I was worth your glance, Your open invitation. I dreamed the scheme at which they scoffed And begged them more than most. While they looked down, I looked aloft To touch a constellation.
Hello, space! I made it. _________________________
MPA rating: PG
Hidden Figures became the gold standard for “inspiring true story of underrepresented group excelling and beating the odds,” particularly when it came to NASA. So perhaps that’s why A Million Miles Away didn’t make much of a splash upon its Amazon Prime Video release. It’s a shame, though, because this biopic of migrant-farm-worker-turned-astronaut José Hernández provides an exemplary dose of underdog aspiration and one of Michael Peña’s finest performances.
Hernández grew up in a migrant family picking grapes, but, through the wonder of Apollo 11 footage and the encouragement of a supportive teacher, the boy turns his gaze upward to the stars. Many people are forced to wait on their dreams, and the film shows how life goes on while Hernández made gradual steps toward being the person NASA wanted – meeting his wife Adela (excellent Rosa Salazar) and opening a restaurant even as he gets pilot experience and scuba certification. With his repeated applications and rejections to NASA’s training program, it’s a testament to the power of persistence, one that anyone with yet-distant dreams can admire.
A Million Miles Away excels as both space-program biopic and touching family drama, setting José’s achievements as the culmination of the journey to a better life undertaken by so many migrant workers. With its shuttle-era time period, it also prominently features the 2003 Columbia disaster, a tragedy rarely acknowledged in NASA-themed movies. Streaming releases are easy to write off as unworthy of big-screen attention, but this underdog story is well worth your time.
Best line: (José, to his cousin) “Who better than a migrant? Somebody that knows what it’s like to dive into the unknown. Who better than that… to dare leave this planet, man?”
Rank: List Runner-Up (might be higher after a rewatch)
(For Day 7 of NaPoWriMo, the prompt was for a short poem that might go on a postcard, so I thought the two protagonists of this ‘80s classic might send a pic of their dearly departed boss.)
As you can see in this picture, We’re all hanging out, having fun In the sun. We just took the ferry And shared a high-five, All happy and merry And very alive. I can’t understate how alive we all feel, Especially Bernie; it’s almost surreal. Wish you were here, but there’s really no need. P.S. Don’t mind Bernie; he had a nosebleed. ________________________
MPA rating: PG-13
The late ‘80s had its fair share of dumb little comedies that are hard to take seriously but also hard to hate, and I do have a soft spot for the likes of Mannequin and Weekend at Bernie’s, both of which starred Andrew McCarthy. For the latter, it’s a prime example of a one-joke film that somehow manages to keep that joke entertaining throughout, so well that the title is synonymous with a corpse or puppet being propped up by others.
McCarthy and Jonathan Silverman play Larry Wilson and Richard Parker, respectively, two insurance cogs who think they’ve found a financial discrepancy that will properly impress their boss Bernie Lomax (Terry Kiser), who is on the outs with the mob. When the two are invited out to Bernie’s beach house, they are shocked to find him assassinated in his home, and to keep from becoming suspects in his death, they proceed to put sunglasses on him and fool any visitors into thinking he’s still very much alive. (On a side note, I chuckle whenever I see a character named Richard Parker, thanks to Life of Pi.)
I’m not usually a fan of dark comedy, but Weekend at Bernie’s is an exception. While the lack of rigor mortis in Bernie’s corpse is inherently unrealistic, the way his limp body is utilized for slapstick never fails to coax a giggle from me, especially the speedboat scene. McCarthy and Silverman make for likable everymen, and Don Calfa is hilarious as the gaslit assassin who keeps thinking Bernie is dead only to see him “alive” again. Poorly received upon release, the film does have a slight premise but wrings out all the laughs it can, so it’s nice that its reputation seems to have grown over the years.
Best line: (Larry) “What kind of a host invites you to his house for the weekend and dies on you?”
(For Day 6 of NaPoWriMo, the prompt was for a poem based on some “weird wisdom” given to you, so I opted for the advice of preppers, who may be onto something.)
You’ll need a sturdy bunker With a strong hermetic seal And a good amount of space In case you’ll be in there a while. I’d choose a generator Over wind or water wheel, But in that case, I’d stock up On the solar panel aisle.
Buy more shelves, then fill with food That’s good for twenty years, And if you don’t know how to can, You definitely should. Learn how to sew and shoot a bow And maybe fashion spears, And how to navigate by stars And tell what shrooms are good.
Do you have gold? Don’t answer that, But buy what’s in your budget, And cigarettes and booze to trade Once currency is bust. Hoard herbs and spices for the taste. How much? I’ll let you judge it. If you have pets, then be prepared To eat them if you must.
And get a first-aid kit (or ten); You’ll thank me when you need it. And candle tapers, pens and paper, Books, and one machete. Oh yes, invest in fertile land And seeds with which to seed it. You ask when will you need all this? Who knows, but you’ll be ready. ______________________
MPA rating: R
Releasing late last year, based on a popular novel, and featuring A-list stars and a timely message, Leave the World Behind seemed like it was poised for potential Oscars contention. Yet its flash-in-the-pan interest yielded to a mixed reception from Netflix viewers, and it was odd seeing at least half of the people online lambasting a critically well-received film as frustrating and pointless. Evidently, it was not what some people want from a typical disaster movie, but it offered something scarier and (mostly) more realistic.
After an opening monologue showing the misanthropic outlook of mother Amanda (Julia Roberts), she and her husband Clay (Ethan Hawke) take their two kids (Farrah Mackenzie, Charlie Evans) outside the city for a little vacation, renting a fancy house near the seashore. Strange things begin happening, like a Wi-Fi outage and an oil tanker running aground near them, and they are further perturbed when a well-dressed black man named G.H. (Mahershala Ali) and his daughter Ruth (Myha’la) show up, claiming to be the owners of the house and asking to stay the night. While there is some initial racial tension between the families, it soon becomes evident that larger problems are happening in the world, threatening their very survival.
Whatever people thought of Leave the World Behind, it should be said that it is quite well-made, with some excellent cinematography, clever details, and strong performances, from Ali and Hawke especially. Although the film got some people talking due to the implicit racism exhibited by Amanda toward the visitors and echoed even more by Ruth toward white people in general, that is hardly the point of the film. With the divisions in the world today, it’s understandable that mistrust would manifest like that, and, as the film illustrates, mistrust runs rampant when nobody has any answers.
Indeed, the film never actually gives a clear explanation for what is happening to cause the EMP-like power outages, the strange high-pitched noise that causes health problems, or the unusual behavior in animals. Many found this made the film an irksome waste of time, but the movie is far more interested in the effect of these phenomena than their cause. There are indicators of various bad actors to blame – flyers in Arabic pointing to jihadists, rumors of North Korean attacks – and with no Internet, no news channel, blocked roads, and low supplies, I doubt the average person would respond any better than the characters do. At one point, Clay begs a man far more prepared (Kevin Bacon) for assistance and gives voice to the helplessness that would spread like wildfire if all of our modern advantages were stripped away from us.
Considering the admittedly abrasive characters and inexplicably weird use of CGI animals, I can’t say Leave the World Behind is a perfect film or even an Oscar-worthy one. But it does feel like an important warning, one that seems to have been missed by all those complaining about wasted time and an unsatisfying ending. And I liked the ending quite a bit since it demonstrates how small pleasures can be a source of comfort amid the chaos. This is not a disaster movie with heroic rescues or easy solutions, but it brings to light just how close civilization can be to collapse, which is more unnerving.
Best line: (G.H.) “A conspiracy theory about a shadowy group of people running the world is far too lazy of an explanation, especially when the truth is much scarier.” (Amanda) “What is the truth?” (G.H.) “No one is in control. No one is pulling the strings.”
(For Day 5 of NaPoWriMo, the prompt was for a poem describing how two or three different things perceive the same thing, with the example being how an old woman, a tulip, and a dog view being blessed. In keeping with this film, I imagined how those connected to a playground would view that place of fun.)
What is a playground? Depends on who answers.
For kids, it is joy, A chance to get higher Than a small girl or boy Ever could on their own, To conquer the jungle, To swing to the sky, or To know they won’t crumble When tripped by a stone.
For a parent, it’s peace, Even for a short respite, Like shepherds releasing Their flock to the field. A simple distraction If ever they’re desperate, They bask in inaction And keep their eyes peeled.
And what of the no-name Who built that location, Who garners no fame Yet has brought joy and peace? He sits at a distance In gratification To watch their elation, Such a simple foundation, And knows his existence Will only increase. ______________________
MPA rating: PG-13 (mainly for poignant subject matter but quite tame)
I know I probably should have first watched Ikiru, Akira Kurosawa’s classic film about a government bureaucrat dealing with his own mortality, but I was on my plane to Ireland last year and had a prime chance to watch Living, the British remake with Bill Nighy in the same situation. Nighy is undoubtedly a fine actor, with memorable roles in the Pirates of the Caribbean series and About Time, so it really is surprising that he had never received an Oscar nomination before this film. But he excels in the role on which the entire film rests, as Rodney Williams, a stuffy bureaucrat in post-War Britain, solemn and dour, his workplace “rather like church,” according to his chatting coworkers. His strict routine of coming and going to work on the train each day is disturbed by a sudden cancer diagnosis, and he is forced to come to terms with the fact his life has likewise come and gone with little in the way of joy or meaning. Buoyed by the companionship of a young friend (Aimee Lou Wood), the waning pencil pusher decides on a small way he can break from his inflexible mold.
Living is a laudable prestige picture, shot and acted with a noble dignity reminiscent of yesteryear classics and boasting an elegant screenplay by acclaimed author Kazuo Ishiguro. Nighy exemplifies how complacent routine yields to personal regret, and even if he couldn’t compete with Brendan Fraser in The Whale, he certainly gives an Oscar-worthy performance. It may be easily overshadowed by the flashier Oscar bait, but Living is a subtly meaningful film that puts our daily grind into much-needed perspective.
Best line: (Williams) “I wonder if you ever stop on the way home and watch the children playing. In the street, or in the yard. And when the time comes and their mothers call them in, they’re often reluctant. They, they get a little contrary, but that’s as it should be. Far better than to be the child you occasionally see, he’s sitting by himself in the corner not taking part, not happy, not unhappy, merely waiting for his mother to call him in. I’ve become afraid that I might end up like that child. And I so very much do not wish to do so.”
Rhyme and Reason 