Norte, the End of History (Lav Diaz, 2014). You probably knew people like this: intellectuals who dropped out, isolated themselves, developed their own systems of thought, messed everything up. They probably read a lot of Nietzsche. The one thing worse than being all talk and no action is to be both talk and action. Diaz’s leisurely (four hours plus) film takes an anthropological approach to such figures; it is a moral film about morality and family.
April 20, 2017
Warren Beatty says he wanted you to play Clyde Barrow in Bonnie and Clyde. Did that offer get to you?
No, the offer was sent to my manager’s office and we weren’t speaking; we had had a falling out. I didn’t get any mail or offers that were sent there.
You could have had some love scenes with Faye Dunaway – any regrets?
Bob Dylan, interviewed by Bill Flanagan.
April 19, 2017
Patience (After Sebald) (Grant Gee, 2012). “Coincidence is like dreams. If you talk about them, they become dead, inert,” says artist Tacita Dean in this film. Does over-explaining the work of German writer WG Sebald, and his masterpiece The Rings of Saturn in particular, have the same risk? Reading Sebald has always been a highly private and individual experience; everyone (mis)remembers the books differently. The good news is that Gee’s sensitive documentary leaves Sebald’s deep and singular mysteries intact even as its selection of well-known Sebald fans have the fervour of cult followers – besides Dean, there is Iain Sinclair, Marina Warner, Rick Moody, Andrew Motion and, possibly the most insightful of all, psychologist Adam Phillips. Artist Jeremy Millar takes a nearly Shroud of Turin-like photo of the site where Sebald died and the veneration does get almost holy. But Sebald still slips away. There is a sense that he was both unique – a German writer living in England, writing in German, often obliquely about the Holocaust, and with an antiquarian sensibility – and a pioneer of a type of writing that now almost borders on cliché. As Sinclair says, “The countryside is black with people going for walks to write books.” In most cases, these have a therapeutic angle: they are restorative nature walks, feel-good treks. Sebald’s walk dwelled instead on the dark catastrophes of history and the trip put him in hospital. Nor did he ever ask for disciples – as Sinclair says, following the trail of The Rings of Saturn is the worst way to experience or understand Sebald. It unfolds in your head.
April 13, 2017
April 11, 2017
April 8, 2017
April 6, 2017
Hard to be a God (Aleksei German, 2013). This Russian medieval sci-fi epic is a distant cousin of sorts to Tarkovsky’s Stalker and Andrei Rublev: it shares an author with the former and a sense of grimy, lived-in medieval authenticity with the latter. But the excess and even derangement of Chimes at Midnight is here too. The planet Arkanar is a world of dirt, blood, spit, fog and gore and your engagement is less about a coherent plot than an immersive experience that has the consistency, or even pungency and texture, of a nightmare. Rain means something in Tarkovsky, but here it is just rain. It is constant and it turns everything into mud.
March 31, 2017
Life, Animated (Roger Ross Williams, 2016). Of course the story of how autistic Owen Suskind learned to communicate with others using characters and situations from Disney films is touching and inspirational, while being entirely individual rather than typical, but there are darker undercurrents here as well, which the documentary does touch on. Do parents of disabled children want them to stay in some sense innocent, even as they hit adulthood? How many decades into the future does your thinking and worrying go? And are the responsibilities and stresses on the siblings ever properly understood? I felt there was much more to know about the obvious burdens on Owen’s older brother, who is named – and this is hard to believe, but true – Walt.
March 21, 2017
American Honey (Andrea Arnold, 2016). How many films have been this concerned with money? Counting it, coveting it, stashing it, earning it, conning people out of it. Andrea Arnold’s first non-British film is a road movie through the US midwest – Oklahoma, Missouri, Iowa, South Dakota – that embeds viewers within a group of drifting, nihilistic teens who form a kind of white trash precariat (this was conceived several years ago and it debuted at Cannes last May, but it feels very much like a Trump-era story). As in Arnold’s Fish Tank, there is a young woman at the centre (Sasha Lane, above) who is trying to negotiate the rules of the world and identify its predators. Arnold’s view is raw, sympathetic, intuitive and not immune to the weird beauty of the entirely ordinary even when her Academy ratio close-ups risk giving viewers claustrophobia.
March 20, 2017
The Serpent’s Egg (Ingmar Bergman, 1977). As though Cabaret could be repackaged as a dark and murky nightmare (apartments, corridors, basements, crowded clubs, wet night-time streets) in which Nazi crimes were somehow rehearsed 10 years ahead of time. David Carradine was no Max von Sydow but he was arguably more of a Max von Sydow than David Bowie was in the thematically similar but much sloppier Just a Gigolo a year later.
March 19, 2017
March 18, 2017
Heat (Michael Mann, 1995). I hadn’t seen this for 20 years, I think, and I remembered the bank shoot-out most clearly – sudden guerrilla warfare choreographed in downtown Los Angeles – but I had not recalled its feeling, both grandiose and sad, beautiful and strange. And there is Mann’s romantic admiration for these quiet men – cops, criminals, what’s the difference? – who run on a mix of intuition and discipline, outsiders looking in.
March 11, 2017
March 9, 2017
Manchester by the Sea (Kenneth Lonergan, 2016). This has an unexpected shape that feels like shapelessness (as we saw in the equally moving and impressive Margaret, Lonergan likes to take his time with scenes that might have seemed extraneous to others), and it’s observational rather than highly personal, but it is unusually sensitive to the burdens of guilt and grief and the ways that we try and sometimes fail to move on. There are entire worlds and stories beyond what we see here: the way Lee (Casey Affleck) wraps up the three photos when he moves, or the way the young Patrick glances at his passed-out mother, or the story of the man who lost his dad in 1959 and remembers every detail, or many other small and important moments. If you leave wanting more from Joe and Randi, maybe that is the point as well.
March 5, 2017
Café Society (Woody Allen, 2016). The annual Woody Allen film is nearly beyond criticism by now. This time: period nostalgia (Hollywood, gangsters) and an almost pleasantly underpowered love triangle in which passion, anguish or despair seem to be entirely absent. Call it a sketch of an idea of an experiment about a story about life, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. But in a year, will you even remember which one this was?
March 4, 2017
March 1, 2017
Snowden (Oliver Stone, 2016). The disillusioned patriot shaped the trajectory of Stone’s Vietnam films – Platoon, Born on the Fourth of July, Heaven and Earth (in Wall Street, the disillusioned capitalist). The Edward Snowden biopic is closest to the second in plot terms but it lacks the urgency and righteous anger that risked being embarrassing, which makes this seem stale, cautious and under-imagined instead. Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s performance is suitably diligent. One thing: if your storytelling is hugely dependent on news clips and audio, are you making a dramatic feature or is it really a dramatised documentary? Another thing: it’s some kind of achievement to make even Nicolas Cage appear boring. But Stone manages.
February 27, 2017
The Girl on the Train (Tate Taylor, 2016). A terrible shambles about maternal guilt, sexual jealousy and the black hole of alcoholism that demonstrates, again and again, that it takes a special kind of talent (Fincher, Hitchcock, Verhoeven) to make great entertainment out of psychologically lurid material. Perhaps it takes a sadistic or single-minded or simply cold-hearted person. Whatever it is, Tate Taylor is not it.
February 22, 2017
Imperium (Daniel Ragussis, 2016). The renaissance of Daniel Radcliffe (Swiss Army Man, Kill Your Darlings) seemed more myth than reality until his surprisingly strong showing in this unexpectedly topical undercover Nazi thriller. Radcliffe is a dweebish FBI agent turned shaven-headed Aryan warrior (he looks like a pocket-edition Henry Rollins) infiltrating neo-Nazi gangs who have – you will never believe this – been radicalised by a smarmy, conspiracy theory-peddling radio host.
February 20, 2017
Stalker (Andrei Tarkovsky, 1979) and Silence (Martin Scorsese, 2016). Like both Stalker and Andrei Rublev, Silence could be understood as a long and introverted meditation on the gap between religious aspirations and ideals and the compromises made by those who must live in the world. It is profound enough to wear the comparison and there is a rare cautiousness, or maybe piousness or seriousness, in the way that Scorsese directs. It may be true that Andrew Garfield lacks the gravity or sorrow that Liam Neeson and even Adam Driver carry with them, or the thin-skinned anguish of Willem Dafoe in the more turbulent and vivid Last Temptation of Christ, but there are many consolations. A remarkable Japanese supporting cast is just one of them. A thoughtful screenplay (by Jay Cocks and Scorsese) is another. Like Tarkovsky (or recent Malick), this is religious art, and you have to meet it at least halfway.
February 11, 2017
The Lady from Shanghai (Orson Welles, 1947). Where is that line between the too-much-ness of Welles as actor and the hamminess? To put it another way: between the actor caring too much and not caring enough? You can say (David Thomson does) that Welles put a lifetime of acting into Citizen Kane and everything after was a variation on parts of Kane’s corruption. And everything is informed for us now by biography. The unconvincing figure Welles plays here, the Irishman O’Hara, is smart but clueless, an insightful writer who is easily duped. Welles’ expressionist flourishes are daringly at work in the closing amusement park Caligari scene, despite studio edits, but I’m as taken with the hallucinatory aquarium scene. No one has ever made sense of the story.
January 27, 2017
January 25, 2017
Captain Fantastic (Matt Ross, 2016). It seemed impossible but everyone learned something. Deep within it, there is pioneering American religious separatism, the founding story, tribes of children and the possibility of innocence. Viggo Mortensen, Frank Langella, George MacKay.
January 24, 2017
Queen of Earth (Alex Ross Perry, 2015). There is a 1970s feeling to Alex Ross Perry’s psychological drama – not quite a horror, but nearly – Queen of Earth, both in its setting (a lakeside cabin with timbered interior) and its theme (a Bergman-ish descent into madness). The eerie score by Keegan DeWitt has echoes of Rosemary’s Baby and there is a similar sense of persecution and humiliation in the story of Catherine, a young woman who has lost her famous artist father, played with remarkable commitment and intensity by Elisabeth Moss. As in Perry’s previous film, the vicious literary black comedy Listen Up Philip, these are well-connected, creative, upper middle-class New Yorkers whose relationships have turned competitive and bitter – it can almost feel like the dark flip side of a privileged, whimsical Wes Anderson world.
January 20, 2017
Blood Father (Jean-Francois Richet).
Chapter 1: it begins and ends in churches, with confessions of hopelessness.
Chapter 2: the body artist, the dragon drawing and the meaning of Don Quixote.
Chapter 5: the missing mother.
Chapter 9: when he loses the biker beard, he reminds you of his most vulnerable and remorseful self.
January 19, 2017
Chasing Asylum (Eva Orner, 2016). “It sat with me for quite a number of months. And if I didn’t speak out, who was going to? I’ve got a conscience and I was brought up the right way. And I don’t understand how we can do this to each other. I felt that it was the right thing to do. People need to talk up.” Manus Island guard and whistleblower Martin Appleby.
January 18, 2017
The Captive (Atom Egoyan, 2014). The sad thing about Atom Egoyan is that we measure everything against the heights of his greatest work and find it lacking, time and time again – perhaps he peaked too soon. It doesn’t help when a (relatively) new film like The Captive seems to be a pallid, lifeless, poorly-constructed retread of his best films, with their deep explorations of loss and memory. Child abduction, disappearances, guilt, grief: it was all done so much better in The Sweet Hereafter, Exotica and Felicia’s Journey, which constitute the mature peak of Egoyan’s career. This has none of the sad, complicated feelings of those three films and Egoyan makes a confusing mess of the tricky timelines – the kind of thing that once came easily to him.
January 9, 2017
January 6, 2017
Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (Gareth Edwards, 2016). Carrie Fisher died between my first viewing of Rogue One and my second, which complicates the already problematic decision to create a younger version of the actress for this so-called standalone story that is really a direct prequel to A New Hope. The digital Leia is only in it for seconds but a reanimated Peter Cushing gets more screen time and the effect makes him seem strangely shifty, like a lost ghost who isn’t sure if he should be there either. The other resurrection is more straightforward: unused A New Hope footage puts a pilot played by the late Drewe Henley back in the series. Maybe nothing can ever die in the Star Wars universe and not just because there will always be prequels, sequels, flashbacks, recastings and maybe even remakes one day, but because everything returns to the Force, in a Buddhist sense. Sometimes characters die and get to live again (Poe Dameron, Anakin Skywalker) so why not actors? But is there also something about George Lucas’ light, artificial conception of a plastic universe in which actors aren’t even necessarily human beings that jars with Gareth Edwards’ impressive ambition for Rogue One, which is to construct a realistic, behind-enemy-lines war movie within the confines of the greater, Lucasfilm mythology? That tension is interesting and it makes Rogue One more provocative, stranger and less obviously crowd-pleasing than The Force Awakens, which seemed perfectly designed to disappoint absolutely no one and had a remarkable lightness of touch (in that film, resurrections were limited to Alec Guinness’ voice). So I do agree with the critics of Rogue One who say that the story is complicated and even exhausting, and that important plot points and great actors (a Fury Road-ish Forest Whitaker, especially) are lost in the murk while Felicity Jones and Diego Luna feel like the gloomy flipsides of Daisy Ridley and Oscar Isaac in The Force Awakens, but there is plenty to like here as well: Ben Mendelsohn’s Krennic is already one of the series’ great tragic figures and the duo of Donnie Yen and Jiang Wen don’t just expand the idea of the Force across the entire series, they even seem to refer all the way back to Kurosawa’s The Hidden Fortress, which is one of the things that kicked off all of this for Lucas in the first place. Like every viewer, I’m already thinking of other spin-offs I want to see from this spin-off.
January 4, 2017
“There, I had arrived. I had forgotten the cinema at the corner of the avenue. It was called Le Mexico and it was no coincidence that it had such a name. It gave you a longing for journeys, for running away or escaping … I had also forgotten the silence and the calm of avenue Rachel that leads to the cemetery, but you don’t think of the cemetery there, you tell yourself that right at the very end you will emerge in the countryside, and even with a bit of luck on a seaside promenade.” Patrick Modiano, In the Café of Lost Youth.
January 3, 2017
Interstellar (Christopher Nolan, 2014). The troubled single parent in highbrow science fiction: Interstellar, Midnight Special, Arrival, Signs. As with Arrival, Interstellar is more emotionally affecting on a second viewing. On a first viewing, you are awed by the scale (time, space), but on a second, by the smaller details and connections. Or: nothing gives a film longevity quite like a requirement to view it more than once. The single parent theme owes everything to Spielberg and at least two of the above are homages.