New Movie Reviews (06.21.24)
Lots of writing this week including four reviews of movies I think you should seek out - particularly Janet Planet, Kinds of Kindness and Robot Dreams!
With physical media reviews coming tomorrow along with a guest contribution, you’ll have plenty to catch up with before the next official essay! I was lucky enough to get a sneak peek of the latest from Yorgos Lanthimos along with three others that I have thoughts on as well. Also, be sure to check out the latest Director’s Club episode on Christopher Nolan (Part 2) featuring the return of Erik Childress as well as a different format! I did a fun little mashup of Cake + The White Stripes for PRF this week too. Also going to make a list of everything compiled so far to keep track and create an archive. Check the latest offerings below and then onto four new movie reviews!
The Cake Stripes:
https://prfmonthlytributeseries.bandcamp.com/track/army-there-yet
Director’s Club:
https://www.directorsclubpodcast.com/episodes/nolan2
Janet Planet (dir. Annie Baker)
“Hi, I’m gonna kill myself,” an 11-year-old girl says to her mom over the phone in what is clearly an attention-getting gesture. In the first opening minutes of Janet Planet, we are immediately drawn in, concerned like any parent would be. As the film continues, we see moments of quiet melancholy through the eyes of an awkward 11-year-old girl named Lacy (played by first-time actor Zoe Ziegler) during one peculiar summer. Nothing grand in terms of actual events that transpire during these sunny days. But what occurs during those days will help Lacy grow emotionally and psychologically, leaving memories she may use as guidance later on in her life.
It was about 15 minutes into the film that I had an out-of-body experience since there are three instances that reflected my own life story. I didn’t grow up with a single mom, but I definitely ran through a shopping mall with a friend, played that exact same Casio keyboard to learn piano and called my parents from summer camp, asking them to come pick me up early because I was sick. Little did I know that “sick,” meant anxious and depressed back then. Suffice to say, I realized that this movie was hitting home and holding up a mirror to my own awkwardness and sadness that still continues to this very day.
“Every moment of my life is hell,” Lacy tells her mom, Janet, and if you’re honest with yourself about what being 11 actually feels like, you know it’s honesty filtered through a dark disposition. But that is what that age felt like for me. Lacy is reserved, observant and thoughtful, showing the kind of self-compassion I never did at that age when she adds, “But I don’t think it’ll last, though.” That’s the scene that sold this movie for me, making it one of the best I’ve seen in a while. Movies about attempting to laugh through a summer of depression are definitely my jam.
It’s hard not to think about Aftersun with a touch of Ladybird as done by Kelly Reichardt here. The magical realism isn’t a part of this world but the offbeat behavior of Gerwig and lingering, contemplative pace of Reichardt is consistent. It takes some acclamation to get into the rhythm and mood of a film like this. Yet at the same time, filmmaker Annie Baker gives us a strong debut that’s completely her own.
This a small, intimate film with many moments that strike chords, but some of those chords are a bit dissonant. The overall effect is one of tenderness, warmth and uncertainty. Especially since age 11, often feels like a time of transition while in a perpetual state of limbo. After all, isn’t that what the end of summer becomes for any adolescent - the anxiety of going from having all the time in the world right back into school?
Co-dependence, attachment, avoidance are all captured here in a way that feels both familiar and new. The film boasts two beautiful performances from Julianne Nicholson and Zoe Ziegler as Janet and Lacy, mom and daughter. Nicholson, in particular, captures an alluring and earthly aura that is imperative in defining her character and the relationships with the people in her life. She’s been one of my favorites going all the way back to Flannel Pajamas and I’m thrilled she has a role like this one again since it’s a strong showcase in every way imaginable.
The final image is something I will be thinking about for a while since it ends on a note of uncertainty for Lacy. Is she happy and at peace? Or is she coming to terms with the fact that she’s a sad person and worried about moving forward, especially without her mom? It’s hard to say but this is not a film about resolution or closure. It’s about navigating the complicated terrain of conflicting emotions whether as an adult or as an adolescent.
Much like the brilliant and beautiful Aftersun, this is another portrait of our perception of perfection beginning to fade away. Parents are human beings, they are complicated, fallible and imperfect. We all have a moment in time where we no longer put them on a pedestal but come to terms that they’re a part of us - warts and all.
Life is slowly unraveling, and both characters have thousands of questions. It’s good that mother and daughter have one another to get through the tough times, but they both know they need more. Janet Planet is a truly special film that definitely has a lot of whimsy and deadpan humor throughout, but the calm moments of introspective reflection and comforting solitude capture exactly what it’s like to be sad in a way that few films have ever captured before. This is the best film of 2024 so far.
Chestnut (dir. Jac Cron)
Queer coming-of-age stories have become something I thoroughly enjoy ever since first falling in love with the film Show Me Love (Fucking Amal) by the great Lukas Moodysson. One of my favorite films of last year was You Can Live Forever which was akin to my own experiences of first love only through a Canadian queer lens. Chestnut, however, is a swing and a miss; a seemingly straightforward story of complicated feelings that never becomes fully realized by the end. It’s comfortable being what it is though, without ever transcending the tropes.
The film derives its name from the historic street in Philadelphia, where the movie takes place and was shot. The premise centers around Natalia Dyer's character, Annie James, who is a recent college graduate with plans to move to LA at the end of the summer. Then, while at a bar, one night she crosses paths with friends Tyler and Danny and finds herself reluctant to leave. Initially, she is drawn to Tyler (played by Rachel Keller) but it’s clear that she’s interested in both of them.
As a movie that attempts to tackle the complexities of bisexuality, it doesn't have a super nuanced or engaging take on attraction and desire. Chestnut is most comparable to Columbus or more appropriately Princess Cyd, a film about a girl who falls for people of the same and opposite sex over the course of a summer. Maybe this film is just a case of “too little, too late,” outside of having a compelling lead performance by Dyer - the main reason I sought this out.
Everything arrives in moderation to the point of being too restrained and redundant. The passion seems reserved to where it’s hard to fully relate. Not that this needs to turn into Blue Is The Warmest Color but I almost felt like the characters didn’t really get to unleash and kept at arm’s length. One of the more engaging elements is that certain people, even if they are not always in our lives, can leave an impact. Perhaps they’re only meant to be temporary connections that serve a short-term purpose.
Sexuality is often being described as ever-changing and fluid. This film certainly hints at that but never really seems to settle into a rhythm that stands out from other coming-of-age stories of this ilk. Despite good effort from the cast, it was difficult to get on board with a movie that felt noncommittal about its choices even if that’s what the characters are experiencing themselves. That the film doesn’t question whether Annie is bisexual or just experimenting is also a shrewd choice; she’s just living, wandering, trying out new experiences.
The overall effect is that of a morning hangover haze without the nighttime fun that precedes it. Which is strange given that there are many bar scenes and interactions. I was left wanting so much more by the end. That being said, Dyer continues to be a charismatic, engaging screen presence to where I was more than happy to watch her portray a lost soul of sorts. She brings an authenticity to each role to where it’s clear that she can carry a film, even if the script is lackluster. Which is certainly the case with Chestnut.
Kinds of Kindness (dir. Yorgos Lanthimos)
I keep coming back to that bit of dialogue in Christopher Nolan’s Tenet in a lot of my writing about films lately. “Don’t try to understand it, just feel it.” Though I think my brain works in trying to understand why people do what they do and when it does not compute or make sense from my perspective, I often wonder, is there a fundamental disconnect when it comes to stories that seem to derive from a borderline nihilistic standpoint?
I was once training to be a therapist but then I realized I probably feel too much. If a film’s general default mode is a feeling of unpleasantness, maybe it’s okay to be weirded out throughout. I just hope that’s not the only reason to make a film - “let’s see how gross I can be to make the audience uncomfortable?” Honestly, that turns me off more than ever as I’ve gotten older. “Let’s make something that exists to provoke!” On top of that, let’s make something that is weird, obtuse and bewildering without spelling things out entirely. Well, I never mind weird, obtuse and bewildering but maybe my brain wasn’t wired right at the time for this excursion. Though, let’s face it, I adore this cast, the cinematography, the score, everything surrounding it.
All that said - perhaps you have missed the Yorgos Lanthimos that brought us Dogtooth and The Killing of a Sacred Deer? Well, folks, you’re in luck! In fact, I can’t help but wonder, as Kinds of Kindness made in opposition to the success he’s had with the last two films? His latest is almost the complete antithesis of Poor Things in style, execution, cinematography, music. One could simply write this off as slight or an exercise in provocation but there’s something sinister lurking underneath the surface to suggest otherwise. The fact that this exists feels like an act of defiance.
Make no mistake, this is an enigma but in a way that peaks your curiosity as to what will happen next. The tone is certainly languid, lengthy and bewildering, but you’ll likely be intrigued enough to see where things go. At the very least, I had no clue as to how each story would play out so predictability is nowhere to be found. That alone is worth commending here. Sometimes a film can be carried by audacity alone.
There are three chapters (or short stories if you will). All three chapters seem to be in conversation with one another, albeit one in a unique language that siblings might teach each other. Perhaps there’s a case to be made that there is thematic cohesion or that each character is related to the other in each story. On a first viewing, I’m still unable to pinpoint precisely what the film is ultimately about or what it’s trying to say. That’s not always a bad thing since I wrestle with what constitutes “great art” vs. “maybe this is great art that didn’t connect with me right away.” I know it’s up to me to decide, walking out of a film, whether I deem it worthy of someone’s time especially when writing a review, essay or analysis.
I would say that if you enjoy the earlier work of Yorgos and something mystifying like the Emma Stone/Nathan Fielder series, The Curse, you’ll likely be compelled to enter the world that Lanthimos and company have created. On one hand, it did come across as a bit of an endurance test for the timid. Confusion is inevitable for the sheer fact that people do things that rarely make a modicum of sense.
Kinds of Kindness is an anthology experiment where we have a consistent cast, notably Jesse Plemons, Emma Stone, Willem Dafoe, Hong Chau, Margaret Qualley playing characters across three stories so loosely connected that the actors, not too similar from Wes Anderson’s recent Roald Dahl shorts that were more hit than miss for me.
Finding correlations is almost futile but by the end, there seems to be interconnectivity between a major character named R.M.F. I can’t help but consider how the end of the last film ties into the end of the third one. (Is everyone in this film a triplet or a twin?). I really wouldn’t have minded if we came back to the world and the ideas of the very first story but maybe it’ll play better on another viewing in terms of tying it all together.
This is split into three separate sections/chapters. In short, The 1) Death 2) Flight and 3) Sandwich consumption of the rarely seen R.M.F., is likely a symbol of a character or perhaps a cult figure?? Everyone involved throughout seems to exist in a disaffected Twilight Zone state of being. We’re used to the kind of dialogue and interaction on display when Plemons at one point talks about his wife’s ovary issue. It’s akin to the deadpan delivery of the parents in Sacred Deer letting partygoers know that their daughter just had their period.
Each story is self-contained but gives most of the performers a time to shine, particularly Plemons who really provides three distinguishably flawed male characters. The first section is the best even if the second chapter delivers the bigger laughs. It’s almost as if the world contained in The Lobster was monopolized into some kind of corporate cult figure (played by Dafoe).
He demands love from his servant and insists on doing awful things to demonstrate that unorthodox form of love. There's a lot of truth to this dynamic in an almost co-dependent / master-slave exhibit of power. You don’t have to dig too deep to come up with an Adjustment Bureau-esque theory on what it means to have agency or independence, especially since we’re forced to be consumers dependent on the shackles of time. What if someone or something (God) dictated your every move?
The first tale to me was the strongest in capturing the strengths and sensibilities of previous Yorgos films. The other two sections are less focused and a bit ambiguous in their plotting, but they're all fearlessly performed, and they all sparkle with Lanthimos's deadpan genius: in his world, everything is just off-kilter enough to be funny, but painfully real enough to be horror-inducing. I will say that there could’ve been two trigger warnings (if not more) for a couple of very upsetting scenes, one of which includes animal cruelty.
There were moments of pure bewilderment from a character motivation standpoint that left me perplexed. These individuals may not be written to be understood, just observed. Maybe this alternate reality isn’t meant to reflect ours. What occurs is likely meant to be experienced and deconstructed over dinner conversation. In the last chapter, Stone and Plemons are members of a sex cult who have been tasked with finding a particular woman who can bring people back from the dead.
Part Three has a trippy aura of “X-Files” to it, and has the triptych’s only sympathetic character with Emily. Perhaps the meaning that can be gleaned, that lies beneath these loosely intertwined stories is that humans will do horrific, impulsive things when they’re attached to the reality that they’re presented with. A reality that has to be upheld even if it means self-harm.
Instead of moving on and progressing, all of these people want to remain in compliance - a state of being that they’re used to even if it’s unhealthy or morally questionable. We’re willing to debase ourselves, give up control, commit horrible heinous acts in defiance of law all in the service of keeping whatever normalcy we consider to be normal. We can call it love, we can commit acts of what we think are kindness, but what is it in service of, ultimately? It’s the age-old idea behind, “are you helping that person only to make yourself feel better?”
Kinds of Kindness is a wild anomaly soaked in misanthropy that isn’t entirely satisfying in the end - similar to the feelings I get with some of Quentin Dupleux’s films and early Lanthimos. What was the significance of…? What was the purpose of…? But maybe that’s not the intention - to be satisfying with answers in the traditional sense especially since so many of these people are constantly left unsatisfied. Amongst the shock of each segment are characters who resolutely want to exist in the boxes they are provided, or seek out another box that might fit better. It’s a film that isn’t meant to leave you with positive vibes despite the absurdist bent. You could very well walk out feeling angry especially when you’ve spent nearly three hours with selfish people.
I truly wonder what people will think of this film especially if they became fans after The Favourite or Poor Things. This is not something that is easy to parse in terms of themes or a message. Perhaps a philosophy/psychology class would have a field day with this, maybe that’s why I’m overall positive in the end. We compartmentalize concepts like love and hate because it’s what we’re used to but I can’t help but wonder about Yorgos’ interest in the cruel, the inhumane and sometimes, the objectification on display.
This is first + foremost a bleaker than bleak black comedy. Two of the biggest laughs I’ve had in a while involve the use of a “favorite song,” as well as when we are exposed to a certain home video. My main takeaway is that this feels more like a strange lark than a significant work from one of our best living filmmakers, but for those on its singular, particular wavelength, there are plenty of strange pleasures and questions to ponder long after when it ends. It may not be my “favorite” of Yorgos’ fascinating filmography but I certainly won’t forget it any time soon.
Robot Dreams (dir. Pablo Berger)
Here in Chicago, the Gene Siskel Film Center is presenting a series called “last shot.” The description states: “Stick the landing. Bring it home. Finish strong. In cinema, the last shot is arguably the most important.” I would encourage them to consider doing this series again in the future and include Robot Dreams, a beautiful film that is more resonant than even the latest Pixar outing, Inside Out 2 (which I saw but have little to say - thought it was good, not great). Honestly, I wish this was getting a much bigger, wider release because it deserves to be seen by any one of any age or demographic.
Strangely enough, it qualified for awards season last year and hasn’t come out here until the summer of this year. Based on great word of mouth at film festivals including Cannes and Toronto, it wove its way into the hearts of Oscar voters over more conventional films and rightfully so. Based on Sara Varon’s graphic novel of the same name the colorful animal-filled world pops from the screen with plenty to respond to regarding the background details of this 2D animated world.
The sequences which construct the narrative as a separated pair of best friends – a dog and robot – dream about when, and how, they will reunite feel sometimes like a compilation of related shorts put together into a feature. It’s a sunnier, sweeter version of what Don Hertzfeldt did with It’s Such A Beautiful Day, in a way. We get to see how they meet, how they get separated and whether or not they will reconnect again. It’s also dialogue-free, more of a relationship study about loneliness and how companionship can fill the void. Ultimately, we get to experience a unique friendship that is visually dazzling from beginning to end.
The central character is a lonely dog who has a nice apartment but no friends to share it with. In search of companionship, he orders an Amica 2000 robot after seeing a television infomercial. The two quickly become inseparable with the fast-learning robot developing a habit of mimicking those around it (whether it be holding hands, or giving the “middle finger”). Then something happens, there are dream sequences and then… well, suffice to say, it has one of the more beautiful, bittersweet endings of any film this side of Past Lives or Before Sunset.
The use of the dream sequences adds a special kind of power to the film. Whenever we cut back to the beach from the dreams, there is a profound sense of tragedy, helping the audience feel a greater connection to Robot and getting more invested as you hope that Dog will be able to reach him. It is also clear that the dreams help provide an escape from the more horrific side of the world Robot sees when he’s trapped, such as with a group of rabbits, which only serves to make the friendship between Dog and Robot feel more powerful as we see that not everyone in this world would treat Robot with as much love and affection as Dog does.
In addition, it is just a pleasure to watch a film that is mostly positive and compassionate throughout. Yes, there are melancholic moments but it’s primarily set on making the audience feel joy. There is a very memorable use of Earth, Wind and Fire’s September at key points in Dog and Robot’s friendship and, whilst it starts off as a fairly typical needle drop for a film set at this time, it soon becomes a resonant element of the film. We hear Robot whistle it in his dreams and the use of the song at the end of the film creates one of the most moving scenes I’ve seen in a film in a long time.
Perhaps the only nitpick is that it did feel a bit longer than the simple story calls for. I think tightening it up to 90 minutes would’ve been a better choice but that doesn’t mean it overstays its welcome. Robot Dreams was definitely my pick for the best animated film of 2023 and of course, the awkward release timing and limited theatrical run means it will likely get lost in the summer shuffle. Especially when there’s a new Pixar movie for parents to take their kids to. But I implore everyone to seek this out and make it the cult hit it deserves to be. It’s a movie about overcoming loss, and that is an emotion that can certainly resonate across generations. I can almost guarantee, the smile will not leave your face throughout the entire experience.