Not long after I watched Akira Kurosawa’s great film “Ikiru” for the first time (around 20 years ago), I read a review written by one anonymous but prominent South Korean critic who argued that “Ikiru” is the funniest film ever made by Kurosawa. This argument felt truer to me as I revisited the movie around the beginning and then the end of last year. It is quite painfully funny especially during its first act, but then it surprises us, generating a lot more pathos and poignancy than expected, while never losing its biting sense of black humor.
At the beginning, the movie does not pull any punch at all in its satiric viewpoint on how the whole life of its ordinary public servant hero Kanji Watanabe (Takashi Shimura) has been inconsequential to say the least. For nearly 30 years, he has just worked and worked as the head of one of the many departments of city hall, while monotonously occupying his desk just like others working under him. At his house, he resides with his only son and the son’s wife, but he is not particularly close to either of them.
Then comes devastating news for Watanabe. When he is waiting at a local clinic along with several other patients, one of these patients cynically explains in detail to him about the main symptoms of stomach cancer, and what the doctor will say if his patient happens to be dying because of that. It goes without saying that Watanabe has all the symptoms described by that patient and, what do you know, the doctor tells Watanabe exactly what that patient warned. Suddenly facing his imminent mortality, Watanabe is naturally scared, confused, and, above all, despaired. As he looks back on his whole life via a series of brief flashbacks, he belatedly comes to realize how meaningless it has been for years, and that makes him all the more morose and regretful.
What follows next is Watanabe’s hilariously clumsy attempts for fully live. (“Ikiru” means “To Live” in Japanese, by the way). He drinks a lot, even though that is the last thing he should do as a stomach cancer patient. He comes to have a wild night along with a jaded novelist who takes a pity on him after listening to his story. When a young pretty woman working under him approaches him for her resignation, he comes to spend more time with her for reasons he cannot articulate well. This is pitiful indeed, but we cannot help but be amused by the absurd irony of his grim situation.
Not so surprisingly, none of these new experiences help Watanabe much, with his approaching death remaining as an undeniable fact to face. During one particularly haunting scene, he flatly but sorrowfully sings an old song at a nightclub, and everyone around him becomes silent, sensing a lot of melancholy and sorrow from his quiet singing voice. One brief but striking visual moment later shows Watanabe’s drunken face filled with more darkness and despair, and the mood between him and that generous novelist becomes far less joyful than before.
In the case of that young woman, she does not have any answer to Watanabe’s urgent life issue either, but he eventually gets a small but possible idea during his conversation with her. At that point, we are served with a memorably dramatic moment, which effectively utilizes a certain well-known song cheerfully sung in the background. This may look a bit too obvious, but Kurosawa skillfully develops this scene into an electric epiphany for Watanabe, who is pretty much born again.
And then the screenplay by Kurosawa and his co-writers Shinobu Hashimoto and Hideo Oguni, which was partially inspired by Leo Tolstoy’s 1886 novella The Death of Ivan Ilyich, does what can be regarded as a masterstroke of storytelling. The last act of the movie immediately leaps forward to Watanabe’s eventual death, which happens several months later. At his following funeral, his colleagues gather for condolences and then drinking a lot together, and their gradually drunken conversation comes to focus on how Watanabe suddenly became much more active than before to everyone’s confusion and surprise. To be frank with you, it is very funny for us to observe how ridiculously they try to ignore what has been so apparent to them from the very beginning, and how absurdly they end up becoming more aware of that instead. Reminded more of how pathetic they have been just like Watanabe once was, they seem to learn something at last, but, to our bitter amusement, things go back to usual business for them on the very next day.
While tickled a lot by this acerbically sardonic satire on bureaucracy, we are also touched by a series of harrowing flashback scenes showing what Watanabe did during his last several months. Throughout the film, Takashi Shimura, who was one of the frequent actors in many of Kurosawa’s works including “Seven Samurai” (1954), gives a subtly expressive performance to remember. His meekly static face conveys to us Watanabe’s deep sadness and desperation without signifying too much, and his seemingly inert façade becomes more mesmerizing as we come to sense more of Watanabe’s gradual inner change along the story. Around the end of the film, his serenely calm face does not feel timid or pathetic anymore, more than enough for us to see that Watanabe is more alive than ever.
“Ikiru” was recently adapted into British film “Living” (2022), which incidentally garnered Bill Nighy a well-deserved Oscar nomination. While being one or two steps below “Ikiru,” this remake version is also worthwhile to watch for many good reasons including Nighy’s excellent performance, which will remind you that, as Roger Ebert once said, great actors don’t follow rules but illustrate them.
]]>Delightfully upbeat, suspenseful, and full of charm, Omar Hilal’s “Voy! Voy! Voy!” is a feel-good crowd-pleaser with a sly undercurrent of social commentary. Egypt’s official submission for Best International Feature Film at this year’s Academy Awards tackles one of the most fascinating true stories in recent memory. The film revolves around Hassan, a security guard who dreams of escaping the hustle and bustle of Egypt to live abroad. When he learns about a blind football team possibly qualifying for the World Cup, he does the inconceivable. In one last desperate effort to execute a great escape, Hassan fakes it til he makes it. By that, of course, I mean, he pretends to be visually impaired to join the team and leave the country once and for all. It takes an all-encompassing director who fully immerses himself in the story he’s telling to be able to pull off what Omar Hilal did. To get moviegoers to sympathize, let alone to cheer, for a despicable character who does not merit one ounce of compassion is the film’s most impressive feat. A lot of credit has to be given to a staggering performance by Mohamed Farag, whose acting is as agile as his surprising footwork. Bayoumi Fouad as Captain Adel and Nelly Karim as the investigative reporter, Engy, feel intrinsically connected to their characters, but it is the nuanced turn by Hanan Youssef as his mother that truly deserves praise. Whenever she’s on screen, she effortlessly captivates our attention.
Hilal, who also produced and wrote the film, gives character development just as much attention as the calculated beats that move the plot forward. As Hassan navigates the challenge of not blowing his own cover, he begins to develop newfound feelings for Engy. The irony of this tale is that even though Hassan has perfect eyesight, he’s completely blind to the blessings surrounding him. And as he goes through his journey, the metaphorically blind man begins to see. It is thoughtful nuance such as this underlying symbolism that propels the film beyond slapstick entertainment into the realm of meaningful drama.
Part comedy and part sports drama, “Voy! Voy! Voy!” refuses to be boxed into one genre, but at its heart, it’s a crime caper that follows in the footsteps of the great con-artist films of the past, films like George Roy Hill’s “The Sting” and Steven Spielberg’s “Catch Me If You Can”. In fact, the film plays homage to the latter in a beautiful Saul Bass-inspired title sequence at the very beginning. That said, “Voy! Voy! Voy!” carves its own path and gets the ball rolling forward in its own pace. What makes it so enjoyable to sit through is its unpredictability. At times, it feels like Hilal is playfully dribbling with audience’s expectations before throwing viewers a curveball out of nowhere.
In one beautifully edited montage early on in the film, Hassan and his two best friends meet up with migrant smugglers. As a sketchy smuggler provides absurd instructions of the escape plan, the film cuts to snippets envisioning Hassan within that journey. It involves hiding in a tomato truck, getting sprinkled with coffee, and meeting a pirate called Sharhabil to avoid detection, but it’s the witty back and forth dialogue between the characters in that scene that really amps up the humour. One of the film’s strongpoints is its portrayal of scenes that would normally be extremely hard to watch in a very light-hearted manner. This is precisely what makes the film so Egyptian; it perfectly encapsulates how historically Egyptians have always dealt with hardship through humour. Not only that, but when they’re faced with a problem, Egyptians come up with the most creative, and in this case outrageous, solutions.
As of late, Egyptian cinema has suffered greatly from an onslaught of action-packed propaganda films, but during the past few years, a new generation of filmmakers have emerged to breathe life into the landscape of Egyptian cinema. New filmmakers making the switch from advertising to film, such as Omar Hilal and his contemporaries, are making the rounds at international film festivals, often snagging the most prestigious awards in their respective categories. “Voy! Voy! Voy!” doesn’t deviate much from mainstream commercial cinema, but it doesn’t really need to. It follows a distinct formula that delivers the goods without sacrificing depth and meaning.
It explores complex ethical dilemmas where characters must make difficult moral choices. Tackling a theme as convoluted as the ethical implications of illegal immigration is no easy task, but the film knows better not to take a stand for or against it. Instead, it chooses to explore the characters and the motivation behind their actions and choices. If it passes any judgment, it’s on the characters themselves and how they can possibly stoop so low, as opposed to the idea of immigration as a whole. As the narrative unfolds, viewers are confronted with the harsh realities faced by individuals navigating a world fraught with moral ambiguity. The film skillfully avoids reducing the complexities of illegal immigration to mere black-and-white perspectives, opting instead to present a nuanced portrayal that encourages audiences to question their own preconceptions. Through shameful characters, the movie challenges viewers to reflect on the intricate interplay of socio-economic factors, personal motivations, and the consequences of choices in a morally complex landscape.
I do wonder if some of the humor would get lost in translation, but there’s something extremely universal about the film that transcends linguistic barriers. The universal appeal lies in its ability to tap into fundamental aspects of the human experience, be it love, friendship, or the absurdities of everyday life. Clocking in at two hours, I must admit, the film does a fairly good job of giving each character his due, especially with a star-studded ensemble as big as this one. That said, some of the choices made by one character in particular, Captain Adel, may feel slightly rushed. Towards the end of the film, the reasoning behind his actions felt a bit hurried and his character transformation could have benefitted from some minor additional runtime. Still, it is important to acknowledge the delicate balance the filmmakers must strike in accommodating numerous plotlines within its runtime.
“Voy! Voy! Voy!” is the type of film you stumble upon on TV in a few decades, and remark “you know what they really don’t make them like they used to”. But don’t wait that long to discover this Egyptian gem. In fact, I would recommend seeing this film with an audience. After all, there's a unique joy in sharing the absurdness of this plot with a crowd, where the collective response amplifies the humor and creates an infectious energy. In a world increasingly dominated by individual screens, the experience of witnessing a dramedy like "Voy! Voy! Voy!" in a bustling theatre rekindles the magic of shared laughter and serves as a reminder that some cinematic pleasures are best enjoyed in the company of a lively audience. Roger Ebert used to say that when we go to the movies, and the film really works, we momentarily forget about the outside world. In that respect, “Voy! Voy! Voy!” was quite the great escape, both literally and figuratively.
]]>The South Korean film “The Apartment with Two Women” is sometimes quite difficult to watch because of the blistering emotional intensity from the utterly uncompromising portrayal of the two unlikable women at the story's center. Totally free and uninhibited by any convention associated with its main subject, the movie blazes along with its two pathetic but vividly portrayed main characters. Its long running time (140 minutes) will never feel that long to you as you often brace yourself for whatever may happen between them.
In the beginning, we get to know how things are miserable for a young woman named I-jeong (Lym Ji-ho) as she lives with her mother Soo-kyeong (Yang Mal-bok), day by day in their cheap apartment. As a self-absorbed woman with an abrasive personality, Soo-kyeong does not care that much about her sullen daughter without showing any attention or affection, and the opening scene succinctly establishes their dysfunctional relationship. As I-jeong is busy washing several pieces of underwear shared by them in the bathroom of their apartment (the Korean title of the movie is “Two Women Wearing Same Underwear,” by the way), Soo-kyeong is mostly occupied with a phone conversation with her friend. She does not mind changing her panties right in front of her daughter.
I-jeong has been accustomed to how insensitive and abusive her mother can be, but they cannot help but conflict over trivial matters. She asks her mother to buy a pack of Tylenol, but Soo-kyeong forgets that while having a pretty good time with her close friend outside, and she does not even apologize to her daughter later. The next day, Soo-kyeong and I-jeong clash with each other again while they are shopping, and then something unexpected occurs when Soo-kyeong starts to drive their car while I-jeong is right in front of it.
After this serious incident, I-jeong finally decides that enough is enough. However, despite some defiance, she still finds herself stuck with her mother as before just because, well, she does not know how to live independently outside. She does have a job, but she has mostly depended on her mother in one way or another. Besides, her job is not that promising at all, and she is not even good at her job due to her apparent lack of social skills, though she manages to get a little better after receiving some advice from her boss.
The movie also highlights how Soo-kyeong reaches for a nice chance for a better life. There is some widower guy who may marry her someday, and it seems that all she will have to do is be nice to him and his adolescent daughter, though that turns out to be not so easy at all. At one point, Soo-kyeong attempts to ingratiate herself with them via her special cooking, but she only finds herself quite embarrassed in front of them, to our little amusement.
In the meantime, out of her longtime spite toward his mother, I-jeong comes to testify against her mother in a lawsuit involving that car accident, which surely angers Soo-kyeong, to say the least. This latest conflict between them eventually prompts I-jeong to leave their apartment. Not knowing what to do next, she depends on one of her co-workers, who generously lets I-jeong stay at her little residence for a while but quickly becomes wary of I-jeong for understandable reasons. Still being an emotionally stunted kid craving for any kind of care or consolation, I-jeong cannot help but lean and stick more and more to her co-worker as time goes by, and that is the last thing her co-worker wants.
The screenplay by director/writer Kim Se-in does not make any excuses and sharply examines its two main characters’ persistent human flaws. Yes, there eventually comes a point where Soo-kyeong and I-jong confront their complex emotional issues in private, but that does not lead to any kind of reconciliation or ventilation. As a stubborn woman who has been adamantly going her way for years, Soo-kyeong refuses to apologize for all those years of emotional and physical abuse inflicted on her daughter, which makes I-jeong all the more despaired and frustrated than before. She does know that she should get away from her terrible mother and her virulent influence as soon as possible, but their emotional bond still feels so strong to both of them that she may not be completely free from her mother for the rest of her life.
Under Kim’s unadorned but strong direction, her two lead actresses give two of the best South Korean movie performances I have ever seen during the last several years. Yang Mal-bok, whom you may recognize for her small supporting turn in the first season of the South Korean Netflix TV Series “Squid Game,” is simply astonishing in her boldly committed performance. Soo-kyeong is surely as mean and cruel as Mo’Nique in Lee Daniels’ “Precious” (2009). But she is at least honest about herself, and Yang brings a morbid integrity to her monstrous but undeniably fascinating character.
On the opposite side, Lym Ji-ho is equally superlative in embodying the deep emotional scars of her character’s abused psyche, and it is constantly compelling to watch how she and Yang viciously pull and push each other throughout the film. Although the movie does not show much of the past between their characters except in one flashback scene, Yang and Lym ably let us sense a long history of anger and resentment between their characters. We come to understand them more, even while wincing a lot from a distance.
Around Yang and Lym, Kim places a few main cast members who are also believable as real human characters at the fringe of the story. Kwon Jung-eun has a couple of good scenes as Soo-kyeong’s best friend, who has tolerated and accepted Soo-kyeong a lot because, well, she does not have to live with Soo-kyeong, unlike I-jeong. Yang Heung-joo brings some humor to the story as Soo-kyeong’s hapless potential suitor, and you will shake your head more as discerning how he does not understand what kind of a woman Soo-kyeong is. Jung Bo-ram is very effective as I-jeong’s co-worker, and the movie subtly suggests that her character may not be so different from I-jeong despite their considerable personality difference.
"The Apartment with Two Women,” Kim’s first feature film, is a brutal but undeniably intense work relentlessly fueled by its two unforgettable main characters. It deserves to be compared with Yang Ik-Joon’s “Breathless” (2008), a small but very striking South Korean movie about a toxic father-and-son relationship. Sure, you will not like this mother and daughter at all, even at the end of the story, but you will never forget them after watching this tough but terrific family drama.
]]>Sidney Lumet’s “The Verdict” is the best courtroom drama ever. It is also one of those rare features that doesn’t wear down with repeated viewings. That would seem odd for an entry that’s best remembered for the shock of its resolution, which should only be able to surprise the audience the first time around. And yet the whole movie has the same impact repeatedly, as only the very best films do.
“The Verdict” includes one of the most remarkable character arcs in the movies. Attorney Frank Galvin (Paul Newman) goes from living in an initial state of hell to hitting an even lower, almost unbearable rock bottom. When he finally manages to come out, he leaves a couple of the supporting characters in different states of perdition he was able to flee.
The film deals with Galvin, an attorney whose career had been destined for greatness and was eventually derailed by the harshness of the politics in his profession. That is, until the legal case of a woman left in a vegetative state during childbirth falls on his lap. In the movie's first act, we see him sleepwalking, not so much as an ambulance chaser but one of hearses (trying to make a buck from people who’ve just lost a loved one). His existence is made manageable by alcohol disguised expertly in every way imaginable. What’s unique about this moneymaker of a case is that all he has to do is mostly keep his mouth closed. Everything will take care of itself, while “trying to do the right thing” by going to court might mean ruining the lives of innocents and surely his own in the process.
Much like the film’s rewarding moments are not diminished through repeated viewings, the pain of seeing Frank suffer from his mistakes never becomes any easier. “The Verdict” is one of those movies like “United 93” that we watch time and time again, hoping that things will turn out differently this time, that Frank will simply accept the settlement offered by the archdiocese. On the other hand, settling the case certainly won’t deliver Frank from his hell, as it’s not too hard to imagine him spending away most of his cut on alcohol and buying rounds for his friends soon enough.
Lumet taps into the audience's conformist interests. We want to tackle him so he’ll come to his senses and remain in his hell of choice than risk an even worse fate, one that he probably won’t be able to subdue with all the alcohol in the world. One of the things that makes this movie so special is that it seems to have the same brand magic as “The Shawshank Redemption,” with a main character that falls in the dumps at a rather advanced point of the movie. It becomes impossible to imagine that the most joyous ones can soon follow these moments.
One of the most astounding scenes in the movie comes when a seemingly unremarkable, shy nurse enters a courtroom. The impact of this scene is such that when comparing it to the very similar moment in “A Few Good Men” when the great Jack Nicholson (in a monumental role that terrifies everybody in his wake) takes the stand, it overshadows it. This is just one example of how aware Lumet is, in scenes big and small, of how exactly the audience will respond based on how he has set them up, the very essence of movie directing.
I love how the script makes the lies uttered by each character the detonator that sends them to their perdition. The best case in point is the defense lead lawyer Ed Concannon (James Mason), better known as the “Prince of Darkness,” who asks all the wrong questions that make the nurse’s testimony all the more damaging to his side. They are fueled by the lies he’s been fed by the very doctor he is defending. This is a character that shouldn’t even be the movie’s villain. After all, his mistake that cost a young woman and her child of their life was human as could be. Again, his doom came from his decision to lie. The irony here is that the original compensation on the settlement was appropriate for a victim who’ll never get her life back. But here again, it was the archbishop’s decision to hire an attorney determined to win at all costs, regardless of the truth, that will lead to a final verdict that will probably bankrupt an institution that seems to have been founded for the sole purpose of contributing to the common good.
Still, perhaps the term “living in hell” in this movie is best applied to Laura (played by Charlotte Rampling). Her part is all the more devastating because she is desperate to do the right thing again but never manages to gather the courage, even though she stood two feet from a pay phone with the information to win the case for the defendants in plenty of time. This is the best imaginable example of the old saying, “The way to hell is paved with good intentions.”
I love how Lumet handles all of her big revelation scenes. She creates one of the greatest of movie betrayals in just about complete silence, be it when Warden finds the written proof, when he shares it with Frank in a long shot from a distance with plenty of dialogue that we never get to hear (nor we need to) and when Frank faces her in a state of utter wrath. One of the best things about “The Verdict” is how Frank manages to leave his hell with the help of someone so endlessly good like the Jack Warden character, one that is there throughout for him with no other interest but to pull him back (thank God he wasn’t made to be the traitor here, that would just have been too much to deal with). On her part, the feeling conveyed by the movie is that Laura will probably never be able to leave her hell.
The verdict itself in these kinds of movies is usually their weak link. Anybody in Hollywood can easily write a resolution that tries to revindicate the main character and his beliefs. But few have been able to do it as convincingly as “The Verdict.” Frank’s final, sublime closing argument is one of cinema’s great moments and on the same level as Newman’s own (no pun intended) final rendition in “The Hustler.” Frank doesn’t have to mention any of the case's specifics here. His words hit so close to home because right there and then, he leaves his hell behind by way of the truth. In the process, he leaves the jury effectively with no choice but to look for such, in this case, legal trappings be damned (never mind that on the way there, he impersonates different people on the phone and even commits a felony by breaking into a nurse’s mailbox). It becomes fairly obvious that by the end of his summation, Frank’s redemption is all but complete, and the verdict itself, no matter how powerful, is just the amazing cherry on top.
A movie like “The Verdict” would be the crowning achievement by any actor if not because Paul Newman had already done “The Hustler” early in his career. These two entries, the very best in magnificent Newman’s career, would seem on the surface to be completely different until you realize that down deep, they have the same core subject. They both deal with a character who lies to himself and has to endure the necessary hardships to bring him back to reality. Both films also shake their audience to their core, as the main character’s heartbreaking experiences are all about self-awareness and are always relatable. And the two are among the rarest films that leave you feeling transformed by their end.
“The Hustler” and “The Verdict” are in my top ten favorite films. But perhaps the former is higher on my list because it deals with how we lie to ourselves about our failures, a subject that feels even more universal than how people hide their pain with alcohol.
]]>Stanley Kubrick’s “The Shining” is utterly eerie for its baroque uncertainty. As its three main characters are hopelessly isolated inside its vast and ominous setting, the movie constantly unnerves us with the increasing unreliability of their respective viewpoints. The result is alternatively baffling and terrifying to the very end.
Noticing again how cold and distant the movie is to the madness of its main characters, I could not help but think of the last act of Kubrick’s “2001: A Space Odyssey.” The astronaut hero finds himself marooned inside a coldly decorated room after his fantastic journey across space and time, and his following transformation in that room looks like he is being observed by something beyond his (and our) perception. In the case of “The Shining,” its three main characters are stuck inside a big hotel in some remote mountainous area of Colorado. Sometimes they feel like test subjects ready to be manipulated by whatever is hovering over the hotel.
From the opening scene, Kubrick does not hide his intention. Shrouded in insidiousness from the synthesizer performance of “Dies Irae” on the soundtrack, this spooky opening scene steadily looks over a small car driving toward the hotel. It is followed by a banal meeting between a hotel manager and Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson), who happens to be hired as the hotel's caretaker during its upcoming closing period. The hotel manager tentatively warns Jack that the hotel can be completely shut off from the outside world during snowy winter days, and he even mentions a terrible incident involving a former caretaker of the hotel. Jack assures the hotel manager that he and his family will be all right: “And as far as my wife is concerned, I’m sure she’ll be absolutely fascinated when l tell her. She’s a confirmed ghost story and horror film addict.”
Meanwhile, we also learn about Jack’s wife, Wendy (Shelley Duvall), and their young son Danny (Danny Lloyd). Danny happens to have a sort of psychic power, and his imaginary friend shows him a series of disturbing moments implying what may happen in the hotel. During her following conversation with a doctor who checks on Danny, Wendy casually reveals Jack’s alcoholism and how this serious human flaw of his led to a traumatic incident for both her and Danny some time ago.
Once Jack and his family enter the Overlook, the movie frequently emphasizes how big and wide the hotel looks inside—especially when they are the only people inside the hotel after its closing day. As the camera steadily follows its main characters moving around here and there in the hotel, their surrounding environment often feels as vast as the space background of “2001: A Space Odyssey.” There seems to be no possible way out for them at times, as reflected when the camera ominously looks down upon Wendy and Danny wandering inside a big hedge maze right next to the hotel building.
Around that point, Jack is already tumbling toward madness, so we depend more on Danny and Wendy’s perspective. Still, neither is very reliable because they become psychologically isolated in their own way too. After experiencing something scary in a certain room in the hotel, Danny’s mind is much more unsettled than before, and those horrific visions of his soon come quite true to his petrified horror. In the case of Wendy, she desperately tries to get things under her meager control, but there inevitably comes a point where she finds herself swept into her terror and confusion.
Kubrick keeps everything cold and distant, just like he did in many of his films, which makes the movie all the more terrifying. While its three main characters are broad caricatures, their descent into insanity is still quite arresting because of the overwhelming claustrophobia. Seemingly trapped forever in their separated status, they lose more human qualities alone, which was probably why Kubrick deliberately had his two lead performers go over the top in their forthright acting. While Nicholson dials up his familiar manic mode as much as demanded, Shelley Duvall amplifies her neurotic quality to the extreme. Her strenuous efforts here in this film deserve more appreciation, especially considering how Kubrick harshly treated her during the shooting.
In the meantime, we are also baffled by the ambiguity surrounding the main characters’ feverishly warped viewpoints. Are there actually some supernatural entities in the hotel? Or are Jack and his family merely experiencing hallucinations fueled by Danny’s psychic power? A key scene later in the story, which unfolds inside a storage room, strongly suggests that there are indeed ghosts in the hotel. However, the movie remains ambiguous about their existence to the end, with its very last shot raising more doubts and questions.
The movie provides a bit of an objective viewpoint via Dick Halloran (Scatman Crothers), the hotel chef with the same psychic ability as Danny. During his conversation with Danny early in the film, he indirectly recognizes that there is something not so good inside the hotel, and he later comes to the rescue after receiving a psychic SOS from Danny. However, to put it mildly, the movie does not let him clarify the ongoing situation surrounding Danny and his parents.
I forgot to mention that “The Shining” is based on the novel of the same name by Stephen King, who disliked the movie for understandable reasons. To King’s dismay, Kubrick erased most of the human depth in the original story while adapting with co-writer Diane Johnson. Instead, he distilled the claustrophobic qualities of King’s story for his single-minded artistic vision, and his achievement has considerably influenced a bunch of arthouse horror films, such as Ari Aster’s debut feature “Hereditary” (2017), which owes a lot to "The Shining."
By the way, King later attempted to distance his novel further from Kubrick’s film by writing its sequel novel “Doctor Sleep.” However, to our little amusement, the following movie adaptation directed by Mike Flanagan was not free from Kubrick’s film, even when it is faithful to King’s sequel novel. That says a lot about the inescapable cinematic power of Kubrick’s film, doesn’t it?
]]>Paul Thomas Anderson’s “Magnolia” still knocks me out even though it has been almost 25 years since it came out in 1999. Masterfully juggling many different narratives in the San Fernando Valley, California on one particularly eventful day, this cinematic symphony boldly attempts to give us a vivid human tapestry of misery, resentment, compassion, and forgiveness. It is often amazing how everything in this epic mostly remains under full control, even when the movie seems to be pushing itself too far with all those broad dramatic strokes. Somehow, it pulls off a truly elevating moment of catharsis for everyone in the end.
Like many other similar films—Robert Altman’s “Short Cuts” (1993) and Paul Haggis’ “Crash” (2004)—the movie focuses on many characters in a complex web of connections of which we are only partially aware. As each of their stories interconnects or resonates in one way or another, we naturally come to muse more on coincidence and inevitability in our life. We cannot help but wonder: Is this just a mere coincidence or actually a macabre joke of fate?
The central story element uniting these characters is a fictional popular TV quiz show, and the film's first act details their respective connections with that production. We meet the longtime host of the TV quiz show, and then we gather how things have been messy in his professional and private life. We meet a dying man who is the producer of the TV quiz show, and then we get to know how his two family members have been tormented in their own way. We meet a smart little kid who has been the rising star of the TV quiz show, and then we observe the bitter parallels between this deeply unhappy boy and one pathetic loser who was once not so different from him many years ago. In addition, we also meet a good-hearted but lonely police officer who has longed for love and connection for some time. Then we watch him tentatively approaching a very troubled young woman after their accidental encounter.
As the movie shuffles among its numerous main characters, we notice how miserable many are. For instance, after learning that he has only a few months to live due to his terminal illness, Jimmy Gator (Philip Baker Hall), the aging host of the TV quiz show, attempts to have a kind of reconciliation with his estranged daughter, but Claudia (Melora Walters) is still angry and resentful due to his sexual abuse in the past. His unexpected visit only makes her quite furious and hysterical, while his wife Rose (Melinda Dillon) wonders more about what happened between them.
In the case of Earl Partridge (Jason Robards), another guilt-ridden dying figure involved with the TV quiz show, time is virtually running out for him second by second as he is on his deathbed. While his wife Linda (Julianne Moore) is coping with her growing guilt about neglecting her older husband for years, Earl wants to see the only son he abandoned a long time ago, and his caring nurse Phil (Philip Seymour Hoffman) is quite willing to help as much as he can. However, locating and then contacting Earl’s son is rather difficult, even though he has been well-known in the area under his changed name.
From his first scene, Earl’s son, Frank T.J. Mackey (Tom Cruise), shows us what an ironic case study he is. As a sleazy but charismatic motivational speaker who “educates” his male clients on how to “seduce and conquer” women, he proudly embodies every toxic male influence from his father even though he still hates his father. We are simultaneously fascinated and repelled by every misogynistic aspect of his.
For that kid star of the TV quiz show, Stanley Spector (Jeremy Blackman), parental abuse is a serious matter to him right now. Constantly pushed by not only his greedy father but several others around him, he is expected to give the right answer every time on the TV quiz show. But he is now more tired and confused than ever, feeling more misery and loneliness. Stanley’s situation comes to function as a mirror image of Donnie Smith (William H. Macy), who still clings to his glory days on the TV quiz show in the past, although that does not mean anything now. Donnie has a painfully sad scene when he clumsily confesses his longtime crush on the bartender of his frequent bar, and the recurring quote of the movie follows that: “We might be through with the past, but the past ain’t through with us.”
It is utterly spellbinding how the movie gradually builds up the emotional intensity around these and other main characters during the middle of the story. While the fluidly dynamic camera work by cinematographer Robert Elswit immerses us more into the ongoing individual dramas, the efficient editing by Dylan Tichenor never gets us lost despite its busy shuffling of characters. The movie eventually culminates at the powerful dramatic point where many of its main characters go through an excruciating emotional meltdown.
Not long after, "Magnolia" throws a relatively subdued sequence where its main characters sing Aimee Mann’s “Wise Up” individually. This initially looks like theatrical overkill, but it is another sublime moment, revealing how Anderson skillfully and confidently conducts every main character. We come to feel for them more than before.
Furthermore, a diverse array of performers in the film effectively gel together as Anderson’s dependable orchestra members. While Tom Cruise, deservedly Oscar-nominated for his fearless performance in this film, is surely the most prominent cast member in the bunch, he is also smoothly mixed into the ensemble. So are other notable cast members like Julianne Moore, Philip Seymour Hoffman, William H. Macy, Philip Baker Hall, and John C. Reilly, whose cop character and Hoffman’s nurse character slowly emerge as the voice of kindness and compassion along the story.
In the case of that famous climactic moment, which I will not discuss here in detail, it's so unexpected you may find it quite jarring compared to what has been realistically built up to that point. Nevertheless, this moment is an apt resolution after the overwhelmingly aching presentation of human pain and guilt for over two hours. After all, every part of the story desperately and harrowingly cries for any absolution or closure, and such an unbelievably biblical happening like that is probably the only possible way to resolve everything in the story, just like that odd ending of Anderson’s subsequent film “There Will Be Blood” seems to be the only logical narrative exit for its relentless story and lead character.
It is astonishing that “Magnolia” was only Anderson’s third feature film after “Hard Eight” (1996) and “Boogie Nights” (1997). As we all know, he has since risen much higher to become one of the most interesting filmmakers of our time. He was only 29 when he made "Magnolia," and the movie is not only quite youthful and energetic in style but remarkably mature and insightful in substance.
“Magnolia” is one of a few precious movies that made me more sensitive. Like with “Short Cuts” or “Crash,” I am still grateful to "Magnolia" for providing a valuable emotional breakthrough about not only assessing movies but also empathizing with other people around me. Yes, as a guy who has a mild case of autism spectrum, I am not usually that good at interacting with people. But I learned a bit about people via “Magnolia,” and the compassionate message behind its story and characters reminds me that I still have more to learn.
]]>With the possible exception of the third Godfather entry, I‘ve never had higher expectations for a sequel than for Martin Scorsese’s “The Color of Money” (1986). After all, it took Hollywood twenty-five years to come up with a follow-up to “The Hustler” (1961), one of the greatest films ever made. When they finally decided to make it, not only was Paul Newman paired alongside Tom Cruise, the biggest star from then and from now, but they were also cast under the direction of the greatest filmmaker of his generation. Sadly, this is a film that didn’t even inspire a second viewing until recently, thirty-seven years later, a period equivalent to the age gap between Tom Cruise and Paul Newman in the movie. At the end of the day, “The Color of Money” became more famous as the first Scorsese film to be angrily panned by both Siskel and Ebert (as depicted in the “Life Itself” documentary) than for anything else. How could this possibly happen?
“The Color of Money” deals with the continuing story of a mature Fast Eddie Felson (Paul Newman), perhaps the actor’s most defining character and one of the greatest to ever grace the screen. The film was crafted to replicate the third act of “The Hustler” from the very beginning, the part of the story where Bert Gordon (George C. Scott) took Eddie on tour along with his troubled girlfriend Sarah (Piper Laurie) into the world of big-time pool hustling. Our sequel has Eddie in Bert’s role as the couple’s sponsor, Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio’s Carmen taking Sarah’s place as the much smarter and preceptive girlfriend, and Tom Cruise as Vince in the Eddie part of the ultra-talented diamond in the rough.
I was initially surprised to realize that the first two acts of “The Color Money” are much better than I remembered, and they set up a third one rather well. Scorsese does a good job of capturing just how much Eddie has matured since that awful day in Louisville when Sarah’s doom made him grow up in a hurry. This is now a man who’s come to appreciate the right people for the right reasons, such as his kind, new girlfriend Janelle (Helen Shaver), and one who can instantly tell Vince’s gift by the mere sound of pool balls smashing against one another in his opening shot. Even though “The Hustler” once dug deeply into what makes the world of billiards so unique, its sequel manages to convey even more fascinating facets of the game such as being the one competition where you don’t necessarily achieve your best interests by winning the match at hand. The whole goal is to enter the right duel with the right stakes when your opponent is not fully aware of your talents, allowing you to make a killing all at once. More than the mastery of pool itself, this is the one knack that makes Eddie special these days.
As much as the first two acts from “The Color of Money” resemble the last one from “The Hustler” and as much as Eddie, like Bert before him, strives for profit and the thrill of the action (“Money won tastes twice as good as a money earned”), there is a crucial difference between both characters. Whatever Eddie’s faults, he has always been a noble man whose motives go beyond making as much money as possible. This may initially sound like a good thing, but this variation turns out to be the one aspect of the new film that brings it down. When we last saw Eddie and his two companions traveling to Louisville in “The Hustler,” Bert’s evil, manipulative nature coupled with Sarah’s fragility always gave the feeling we were dealing with matters of life and death. This doesn’t necessarily mean that the new film needed to bring George C. Scott’s memorable character back no matter how terrific, but a decent sponsor to this sort of road trip means there’s not that much at stake for either Eddie or Vince.
Even though “The Color of Money” has three main leads, this continues Fast Eddie Felson’s story at its core. Aside from a lack of urgency, the other big problem with the film is just how unconvincingly these three characters end up evolving. Two thirds into it, Eddie is unexpectedly hustled by the Forest Whitaker character in a rather confusing scene where it isn’t clear if Eddie participated in a game of nine-ball or simply kept on betting against his opponent. After this downer of a sequence, the movie goes downhill and never recovers. In “The Hustler,” we first came to learn some of Eddie’s weaknesses such as how he first lacked the necessary character to become the best in his sport and how he would lie to himself with phony excuses about why he lost to Minnesota Fats. Whatever these faults, a lack of confidence was never in Eddie’s nature, which means that this extreme reaction to losing a great deal of money in one afternoon doesn’t ring true.
Watching “The Color of Money” again after all these years, I’ve come to doubt if Scorsese ever realized that it was never the game of pool by itself that made the Fast Eddie Felson saga fascinating. This is not meant to put down his numerous technologically advanced shots of pool balls hitting one another in extreme close-ups. Still, I believe that one of the best decisions that Robert Rossen made in “The Hustler” was to focus on his characters’ reactions during the matches instead of doing it in the game itself, a sport that many of us have never come to fully understand nor have ever cared to.
Unlike its predecessor, “The Color of Money” lacks any significant stakes for its leads. They end up learning some of the fine points of the game of pool, but not much about anything else. Even though Tom Cruise is fine in the role, his Vince starts the movie as a great-but-dumb talent, and he ends up exactly the same way. My impression is that when he and Carmen returned home at the end of the movie, he probably went back to working at the toy store or the like for the rest of his life. What made “The Hustler” so very special was watching Eddie learn the necessary life lessons in the hardest of ways. Watching the sequel recently, I could sense Scorsese fighting himself, trying not to be predictable by avoiding the typical cinematic showdown. This is all fine, but I don’t think he provided anything of substance in return. “The Color of Money” isn’t a terrible movie by any means, but considering the anticipation and the talent involved, it’s hard to understand the point of Scorsese involving himself in a sequel that is inferior to its predecessor and from most of his other works.
]]>“To Leslie” is about the hard and difficult struggles of one messy human being. Leslie (Andrea Riseborough) once felt like she was on top of the world, but she hit one bottom after another due to her serious personal problems. This movie from debut director Michael Morris dryly but sensitively depicts Leslie's desperate reach for any possibility of a new beginning, and we come to have understanding and empathy for her while caring about her problematic life more than expected.
When she won a local lottery and received no less than $190,000, Leslie “Lee” Rowlands was certainly excited, believing everything would go well for her and her young son, but things went downhill over the next several years. She thoughtlessly squandered most of her money on alcohol and drugs, and now she lives a barren and destitute life. After being kicked out of a residential motel, Leslie sees her son (Owen Teague). Although he still feels hurt about being abandoned by his mother, James lets his mother stay at his place because he still cares. Leslie certainly appreciates that, but that does not stop her from returning to her usual alcoholic mode. James naturally becomes quite angry when he learns that his mother broke her promise again. Ultimately, he sends her back to their hometown in West Texas, where she will stay at the house of his paternal grandparents, Dutch (Stephen Root) and Nancy (Allison Janney).
Because many people still remember well how she fell into bankruptcy and addiction, Leslie does not want to return to her hometown, but she has no other option. In addition, she is not welcomed that much by Dutch and Nancy either. Although Dutch and Nancy do not speak that much about what occurred between them and Leslie, we can clearly sense the old anger and resentment between them and Leslie, and that makes Leslie quite uncomfortable at times. Naturally, she inevitably finds herself holding a bottle at a nearby bar, which leads to her being kicked out of Nancy and Dutch’s house. Quite devastated again, Leslie desperately looks for any place she may sleep, and that is how she ends up outside a nearby motel run by Sweeney (Marc Maron) and Royal (Andre Royo). Although he tells her to leave when he finds her the next morning, Sweeney gives a little offer to her when she comes to the motel later. In exchange for a rather small wage and boarding, she will work as a cleaner for him and Royal. She cannot refuse his offer because, well, she needs a place to stay.
Leslie often frustrates both Sweeney and Royal due to her current addiction problem. While frequently late for her work, she keeps drinking as before, and there is a painful moment when she goes inside her former residence without permission one night. She cannot help but miss that good time when everything seemed stable. Nevertheless, Sweeney does not give her up easily given his personal experience with addiction. Even though Leslie lets him down more than once, he still responds to her with kindness and patience. Thanks to him, Leslie soon realizes that she has to pull herself up this time. First, she becomes a little more diligent than before during her work time, and she also tries to get sober, though that turns out to be quite difficult, to say the least.
Of course, there subsequently comes the point where our heroine becomes drawn to her old bad habit again, but the screenplay by Ryan Bianco keeps focusing on character development even at that point. As she comes to appreciate Sweeney’s humane generosity, Leslie opens herself more to him, but she is also reminded of how she has let down many people in her problematic life, including her son. Yes, she really should stop drinking, but it is evident that she also must take care of many other problems, including herself, first, just like any other addict struggling to take the first step toward sobriety.
I think the movie steps back around the ending for a bit of optimism, but Andrea Riseborough, who deservedly received a surprise Best Actress Oscar nomination amid controversies surrounding campaigns during the last Oscar season, is utterly uncompromising in her raw performance. While not overlooking her character’s many human flaws at all, Riseborough does a fabulous job of conveying her character’s emotional struggles; she is especially fantastic during a certain brief moment when Leslie makes a small but important decision for herself. Although she does not say anything, Riseborough lets us sense some change in her character’s conflicted mind, which is why the ending is effective enough to touch us.
Around Riseborough, several main cast members ably support her, each having a moment to shine. While imbuing his character with a gentle sense of human compassion, Marc Maron has excellent low-key chemistry with Riseborough during their key scenes in the film. Allison Janney is dependable as usual in her acerbic supporting role. Stephen Root, Owen Teague, and Andre Royo are also solid in their respective parts, and Royo, who has always drawn my attention since I saw him in the HBO TV series “The Wire,” demonstrates again that he is one of the most reliable character actors at present.
“To Leslie” is a quiet but powerful character drama driven by one of the best performances in Riseborough’s stellar career. Since she drew my attention in James Marsh’s “Shadow Dancer” (2012), she has seldom disappointed us during the last ten years. I hope that her recent Oscar nomination from "To Leslie" will boost her even further.
]]>I am fascinated with how Terry Zwigoff’s “Ghost World” has grown on me since I watched it for the first time around 15 years ago. At that time, I was a socially awkward graduate student who had been mostly happy and content with being surrounded by books and movies instead of people. I was mildly amused by the film's dry sense of offbeat humor and observations of its lonely adolescent heroine’s angst from a safe distance. When I revisited "Ghost World" this year, I recognized some of that loneliness even though I’m now much older than the protagonist and her best friend.
For many adolescents, high school graduation is something to celebrate with joy and excitement before moving on to whatever will come next for them. But that is not the case for Enid (Thora Birch) and her best friend Rebecca (Scarlett Johansson). For both teenage girls, their high school graduation is another boring chapter of their suburban life in California. Although they are eager to get out of high school, Enid and Rebecca do not have much planned for the next chapter of their life. Sure, they promised themselves that they would get a job and live together after graduation, but neither has ever thought beyond that. They observe their plain and dull surrounding environment with ironic detachment and a bit of naughtiness. One of their usual entertainments comes from a dorky lad named Josh (Brad Renfro), and this poor guy always becomes a schmuck to Enid and Rebecca to tease whenever they drop by the local convenient store he works at.
One day, another opportunity for naughty fun comes when they spot a rather pathetic personal ad in a local newspaper. They decide to do a mean prank, which is how they encounter Seymour (Steve Buscemi). Right from when he enters a local restaurant where they are waiting for his appearance, this guy exudes that unmistakable aura of misery and loneliness. But Enid unexpectedly becomes quite interested in him, unlike her best friend, who disregards Seymour as another loser to watch from a distance.
We can easily discern why Enid is so fascinated with Seymour. After all, as a girl of specific cultural taste with her cynical sense of humor, she often feels alienated even when she hangs around with her best friend. We gradually gather that, despite their long friendship, Rebecca has stuck around Enid as a mere fellow outsider even though they do not share much between them besides their annoyance and frustration with their surrounding environment. Furthermore, Rebecca is ready to move forward, and we naturally sense more of the growing gap between her and Enid, who still fails to get stably employed, unlike Rebecca.
In Seymour, Enid finds someone who can be a better alternative for friendship because he is much lonelier than she is in many aspects. Whenever he is not working as an assistant manager in a local fast-food restaurant chain, he usually occupies himself with a vast collection of old LP records and other stuff in his residence. There is an amusing scene where Enid and Rebecca are at a loss while attending Seymour’s small private party full of his fellow LP record collectors.
Because Seymour has not had much luck or success in romance, Enid impulsively decides to help her new friend. To their little surprise, that leads to a fairly successful dating for Seymour. Needless to say, both Enid and Seymour subsequently find themselves in a tricky emotional circumstance later in the story. What eventually occurs between them is not exactly surprising to us. Still, the movie never lets their complex relationship be defined by mere attraction, and we come to empathize more with the aching need and confusion inside them.
“Ghost World” was Zwigoff’s first feature film after his two documentary films “Louie Bluie” (1985) and “Crumb” (1994), which is the vivid and fascinating presentation of the life, personality, and career of legendary American cartoonist R. Crumb. As a filmmaker who did not hesitate to delve into his old friend Crumb’s demons while also struggling a lot with his own—he told Roger Ebert that he was so agonized by his back pain during that time that he slept with a gun under his pillow for killing himself at any point—Zwigoff was surely the right director for the dark wit and melancholic sensibility of “Ghost World.” While many of the characters are not very likable, to say the least, their palpable personalities linger a lot more than expected. Even Enid’s hopelessly boring father (played by Bob Balaban) leaves a bit of an impression on us despite his sheer suburban banality.
The main performers of the film are pitch-perfect in their respective roles. As the film's center, Thora Birch effortlessly embodies the angst and loneliness churning behind her character’s defiantly sardonic attitude, and her co-star Scarlett Johansson dutifully stands by. While the late Brad Renfro is solid as a lad a bit too slow for Enid and Rebecca, Illeana Douglas is hilarious as Enid’s summer art class teacher who unwisely puts the freedom of artistic expression above political correctness when Enid presents one of Seymour’s old stuffs which is quite controversial to say the least. Bob Balaban, Teri Garr, Dave Sheridan, Pat Healy, and David Cross are also enjoyable in their small but colorful supporting parts.
The film's best performance comes from Steve Buscemi, who should have been Oscar-nominated at that time. (He received several major critics awards, including a Golden Globe nomination at least). While he can be a smart, ruthless gangster, as shown in the series “Boardwalk Empire,” this ever-dependable character actor is born to play losers and loners because of his naturally weary presence and how he is alternatively funny and poignant. Buscemi and Birch click with precise low-key comic timing whenever they are on the screen together, and you will not believe that he wanted to shed his character as soon as possible whenever the shooting was over.
“Ghost World” can be an acquired taste, but is still worthwhile for its excellent handling of story, mood, and character. I will not go into details on the finale. Still, I can tell you that I appreciate the sublime poetic quality of a brief but essential epiphany for Enid and how that beautifully leads to the tentative hopefulness of the following epilogue. Regardless of how her last shot in the film can be interpreted, you may sense that things might get better for her and Seymour. Despite their cynicism, you will care about what may be next for their lives, which is surely an achievement.
]]>When I first read the tagline of Sofia Alaoui’s "Animalia," I was intrigued. “A young pregnant woman finds emancipation as aliens land in Morocco.” At best, I expected to watch an alien-invasion science fiction film like M. Night Shyamalan’s "Signs" or Jordan Peele’s "Nope." To my surprise, I found that "Animalia" has more in common with Terrence Malick’s "The Tree of Life," Stanley Kubrick’s "2001: A Space Odyssey," and Denis Villeneuve’s "Arrival." For a film that tackles such high concepts with a minor budget, "Animalia" is meticulously crafted and beautifully composed.
The film premiered at this year's Sundance film festival, and was recently acquired for distribution by Egypt’s Film Clinic, as headed by producer Mohamed Hefzy. "Animalia" is expected to screen at more festivals around the world before a wide release.
Astonishingly, this is the French-Moroccan filmmaker’s debut feature film. Her first short film, "So What If the Goats Die," won the Sundance Film Festival Grand Jury Prize in 2020 before winning a César award for Best Short Film in 2021. Sofia Alaoui describes "Animalia" as “a human odyssey. An ode to nature and the question of the place of the human in this complex world.” The idea came to her when she returned to Morocco after spending years abroad, when Alaoui was confronted with the dogma of religion and humanity’s obsession with money as a means to reach happiness. Coming face to face with an ideology that tries to fit you into a mold would alienate anyone, like an outsider visiting an unrecognizable home from far beyond. To say this film resonated deeply resonated with me on a spiritual level would be an understatement.
We are all born into a society where a set of principles laid down by an authority is blindly and undisputedly taken as fact. Sometimes these principles—legal, religious, or cultural—create social barriers that separate us from one another instead of bringing us closer together. "Animalia" is about the interconnectedness of everything in the universe. It challenges the notion that women should conform to a set of rules in order to fit in or be perceived as good, and it defies the idea that men have a certain role to fulfill to be accepted in society. "Animalia" shows us that no matter how much society categorizes us through social stratification, be it based on wealth, income, sexuality, beliefs, or otherwise, at the end of the day, we are all cut from the same cloth. It subtly builds up to the idea that all living things, human and nonhuman, are connected to the cosmos.
The film is filled with these philosophical musings about time and our place in the universe without ever spoon-feeding us any answers. It merely questions. "Animalia" revolves around Itto (Oumaïma Barid), a pregnant woman who finds herself alone after her husband leaves on a business trip. During his absence, the presence of a supernatural entity or higher being disrupts society as a whole. The whole country descends into chaos. The masses flock toward places of worship, desperately trying to find solace and peace. And as the world is confronted with the reality that we are not alone, Itto embarks on an existential journey that makes her question the indoctrinated narrative surrounding her since birth.
Itto's surreal journey through the otherworldly landscapes of Morocco is an allegory of our travels through time in search of truth and meaning. Some of the imagery in this film is ethereal and intimidating in the best possible way. It reminded me of the feeling you get when up look at the black emptiness of cosmic space. The more you attempt to grasp its vastness, the more insignificant you realize you are. There is one achingly beautiful sequence in "Animalia" when Itto encounters an extra-terrestrial weather phenomenon. After walking into the celestial storm, she experiences a spiritual rebirth, and her whole belief system collapses. Through this peak into the timeless vistas of the cosmos, Itto learns that the universe is multifaceted and that the physical world is only one part of a bigger whole.
The film delves into our capacity to make meaning from our environment through purposive consciousness and reflective action. The characters in "Animalia" experience a seismic shift in their understanding of being and how human agency has always been intertwined with non-human agency given the ecological forces surrounding us. Cinema rarely delves into the interconnectedness of human and nonhuman beings, but "Animalia" remarkably takes a Daoist approach in positioning humanity as part of the natural world. It utilizes breathtaking aesthetics to give us a better perception of our place within the cosmos. "Animalia" aims for a holistic view of the world, the oneness of all things.
Perhaps what I found most impressive about Sofia Alaoui’s film is that it manages to look outwards and inwards simultaneously. The film captures a balanced connection between outer landscapes, such as the cosmos, and the inner landscapes of human consciousness. Our main character goes through a spiritual transformation as the world around her is changing. The cosmic event surrounding her is merely a reflection of her inner state.
Alaoui uses minimal visual effects, yet the film looks and feels more realistic than most big-budget science fiction films. It also helps how Alaoui uses a documentary style of filmmaking to reinforce her cinematic world. In fact, most of the cast in "Animalia" are non-professional actors; the faces of these non-actors are as significant and memorable as the landscapes in the backdrop within any given scene. Oumaïma Barid and Mehdi Dehbi deliver standout performances as two lost souls who find one another in extraordinary circumstances.
It is so refreshing to see a filmmaker expressing their deepest inner thoughts with such bravery and sensitivity. "Animalia" lingered in my thoughts long after the credits started rolling, and I look forward to revisiting this sci-fi gem time and time again. Alaoui’s film seamlessly blends the real with the surreal, the natural with the supernatural, the material with the spiritual, and the end result is nothing short of transcendental.
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