'Black Bear' Review: A Twisty Thriller Worth Following Into The Woods
If you've already watched the trailer for Black Bear, and think you know what this film is about, I can already tell you, you're wrong.
In what I can only describe as a more consumer-friendly version of a Charlie Kaufman story, Black Bear is a twisty drama that blurs the boundaries between reality and fantasy.
Aubrey Plaza anchors the film as Allison, a washed-up actress-turned-film director, who, in an attempt to beat writer's block, arrives at the remote cabin of Gabe (Christopher Abbott) and his pregnant girlfriend, Blair (Sarah Gadon).
The creative compound, inherited by Gabe, is meant to serve as a breeding ground for artists to work on their craft, and Allison seems to be lacking the inspiration that the cabin could offer.
Allison's first interaction with Gabe and Blair is pleasant enough, but it's clear that their own relationship is hanging on by just a thread. Bickering, fragile egos, and messy accusations eventually lead to a jealousy-based blowout, pitting baby mama against house guest in a competition for male attention.
Allison is like a splinter in between your fingers (in this case, Gabe and Blair's relationship); you don't know how it got there, but it hurts like hell. Inserting herself in their private life seems irresponsible, but is drama the inspiration that Allison is after? Or is it something more?
The chaotic energy between the characters bubbles until it's just about to burst and that anticipation is calculated cinematic masochism at its finest.
It takes about 45 minutes for the film to reveal a major twist that makes you rethink everything you just saw. The patience in writer/director Lawrence Michael Levine's approach to this cerebral drama is well worth the wait. The chaotic energy between the characters bubbles until it's just about to burst and that anticipation is calculated cinematic masochism at its finest.
For Aubrey Plaza, Black Bear feels like her first "grown-up" film. She stays true to her dark humor, while also offering a depth that I haven't seen before. She gets vulnerable and, in turn, relatable. Christopher Abbott is the perfect counterbalance to Plaza, his performance being another knockout. Abbott has never disappointed in a role, he always seems to mold into his characters and the same is true here.
If you're looking for a smart, sharp film with a strong vision, Black Bear is for you. This confident feature will keep you guessing all the way up until the end credits roll. In short, it's bear-y good.
Distributed by Momentum Pictures, 'Black Bear' is available in select theaters this Friday, 12/4.
'Billie' Review: Billie Holiday Doc Reveals the Pain Behind Her Voice
Her unique voice could bring grown men down to their knees, and women to tears. But behind her ethereal stage presence and soulful melodies was a deeply unhappy, tortured artist.
Director James Erskine presents a startling exposé about the heartbreaking life and death of legendary Jazz singer, Billie Holiday, in the documentary, Billie (in select theaters and VOD this Friday).
Considered to be "the world's greatest Jazz vocalist," Billie Holiday's story is told through recorded interviews that were discovered and recovered from journalist Linda Lipnack Kuehl, who, in the late 1960s, set out to create the definitive Billie Holiday biography by interviewing her closest friends and associates. However, Kuehl never got the chance to finish her project, as she died under unusual, mysterious circumstances in 1978.
(The question still remains if her prodding and poking into Billie's past had anything to do with Kuehl's untimely death, and director James Erskine does little to squash that theory.)
The film's primary focus, however, is to showcase the interviews and work that Erskine was never able to show herself. Over 200 hours of tapes reveal incredibly intimate testimonies of Holiday's early years, with family and friends revealing her "fast and loose" lifestyle, her relationship with local pimps and drugs, and even her favorite curse words ("motherfucker" & "cock sucker," in case you're wondering).
She wanted to sing how Louis Armstrong played; she wanted her voice to sound like an instrument.
Billie's rough upbringing was expressed through her music, which oozed with heartache and pain. For as sensitive as she was, Billie never played into the "victim narrative," even when faced with blatant racist acts like being forced to sleep in the tour van while her white bandmates were allowed to stay in hotels. To say she was a pioneer for racial and gender acceptance is an understatement. The documentary briefly touches on Billie's bisexuality and her racial rebellion song “Strange Fruit,” both highly controversial topics for the times.
In one pre-recorded interview, Billie, also known as "Lady Day," shares that she wanted to sing how Louis Armstrong played; she wanted her voice to sound like an instrument. Listening to her now, I think we can all agree that she nailed it.
Professionally, Billie was undefeated. But personally, she suffered to keep her drug addiction and money-grubbing "yes men" at bay. In spite of being one of the highest-paid Black artists of her time, when Billie died in 1959 (at age 44), she only had $750 to her name.
Billie shows parallel tragedies of both a journalist and her subject's short, tumultuous life. Reminiscent of another legendary musician gone too soon, Amy Winehouse, Billie is a bittersweet showcase of one of the world's most infamous artists and icons.
Distributed by Greenwich Entertainment, Billie is in select theaters and VOD this Friday, 12/4.
'Sound of Metal' Review: A Musician Loses His Hearing, And Himself
As a musician, the most important instrument you have is your hearing. Sound of Metal, written and directed by Darius Marder and story by Derek Cianfrance (Blue Valentine), is a dramatic exploration of lost identity, and the challenge to accept a new normal.
Riz Ahmed plays Ruben, a heavy metal drummer who unexpectedly starts to go deaf before playing a show with his bandmate and partner, Lou (Olivia Cooke). Terrified and confused, Ruben learns that with only 20% of his hearing capacity left, his lifestyle as a touring musician is forced to stop. Ruben is stubborn at first to accept his new reality, which includes a residency at a hearing impaired rehabilitation facility of sorts. Led by a well-intentioned man named Joe, (Paul Raci), Ruben’s struggles eventually turn into small victories as he begins to welcome the beauty in the unknown.
'Sound of Metal' Reflection: Could I Accept a "New Me" After Tragedy?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFOrGkAvjAE&feature=emb_title
The way director Darius Marder works with sound, which includes the piercing ring of tinnitus and the strain of trying to understand muffled conversations, is eerily gripping. Combined with a phenomenal performance from lead Riz Ahmed (one that will certainly be discussed come awards season), Sound of Metal is an emotional film that will be hard to shake.
When I was younger, I used to wonder if living without sight or sound would be harder on me (as a film critic, this question is like Sophie’s Choice). My answer has varied throughout the years, and Sound of Metal really puts you into the mindset of a character who never got to choose. But the takeaway here is that being deaf isn’t a weakness or a handicap when viewed with the right perspective. When one sense is obstructed, it allows the others to expand and grow, leading to appreciating moments that, otherwise, may have gone unnoticed.
'Sound of Metal' is available to stream on Amazon Prime Video this Friday.
Under the Influence of the High Priest of LSD, in 'My Psychedelic Love Story'
If there was ever a documentarian to skillfully capture the complex nuances of his subject, especially one who's lived a hard and fast life shrouded in mystery (and drugs), that would be Errol Morris. His latest film, My Psychedelic Love Story, is a mesmerizing oral history of sorts about Harvard psychologist and LSD's most notorious proponent, Timothy Leary. If you were a progressive hippie in the 60s, you idolized this man. If you were Richard Nixon, you'd do whatever it takes to restrain him and his drug-encouraging tendencies.
Leary, often referred to as the "High Priest of LSD," inspired millions of young people to take the drug to expand their minds and was seen as the counterculture's hero. After successfully evading authorities by sneaky international travels with his then-girlfriend, Joanna Harcourt-Smith, Leary was eventually captured by the FBI in the early 70s on drug conviction charges. However, in a strange turn of events, he agreed to be a government informant to shorten his prison sentence, a decision that still puzzles many to this day.
Leary's former partner in crime, Harcourt-Smith, is the sole narrator in My Psychedelic Love Story, giving us a colorful depiction of her time living, loving, and tripping with Timothy Leary. She talks directly to Morris throughout the film, answering his pointed questions about the enigma that was Mr. Leary.
Harcourt-Smith is an interesting person on her own; a Parisian socialite, she was a promiscuous psychedelic activist who can carry a story, however, at times it's hard to keep the narrative straight. Perhaps those already familiar with Leary's story will have an easier time remembering all the names, places, and events, as I, admittedly, started to zone out a bit. Disclaimer: I was watching this completely sober, probably against Leary's wishes.
It's high time a documentary was made about LSD's most notorious proponent, and Errol Morris delivers in both style and substance. Following his previous successes Gates of Heaven and The Thin Blue Line, Morris adds another substantial cultural relic to his filmography with My Psychedelic Love Story.
'My Psychedelic Love Story' is available to stream this Sunday on Showtime.
'Stardust' Reflection: Would Having An Alter Ego Help Me Live Confidently?
I have a slight obsession with David Bowie. If you know me (or happen to have seen me on a dating app that I won't name here), you already know this. "Rebel Rebel" has become my own personal anthem, reminding me to stay authentic in my unique wants and needs, especially when it seems like I'm marching to the beat of my own drum.
Out of all the rock stars that shot to stardom in the 1970s, Bowie inspired me most. Born David Jones, Bowie wasn't always this unabashedly confident. With help from his androgynous and flamboyant alter ego Ziggy Stardust (and later, Aladdin Sane and The Thin White Duke), he went on to create not only some of the most prolific records of all time but also empowered the use of on-stage personas to live boldly.
That's why it pains me to say that the new Bowie biopic Stardust, directed by Gabriel Range, offers only a lukewarm glimpse at the early life of this extraordinary, complex artist. (To be fair, it's hard to capture the historical rise of Ziggy Stardust in 109 minutes, and nearly impossible to execute it successfully without including a single David Bowie song. What made Bohemian Rhapsody and Rocketman mainstream hits was the fact that they actually played the hits, literally. More on that here.)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVWizSmWFzg&ab_channel=IGN
But even though Stardust isn't the praiseworthy nod to an icon that I hoped it would be, it gave me the opportunity to meditate on the many masks we all wear in different aspects of our life, and specifically the question: would having an "alter ego" help me to live more confidently?
"People don't want records that make them think," says one music businessman to a 24-year-old Bowie (Johnny Flynn) in one of the film's early scenes. Haphazardly embarking on a tumultuous U.S. tour to promote his latest record, "The Man Who Sold the World," Bowie never tries to fit his eccentric-ness into any box, let alone abide by rigid American standards. Much to the frustration of Mercury Records publicist Rob Oberman (Marc Maron), Bowie publicly flaunts his admiration for women's clothes, sexual freedom, and living unapologetically. Even as an unknown musician at the time, he didn't let his insecurity and differentness hold him back.
Reinventing himself as Ziggy Stardust gave him the platform to be someone else. Ziggy wasn't someone whose chaotic family life and history of mental illness felt like baggage. Ziggy wasn't a poor bloke from Brixton, London, dealing with the madness of being a struggling musician. Ziggy Stardust was already a superstar.
This is, to me, what makes David Bowie one of the greatest cultural icons of all time. He normalized the alter-ego to make artistic expression easier. Through the creation of Ziggy Stardust, David Bowie proved that we are in control of our own success. We are the only ones with the power to live our lives as boldly as we want to. The only thing most of us lack is the confidence to unleash it.
'Hillbilly Elegy' Reflection: When Is It Okay to Disappoint Your Parents?
Based on the 2016 memoir written by J.D. Vance, Hillbilly Elegy has all of the traditional markings of an Academy Award contender: an American "rags-to-riches" adaptation told through voice-over and flashbacks; directed by Academy favorite Ron Howard; and starring a nearly unrecognizable Glenn Close (who will most likely be receiving her eighth Oscar nom). To be frank, this formula should have been a shoo-in, especially after Green Book (somehow) won Best Picture in 2019.
If I were setting out to write a more critical review, I could boil my thoughts on this latest Netflix release down to a single word: Skip. And while it's easy to dismiss a film that delivers a hollow execution of "poverty porn," and misses the mark on examining true human depth, I want to talk about what Hillbilly Elegy does offer: a reflection on generational disappointment, and when it might actually be okay to ignore our programmed beliefs to unconditionally appease our parents (sorry, Mom).
J.D. Vance (Gabriel Basso) is a diamond in the rough–a smart kid who attends Yale Law School and holds a steady relationship with his equally ambitious girlfriend, Usha (Freida Pinto).
The only male in a family full of women, J.D.'s masculinity has always been called upon in times of need. His mother, Bev (Amy Adams), is an emotionally abusive drug addict who seems to confuse motherhood with a live-in rescuer, as she turns to J.D. to consistently bail her out of tough situations. J.D.'s grandma–whom he affectionately calls Mamaw (Glenn Close)–steps in as his guardian, her disappointment in Bev's absence made clear. Time and time again, J.D. is compelled to save his mother from herself, but his lack of seeing her as her own person–and not his responsibility–isn't just hurting her recovery, it's holding him back as well.
As children, we're taught to respect authority. In a perfect world, we would never have a reason to second-guess the words and actions of those who raised us. However, just because someone has the title of "parent," doesn't mean they are immune from giving bad advice, deploying manipulative tactics, and acting in selfish ways. Add "drug addict" to the innate fallibility of being a human being, and what we can get from a parent is indeed a deeply flawed individual. The hardest part for any person–let alone a child–is realizing that you are allowed to disagree with and disappoint those that don't serve you and your needs; even if you are bonded by blood.
Addiction is a selfish disease, as it affects both the addict and their families. J.D. is so afraid of upsetting his mother that he almost risks the opportunity to advance in his own law career, better his own life, and break out of the cyclical trauma. Consciously or not, by Bev relying on J.D. to save her time and time again, she is keeping him trapped in the endless cycle of despair. She knows their bond as mother and son is irreplaceable, and uses his sympathy to her advantage.
Through flashbacks, we also see that Mamaw was physically and emotionally abusive throughout Bev's childhood. Anger, despair, and disappointment have been passed down through multiple generations and unless J.D. is strong enough to reject this behavior, the pattern will continue.
It's not easy to go against a parent's wishes. Like me, I'm sure there have been plenty of times that you've done something that your parents weren't too thrilled about. Various high school moments come to mind, but those stories are for other times. And while it is perfectly acceptable and normal to have differences, what Hillbilly Elegy reminds us is that we can have love for someone without giving up our own lives in order to please them.
We’ve Got Your Exclusive Trailer Premiere: '32 Weeks'
Drawing parallels to Charlie Kaufman and Michel Gondry's Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, writer-director Brian Cavallaro's 32 Weeks explores the effects of memory, love, and loss. After a car accident leaves a young woman (Nicole Souza) with amnesia, she is torn between the new man in her life that she can't remember and her ex who she can't forget.
After its world premiere at the Fort Lauderdale International Film Festival and screening at the Rome International Film Festival, this indie darling will be available for all to enjoy next week.
Angelenos may recognize familiar locations in the trailer, as it was filmed entirely in Santa Monica, California. Comprised of a two-person crew and a micro-budget, 32 Weeks is truly an intimate portrayal of emotional abuse and pathological tendencies.
Indie Rights will release 32 Weeks on VOD and digital platforms on Tuesday, November 24.
https://vimeo.com/477259657/08ba6d299e
'Ammonite' Reflection: Would I Give Away My Heart For Temporary Love?
One of the most gut-wrenching moments in Luca Guadagnino's Call Me By Your Name is realizing there is an expiration date on Oliver and Elio's time together. Their relationship defied societal expectations, geographical borders, and yet, for as beautiful as it was, it couldn't stop time. Much like Ammonite.
It takes a lot of courage to be able to give your whole heart to a person, especially faced with an obstacle as monumental as distance (where handwritten letters are the only source of communication).
In Francis Lee's period drama, Ammonite–based on a true story–Mary Anning (Kate Winslet) and Charlotte Murchison (Saoirse Ronan) face a similar fate after falling into an unexpected love affair. But with a concrete end date in sight, I wonder if the eventual heartache is worth the temporary happiness?
We can't help who we fall for. Blame it on the pheromones, loneliness, what have you, we know that connecting with someone on a deep level doesn't happen too often.
The platonic relationship in Ammonite, between the seaside dwelling Mary–a renowned fossil hunter–and the married Mrs. Murchison turns into something more over the course of six weeks after which Charlotte is scheduled to return home to her husband and life in London. Mary and Charlotte throw caution to the wind as they get to know each other beyond guarded exteriors. Mutual stimulation, both mental and physical, draw them in like a moth to a flame, as if this is the first time they have been truly seen.
Almost immediately after the trailer for Ammonite dropped, it was being compared to Céline Sciamma's Portrait of a Lady on Fire, perhaps justifiably so. Both tell a fragile love story between two women and their attempts to conceal their growing relationship. Plus, we get more Victorian garb and mesmerizing beach scenes.
However, the major difference here is the basis of Ammonite's love story. There were a few times I was questioning if, given different circumstances, these women weren't just trying to make something fit into place to fill a void.
For Mary, Charlotte could be a distraction from her solitary lifestyle and sudden death of her mother. For Charlotte, who is outwardly reeling from residual trauma from the death of her only child, Mary could be another vessel in which to pour love into.
I don't doubt that what these women had wasn't love, and maybe modern dating has turned me into a little bit of a skeptic, but it feels to me that these women found a co-dependent relationship rather than a happily ever after.
Loving and losing someone is painful. Our heart is fragile and deserves to be given to someone who can properly care for it. And while love may look different for everyone, I think there is one thing that most of us can agree on: loving and losing is better than never having loved at all.
Distributed by NEON, Ammonite is now playing in select theaters, on-demand Friday, 12/4.