Theater Camp' Lifts the Curtain on Musical Theatre's Eccentricities
The world of musical theater is full of such laughably pretentious pomp and over-the-top circumstances that it makes itself quite an easy target to parody. Who would be better to satirize this insular and absurd world than theater kids themselves?
Turning their 2020 short film of the same name into a feature-length film, Ben Platt and Molly Gordon star as insufferably artsy camp counselors overseeing the production of an original musical in the new comedy, Theater Camp. Directed by Gordon and Nick Lieberman, Theater Camp uses the mockumentary format to satirize the world of theater and its extremely passionate performers.
It's the start of another summer, and eager young campers and budding Broadway hopefuls merrily sing show tunes as they bus it to upstate New York, en route to their beloved haven for thespians: the "AdirondACTS" theater camp. This year, however, will be different: the camp's idolized leader, Joan Rubinsky (Amy Sedaris), has fallen into a coma (which the film sets up as a humorous plot point). Taking over is her "crypto-bro" son, Troy (Jimmy Tatro), who must keep the musical theater paradise of which he knows nothing about running. With his bro vibes, he soon learns that the camp is in a dire financial situation. With no experience and fewer brain cells, it's up to him to secretly find a way to keep the camp afloat.
Meanwhile, head counselors Amos Klobuchar (Ben Platt) and Rebecca-Diane (Molly Gordon) are tasked with writing and directing an original musical theater production (one that will be a life's tribute to their unconscious icon). What follows is a series of sketches, skits, and bits that poke fun at the entire process of putting on a show. Auditioning, songwriting, acting exercises, stunt training, rehearsal, and finally, the opening night performance is not spared from spoofing.
Written by Gordon, Lieberman, and Noah Galvin (Platt's real-life partner), Theater Camp, is a light, silly, altogether enjoyable watch that will surely delight theater kid obsessives (but might not connect with those who aren't as invested in the inner world). The mockumentary nature allows for a loose and (likely) highly improvised nature. Platt, Gordon, and Galvin (who plays a stage manager yearning for the spotlight) create an easy chemistry together. However, after a little while, the tone of the humor does become a little one-note. When every character modulates at the same level of sarcasm, it can start to feel a bit excessive.
The film's liberal use of title cards breaks up the story and adds a very funny component. Popping up constantly throughout the film, they clearly hold no bearing in reality and are written just for laughs. The cinematography also serves the film well, adding an interesting layer. This look could have easily been a digitally-shot affair, with obvious zoom-ins and outs capturing everything But instead, it opts for a "shot on film" look, complete with grainy textures, which evokes a fun throwback feel (but also inadvertently made me forget what time it's supposed to take place in).
I didn't have overwhelmingly high expectations going in, and Theater Camp exceeded those, being much funnier than I thought it would be. The film is produced by Gloria Sanchez Productions, the sister label production company of Will Ferrell and Adam McKay's Gary Sanchez Productions, with a focus on female voices in comedy.
This review originally ran on January 27, 2023, during the Sundance Film Festival.
1h 34m. Distributed by Searchlight Pictures. Opening in theaters Friday, July 14, 2023.
Interview: Diego Vicentini Knows He Can't Return Home
Diego Vicentini is more than just a filmmaker. Born in Venezuela, he grew up witnessing the injustices that a corrupt government inflicts upon its people, leading him to become an activist as well. Vicentini's debut feature film Simón (which premiered this year at the 2023 Florida Film Festival) tells the story of a young man who leaves his country behind and fights for human rights. Cinemacy spoke with the writer-director about making his first film, the power of protest, and the life-changing decision to make his film knowing that he would never be able to return home.
It’s my absolute pleasure to speak with you, Diego. Where are you from, and where do you currently live?
Diego Vicentini: The pleasure is mine. I am from Caracas, Venezuela, and currently live in Los Angeles, California.
What was the first film you saw that got you interested in cinema?
Diego Vicentini: It was Woody Allen’s Match Point. In high school, I fell in love with Dostoevsky and consequently thereafter, philosophy, and so when I watched Match Point and began to notice that it was a rewriting of Dostoevsky’s “Crime and Punishment,” it completely captured my attention. Woody Allen gave a more nihilistic ending to the story than the novel, which I loved, and that opened my eyes; cinema can be philosophy too.
How did you get your start in filmmaking?
Diego Vicentini: I first did a month-long filmmaking program in New York during the summer after my freshman year at Boston College to see what part of filmmaking, if any, I liked. It was definitely writing, directing, and editing.
I was double majoring in Philosophy and Finance, but then I started taking film classes as well. After graduating I did a Master’s program in filmmaking in LA, and once that was over I started working on my first feature.
What stories, questions, or themes are you most drawn to telling and exploring in cinema?
Diego Vicentini: The movies I’ve always loved the most are the ones that make me think; the ones that keep giving upon a second and third viewing. I would love to make something that falls into that category.
Your feature film, Simón, tells the story of a student freedom fighter who fights to build his asylum case to stay in the US after escaping the control of a brutal Venezuelan dictatorship. It’s also based on a true story. When did you start writing this script, and how did you know that this was the first feature film that you wanted to make?
Diego Vicentini: This project first started as a short film about the same subject matter, which I made in 2018. The year prior had been a very violent year in Venezuela with protests and repression; many youngsters died on the streets. That motivated me to make the short film, and once it came out and I got to screen it in many countries and see the audience’s emotional reaction to it… that’s when I decided to make a feature about this subject matter. I started writing it in 2019, shot it in 2021, and finished post in 2023.
As the writer, director, and editor of the film, you control every part of the storytelling. What was it like to control all aspects of that?
Diego Vicentini: For better or for worse, everything I’ve ever made I have occupied all those roles, so in that sense, it was just like every other project. But I just enjoy each of those roles so much, it’s hard to think of giving any one of those up. Or maybe I just have trust issues. The downside though, is I can’t point a finger at anyone else for the flaws in the film.
I’m ashamed to admit that I wasn’t aware of the magnitude of the devastation that Simón tells, that of the most significant exodus of people in the history of the Western hemisphere – 7.1 million people – leaving their homes in Venezuela to escape an oppressive and cruel government. Do you feel that Americans and the world are aware of the extent of this crisis that is currently happening in the world?
Diego Vicentini: I don’t think so. I think it’s taken 20 years of this situation in our country for the world to have a general awareness that things aren’t great in Venezuela, but I don’t think the details or scale is well-known or understood, though I don’t blame anyone for that. There is so much going on in the world, it’s impossible to keep up with everything everywhere.
But that’s precisely why I wanted to make this film; to raise awareness through entertainment. I think it’s a much easier ask to watch a movie than to read a text or article on the sociopolitical situation of a foreign country. Hopefully, this movie connects with audiences, and in the process, they come out a bit more informed and empathetic.
You don’t shy away from showing very brutal parts of cruelty by the government, including detentions, torture, and executions. What was your experience in writing and shooting those scenes?
Diego Vicentini: The hardest part wasn’t writing or shooting, but listening. Before I started writing, I interviewed several young men who had gone through that experience, of arbitrary detentions and torture; most of those scenes depicted come from real accounts I was told.
So the most difficult part was listening to another human being tell me what this regime had done to them, physically and psychologically. It just further fueled my drive to make this movie. On set, there was definitely a different atmosphere when shooting those scenes, as we were all aware that this was something real that not only happened but was still happening at the same time as we were shooting it.
A large part of the story centers around the guilt that Simón feels in leaving behind his home country. It made me think of Alejandro Iñárritu’s film Bardo, a personal story that similarly expresses the guilt of a man who left his home country behind. What is your relationship to the feeling of guilt? Is it something you feel still, or did making Simón help you process that?
Diego Vicentini: Guilt is very much at the core of all this. I left Venezuela when I was 15. Since then I’ve only watched from afar how the country has progressively plummeted into a humanitarian crisis at the hands of an oppressive authoritarian regime.
In 2017, millions took to the streets for over 100 days hoping to change things, and so many young men and women were killed. I felt so guilty, that I was in LA studying film, having a good life, while my generation was out there on the streets fighting for the country, risking their lives for our freedom. It’s that guilt that made me want to contribute to that fight in some kind of way, and my way was making Simón.
Making the movie has definitely helped me process all of this and have new realizations, though I’m not so sure that the guilt is gone.
You’ve said that by making this film, you will no longer be able to go back to your home country. I can’t imagine how heartbreaking that decision must have been to know you would have to leave a part of your world behind. How important was making this film to you in that context?
Diego Vicentini: If my peers in Venezuela took to the streets, facing military tanks and gunfire, risking their lives for this cause, I thought the very least I could do was make this movie, regardless of what consequences it brought. They are the ones who are courageous and have made all the sacrifices. This movie is for all of them.
What do you miss the most about your home country, and what do you value the most having left?
Diego Vicentini: I left 14 years ago and since then I’ve traveled quite a bit. I’ve seen some wonderful landscapes and cities and monuments in these other countries, but it never comes with a sense of pride, because none of those things in those other countries “belong” to me. I miss my city and our people and our landscapes and being able to feel proud because those things “belong” to me, as a Venezuelan - those are ours. Our beaches. Our people. Our parties. Our traditions. Our mountains. I miss being able to feel that. I miss feeling I am in my land. I’m a foreigner everywhere else.
At one point, one of the oppressive government figures says to Simón, “When the people get tired, the protests stop,” and that “nothing will change.” It’s a frightening line to think about. What do you feel about the importance of protesting?
Diego Vicentini: That’s one of my favorite lines. Also one of the most painful ones. I think protesting is incredibly important and valuable, but it’s difficult to measure because when the objective has been to change the government and that hasn’t happened, it can feel like it’s useless, that it doesn’t work.
Not only that, many lost their lives in the process, so it’s very disheartening. But for change to occur, pressure needs to be exerted in the direction of that change. The vast majority of authoritarian autocrats have historically been removed by force. A significant percentage of those have been by power shifts within inner circles or military takeovers, but everyday citizens have no control over that.
One way the masses can take matters into their own hands and exert that pressure on a government is by protesting as it happened in Egypt.
What have you learned as an artist and humanitarian following the making of Simón?
Diego Vicentini: I learned the value of making something that comes from a sincere and authentic place. Now that we have had a couple of screenings, I’ve been able to see and hear audiences react and connect to the feelings in the movie, and share that they too have felt that way and that it’s touched them.
It’s something I’ll take with me for my next projects - make sure I make something I care about and feel for, and most likely (or hopefully), it’ll filter into the movie and through the movie into the audience.
What three takeaways have you learned in your journey as a filmmaker so far that aspiring filmmakers should also know?
Diego Vicentini: From my very limited experience so far, I’d say, always shoot and practice. Make things you genuinely care about (not what you think others will care about), and love the process. It’s an extremely difficult career path, you have to love doing it absolutely.
Is there one message that you would want audiences to take away after watching Simón?
Diego Vicentini: The most important fights we’ll have are with ourselves. Healing from past trauma is one of those difficult fights, but utterly necessary to truly grow, move on, and keep fighting.
Simón is currently awaiting distribution.
Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse
Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse is an incredible, mind-blowing work of art that is also one of the best films of the year. The film dives even deeper into the concept of the multi-verse(s), and its spectacularly animated sequences reach dizzying new heights in this sequel to 2018's Into the Spider-Verse, which won the Oscar for Best Animated Feature Film.
The story continues with Miles Morales (Shameik Moore) as he continues to figure out his life as New York's newest Spidey. Zipping through cityscapes with the greatest of ease, his biggest struggle is balancing his teenage life: honoring his commitments to his mother (Luna Lauren Vélez) and soon-to-be-police chief father (Brian Tyree Henry), looking ahead to college and oh yeah, trying to save the world–all while keeping his identity a secret from those he loves.
The only ones who know Miles' true identity are the league of Spider-Men who helped teach him the ropes (webs?) after crash-landing into his universe in the previous film. All of the Spider-Men, including punky introvert Gwen Stacy (Hailee Steinfeld), are spread across different worlds.
The film opens with Gwen's origin story shown over an incredible drum-solo montage that also illustrates each world's specific visual style (Gwen's is a watercolor one, while Miles' ink-blotted world more readily resembles comics). After Gwen is attacked in her world by the universe-hopping villain Vulture (Jorma Taccone), she also unexpectedly meets a few more Spider-Men and women (Oscar Isaac as Spider-Man 2099 and Issa Rae). These heroes are part of a "Spider-Society" that protects the multi-verses from "canon disruptions." Wishing to leave her world behind, she pleads to join theirs. Against better judgment, she decides to pop over to Miles' world for a quick visit.
While Miles has matured since the first film, although still wise-cracking and perhaps a bit too cocky in his Spidey role, he underestimates the arrival of a clumsy new villain, Spot (Jason Schwartzman). Spot warns Miles that he is his new nemesis and holds him responsible for his genetic mutation; being covered in spots that he can use to travel through space (a result of the first film's universe collider).
A surprise visit from Gwen excites Miles, and the two web-sling around the city in friendly flirtatious fun. But when he sneakily follows her and her Spidey task force into a new universe (we travel to many in the film; buckle up) and disrupts a key moment in that world, he learns of an unintended truth that the Spider-Men share: some events, while tragic, are fated to happen and keep all of the universes connected and in order. Miles learns that he can't save everyone, a truth he struggles to accept and ultimately, doesn't.
Written by Phil Lord, Chris Miller, and Dave Callaham, Across the Spider-Verse takes Miles' story into even larger worlds and consequences. Directors Joaquim Dos Santos, Kemp Powers, and Justin K. Thompson's film explodes with dizzyingly brilliant animation that constantly feels like you're trying to hang on to a mechanical bull. With a runtime of 2 hours and 20 minutes, this is the longest American animated film to date. Across the Spider-Verse also claims to have the largest crew of any animated movie ever, with around 1,000 people working on it. It has 240 characters and takes place in six universes.
And yet, while it's the most wow-worthy and spectacular thing I've seen this year so far, it fails to capture the same heart as its predecessor Into the Spider-Verse did. Likely, there is too much going on. The first film was more self-contained, in that all of the action crash-landed into Miles's world. By the time we've jumped into our sixth universe, you do feel a sense of endless abandon that makes it difficult to remain emotionally connected to the looming threat lurking back in Miles's world.
Beyond the astounding animation, the vocal performances remain perfect and excellently cast. Shameik Moore returns as Miles, expressing the same boyish gusto with a bit more frustration and angst to color his world. Hailee Steinfeld as Gwen is given even more spotlight to express her story, which is the most heartfelt part of the film. Newcomers Oscar Isaac and Issa Rae are wonderful inclusions here too. Isaac specifically lends a bottled rage that turns troubling when we learn that his Spider-Man isn't exactly in Miles' corner.
Further shouts go to Daniel Kaluuya as Spider-Punk and Karan Soni as Indian Spider-Man Pavitr Prabhakar. And beyond all of the web-slingers, Miles's loving parents played by Brian Tyree Henry and Luna Lauren Vélez give the world a grounded, heartfelt center for Miles's story.
Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse is an incredible work of art that bursts with fun and visual wonder that proves the sequel game can remain strong (Beyond the Spider-Verse will return in March 2024).
2h 20 minutes. Rated PG for sequences of animated action violence, some language, and thematic elements.
https://youtu.be/shW9i6k8cB0
Beau Is Afraid
Film director Michelangelo Antonioni once said, "A film that can be described in words is not really a film." Since it's nearly impossible to describe the new dark comedy Beau Is Afraid (now playing in theaters nationwide), I suppose that makes this a film with a capital "F."
Beau Is Afraid is the story of one helplessly fear-stricken man's stress-inducing, anxiety-ridden, paranoia-packed odyssey to see his late mother amidst the threats of a harrowing world. Written and directed by Ari Aster, the film is equal parts absurd and visually astounding, and by its end will leave audiences speechless and confounded as to what they just experienced.
Beau (Joaquin Phoenix) is a sensitive, inept sadsack who lives in a comically uninhabitable version of New York's inner-city, constantly evading a world of psychos who threaten his everyday life. As Beau's misfortune would have it, on the day he is to visit his doting mother (who he admits smothered him since he was a child during a therapy session in the film's opening scene), he loses his keys, leaving him helpless to break the news that he is to stay home. When he receives the news of her unexpected demise just one day later, against all of his fears, he sets forth to journey to her through a world of dangers that lie in front of him.
Beau Is Afraid is a big bundle of childhood anxieties and unprocessed emotions wrapped up in a 2-hour and 59-minute runtime. It's also a fascinating journey through many imaginative and distinct worlds, including a deliriously deranged low-rent apartment building where he lives; a suburban home with suspiciously kind parents (Amy Ryan and Nathan Lane); a forest-turned-full-on animated parable; and then a nightmare-ending that is the film's most head-spinning part.
Audiences are likely familiar with writer-director Ari Aster's previous films, Hereditary (2018) and Midsommar (2019), which were both equally polarizing and shocking for their depictions of horror and traumas around the devastating losses of family. Beau Is Afraid is a painfully punishing movie that stuffs guilt, trauma, and physical injury upon its lead character, and Joaquin Phoenix is up to the challenge. Pushing his bloated body to the brink through physical and psychological torture, Phoenix is nothing short of amazing here. He's joined by comic performances from Nathan Lane and Amy Ryan, as well as Stephen McKinley Henderson as Beau's therapist. In its last, and most WTF section, Parker Posey and Patti LuPone show up to push the film over its edge of sanity.
Beau Is Afraid is a work of incredible artistry (indie distributor A24 should get a special mention for producing a movie that is so defiantly unique, challenging, and original–much like how they did with last year's Everything Everywhere All At Once). It's been fun to talk about Beau Is Afraid, and its word-of-mouth seems to continue to grow, making for conversations around this deranged psychoanalytic dive into unprocessed childhood trauma that Freud would have a field day dissecting.
If you're looking for a dose of easily watchable popcorn entertainment, this film is not for you. Whether you end up loving or hating it, don't be afraid to check it out for yourself.
2h 59m. Rated R for strong violent content, sexual content, graphic nudity, drug use, and language.
https://youtu.be/PuiWDn976Ek
Paint
If you're going to have someone play a Bob Ross-type character in a movie, there's no one better to do it than Owen Wilson. It's this casting alone that made me want to watch Paint, in which Wilson stars as a not uncoincidentally-imagined fictional basic cable painter known for his serene landscape portraits.
However, Wilson's gimmick of channeling Ross's famous hippie vibes with his trademark chill is only rewarding for so long. While it's an intentionally silly sendup and a mildly funny world to live in, Paint isn't nearly as subversive or funny enough to become a new comedy classic.
Wilson plays "Carl Nargle," a hippie host of a live painting program for the local Burlington PBS affiliate TV station. With his good vibes and worldly bits of wisdom, Carl is beloved in his small town. The ladies especially love him, too. They rush him after every show merely for the chance to hold his paintbrushes.
Times are good for ol' Carl Nargle. Except–predictably–the times are about to change. Once the station's ratings start to go south, the station manager (Stephen Root) brings in a new painter. Ambrosia (Ciara Renée), a new hip young gal, is to add to Carl's success with another hour of live painting.
Carl and the rest of the station are surprised at the new blood that Ambrosia brings to the show. Literally, in the form of her first painting: a UFO drawing up a geyser of blood. It's quite the change from the peaceful mountains and calm creeks painted by Carl for his mostly-senior viewers. But her fresh energy–and new female empowerment–push Carl to the sidelines. Soon enough, he's left alone as an aloof artist and out-of-time man.
If this setup sounds similar to Anchorman, it's because it really is. I wonder if this was a conscious or unconscious template that writer-director Brit McAdams had in mind when creating this movie. With his curly blonde afro and woodsman-styled facial hair, even Carl's comically dated '70s appearance channels that of Ron Burgundy.
Paint predictably continues with what you might expect: Carl's once-fawned-over charm and sex appeal turn quickly into misogyny. And worse (to him), his landscape paintings are soon enough regarded as dull, superficial, and uninspired. The film weaves in something of a love triangle, in which Carl works with his former love, Katherine (Michaela Watkins). Surprisingly, she also explores a new side of her femininity with a fling with Ambrosia.
What's more unfortunate is that I did find an interesting story a few layers underneath Paint, which comes about towards the end of the film. When Carl's sidelined and down and out, he finally confronts how his "hotel art" compares to more compelling works like modernism. The film somewhat confusingly takes place in the modern day, not the '70s that the movie constructs itself to be in.
He wanders into the Burlington modern art museum and looks at art in a Ferris Bueller-like montage, which was compelling. And Carl going mad, flinging paint from the rafters, is when the movie feels most alive. Could there have been a version of this film that was more interested in telling that story? Versus just being edged out of a low-performing public access channel? Does Paint itself stay in too familiar territory to be worthwhile?
I wish the film followed the blueprint that last year's Weird Al parody-biography Weird: The Al Yankovic Story did so well: weaving biography and wild absurdism together actually drew laughs. But Paint is more of a low-grade daze; the kind of sluggish high you'd feel sparking some pot found in the back of your dresser drawer from years ago.
While perfectly cast, Owen Wilson is only so watchable as the film drags on. It's enough to make you wonder how much longer it'll take for the paint to finish drying.
1h 36m. Rated PG-13 for sexual/suggestive material, drug use, and smoking.
https://youtu.be/K9TX-6HyuOc
The Five Devils (Les Cinqe Diables)
Adèle Exarchopoulos, the alluring French actress best known for 2013's Blue is the Warmest Color, has an obvious beauty to her. But it's her beguiling aura that communicates something more complex underneath that makes her transfixing to watch onscreen.
Exarchopoulos stars in The Five Devils (Les Cinqe Diables), a new witchy thriller that aims to unsettle by unearthing the unspoken parts of people's past lives. To level-set: it's a film in which no actual devils pop up; but rather, symbolic ones. This might disappoint those looking for more of a demonic occultist bloodbath horror along the lines of Hereditary.
Instead, director Lea Mysis's film is something more akin to a romantic drama with supernatural elements (oh, and time travel). The Five Devils is a uniquely observed, surprisingly tender, and thought-provoking film. It explores past loves, desires, and how repressed feelings can quite literally come back to haunt us.
The film opens with a raging, blazing inferno, with screams far off in the distance. It's unclear why a few young women in sparkly unitards gather around it consoling each other. Among them is Joanne (Exarchopoulos) who in the present day, now works at a community pool. She follows this by plunging into an icy cold lake. The film's immediate focus on fire and water emphasizes the characters' connection to natural elements, as well as the dualities that link them together.
The elements are literally alluring to Joanne's young adolescent daughter, Vicky (Sally Dramé). With her quiet, but all-knowing vibes, Vicky busies herself by jarring and labeling various scraps of earth, making them into an odd personal collection. That alone might be just an innocent eccentricity but it's when Vicky reveals to Joanne one day just how powerful her sense of smell is (Joanne actively tries to hide from Vicky during a playful game of hide and seek, but fails) that she reveals something uniquely special about herself.
This slight disturbance convenes with the even more distressing news that Joanne's husband, Jimmy (Moustapha Mbengue), shares: he's invited his sister, Julia (Swala Emati), to stay with them for a few days. We're left as confused as Vicky to see why this angers Joanne so deeply. Drawn to her newly arrived, mysterious aunt–and continuing to jar her interests–Vicky mixes them all together, and inadvertently creates a youngster's version of a cauldron, which sends her back in time.
Vicky sees her mother at seventeen years old, as well as her father. They're accompanied by another friend, Nadine (Daphné Patakias), as well as Julia, all palling around to various degrees of physical affection. They're all close, but noticeably, it's Joanna and Julia whose chemistry burns hottest. Vicky moves throughout them like a ghost. Until she gets to Julia, who screams upon locking eyes with her: Julia is the only one who sees her like a ghost walking among them.
It's here where The Five Devils is most engrossing. Vicky continues to dive back into the past to see more of her mother and aunt's special friendship. A queer relationship–let alone a bi-racial one–was not something that was publicly approved of, clearly. We also see Joanne and Julia's real-time reconnection happen, too. Clearly, there are flames that still flicker with each other.
Written by Léa Mysius and Paul Guilhaume, The Five Devils is an inventive supernatural thriller but it's a more intimate romance than I was expecting. The film is more interesting, and more successful when exploring the forbidden relationships and lost loves that plague these characters. Also, don't forget about their fourth friend Nadine, who was noticeably affectionate towards Jimmy.
At this point, you might wonder: what, or who are The Five Devils? Well, it'd have to be the four young friends, who (spoiler alert) all end up without their true love. And the fifth? I could only deduce that it was the daughter, Vicky. A child born out of false love, she is uniquely able to bring them all toward their rightful lovers.
The Five Devils might not be a new cult classic. But it's fairly intoxicating and stylishly hypnotic in ways that I haven't seen in queer witchy thrillers in recent times.
1h 43m.
https://youtu.be/GlU6SSYIMYc
Rodeo
From writer-director Lola Quivoron comes Rodeo, the story of a tough young woman whose passion for riding motorbikes leads her into a world of criminality and danger. Bringing an authentically-captured French motorbiking subculture to the big screen, Rodeo is both a gritty character study and crime movie that plays like Emily the Criminal, The Place Beyond the Pines, and Fast & Furious.
If life is a rodeo, then Julia (Julie Ledru) is a wild bronco, unable to be tamed. The movie opens with her shooting out of her home as if a starting gun has just been fired. She's intent on doing just one thing: testing out a new motorbike. After inspecting it from an unsuspecting male seller, she asks for a test drive. Which, she subsequently races off with, her middle finger blazing behind.
This says exactly what we need to know about her. That she's unstoppable, and only lives life in one direction: forward, and fast. With her oversized shirts and unkept hair, Julia's clearly not interested in the typical girly world. We soon enough see where she feels most at home: on a motorbike speeding down an open road.
Julia takes her new possession to the local dragstrip, where young bikers fly past her, popping wheelies and tricks that amaze and wrack the nerves. Noticeably, she's the only woman in this mostly male world. However, the insults that the aggressive crowd of bros hurls her way bounce off of her like a steel engine. When the cops come to bust it up, she scatters away with a new group, taken in by one boy Kaïs (Yannis Lafki). Without a place to sleep, she asks Kaïs and his crew if she can sleep in their garage (like a bike herself).
She soon learns that the crew steals and flips bikes. And it's under the direction of the ringleader, Domino (Sébastien Schroeder). Fearless and looking for refuge and the opportunity to ride, Julia offers to lend her services of stealing bikes. And so, she does what she does best: tries out bikes, then speeds off leaving unsuspecting men in the dust. The closer she gets to the crew and begins to establish trust, the more she feels like family. It all leads up to a heist, the climax of the movie, that has deadly results.
Rodeo throttles in and out of exhilarating moments, as well as narrative consistency. Particularly the riding sequences, when bikers rev engines that roar and pop wheelies, feel exhilarating. The film also downshifts, into a slower more emotional story. We see that Julia gets closer to her new makeshift criminal family, making for strong emotional moments.
Writer-director Lola Quivoron creates a world that feels real, raw, beautiful, and dangerous. Julia's world is most compelling when it juxtaposes the dualities mirroring "throttling" and "braking" of riding itself: balancing the fast with the slow; the loud with the quiet; the male with the female; and the peace and danger.
Her relationship with Kaïs has a hint of romance, but it's the bond that Julia develops with Domino's wife, Ophélie (Antonia Buresi), and her young son, that is the more compelling, heartfelt relationship. We see how Ophélie is similarly trapped in a world of oppressive males, which Julia notices and bonds over (in a familial, but also suggestively intimate way).
There's also the storyline of Julia being haunted by a tragic death that takes place earlier on in the film, as well. Nightmares begin to plague her (though to the film's detriment, not much adds beyond that). With no exposition, Julia's backstory is a mystery (she literally asks to be called "Unknown" in her heists). It's as if she herself is a bike without any identifying plates, made of different parts she replaces along her hard-lived journey of life.
As Julia, Julie Ledru is perfect for the role. She's tough and unafraid to get physical when needed. But she also plays the slower, quieter, emotionally affected moments that the film demands of her as well. It's here where her face betrays how haunted she is. She can more than hold her own in a world where everyone's edging her out, but it will soon take its toll.
Raphaël Vandenbussche's cinematography is beautiful and evocative. Gritty handheld cinematography, composed in ultra-wide format captures the wide frames that the motorbike sequences and film need.
While Rodeo falls into a familiar crime story that didn't leave me particularly thrilled or roused, the riding sequences themselves are quite exciting. Blazing fast shots take on an ethereal, transcendent feeling. At its fiery end, we understand that for some, riding fast is the only speed that people can live.
1h 45m
https://youtu.be/F5iXef4071U
The Quiet Girl (An Cailín Ciúin)
Being neglected and denied affection and love is a tragedy that can keep a person from becoming, or even knowing, their best self. But having the fortune of receiving love is a gift that allows us to grow tall and full like a beautiful forest of trees.
Those themes form the story of The Quiet Girl (now playing in select theaters). Ireland's official submission and nominee for Best International Feature Film at this year's Academy Awards (spoken in Irish with English subtitles), The Quiet Girl is a tender, sensitive, moving film about a young girl who experiences care and affection for the first time in her young life.
Set in rural Ireland in 1981, The Quiet Girl tells the story of Cáit (Catherine Clinch), a quiet girl whose dysfunctional family sends her away for the summer to live with relatives she has never met.
The couple–quiet themselves, middle-aged and middle-class–look after her in their modest, tidy home. Eibhlín (Carrie Crowley) lends affection to Cáit instantly, brushing her hair and dressing her with the family's extra clothes when she's left without her suitcase.
Initially uneasy (as wetting the bed always indicates), Cáit slowly begins to feel more comfortable in the house. She helps prepare meals and do simple chores alongside Eibhlín, who smiles affectionately at her. Soon after, the formerly despondent Seán (Andrew Bennett) warms to Cáit, bringing her to work with him on their dairy farm, and their connection grows as well.
It's a newfound world of care for Cáit, the family making her feel safe by telling her, "There are no secrets in this house." Except, Cáit learns about a large secret the family keeps (why do the clothes she was initially given fit so coincidentally well?), forcing her to learn more about the world.
The above plot point might make The Quiet Girl instantly sound like a mystery or thriller, but I ultimately found it to be a modest domestic drama. Writer-director Colm Bairéad adapts the film from the short story "Foster" (by Claire Keegan) with devoted patience. Bairéad and editor John Murphy match the film's slow pace to that of Cáit's slowly absorbing learning of the world.
Director of photography Kate McCullough sets Cáit in a dark, drab, colorless world early on. But when she moves to the new home surrounded by healthily flourishing nature, greens overpower and show the life Cáit begins to live.
Newcomer Catherine Clinch makes her feature film acting debut here in the lead role of Cáit. Clinch has the essence of a quiet girl, taking in the world through her large eyes and silent, unimposing behavior.
As Eibhlín, Carrie Crowley (Vikings) is aptly heartfelt. And Andrew Bennett (God's Creatures) is able to grow into the role, surprisingly taking over the main parental role of affection.
Some of the best moments of the film are the sequences in which Cáit runs down the driveway to get the mail with Seán, a moment of "father-daughter" connection. Looking up to see she's underneath a forest of highly grown trees, it's clear that she is also blooming while being here, how tall she's grown when she must return home to her biological family.
The film reminded me of other quiet films about childhood, particularly Céline Sciamma's Petite Maman and Lukas Dhont's Close, the latter being nominated for Best International Feature as well.
At one hour and thirty-four minutes, The Quiet Girl isn't long by any stretch. However, it's about an hour until the film reveals its climactic plot point, and the film doesn't exactly build toward this moment with scenes that made it pay off for me in too big of a way. But the film speaks volumes to the point that we should all give our love and affection so that we can help each other live our lives loudly.
1h 34m.
https://youtu.be/LGWyqty2m-A
Infinity Pool
This review originally ran on January 25, 2023, during the Sundance Film Festival.
Taking the plunge into the darkest depths of depravity, Alexander Skarsgård and Mia Goth star in writer-director Brandon Cronenberg's shocking new film, the socially-conscious horror satire, Infinity Pool.
Here, Cronenberg imagines a world where the rich are able to indulge in all of their hedonistic pleasures without consequence. It's a wildly graphic look at the wealthy elite and a perfect midnight movie. It should come with all sorts of warning labels on it: it's what you get if you combined Eyes Wide Shut, The White Lotus, and a frightening LSD trip.
Premiering at this year's Sundance Film Festival, Infinity Pool shocked audiences (who saw the uncut version). The film had to make edits to get an R rating for theaters, such as cutting the shot of Skarsgård's–erm... "deposit" hitting the ground–after being unexpectedly pleasured by Goth from behind. I can only imagine that the film's R-rated version did not include the entirety of the many strobe-filled orgy sequences. But don't worry, as both versions show a naked Skarsgård pulled around on all fours in a leather dog collar.
Impressively, Skarsgård and Goth continue to use their star status to do categorically unhinged arthouse movies. The pair stars as uninspired writer James Foster (Skarsgård), vacationing at an all-inclusive resort, and the mysterious Gabi (Goth) who he meets there. After an accidental fatality leads James to be sentenced, Gabi introduces him to a loophole he can use to buy his way out of legality. Twistedly, It involves using the film's title, which duplicates someone facing their punishment in the form of a twisted execution.
Harrowingly, witnessing their doubles (who also have their very real consciousnesses) horrifically executed wipes their slates clean. And so, with his new lease on life, James indulges Gabi and her socialite friends in running rampant. They hold people hostage, assault them, and have sex and drugs–lots of it.
However, all of this uninhibited hedonism quickly turns into hell for James, who becomes existentially conflicted, as if living a more depraved version of Groundhog's Day. A life free from penalty and morality, he loses who he is altogether.
Clearly, the idea of American upper-class societies masking dark sub-cultures of violence underneath fascinates Brandon Cronenberg. His first feature film, 2020's Possessor, showed how the wealthy could pay for contracted assassinations in the form of agents slipping into people's minds. These themes of paranoia and conspiracies of truth, with a macabre but comic presentation, definitely continue in the line of his father's famous filmography.
Cronenberg continues to claim visual auteur status by putting depraved, psychedelic pleasure on the big screen. And yet, taking the biggest risk here is the aforementioned Skarsgård and Goth. Supposedly, Skarsgård went from 2022's epic outdoor adventure film The Northman to this under the allure that he would be able to enjoy a relaxing resort life. While that might have been true, he's also reduced to an emotionally destroyed version of a person, so it wasn't a total holiday in the sun.
Captivatingly, Mia Goth uses her allure and appeal to a dangerous degree here, playing full-on psychotically evil. With this and Pearl, she is asserting herself as a fearless horror queen. The arthouse and horror scene is lucky to have stars like this who make these movies.
Through and through, Infinity Pool is a midnight movie. Wildly and shockingly inventive with fearless performance, it should be appreciated and enjoyed for its vision. Indulge your senses and your curiosities that are the ecstasy of horror and psychedelic madness. You know you want to.
1h 57m. Rated R for graphic violence, disturbing material, strong sexual content, graphic nudity, drug use, and some language.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVnIMvVEkrA&ab_channel=NEON
Sundance: Magazine Dreams
The socially awkward outsider who obsesses to achieve a warped sense of greatness–to an unhealthy (or even dangerous) degree–is a character type that looms large in cinema.
The template, of course, begins with Scorsese's 1976 classic Taxi Driver. Though more recently, we can look to modern films centered around the discomfortingly dangerous loner that furthers this character type, too. Take Jake Gyllenhaal as a tabloid-crazed reporter in 2014's Nightcrawler, or Miles Teller as a jazz-fixated drummer in 2014's Whiplash. Both lose track of all sense of reality at the expense of their physical and mental well-being.
Clearly, the character of the unhinged and volatile workaholic speaks to a recurring type of person within our society (or, at least one that modern male directors just seem particularly drawn towards). Perhaps this type of person is the embodiment of the American persona on steroids.
The new movie Magazine Dreams delivers the latest of these unhinged male characters and quite literally puts him on performance-enhancing drugs – to terrifying effect. Written and directed by Elijah Bynum, Magazine Dreams tells the story of an amateur bodybuilder who pushes his body and psyche to the brink in the hopes of becoming a world-class champion.
Premiering at this year's Sundance Film Festival, the film shocked critics upon its release. To say the film is "intense" would be an understatement. It's a full-blown assault on the senses that's both physically and psychologically punishing. As the central character, Jonathan Majors hulks out here, bulking a body that is nearly unbelievable to see.
Killian Maddox (yes, "kill" and "mad" can both be found in this character's name) lives a simple life. Bagging items at a local grocery while awkwardly flirting with the checkout girl (Haley Bennett), he lives with his father in a small-town suburb. He is also inhumanly jacked, working out non-stop in his garage. He surrounds himself with images of bodybuilders that paper his bedroom walls, the ultimate image of success.
Killian's life goal is to one day attain the perfect body and become a world-champion bodybuilder. There's just one thing he can't control: his rage. So when local handymen scam his father, Killian erupts with anger (imagine Adam Sandler in Punch Drunk Love but built like a Greek God). Seeing red, Killian goes on a warpath. He demolishes the perpetuator's storefront with his bare hands, an astonishing moment in the film that leaves him bloody and broken and the audience in awe.
This triggers Killian's tragic descent into hell. Haunted by the fallout–and by those whose store he destroyed–Killian is left bruised, bloodied, and broken, and subsequently loses the ability to compete. But he's still alive. And like the Terminator, Killian pushes through the pain, leaving no one safe from his personal warpath to inflict pain onto those who have wronged him.
Magazine Dreams is a tense, brutal, but beautifully made movie. The artful, lush cinematography by Adam Arkapaw certainly gives the film "dreamy" compositions that warp Killian's reality. While Magazine Dreams is evocative and affecting, some of the writing holds it back from greatness. At just over 2 hours, the film runs too long (I hope 30 minutes are trimmed from its sprawling final act when it is officially distributed).
And then, there's Killian as a character. Clearly, he's mentally ill. He experiences migraines, and nightmares, and hears his absent mother's voice in his head. He's schizophrenic, making for a character whose origin story is more like the Joker than anything more realistic. Today's internet age would accurately classify him as an incel. Someone who inflicts pain on society for their inability to relate with him.
There's a chance that Magazine Dreams might be too disturbing to enter the larger mainstream conversation. However, Majors deserves recognition and praise for his astonishing feat here. Not just for his inhuman physical transformation (which, holy shit). But for the intensity and way in which he loses himself in this unhinged performance. It's unnerving, punishing, and polarizing. But sometimes, that's what it takes to achieve greatness.
2h 4m.
RRR
Next to the box office smashes that were The Batman, Top Gun: Maverick, and Avatar: The Way of Water, RRR was one of the most astounding theatrical experiences I had in 2022. And there's a chance that you might not have heard of it.
Clocking in at a towering 3 hours and 7 minutes long, RRR is a long watch. However, with the nature of streaming movies nowadays, you should remember that you can pause and break any time you like. I guarantee though, that you’re going to be so wowed and captivated by the astounding action and visionary filmmaking on display, that you’re going to have a hard time pausing through this one.
It should be immediately clear what makes RRR one of the most fun, visionary, and action-packed films of last year. It’s an Indian action-adventure blockbuster, which, if you’re not familiar with Indian cinema, has a distinctly different feeling than American films.
Indian cinema (and specifically, "Bollywood' films) expresses so much life that it can all feel a bit hyper-real. The camera flies constantly, with soaring speed. The editing is fast, almost lightning-quick. The characters and their emotions are so deeply felt – whether full of life or pain – that they burst with feeling. Yes, it’s much more stylized and over-the-top than what you might be typically used to, but that is what makes these films so entertaining and fun.
RRR (which stands for Rise Roar Revolt) is a fictitious story about two legendary revolutionaries – Komaram Bheem (N.T. Rama Rao Jr.) and Alluri Sitarama Raju (Ram Charan Teja) – who, through a series of fate and life-changing-events in 1920s British-colonized India, meet and create a bond that will lead them away from home before fighting for their country.
So, who is RRR for? It’s certainly for fans that want to see a single man defeat an entire mob of mercilessly angry protestors by himself; or, see a man capture a lion with his bare hands; or, both of those men leap from a horse and motorcycle headfirst into battle while explosions ignite behind them; to see both of those men do the best dance sequence of last year (“Naatu Naatu” is likely the lock for Best Original Song at this year’s Academy Awards).
Initially released in March of 2022, it was and remains an international hit. Upon its US release, it captivated fans in its theatrical runs. Sold-out audiences cheered, laughed, and danced in the aisles.
Director S.S. Rajamouli has wildly succeeded in giving American audiences a new taste of Indian cinema to love. So, do yourself a favor. Queue up RRR on Netflix. See what makes Indian cinema, and this film specifically, so full of life, love, and joy.
3h 7m. Not rated.
The Whale
The first thing you'll notice in Darren Aronofsky's The Whale is its unexpectedly compact format. With a screen ratio of 1.33:1, the frame is nearly square on all sides. Intriguingly, there won't be any extra width for this story.
As the opening title credits began, seeing this already made me feel uneasy. I, like anyone who will be going into this movie, knew that the central character is an extremely obese man. How then, will he fit into this screen for the remainder of the film?
This (intentional) visual restriction immediately sets the stage for a story of discomfort, pain, and struggles to come. As soon as we see Charlie (Brendan Fraser)–by way of an uncomfortably shocking introduction (in many carnal ways)–we see how enormous, and helpless, a figure he is. We know instantly how impossible it must be for him to exist and fit into the world around him.
Except, we quickly see that he doesn't actually exist in the world. Rather, as today's 21st-century accommodations allow, he lives in his own reclusive world; inside, and alone. Teaching an online writing class (one in which his camera remains off), he spends his days either occupying the same flattened corner of his living room couch or traversing the path between his bedroom and bathroom, by way of a walker whose flimsy frame feels as if it could fold under his weight at any moment.
With over 600 pounds of body mass, Charlie is a sight to behold (I say this with no intention of sounding insensitive to the obese community). Yes, Charlie's appearance is shocking, which the film presents starkly. Yet, the film as we see it is one of empathy. Director Darren Aronofsky's singular achievement here is how he draws out the sweet, kind, and tender soul of the man underneath the heavy flesh.
Undergoing an immediate health complication that begins the film, Charlie's nurse and friend Liz (Hong Chau) tells him that he's in grave danger of dying. The episode brings about a forced introspection, one in which he decides to attempt to reconcile with the daughter he left behind years ago (you would be correct in remembering Aronokfsky's other film about guilt by way of fatherly abandonment, 2008's The Wrestler, here too).
We see each day of this final week, with title cards to count them down. Not coincidentally, this narrative structure should also recall the biblical story of creation, in which God created the universe in seven days (we all know what he did on the seventh). Religion and man's relationship with it, and faith and higher powers at large, are always a preoccupation in Aronofsky's films, as it is here too. The film confronts religion by way of a young door-to-door missionary (Ty Simpkins) who befriends Charlie and tries to save him by converting him before the rapturous end times (which are closer for Charlie than the young missionary knows).
The central story in The Whale is that of Charlie reconnecting with his daughter, Ellie (Sadie Sink), a high schooler whose troubling social media accounts reflect her raging, isolated nature. Drawing her to his home, Ellie sees her father for the first time in years–more enormous now than ever. Her moodiness and rage counter Charlie's kindness and sincerity.
Each of these scenes–mostly exchanges between two characters–all start to take on a certain rhythm. If it all begins to feel like a play, it's because the film is based on one. Screenwriter Samuel D. Hunter adapts his 2014 stageplay here for the film (which also lends itself to a COVID production).
For a film about a 600-pound man, I was very surprised to find how much I connected to it. Timely, issues that we experience now such as self-isolation, self-medication, grief, and shame, are all things that we can struggle with every day. In a post-COVID, mostly online world, I was taken aback to see how easy and dangerous it is to fall into our own worlds of isolation and despair that can grow from shutting oneself off from the rest of the world.
It's a brave story to bring to the screen, and it's Brendan Fraser who deserves every word of praise that his performance is getting. Incredibly moving, Fraser proves he's a singular talent here, bringing a yearning presence to Charlie. Further, he brings all sides to this character suffering from grief and addiction. Communicating the pleasures of inhaling a bucket of chicken wings, meatball subs, or pizzas at any given moment, and then the physical stuntwork as well as emotional depth to convey pain inside a man who can barely move is a feat of acting and should be recognized as such.
Cinema rarely features people like this at the center of the frame, getting their own story. And Aronofsky and team, as well as the obese community, should be proud to see this character and story portrayed onscreen with such compassion and empathy, and heart.
The Whale is a transcendent film, as evidenced by its final shot. As Charlie has been saying to his daughter and students, "be honest." By the time he reaches that pinnacle of truth himself, he is not bound by weight. He is freed by the screen ratio format and even the gravitational forces of this world. Lightness is that thing that exists within all of us if we just choose to lift that weight of despair.
1h 57m. Rated R for language, some drug use, and sexual content.
https://youtu.be/D30r0CwtIKc
Director Chad Murdock Knows The Answers Are Inside Himself
Chad Murdock is a freelance film director, writer, editor, creative director, and composer currently based in Brooklyn, New York. He graduated from the School of Visual Arts with his BFA in Film Directing.
The multi-hyphenate artist spent his formative years in Philadelphia, PA, before moving to New York City to pursue a Bachelor’s Degree in Film Directing at the School of Visual Arts. After graduating in 2019, Chad worked as an in-house filmmaker at Wieden + Kennedy, where he learned how to stretch his creative legs in the advertisement space. He then added more skills to his arsenal when he worked as a Creative Director at Laundry Service.
In 2021, Chad founded the independently owned Studio Murdock™, a home for all of his personal narrative work. From there, he crowdfunded $25,000 to produce and direct his first feature-length film “Fingers In the Wind”, which now serves as the inaugural film under the Studio Murdock™ brand.
Cinemacy: What or who inspires you, both professionally and personally?
Chad Murdock: A lot of people both in my professional and personal circles tell me to stick to my guns. That means a lot to me because it’s very easy to become fixated on what I might perceive as a popular mode of contemporary filmmaking. My work fits in its own world, and I need to respect that, the way I respect other filmmakers who are constantly inventing language.
What was the film that inspired you to enter filmmaking?
I don’t think there was one specific film that inspired me, at least not consciously. If I have to be honest, I actually think my growing up watching anime–in particular the older, more intimate ones from the 80s and 90s like Maison Ikkoku–really influenced my style of image-making and storytelling.
I got interested in the cinema while in high school because I felt really dissatisfied with the photography I was doing at the time. I’m not sure if I’d feel the same way now, but back then I really felt the limits of capturing a still image as opposed to a moving one. Around that time in my life, I was also doing choir, opera, and theater, which I think all had a heavier influence on me than the films I was watching.
Is there a studio that you’d love to work with?
I don’t think there’s a better studio in the world than Studio Murdock. Shameless, but I really feel that way. Obviously, there’s so much for me to learn and I have a long journey ahead of me, but that’s where my heart is. A lot of my favorite filmmakers of the past and of today created their own production companies. There are studios I’d work with for sure because I love making movies, but what we’re doing here is remarkable to me and I want to keep pushing.
Whitney Houston once said, “I’m a gospel hearer. I like to hear words of meaning, and of sweet melodies”. I think about that quote often. When it comes to cinema, I am impressed by films that illustrate meaning in their structure, movement, and concerns.
How did you start out in filmmaking?
I went to film school. I had to make a short film to apply, so I made a short silent film about falling in love in Brooklyn. It’s a horrible film. I had no crew, so I would press record on the camera and then walk into every shot with my actress–who was just a friend I met that summer–and we’d walk around Brooklyn. That was literally it. We’d walk around Brooklyn and fake smile at each other. And then I recorded a score for it with a zoom microphone on top of an old piano and edited the whole thing on Photoshop. It was a mess, but it got me in. It was my first film.
"A lot of people ask me to explain the film’s meaning. I get a little disappointed when that happens; not because I’m afraid they don’t understand it, but because they think anything I say has more validity than their own initial impression."
What stories are you drawn to telling? Are there any questions or themes that you are most interested in exploring?
I’d like to think that everything I write is going to be completely different from each other, but as I get older and develop an actual body of work, I can’t help but notice the similarities in my works, and how much they reflect me as a person. I’ve learned so much about myself through writing and watching. Even the films I’m working on now have similar concerns, but explore those concerns in different ways.
It seems I’m drawn a lot to questions about memory, friendship and love, sexuality, parent and child dynamics, and religion. To some, that may seem all over the place, but all these things seem to go hand in hand with me. They’re the makings of me, beyond even just my thoughts.
What was the origin of your feature film debut, Fingers in the Wind?
I was living in Portland, OR at the time and was yearning badly to make a film. I had just graduated from SVA and was working my first adult job. I was so depressed. I was watching movies every day after work and not really speaking to anybody. When the pandemic started, I began writing a short film about a young man who bought flowers for himself for the first time and didn’t know what to do with them.
We planned to shoot it just before I had plans to move back to my family’s home in Philly, but the week we were set to shoot the entire state of Oregon caught fire. It was the most incredible thing I had ever seen. Smoke and ash filled the air, the sun was blood red, I couldn’t breathe let alone make the film, and my love life was in a peculiar transition. It was incredible, and to top it all off I had lost my wallet a couple of days before my flight. So I kept the script and moved back to Philly.
https://youtu.be/ysSUh7mhk8g
When I moved back, it was the first time I had lived with my parents since I was 17. I felt strange. So I decided to write another short film. Suddenly, I had two ideas and wanted to make a feature that involved three stories that were only connected by the film's movement. It didn’t necessarily work out that way, but that was the genesis for ‘Fingers in the Wind’. Ideas and movement.
What have you learned following the making and exhibition of your film?
I’ve learned a lot about myself and about filmmaking. A lot of things you can only learn by doing. I think most importantly, I’m really learning about the kind of filmmaker I want to be and who I am as an artist in general. I’ll always be searching, and my films will probably always reflect that, but I feel very comfortable with the journey that I’m on, even when I’m frustrated. This has been a great ride so far. I felt very affirmed while screening the film for audiences. Their engagement with the film means the world to me.
What three takeaway lessons have you learned in your journey so far that aspiring filmmakers should also know?
Somewhat similar to my first answer: stick to your guns. You’re special and unique. There is a lot of repetition in these streets, not just in cinema but in the art world in general right now. It’s sad and numbing, but don’t let it get to you. Don’t fall for the trappings of late-stage capitalism that lurk in every creative industry. I heard Spike Lee once say “Don’t worry about the industry”. That’s probably the hardest thing to do as a young filmmaker; to not worry about the industry. But he’s right. Don’t worry about the industry.
What is your take on the current state of cinema? Are there any issues you see, and if so, what would you do to fix them?
Often I feel we’re at a standstill in a really bad spot. There is definitely a war on arthouse filmmaking going on, and it really saddens me. I try not to worry about the industry too much, but I read a lot about the history of cinema, and I know we’re just simply in a different world. I don’t have any solutions, obviously, but I do think we need to change our ideas about the costs of filmmaking–literally, we shouldn’t assume it costs millions upon millions of dollars to make an average movie–and be more discerning about what is cinema and what is not. I’ll just leave it at that. I’m optimistic that audiences will always be thirsty for new and exciting films that do something with the form.
If there was one message that you would want audiences to take away after watching your work, what would it be?
Remain curious, and seek answers within yourselves because everything you need is already inside of you. A lot of people ask me to explain the film’s meaning. I get a little disappointed when that happens; not because I’m afraid they don’t understand it, but because they think anything I say has more validity than their own initial impression. As the audience, if a film moves you, or if any part of a film moves you, you ought to ask yourself how and why you think it did. What direction did this film move me in? What connection do I have to these characters in this world? What about the form of this film made me feel the feelings I felt when watching it? And what inside of me caused this relationship I now have with the film? I think if audiences begin to engage with films that way, examining their relationships with them instead of asking the director to tell them how they’re supposed to feel, then they will feel much more fulfilled when they engage with meaningful work.
You can follow Chad Murdock on Instagram, Twitter, Vimeo, or Studio Murdock online.
'Meet Me In The Bathroom' Relives The 2000s Indie Rock Boom
I’ve been to many concerts this year. Luckily, I've been able to see some of my all-time favorite bands: The Strokes, LCD Soundsystem, and Interpol. Not only are they all still together but they’re still touring, and continuing to make new music. This is especially impressive when you consider that they all started out in the early 2000s, and did so while they were just in their early twenties. Born out of a truly independent music scene and looking for a new scene in rock, these bands–as well as the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and others–would create a new wave of rock music, which is captured in the new documentary Meet Me In The Bathroom.
Released by Utopia, Meet Me In The Bathroom chronicles the rise of this indie rock scene and its lasting influence on the music scene today. It's based on the 2017 oral history book of the same name by Lizzy Goodman. The film combines interviews with everyone who was there to tell the story of the scene in their own words.
It’s a fascinating read (did I mention I’m an enormous fan of all of these bands and music?). Directors Will Lovelace and Dylan Southern (who co-directed the LCD Soundsystem concert doc Shut Up and Play The Hits) bring a similarly direct approach to telling the story, by way of using entirely archival footage.
The look of the film–all VHS “home movie-Esque” record footage–lends nostalgia to the feelings, of traveling back in time. There are no modern-day interviews, which feels totally transportive to the era. With incredible never-before-seen footage, we see what it was like to live in New York City. A city on the cusp of the new millennium, pre-internet, and pre-9/11.
As the doc shows, a few bands–looking for a new kind of rock music–emerged with a “new cool” rock aesthetic. The Moldy Peaches, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and the band that would single-handedly explode the scene–The Strokes–all changed music history. After the Strokes’ overnight success, new bands were born: Interpol, TV On The Radio, and later, LCD Soundsystem.
The footage of these bands from some of their earliest shows is incredible to see. You get to see them at their very beginnings here. Karen O of Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Paul Banks of Interpol introduce themselves to the camera for the first time. They play songs in small clubs like the lower east side Mercury Lounge. And it's all incredible footage for fans to see.
Meet Me in the Bathroom also shows the larger, pivotal moments in New York history: Y2K; the rise of the internet, and Napster, to which some bands started losing money to the free pirating program. And then, of course, the attacks on the World Trade Center. That footage is so raw and horrifying that it’s devastating to watch at times. It would, of course, have a major effect on them all.
Ultimately, the thing that comes across so prominently now is these young people’s aspiration to be tomorrow’s next rock stars appears to be born out of a need for acceptance. While brilliant musicians and artists, Julian Casablancas (The Strokes), Karen O (Yeah Yeah Yeahs), and Jame Murphy's (LCD Soundsystem) desire for rock stardom mask a seemingly large insecurity they had as younger people. It’s saddening to witness how corporate record labels and commercialism started to affect them on their rise to fame.
Meet Me In The Bathroom is full of nostalgia and exceptionally amazing moments, and I hope will turn more people on to this music. It’s a trip down memory lane that chronicles rock and roll and youth. It could just also inspire the next great wave of rockers and artists.
1h 45min. ‘Meet Me in the Bathroom’ is now playing in select Los Angeles and New York theaters.
Aftersun
There is a heartbreaking recognition that Aftersun confronts us with: even the best moments of our lives are temporary. Eventually, they will pass and become memories.
Aftersun takes place during a week-long vacation between Sophie (Frankie Corio) and her young dad, Calum (Paul Mescal). Set in a sunny Turkish beach town (more specifically, at a modest resort that the young dad can afford), Aftersun shows the simple yet important moments that also suggest the start of a pivotal time of coming-of-age.
The small, overlooked moments between parent and child–such as having your sunscreen rubbed in at the pool, lazily hanging around the hotel room, and snickering together throughout cheesy dinner shows–are rendered with incredible observation and an authentic heart that is emotionally moving.
The entirety of the film is naturalistic, unflashy, and full of warmth, due in large part to the nostalgia of the '90s time period. We return to the pre-cell phone, pre-digital distraction age (of which my own childhood vacations also took place).
The special bond that Sophie and Calum have can unmistakably be attributed to their shared youth. She's eleven, he's thirty-ish–somewhere between a child and an adult himself (his arm cast might imply that he too might still have some growing up to do). Sophie's young maturity and Calum's natural playfulness create an incredibly close relationship. They are each other's worlds.
However, through subtle storytelling, we soon feel a psychic disturbance that this idyllic vacation may be covering a deeper conflict. Early on, Sophie grimaces while seeing Calum's "weird ninja moves," but his Tai Chi practice–photographed more saddeningly later on–suggests that he's struggling to tamp down an inner conflict that Sophie isn't aware of, and too young to be to understand anyways.
As days pass and the vacation starts to reach its inevitable end, Calum–as if anticipating something we're not aware of–becomes increasingly unsteady. We're left hoping for the best despite the red flags, but the optimism is hard to sustain, especially in the film's final shot. I'll proceed without going into further detail, as I found that Aftersun's emotional impact comes from the slow reveals.
Bringing this story to the screen is first-time feature filmmaker Charlotte Wells. This directorial debut is such an impressive accomplishment, as it's easily one of my favorite films of the year. Wells' natural ability to capture and realize profoundly small moments also makes sense when you consider that Aftersun was inspired by her own childhood. The act of rendering a troubled past onto the big screen reminded me of Johanna Hogg's The Souvenir, another emotionally wrought and devastatingly personal film.
One of the best parts of the film is Wells' choice to weave in the recorded home video footage that Sophie takes throughout the trip. The grainy, shaky handheld footage of Sophie–face covering the screen–makes for a sense of present and past all at once; as if we're both experiencing their vacation in real-time, as well as watching it as a memory.
As Sophie gets ready to board the plane back home to stay with her mother, Calum uses his camcorder to capture the last few moments he has with his daughter. He records Sophie waving goodbye, and can't help himself from rewinding, fast-forwarding, and replaying that moment as soon as she leaves his line of vision. It's heartbreaking. There's an ambiguousness to what might have happened following that.
Aftersun creates incredible depth in showing just how impactful the subtle moments between a parent and child can be. Understanding that although moments don't last, no matter how badly we wish we could pause time, there is a sense of optimism when we realize that we'll always have the ability to keep those memories alive.
1h 42min. 'Aftersun' is rated R for some language and brief sexual material.