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.
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