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.
God's Creatures
God's Creatures, the new film from distributor A24, is a finely made, emotionally affecting work. By its end, you will be quietly shaken to your core. The patience and restraint with which co-directors Anna Rose Holmer and Saela Davis (The Fits) use in divulging its small plot's dramatics make for an impactful ending that will force you to confront both your personal ethics and your place within the larger world.
Related: 'The Fits' Proves That Creativity in the Film Industry is Not Dead
Stormy Clouds Ahead
The story takes place on the Irish coast. Constantly cloud-filled skies and stormy seas make for tough living conditions. It's what gives the townspeople their steadfast resolve to face life's many harsh realities.
These blue-collar workers–all of whom either fish the open seas or clean that day's catches–are tough. They're without many words, quietly committed to the immediacy of the job at hand.
Sharing small-town gossip or a cigarette break provides simple relief from an otherwise droll day. Maybe singing a traditional Irish song or having a pint or two after work.
The flip side of this life is the danger that's also near. An unexpected sea change at any moment can claim the life of any unsuspecting fisherman. Call it hazards of the job.
The relentless, merciless routines of life are what keep these people–and generations of families– humble, as well as religiously devout (cross-holding Catholics). You know your place in life and live out the joylessly familiar, unchanging seasons that always repeat.
That is, until whispers of an allegedly shocking event in the community begin to transpire, which slowly frays the fabric of everyone's lives forever.
A Slowly Unfurling Story
God's Creatures has a fairly simple plot. When a mother's (Emily Watson) son (Paul Mescal) unexpectedly comes home after many years away, only to coincide with new rumors of a supposedly dark event that took place, Aileen (Watson) reckons with protecting her son or the acknowledging of a possibly dark truth.
Without giving away any details of the act in question (which the movie mysteriously teases), the film takes us on an emotional journey that tracks the stress of guilt on Aileen's soul, as she struggles to feign ignorance of stories that make Brian (Mescal) out to be a perpetrator of a gruesome act.
Conversations that once flowed cheerfully between Aileen and her colleagues at the fishery grow short and sparse. Soon, silences and purposefully diverted eyes begin to ostracize Aileen, making for a tense emotional journey that grows heavier as the film goes on.
It's a plot that may be simple in structure, but the way that co-directors Holmer and Davis tell it is very impressive. The measured way in which information is slowly learned–ultimately revealing a picture that grows unnervingly clearer (aligning with the inevitable weakening of Aileen's own chosen ignorance)–is excellent filmmaking.
Moreover, connecting the small human drama to the larger universal level is where the film reaches another point of acclaim. Credit editors Jeanne Applegate and Julia Bloch for attuning the audience's senses to the rhythms of life, where imagery of a bottomless sea feels suffocating, and the windswept swaying of seagulls in the sky show what freedom and relief must feel like.
God-fearing Creatures
Starring in the film are Emily Watson (born and raised in London), and Paul Mescal (an Ireland native), who here play a mother and son. Both are exceptionally fine actors, able to convey cavernously deep emotional inner depths.
Watson is the film's central character and the film's emotional center. The story's suspense essentially hinges on Waton's face, in which we know where we're at in the movie by the emotions she chooses to hide and reveal. Watson's performance is exceptional.
Mescal–whose work I personally haven't been too familiar with (no, I haven't yet watched the acclaimed series Normal People)–is quickly proving to be a star in this "A24 indie drama" space. It's thrilling that Mescal's talents align with his interest in being in more serious, smaller arthouse fare (he also captivated me in the soon-to-be-released drama, Aftersun).
There's one person I haven't mentioned yet, and she's who actually cements the entire film. And that's Aisling Franciosi, who here plays Sarah Murphy. While Watson and Mescal convey mysterious uncertainties with their performances, Franciosi's performance–that of a young woman who is allegedly assaulted–is the most wide-ranging. She inhabits every part of this young, pure-hearted small-town girl, whose singing voice feels like a sliver of beauty and hope; a port in an otherwise dark storm.
Directors Saela Davis and Anna Rose Holmer have succeeded in their second feature film, God's Creatures, connecting a small human drama to the larger forces of life. In the end, the takeaway is two-fold: we see how painful and harrowing life can be. But sometimes, if we're able to survive and confront our personal storms, we can write ourselves a new life.
1h 40m. 'God's Creatures' is rated R for language.