Author: Lola Cardona

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Arts

Licorice Pizza: Approaching womanhood in boyhood tales

A still from the film.

An otherwise endearing story misses the mark at depicting complex women

In director Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest film, an ambitious teenage boy meets a young woman who is still figuring her life out. The teenager, Gary Valentine (Cooper Hoffman) tries to ask Alana Kane (Alana Haim) out, but she rejects him for good reason: she claims to be 25, a good 10 years Gary’s senior, but she’s known to lie. What follows, however, is a rocky but heartfelt friendship as the two come of age in 1970s Los Angeles. There is no strong plot to speak of. The central conflict comes from the highs and lows of Gary and Alana’s friendship, one that is riddled with jealousy despite the agreement that their relationship is platonic and professional.  

Gary and Alana’s banter and the clash of their personalities propel the story forward. As they get to know each other and learn more about themselves in the process, the audience is on the journey with them, and comedic scenes keep viewers engaged. But at the end of the day, Licorice Pizza exists for the audience to spend time with the characters without the rules of a classic film narrative. Changes come and go, as they do in life, and so the crux of the film becomes determining the true nature of Gary and Alana’s feelings for one another. However, in my watching of the film, I ultimately became most concerned with determining the nature of its relationship with women. In several scenes, Alana loses her agency and autonomy to the whims of men, both willingly and unwillingly. 

In one scene, Jon Peters (Bradley Cooper) leans over her as she drives a truck, attempting to “help” her pass a car on a narrow lane, getting uncomfortably close to her face. In another, Gary is tempted to touch Alana while she sleeps, but he doesn’t give in. Other times, Alana willingly sexualizes or exposes herself for the attention or validation of her male peers. There is an odd trend of Alana seeking the validation of the boys and men around her. This isn’t to say that no female character can ever have this trait, especially considering it happens frequently in reality, but the difference in how she and Gary are represented leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Gary’s inner life is rich. He’s goal-oriented, confident, and always on the lookout for a new business venture. He feels strongly about Alana and enjoys her company, but he doesn’t rely on her validation and attention the way she relies on his. There are moments when he is jealous of the attention she receives from other men, but he never has to be as physically vulnerable as she does. 

Alana can be endearing because of her relatability as a young woman who is unsure of her future, spending her time with friends to pass the days. Gary can be endearing because of his strong ambition and his dedication for her. But the way Alana is written as needing male validation with no arc that allows her to seek validation inwards makes her character feel incomplete. In other words, Alana feels like a victim of the male gaze, in that she only exists to do something for the men on screen, behind the camera, and in the audience, rather than existing as a complex character in her own right.  

Ultimately, my feelings towards the film are mixed. Women can be insecure and flawed, and deserve to be represented as much as confident, strong women are. Alana is all these things, but her womanhood is tied so much to the men around her, it makes it hard to fully enjoy the film as a slice-of-life, character piece. That said, each character had a distinct essence to them, with their individualized quirks and personalities. The film deals with themes of growth, unrequited feelings, and friendship, all of which make for a lovely coming-of-age tale. But ultimately, the male gaze (as well as some racist jokes), get in the way.  

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Arts

Dune: Villeneuve delves back into sci-Fi

Denis Villeneuve offers a masterclass in world-building, but falls short emotionally

Denis Villeneuve’s last film before Dune, Blade Runner 2049, demonstrated the director’s mastery of sci-fi world-building and emotionally engaging filmmaking. It left a tremendous impact on me, and I couldn’t wait to see him transport audiences yet again to another expansive, futuristic universe. Dune focuses on Paul Atreides, son of Duke Leto Atreides and Jessica Atreides, a Bene Gesserit. In this universe, the Bene Gesserit are a creed of spiritual women with supernatural abilities passed down from daughter to daughter. However, Jessica believes that Paul may be the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy, a boy with incredible abilities, including being able to accurately see the future. In the film, this boy is referred to as Kwisatz Haderach.

House Atreides, one of the many wealthy and powerful families within the Galactic Padishah Empire, is ordered by the emperor of the known universe sent to occupy Arrakis and take over the production of spice. Spice is an invaluable substance that allows for interplanetary travel, but acts as a psychoactive drug when consumed on its own. Arrakis was previously controlled by House Harkonnen, an oppressive, tyrannical family who cared little about the native people, called Fremen. Duke Leto wishes to change this dynamic and have peace with the Fremen, while still occupying their land for profit.

Denis Villeneuve is very skilled at world-building, which is one of the aspects of the film I enjoyed the most. The cinematography is not only beautiful, but the slow editing speed allows the audience to explore the spaces at their own pace. This is especially true for all the outdoor sequences on Arrakis, which elegantly present the endless desert landscape and the potential of finding the coveted spice that conceals itself in the sand. Villeneuve’s portrayal of Dune is carefully constructed, and the visual details that go into each scene lead me to appreciate the setting even more.

But Dune isn’t all style and no substance. In the film, Villeneuve explores the novel’s themes of colonialism, as well as destiny and fate, as Paul attempts to understand his place in Arrakis as the apparent messiah of the Fremen. Of course, the aspect of Dune where Paul explores his abilities and his place in the prophecy works in tandem with the thematic exploration of colonialism. Dune is a very thought-provoking film, as it offers a deeply detailed construction of a sci-fi world, but also doubles as a criticism of the harm associated with how 21st century countries have come into being.

Additionally, actors Oscar Isaac and Rebecca Ferguson, who portray Duke Leto and Jessica, deliver masterful, gripping performances, which were definitely highlights of the film for me. They had excellent chemistry as loving parents, but also as individuals with loyalties to old orders, ensuring that their son takes on both roles that they expect of him as the future duke and Kwisatz Haderach.

However, the film did fall short on engagement towards the latter half. A lot of lore and backstory from the novel was left out, and yet the film still felt incredibly long. It had some emotional elements missing in the sense that I stopped feeling connected to the characters. After House Atreides is faced with extreme danger, and after the world of Dune and its politics are introduced, the film becomes a little less captivating. I imagine that the film will make more sense with the release of the sequel, but without it, it is oddly structured as a stand-alone film.

Overall, Dune offers incredible cinematography, and Villeneuve builds a beautiful and fascinating world, but falls short when it comes to keeping the audience engaged after a certain point. I would still recommend seeing it for yourself, especially for fans of science-fiction and fantasy.

 

Screenshot taken by Catherine Reynolds

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Arts

‘Titane’: Hard to watch, easy to feel

Director Julia Ducournau’s latest horror film explores the monstrous relationship a person can have with their body

Off the heels of the successful and widely-talked-about film Raw, director Julia Ducournau continues to be fascinated by body horror, a subgenre of horror that deals with the human body in gory, disturbing, and intense ways. If anything, she levelled up the repulsiveness of her images to further explore the monstrous relationship between a person and their body. Don’t get me wrong, I was expecting and looking forward to this; I deeply admire Ducournau’s undaunted gaze. But Titane was an intense, shocking experience despite my preparedness.

Titane follows Alexia, a woman with a metal plate embedded in her skull after a childhood car crash, who now makes a living stripping at car shows. Viewers soon discover that she is responsible for several recent deaths. After an attempted murder goes wrong, she then steals the identity of a missing boy, Adrien, who hasn’t been seen in a decade. In disguise, she reunites with the boy’s father, posing as his lost son. If that wasn’t enough, Ducournau takes a fantastical, anthropomorphic (the application of human traits to non-human subjects) approach to Titane, where Alexia has special connections with vehicles. In between murder and identity theft, Alexia has sex with a car and quickly becomes pregnant with its child. Her stomach is protruding and scarred, and she leaks motor oil which underscores the fantastical horror element of this entire scenario. Meanwhile, Adrien’s father, Vincent, injects himself with steroids in an attempt to delay the effects of ageing. The rest of the film follows Alexia and her volatile relationship with Vincent, who believes that his son has finally returned home.

The film is difficult to digest. A sudden wave of emotion and intense imagery left me confused about what to think and feel. Despite the grotesque nature of its plot and style, Titane is somehow also about the validity of human love and connection. Despite the disconnect between mind and body, the war Alexia’s body rages on her and the way Vincent treats his own body, and their mutual distrust, their hearts still find a connection. This delicate aspect of the film is almost confusing once you realize it’s there. It’s hard to tell if there is real love between the characters, or if it’s a product of delusion and manipulation. As the film closes, it becomes evident that there is a certain beauty in the bond formed between Alexia and Vincent, despite their relationship forming under false pretenses.

In regards to the body horror that was featured in the film, there was also a fascinating display of gender fluidity. Alexia’s terrifying pregnancy parallels the disconnect between who she was and who she is trying to become: someone’s son. There is something to say about the clash between flesh and metal, love and alienation, hostility and isolation. It almost feels like three movies in one, but I think that demonstrates Ducournau’s skill at interweaving genres, visceral feelings, and images that conflict in compelling ways.

All in all, Ducournau explores the nasty parts of being human, and leaves the audience with the message that our bodies control us more than we control our bodies. Titane is thought-provoking, but don’t expect to understand this movie upfront, or even for a while after. It’ll leave you shocked or confused or uncomfortable, just as I felt. This film requires time to percolate in your mind, even multiple viewings. In the end, don’t watch this film if you have a weak stomach for gore or uncomfortable images.

 

Screenshot of Titane

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Arts

Mank sets out to pay homage to Citizen Kane

David Fincher’s latest film falls flat in revealing Herman J. Mankiewicz’s inner life

Mank was hard to sit through. This is both surprising and disappointing to me, as an avid fan of director David Fincher’s work. But when it comes down to it, Mank simply doesn’t pack the punch it needed to keep me engaged.

The film follows Hollywood screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz as he heals his broken leg in a far-away lodge, writing what would become Citizen Kane. Meanwhile, we jump sporadically into various moments of his past, exploring the people who’ve inspired the script and significant events that affected the writer. These flashbacks, which make up most of the film, attempt to reveal Mankiewicz’s inner life.

The problem is that the flashbacks are confusing and feel disconnected from each other. More generally, Mank has a big editing and writing problem — the entire structure is off. The introduction of flashbacks and the end of “present-day” scenes lack motivation; nothing in a previous scene clearly triggers the succeeding flashback. At points, it almost feels random.

And while you’re trying to figure out the connections between scenes, the excruciatingly long dialogue sequences only add insult to injury. Everything seems so convoluted as characters talk a whole lot about nothing, only making me wonder “Why is this here, and what am I supposed to be learning?” It seemed as though the real story of the film was hidden somewhere in these flashbacks, but the confusing back and forths only make it difficult to know what exactly that is.

I believe that Mank’s structure fails itself because it tried too hard to pay homage to Citizen Kane. The black and white cinematography and 1940s sound is done well and works as intended, but it should have been kept at that.

The reason Citizen Kane’s heavy use of flashbacks works is because the story supports that structure. It’s about a journalist interviewing people who knew the titular character after he died. Its structure is what helps make the story so dynamic. The film also makes explicitly clear the connection between the present scene and the flashback. Mank falls flat relying heavily on flashbacks because its story just doesn’t support it, or at least it didn’t need it. There is no doubt that Fincher can direct complex films, he’s made an admirable career out of it. He just lost something with Mank.

Fincher has had an ability to adapt real stories and novels and transform them into thematically rich pieces; The Social Network is about the development of Facebook on the surface, but really, it’s about friendship, loyalty, betrayal, and the fine line between ambition and greed. Zodiac follows journalists’ and detectives’ search for the Zodiac Killer, but it’s really about the consequences of obsession.

Mank just doesn’t have the same spark. Obviously, it would be ridiculous to assume that every film needs to be deeply philosophical, political, or personal, but Mank seemed like it was setting up something more. When I compare Mank to Fincher’s previous work, I don’t see the same strength in his themes.

Ultimately, Mank is confusing and long, which makes it hard to care about. There is no attempt to connect to its characters, to make them likeable, or to make themes and plot clear.  It’s harsh to say this, especially as a fan of David Fincher, but at the end of the day the descriptors “confusing” and “boring” are accurate, and that is just a bad combination to have.

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Arts

MURAL Festival became an “Estival” during COVID-19

Even in the midst of a pandemic, art prevails

Montreal’s MURAL Festival was founded in 2012, beginning as “a love letter from Montreal to the world” with a goal to democratize street art. It is known for its celebration of the arts, with renowned artists from all around the world contributing and showcasing their live art, music, and exhibitions.

“We are the meeting place of creative minds and we represent the festive and innovating soul of a booming artistic scene,” its website states.

Whether you’re a tourist or a Montreal native, this annual 11-day event is an excellent way for people to discover great art and artists. During a normal summer, these festivities would consist of huge crowds attending music shows, talks, performance art and more. However, this isn’t a normal summer, and the MURAL Festival adapted accordingly.

Although the usual festival was cancelled, the Estival, derived from the French word for summertime, was created in its place. The MURAL Festival believed that even with this past summer’s conditions, it was important that people still had the freedom to express themselves and for others to take time to relax and appreciate the art. Only this time, safe distances were mandatory.

So, instead of an 11-day festival, the Estival would take place during the three months of summer, without gatherings of any kind. There would still be physical street work going on, but many of the music performances and conferences were streamed online so that citizens could watch their shows safely. Guided tours of the artworks were available as well.

Towards the end of August, I picked up my camera and explored the streets of downtown Montreal in search of large, beautiful murals. As a Video Editor for The Concordian, I decided to check out murals from MURAL Festivals of years’ past to make a video, but I also went to satisfy my own curiosity. I started on St-Laurent Boulevard .

Most of the art I encountered was in great shape; they were huge, bright, and beautiful. Some artworks, like Daniel Joseph Bombardier’s Denial, just off of Prince Arthur Street, had powerful messages embedded in them. Other artworks, likely because of their age, were damaged or covered up with graffiti in some way. Zilon, which was named after the artist, created in 2014 and located at the corner of St-Dominique Street and Marie-Anne Street, was covered in white and black spray paint, leaving only small parts of the image visible.

One thing I realized while documenting all of these pieces of art was the importance of street art. The MURAL Festival itself is a celebration of art in all its forms, but the murals that remained served as a subtle reminder to appreciate the art that we’re surrounded by. Street art is a way for people to enjoy cities and neighbourhoods, whether foreign or local to them, and, especially now, admire artwork safely outside.

Murals fill city streets with colour and life, and as someone who hasn’t lived in Montreal for long, murals help me see the beauty in the ordinary; a normal walk to work can turn into a walk through culture and art. Even amid a pandemic, the MURAL Festival was able to maintain its yearly tradition and add more art to the city. So, even though the Estival is over, and past Festivals are long gone, their stamps on the city remain, and it makes the world a slightly brighter place.

 

Photos by Christine Beaudoin

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Opinions

What the Academy’s new eligibility standards say about Hollywood

This attempt to inspire inclusivity doesn’t strike the root of the diversity problem

On Sept. 8, 2020, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences announced a new series of eligibility standards for the category of Best Picture. As expected, this caused a storm of conflicting emotions.

Personally, it led me through a wave of frustrating questions.

Here’s a brief summary of the new eligibility rules: there are four standards, and a film must meet at least two to be considered. These rules won’t be imposed until 2024.

Standard A has to do with representation on-screen, meaning either one lead actor must be from an underrepresented group, OR 30 percent of the ensemble cast must be from an underrepresented group, OR the main subject matter of the film must concern an underrepresented group.

Although the Academy has a different definition of “underrepresented group” for each standard, it is generally defined as anyone from an underrepresented racial or ethnic group, women, LGBTQ+ people, and people with disabilities.

Standard B concerns creative leadership and project teams. So, at least two creative leadership positions or department heads must be minorities (director, writer, editor, casting director, costume designer, set, director, cinematographer, VFX supervisor, etc), OR six people in technical crew positions must be minorities (gaffer, first assistant director, script supervisor, etc), OR at least 30 percent of the crew must be minorities.

Standard C concerns industry access and opportunities, which requires the film’s distribution or financing company to provide paid apprenticeships and/or internships for underrepresented groups. Also, there must be training opportunities and skill development for crew members of a minority group.

Standard D concerns audience development. The film studio must have multiple in-house senior executives from underrepresented groups.

Realistically, it wouldn’t be hard for a film to reach these standards — the issue is the fact that they had to be made in the first place. According to Variety, some Academy voters, who consist of people who work within the film industry, skimmed through the rules and assumed it would be the end of their creative dreams; people felt that they were being told what to do with their art. Actor Viggo Mortensen said that he felt it was “exclusion, which is discrimination” and said that films like 1917, which is about two British soldiers during WWI, wouldn’t be eligible. Neither of these statements are true.

The Oscars is the most widely known and respected film awards ceremony, and these rules may encourage major studios to produce films that are more inclusive to women, people of colour, disabled, and LGBTQ+ people, on and off-screen. However, it only highlights Hollywood’s failures even more.

In the last few days, a year-old video of Viola Davis came to my attention, where she expressed her frustration with “inclusion riders,” which is a term in a filmmaker’s contract that requires a specific level of diversity in the cast and crew. Davis says, “I don’t want to be a part of any piece of paper that has to force people to see me,” explaining that if you’re not putting minorities in positions of power while also having an inclusion rider, then all of the minorities will continue to be sidelined.

“You’re saying ‘accept the bone,’” she continues. “Why is there a resistance to inclusion and diversity?”

Even though this video is a year old, Davis is absolutely right. Why can’t major studios support films that are authentic and good, that also happen to be inclusive? Why were they so resistant to the idea, that other organizations had to set new policies?

I believe that these new rules, although made with good intent, are only a quick fix that don’t solve the root issue of systemic racism, sexism, homophobia and ableism present in Hollywood. We might be getting more representation, sure, but there won’t be any real change until minorities have the chance to be in positions of power, such as presidents of major studios. It also reduces POC, the LGBTQ+ community and disabled people to a checklist, numbers on an inclusion standard form rather than creative, strong individuals who are wanted.

This brings us back to Davis’ question: why is there a resistance to inclusion and diversity?

The likely answer is that those in positions of power wouldn’t benefit from it. Presidents of large corporations only benefit from inclusion when it makes them money. Why do you think Disney made 17 Marvel films before they made Black Panther?

The Academy has no control over what movies are made, but they do have control over which movies are praised at their awards show, which ultimately garners that film more views and more money. Audiences have been fighting for representation, but Hollywood isn’t changing fast enough, so the Academy implemented rules to encourage that change.

This is only the first step, and this won’t magically make Hollywood care about women, POC, the LGBTQ+ community, nor disabled people. I believe they came from a good place, but it doesn’t feel good to be reduced to a checkmark on a list in some executive’s hands. Are minorities only in Hollywood to meet a quota, or do you really want us to be there?

 

Graphic  by @the.beta.lab

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Arts

Horse Girl: Approaching ambiguity in film

Alison Brie loses her grip on reality in Horse Girl

Jeff Baena’s film Horse Girl focuses on a woman named Sarah who slowly loses her grip on reality. She is portrayed by Alison Brie as an awkward and shy woman, and we get a sense of Sarah’s daily life working at a crafts store by day and watching supernatural crime shows at night. At home, she’s pitied by her mean-spirited roommate Nikki, played by Debby Ryan. Nikki organizes a last-minute birthday party for Sarah who was going to spend the evening alone, and later that night she has a strange dream. Soon, Sarah begins to have recurring blackouts and starts to see people from her dreams in real life.

First and foremost, Alison Brie is spectacular. Her performance is believable, strong and moving. No matter how crazy Sarah’s delusions get, you never doubt that she believes them. Brie makes her character’s descent into madness feel rooted in real emotion. John Reynolds charmingly accompanies her as Darren, Sarah’s love interest who accidentally fuels her fantasies. Horse Girl was co-written by Baena and Brie, which marks the actress’s debut as a screenwriter. She is previously known for her stunning range of work in TV shows like GLOW, Mad Men and Community.

Despite being engrossing throughout its runtime, Horse Girl fails in achieving some ambitious goals that would have been integral in making the film memorable. There were plenty of interesting ideas: it’s a character study, it shoots for ambiguity through a possibly unreliable narrator, and it discusses conspiracy theories and issues related to mental illness. 

On a technical level, the film is perfectly fine. There are cool zoom shots, and I particularly like some of the imagery in the film and how it depicts Sarah’s state of mind towards the end. There are some tonal shifts throughout the film as the atmosphere becomes darker and crazier, but these changes are justified because they make sense according to Sarah’s perspective. Additionally, the transitions were smooth.

Horse Girl is a bit slow to start but ambitiously grasps at many big themes, which I respected as a viewer. However, it was this attempt to capture so many ideas that led to my biggest issue with the film: the ambiguity, or lack thereof. Baena seems to be trying to puzzle the audience and make us wonder if Sarah’s delusions might be real. There are some suggestions that create this ambiguity, like scratches on walls or strange people who believe her theories, but the most compelling evidence was introduced too late in the story. Because of this, I was never convinced that any of the strange events were outside of her mind, despite the fact that the film is trying to set it up to be vague. This made the ending, although interesting, less impactful. When it came to themes of conspiracy theories and mental illness, they were not explored in-depth enough to feel like anything was truly being said about it.

All in all, Horse Girl is a fascinating study of one woman’s mind and the film stays committed to her perspective. It was not life-changing by any means, despite its attempts at tackling ambiguity and dark themes, and it isn’t as mind-bending as it would like to be. Yet, it’s a fun ride nonetheless. It’s worth it for Brie’s performance alone.

Categories
Arts

Portrait of a Lady on Fire: A tale of burning desire

A stunning portrayal of queer love, art, and the female gaze

Portrait of a Lady on Fire, written and directed by Céline Sciamma, is a beautiful film, through and through. Everything from the screenplay to the cinematography invokes an abundance of emotion and builds tension between the two main characters, Héloïse and Marianne. In the late 18th century, a woman named Héloïse is about to be married against her will, and Marianne is an artist commissioned to paint her in secret. Marianne keeps her intention unknown because Héloïse has refused to pose for previous painters to defy her imminent marriage. Although Héloïse believes Marianne to just be a walking companion, their relationship develops into something more as their desire for each other grows.

The pacing of this film, due to its direction and writing, is flawless. It is slow without being boring; every scene introduces new emotional elements that keep the film going. The chemistry between the lead actresses, Adèle Haenel and Noémie Merlant, is remarkable. Their performances are nuanced and natural, bringing raw emotion to the forefront of each scene. The characters’ yearning for each other is expressed through glances, stares and carefully composed body language. The pace makes you anticipate the budding romance, and the tension between the leads is expressed during these slow scenes.

Sciamma explores interesting themes other than love and queer romance through her writing: art, womanhood, memory and the concept of “the gaze”— how we observe art and other people. There is a fascinating exploration of the female gaze and the difference between being looked at and being seen.

Another thing that stands out about Portrait of a Lady on Fire is its sound design and soundtrack. It wasn’t until a song was sung by a group of women in the film that I realized there was no soundtrack at all – every sound is diegetic (meaning it’s occurring inside the world of the characters). Throughout the film, only two songs are heard. In between, every sound overwhelms the space, even noise as small as the movement of fabric. Sciamma’s choice here was clever, for the lack of nondiegetic sound in the film produces a sense of authenticity for the time period. The sounds of the natural world are almost overwhelming, which contrasts with the present day, as the natural world is often drowned out by man-made noise. When music is heard, the experience is elevated to a new emotional intensity, allowing you to connect with the character’s experience.

The mise-en-scène is gorgeous as well. The dark, candlelit rooms evoke a sense of warmth, comfort and intimacy. The bright and colourful exterior shots by the ocean create a feeling of freedom and expression—it is where Héloïse and Marianne share their first kiss, after all. Like the sound design, each shot was carefully assembled for the sake of the story and effectively captured the characters’ longing for each other.

Ultimately, Portrait of a Lady on Fire is an excellent film. Sciamma knows her craft and expertly constructs a film that makes the setting feel genuine and drives the audience to understand what the characters feel. It is an emotional experience that is beautiful to see and hear; it is not something to be missed.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire will be accessible on Video On Demand on April 3.

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Arts

Birds of Prey: Cathy Yan takes flight

Absolutely all over the place, loud, bright and crazy

Prior to Birds of Prey, Cathy Yan was a relatively unknown director. Yan’s directed three shorts and one feature before, but has pretty much remained off the map. Until now.

With this Harley Quinn-focused DC film, the director makes quite the entrance into Hollywood. If I were to describe the style of the film in one word, it would be “manic.” The film was full of colourful, saturated images that burst with a soundtrack consisting of original and covered hip-hop and pop tracks. However, the film’s writing fell short.

I absolutely loved the look of Birds of Prey. It doesn’t shy away from vivid colour palettes, distinguishing it from other DC films. Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), breaks the fourth wall, and Yan depicts this with on-screen text inspired by comic book aesthetics. The soundtrack to Birds of Prey is definitely awesome on its own, featuring songs from artists like Doja Cat, Saweetie, Charlotte Lawrence and more. It adds an extra level of energy to a film that’s already full of it. However, during some scenes, the music was overbearing and distracted from the story itself. Often, these songs played during fight scenes, and since they don’t always carry along the plot, watching them felt like a music video rather than a film.

The premise is very simple, Harley Quinn goes after teenage thief Cassandra Cain (Ella Jay Basco) to save her from Gotham’s new evil menace: the Black Mask. Cain swallowed a diamond containing information valuable to Black Mask (Ewan McGregor). However, this premise was overly convoluted due to the non-linear structure of the film and its fast-paced editing. The non-linear storyline didn’t seem to add anything valuable to the film and instead made it a little rusty. There were offbeat tonal changes. Some scenes felt very out of place, particularly those with violence against women (which was included in the film to emphasize the intensity of the villain’s character.)

The performances were fun and hilarious, with Robbie and McGregor in the lead, and Basco, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Rosie Perez, Jurnee Smollett-Bell and Chris Messina supporting. Robbie gives an exaggerated and amusing performance. McGregor takes the cake, managing to play an awful person while still being ridiculous and weird. In terms of acting, everyone is on their A-game and delivers the right amount of absurdity without being irritating.

Ultimately, I loved Birds of Prey’s sense of personality. The film was obviously from Harley’s point of view, and everything in the film supported that, from the loud music and wild colouring to its odd story structure. Even the production design feels like it belongs in a Harley Quinn movie, including weird, provocative decor, abandoned amusement parks, and colourful nightclubs.

Even with its issues, Birds of Prey knows Harley Quinn well. The film was all over the place, loud, bright and crazy. But in the end, Yan wasn’t afraid to use her own style and because of that, Birds of Prey is a load of fun.

 

 

Illustration by @joeybruceart

Categories
Arts

The Irishman is a marvel of a film

Strong themes make this long film worth the watch

Martin Scorsese’s The Irishman is a complicated film. Bound to the confines of a nursing home, truck-driver-turned-hitman, Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro) narrates several decades of his life, discussing entering organized crime and the hits of his career. Sheeran enters this world through a Pennsylvania mob family, the Bufalinos, and along the way meets Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino), the leader of a labour union with connections to organized crime. On the surface, The Irishman is a story about a man climbing the ranks in the criminal world. Underneath, there’s so much more to it, with themes of guilt, loyalty, relationships and family.

Although the premise is simple, several chapters in Sheeran’s life are depicted nonlinearly. The timeline of the film is edited expertly by Thelma Schoonmaker, who has been Scorsese’s editor for over 50 years. With that in mind, The Irishman takes very striking liberties with its editing, from abrupt music cues and cuts, non-simultaneous intercuts, out-of-place jumpcuts and shots that only make narrative sense once the movie is over. At some points, the time jumps can be confusing, making some scenes difficult to follow, but the film was easy to understand even with that uncertainty. Needless to say, the editing was risky and seemingly unusual at times.

The film had a great sense of time, place and character. Everything was thought of meticulously, slowly building up to a climax in the film’s final scenes. Of the three and a half hours, the first two were fantastic, and the last 15 minutes were extraordinary. The pacing was strong and the tension was there. But, there was a lump in the middle that lost my interest and was difficult to get through. I’ll admit, it is a very long movie, and it does feel that way. For young people who didn’t grow up with Scorsese gangster flicks, it could even seem boring and hard to finish. It took me more than a day to watch it, so don’t be afraid to take your time.

The Irishman could be interpreted as a simple gangster flick, but it transforms into something more. We feel Sheeran’s family crumble as his daughter rejects him, his friends become more and more powerful and difficult choices about loyalty emerge. By the end, you realize it’s a story about relationships and, sadly, regret. It asks questions about growing old, and makes you wonder if Sheeran’s actions were actually worth the loneliness they would cause later on.

The core message of the film could have been conveyed in two hours. But, Scorsese made it three and a half, and somehow, none of that time feels unwarranted. Sure, it’s slow, but it takes its time with each scene. It allows dialogue to flow, it allows actors to become cemented into their performances and it allows the scene to resonate with the audience.

The Irishman is a refreshing break from the onslaught of films that are paced way too quickly, and for that reason, I think Schoonmaker and Scorsese did it right. 

Categories
Opinions

What the Oscars diversity issue says about Hollywood and its moviegoers

So, you’ve likely heard the news about the Oscars.

There were no female directors nominated and only one person of colour was named for an acting category. The thing is, I’m less angry about the nominations themselves, and more frustrated at what this perpetuates about films and their relation to women and people of colour (POC). There was no lack of films starring and directed by women and POC this year, but it wouldn’t seem that way based on Oscar nominations alone.

The issue in Hollywood is that white men are seen as the standard. A male director is just a director, but a female director is a female director. A movie starring a mostly-male cast is simply just a movie. A movie with a mostly-female cast is suddenly a female film. This creates a distinct separation between films helmed by women and films helmed by men. When a director or movie has the adjective “female” in front of it, it somehow loses credibility in the eyes of many male moviegoers and Academy voters. When it comes to characters on screen, white, male characters are considered to be more relatable than films about other groups of people; thus the nearly all-white acting nominees at the Oscars this year.

People want to be represented in the stories they consume, and are naturally drawn to those stories. The nominations by the Academy definitely reflects this, considering in 2018 the Academy was only 31 percent female and 16 percent non-white. Perhaps voters don’t connect to certain films, so they don’t interact with them. Moreover, according to Variety, one Academy member noted that there is “a bias even in what people choose to watch,” and later said that if nothing is done about this, then “we’re awarding awards to the best performance within films that Academy members are predisposed to watching, not the best acting performance in a given year.”

Hollywood could easily change and diversify the films it produces and the Academy could change the films in recognizes as prestigious, but they don’t.

When everything is taken into account, it seems as though there’s no real consideration for films about and by women and POCs—like movies that aren’t helmed by white men don’t matter as much. We’re taught to value the lives and struggles of white men while disregarding the lives and struggles of minorities. I’m not saying that the Academy should just give out awards to a film just as long as it is directed by a woman or POC. Artistic merit still matters. I’m saying they need to give those films a fighting chance, that they should be open to the stories of people that are different than they are.

A film doesn’t necessarily have to pass the Bechdel test to be a good movie, and most of the Best Picture nominees prove this since most of the films don’t pass but are still great films. But, I can still watch a film like 1917 or Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, connect to its characters, be emotionally invested in them and the picture regardless of the fact that the leads are white men. By that token, white men can then get themselves to the theatre to see films about women and POC and feel something for those characters. I’ve been able to find small ways to see myself in these roles all my life, so they can do it too.

We may not be Academy members, but we can choose which films to give our money to. Go and support films led by women. Go support films led and directed by people of colour. It’s not difficult, it’s just a matter of empathy. 

 

Collage by Laurence BD

Categories
Arts

Jojo Rabbit: a comedy about nazis. What could go wrong?

Director Taika Waititi teaches us to laugh at the idiotic nature of war

 

No, this isn’t a review for Peter Rabbit 2… Today we’re focused on Taika Waititi’s nazi comedy Jojo Rabbit.

Jojo Rabbit is a film focused on a little boy named Jojo who idolizes his country and its ruler, Adolf Hitler in the midst of World War II. As he trains to one day become a soldier, Hitler appears to him as his imaginary best friend and Jojo dreams of being in his inner circle. However, Jojo has to question his values and priorities when he discovers that his mother is hiding a Jewish girl in their house. Written and directed by Waititi, it is certainly an interesting movie when you think about its subject matter in relation to its genre; a comedy about Nazi Germany. Yet, somehow, Waititi pulls it off.

Waititi portrays Hitler with no regard for historical accuracy and instead plays an eccentric figure who encourages Jojo to be the best of the best. He’s exactly what a little boy’s imaginary friend would be, with no relation to the real person. This creates a distance between the actual historical figure and the version of Hitler Jojo has in his mind. This distance makes it clear that Jojo does not really love Hitler, but simply thinks he does. We never see the real Hitler, only the man interpreted through Jojo’s imagination. In that sense, the film poignantly explores ignorance and blind patriotism from the perspective of an impressionable young boy, a theme that carries weight today; through social media, many young people are encouraged to hate others before they even have a chance to learn about them. This can be seen on something as simple as a plethora of hate comments on a YouTube video to entire websites dedicated to hate groups. Jojo Rabbit follows this idea. It does not focus on nazism more than it needs to, it instead focuses on the outcome of its existence. Jojo Rabbit is a comedy with a purpose; to take a child unaware of what he really stands for and to put you in his shoes.

Along with its hilarity, Jojo Rabbit is also a very innocent film because of its perspective. There are many joyful moments as we see the world through a child’s eyes, and only as adults can we think of the repercussions of the situation around him. Roman Griffin Davis gave an excellent performance as Jojo, with great comedic timing and an ability to emotionally connect with the audience. At the age of 12, he’s got a huge future ahead of him, and I look forward to seeing where he goes next. Sam Rockwell, Scarlett Johansson and Thomasin McKenzie also had notable performances in this film and made for a great supporting cast.

There were frequent and jarring tonal shifts throughout the film, where you would laugh one minute then feel completely shattered the next. Although these shifts were striking, I believe that they were necessary thematically. As Jojo’s perception of the world around him and of himself changes, so does the film.

Jojo Rabbit makes you laugh at the absurdities of hate but still forces you to look at the suffering that comes from that animosity. In that sense, Waititi is a genius. He’s able to make a hilarious comedy about Nazis that retains emotional resonance about its subject matter. Keep an eye out for Waititi in the future, I have a feeling he has tons more in store.

 

 

Graphic by @sundaeghost

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