EMPTY MANSION: a review of "Saltburn"

 

"SALTBURN"
Written, Produced and Directed by Emerald Fennell
*1/2 (one ad a half stars)
RATED R

I would give this film points for trying...but honestly, did it?

By this point in 2024, almost 130 years into the history of cinema, it would be extremely hard pressed into seeing anything that could be presented as completely "original"--the very type of film that has essentially been unseen. This feeling seems to be especially true these days with the prevalence of sequels, prequels, reboots, re-imaginings and so on.  

However, I have extremely often been more than ready to proclaim something as being or feeling "original" and I know that I will do so again. I firmly believe that so many times over, filmmakers and cinematic storytellers are able to harness a specific artistry that allows them to combine so many elements, from the familiar to the unfamiliar, that once completed, we are given something that looks, sounds and feels unlike anything else. Or.. the originality in question arrives completely from a filmmaker's distinctive, idiosyncratic voice, taking the overly familiar and making everything feel fresh because of their specific worldview. 

Granted, wat is original to someone may be well worn to another, so what I am speaking about may not be the easiest thing to relay. But, in essence, when it comes to being original in film, you know it when you see it and you really know it when you don't. 

For my cinematic sensibilities Emerald Fennell's "Saltburn," her dark, psychological, erotic thriller falls sharply within the latter category. It is a stylish, slow burner that works itself up into sequences of demented frenzy while simultaneously not feeling in any bit of a hurry to get anywhere significant...until it does, and then, it's a mad dash to the point of being absolutely ridiculous as sheer logic is tossed out of the window in order to keep the so-called shocks coming. Beyond all of that, Fennell has helmed a work that is not remotely original in any conceivable way while also not possessing a point of view about its characters, its location or anything suggesting that Fennell thought beyond the superficial. As I say from time to time, I see these things so you don't have to. "Saltburn" is not the worst film I have seen in a while by any means. I have seen much worse. But, we have all seen better...as has Emerald Fennell. So much so, this film feels nearly copied from one exceedingly better film in particular.   

Set during the early 2000's, Emerald Fennell's "Saltburn" stars Barry Keoghan as Oliver Quick, an Oxford student enrolled on scholarship and all but ostracized by his wealthy classmates. Infatuated, and soon obsessed, with Felix Catton (Jacob Elordi) his gorgeous, popular and yes, exceedingly wealthy classmate, Oliver initiates a "meet cute" (via a broken down bicycle) and afterwards a friendship.

During their budding friendship, Oliver shares stories of his dire home life, including mental illness, substance abuse and his Father's sudden death, to which Felix grows increasingly empathetic, to the point where he invites Oliver to stay with him and his family upon their massive estate, Saltburn.  

Upon arrival at the estate, Oliver Quick is quickly introduced to the eclectic cast of characters in residence including: Felix's parents, Sir James Catton (Richard E. Grant) and Lady Elspeth Catton (Rosamund Pike), his sister, Venetia (Alison Oliver), Felix's African-American cousin and Oliver's Oxford nemesis, Farleigh Start (Archie Madekwe) and "Poor Dear" Pamela (Carey Mulligan), Elspeth's friend and "hanger on."  

As the summer wears on and Oliver and Felix's friendship grows closer, Oliver also begins to insinuate himself within the family, much to Farleigh's chagrin and intensifying suspicion towards Oliver's true intentions. Which by now might begin to sound more than a little familiar...

Back in the Winter of 1999, I remember going to a doctor's appointment and while we were getting ourselves re-acquainted, she happened to off handedly mention, "I saw the absolute worst movie last night." Of course, my curiosity was piqued. I asked her what film she saw and when she told me, I was genuinely stunned as I had seen the same film and found it to being exceptional. Asking why her reaction was so strongly negative, she responded, "I hated it because it had absolutely no redeeming social value whatsoever." 

The film in question was Anthony Minghella's "The Talented Mr. Ripley" (1999). And my doctor's takeaway from her viewing experience essentially mirrors my own concerning Emerald Fennell's 'Saltburn."

Now, to be clear, my reaction has really nothing to do with being remotely offended by anything in the film's content as I do not offend easily. My reaction is based in several issues, including how little Fennell gave any thought to her film other than copying "The Talented Mr. Ripley" whole cloth. 

Yes, "Saltburn" is a stylish, at times opulent looking film. Emerald Fennel clearly knows how to construct her world, at least, through her visual and cinematic aesthetic. The film houses some clever dialogue, good performances overall and a chilly shell this side of Stanley Kubrick. And yet, the Fennell crawls trough her story until it feels that even she has had enough of the proceedings as the last, say 35-40 minutes of this two hour plus film crams so many "plot twists" at such a speed as to incur whiplash. Logical storytelling steps never appear at all, most crucially as the story spirals into darkness. Situations and consequences bear no weight and everything seems to come to pass with surprising ease that runs in conflict with the supposed complexities of the plot. 

One giant misstep is the casting of Barry Keoghan as the 18-20 year old Oliver Quick. This is not due to any lack of skill as he throws himself into the part and is game for anything required of him. It is the fact that he is visibly too old for the role! Yes, when Fennell clouds him in mood lighting or darkness, Keoghan's boyish features are identifiable. But, when he hits broad daylight! Wow. I honestly haven't seen casting for teen age/young adult characters this egregious since the...ahem...senior class of T-Birds and Pink Ladies of Rydell High sang themselves through the school hallways in Randal Kleiser's "Grease" (1978)!! This quality was so distracting that I was more than ready to experience a plot twist like the one found Jaume Collet-Serra's grotesque "Orphan" (2009), but "Saltburn" isn't as daring as it thinks it is because when it is all said and done, we have seen it all before and better.

Back to this theme of what makes a film "original." If you are familiar with Minghella's "The Talented Mr. Ripley," as well as the 1955 Patricia Highsmith novel from which the film is based, of course, we know that this story did not necessarily originate a plot starring a parasitic interloper infiltrating high society. Whatever emotions derived from Minghella's film arrive because he, his actors and his cinematic team, and most importantly, his first rate screenplay, ensured that for whatever any familiarity, he needed to dig deeply and create full, rich characters to allow the story to feel anew, especially when the setting of Italy contained major significance. Minghella strongly understood that the characters and the location needed to inform each other therefore, deepening our understanding of each element. We understood precisely why Jude Law's character was so magnetic and where Matt Damon's character's sociopathic tendencies developed and how the setting of Italy influenced each. 

Returning to my comparison to Stanley Kubrick, whose "The Shining" (1980) clearly feels to be a key influence in Fennell's "Saltburn," all the way to the garden maze on the estate grounds. After 44 years, we all know and can still feel the cruel, cold dread of the Overlook Hotel as we remember every nook, cranny and carpet pattern plus its own entity and how it related to that film's core characters.

More recently, we have Alexander Payne's superb "The Holdovers" (2023), a film that feels fresh due to the depths of the screenplay, attention to the layers of the characters and how they all connect and relate to the Barton boarding school. The setting and characters are inseparable from each other.

Unfortunately, there is no such detail or resonance to nearly any one moment in Emerald Fennell's "Saltburn." It is as if Fennell figured that whomever would potentially see her film would not have any knowledge of "The Talented Mr. Ripley," so what would it bother to lift the plot for herself? Just tweak the proceedings with the hollow flash and style that went out of fashion with Bret Easton Ellis novels, a red herring of a mystery that ultimately never comes to pass, and thunderously plunk in three scenes (involving a bathtub, a gravesite and the finale, respectively) which are solely designed to get viewers talking with an aghast "Can you believe it?!" demeanor and let's call it a movie. 

But since Fennell's film possesses no insight into human nature, the Saltburn estate is as indistinguishable from any remote English mansion or prep school or Hogwarts, and essentially only exists to get people talking about those aforementioned three scenes, then how could it have any redeeming social value? These scenes, these "shocking scenes" are attached to nothing tangible making them wasted opportunities to update the conceit of the story or the lives of the characters.    

Emerald Fennel's "Saltburn" is a resoundingly disappointing film that is completely devoid of character. And that's because she never bothered to write any.

SHE'S ALIVE...ALIVE!!!!: a review of "Poor Things"

 

"POOR THINGS"
Based upon the novel Poor Things by Alasdair Grey
Screenplay Written by Tony McNamara
Directed by Yorgos Lanthimos
**** (four stars)
RATED R

This is why we go to the movies!!!!

Dear readers, of course we all understand that the movies are a form of escapism. A place to go to evade the pressures of life for at least 2 hours and fall into another world. But for me, as I have stated before upon this blogsite, at their absolute finest, the movies are unquestionably an art form in which a roomful of strangers can experience together, therefore, undertaking a shared journey directly into what could be considered as dreams due to their transportive nature combined with the imagery upon the silver screen. When a movie operates at its peak, the experience for me is the sort where I can almost forget that I am sitting inside of a movie theater and the film itself graduates from images conveyed through artistry and craftsmanship and becomes an experience that pulsates with life. The film exists as its own state of being. 

Yorgos Lanthimos' "Poor Things" is exactly the type of film that whisked me from reality into its own fantastical world while reflecting its orgiastic, propulsive vision back to our real world via a force that lifted me. It is an electric film starring a go-for-broke Emma Stone in her finest cinematic hour to date, it also represents Yorgos Lanthimos delivering his best work since the defiant, unforgiving satire and Orwellian surrealism of "The Lobster" (2016), itself a film I placed at #4 on my personal favorite films of the decade between 2010-2019. For me, "Poor Things" is not only equal to "The Lobster." It is not only 2023's top film. It is a work that sits in that rarefied air of Daniel Kwan & Daniel Scheinert's "Everything Everywhere All At Once" (2022) as one of the best films of our current cinematic decade.   

Set in Victorian London, Yorgos Lanthimos' "Poor Things" weaves the tale of Bella Baxter (Emma Stone), the adult appearing yet developmentally infantized ward of the disfigured surgeon Dr. Godwin Baxter (Willem Dafoe). Upon taking on an assistant in medical student Max McCandles (Ramy Youssef), Godwin--whom Bella refers to as "God"--reveals that Bella is the result of his medical experiments as she was formed by harvesting the body of an impregnated young woman who had committed suicide, replacing her adult brain with the brain of the unborn child and then, re-animating her. 

The body of an adult woman powered by the gradually then rapidly developing brain of a child and further, Bella is studied by Max, who soon grows affection for her and wishes to marry her.  While  Bella accepts Max's proposal, she hungrily craves the freedom to explore and investigate the world beyond Godwin's mansion and grounds. Her desires are soon met by the arrival of attorney Duncan Wedderburn (Mark Ruffalo), with whom she has a tryst and soon abandons Dr. Godwin and Max and begins an odyssey that takes her across the continents and an evolution into her new self made existence socially, philosophically, intellectually, and sexually. 

Untethered to a past she cannot remember and societal rules and norms that are in essence meaningless, Bella Baxter's journey from infancy to liberation is a cinematic feast in Yorgos Lanthimos' "Poor Things." The production and audio visual landscape--presented superbly through Lanthimos's team including Cinematographer Robbie Ryan, Costume Designer Holly Waddington and Composer Jerskin Fendrix--suggests everything from the meticulousness of Wes Anderson films, the phantasmagorical surrealism of Terry Gilliam films combined with the art of Salvador Dali and Hieronymous Bosch and the clinical precision of Stanley Kubrick films while firmly extending the cinematic language developed by Lanthimos in past films, especially "The Lobster," which this film shares conceptual and thematic connective tissue.

Evoking Bella's world, which exists somewhere between dreams and the strands leading to the depths of nightmares, Lanthimos envisions his most rapturous and lushly presented landscape to date. I cannot stress enough, this is a HARD R rated film that is by turns grotesque, disturbing, occasionally gory, sexually graphic--dear readers, I cannot recall seeing a film this sexually extreme since Alfonso Cuaron's "Y Tu Mama Tambien" (2001)--and decidedly grim. 

That being said, it is also quite often very funny and I am also surprised as to how joyously playful it is! Nothing ever feels labored and everyone looks to be having a blast while building and existing in this impossible world!  And why not? Mark Ruffalo especially looks to be thrilled with being unleashed from the Marvel films for this stretch. Willem Dafoe extends far beyond what could have existed solely as a mad scientist role. From leading actors through supporting players, Yorgos Lanthimos is the filmmaker who treats his cast as they superlative gifts that they are and in turn gifts them with a story and characters they can run with. 

As with Yorgos Lanthimos' past films, there cannot be anything tentative in a film like this. You will either go with its flow or you will not. There is no middle ground.  With regards to the journey of "Poor Things," we are given something that is a blending of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein; or The Modern Prometheus (published 1818) and Voltaire's Candide (1759)--which itself birthed Christian Marquand's vulgar, picaresque sex fueled travails in the awful "Candy"(1968) and did indeed pop into my mind as I watched--and through its conceits, conceptions, inspirations and surrealisms, Lanthimos conjured up a veritable wave of a film experience to ride and he found a champion to lead the way in Emma Stone. 

Emma Stone is a revelation, As Bella, she completely commits and delivers a fearless performance that is completely unfiltered or steeped in self conscious vanity or ego. Much like the film itself, Emma Stone is working in a state of being as Bella. I just didn't really see a performance, so to speak. As Bella, Emma Stone...simply...IS! For the first third of the film or so, during which Lanthimos presents in striking black and white cinematography, Bella is depicted as being in her infant/toddler/preschooler phase of life despite the adult female form she embodies. I instantly was taken aback by the sheer physicality of Stone's work as she truly appeared to be an infant from her facial expressions, vocalizations, and especially the movements of her limbs. Honestly, as someone who is surrounded by children every day in my real world role as a preschool teacher, Stone was pitch perfect! How she walked, tumbles, grabbed, ate and reacted to the world in which she is learning...for the second time, unbeknownst to her initially.

And certainly, that is the key to the character...the way in. How would she--or all of us, for that matter--interact with an existence that we do not and could not know? Emma Stone's brilliance is that she not only richly depicts how Bella is engaging the world she is investigating, her ability to transfer that feeling to us int he audience is paramount, for then, we are firmly inside of Bella's experiences, giving us the ability to potentially remember or to reflect or to even imagine what was this feeling like for the very first time.

When Bella masturbates for the first time, thus unlocking a sexual awakening and curiosity, that first moment...honestly, it almost felt as if Emma Stone was making that discovery for herself as authentically as she rendered the emotions! While this moment leads itself to hysterical sequences, we are also walking through the door with Bella to a rediscovering of her own womanhood ad complete self, which then gives the film progressively deeper layers of poignancy, pathos and even a moral rage at the world in which Bella--and all women--exist. But...most importantly, a world that Bella does not remember and so, it possesses no meaning. 

With the exception of perhaps the kindly Max, the men in the world of "Poor Things" all exist to attempt to mold Bella Baxter into whichever image they happen to deem and often to unsuccessful effect. For if the world is wholly anew to Bella, and she is operating as a child, Bella's world view exists completely through her own desires. If she wants it, then so be it. If she doesn't, also so be it. She is completely of her own mind and it is unchanged, even as it develops and expands with knowledge of the world as it works and how it exists through its unfairness, inequalities and horrors. 

Bella Baxter's formidable qualities are forged through her untainted innocence which becomes the world's upending sense of anarchy as she is unable of being manipulated or controlled and again, Emma Stone's outstanding work showcases this character at every developmental stage (which I am still marveling at how she pulled this feat off--as I am certain the film was shot out of sequence per the norm). 

All of this being stated, this does lead to what I am certain would be a powerful debate between viewers, especially within a 2023 where we live in a country where women are not allowed to have full agency over their own bodies. For what does it have to take to have that agency...to be free? How should we feel about Bella's pilgrimage or sense of liberation? Is it liberation if a woman needs to live, commit suicide and be re-animated with the mind of a baby to experience the world all over again to finally claim the agency she should morally possess at birth? It is impossible for one film to contain an actual answer to that question but it is presented and it exists for us to question and debate as we drink up every moment that Yorgos Lanthimos elicits.

And again, this is exactly what the movies are for!!! Not disposable, forgettable visual baubles to never fully digest. Yorgos Lanthimos' "Poor Things" takes the eternal coming of age story yet injects a creepiness that bridges Grimm's fairy tales to body horror and still emerges through to the other side with a life affirming vibrancy and vivaciousness that celebrates the sense of discovery that is inherent with living life. 

There is nothing here that is disposable or remotely forgettable. Yorgos Lanthimos' "Poor Things" is grand, exhilarating, rapturous cinema. 

HAPPY 14TH BIRTHDAY TO SAVAGE CINEMA!!!!!

 

I am learning how to be more gentle with myself. 

I am learning how to re-create my own sense of happiness. 

I am learning to try and accept when changes happen knowing that everything cannot remain exactly the same forever. 

I am learning these things and so much more, especially today as Savage Cinema reaches its 14th birthday.

Dear readers, it was 14 years ago, as I sat in my parents' Chicago home basement, when this blogsite was born and I hit "PUBLISH" for the very first time. And once this posting is published, I would have performed this feat 856 times...and to that accomplishment, I should see it  as the accomplishment that it is...and I should be able to hold some pride in this accomplishment.

As I have written about over these last four years, and as you can witness from the decreased pace of new postings, Savage Cinema has slowed down due to personal, mental health issues which arose during the pandemic as well as how the movie industry itself has changed since the pandemic, from the types of movies being shown in theaters, to my home base of Madison, WI  losing essentially every movie theater we had ever since my arrival in this city 36 years ago.

Yet, I still love and believe in the art and artistry of the movies. And in doing so, I still love writing about them and I need to rediscover that belief in my abilities with writing about the movies, even if my output has slowed or if my confidence has waned due to my out put slowing. A vicious cycle...

Yet, through everything, year and year, you have been there for me when new postings arrive and I thank you. I thank you for your support, for your faith, for you just sending me any words at all showing me that you have read what I have written and messages have been received. 

It has existed for so long that it feels foolish to end it now...even if postings do not arrive as quickly or as frequently as in ears past. And here is where I need to be gentle with myself.

Every review written and posted is an accomplishment, it is a victory. Every single one. I need to claim ownership of this truth...plus the most important one...

I am a writer and this is my art. And I am still a writer and this is still my art even when I am not producing anything or if I go quiet. As I am gentle with myself, I remain grateful to all of you who have ever been with me upon this journey. I don't wish to write in a vacuum for I have always wanted this space to be a point to start conversations about the movies and the subject matter contained within them. 

My thankfulness is as bottomless as always. Thank you for allowing me to reach 14 years of this endeavor. 

I hope that you will remain with me for even more.    

KNOCK, KNOCK: a review of "Leave the World Behind"

 

"LEAVE THE WORLD BEHIND"
Based upon the novel Leave The World Behind by Rumaan Alam
Written For The  Screen and Directed by Sam Esmail
**1/2 (two and a half stars)
RATED R

At the beginning of this year, I went to a screening of Writer/Director M. Night Shyamalan's "Knock At The Cabin," an apocalyptic thriller based upon the novel The Cabin At The End Of The World by Paul G. Tremblay. I, unfortunately, did not write a full review of that film at the time. But in short, I was deeply impressed by Shyamalan's vision, perhaps his darkest to date, as he wove the tale of a family upon a vacation in the remote titular cabin being visited, and then taken hostage, by four strangers--led by the hulking Dave Bautista, in a terrific performance--proclaiming that the end of the world is nigh and to cease the apocalypse, the captured family would have to sacrifice one of their own. 

It was a wise and grim interior drama, during which we were unsure if the threat to the world's annihilation was either true or the product of insane delusions by the captors. Reminiscent of Writer/Director Jeff Nichols' grueling "Take Shelter" (2011), another, and wholly excellent, film where the lines between individual psychological breakdown and global extinction intersect and clash, Shyamalan improved upon past weaker efforts like his production of "Devil" (2010) and his previous directorial effort "Old" (2021) and created what felt to be a strong cousin to his superior "Signs" (2002) as his careful attention to character and all of their internalized nightmares threatened to make contact with existential ones. 

So, I do find it telling that as we reach the end of this year, we find ourselves with another film where a a vacationing family is suddenly confronted with strangers and the potential end of the world with Writer/Director Sam Esmail's "Leave The World Behind," his adaptation of the Ramaan Aman novel. Unlike what Shyamalan presented with "Knock At The Cabin" and aside from the pedigree of talent on display, Esmail has delivered a decidedly disturbing yet peculiar film which works for sections while becoming shakier during others, ultimately growing to a climax that did leave me swinging between a sense of despair and...a dismissive "meh." It was a most as if it was afraid of it own subject matter when we really needed to take that swan dive into Hell. 

"Leave The World Behind" stars Julia Roberts as the misanthropic Amanda Sandford, who impulsively arranges for a weekend getaway with her husband Clay (Ethan Hawke) and two teenaged children--Archie (Charlie Evans) and the "Friends" obsessed Rose (Farrah Mackenzie)--to a remote rental home in Long Island.

Upon arrival, all is not quiet as Amanda takes notice of a neighbor named Danny (Kevin Bacon) stocking up on supplies at a town grocery store. The TV and Wi-Fi signals are inoperable. The sudden presence of deer arrive in the backyard. And on a trip to a nearby beach, the family escapes the from the crash of an oil tanker washing ashore. 

And then, late in the evening, after the kids have gone to bed, there is a knock upon the door...

Enter the elegant, tuxedo clad George H. Scott otherwise known as "G.H." (an excellent Mahershala Ali) and his daughter Ruth (Myha'la), proclaiming to be the owners of the house and have returned home for shelter due to a blackout in New York City. Amanda is skeptical, to say the least, while Clay is more welcoming and allows G,H, and Ruth to stay for the night.

I feel this is just enough plot description that I can reveal without inadvertently producing spoilers and of course, if you are going to see tis film, I wish for you to experience it as unencumbered as possible. That said, it is not a spoiler to reveal that the potential of the apocalypse is a more than turbulent plot point as well as discovering if the validity to the identities of G.H. and Ruth play out or not. Ultimately,  Sam Esmail devises a film that is effective for many extended stretches, creating a chilling atmosphere that provides a telling reminder to a period of time and I am more than certain that we would like to forget.

In the months before the Covid-19 lockdown and the full arrival of the life altering pandemic, I vividly remember that life was feeling just as it is presented in the movies and the eerie mirroring was unsettling. I remember first hearing the news of this mysterious virus, first overseas and sooner than we could imagine, it was here in the United States. I remember taking one of my frequent trips to Walgreens to find people stocking up on paper towels and toilet paper, anchored by people's  movements which were indeed more frantic and panicked in their intent. I remember being in my classroom, hearing reports about how the virus made its arrival upon the nearby college campus, notifications of school closings not far behind and Friday, March 6, 2020 serving as the last day of school before the inevitable lockdown became official.  

Constantly watching the news reports which repeatedly confirmed that no one really knew anything about the virus and how to protect oneself, or if we could protect ourselves. The anxieties growing due to the uncertainties. The odd sense of relief felt when I, an introvert, did not have to leave the house for anything or interact with anyone except until the times when I did...and the anxieties contained in survival ratcheted upwards greatly. Then, the death tolls. And more and more death tolls. 

I could go on and on but I am hoping that this short recap was able to snap you back directly into your own feelings during this period, feelings I think that Sam Esmail's "Leave The World Behind" tap into with clean, dark effectiveness. That feeling of the dark unknown, that creeping doom which arrives, seemingly without warning, upending you from life as you already know it to be is firmly etched in how we are presented into the lives of Amanda, Clay and their children. 

What follows throughout the remainder of the film also mirrors our time with Covid from the distrust of each other and how Science became politicized and then, weaponized to make everyone in conflict with each other against empirical truths and more urgently, basic tools (i.e. a piece of cloth to wear over our mouths and noses) needed in order to help each other stay alive. For if Covid was to be the end of us, it really wouldn't have been the pandemic to wipe us out. The pandemic would have been the catalyst. Our distrust of each other, our selfishness, our ignorance and how far we are willing to go for self preservation at the full expense of anyone who happens to disagree...that would end us all. This is an aspect to "Leave The World Behind" that succeeds and fails. 

We never truly know how we would react within facing a crisis until that crisis actually happens and Esmail provides a more than perceptive take as each characters' reactions and behaviors reveals something already present within them individually, whether desirable or not. I especially enjoyed watch Ethan Hawke's performance as Clay as we see what a life of privilege, adult gadget driven, fully untested, and being an insular academic can do and mean if the world is indeed falling apart. 

In some respects, he reminded me a little of Dustin Hoffman's pacifist, academic character in Director Sam Peckinpah's ruthless, rapacious "Straw Dogs" (1971), as Clay could be a study of the inattentive, ineffective, overly cerebral, so-called emasculated 21st century males as compared to the more decisive characters portrayed by Mahershala Ali and Kevin Bacon. Hawke impressed me most during his final scenes where his self-revelations arrive in a verbal wellspring of shame and sad resignation and wisely, Esmail provides no sense of omniscient judgement. Yes, I do believe that Esmail could have probed further but this was one of the areas in which the film was indeed more successful upon an internal level

One area where it fails crucially and most obviously, is at its most provocatively central relationships, notably between G.H. and Ruth against Amanda, who proclaims at the film's outset, "I fucking hate people."

Certainly, it would not be unfair of Amanda to be suspicious of G.H. and Ruth with their unexpected arrival. But, that being said, and again, as we know from the beginning, Amanda does indeed hate people. Yet, in her exchanges with G.H. and Rose, she really hates Black people, apparent from the slew of microaggressions Amanda hurls their way and that Ruth recognizes immediately. OK, all of this is fair but I felt that if Sam Esmail was going to approach this particular arena, then, go for it! Which means, do not introduce a subject that you are afraid to tackle and therefore, take to the wall explicitly. 

This particular quality made "Leave The World Behind" feel to be inauthentic as it felt to be to aware of the mainstream audience watching and not wanting to really upset anyone by having Julia Roberts say truly reprehensible things...especially as we still need to be on her side throughout. Yes, Roberts gives a good performance but I know she is capable of so much more and just imagine what she could have done if the script allowed Amanda to get as ugly as she is being implied. 

Additionally, there are more aesthetic qualities to "Leave The World Behind" that kept pulling me out of the film just when it needed me to plunge deeper. Poor CGI moments, unconvincing stand offs, really questionable and shoe-horned usages of profanity from the younger characters and  Esmail's needlessly acrobatic camera movements that swirl, circle, turn images completely sideways and for what? There is more than enough inherent drama and tension within the story itself and dexterous cinematography hurt more than it helped, especially when quite a lot of the film carried its share of striking, disturbing imagery (including one near the film's conclusion that was truly sobering), including the ambiguous ending that kinda...sorta...lands...maybe?

Sam Esmail's "Leave The World Behind" is a well meaning effort that just never trusts itself enough to delve as deeply and as darkly as it really needs to go in order to be one for the ages. Yet, as it stands, I do have to give it credit for being more than a cautionary tale and existing more as an explicit warning to a divided world that only needs to remain together to ensure its continuity.

For 2024 is almost here...and it is going to be a rough one.

ALONE TOGETHER AT CHRISTMAS: a review of "The Holdovers"

 

"THE HOLDOVERS"
Screenplay Written by David Hemingson
Directed by Alexander Payne
**** (four stars)
RATED R

"It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting op reindeer

And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh, I wish I had a river

I could skate away on..."
-"River"
Joni Mitchell

The deep melancholy of the holiday season cannot be overstated.

Whether bittersweet and sublime or otherwise filled with crippling despair, the holiday season, especially during final two weeks of the year, are considerably fraught with levels of sadness as the end of a year signifies times of reflection and often regrets, combatting the joyousness which often feels aggressive. Even at its most exciting and festive, Christmas Day itself can often feel like a running sand timer as we all realize that even this day, just like all others, will invariably end, leading into the next day which resets the sand timer for another full year of waiting for the day to arrive again.  

My own feelings towards the holidays have cycled through all of these emotions, with Christmas Days over my lifetime swaying from beautiful to painful to hectic and as of this year, peacefully quiet. But what has been ever present is the seasonal melancholy, which arrives in forms ranging from the end of the semester school cycle, with all of its pressures and temporary goodbyes to the arrival of New Year's Eve, where those aforementioned reflections and regrets speak their loudest directly alongside the hopes that the mistakes and failures of the year refuse to rise again in the next year. For all of the family expectations, visitations and means of togetherness, it is somehow, at least for me, an increasingly insular time where interior mediations about who I have been and what I hope to become continue to merge and clash, and always leaving me feeling emotionally adrift wondering if everything will, at long last, ever click into place.  

Alexander Payne's "The Holdovers" is a masterfully textured, empathetic, quiet snow globe of a film that encapsulates the seasonal melancholy brilliantly. It is undeniably his finest film since "The Descendants" (2011), beautifully reuniting his cinematic storytelling with Paul Giamatti, who starred in what may be Payne's best film, "Sideways" (2004). Furthermore, it is exactly the type of film that has not been en vogue for several years now due to the suffocating prevalence of superheroes and other franchised properties as it is a slice of life film about human beings attempting to navigate life as best as possible. Certainly, in and of itself, this quality does not great film make. But, Alexander Payne and his team do their finest to mine the human comedy and tragedy within the film's core characters making them relatable and therefore, memorable. "The Holdovers" is not solely memorable. It is one of 2023's very best films.   

Set in New England during December 1970, Alexander Payne's "The Holdovers" stars Paul Giamatti as Paul Hunham, an embittered, strict History teacher at Barton boarding school, the same school he once attended on scholarship. Disliked by students and faculty members alike--save for the kind school office administrator Lydia Crane (Carrie Preston)--due to his seemingly archaic views on education and academic integrity in a world of silver spoon students and legacy donors. 

Paul is forced into remaining at Barton during the school's two week Winter break to chaperone the "holdovers," students remaining on campus who are unable to reunite with families for the holidays, including his bright yet deeply acerbic student and therefore, nemesis, Angus Tully (Dominic Sessa). Also remaining behind at Barton is cafeteria administrator and head chef Mary Lamb (Da'Vine Joy Randolph), grieving the death of her son and Barton graduate, killed in the Vietnam war. 

With nowhere to go and required to be in each other's company when none of them would choose to be together, the trio navigates the seemingly endless two week holiday period in cojoined solitude while also gradually finding new connections and understandings as they confront their private traumas and their approaching futures in the new year of 1971.

If you remember, or if you are not familiar, I invite you to please take some minutes to listen to Joni Mitchell's wintry ballad "River" from her album "Blue" (released June 22, 1971) and referenced at the outset of tis review. Once you listen, or remember, you will gather a perfect sense of the kind of film Alexander Payne's "The Holdovers" aspires to be and what I feel it reaches. Payne beautifully captures the exquisite sadness of the holiday season, the very kind that exists within that muffled snowfall silence, the low, slow breaths that escape from our mouths and the hurts that haunt our hearts and heads 

Upon seeing the vintage studio logos at the film's outset and followed by the vintage opening credit design, Payne effectively evoked a film that was to look, sound and feel like a work from the time period in which his story exists, something very close to say Director Hal Ashby's "Harold and Maude" (1971). In fact, the entire production design, from locations, sets, hairstyles, music, and most notably, the visual sheen from Cinematographer Elgil Bryld, is meticulous. In fact, the authenticity to the re-creation of 1970 felt as ingenious as the detail found in Writer/Director Richard Linklater's 1976 themed "Dazed and Confused" (1993), again making his film feel like it was an artifact from the time period instead of a film set within a certain time period. 

By the same token, Alexander Payne accomplishes a similar feat as achieved in Writer/Director Kelly Fremon Craig's lovely "Are You There God, It's Me Margaret?" her adaptation of the 1970 set Judy Blume novel, in which while firmly stationed in the past, it is a work that mirrors and comments upon the concerns of the present, a tactic Payne's protagonist of Paul Hunham himself would be thrilled by due to his love of history and how it also relates to the here and now. 

The beauty of Alexander Payne's "The Holdovers" burrows far deeper than any cinematic aesthetics. With David Hemingson's wonderful screenplay as its base and fueled by excellent performance from the entire cast, Payne's direction--just as with his finest films--remains ever sensitive, observant and unforced. Not one moment ever feels prefabricated, all of the drama is inherent and never needs any additional heft. "The Holdovers," especially during this point in relatively mainstream cinema, is a film that breathes.

I have noticed that despite the acclaim for the film, there has been some criticism that Payne is not immune to a handful of cliches. Well...I guess that I can see that point as there is nothing new to themes of discovering that the similarities between individuals tend to outweigh the differences or that in the grand scheme, we all truly need each other in order to navigate the world and ourselves. But, quite often what feels like cliches are moments of sincere, honest truth for if we really did just take a few moments to listen, to feel, to metaphorically walk in another's shoes, where would our understanding and therefore, empathy for each other be or extend towards?

Alexander Payne's "The Holdovers" is a film about emotional isolation which is compounded by being physically isolated from more desired locales, from family, to even our own most private wishes for oneself. In doing so, any sense of cliche is erased as the focus is firmly riveted to the primary trio of characters who populate the story and we witness how they confront themselves as much as each other, how they ask extremely difficult questions of themselves, and arrive at individualized crossroads where either life might change or it will remains painfully stagnant. Everything plays out against this backdrop of the holiday season and this visually bitter winter grey scale, where the cold hit your bones and the snow remains ever present, blindingly white and seemingly with the intent of warding away any other season for good. 

Payne captures the emotional truths over and again with a complete lack of maudlin or overly sentimentalized presentation often providing echoes to the boarding school blues and adult/teenage male relationships of Writer/Producer John Hughes and Director Peter Faiman's "Dutch" (1991) Director Martin Brest's "Scent Of A Woman" (1992), Wes Anderson's "Rushmore" (1998) and "The Royal Tenenbaums" (2001) and unquestionably, the annual holiday loneliness contained in "A Charlie Brown Christmas" (1965).

As previously stated, all of the performances, from top to bottom, are excellent. As Mary, Da'Vine Joy Randolph, demonstrated the range of her abilities as I remember first seeing her in what was the Jack Black role on the television streaming adaptation of "High Fidelity" (2020). Admittedly, the role does feel to be a tad underwritten but even so, Randolph plumbed some significant depths of not only being a Mother in mourning but also the high wire act of being a working class Black Mother mourning within the White space of a wealthy New England all male boarding school. The difficulties of showing her true face in such a space and furthermore, to whom, which makes her friendship with Paul Hunham so telling as they are both outcasts. 

The heart and soul of the film rests in the relationship between Angus and Paul. As Angus Tully, Dominic Essa--in his debut screen performance, no less--is marvelous and more than holds against his own alongside the formidable Paul Giamatti. Resembling a young, yet more gangly Tom Hanks, Sessa richly captures the outer shell of teenage swagger and venom while deftly illuminating the wounded, forgotten child inside, discarded once again within a damaged family that we wonder if they ever wanted him in the first place. 

To eventually be heard and seen by a figure like Paul Hunham is palpable as Paul, throughout the trajectory of his life on multi-levels revealed throughout the film, feels to have been discarded by life itself and so, he engulfs himself in the world where he felt happiest yet for seemingly decades, even his happy place has lost its luster. Paul Giamatti completely elevates what could have existed as nothing more than a sad sack, and through his expertise, brings his character to vivid, painfully aware, richly melancholic life with such pain and grace, making him perhaps a distant relative to whom he portrayed in "Sideways." 

Paul Hunham, like the film itself, is a throwback. A man who firmly believes in the ideals instilled in him by his schooling and has, in turn, applied those very lessons into all areas of his life. Yet now, as an adult, in a world that cares not for what it proclaims to teach but rewards the undeserved for no other reason than wealth, notoriety, family legacies and hefty donations, integrity be damned. To being confronted with a world, over and again, that runs as a counterpoint to what he was taught to believe, it has upended him to the point of emotional and developmental paralysis. 

If Angus, in some ways represents Paul's past self when the future felt to be so unwritten and Paul is a representation of Angus' future should he consume himself with his own disappointments, traumas and failings, their union throughout "The Holdovers," is a crucial duet (especially for Angus with the realities of Vietnam looming in the background) where each of them are given the opportunities to realize that life is not set in stone, and regardless of what has occurred and the pains of what is, the future is still unwritten and neither of them are literally men out of time. 

If we really took the time. Just took a little time to try and see each other, then would we ever have to feel ourselves as being truly alone in the universe, especially when we house troubles and regrets that are indeed universal? Alexander Payne's "The Holdovers" argues that no one ever wishes to feel this way themselves, and nor should anyone...especially during the holidays.

FASTER? YES. HIGHER, FURTHER? WELL...: a review of "The Marvels"

"THE MARVELS"
Based upon the Marvel Comics
Screenplay Written by Nia DaCosta and Megan McDonnell and Elissa Karasik 
Directed by Nia DaCosta
** (two stars)
RATED PG 13

And the wax and wane of the Marvel Cinematic Universe's quality control goes on...

By the time you have become acquainted with this posting, the latest chapter in the MCU has been in the world for two full weeks and has suffered a painful trouncing at the box office, thus inspiring much post-game debate about what the reasons could have possibly been for this rare Marvel stumble, possibly its worst to date. Was it the then ongoing Actor's Strike, which prevented the film's stars from promoting it before the release? Was it superhero fatigue? Was it the sexist, racist internet trolls who are just determined to see the film fail regardless of its actual quality? One will never know with absolute certainty but there is a quality that is running against the narrative that the MCU is hearing its own death knell: the word of mouth is actually pretty good. From the reviews to word of mouth, response to the film has been one of fair to strong enjoyment, fully acknowledging that while not being one of the best entries in the MCU,  it is a most entertaining diversion.

And that, is indeed where I have my own issues. 

On this blogsite, I have long professed my own sense of superhero fatigue and the ultimate danger to our movie culture they present many times, so I will indeed spare you the diatribe again. I will also again profess to my overall enjoyment of the MCU and the fact that for so much of their existence since the 2008 inception with Jon Favreau's "Iron Man," there was a strong sense of quality control that ensured that I would happily keep purchasing tickets. Yet since, the end of The Infinity Saga which concluded with the fall of Thanos and tragic hero losses, the MCU has widened its scope grandly through narrative and commercial means but inarguably with more uneven results. 

For me, each time I have been lifted, as with Jon Watts' "Spider-Man: No Way Home" (2021), Ryan Coogler's "Black Panther: Wakanda Forever" (2022) and nearly all of their television series with "WandaVision" (2021) and "Loki" (2021-2023) being the strongest, I have been severely disappointed, as with Sam Raimi's "Doctor Strange In The Multiverse Of Madness" (2022), Taika Waititi's' "Thor: Love And Thunder" (2022) and do not get me started on the disaster that is James Guinn's "Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol. 3" (2023). 

Essentially, the assembly line nature of the MCU production schedule, which is farming out feature films and television mini-series with frightening alacrity, release dates announced before scripts are written, and an ongoing Multiverse Saga that feels to have no true anchor to its still growing narrative, the MCU is indeed in trouble, as far as I am concerned because all of those issues speak directly to quality control. 

For my own cinematic sensibilities, I strongly feel that if Marvel has the ability to present and reach greatness, then that is what they should aspire to every chance they get. Placeholder films just cannot earn a piece of the Marvel pie if they wish audiences to remain devoted. A tighter over-arching narrative is essential if they wish for audiences to continue giving a damn about this entire enterprise. All of that being said, Nia DaCosta's "The Marvels," the 33rd MCU feature film, while not a failure, is not a success either...which is more than unfortunate as it has so much going for it, from its high flying energy, delightful chemistry of its three leads and more than enough backstory to propel one terrific narrative. But, as it stands, "The Marvels" really just gives more than enough ammunition to Martin Scorsese's criticisms and warnings, as this is no more than a theme park ride when it could have been so much more..  

Continuing the events as set up in Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck's "Captain Marvel" (2019) plus television's "Ms. Marvel" (2022), "Secret Invasion" (2023), and the aforementioned "WandaVision," Nia DaCosta's "The Marvels" is the official team up of Carol Danvers a.k.a. the interstellar Captain Marvel (Brie Larson) with her long estranged "niece," Monica Rambeau (Teyonnah Paris), an astronaut now armed with the power to manipulate electromagnetic waves in the electromagnetic spectrum and 16 year old Kamala Khan (a wonderful Iman Vellani), a Captain Marvel superfan and human-mutant who wears am ancient bangle that helps her harness hard light and cosmic energy.

The trio are brought together after the seismic arrival of Dar-Benn (Zawe Ashton), a Kree revolutionary warrior on the hunt for Captain Marvel whom she blames for the civil war of her race leading to a decimated planet with dwindling air, water and a dying sun. After discovering a Quantum Band, one that is identical to the one Kamala Khan wears, Dar-Benn utilizes its power to rip open a portal in space, which then further entangles the powers of Danvers, Rambeau and Khan forcing them to inadvertently transport themselves when their powers are active. 

With the aid of Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson), The Marvels join forces to stop Dar-Benn's wrath from saving her own planet at the expense of Earth's survival.

Nia DaCosta's "The Marvels" is filled end to end with candyfloss colors, a quicksilver pace, terrific fight choreography and wisely anchored by the clear chemistry and bond between our three leading heroines, with the MVP easily going to Iman Vellani, whose crackerjack comic timing and fangirl exuberance makes for a star making performance, whether inside or outside of the MCU. Much like the recent television mini-series "Star Wars: Ahsoka" (2023), I thoroughly enjoyed the defining shift to a more female centric narrative with all of the primary heroes and main villain being women and to that end, having much of the creative team behind the scenes, from Screenwriters and the Director being women makes for a terrific new perspective to shine the Marvel lens through. 

That being sad and celebrated, it just isn't enough and frankly, our trio of heroes and singular villain all deserved much better than what they were given. We can explore and even debate whether issues occurred on set or within post-production, ultimately, the only thing that matters is what has ended up upon the screen and in the case of "The Marvels," DaCosta has delivered a inexcusably messy film with a sloppily constructed narrative which too often propels itself with an "and then this happened" raison d'etre that feels as if they just threw more then enough at the screen, the entire proceedings would be good enough. Trust me, it isn't. 

From a presentation that possesses an over-reliance on CGI technology oddly merged with a surprisingly cheap looking aesthetic design with otherworldly locations that indeed look like rapidly constructed sets, to humor that never really lands (a little of the ravenous feline Flerken goes a long way and here, we just have too much oft), to two dreadful musically driven sequences, Nia DaCosta's "The Marvels" keep shooting itself in the foot right when it could be reaching narratively and emotionally higher and further. Yes, there is something to be said for having a superhero film that is just fun and not overly filled with dark passages and ponderous tone, which has now become more of the norm within the genre. But even still, with all of the existing elements and inherent drama within these three characters and their respective stories, would it have been too much to ask if DaCosta gave any of them the time, patience, and purpose to ensure that "The Marvels" had a beating heart to go alongside its own enthusiasm? 

I am not saying that we necessarily needed another three hour epic but what I am saying is that with a film that arrived immediately after the superlative journey of "Loki," which found the MCU operating at its absolute peak, what DaCosta delivered is a sharp decline, to say the least, especially as it possesses conceptual and emotional stakes that could equal anything we saw in "Loki." 

With the unresolved emotional/familial issues between Carol Danvers and Monica Rambeau, for instance, they deserved exceedingly more than the few lines that are just tossed off in this film. As for Monica Rambeau, who really has not been seen since the transformative events of "WandaVision," where is she emotionally at this juncture? For that matter, what of Nick Fury and truthfully, I was more than unsure if "The Marvels" took place before or after the events in "Secret Invasion"? And most egregiously, what of the inner and outer world of Captain Marvel herself, who really hasn't been seen since Joe and Anthony Russo's "Avengers: Endgame" (2019)? Compared to the breadth and depth given to say, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, Carol Danvers's trajectory is sorely and unforgivably lacking. And from the looks of things, it seems that the powers that be at Marvel either didn't know or care themselves.  

And that in and of itself present a larger problem for the MCU moving forwards, especially with this continuing Multiverse Saga, which hasn't really made much sense as far as an advancing narrative is concerned. If I had my magic wand, I would force Marvel overlord Kevin Feige and his core team t just sit and map out what they want this saga to actually be and then, instead of creating whatever Marvel property they have purchased the rights for, they build this section of the MCU house to solely serve the overarching narrative. The MCU has always been terrific in presenting the set up, and they continue to do so within "The Marvels" as the film's conclusion and post-credits sequence opens some really exciting doors. But, there has to be as much care with the story in totality not just the stinger to get us ready for the next, and now, underwhelming installment.

Believe me, dear readers, I am more than rooting for female driven superhero films to succeed and I am definitely, urgently more than rooting for Black female Directors to have a strong, creative seat at the big budget filmmaking table. But, very sadly, and despite the well meaning effort, Nia DaCosta's "The Marvels," while intermittedly entertaining falls far too short of its goals.       

40 YEARS ON...STILL AHEAD OF ITS TIME: a review of "Stop Making Sense"

"STOP MAKING SENSE" (1984)
Conceived for the stage by David Byrne
Directed by Jonathan Demme
**** (four stars)
RATED PG 

It felt as if I was seeing it for the very first time.

Dear readers, in regards to Jonathan Demme's "Stop Making Sense," his now iconic concert film documenting an equally iconic performance from the iconic final, tour by Talking Heads, I actually came a little late to the party. While I was more than aware of it upon its original release back in 1984 at the age of 15, I was in prime condition to see the film, especially after the rapturous reviews delivered by the late Gene Siskel and the late Roger Ebert. But, if my memory is serving me correctly, Demme's film was relegated to the art film circuit and therefore, it was one which played in downtown Chicago art cinemas, venues that my parents would typically not be convinced to transport me to and from, and additionally, it was definitely a film neither of them were remotely interested in seeing.

By the time I arrived at University of Wisconsin-Madison for my college years in 1987, I was convinced that some theater or campus film society would show it and then, I would have my chance. Unfortunately, that never happened either. I finally saw the film for the first time well into adulthood on DVD and indeed, after finally being a witness, I had to add my voice to the choir in its universal praise. "Stop Making Sense" is an absolutely remarkable film, one that is overflowing with energy, enthusiasm and jubilance all engulfed in an outstanding collection of songs and performances that range from art rock, post punk, country, disco, funk, R&B, gospel, African rhythms and soundscapes resulting in a golden amalgamation of what music, concerts and concert films could actually be.

Once it was announced that in anticipation of the films 40th anniversary, a re-release and full audio/visual restoration supervised by Talking Heads' guitarist/keyboardist Jerry Harrison was underway, I kept my hopes up that I would be able to at long last have a chance to see the film in a movie theater...the way it has always meant to be experienced. Now having seen the film in a theater, and so truthfully, for the sake of the movies and our relationship with them in our current cinematic landscape, plus our relationship to music itself for that matter, Jonathan Demme's "Stop Making Sense" resonated and uplifted to a degree that was more powerful than ever, making it a film of essential viewing, whether as a reunion for fans or as an introduction to novices.

Filmed over a period of three nights in December 1983 during Talking Heads' tour promoting the album "Speaking In Tongues" (released June 1, 1983), Jonathan Demme's "Stop Making Sense" opens with frontman David Byrne walking onto the barren stage alone and armed with only an acoustic guitar and a boombox. He sets the tape deck upon the stage, presses "PLAY" unveiling a skeletal drum machine beat to which Byrne begins to perform a full throated and unrepentantly twitchy "Psycho Killer," complete with brilliantly sudden and unpredictable gyrations suggesting the mind and body of the unhinged, the isolated, the disconnected . 

Over the course of the following three songs, (the sublime country of "Heaven," the galloping "Thank You For Sending Me An Angel" and the four-on-the-floor funk of "Found A Job," respectively) Byrne is joined one by one by his bandmates, bassist Tiny Weymouth, drummer Chris Franz and guitarist/keyboardist Jerry Harrison and soon thereafter, the core band of Talking Heads is further augmented by five auxiliary members: guitarist Alex Weir, percussionist Steve Scales, keyboardist Bernie Worrell and backing vocalists Ednah Holt and Lynn Mabry. 

From this point, the band and film launches into a superlative showcase of Talking Heads' hits and deep cuts (including "Burning Down The House," "Life During Wartime," and "Swamp"), one solo David Byrne selection ("What A Day That Was") plus another from the Chris Franz/Tina Weymouth side project Tom Tom Club (the classic "Genius Of Love"), and an orgiastic Al Green cover ("Take Me To The River"), each song in this beautifully sequenced experience ascending higher and higher.

As I stated at the outset of this posting, even though I have seen and even own the film, seeing Jonathan Demme's "Stop Making Sense" within its proper context of the movie theater going experience truly made me feel as if I was viewing it for the very first time. The sheer sound and vision of the film was splendidly breathtaking, surprisingly moving and trust me, I was unable to remain still in my theater seat, as the propulsive rhythms keep my body moving and my arms and feet attempted to keep pace with Chris Franz's superb drumming for the bulk of the running time. 

Truth be told, I really am not sure if this is the greatest concert film ever made, as so many have attested over these four decades. But, I can easily and firmly express that every concert film made after "Stop Making Sense" lives completely in its immense shadow and gargantuan influence--and believe me, that even incudes the likes of Prince's spectacular "Sign O' The Times" (1987) and even Spike Lee's wonderful document of David Byrne's "America Utopia" (2020). 

Even the film's narrative, such as it is, makes...well...complete sense now, as Talking Heads' current media tour surrounding the rerelease and restoration have elucidated over their storytelling intentions of the show's conception. Yes, from my original viewings, I was captivated by the overwhelming energy upon display but the narrative of the isolated loner who finds acceptance within a community leapt as far off of the screen as the music and performances from all nine members of the band, with the brilliantly magnetic David Byrne at the center, as he swivels, contorts, and literally runs laps around the stage in restless yet artfully controlled and innovative frenzy that left me in amazement.

To that end, Jonathan Demme views the proceedings through an enormously empathetic and generous lens, where the spontaneity and delirious affection all of the band members display towards each other allows us to witness a full celebration of the rapture they are creating together. These are individuals who are clearly impressed and taken with each other just as we are as we watch them. Seeing Jerry Harrison suddenly begin dancing alongside Ednah Holt and Lynn Mabry lifted me in a way I did not expect, for instance. How Harrison and Bernie Worrell regard each other from behind their keyboard stacks. How Steve Scales and Alex Weir are never felt to be relegated to existing as hired hands but as full, equal players, afforded the exact same spotlight and appreciation as the core quartet. And then, there was always that kid in a candy store delight that is plastered upon Chris Franz's face throughout, making me feel that he was regarding every rock dream he ever had becoming beautifully rendered to vivid life right in front of his and our eyes.  

All of these emotions are tied directly into the narrative certainly and have always existed as part of its cinematic fabric. But seeing "Stop Making Sense" nearly 40 years later, the film's attributes and gifts are even more impressive to behold as it is a euphoric work of art as it utilizes minimalism to maximum effect while also demystifying the experience as it creates its own sorcery. This aspect is deeply notable as we are constantly subjected to all manner of CGI overkill in film, television and even commercials plus the sensory overload extravagances of 21st century live performances from the likes of Beyonce Taylor Swift and U2's brand new stage show residency, which looks like ten IMAX screens in one.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am not immune to spectacle, and I do often find myself enraptured. A live performance I attended by The Flaming Lips a few years ago remains possibly the greatest concert experience of my life as it was akin to being as overtly psychedelic and as otherworldly as being transported inside of a rainbow while also packing an emotional wallop. That being said, seeing "Stop Making Sense" in 2023, when our eyes and ears are constantly being bludgeoned with artificial sound and spectacle, so often signifying not very much at all, it was a wonder to behold the special effects on screen in Demme's film as being nothing more than the human body in motion, the music being made and the overwhelming effect it had upon the participants as well as us in the movie theater audience. In that way, the film repeatedly reached crescendos and a transcendence that all of the CGI in the world could never attain.

As has been rightfully celebrated over the years, the sight of the show and film beginning upon a barren stage with David Byrne at the center is striking by what is and is not present. It defies expectations by upending what we are conditioned to seeing in a live setting. This feeling continues as each band member arrives, and we regard the stage crew building up the event piece by piece, with a black background and screens behind the band appearing before we even realize it. The band's monochromatic clothing and seeing how it is all juxtaposed with not much more than while lights and shadows, as photographed by Cinematographer Jordan Cronenweth, is often dazzling. And of course, Jonathan Demme's innovative technique of not showing the audience at all until the film reaches its zenith, affords us the moment when band, audience, crew and movie theater audience are all as one--the moment when community becomes communion, when a movie becomes church! 

Every sight is meant to be savored. David Byrne dancing with a lamp. Byrne and Weir running in place while playing their guitars. Every band member seemingly possessing their own signature dance moves. The entire band DRENCHED in sweat by film's end! Of course...the unforgettable BIG suit! The physicality, agility, and athleticism all fueled into the overall musicality and artistry is so astounding and in a time when special effects are just not terribly special anymore due to their ubiquity, Talking Heads' sense of revivalism is worth celebrating more now than in 1984.   

Jonathan Demme's "Stop Making Sense" at 40 is the definition of a celebration. For Talking Heads, it is a time to reflect and rejoice at their legacy while bearing witness to themselves at the shining jewel of their fully idiosyncratic career. For all of us, especially in our social and politically divisive point in 2023, it is telling to regard this multi racial and gendered band circa 1984--one that echoed Sly and the Family Stone and ran concurrently with the likes of Prince and the Revolution during a period when pop, rock, soul and funk music was deeply segregated from band make ups to listeners, for it was a period during which people existed within specific camps and had to choose sides--working, collaborating and playing together to create a joyful noise for the masses. 

What Talking Heads displayed within "Stop Making Sense through the mixture of musical genres and the make up of all nine band members on stage was and is an elated defiance against any well worn rules of the day, firmly extolling a more utopian viewpoint and ideal. 

And doesn't that just make perfect sense?