Film of the Week: A Complete Unknown

 

In last week's review of Better Man (shout-out all the new readers, hope some of ya'll stuck around), I talked about the unusual approach of being a music biopic willing to criticize it's subject, looking past a traditional "rise, fall, and comeback" narrative to more seriously debate the motivations of the artist. A Complete Unknown, James Mangold's Bob Dylan biopic, takes a shockingly similar stance, willing to showcase the rise of Dylan with warts and all as it discusses the man vs the music and the idea of creating art for one's self vs creating art for a supposed "greater good". It makes for interesting viewing, something a tad more thought provoking than the usual fare from this genre, 

A Complete Unknown, obviously, refers to Dylan himself (Timothee Chalamet), an aloof, brilliant musician who arrives from parts unknown, initially in hopes of meeting Woody Guthrie (Scoot McNairy) before pursuing a career in folk music. Chalamet is great as Dylan, playing his often detached, sardonic eccentricity as both charming and off-putting. Dylan is an engima, a walking mystery that multiple people attempt to either solve or at least point in the right direction only to largely fall short. "I barely know you," bemoans Sylvie (Elle Fanning), his put-upon girlfriend as he continues to refuse to open up to her. Despite this, Dylan is still a clear person, a talented artist who refuses to conform to the ideologies or opinions of others, and for better or worse, he's damn good at what he does. 

An enigmatic protagonist gives the supporting cast time to shine, and there isn't a single weak performer of the bunch. Pete Seeger (Edward Norton) and Joan Baez (Monica Barbaro) represent the ideological idea of folk music, songs about humans struggle and standing together against the powerful, while Sylvie is the human side, a chance for Dylan to be vulnerable and bare his emotions, even if his emotions aren't always good for everyone. Norton is, unsurprisingly, very strong, playing Seeger with a gentle charm and mentorly affection, a desire to fight for what's right even if the rest of the world begins to pass him by, and his interactions with Dylan, which go from an attempt to nurture the next generation only to cling to it as his own movement fades into history, carry an air of bittersweetness. Barbaro is fiery and headstrong as Baez, a well-deserved Oscar nominee as the lover/musical partner of Dylan who represents a more kindred spirit than the stable Sylvie. This love triangle (of sorts) makes up much of the film's conflict, as Dylan bounces between the normalcy of Sylvie and the artistry of Baez, somehow managing to lose both as he forges a path for himself, with Dylan and Baez's performance of "It Ain't Me" in front of an increasingly heartbroken Sylvie serving as the standout scene of the film. (And the year, if I'm being honest.)

I would also be foolish not to mention the delightful Boyd Holbrook as Johnny Cash, perpetual shit-stirrer with demons of his own, that basically steals every scene he's in and left me with a deep desire to rewatch Mangold's similarly great Walk the Line. 

James Mangold, one of the few remaining mid-budget journeymen out there in Hollywood, very wisely frames the film as one about a person at the exact right time of a crucial point in history. Dylan's rise is framed through the Cuban Missile Crisis (handled in another excellent sequence of Joan trying to find Dylan amidst a chaotic, terrified New York populace), the Civil Rights movement, and the Kennedy Assassination, with the film's other conflict being the role Dylan wants to play in history. "Two hundred people in that room, and each wants me to be something else," he laments about a waiting crowd. "They should just let me be." The American folk movements of the 30s, heralded by legends like Guthrie and Seeger, is fading, the realization that their moment in the sun may be over unless they can find new heirs in the form of Baez and Dylan, but while Baez happily carries the banner, Dylan struggles with the idea of it, both as a means of keeping with tradition and a discomfort at the idea of being the face of a movement. 

The film's strongest choice is leaving whether Dylan's ultimate choice, to eschew the movement by literally and figuratively leaving it behind by going electric for a final festival performance before riding off into the sunset, is the right one up to the viewer. There's an undeniable feeling of sadness, that Dylan is leaving a movement that needs his star power, but also one of liberation, of Dylan recognizing that he needs to be his own man and, in a way, stand for something, fighting for his right as an artist to make the art he wants to make. The loss of both Sylvie and Joan, in a way, represents the understanding that one cannot dance between two lines. Eventually, you gotta pick one, and whether Bob made the right decision is up to you. 

Film of the Week: Better Man

 

Early on in Better Man, Michael Gracey's Robbie Williams biopic starring a CGI ape (not a monkey, as the marketing and memes claimed), a young Robbie Williams (played by the man himself) listens to his father (Steve Pemberton) discuss celebrity and what it takes to make it. "You either have "it"," explains the older Williams, a deadbeat wannabe comedian as he ruffles the young ape's hair, "-or you're nobody." While a crucial moment in the psyche of Williams, a normal biopic would've treated this moment as the obstacle for the hero to overcome, showing everyone that he's not a nobody, but Better Man makes this Williams's drive, his defining belief that (for better or worse) steers his entire career. Better Man is a story of someone desperately chasing the spotlight, doing whatever it takes to stay in it even as it completely eats him alive. Does Williams have "it", the inherent talent to succeed, or is he just desperate enough, just charming enough, to fake it and force his way there? The film largely leaves this up to you, but even when one strips away the fascinating quandary at the heart of the story, it is an undeniably entertaining experience. 

Better Man is fascinating in that it's a biopic that largely does away with the "inspirational great man rises from nothing" narrative that makes up so much of the genre. Williams gets lucky again and again, impressing the right person at the right time, and he's often so desperate to stay in the spotlight that he's willing to do effectively anything. "Robbie" is the character, a mask that "Robert Williams" can hide behind in his pursuit of fame and fortune. It becomes increasingly clear that Robbie is both a stage persona and a means for Robert to bury his pain, demeaning himself for a cheap audience laugh. Be it turning a pratfall on stage into a comedic spot as a child or jokingly stealing a melon to hide the suicidal rage and grief at being fired from Take That, the boy band where he got his start, "Robbie" is Williams refusing to be genuine, a chance to turn his pain into a laugh and keep up the persona of the arrogant hotshot pretty boy. It even reflects in his art, as he chooses to make throwaway, impersonal pop in hopes of drawing the largest audience, ignoring that it's only when he gets genuine that he's truly able to live up to his own potential. 

It's often said that musical numbers are characters singing to express the feelings that words simply could not. In Better Man, there's a similar sentiment, each song representing the moments where the "Robbie" persona melts away and he speaks how he really feels. From the jubilation of success in "Rock DJ" to the soaring love and crashing heartbreak of "She's The One", each track is a narrative unto itself, depicting the highs and lows of stardom. They're also incredibly well-directed, Gracey masterfully and creatively makes each song feel like witnessing a dream, larger than life and bursting with color and creativity. "Rock DJ" is a creative oner, cleverly playing into Take That's destructive tendencies through the people hurt and stolen from over the course of the ostensibly celebratory song, while "Let Me Entertain You" is an honest to god battle sequence, a literal slaying of demons that becomes so overwhelming and thunderous that Williams's final victory feels less like a triumph and more like just barely regaining your breath. 

Of course, we have to talk about the singing chimpanzee in the room. "All my life," explains Williams at the start of the film. "I've always felt less evolved than other people." The ape is, effectively, a literal representation of that inferiority, that crushing desire to be liked that overwhelms all else. In Williams mind, he's nothing more than a singing monkey, a novelty act that people will get bored of if he doesn't do whatever it takes to keep their attention. The actual effects of the ape, painstakingly brought to life by WETA, are largely seamless, acting and moving alongside regular humans in a variety of environments without the effect ever being jarring. You never quite forget he's an ape, but the large, expressive face and matted fur makes Williams struggle that much more effecting. Of course, you can also see how excited the artists are to flex their creation, showcasing the ape from a child to a fully grown "man" in a variety of outfits inspired by the various looks of Williams careers. (Particular favorites are the skinless ape, an homage to Williams's inexplicably disturbing "Rock DJ" music video and an albino ape as representation of Williams bleaching hir hair.) 

Better Man is a fascinating biopic, one willing to let the star confront the numerous flaws and shortcomings with an earnest honesty, never sugarcoating their mistakes. It's also easily the best musical of the year, gorgeous and ambitious in it's design. I'll doubt we'll ever see another biopic like it, but, hey, let's not worry about that. Let's just sit back and enjoy the show. 

Film of the Week: 28 Days Later

 

For much of the beginning act of 28 Days Later, Danny Boyle's highly influential zombie film, we primarily follow Jim (Cillian Murphy), a bike courier who awakes from a coma to find himself in a seemingly abandoned London. It's a haunting sequence, watching Jim stumble through the empty streets, gathering food and money with no knowledge of the danger that could be behind any corner. It is, admittedly, undercut by the music (we'll talk on that in a bit) but it's a scene that immediately establishes exactly why 28 Days (not to be confused with the Sandra Bullock film) stood out so well from the glut of zombie media that overwhelmed everyone in the 2000s. Boyle directs with a resounding patience, letting tension rise naturally as we wait for somebody, anybody, to break Jim's solitude. It's moody, almost dreamlike in the unnerving quality of the empty streets, and a film a lot more willing to sit and let you sweat on things a little bit. 

Of course, the film never loses this momentum as other survivors enter the fray, and it settles into something a bit more familiar, a story of a group of unlikely people forced together in the face of horrific conditions. There's an easygoing chemistry between the group, comprised of Jim, fiery Selena (Naomi Harris), fatherly Frank (Brendon Gleeson, always a delight), and his daughter Hanna (Megan Burns), and the film becomes something of a road movie as the quartet make their way to an apparent safe haven. Boyle's patience is a virtue here, allowing us to sit with the characters and really feel for them, getting to know them without necessarily overexplaining who they are. In one particularly great sequence, doomed Mark (Noah Huntley) talks about losing his family to a zombie horde, giving a bit character genuine pathos that makes his (in hindsight) quick demise even more shocking and injects a sense of real tension to every interaction. We want these people make it, and the fact that the infected (not zombies!) could be lurking around every corner makes for incredible tension. 

Boyle, one of cinema's most creative and versatile directors, milks this tension for all it's worth, with standouts being the group attempting to fix a tire as a rabid horde pursues them through a tunnel and a genuinely striking shot of a soldier moving from a window to reveal an infected staring at them. Even the loss of Frank, a single drop of infected blood leaking into his eye, feels like a natural endpoint of a world so inherently dangerous, and a way to bring an end to the heartfelt middle act into something a lot more terse. 

There's some debate over the film's third act, whether Boyle's reverence for the Romero-esque "humanity are the true monsters" dragged it's effective pace to a halt or gave the film a more tangible antagonist. I find myself in the latter category, both out of a general fondness for seeing Christopher Eccleston in things and also because the film never loses the intensity that makes it so strong. From the moment we meet Major West (Christopher Eccleston) and his men, there is an immediate sense that something is wrong. Glances held too long, jokes with just an undercurrent of intimidation underneath them, all things that Boyle and writer Alex Garland use to establish that the safe haven. The classic morality play of "what do you do once the rules don't matter" come into play, as does the film's spectacularly violent, tense third act, a bloodbath that sees Jim become just as feral as the infected. It works well enough, and I'm even a fan of the film's shockingly upbeat ending, one that Boyle and Garland had to be dragged into making. 

If there's anything of the film I don't love, it's the score, maybe the epitome of early 2000s musical scores in that it's comprised largely of thudding guitar riffs. It's certainly not terrible, but in a film built so heavily off of long stretches of silence being shattered by surprise attacks or scares, it undercuts the tension. (Much like the ending, this was added because test audiences found the film too nerve-wracking without it. Sometimes test audiences don't know what they're talking about!) 

Minor quibbles aside, it's easy to see the influence on 28 Days on so many modern works, and after watching it, I can't really blame anyone inspired by it. It's a grungy, dreamlike thrill ride, a standout in the very strong career of one of our modern auteurs, and I'm certain that it's sequel will happily carry the torch. 

NOTE: The reviewer has not watched 28 Weeks Later.

Best Films of 2024, Part 2

 

Best films of the year, babyyyy. You all know the drill so let's hop to it. 

5. Hit Man

A very funny, very hot dark comedy, Hit Man feels like a throwback to the smash hits of the 90s and 2000s, high-premise vehicles coasting off the power of their charismatic stars for a delightful time. Richard Linklater lends his eye for natural realism to make the larger-than-life true story of Gary Johnson (Glen Powell), professor turned fake hitman for hire, into something just as fascinating as it's subject matter, cleverly playing with the dubious morality of the operation at the center of the story to leave us second guessing the characters every step of the way. It helps that Powell, Tom Cruise's heir apparent, gives one of the best performances of the year as Gary, a man of many faces who slowly begins to merge them together as he gets more and more entangled with the person he's meant to be leading into a trap, fiery, gorgeous Madison (Adria Arjona). Powell effortlessly switches from persona to persona as needed, the small facets of each personality mixing and clashing in the little details, leaving you just as charmed as the targets. 

4. Look Back

Look Back, much like Tatsuki Fujmoto's smash hit Chainsaw Man, is about a lot of things. The creative process, the idea of creating art for mass consumptions vs creating for one's self, and the role art often plays in the bonds we form are all quietly discussed in the story of a budding friendship between two young artists brought together, then driven apart, by their differing methods. All of Fujimoto's tricks are on display here, from his penchant for easygoing dialogue, fondness for complicated characters, and views on grief and loss all mingling together. Animated beautifully, the film quietly envelops you in it's story before pulling the rug in a devastating fashion, leaving you quietly breathless as it's short runtime comes to a close. A perfectly paced, thought-provoking punch to the gut. 

3. Hundreds of Beavers

Every once in a while a film comes along that leaves you so astounded with it's creativity that you can't help but scratch your head and just wonder how exactly they made it. Hundreds of Beavers, a match between Looney Tunes and 30s slapstick films, is one such film. From the minute it starts, the film brims with creativity, using it's limited budget so effectively that it still feels enormous in scale. There are, in fact, hundreds of beavers in this movie, alongside a variety of other wildlife made real through a mixture of puppetry, animation, and good ol' suits, and by the end you find yourself fully believing in the insane cartoon world they inhabit. It is also the funniest film of the year, brimming with gags that are so rapid fire it begs for repeat viewing, so fully committed to the bit that it becomes thrilling to watch just to see what they do next with it. One of the year's biggest surprises, it's got a little something for everyone. 

2. Challengers

Part electrifying sports drama, part passionate portrayal of a slightly toxic throuple in the making, Challengers is the best film of Luca Guadagnino's career, taking his penchant for shifting time to portray the various stages of relationships, both (seemingly) platonic and romantic, and interweaving it with a ferocious depiction of competition and the mindset of the athlete. It's anchored by three great performances, each breathing life into the fascinating characters and the deeply messy relationships at the heart of the story, but it's also just a damn fine sports film, firing on all technical cylinders to make it's tennis matches feel like thrilling duels. It's a film where all elements work together to complete a masterful whole, simmering and thrilling at the same time. 

1. I Saw the TV Glow

Less scary and more absolutely heartbreaking, I Saw the TV Glow feels like an existential crisis made flesh, a reckoning with a life spent lying to one's self about your true feelings. It's a film of a generation raised by television that now finds itself forced into an adulthood, looking around the world and going, "Is this it?" With a striking visual palette that resembles the melancholy tone at it's center, the film moves like a bad dream, drifting scene by scene in a devastating slow walk. Justice Smith, a perpetual favorite whenever he shows up, is heartbreaking here, vulnerability radiating off of every little movement, every averted gaze and mumbled apology, and his final panicked cry for help as the nature of the world becomes clear is one of the year's most agonizing scenes. In a world increasingly dominated by nostalgia, a yearning for yesteryear by generations that refuse to step aside, I Saw the TV Glow is one of the first earnest attempts to reckon with that, a cry to throw the old restraints aside and live in a new truth. Maybe, just maybe, there is still time. 

Best Films of 2024, Part 1

This has been an exceptional years, in spite of the generally horrific vibes of the rest of the year. At the risk of sounding too cliche, there was a fair bit of something for everyone. Breathtaking sci-fi, existential horror, white-hot romance, it was a real "the movies are back" type of year, and while I haven't seen everything, I'm confident enough in my tastes to run through my top ten. So, let's begin!

10. Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga

Rather than attempt to recapture the lightning in a bottle adrenaline rush that is Mad Max: Fury Road, George Miller made Furiosa something a lot more intimate and character-focused, willing to sit with it's strange collection of oddballs and outcasts and let us truly witness their rise and fall. That's not to say this isn't an exciting movie, as Miller directs the hell out of exhilarating set-pieces that vary from a chaotic ambush to a desperate shootout/escape that made me audibly exhale when it ended, but it's more focused on the psychology of the wasteland. Anchored by great performances from Anya Taylor-Joy (stepping into the shoes of Charlize Theron with a remarkable confidence and often stunning grace) and Chris Hemsworth (delightfully unhinged in one of the best villainous performances of the year), Furiosa is a tragic, suitably epic origin story for it's iconic heroine. If it really is the final film in the series, it's a fitting end. 

9. Dune: Part Two

Denis Villeneuve's stunning second part of his adaptation of the borderline unfilmable magnum opus of Frank Herbert is stunning in it's ambition and willingness to truly lean into the strangeness of the original material. It truly throws everything at the wall and leaves you astounded as, somehow, it all manages to stick. One moment it stuns you with a monochrome duel in a gladiatorial arena, the next it has the confidence to let you sit with a quiet, beautifully understated love story between Paul (Timothee Chalamet, a genuine force of nature) and Channi (Zendaya, in what is a banner year for her). It's a film overflowing with treats for the eye and mind, sweeping you in it's narrative with gorgeous designs and powerhouse performances that by the time the true tragedy of the imperial power struggle rears it's head, it leaves you with an ugly sinking feeling and the realization that there's no heroes here. 

8. Cuckoo

Part disturbing mystery story, part harrowing fight for survival, and part coming of age tale, Cuckoo is a delightfully bonkers creature feature, playing with the idea of both physical and mental isolation in the face of overwhelming, mysterious terror and carefully dropping bits and pieces of information without giving the game away too quickly. Hunter Schafer is a scrappy, emotionally compelling scream queen, making you root for her against the seemingly endless challenges thrown at her, while Dan Stevens, perpetual favorite of mine, steals the show as slimy, manipulative mad scientist Herr Konig. Atmospheric, intriguing, but with an undeniable heart at it's core, Cuckoo is one of the strongest horror films in a year overflowing with them. 

7. Civil War

Upon the release of Alex Garland's Civil War, I felt the film was unfairly maligned, criticized for it's lack of a firm political stance in favor of something closer to the likes of speculative fiction. Those willing to look past the (largely untrue) accusations of apoliticism will find one of the year's most thrilling films, a gorgeously shot road movie that owes more to the likes of Garland's 28 Years Later or The Last of Us than any traditional political thriller. By largely stripping away any traditional commentary, Garland is able to hyperfocus on the film's human element, reveling in analyzing the way humans hurt (and help) one another when they think there's no rules and the addictive nature of willingly putting yourself so close to violence. This leaves a near suffocating sense of tension behind every interaction, the perpetual threat of violent escalation hanging heavy on the minds of both the viewer and the characters. It makes for unbelievably nerve-wracking viewing, the kind that doesn't leave you feeling safe until the credits roll. 

6. Nosferatu

Robert Eggers lends his intricate, detail-driven to one of the classic horror stories, successfully modernizing it to weave a tail of abuse and love, both toxic and redeeming, and the desperate struggle of women to claim their own agency in the face of a world that increasingly cares little for them beyond possession. One of our great modern auteurs, Eggers brings together an astounding cast and, like with 2022's similarly excellent The Northman, manages to bring his style to the mainstream without sacrificing any of it's appeal. Nosferatu is bleak, suitably nasty in it's presentation and execution, and yet deeply earnest, an ode to the bonds of love in the face of cruelty and just what we're willing to do for those we care about. Lily Rose-Depp is a revelation as Ellen, tortured by both the monstrous Orlok and her own desires, while Willem Dafoe is an unsurprising scene stealer, projecting a strange warmth and safety underneath the eccentricity. It's a film firing on all creative cylinders and a worthy remake of the iconic original.