Metropolis (1927) – A Review

Release date: January 10, 1927
Director: Fritz Lang
Starring: Alfred Abel, Brigitte Helm, Gustav Fröhlich, Rudolf Klein-Rogge
Genre: Sci-fi

It was that fateful day on the 10th of January, 1927, when movie theaters across Germany premiered director Fritz Lang’s latest cinematic piece.

Audience reactions were polarizing, ranging from rapturous praise to harsh lampooning, even failing to impress H.G. Wells.

To appeal to divisive viewers, clips of its nearly two-and-a-half-hour runtime were cut down (lost to history until a fortunate discovery of its near-complete reel in a Buenos Aires warehouse in 2008). Alas, commercial expectations were not met, even bringing the production studio to the brink of ruin.

That partly makes up the history of Metropolis (1927), yet time has been generous to this now-hailed masterpiece, so much so that avid yet budding cinephiles like myself were shocked to learn of its tumultuous rollout (which nowadays has been reduced to an anecdote).

The presentist lens can be deceptive, or at the very least, misleading. Today, one may find Metropolis in the annals of great cinema, even listed by the Vatican’s 45 Alcuni film importanti. Indeed, it is a blessing that retrospect chooses to venerate the film, both as a historical relic and an ever-present influence, that it may have saved this work from erasure, as with most movies of the silent era.

Just at face value, it justifies the praise. This is a visual marvel of Expressionism that far transcends its period, with Fritz Lang and his team manifesting artistic ambitions in timelessly awe-inspiring set pieces and special effects.

A gleaming skyline of hyper-Art Deco designs.

An underground neighborhood of Brutalist apartments.

Technological advancements way ahead of their time.

Yet, its legacy as a landmark achievement in film aesthetics looms so large that its literary aspects are often forgotten (or deliberately dismissed in discussions). Whether they are of substance remains contested.

Just from the previously mentioned descriptions of the eponymous city, its intentions are made clear: this is a commentary on class stratification, with the plot centered on a conflict interwoven by opposing forces: a despot keen on maintaining the status quo, proletariats impatiently waiting for a revolution, and a mad scientist hellbent on vengeance and destruction.

What follows is a chaotic display of civil pandemonium that exemplifies Fritz Lang’s excellent orchestration of his performers. In fact, one can argue that this film marked the first cinematic depiction of dystopia.

Lest we forget, Metropolis is a product of its era, when fear and discontent gripped Europe, still reeling from The Great War, as communism continues to proliferate beyond the borders of the Soviet Union.

Does the narrative suggest that Lang empathized with the ideology of his compatriot Karl Marx? Perhaps not, for he incorporates an element eschewed by Marxism: religion.

Specifically, he adapted the Biblical tale of the Tower of Babel but repurposed it in a more secular light. Ego-fueled leaders and the rage of the masses, rather than the act of God, led to the city’s demise, a blatant opposition to violent revolution.

Further substantiating this potential counterargument of communism is the addition of a conclusion not part of the original Genesis tale: a prophecy of hope, where the “heart” guides the “mind” and “hands.”

Naive? German audiences at the time thought so. One might imagine Frederich Nietzsche’s scathing lamentations to such a message had he lived long enough to see this in cinemas.

Still, it is an attempt at giving Metropolis its worth. Concurrence need not be required to appreciate Lang’s optimism to find common ground between the religious and political, even when lambasted on both fronts, anti-communists on one side and nihilists on the other.

Still, maybe Metropolis should not be exclusively viewed as a moral discernment of the times. It can be viewed as a product of prescient thinking. It is eerie how Lang foresaw (perhaps unintentionally) events almost a century after its release, from the rise of Nazism to the emergence of deceptive artificial intelligence.

In the end, Metropolis is best viewed from two perspectives: as a cinematic spectacle that set the standard for the sci-fi genre or as a thinkpiece that attempts to comprehend its present and future.

On that note, worth mentioning is that the story is allegedly set in 2026, less than a year before this review’s publication. Perhaps viewers today can still draw some parallels between the then and now.

Long Time No Speak

Almost two years have passed since the publication of this blog’s most recent review.

Such a long absence came from multiple factors in my personal life: severe writer’s block, a decline in interest, a shift in life priorities, and most notably, my mental stability.

I noticed all of this as I was writing what could have been my review for Oppenheimer (2023). Even as I witnessed another outstanding achievement by Christopher Nolan, my mind went black.

Nothing. Not one articulated thought came about.

An explanation has eluded me for quite some time, until personal discernment brought me to a conclusion: I may not be as knowledgeable in this medium of art I’m passionate about as I thought.

Naïveté impedes greater understanding. Lack thereof leads to incomprehension.

I have realized that my cinephilia is confined to the present, oftentimes forgetting that the now is a byproduct of decades of innovation.

Further impeding my expressions is a morbid overreliance on dopamine-inducing online scrolling and binge viewing that has overwhelmed my psyche and derailed my train of thought (the pitfalls of immersing in Internet culture).

Hence, I decided to step back and bide my time. Thus began a long period of returning to the basics, to view cinema once more as an average member of the audience rather than the connoisseur I ignorantly thought I was.

I began to view more pictures from the past and present and read more literature to grasp a passion that’s been lost for too long.

It is a process that remains ongoing, as of the writing of this message, but I feel more than ready to return to this platform once again to share what I have seen.

The Missing (Iti Mapukpukaw) (2023) – A Review

Release date: August 5, 2023 (Cinemalaya)
Director: Carl Joseph Papa
Starring: Carlo Aquino, Gio Gahol, Dolly de Leon
Genre: Sci-fi, Animation

Memory is an abstract thought that possesses two contrasting qualities: static and dynamic. Though some may come and go like sand to the wind, others remained emblazoned in the mind and soul like scars from a branding iron to the skin.

Yet, how much credence can you give a memory, especially the sinister kind?

Reminiscing is easy.

Believing is hard.

A moment in time becomes a grain of fact when morphed and painted by our own terms, and how we recall our truths forms the foundation for Carl Joseph Papa’s Iti Mapukpukaw (The Missing).

In his fourth directorial effort, Papa’s latest is a rare gem in terms of its artistic form, its place in the local industry, and the themes it chose to deal with.

While the Philippine cinematic scene continues to flourish in its burgeoning creativity, animation is a medium rarely ventured and afforded. Recent years, however, have been kind to local animators, with the likes of Hayop Ka!, Trese, RPG: Metanoia, and Saving Sally, among others, garnering decent fanfare. Continuing this upward trend, The Missing pushes further with the use of a unique style: the rotoscope technique, and the effect is fascinating. Through tracing and embellishing real-life footage, Papa depicts a kaleidoscopic world where fiction and reality merge and the borders between them blur.

But, the stylistic choice serves more than a flex of creativity. In fact, it elevates the medium to something meta. The most misunderstood aspect of animation is how audiences perceive it as an art form geared to the youth. However, when art liberates itself from the confines of corporate demography, it becomes a tool that allows creators to express themselves and their stories in ways that traditional, live-action filmmaking cannot execute.

The Missing is no exception. Here, Papa explores the roots of childhood trauma, the way it persists in everyday life, and how it manifests in the most peculiar ways, all encompassed in the tale of Eric, played by Carlo Aquino, whose quiet yet rich expressions highlight his character’s underlying anguish.

You will notice this in the depictions of flashbacks and the present through contrasts of young and adult drawing styles.

You will see this in the breakdown of layers and designs when the protagonist’s trauma creeps in.

But most strikingly, you will witness this in the revelation of the memory that led to the unfolding events. Not only does it stand out for being morbidly petrifying, but it depicts the moment implicitly, neither direct nor overt yet brings the truth to light with compassionate sensitivity.

But, despairing as its story may be, Papa doesn’t conclude his film on a bitter note. Refreshingly, the film departs from the post-modern pessimism of other contemporary works and offers a glimmer of hope in the face of adversary, brought about by the tenderness of Gio Gahol’s and Dolly de Leon’s portrayals of their respective characters.

By the end of its 90-minute runtime, one might realize that what Eric lost was not missing. It was stolen, a larceny of one’s voice and, consequently, the self, and once it was found, it brought a needed catharsis to him and the audience that may share the experience.

Barbie (2023) – A Review

Release date: July 21, 2023 (US)
Director: Greta Gerwig
Starring: Margot Robbie, Ryan Gosling, America Ferrera, Kate McKinnon, Michael Cera, Issa Rae, Rhea Perlman, Will Ferrell, Simu Liu
Genre: Fantasy, Comedy

It all began on March 9, 1959, when a burgeoning, California-based toy company introduced a new and revolutionary product to the world: a petite, adult female doll draped in glittering accessories and brightly colored fashion. It was the birth of a new American icon, and her name is Barbara Millicent Roberts, known famously as Barbie.

In the decades since, her brand has evolved extensively from the quintessence of feminine beauty standards to an icon of female empowerment, becoming a subject of adoration and ire by girls, young and old. But in the contemporary present, when the declining favor of physical toys coincides with new, emerging feminist perspectives, where does this beloved doll fit in our current times?

In 2023, Greta Gerwig answers this with a renewed interpretation of this character. The result is a film filled with blockbuster fun and unexpected wit, with a heartfelt story at its core.

In her third solo directorial effort, Greta Gerwig makes an impressive transition from the indies to the mainstream without forsaking her cinematic styles and feminist philosophies.

Gerwig is an intelligent filmmaker, but her latest effort presents a new dimension to this wisdom. A stark departure from the mature stories of adolescence in Lady Bird (2017) and Little Women (2019), Barbie (2023) exemplifies her skill in fine-turning her storytelling abilities to a broader audience through subversive commentary and meta-humor, hinting at a level of versatility that may manifest in her future endeavors.

Adding to this appeal is an ambitiously bold vision of a pink-laden production design full of eye candy and true to the spirit of the world of Barbie.

Yet, palpable still is her ability to deliver nuanced takes on people and their ideals with careful thought and empathy, never fully antagonizing their beliefs while also not holding them to a high pedestal. Here, there is an honorable acknowledgment of the toy’s history carefully balanced with recognizing its shortcomings, illustrating its grander scheme of the conflict between idealism and realism.

Embodying these are the film’s lead characters riddled with complexity that draws in viewers further with their relatability and over-the-top hilarity brought to life by their respective actors.

While Ryan Gosling shows much competence in his dramatic turns (The Notebook, La La Land), one can argue that his true skills lie in his comedic talents, as seen in Crazy Stupid Love (2011) and The Nice Guys (2016). Playing the role of Barbie’s arm candy Ken allowed Gosling to take his comedian chops to the absolute maximum, and he took it (and then some) with much camp and charisma.

But while Gosling’s performance is quite the highlight, in no way does it distract viewers from the soul of this film: the titular character, played by an effervescent Margot Robbie. Through her humorous and dramatic flare, Robbie vividly brings to life the doll’s emotional yet cathartic existential journey, revealing to audiences the humanity behind the superficial accessories and confined packaging.

Further complementing the two leads is a cast entirely committed to Gerwig’s amusing yet sincere vision, most notably America Ferrera as the young-at-heart Gloria, whose performance grounds the film’s morale and heart with much conviction and grace.

And when the pieces come together, they form a work full of fervor and creativity. Through all the extensive marketing, excessive memes, and box office draw, the biggest achievement of Greta Gerwig’s Barbie is bringing this character back into the limelight with an inspiring and fresh point of view that gives the brand’s tagline “You can be anything” a whole new meaning!

Aftersun (2022) – A Review

Release date: May 21, 2022 (Cannes)
Director: Charlotte Wells
Starring: Paul Mescal, Frankie Corio, Celia Rowlson-Hall
Genre: Drama
Star rating: 8.5/10

Psychology is a fascinating yet underestimated science that aims to peer through a human’s enigma. One’s investigation into the internal heavily relies on the externals, concluding in either an accurate diagnosis or a morbid miscalculation. To comprehend human behavior’s complexity and duplicity can be overwhelming, more so on a personal level, when a smile or chortle of a parent, sibling, or friend can be deceiving. Charlotte Wells may have understood this all too well as she reminisces her memories with her father in one of this year’s most poignant masterpieces, Aftersun (2022).

Don’t you ever feel like… you’ve just done a whole amazing day and then you come home and feel tired and down and… it feels like your organs don’t work, they’re just tired, and everything is tired. Like you’re sinking. I don’t know, it’s weird.
Sophie Patterson

Deeply rooted in personal memories, the film relies on point-of-view with much profundity and beauty. For a motion picture set in a getaway at the Turkish beachside in the mid-to-late 90s, Wells transports you to a past that visually feels like present times.

Aftersun begins and progresses with fond recollections of a parent-daughter bond that sentimentally resonates with audiences. At face value, simple conversing and playing may look obscure and unassuming. However, Wells magnifies and frames these moments differently.

Nostalgia comes from two Greek words: nostos (“returning home”) and algos (“pain”), and it is a peculiar feeling. It selects the unlikeliest memories that bring joy to the human soul but also the pain that stems from one’s yearning and contemplation to relive those moments even when it harms.

Where the discomfort comes from varies individually, and, in Wells’ case, she hints at it in the film’s final third, not by what the story reveals but by what it conceals. Under different circumstances, an overabundance of mystery can lead to plot inconsistencies. In Aftersun, however, it is an effective device. There is a unanimous yet equivocal acknowledgment of the character’s sadness. Yet the cause remains unclear, hidden in those scenes of flashing lights in a dance club or events captured on a handheld camera.

But nowhere is this air of mystery concretized better than in the performances of its two leads.

At the age of 12 years, Frankie Corio offers a vibrant yet compelling performance as Sophie Patterson, depicting the character’s precocious wisdom while maintaining childlike mannerisms. For someone with no acting experience prior to this picture, Corio grabs the audience’s attention with her alluringly natural skill while bringing them along through Sophie’s coming-of-age tale.

Reminiscent of his role in Normal People, Paul Mescal as Calum Patterson gives one of the deftest and most accurate depictions of depression in 21st-century cinema. Countering to the more exaggerated portrayals of the mental disorder, the potency of his performance lies in the character’s idle and silent isolation and the veiled expressions of sadness that contrast with the charm of a doting father.

Outside its purpose as a loosely autobiographical tribute, Wells crafts Aftersun as a foreboding, cautionary tale. Even in our current era of more open discourse on mental health, many still put on convincing disguises. Whatever caused the melancholy of Calum Patterson remains unknown, and it begs the question: how many more Calums are out there whose internalized despair remains shrouded from view?

When you were 11, what did you think you would be doing now?
Sophie Patterson

Elvis (2022) – A Review

Release date: May 25, 2022 (Cannes)
Director: Baz Luhmann
Starring: Austin Butler, Tom Hanks, Oliva DeJonge, Helen Thomson, Richard Roxburgh
Genre: Biopic, drama
Star rating: 5/10

The 1950s was an era of conservative norms of prim-and-proper femininity and suavely refined masculinity. It is hard to believe how a decade defined by the smooth and posh jazz icon Frank Sinatra would also introduce an equally legendary antithesis: Elvis Aaron Presley.

Well etched in the fabric of pop culture consciousness, the world has revered this Memphis lad turned King of Rock-n-Roll through institutions and tributes, from the memorialization of his Graceland residence to the countless imitators in Las Vegas to a few biographical media portrayals.

Almost four and a half decades since his untimely passing, Hollywood continues its immortalization of rock royalty with the latest biopic, Baz Luhrmann’s Elvis (2022). Although not the first of its kind, notable industry peer endorsement and approval from the Presley family have made this film one of the year’s most awaited.

But, here’s the kicker. If any film exemplifies the age-old aphorism of “All that glitters isn’t gold,” this is arguably one of them. For all the glitz and glamor the motion picture projects, Elvis stays within the surface-level conventions of the genre while offering little outside the comprehensive information written in already-existing documentaries and literature.

However, to the average viewer and ardent fans of the star, it’s probably the performances they are keener on than the plot they may or may not already know, as expected of a film of its category.

To his credit, Austin Butler has done his homework down to the T, from the signature, testosterone-heavy dance moves to even his recognizable baritone vocalisms. But, that’s the magic trick of biopic acting that can spellbind even the most experienced critics and the most veteran acting peers. Hyper-focusing the praise on its most shimmering aspects makes it easy to dismiss and forgive its apparent flaws. Austin Butler nails Elvis, the performer, but what does he offer as Elvis, the person? Due to the script’s premium on empirical portrayal than introspection, Austin succeeds more in replication than characterization.

It’s a point-for-point dictation with little to no challenge to express nuances.

Weep on cue.

Dance on cue.

Shout on cue.

Yet, Butler’s efforts feel deft compared to another performance that sticks out in the worst ways. What’s most unfortunate is that it comes from one you would least expect.

Depicting the film’s avariciously antagonistic narrator is a curious opportunity. To make audiences despise a character with a burning passion is to succeed admirably in your portrayal, making the case of Tom Hanks’s performance peculiar for the wrong reasons. Col. Tom Parker is loathsome, both the true-to-life subject matter and the film’s characterization. Whether Hanks attained a precise depiction or fell victim to questionable creative choices is beside the point. Everything about Hanks’ Parker, from blatant prosthetics to odd accents in dialogues, is more nuisance than inspiring. Conversely, one consolation is the drinking game material he offers for the countless times his character utters the word “snow.” (As a fair warning, the most tolerant to alcohol shall be the fittest to survive.)

Was there an opportunity to redeem and better the two? Maybe, but even so, they represent a harsh truth of how a performer’s show of skill is limited to the script and direction a work of art takes, and did this film ever?

Moulin Rouge! (2001), and The Great Gatsby (2013) tells us one thing about Baz Luhrmann: his penchant for the blindingly ecstatic aesthetic and visual hyperbole, which can work in the film’s favor or becomes its detriment. In the case of Elvis, it begs the question of the entire purpose of his stylistic choices, from unpleasant levels of bedazzlement to atrocious editing. No matter how much it tries to impress, Luhrmann’s direction drives attention away from what is essential: its plot and performances, however flawed they can be.

On the most basic level, Elvis is adequate at best. If it gets the thumbs-up from the Presleys and the star’s admirers, the film attains its end goal.

To the trained eyes, however, it will take more than fine-tuning to tame and improve this turbo-charged cacophony.

Everything Everywhere All At Once (2022) – A Review

Release date: March 25, 2022 (United States)
Director: Daniels (Dan Kwan & Daniel Scheinert)
Starring: Michelle Yeoh, Stephanie Hsu, Ke Huy Quan, Jenny Slate, Harry Shum Jr., James Hong, Jamie Lee Curtis
Genre: Sci-fi, action-comedy, drama
Star rating: 9/10

As with all forms of artisanship, the film is a categorized medium. As viewers or creators, we identify each work through characteristics shared with another opus or two. But the concept of genre classification is not arbitrary. Filmmaking lives and thrives at unhinged creativity that only the imagination could limit. That changes when business interest and the general public come into the picture. With the prevalence of tentpole box-office draws & mass appeal, it may seem that cinematic ingenuity and organic success are lacking (inhibited, even) in the industry’s current condition. Further accentuating the situation is a continuing divide between audiences’ acquired and broad tastes. Hence, under such circumstances, Daniels’ Everything, Everywhere, All at Once (2022) is a curious outlier for the times in almost every aspect, marking the directing-writing duo’s return to the cinematic scene six years after the flatulence-heavy Swiss Army Man (2016).

Their eclecticism for film and unapologetic penchant for weirdness is ever-so present in their latest work. From start to finish, the creators have made this with a palpable sense of passion and ambition rarely seen in contemporary cinema. Fitting to its name, Everything, Everywhere, All At Once possesses (well) everything, playfully blending genres for its multi-dimensional world-building through the creative use of stellar production concepts, stunning cinematography, and thrilling editing skills. The result is a flavorful fodder for the cinephilic soul, from homages to Wong Kar-Wai to enthralling superhero action choreography to slapstick lowbrow hilarity to heartfelt family drama.

It embodies the contradiction of the effortless being a product of effort, and so do the characters played marvelously by the movie’s primary performers.

Michelle Yeoh personifies the paradox with a burning passion. The persona of Evelyn is a role tailor-made for the actress’s deft skills, ranging from her signature martial arts to Jackie Chan-like comedic timing, an expert showcase of an untapped level of versatility in a span of more than two hours.

Ke Huy Quan makes a triumphant return to cinemas as Waymond Wong with a masterclass performance of seamless character transition from meager husband in one scene to supernatural aid in the next.

And Stephanie Hsu proves herself to be a breakout star in the making with the embodiment of the daughter Joy Wang turned antagonist Jobu Tupaki. Her character relies upon an ironically stern display of comic relief that ends in universal pathos, and Hsu succeeds in depicting such nuance and complexity.

Yet, with all the weirdness the film projects, one must not dismiss this work as another vacuous kitsch for stoners. The oddity works more than a mere mode of entertainment; it is integral in conveying timeless Asian and Western philosophies: the Way of the Dao, the opposing forces of Yin and Yang, and the perils of pessimistic and apathetic nihilism. Granted that it treads in territory familiar to the most veteran filmmakers, the messaging stands out for its near-universal comprehension. In a period where directors’ artistic decisions can confound even the most intelligent viewers, the Daniels avoids pompousness by achieving a coherent handling of its chosen themes that contrasts and surpasses the unorthodoxy of their style.

Film is an artistic medium meant to reflect the human condition. Here, Everything, Everywhere All At Once mirrors the dynamism of the human potential, the cautious optimism in realizing the endless possibilities, and even the slightest show of compassion that can transcend lifetimes.

When I choose to see the good side of things, I’m not being naive. It is strategic and necessary. It’s how I’ve learned to survive through everything.
Waymond Wong

Turning Red (2022) – A Review

Release date: March 11, 2022 (Disney+)
Director: Domee Shi
Starring: Rosalie Chiang, Sandra Oh, Ava Morse, Hyein Park, Maitreyi Ramakrishnan, Orion Lee, Wai Ching Ho, Tristan Allerick Chen, James Hong
Genre: Animation, Fantasy, Comedy, Coming-of-Age
Star rating: 8.5/10

For the studio that has brought us a few of the greatest animated films of all time, Pixar has been on a roller coaster of hits-and-misses.

At its peak, it produces Inside Out (2015) and Soul (2020), while at its troughs, it brings forth Cars 3 (2017) and Incredibles 2 (2018). Seemingly, it’s trying to walk a thin line between pandering to the audience’s nostalgia and offering the hallmark of their productions: new and profound narratives.

Enter its latest addition to their cannon, Turning Red (2022). At face value, the film may feel like an epitome of Disney’s recent pitfalls: a formulaic tale of human-turned-animal (typical Disney) that, for this specific case, is an allegory to female puberty and mommy issues. (In this review’s defense, even directress Domee Shi confesses to this.)

Conversely, though, it subverts those preconceptions. While the ideas may have taken a page or two from the typical, G-Rated playbook of tropes, the film possesses an eclectic form of originality. In our current era of filmmaking wrought in a so-called bankruptcy of fresh concepts, the film exposes our misled definitions of inventiveness. Contrary to popular belief, the birth of a new idea does not come from thin air; it stems from the derivation of many.

The result: rather than being a sign of Pixar’s return to form that reminisces the studio’s more stern releases of the 2000s (Leave that to Pete Doctor twice), Turning Red is arguably a reinvention of the famed formula.

The animation and storytelling are the manifestations of this, fully immersing themselves in the ludicrous, hyperbolic, and relatable life of Millennial/Gen-Z female adolescence and continuing the legacy of the late 2010s era of animation. As a matter of fact, this could quite possibly be Disney-Pixar’s closest attempt to a Mitchells VS the Machines (2021), should such comparison be warranted.

The jests are quick-witted.

The graphics exaggerate.

The scriptwriting flows.

Yet, despite its overt broadness, the feature still exemplifies Pixar’s longstanding mastery of delving into themes often considered too mature, convoluted, or even taboo for its younger demographic and still find inspirational universality.

And Domee Shi’s opus thrives through personal inspiration. Where her debut effort Bao (2018) offers a glimpse, Turning Red is a revelation, capturing the surprising intertwinement of pubescence and immigrant heritage.

While it possesses a refreshing boldness in its fleeting yet notable depictions of first periods, peer pressure, pop music fanaticism, and even homosexual undertones (Oh, the hypocritical irony!), Shi never treats this phase of life at surface level and with sheer awkwardness. Its poignancy comes into light when teenhood collides with flawed filial piety commonly felt among Asian households.

Consequently, 13 is not merely the age of cringe; it is the genesis of personal growth.

Teenhood is not just a phase of rebellion; it is a time of autonomy and self-actualization.

The root traumas are not individual; it is also generational.

It is a coming-of-age story that shows Pixar at its finest, capable of projecting unspoken truths in the most accessible way possible.

“People have all kinds of sides to them. And some sides are messy. The point isn’t to push the bad stuff away. It’s to make room for it, live with it.”
Jin

The Lost Daughter (2021) – A Review

Release date: December 31, 2021 (Netflix)
Director: Maggie Gyllenhaal
Starring: Olivia Colman, Jessie Buckley, Dakota Johnson, Ed Harris, Peter Sarsgaard
Genre: Drama
Star rating: 7.5/10

“Motherhood is a mental illness,” uttered Jennifer Lopez’s character Ramona Vega in the 2019 film Hustlers. Such a motion picture partly reflects the feminist zeitgeist of the late 2010s. With the proliferation of more outspoken ideologies among the female populace (thanks in part to social media and filmmaking) comes the radical shift in attitudes towards aspects of womanhood.

One of which is motherhood. Once a long-awaited phase of life, the enthusiasm for child-bearing has waned over the years. There seems to be more concurrence and frankness for the burdening mundanity of it all, translating itself into a plethora of shared narratives, with the newest addition being Maggie Gyllenhaal’s adaptation of The Lost Daughter (2021).

For a debut effort, Mrs. Gyllenhaal’s efforts to capture the Elena Ferrante novel have a respectable competency to it. While audiences may not find familiarity with the adapted literature or its author(s), Gyllenhaal gives a substantial glimpse of it through her screenwriting craft. Although wordy, the dialogues are potent with tangible and intertwined characterizations. Despite centralizing its themes and messages on a primary protagonist, it never forsakes its other characters to the sidelines and instead adds to the narrative the way supporting roles should.

Of course, this translation from the pages to the screen also would not function without the subtleties of its cast’s performances.

Continuing from the career direction in The Favorite (2018) and The Father (2020), Olivia Colman further proves her proficiency as a dramatic actress. At her best, she captures the ambivalent emotions of Professor Leda Caruso and the burdensome guilt she carries as a mother willing for independence at a cost.

Star-on-the-rise Jessie Buckley continues her golden streak as the young Leda as she grapples with the qualms of early motherhood. Inexplicably, her and Colman’s characterizations go so well in sync throughout the picture that, arguably, it is easy to forget that two actresses were playing the same person.

Lastly, Dakota Johnson offers another career highlight acting as Leda’s young foil, Nina. Depicting an enervated persona can be a hurdle, as it is easy to dismiss such a performance as lazy and soulless. But Johnson palpably projects an underlying tragedy, even without the need for an outward expression of annoyance and self-pity.

Yet, brilliant thespianism aside, its directional choices may cause a divided reaction among viewers, which comes down to preferential tastes. Considering the slow pace and seldom word-heavy nature of the narrative, attentive eyes and ears are, at some capacity, a requirement to show, at the very least, an understanding of its timely yet taboo discourse. This critic, for one, does not find The Lost Daughter to be his cup of tea, but it should not suggest that there is no respect for the output given.

Maggie Gyllenhaal’s first foray into scriptwriting and directing are still worthy of some admiration. After all, this film could be the genesis of even bigger things for her.

“Children are a crushing responsibility.”
Leda

Respect (2021) – A Review

Release date: August 13, 2021
Director: Liesl Tommy
Starring: Jennifer Hudson, Forest Whitaker, Marlon Wayans, Audra McDonald, Marc Maron, Tituss Burgess, Mary J. Blige
Genre: Biopic, Drama
Star rating: 7/10

From her ingenious musicality to her hair-raising vocal power, Miss Aretha Franklin, the Queen of Soul, has proven herself an indelible mainstay in popular consciousness in her more than seven-decade-long life and career. With such a prolific status immortalized in memoirs, biographies, and documentaries, it is perplexing how the story of one of popular music’s most influential figures never got to be projected onto the big screen.

That, however, was just an opportunity waiting to happen (literally). As far back as the mid-2000s, rumors surrounding pre-production and casting decisions abuzz. With the Queen herself taking precedence, all it took was to wait for the right muse.

Sure enough, she came, and her name was Jennifer Hudson, famed American Idol alumni whose infamous loss turned out to be a blessing in disguise. With years of stage and film experience and an Oscar to her name, the long-awaited biopic finally commenced production, finally premiering under the name Respect (2021).

Named after the number-one ranked song of Rolling Stones’ The 500 Greatest Songs Of All Time, does the film live up to its name? Yes, to its noble intentions, but so-so, for what it gives and what you get.

From the get-go, the film’s expectations rest heavily on Jennifer Hudson. She was Ms. Franklin’s top choice and is close to the songstress in vocal fach and appearance. And, God as her witness, the singer-actress has done her homework in what might be her career-best. Ms. Hudson mirrors the calm but assertive tone of the diva’s articulation; she takes us into the emotional depths of her traumas and demons, and, of course, she sings the house down in true Aretha fashion.

That said, the film respectfully shows not a singular reliance on the chanteuse. The performances of Hudson’s fellow cast members hold up on their own, presenting their respective character’s seminal influence on the subject.

“I’d like you to call me Miss Franklin.”
Aretha Franklin

Forrest Whitaker’s presence shows patriarch C. L. Franklin’s dominance on Aretha, whether in a subdued or tempered display.

Mary J. Blige, despite her minimal screentime, leaves her mark as jazz legend Dinah Washington, a cut-throat foil to Aretha and a prelude to her future.

But, lastly, here’s to an honorable mention to the child actress’ portrayal as the young ReRe. Her juvenile talent shines through in displaying the young lass’ effervescent-turned-bleak childhood, an optimistic precursor to Skye Dakota Turner’s future.

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Conversely, though, this is where its due kudos only holds. Respect, in its entirety, still follows the cadence of your typical biopic fanfare. It is performative and informative, the bare minimum of the genre. The film projects what the audiences expect: a point-for-point, frame-by-frame recreation of Aretha’s life, mixed with textbook melodrama and fictional events.

And even with its intent to educationally entertain, the film is underpinned by an overstuffed narrative whose plot adapts about a score of the lady’s prolific existence. Resultingly, it suffers from an uneven investment in her biography.

In one act, we get a ten-minute preview of Franklin’s creative process, and, in the next, we momentarily see her pivotal involvement in America’s civil rights movement. Later, it fast-forwards to her dipsomaniacal descent, then swiftly afterward, it shows her recovery and return to her gospel roots.

It showcases so much, but, ironically, it also presents little.

After sitting in development hell for years, Respect got what it aimed for but not what it could have been. It shows, tells, but not dives in deep. It can only hum to the same tune for too long before people listen to the next best thing.

But, if it makes anyone happy, Miss Franklin may have gotten what she needed. It’s imperfect, but it finally exists for her sake and by her approval.

Rrrrrrr-ghghghghgh! — musicalsgifs: Jennifer Hudson is Aretha Franklin...

“You have to disturb the peace when you can’t get no peace.”
Aretha Franklin