Midsommar

If you're like me, the first questions you ask your movie-going-partner after the credits roll and you walk toward the theater exit is: "Did you like the move?"

Nearly 24-hours after I watched Midsommar, I'm still stumped about how best to reply. Every time I try, it comes out sorta like:

"Well, I was absolutely horrified."

"It was kinda predictable, but I was transfixed."

"The cinematography was beautiful."

I'm not certain I liked the movie. In fact, I might be a little suspicious of anyone who liked the movie. But I can't stop thinking about it.

Ari Aster's pagan cult movie is beautifully filmed and speaks to the power of relationships. In fact, relationship is the heart of this movie: relationship with family and with lovers, and how it affects decision making; exchange and communal relationships, and how those systems create and affect beliefs and rituals; relationship with friends and acquaintances, and how those are affected by trust.

Midsommar ain't no ordinary horror flick.

The movie is not perfect, and I'm certain there are many who will hate it. Characters feel two dimensional, and the lack of character development makes the plot predictable early on. However, that predictability plays in the movie's favor -- the anticipation of what is to come adds to the distress and horror as the viewer rides that slow, emotional build until it reaches climax.

(No pun intended.)

I'm unsure if I liked Midsommar. But I'll remember Midsommar, and want to talk about Midsommar, for years.

And that makes for a great movie to me.

Annabelle Comes Home

Porcelain skin, and

Wide eyes that cut to the bone

Can't save a poor script

Yesterday

Yesterday, created by writer Richard Curtis and director Danny Boyle, spends nearly two hours proving to the audience that The Beatles were the greatest musical artists of all time. 

Not John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, or Ringo Starr, despite their individual artistry and ability. But The Beatles together, as a band. 

There was something special about those four musicians coming together at exactly that time in history to produced that body of work. A body of work that changed music forever, and profoundly influenced art and culture. 

Sure, we know a lot of Beatles trivia. We know the band started out in Liverpool, England, nearly 60 years ago. We can sing all the words to Hey Jude and Let It Be, and hum most of Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da. We know they are the best selling band in history, and hold the record for most Number 1 hits. 

We know intellectually that The Beatles were great. But seven decades later, I think we take the band for granted. We've heard their best songs so often that, perhaps, we don't appreciate them as we should.

And that's the beauty of Yesterday. Curtis and Boyle place the best of The Beatles in our modern world, and we watch as people hear and appreciate them for the first time. Curtis and Boyle allow the audience to compare and contrast songs by The Beatles to those of modern pop icons, and, . . .  it's clear there is no comparison.  

As Ed Sheeran - the real musician in a supporting role -- discovers, there are songs by The Beatles and then there are songs by everyone else. 

Yesterday is a powerful tribute to The Beatles contained within a well-acted romantic comedy. Himesh Patel is good at emoting the many internal conflicts he feels throughout, and Lily James is terrific as his first manager who wants to be more. And while Kate McKinnon seems a bit over the top as the record industry executive, I suspect those in that profession are more like her portrayal than they'd like to admit.

But the strength of Yesterday is the reminder that real art, such as the legacy left by The Beatles, is by far something greater than the iTunes-driven pop industry of today. 

Sixty years from now no one will be singing Justin Bieber's Boyfriend. But without a doubt people will still be singing Yesterday. 

Rolling Thunder Revue: A Bob Dylan Story by Martin Scorsese

                              pre·ten·tious

                                                                   /prəˈten(t)SHəs/

                                                                          adjective

adjective: pretentious

1. attempting to impress by affecting greater importance, talent, culture, etc., than is actually possessed.
   "a pretentious literary device"

   synonyms:

   affected, ostentatious, chi-chi, showy, flashy, tinselly, conspicuous, flaunty, tasteless, kitschy; More

Dark Phoenix

My summary of the entire 114 minutes of Dark Phoenix. 

Rocketman

OK, let's first get the obvious comparison out of the way: Rocketman is a far better movie than Bohemian Rhapsody, and Taron Egerton a better Elton John than Rami Malek was a Freddie Mercury. 

There, I said it, and it's true. Deal with it. 

Rocketman tells John's story through music and metaphor. And if, like me, you've been a decades-long fan of Sir Elton Hercules John, then take note: you'll still learn something new about him after watching this biopic. 

Egerton is a force in this flick. The total package. He sings beautifully, and connects with the audience in a deeply personal way. Viewers can clearly tell that sweet, shy Reg is morphing into obnoxious, dickhead Elton, but we never look away or lose faith. That's due primarily to Egerton's ability to portray John as deeply flawed and fragile, yet lovable. 

We know he's an ass, but we also know why. And we understand. 

Jamie Bell almost steals the show as Bernie Taupin. Rocketman is as much the story of Taupin's deep brotherly love for Elton as it is about Elton's struggle to understand and accept himself. Watching their platonic relationship grow is wonderful. One scene in particular, where we witness the genius involved in writing "Your Song," may be my favorite movie scene from the last several years. 

The scene is that damn good. 

Rocketman, like the music of Elton John, won't be everyone's cup of tea. But I suspect the bandwagon will be really crowded come Academy Award time. 

Gloria Bell

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

I've grown tired of superhero movies. Of heavily used special effects, even the really great ones like in Black Panther and Avengers: Endgame.

I've secretly coveted a stripped down, character-driven movie that relies heavily on acting chops and which moves me emotionally. For some months now I've viewed the film industry with contempt as they've pumped out movie after movie designed to earn billions of dollars instead of producing personal works of art. I've participated in that machinery, even though I knew it was rotting my soul.

Forgive me, Father. I awaited premiers of blockbuster movies with lust and envy and pride. And I was wrong to become so consumed by the process.

Watching Gloria Bell reminded me of the substantial power that great acting in small movies can have on me. Watching Julianne Moore find herself-- to grow emotionally on screen--  as she interacts with co-star John Turturro was an inspiration.

It's a powerhouse performance, Father. The sort of performance that wins Oscars, even without seamless special effects and big box office receipts.

Forgive me Father, for I've sinned. But I've seen the light, I promise.

(At least until the July release of Spider-Man: Far From Home)

Brightburn

With apologies:

Faster than a movie that has a substantive plot. More powerful a sleep aid than Melatonin. Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound yet poor character development prevents that from happening.

Look, up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's a sociopath!

Yes, it's Brandon Breyer, strange visitor from another planet, who came to earth with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men. Brandon, who can fly at nearly invisible super-spend so as to avoid expensive special effect costs, bend steel in his bare hands when he's angry at lawn care machines, and who, with no forethought to disguise, draws attention to himself as a socially awkward pre-teen in middle school, fights a never-ending battle for no real reason other than he just really wants what he wants.

John Wick Chapter 3: Parabellum

Director Chad Stahelski channel Sergio Leone in his John Wick series, and this third installment is no different. Chapter 3: Parabellum has a larger budget and more supporting actor star power than the two previous installments, but the flick is classic A Fistful of Dollars.

A modern Spaghetti Western.

Chapter 3: Parabellum digs deeper into, and adds to, the franchise mythology. And, perhaps, that's the biggest weakness of the film. The beauty of John Wick, the original, was that it had a simple plot based on a simple premise:  Bad guy falls in love, is changed forever for the better, loses girl, struggles to stay true to her memory, then kills several dozen people as he works through that conflict.

Well, maybe it wasn't that simple. It wasn't, however, just a fucking puppy.

Chapter 3: Parabellum has a larger budget and lots of big-name supporting actors. But it's the action that brings people to the show. By now everyone in the audience knows Wick's moves. . . he never backs up, instead always moving forward into the fight. He's gonna arm drag one guy onto the ground, then hold him tightly with his legs while he shoots another guy who is running toward him. He'll then re-load the gun and shoot the first guy he's been holding down all this time. He'll shoot a bunch of guys close-up in the face while working through a crowded venue. And then later he'll have at least two knife fights that make the best martial arts films look weak.

But we don't care that all his moves are the same. That's just who John Wick is. He's a man of focus. A man of sheer will. I once saw him kill three men in a bar using nothing but a pencil. Who does that?

John Wick.

While I prefer the first film to either of the sequels, I enjoy watching the character evolve and the mythology being built. We learn a little more about the personal life of Wick in Parabellum, and that insight helps us appreciate the guy even more.

Can't wait to watch Chapter 4.

Capernaum

Capernaum . . .

The movie about growing up in the slums of Beirut haunts me, days after I watched it.

More specifically, the work of child actor Zain Al Rafeea haunts me. His ability to connect the audience to his despair -- and to the incredible resilience he shows in the depths of that despair -- is the stuff of which legendary careers are made.

And this was Al Rafeea's first and only acting role.

For me to even attempt commentary on Capernaum feels hollow and incomplete. The inevitable description of the movie as being about "the struggle to survive while living in the extreme poverty of a desperate city" just seems trite. It just doesn't do Al Rafeea's powerhouse of a performance justice.

Director Nadine Labaki's fictional account feels like a real-life documentary. It's raw. It's spellbinding. It's moving. It's haunting.

Most of all it's a movie everyone in the USA should see.