FOFS 2024: ‘The Sweater’ Review
August 15, 2024
Simple stories about everyday life are given impactful personality and nuance by filmmaker Maziyar Khatam. From writing and directing his 2022 comedic short film Bump, to writing and starring in the 2023 dramatic short film Baba, both of which premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in their respective years, Khatam has a knack for conveying jewels of original ideas in the little things. Between Bump and Baba, he has exercised an impressive range inclusive of sketch comedy and tense family dynamics. Khatam’s latest, The Sweater, brings him back into the director’s chair for a delightfully short and sweet story. With echoes of Larry David’s Curb Your Enthusiasm and a finger on the pulse of situational humour, The Sweater blossoms into a resonating narrative about sentimentality and conflicted identity. Khatam packs layers into a 9-minute runtime and makes the most of every second on screen. In addition to directing and writing the film, he also stars as the endearing protagonist whose heart is torn on what he truly wants.
The film begins in a state of shambles with a couple's disagreement. Pressured by his girlfriend Anya (Chirkova) into giving away his clothes, Maz (Khatam) tries to reclaim a treasured mushroom sweater that is rightfully his before it disappears into the deep end of donations. He immediately longs for this piece of clothing that holds such great sentimental value for him. After speaking with a skeptical Oasis Clothing Bank employee, Maz makes his way to a sea of clothing racks in the hopes of finding his sweater. The idea of stealing from a thrift store after unintentionally donating an item feels like a page lifted from Larry David's book, wherein the humour derives from stumbling into scenarios almost spontaneously. The Sweater does have an impromptu energy, made pronounced by the grainy hand-held filming techniques and frequent close-ups of characters.
Losing something of sentimental value, potentially forever, is such a specific feeling that, depending on the item lost, can eat away at you. Nothing can replace the cherished item, and the film taps into that paranoia of desperately grasping for what is yours. Khatam layers a simple premise with a protagonist who faces an internal dilemma of sorts. Swayed by his girlfriend's persuasion and his friends' peer pressure, Maz gives more weight to the opinions of others than to his own. As a result, he finds himself in an identity crisis. The one thing he is sure of at this particular point in his life is the importance of the mushroom sweater, and his determination drives the story forward.
Khatam's largely unscripted, documentary-like approach to the material creates a strong observational tone. As a result, the film puts you into the eye of Maz's storm and captures his distressed frame of mind to palpable degrees. The whereabouts of his sweater genuinely feels like the weight of the world on his shoulders, which is deeply relatable for those who have had to unexpectedly part with an object that carries sentimental meaning. The film also captures how that level of attachment can be either misunderstood or dismissed by others. When Maz ultimately locates his sweater, and steals it from the thrift store, he later wears it to a social outing over drinks. After Maz excitedly shares the news of his beloved sweater, he is stunned into silence when his friends apathetically acknowledge it and swiftly move on.
This moment exemplifies a great little thematic exploration around identity. Maz has nothing, and no one, to cheers this moment with. His supposed closest friends show no interest in celebrating the moment with him, which in turn makes the viewer question, how well do they really know him? The sweater is a fundamental part of who this character is, and watching that be dismissed in real-time feels like a very quiet gut punch to the heart. A deft choice of end credits music in Weezer's Undone (The Sweater Song) captures the scene's energy perfectly. Not only is the sweater's purpose coming undone, but so is the person proudly wearing it, whose pride is slipping away. The Sweater marks another authentic creative expression from Khatam, and an exciting continued collaboration with producer Anya Chirkova (who had previously directed Baba). The two operate on an incredibly compelling wavelength full of continued promise and a keen eye for what makes a simple story so special.
The Sweater had its world premiere at the 2024 Future of Film Showcase.
TIFF 2024: ‘Conclave’ Review
September 8, 2024
The process of electing a new Pope is usually hidden from the outside world. Like a covert operation, the most powerful Cardinal members of the Catholic Church gather behind closed Vatican doors to define a new era. As several frontrunners emerge, the cardinals face a growing volume of competing interests and conflicting beliefs. This centuries-old ritual is closely guarded by Cardinal Lawrence, who struggles between the lines of faith, doubt, and religious duty. He oversees a powerful game of politics from the clinical rooms of the Vatican. Author Robert Harris saw the literary potential and wrote the bestselling 2016 novel Conclave, a thriller with cinematic sensibilities as Edward Berger’s marvelous-looking film adaptation proves. In his follow up to the Oscar-winning All Quiet on the Western Front, Berger’s Conclave enlightens one of the most mysterious events through a riveting web of secrets and lies.
When the beloved Pope suddenly dies, Cardinal Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes) is tasked with managing the inner workings of voting for a new leader. The process requires that all cardinals be sequestered to avoid outside influence of world events. In the Sistine Chapel where voting takes place, cardinals from around the world secretly wield their overlapping views against each other in pursuit of power. On the surface, they work in quiet audacity. Behind the scenes, their true intentions are hidden between sacred walls, only coming to light when certain accusations and revelations spiral out of their control. The responsibility to keep this conclave in order falls on Lawrence, who listens carefully to the cardinals’ concerns and must ensure that the election unfolds in full transparency. As such, Lawrence goes head-to-head with quite a few ambitious figures willing to manipulate their way to the throne.
Lawrence finds himself undertaking a duty he never thought he had to perform. He was ready to leave Rome altogether and reexamine his own deeply conflicted faith, but his request had been denied by the Pope. Lawrence walks a fine line between questioning his beliefs in the religious institution, and listening to the urges of those impassioned to fight for it. Cardinal Secretary of State Aldo Bellini (Stanley Tucci) stresses that liberals must unite to stop people like Cardinal Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto), whose antiquated views threaten to undo the progress made by Bellini’s supporters. Conservative Cardinal Tremblay (John Lithgow) is of particular interest; being the last person to have conversed with the Pope, Tremblay might be pulling strings on the late leader’s behalf. The arrival of Cardinal Benitez (Carlos Diehz) from Afghanistan also stirs conversation and leads to an intriguing development.
The screenplay by Peter Straughan excels at highlighting all these characters not just by their power rankings, but by their human failings. Focusing on Lawrence at the center of potential controversies and schemes raise the stakes, as he himself is a contradictory character. His personal doubts cast a shadow of uncertainty across the Vatican, causing other cardinals to question his ambitions and whether his inquisitiveness is a ploy to support his own candidacy. “You need to pick a side,” Bellini demands to Lawrence. The future of the Catholic Church depends on it. Investigative interactions between cardinals helps to unveil a tense mystery at the film’s core.
Berger’s superb direction creaks open the doors of an electoral system that had long been shrouded in secrecy. He makes use of multiple locations, from offices and staircases to theater rooms and courtyards. No stone is left unturned. No corner is without the whispers of corruption. Even the seals of the late Pope’s quarters are not enough protection, nor the beautifully painted walls of the Sistine Chapel. The deeper into this conclave the film goes, the less places there are to hide from an antiquated foundation that needs to be disrupted.
Conclave has an astounding visual uniformity that adds to the story’s ritualistic nature. While the cardinals elect in a place of pristine historical beauty, they are sequestered in clinical-looking environments. The inner workings of the conclave are really a mundane series of human failings. Stéphane Fontaine’s cinematography illuminates cold interiors and basks in the sterile light. Suzie Davies’ detailed production design distinguishes between the many spaces cardinals occupy and gather in, the theater room being a tremendous highlight.
We often see the cardinals move wherever they please, like using their phones in the courtyard. Whereas the group of sisters in the film, overseen by Sister Agnes (Isabella Rossellini), fade into shadows and backgrounds. Lisy Christl's costume design incorporates a uniform approach between the cardinals wearing red and the sisters wearing blue. The colors red and blue play a striking role in the film's color palette. In addition to the visuals, the sound and score of Conclave reverberate. Much like composer Volker Bertelmann’s Oscar-winning work for Berger’s All Quiet on the Western Front, here Bertelmann creates another distinctive score that utilizes a minimal variety of notes. The music intensifies increasingly tense narrative developments, as do an accomplished group of actors.
With a cast like Conclave’s, to deem one actor best in show would be to compliment the work of another, as this ensemble finds an incredibly collaborative groove together. Part of the mystery and thrill of this story is watching the characters bounce off each other. Though it takes an actor of immense gravitas and control to set a consistent energy for the supporting players to orbit around. The film has its unwavering leader in Ralph Fiennes, whose towering talent reaches new heights as Cardinal Lawrence. Every close-up of Fiennes is a blessing to understanding not just the nuances of his character, but the complexities of the institution he wrestles with. Fiennes walks the line between faith and doubt in a compelling magnitude.
The supporting players have brief moments to shine, and they do so with the reliability one comes to expect. Isabella Rossellini has a standout scene when her character unexpectedly breaks a vow of silence with damning truths. Carlos Diehz, making his feature film acting debut, stands out in a stunning scene where Cardinal Benitez questions what the other cardinals know about war. Benitez also personifies a bold and startling twist that leaves much to ruminate on, as this entire conclave procedural does.
From the artistry behind the camera to the terrific actors in front of it, Conclave explores political tension in a fresh and fittingly disruptive manner.
TIFF 2024: ‘Seeds’ Review
September 13, 2024
From starring in Vanessa Matsui’s endearing web series Ghost BFF to appearing on hit television shows Letterkenny and Reservation Dogs, Kaniehtiio Horn is an exciting talent in the Canadian scene and beyond. Horn continues to show intriguing range with her feature directorial debut Seeds, which premiered in the 2024 TIFF Discovery program. Incorporating the ingredients of a home invasion thriller, a dark comedy, and a twisted horror, Horn crafts a genre film about preserving Indigenous legacy. While the film falls short in balancing various tones, Seeds finds moments to bud in the layered groundwork. Horn shows a singular voice in her thoughtful commentary on seedy corporations and in a well-defined slice of contemporary reservation life. Her potential behind the camera makes for a worthwhile experience that leaves you with the glimmers of bigger and better things to come.
In Seeds, Horn plays a Kanien’kehaka (Mohawk) woman named Ziggy who aims to make it big as a social media influencer. Much to her excitement, she lands a job promoting Nature’s Oath, a seed and fertilizer company that checks off the boxes of an environmentally conscious venture. Showered with big cheques and branded swag, Ziggy spreads the seeds of Nature’s Oath to her growing subscribers. The opportunity feels too good to be true, but Ziggy presses on in the hope of making a decent income and progressing in an exciting new direction.
Nature’s Oath becomes the driving force of Ziggy’s decision making. When her cousin (Dallas Goldtooth) calls her to house-sit for a relative in the middle of the woods, Ziggy reluctantly agrees on one condition: the place must have a stable Internet connection. She finds a hot spot that overlooks much of the community, just as her reliability on the company comes to a halt. When her cousin finds out about Nature’s Oath, he feverishly explains why she needs to stop. The company plants seeds in a corrupt avenue of industrial agriculture; they are the enemy, and with Ziggy’s endorsement, she is selling out to her community. What begins as a promising social media gig quickly becomes a contradiction of values, and a matter of life and death. The company breeds a violent stranger sent to follow Ziggy into her small Kanien’kehaka community and steal her family’s legacy for corporate gain. As Ziggy fights to protect the seeds on this reservation, she taps into the ancestral history of her people and the horrors that have threatened multi-generational land.
Written and directed by Horn, Seeds has a consistent and clear voice throughout, though her narrative focus spreads very thin. The attempts to juggle multiple stories in one shot falls flat. The film jumps from a home invasion thriller, to a family drama, to a blood-soaked horror fest, without a strong through line to hold all the tonal shifts together. As a result, Seeds plays out as a collection of ideas rather than a cohesive narrative. The most effective layer — using the seeds as a metaphor for fertilizing a healthy environment or pollinating with toxicity — gets lost beneath stylized and generic genre choices. With an imbalance in the story and tone, the emotional stakes feel rushed, as does the spiral into twisted horror in the final act. While an interesting choice to visualize Ziggy’s moral stance and the significance of exacting her revenge, the decision arrives too late in the game to have a stronger impact.
The film thrives more in how Horn populates a small community with unique detail and shared history. She strongly establishes the setting, and makes ancestral connections between characters who give voice to the legacy Ziggy fights for. The film also does a neat job visualizing the protagonist’s frame of mind and the crime culture that influences her. First Nations actor Graham Greene appears as a figment of her imagination, specifically in hosting mode. Many who grew up in Canada know Greene from the show Exhibit A: Secrets of Forensic Science, in which he hosted a series of cold cases through the 1980s and 90s. His iconic presence, used as a guiding voice for Ziggy’s conscience, brings out a nostalgic quality and adds personality to the film.
While Seeds may not entirely work tonally or narratively, Kaniehtiio Horn sprinkles her feature directorial debut with enough vision to exist in a world of its own.
TIFF 2024: ‘Anora’ Review
September 15, 2024
From Starlet and Tangerine to The Florida Project and Red Rocket, filmmaker Sean Baker has become one of the most insightful storytellers of America’s outskirts. Baker’s films give marginalized groups a voice without patronizing or exploiting their authentic experiences. Focused consistently on sex workers, he writes well-rounded characters with agency and individuality in their stories. He directs with humanistic sensibilities, which help to erase the stigma that adult work often faces.
Baker continues to meet the lives of sex workers with compassion in his latest, Anora. The film explores the American dream from a two-sided coin: a powerful family afforded everything at their disposal, and an independent young woman caught in the crossfires who rightfully pursues a better life. This dual narrative embeds a satisfying, energetic, often funny picture with reverberating melancholy. The fairytale of Anora unfolds through Baker’s authentic voice. He anchors a lively whirlwind fantasy in the aching reality of who gets to keep dreaming, and who gets left behind. Led by a magnificent Mikey Madison, whose performance should make her the brightest star, Anora embraces the independence and vulnerability of a young woman coming of age.
The film introduces Anora (Madison) at a Manhattan nightclub called Headquarters, where she works nightly as an exotic dancer. Going by Ani, she effortlessly scans a floor full of men and leads them each into private rooms. Ani joins a micro-community of female dancers whose artistry is on full display; the opening montage of their various dances sets an energetic tone and immediately establishes a kinship towards them, Ani especially. From her astute observations of male clients' needs to her thoughtful interactions with them, she knows how to play the game. She also recognizes this livelihood as a hustle and will seize the opportunity for her Cinderella story.
When an excitable rich Russian kid named Ivan (Mark Eidelshtein) walks into the club, Ani's Russian background gets her assigned to cater to his needs. She tells him she never speaks Russian but decides to do so in this case, letting her guard down. As the two form a connection, he whisks her away from Headquarters, and her life takes an enchanting turn. Ivan lives in a mansion (afforded by being the son of an oligarch) and enjoys a lavish lifestyle Ani could only dream of having. The more dates Ani and Ivan go on, the deeper she falls not for his money, but for the gratification that being with him means she can leave Headquarters behind. Ivan asks if they could be exclusive, and one impulse leads to another until they dash to a Vegas chapel.
Ani always wanted a Cinderella honeymoon suite, and it comes at a depressing cost. As she works hard to reach what Ivan takes for granted, the carriage gradually transforms into a pumpkin. Baker draws out the facade for as long as possible, creating a destructive slow-burn drama. The film unravels into a chaotic spell of crushed dreams at the hands of a rich kid's tantrum. Baker's script deftly balances the two very different sides of Ani and Vanya's relationship: the former opens her heart and mind to the potential of a new reality, while the latter bleeds his entourage dry and runs from accountability. In Vanya's eyes, Ani is a token he can gamble. For Ani, Vanya represents a bigger and brighter future. When his truest colors show, the film morphs from a romanticized whirlwind romance to an estranged relationship drama about class divides and the poignant bonds formed through quiet solidarity.
Baker finds an incredible anchor in Mikey Madison to convey the protagonist’s downward spiral. Ani is the viewer's way into a world of dashed dreams and harsh realities. Madison plays the character with such conviction and fearlessness, that one immediately feels excited by her ferociousness and concerned for her fate. She conveys a person's heart being broken in real time, trying so adamantly to hide how hurtful it is to lose each piece. Madison fills Ani with remarkable nuances and moments of small revelations, where one can sense she carries an emotional weight deep down. Her work gives the film's ending a reverberating impact and urges the viewer to reflect on Ani's journey.
In addition to Madison's star-making turn, the supporting cast of Anora brings various compelling energies to the story. In a standout scene of Vanya's henchmen Garrick (Vache Tovmasyan) and Igor (Yura Borisov) "breaking in" to his house, the entertaining sequence plays out like a slow-motion thriller. Baker fleshes out Garrick and Igor's personalities; they are hesitant to keep acting on behalf of the Vanya family’s representative Toros (Karren Karagulian). All three actors bring fantastic comedic sensibilities to the film. Their interactions often unravel into a comedy of errors and shed light on the ridiculousness they have to put up with to cover Vanya's antics.
With Anora, Baker approaches a larger scale of filmmaking with his same core sensibilities. His focus on under-explored communities and empathy for stigmatized individuals give this story tremendous heart. Ani might be whisked off her feet, but the film is planted firmly on the ground with tenderness. Electric and sorrowful, Anora paints an aching picture of the humanistic costs associated with the luxury of dreaming.
‘Dahomey’ Review
October 30, 2024
In the deeply rooted fears of not recognizing home, and home not recognizing you, resonates an astonishing story of lost artifacts. French-Senegalese filmmaker Mati Diop’s Dahomey chronicles 26 royal treasures that return to their origin of present-day Benin (formerly the Kingdom of Dahomey). Written and directed by Diop, she personifies these artifacts by giving a voice to their lost impact, and provoking conversations about how they ought to be measured in the context of restitution. What value do these treasures hold, and for whom? What do they signify for cultural identity? Is the act of bringing them home a victory, or an insult to the thousands of voices still hidden in the dark? Part documentary, part surrealist cinematic work of fiction, Dahomey examines the past through a mystical perspective of relics’ souls. With futuristic-sounding narration, impassioned student debates, and hypnotic procedural shots, Diop visualizes an ancestral homecoming.
After the French invasion of Dahomey in 1890, thousands of artifacts were seized by colonial troops and donated to the Musée d’Ethnographie du Trocadéro (now the Musée de l’Homme). Among these thousands were the now-repatriated 26 artifacts, which had been kept in the Musée du Quai Branly since the year 2000. For centuries, these irreplaceable treasures had not seen the light of day in their country of origin. Pleas for the repatriation of African heritage were ignored until 2016, when Patrice Talon (President of the Republic of Benin) officially requested the French government to return the pillaged objects. This request led to a French law passed in 2020 that specified restitutions must be made within a year. Set in November 2021, Dahomey follows the meticulous transportation of 26 royal treasures from Paris, France, to their rightful home of Benin, West Africa.
The film subverts traditional documentarian expectations of talking heads and bullet point summaries. In a poetic fusion of fact and fiction, Diop tells the story from the artifacts’ points of view. Within the first few minutes, an evocative voice begins to narrate from the abyss of a black screen. The voice speaks in Fon, a Dahomean language spoken primarily in Benin. This spellbinding introduction sets the stage for an avant-garde exploration of the past through futuristic eyes. From the consciousness of trapped Beninese culture, to the effects of colonization on the present-day, Diop brings incredibly vivid layers to subjects of infinite weight. She finds terrific ways to visualize the perspectives both of lost artifacts and the lost people of Benin.
When the royal treasures are returned home after centuries of displaced exhibition, they see a new light of day. Benin is no longer the place it was in the 1800s, and that sense of vast unfamiliarity provokes a myriad of mixed emotions. The act of returning these artifacts might be celebratory and indicative of some progress made, but more work needs to be done. Diop rightfully never lets the viewer forget this sentiment. She films with stunning precision, taking the time needed to grasp how much reverberating power the artifacts carry. Dahomey moves to a poetic rhythm, and packs powerful material into its 68-minute runtime.
Inside the Musée du Quai Branly, we get scenes of methodological handlings. Museum workers examine, carry, crate, transport, repeat. Diop conveys these moments with brilliant attentiveness. The camera circles the artifacts in awe of their rarity, and lingers on them for as long as possible before cloaking them in the darkness of crates. Diop’s textured direction also brings a palpable uneasiness to the museum scenes. The camera moves inside these crates, capturing muffled sounds from the outside world, as though you are being transported alongside the artifacts on their confined journey. This sensory personification creates an immersive, unforgettable experience.
Given the centuries-old history at hand, it's surreal that such repatriations actually happened in this lifetime. Dahomey exists in that lens of surrealism. With dreamlike artistry, Diop tells this story in the most uninhibited way. She expands on the possibilities of where a narrative can take you. The juxtaposition of disembodied Fon voices filling the space of a public art forum like the Musée du Quai Branly stands out. The statues are on display while the realities of their history are buried behind museum walls. In giving them a life form, Diop challenges the idea of artifacts as art. This conversation expands in one of the most impactful scenes of Dahomey: the auditorium debates at the University of Abomey-Calavi in Benin. As students debate the significance of the artifacts being returned, a resonating thread emerges on cultural identity and learning about Benin history in the French language. Diop holds space for a younger generation to take turns describing what the absence of culture has done, which in turn gives us a ground-level look at the impact of colonization.
Making extraordinary images from an invisible world, Dahomey is an insightful reversal of African history. The film shines a spotlight on the young generations of Benin whose inquisitive minds end us on a hopeful note. As the spirit of an artifact narrates, “Within me resonates infinity.” Dahomey blends the past, present, and future into one stream of consciousness, where traces of history are carried to immeasurable places. Mati Diop has crafted far and away one of the most vital documentaries of our lifetime.
Watch the 2024 Berlinale Golden Bear winner Dahomey in Toronto cinemas starting November 1.
2024 Toronto Youth Shorts Welcome A New Generation of Filmmakers
“In Lily Jia Qi Wu’s Embracing Shadows, a girl encounters monsters born from her self doubt and negative emotions.”
October 21, 2024
In the words of the great Guillermo Del Toro, animation is cinema. The art form can take on any genre and explore varied subject matter, often helping younger audiences digest big themes. The Toronto Youth Shorts festival has plenty of gems to discover within this medium of filmmaking, particularly from a diverse group of storytellers. Founded in 2009, Toronto Youth Shorts is a youth-based film festival that shines a spotlight on local filmmakers under 30 years old. This year marks the festival’s 15th anniversary, an exciting achievement and formative stepping stone for the future storytellers of this industry.
From November 1 to 2, over 40 locally made short films are showcased at the Spadina Performance Arts Theatre in Toronto. Films are presented across five program categories, each a diverse reflection of a younger generation engaged in the world around them. SPARKS, featuring a blend of animation and adventure, is most suitable for children. Among the wonderful standouts of this category, Brandon Po’s Coral Loop is a witty snapshot of a nine-to-five workload told through a fish eye lens. ESCAPE OUR REALITY opens the doors to fantastical, unconventional worlds. From Daria Rodneva’s imaginative Dive In and Tir (Rey) Tabandeh’s spooky Mourning Routine to Grace Choi’s melodic Syrinx, these surreal pieces of escapism find resonating personal stories rooted in emotion.
The festival lineup covers more mature themes in the SWIPE LEFT, STORIES OF GEN Z, and A BIZARRE DAY programs. Awkward love is a staple of young adulthood, and these experiences are embraced in SWIPE LEFT, an eclectic mix of romantic comedies and dramas. The anxiety of romance in your teens and twenties is one of many messy journeys on display in the festival programming. A BIZARRE DAY showcases headline-driven short films made in a 24 hour timeframe. Young filmmakers were tasked with finding the cinematic angle of local events they considered newsworthy, which extends to the core of the festival. Creatives are given the space to find their voice and reflect the worlds they inhabit, both through imagination and reality.
STORIES OF GEN Z focuses on films about self-worth, grief and loss, professional aspirations, and personal growth. Animated films shine in this category, from Caydee Lewis’s powerfully vulnerable Rock Candy to Lily Jia Qi Wu’s spellbinding Embracing Shadows. Both Lewis and Qu visualize their emotions with remarkable imagery and distinctive filming styles. Among the live-action entries, Brianna Russell’s dramatic Poster Child and Gemma Eva & Maria Hausmann’s experimental Concealed add layers to their respective subjects. Poster Child has a strong narrative hook in its orchestral prodigy-idol dynamic. Russell takes an intimate approach to the mixed emotions of walking in your hero’s footsteps. Concealed imagines what it looks like to be consumed by beauty standards and conflicted about putting your best foot forward.
This year’s programming holds space for an array of creativity. Let’s take a closer look at a highlighted section of the Toronto Youth Shorts.
ESCAPE OUR REALITY
Syrinx directed by Grace Choi
Set to the titular flute solo by French composer Claude Debussy, this film explores the meaning, the music, and the myth of Syrinx.
The highlight: The first flute solo written for the modern flute, Syrinx, is considered a landmark in music history. Grace Choi personifies syrinx with a magical lens, using peaceful animation and evocative sounds to carry the story. Syrinx is a lovely personal expression of historical resonance and the reverberating power of music.
Coral Loop directed by Brandon Po
Oro the fish businessman goes to work every day like your average working adult. When his never-ending workload starts to take a toll on him, he loses his mind and wanders off to get a change of scenery.
The highlight: The mundanity of life is told through a fish eye lens in Brandon Po's Coral Loop. Po takes a deeply relatable subject and plays with perspective. We come to find that the forbidden surface is fun and games, concealing the harsh reality of what humans use fish for. With colorful animation and strong comedic timing, Coral Loop is a charming reminder to keep our heads above water.
Don't Sleep On The Subway directed by Ceejay Garrido
A sleep deprived artist struggles to stay awake on their mundane subway commute.
The highlight: The majority of us who live in the city have had our share of mundane subway rides. We have our own places to go, but for a moment, we all share in a collective experience. Everyone has a story, which Ceejay Garrido visualizes in Don't Sleep On The Subway. This short bursts with creativity and drives home the message about finding inspiration from our surroundings. The artistry reminds us not to sleep on our potential.
Dive In directed by Daria Rodneva
A group of monsters and fantasy creatures dream and think about their past and personal conflicts.
The highlight: Dive In looks inward to the power of imagination and what fantastical worlds exist in our minds. Rodneva introduces wonderful glimpses of characters you want to know more about. We feel an instant connection to their inner conflicts and wishing for a super power of their own.
Mourning Routine directed by Tir (Rey) Tabandeh
Two undead halves of a once-human whole, an uncoordinated zombie and a methodical ghost, fumble their way through a domestic routine.
The highlight: Just in time for spooky season, Tir (Rey) Tabandeh brings us an endearing tale of a zombie tethered to a ghost. The spiritually connected halves go about their "mourning" in slightly different ways, often leaving the ghost impatient, frustrated, and sad. From distinctive character designs and comic book influenced animation, to the ethereal visual puns, Mourning Routine is an adorable story to wake up to.
I Bit Off More Than I Could Chew directed by Dalia Hawash
Two stories about people who take on more than they can handle.
The highlight: Everyone knows the feeling of having too much on your plate and experiencing burnout. In I Bit Off More Than I Could Chew, Hawash crafts two scenarios of pushing your luck, whether living on the edge of possibilities in a card game or thinking you know someone in a relationship. Sketch animation and upbeat music give this story great movement.
Crime Never Gets Old directed by William Manning
Detective Wendell Kent solves mysteries by putting the pieces together.
The highlight: Piece By Piece is not the only chronicle told through LEGO this year. William Manning melds LEGO animation with a film noir in Crime Never Gets Old, a comedy of aging errors. When a group of older bandits rob a bank, an investigation ensues with a wry lead. Manning uses quick remarks and a bustling pace to spin the narrative into unexpected places.
STORIES OF GEN Z
Rock Candy directed by Caydee Lewis
A film about family dynamic through tough times and dealing with loss.
The highlight: Grief knows no bounds. The effects of loss are lingering and hit you unexpectedly. Caydee Lewis visualizes grief with tremendous vulnerability in Rock Candy, a transcendent story of healing. Using thematic ingredients to show generational impact, Lewis delves into deep subjects. Rock Candy shines as a vivid outlet to work through raw emotions. From the beautiful animation to the insightful voiceover, the short makes an incredibly memorable mark in this year's lineup.
Concealed directed by Gemma Eva and Maria Hausmann
A young girl descends into a world of beauty and fashion. Blinded by lights and glamour, she must find her way before the darkness consumes her.
The highlight: One of the most experimental shorts of the festival is Concealed, an immersive look at the overwhelming pressures faced in the beauty industry. We follow a young girl's descent into glamour and discover a world in which beauty is not what it seems. Directors Gemma Eva and Maria Hausmann create a strong sense of dread throughout. The moody colours and frenetic editing shine, as does the haunting visual of being swallowed by darkness.
Poster Child directed by Brianna Russell
An up-and-coming pianist attempts to replace her childhood idol at the most prestigious orchestra in the country.
The highlight: Here's hoping that Brianna Russell's Poster Child becomes a full-length feature, as this story has an incredibly strong narrative hook. The student-teacher dynamic can be full of insecurity and bitterness. The story explores the generational gaps of a successor and her replacement, conveying the mixed emotions of walking in your childhood idol's footsteps. At the heart of Poster Child is an excellent lead performance by Mikayla Geier.
Embracing Shadows directed by Lily Jia Qi Wu
A girl encounters monsters born from her self doubt and negative emotions.
The highlight: Sometimes all it takes is one visual to convey the voice of an artist. In Lily Jia Qi Wu's Embracing Shadows, the image of a girl embracing a figure of self-doubt speaks a thousand words. It is evident in every frame that Wu has an incredibly clear voice. The message of being gentler and kinder to ourselves by running towards negative emotions resonates deeply. With a memorable animation style and a gorgeous colour palette, Embracing Shadows is a stunning entry that reminds us why the Toronto Youth Shorts is vital. Young filmmakers get the opportunity to express themselves openly, and with such diverse programming, their voices are embraced in safe spaces.
Toronto Youth Shorts runs from November 1 to 2 at the Spadina Performance Arts Theatre in Toronto. Tickets are available at https://www.torontoyouthshorts.ca/.
‘Bird’ Review
November 7, 2024
“It really really really could happen.” These six words are sung to Andrea Arnold’s hopeful tune in Bird, a rare gem of ethereal beauty. Arnold blends realism and surrealism to paint a vulnerable portrait of adolescence. In this portrait of moving images, Arnold speaks to the youth of today’s generation who are faced prematurely with the responsibilities of adulthood. Often left to their own devices, they search for which paths feel safest to survive on. Sometimes those paths emerge in the form of a spiritual bond, a spark that cannot fully be explained but is nonetheless vital in existing. Bird exists in the magic realism of such a connection, one that gives communities on society’s fringes the visibility they so deeply deserve.
Set in the British suburbs of North Kent, Bird orbits the fragmented world of twelve-year old Bailey (newcomer Nykiya Adams). Bailey lives with her teen brother Hunter (Jason Buda), her dad Bug (Barry Keoghan), Bug’s girlfriend and soon-to-be wife Kayleigh (Frankie Box), and Kayleigh’s baby daughter. It’s a full house of clashing personalities and uninhibited expression, a powerful cocktail of humanistic sensibilities. As Bailey navigates her interior conflicts and emotional retreats from family dynamics, she meets a transient character named Bird (Franz Rogowski). His mysterious presence evokes a dreamlike state, as he appears seemingly out of thin air. Bird is searching for his family, which comes to align with Bailey’s coming-of-age journey.
Arnold infuses Bird with the gritty realism one warmly expects from her work. Through observational writing and empathetic direction, she holds space for a candid exploration of characters and settings. In doing so, Arnold captures moments of unadorned magic, details specific to being in the right place at the right time. Simply put, she sees people, not just for who they appear to be but who they hope to become. She creates down-to-earth heroines like Bailey, whose fierce inner strength and determination to keep herself grounded become a driving force for the narrative. When Arnold takes the story to an ethereal place of otherness with Bird’s character, the film transcends narrative expectations. A spiritual bond gradually washes over the broken-down British landscape, and with that, Bird shape shifts before our very eyes. The changing energies of this ambitious fable would not hit as hard without a remarkably introspective performance at the center.
From Kate Dickie in 2006’s Red Road and Katie Jarvis in 2009’s Fish Tank to Sasha Lane in 2016’s American Honey, Arnold has crafted three of the most layered and confident female characters on screen. The filmmaker’s exceptional eye for newcomer talent continues with Bird. In a fiercely brilliant feature debut, Nykiya Adams carries the weight of Bailey’s journey on her shoulders. The character’s staying power often rests in moments of introspection and pent up frustration, which Adams excels at. Whether looking out for her mother Peyton (Jasmine Jobson) and younger sisters who live in an abusive household, or wrestling with the acceptance of her father’s life choices, she makes every moment ring true. With vulnerability and vitality, she gives herself over to a compelling exploration of girlhood.
Most impressively, Adams shines in conveying the spiritual connection that Bailey finds in Bird. Their relationship bridges the film’s ambitious movement into surrealism. Given how the characters’ dynamic often unfolds in readings of facial expressions and body language, both flourish in the hands of Adams and Rogowski. The always enigmatic Rogowski delivers another extraordinary performance of soothing, inviting demeanor. His presence evokes dreaminess, yearning, sadness, and everything in between. The depiction of Bird proves to be absolutely crucial, not only for the surrealist shift in tone but also for the arc of Bailey’s journey. Rogowski’s tenderness lays the groundwork for one of the most powerful endings of a film this year; Arnold catches lighting in a bottle.
In establishing a sense of community for characters, the film also catches terrific little interactions between the actors. A jolt of lightning himself, Barry Keoghan is electric whenever he appears on screen. He nails the communal, working-class spirit of Bug. Additionally, he has the charisma and intuitiveness to bring extra layers to Bug’s personality. You can’t help but be swept up in the character’s wild ride through life, as he dashes between hectic scenarios and makes a point to indulge in joyous moments. The majority of such moments revolve around music. There’s the amusing reference of Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s 'Murder On The Dancefloor' from Saltburn. Then there’s the one-two punch of Coldplay’s 'Yellow' and Blur’s 'The Universal' in two stellar karaoke scenes that arrive at the most opportune moments. Music plays an effective role in finding a melodic pace, notably through the hypnotic original score by British electronic musician Burial. Whether the inspired needle drops or Burial’s dazzling sound, these components fit neatly into Arnold's vision of blending realism with surrealism.
Bird unfolds in a trance of playful, grounded filmmaking. With a neat incorporation of cellphone footage, depicting how today's youth live through screens, the film immerses into Bailey’s perspective. Chaotic as her world is, Arnold holds space for moments of profound stillness and care. Every now and then, we slow down with Bailey as she watches birds in the sky, longing for the ability to take flight from broken grounds. It is on these same grounds that she finds her path towards spiritual healing, and is soothed by six of the most comforting words a young person can hear. “Everything is going to be okay."
Watch Bird in theaters in Canada starting November 8.
‘Wicked’ Review
November 22, 2024
There’s no place like the movies. Victor Fleming’s The Wizard of Oz was one of the earliest films to capture such a feeling. Watching Dorothy and her little dog Toto embark on a brave journey, and collect unexpected friends along the way, radiated a timeless story of togetherness and hope. Over 80 years since its theatrical release, this 1939 technicolor masterpiece still shimmers over the rainbow and continues to make dreams come true. The film inspired audiences to follow their own yellow brick roads towards becoming artists, some of whom continued to explore the land of Oz with gravity-defying stories of their own.
The dreams built in Emerald City eventually found their way to the stage with the beloved Broadway musical Wicked. Sung from the perspectives of witches Elphaba and Galinda, before and after Dorothy’s stormy arrival in Oz, Wicked sparked countless passions for musical theatre. The original 2003 production, starring Idina Menzel as Elphaba and Kristin Chenoweth as Glinda, shattered box office records and won the hearts of millions. Menzel and Chenoweth’s powerhouse voices told a story of female friendship and the capacity for goodness to conquer evil, which rest at the heartfelt core of Wicked. It’s a love story, and it’s always been political, as Jon M. Chu’s impressively acted Part I adaptation conveys.
With soulful musical numbers, fantastically detailed production design, and a whole lot of heart running through the characters, Wicked shines as one of the most joyous theatre experiences. Plus, there’s the added layer of hearing reactions to the film from people who hold this story near and dear. For my Wicked screening companion, the stage production changed her life from a young age. It gave her hope and light during a time of darkness. This optimism soars through Wicked and lights a fire that cannot be contained, especially from the perspective of Elphaba, who defies a system designed to silence anyone who speaks out against it.
The green image of Elphaba recalls the familiar Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz. With an iconic cackle and all-black attire, Margaret Hamilton’s witch loomed over Oz and melted at the hands of lovable characters. Only her pointed black hat was left behind, leaving us without knowing the whole story of how she came to be an evil witch. Wicked begins with a re-telling of history that hints at how green-skinned witch Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo) became the Wicked Witch of the West. The cinematically grand “No One Mourns the Wicked” celebrates the witch’s death and casts a spell of relief over Oz. While all of Munchkinland rejoice, Glinda the Good (Ariana Grande) sings with notes of somberness as she ponders, are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon them? After all, the Wicked Witch of the West had a childhood. She had a mother and father. She had hopes and dreams. And after all, she had a friend in Glinda the Good, before Glinda became the Good Witch of the North.
The film takes us back to Shiz University, where Elphaba and Galinda first meet. Elphaba initially arrives not as a student, but to support a smooth transition for her younger sister Nessarose (Marissa Bode). The moment Elphaba steps foot on campus, she is immediately ostracized and feared for the color of her skin. A slight commotion involving Nessarose and a professor ignite a power in Elphaba that takes over without control, causing damage to the university property. The incident catches the eye of Madame Morrible (Michelle Yeoh), who sees a potential yet to be harnessed and a possibility to impress the Wonderful Wizard of Oz (Jeff Goldblum).
All the while, Galinda is clearly pampered and adored as the most popular girl in school. From her dreamy bubblegum pink arrival on campus, to her comical hair tosses and excitable energy, she stands out in a sea of students. She’s used to getting whatever her heart desires, but finds a roadblock in Madame Morrible not taking notice of her. The classmates’s eyes may all be on Galinda, as they soon will be on charming new student Fiyero (Jonathan Bailey), but the headmistress focuses on Elphaba’s “unlimited” future. As higher powers convene, Elphaba and Galinda are forced to bond. The two witches go from loathing each other to loving each other.
The film flies high on the exquisite powerhouse talents of Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande. With keys to the Emerald City, Erivo and Grande unlock the bewitching potential for their characters to soar from stage to screen. Elphaba and Glinda’s moving relationship arc, not to mention their respective interior conflicts, is absolutely integral to the film’s emotional weight. You feel the world crushing on Elphaba’s shoulders as she navigates life as an “outsider” and breaks from conformity. From the optimism of “The Wizard and I” and the realism of “I’m Not That Girl” to the reverberating rebellion of “Defying Gravity,” Erivo hits every single note with incredible vocal range. Additionally, she shines in the quieter moments with subtle shifts in physicality; the Ozdust ballroom dance sequence is a definitive example of how far facial expressions can carry. It's an absolutely pivotal moment for Elphaba that Erivo plays gracefully, wearing emotions on her sleeve.
You also feel the lonely complicity in Galinda’s eyes as she aches for popularity and ponders her best friend’s future. Grande’s sparkling humor — whether in her excitable line deliveries or her physical comedic timing — bounces across the screen. Galinda feels like the role Grande was born to play, and she embodies the essence of Wicked with a thorough understanding of how Galinda performs goodness. When the performative nature of her character reaches a pivotal crossroads, Grande charts that emotional arc with great subtlety. The film is a beautiful showcase for her operatic vocal range as well, from the somber “No One Mourns the Wicked” to the bounciness of "What Is This Feeling?” and the shimmering personality of “Popular.” Together, Erivo and Grande compliment each other at a pitch perfect rate. Your heart glows when the two truly see each other, and dampens when their paths reluctantly divert at a crossroads. With the characters in such good hands, Wicked can only go up from there, and it mostly does.
The idea of splitting Wicked into two films admittedly caused some skepticism, but Jon M. Chu justifies the extra time with his elaborate storytelling. He stays faithful to the source material, sets up the character arcs for Part II, and gives all the musical numbers plenty of room to shine. The film has impressively wicked pacing; not once does the runtime feel too long or too crowded. The visualization of each song also feels fully realized as it builds on character development and moves the story along. From the ticking functionality of “Dancing Through Life” to the sheer bubblegum pink energy of “Popular,” the songs are given eye-popping looks to match.
Much has already been said about the cinematography of Wicked. In particular, the use of backlighting as an approach to create a more “realistic” look. This choice feels at odds with conveying the film’s bold colors and textures. While it can be distracting at times, the overall impact on the end result feels inconsequential when you have talent such as Erivo and Grande operating at the highest levels to bring their characters to life. Plus, neat clues along the way indicate the heavy research that went into Nathan Crowley’s production design and Paul Tazewell’s costume design, not to mention the entire hair and makeup department. From the tornado shaped heels on Nessarose’s crystal shoes, and the beaded spiraled on Glinda’s bubble dress, to the textured fabrics of Elphaba’s black silhouette worn at the end of the film, the magical designs of a reimagined Oz come alive. A lot of these details are quite subtle and blend into the world-building, fully part of the fabric of Chu's storytelling.
Filled with so much goodness across the board, Wicked soars as one of the most impactful and delightful musical adaptations. In the hands of Erivo and Grande, Elphaba and Galinda are brought to the big screen in unique and soul stirring ways. With emotionally engaged writing and patient direction, the film echoes the significance and timeliness of fighting for voices to be heard. Given how much care and attention to detail went into this production, one can only anticipate Part II to end on a high note.
‘Maria’ Review
November 26, 2024
From exploring the myth of Jackie Kennedy with Natalie Portman in Jackie (2016) to experimenting with Kristen Stewart on surrealism for Princess Diana in Spencer (2021), Chilean filmmaker Pablo Larraín has been building towards an unofficial trilogy about iconic twentieth century women during specific moments in history. He completes the trifecta this year with a sumptuous glimpse into the life of Maria Callas in Maria. Told with immense curiosity and a dreamlike sensibility, Maria follows the legendary opera singer as she rediscovers her voice during a fragile moment in time. Larraín’s introspective storytelling is a poetic fit for the transcendent journey of his subject. He finds a remarkable leading lady in Angelina Jolie, whose movie star charisma adds dimension to this operatic tale of a woman’s phenomenal legacy. Soon to be released by MUBI, Maria brings Larraín’s trilogy to an achingly beautiful close.
Continuing in the vein of Jackie and Spencer, Maria plays in the orchestra of rewriting an icon’s history. All three of these legendary women shared the unique experience in which people lived vicariously through them, defined them, spoke on their behalf, to the extent that they became larger than life representations of something much bigger than them. The public, not to mention the media, felt that they were owed something. There’s a powerful scene in Maria in which Maria encounters a bothered fan who had paid for tickets to a concert she cancelled due to an illness. His intonation suggests the illness was an excuse taken to wriggle out of the show. She gives him a fierce and rightful reality check: he has no idea what performing takes out of her. Maria starts in a dreamy haze, but in time Larraín’s mysterious direction becomes clearer. The fan encounter scene is a small but mighty cue of humanity.
The film calls attention to the haunting dichotomy between public and private personas. Ever since Maria was a young girl living in Greece, she had been singing for everyone but herself. Fast-forward to 1970s Paris, where Maria lives out her final act discreetly in her apartment, having spent years in the public eye. Behind closed doors, she finds herself in a perpetual state of reckoning. Her talent feels out of reach. Her identity feels faded into unrecognizable territory. Her apartment is full of reminders; pieces of music, glamorous wardrobe, a grand piano. But the piano never seems to be in the right spot. For a place called home, Maria’s apartment resembles more of a waiting room, in which she can’t fully be free. There’s a disconnect between the soprano and her work, which gives the film dramatic tension. By spending time with the character in such close proximity, enhanced with several stunning close-ups, Larraín gives a window into Maria’s humanity beyond her “Las Callas” stage presence. The film defines her not by a chronicle of greatest hits, but by the memories that left a lasting impression on her, moments that she will carry inside forever.
For Jackie and Spencer, the focus on specific moments in history helped shaped the narrative structures of those films. Maria sings to a much more fluid and arbitrary tune. Screenwriter Steven Knight navigates the days leading up to Maria’s death. The dialogue can be heavy-handed at times, which creates moments of stagy character interactions and overdrawn impositions. A prime example is the inclusion of Mandrax (Kodi Smit-McPhee), a journalist who follows Maria around Paris with a television crew. While clear in its hallucinatory effect, the dynamic lacks emotional impact. Thankfully, these moments are sporadic as the film prioritizes other supporting characters, who evoke a more compelling reaction. One of the most powerful scenes in the film features a conversation between Maria and her sister Yakinthi (Valeria Golino). Yakinthi essentially encourages Maria to leave the past behind and move forward, but it’s not that simple. This moment gives us a glimpse of the sisters’ emotionally charged past, and conveys the weight of Maria’s life experiences on her shoulders.
Larraín takes empathetic creative liberties to shape the narrative of Maria around her close proximity to death. The character transcends time and space, as though yearning for freedom outside of herself. In her apartment, she hides pills and avoids doctor visits. Her voice carries through the grand, exquisitely lit halls only for her butler Ferruccio (Pierfrancesco Favino), maid Bruna (Alba Rohrwacher), and poodles to hear. Spells of loneliness and misunderstanding reach her in open spaces, too; whether sitting in a cafe that assumedly plays her music (she does not listen to herself), or warming up her vocals in an empty opera house (she struggles to channel the Las Callas voice her pianist wants). Autumnal walks in the park turn into theatrical hallucinations of big vocal performances. Maria’s life is a stage, and the film guides her from the shadows to the spotlight through gorgeous visual interpretation.
Angelina Jolie personifies Maria Callas’s vulnerable, messy, mysterious journey with a soul-stirring performance. Simply put, the film would not work without her. The elegant hallways of Maria’s apartment would be cold and empty without Jolie’s astonishing commitment to getting under the character’s skin. Not only does she embody the physicality and stage presence of Callas in her prime, but Jolie also captures the fragmented mind of a woman on the verge of losing her voice years later. Maria’s glory days are conveyed through stunning black-and-white imagery and the use of Callas’ real voice. Jolie herself has an incredibly alluring presence, and she channels that energy into portraying Callas at the top of her game. These flashback scenes add context to the Maria we meet in 1970s Parisian isolation; we come to know from her relationship with admirer Aristotle Onassis (Haluk Bilginer) that she had so long been singing for the pleasure of others. In Paris, Jolie channels a more fragile energy as she floats across rooms, yet she also possesses a fierce inner power. While the flashbacks present Maria through the lens of an outsider, the Paris timeline gets up close and personal into the character's soul, and Jolie excels at drawing out these layers.
In addition to Jolie’s tremendous work, cinematographer Edward Lachman deserves some time in the spotlight for crafting one of the most beautiful-looking films of the year. Known for his frequent collaborations with Todd Haynes on such films as Carol (2015) and Far From Heaven (2002), Lachman may have found another dream pairing in Larraín. The two worked together previously on El Conde (2023), which earned Lachman his third Oscar nomination. Each and every frame of Maria looks sumptuous and comes alive like a moving painting. Lachman aligns with Larraín’s evocative, dreamlike sensibilities as a director. The warm color palettes and textures of Callas’ apartment convey a world within a world, a life outside the limelight. The striking black-and-white images only amplify the impressive level of detail, from the production design to the costume design. The film has a disciplined visual language, much like an opera itself which combines so many different art forms and training techniques to convey emotion. The opening montage, in which Maria sings directly into the camera, sets the tone for how much discipline goes into creating such transformative art.
One could never truly know what went on inside Maria Callas’ apartment, or inside her head, except La Callas herself. While the dialogue of Maria can be heavy-handed in attempting to fill in her history, Larraín and Jolie operate in the same melodic rhythm to capture an essence of what made this woman so iconic. By the end of the film, the subject remains a mystery, and her impact reverberates nonetheless.
Maria arrives in theatres on November 27 and on MUBI's streaming platform on December 11.
‘The Gutter’ Review
December 3, 2024
One would be hard pressed to find a sports film this year sillier than The Gutter. Directed by brothers Isaiah Lester and Yassir Lester, the film tells the story of an unlikely hero who saves a bowling alley from closing its doors forever. It’s easy to root for the underdog, and The Gutter finds strength in that inclination. With absurd energy, bizarre humor, and a committed group of actors, the film stands out as an oddball in the sports sub-genre. Not all of the silly swings lead to a strike, but the shamelessness of The Gutter is something to be admired.
The film follows unlikely hero Walt (Shameik Moore), an underachiever whose resume leaves a lot to be desired. He has a hard time holding onto basic jobs, and has no shame in explaining the reasons behind each termination, as shown in amusing flashbacks. Walt’s upfront behavior perplexes Mozell (Jackée Harry), who runs the deserted bowling alley called AlleyCatz, where he hopes to land his new job at. While Mozell deems him unqualified to run the alley bar, she desperately hires him anyway. She needs someone, and he’s willing.
Walt soon meets Skunk (D’Arcy Carden), a former bowling pro turned has-been who drinks her sorrows away at AlleyCatz. One random conversation leads to another until Walt accidentally discovers a newfound talent for bowling at an intermediate level. Skunk clocks an opportunity to get him into the professional bowling league. She thinks he can beat the record-breaking statistics held by legendary player Linda “The Crusher” Curson (Susan Sarandon). If Walt strikes big and wins enough cash, he can help save Mozell’s bowling alley from foreclosure.
With a genre-bending story that spans from slapstick to satire, The Gutter has a unique and eccentric tone. Whether it’s exaggerated emotional stakes, or ridiculous characterizations (such as Walt’s refusal to wear a shirt whenever possible), Yassir Lester’s screenplay unapologetically stretches the silliness as far as it can go. Additionally, Lester sprinkles in some familiar beats of the sports sub-genre. Underdogs are pulled from the gutter and given a chance to reach their potential. At this film’s core is the relationship between Walt and Skunk; they meet each other at a crossroads where the only way forward is through. As their quirky personalities quickly align, they play an integral role helping each other overcome personal obstacles. Skunk in particular lives in the shadows of a legend, and the film prolongs her dynamic with Linda Curson's character to throw a fun curveball.
The sense of humor in The Gutter can be incredibly tedious, and the awkward jokes don’t always land. In not taking the execution so seriously, the film struggles to make a lasting impact once the credits roll. However, there is plenty to admire in what the entertaining ensemble of actors bring to their roles. Shameik Moore has an endearing energy, and while his character is over-the-top, Moore still manages to make him feel believable in this absurd world. The same sentiment extends to D’Arcy Carden, whose wholehearted commitment to playing a character called Skunk elevates everyone around her. She has the comedic talent and sharp timing to make the most ridiculous line deliveries work. Adding to the fun and games, Susan Sarandon relishes as a nonchalant bowling legend who oozes confidence and style at every turn.
Repetitive in comedy and storytelling as The Gutter may be, the underdog narrative of Isaiah and Yassir Lester’s feature directorial debut has a lot to root for. The oddball characters, satirical lens, and singular energy make for a breezy escape into an absurdist world where bowling saves the day.
The Gutter opens on VOD December 6.
‘The Girl With The Needle’ Review
December 4, 2024
Expressionist horror and realism collide to eerie effect in Magnus von Horn’s The Girl with the Needle, a devastating gothic tale that looks into the faces of pain. The chilling distorted images in the film’s first few minutes set a bleak tone for the moral darkness we’re about to be immersed into. While based on Danish criminal activity from the 1910s and 20s, the story does not play out as a biopic by any means. Magnus von Horn follows the disintegrating threads of an unemployed, pregnant woman abandoned by patriarchal upholding in post-WWI Copenhagen. Isolated and left to her own devices, her hope fades in the shadows of unrelenting desperation. She finds herself under the wing of someone who will do anything not to believe the world is a horrible place, even if it means creating a distorted reality of buried morals. From the immersive setting to the haunting characters, the film confronts narrow paths of survival for women living on society’s fringes.
The central story follows Karoline (Vic Carmen Sonne), a young seamstress navigating loneliness and isolation as her husband Peter (Besir Zeciri) has been declared missing on the frontlines. She finds a spark of relief in Jørgen (Joachim Fjelstrup), a wealthy gentleman who owns the textiles factory she works at. As this new relationship unfolds, Peter returns from the war with a severely disfigured face. Despite not answering any of her letters, he expects his marriage to Karoline is still intact. But she rejects him, an act made even colder by the knowledge that society too will reject him. “Look at what the war spat out.” He’ll be reduced to a freak show in a carnival act, faded in the hands of a cruel world.
When Karoline becomes pregnant, she and Jørgen plan to marry. They pay a visit to his mother, who completely disapproves of the relationship due to their disparity in social class. The cowardly Jørgen obeys, and to make matters worse, Karoline is fired from the factory. In a matter of minutes, the gentle protection Karoline once felt in Jørgen’s arms is disillusioned. The heartbreaking misfortune leaves her in a harsh reality: she has a baby on the way, and does not have a home nor a job to speak of. She barely has enough money to afford rent.
Evil preys on vulnerability such as this. What sorts of atrocities are human beings capable of when they succumb to desperation? How far will the innocent fall to escape poverty? Karoline’s bleak future leads her to a bathhouse, where she attempts to terminate the pregnancy. This puts her in the path of Dagmar (Trine Dyrholm) and her daughter Erena (Avo Knox Martin). Dagmar is a candy shop owner who uses the storefront to run a secret adoption agency, offering foster homes for mothers’ unwanted infants. To make ends meet, Karoline gives up her baby and becomes a wet nurse for Dagmar.
A seemingly innocent arrangement grows sinister as Karoline becomes privy to disturbing acts of violence. The once-empowering bond between two women fighting for survival collapses before our very eyes. Their characters depict two different explorations of self-determination and independence in a patriarchal world. Set in the horrific aftermath of war, the film unfolds around uncomfortable everyday decisions women make out of necessity. They believe they are doing the right thing, not just for themselves but for their children’s futures. To watch the diminishing of such futures in this film is an unsettling experience that haunts you and shakes you to the core.
Magnus von Horn has made a true-crime nightmare. While set decades into the past, his layered gothic vision echoes with modern resonance. With bold and empathetic direction, he confronts themes of morality, survival, and reproductive rights from the perspective of a woman essentially left to die. Karoline represents the plight of so many women whose unjust communities continuously fail them, and who are then punished for taking matters drastically into their own hands. The character’s hardship becomes our anchor into the mind of a serial killer, which adds powerful layers of guilt and innocence to the storytelling. Karoline personifies the women Dagmar believes she is saving. The restrained direction by von Horn makes time for you to really grasp how the characters’ moralities twist out of shape.
In this shadowy blend of horror and realism, the tremendous performances by Vic Carmen Sonne and Trine Dyrholm shine. Sonne’s bold facial expressions and vulnerability hypnotize you into her character’s inner turmoil. She balances the harshness with glimmers of hope, which the film masterfully maps out and ends on for her. Dyrholm has a more ambiguous role to play in the narrative, as her intentions are not clearly laid out but rather stumbled upon. To convey the despicable, the unthinkable, the unfathomable, on screen and still retain some semblance of humanity is a tall order. Dyrholm’s commanding presence instills you with security and solidarity before turning her back on both of those safety blankets, conveying disturbing motivations underneath.
The visuals also play an integral part in creating a sense of perpetual moral doom. Cinematographer Michal Dymek shoots distorted expressionist faces and isolated figures cloaked in shadows. He excels at framing interiors and capturing stark lighting through a black-and-white lens. The black-and-white imagery is an effective choice that makes the story feel all the more bleak, contrasting the disturbing grey areas of humanity. Each and every frame of The Girl with the Needle builds dread, as do the reverberating notes of Frederikke Hoffmeier’s score, the stark details of Jagna Dobesz’s production design, and the measured patience of Agnieszka Glinska’s editing.
From the eerie atmosphere and haunting performances to the thematic resonance and subjective perspective, The Girl with the Needle has the hallmarks of both a gothic fable and a true-crime story. With such unforgettable subject matter and artistic expression, it would be a surprise not to see Denmark’s Oscar selection in the race for Best International Feature. Each and every element of this film looks unflinchingly into the face of pain and questions its origins, while remembering that even in the face of cruelty from a ground level, there is still hope in this world.
The Girl with the Needle is a MUBI release and will be in select theaters on December 6.
‘Mufasa: The Lion King’ Review
December 20, 2024
When Disney churned out the soulless, lifeless photorealistic remake of The Lion King in 2019, all hope for the inevitable prequel was lost. The remake took beloved characters from the original Oscar-winning 1994 film and drained them of their personality. Director Jon Favreau and screenwriter Jeff Nathanson stuck closely to the visual language and narrative structure of the original, often recreating scenes shot-for-shot. Making matters worse, the film’s photorealistic art form created an impersonal experience in which the lions looked lifelike, but evoked absolutely no emotion at all. When a colorful classic such as 1994’s The Lion King exists, why embark on the endeavor to remake it, if not to push the creative boundaries and offer something new?
Working with the property of an enormous money-making franchise comes with its own set of expectations, and reinventing the wheel isn’t one of them. But a creative voice should still have a firm place in this circle of life. The misguided, glassy-eyed spectacle of 2019’s The Lion King sunk so low into unimaginative territory, it left no room for creativity to grow and thrive. So, when the prequel was announced, the idea of another director stepping into this world felt depressing, even more so because that director was the visionary Barry Jenkins. One of the most passionate storytellers of our time working in the hollow space of photorealism seemed limiting. Luckily, with Jenkins’ bright talent, Mufasa: The Lion King has enough direction to evoke real emotion from a somewhat engaging story. While the director’s vision doesn’t get a full embrace, as his voice feels consistently at odds with corporate meddling, he manages to make this prequel at least worth watching.
Mufasa: The Lion King tells the origin story of how Mufasa found his destiny and became King of the Pride Lands. The journey follows him as a young cub (Braelyn Rankins) who gets separated from his father Simba (Donald Glover) and mother Nala (Beyoncé Knowles Carter) due to a flooding. Mufasa finds himself in uncharted waters when he encounters Taka (Theo Somolu), a young lion cub from a different pride. The two cubs get a mixed welcome from Taka’s compassionate mother Eshe (Thandiwe Newton) and intolerant father Obasi (Lennie James). Obasi views Mufasa as a stray, an outsider who must earn a place in this pride. He pits Mufasa against Taka in a life-or-death race, but Taka has a secret: he’s always wanted a brother.
By letting Mufasa win, Taka gives the fellow cub a sense of belonging. But Mufasa has a heightened sense of feeling things from far away, which makes him destined for something greater. When a grown Mufasa (Aaron Pierre) saves the pride from a group of white lions, led by the relentlessly spiteful Kiros (Mads Mikkelsen), Obasi orders Mufasa to flee with Taka for safety. While on the run, the brotherly lions meet princess Sarabi (Tiffany Boone), her flighty protector Zazu (Preston Nyman), and young Rafiki (Kagiso Lediga). The group heads for Milele, the lush grasslands Mufasa’s parents promised him they would visit, while Kiros’ vengeful pack trail close behind.
Audiences familiar with Mufasa will anticipate certain character developments, specifically in his relationship with Taka, which the film smartly focuses on. While the writing of their individual motivations fall flat, the lions’ bond gives the film a somewhat engaging emotional core. Since the film isn’t a direct remake, Jenkins has more flexibility to explore these characters beyond what we’ve already seen. He and screenwriter Jeff Nathanson specifically draw upon how Mufasa and Taka’s upbringings shape two different meanings of leadership; one marked by selflessness, the other by betrayal.
Mufasa finds a chosen family both in Eshe, who encourages him to hone his sensory talents, and in Obasi, who gains respect for his heroic act of saving the pride from Kiros. The family seems to accept him more than they do Taka, who inherits toxic values from Obasi and is taught to use deceit as a leadership tool. While Mufasa seamlessly steps into the role he was born to play, Taka wrestles with desires and false destiny. The voice acting by Aaron Pierre and especially Kelvin Harrison Jr. bring energy to these roles that elevate the material. Their performances stand out in a collection of mostly forgettable voice acting, despite the talented cast. Though, of the supporting characters, Mads Mikkelsen makes a distinctive mark as the villainous Kiros.
Through the brothers’ journey towards Milele, the film engages in some compelling messages of standing strong together and making room for every vulnerable being in the circle of life. Not to mention, themes of inherited family values, wrestling with where you belong, and navigating manipulative rulers in a broken system. It’s understandable that Jenkins would be drawn to the material, and there are moments where his direction does pull you in and feel some of the stakes. However, his vision gets undermined at several turns, whether it’s the constricting photorealism or the narrative framing.
The story of Mufasa gets passed down from a grown Rafiki (John Kani) to Mufasa’s granddaughter Kiara (Blue Ivy Carter) as a distraction from Nala going into labour. For some reason, the presence of Timon (Billy Eichner) and Pumbaa (Seth Rogen) in this narrative framing was considered a good idea. The pair’s comedy stylings fall completely flat and disrupt the momentum. Their misguided winks and nods about knowing what happens to the characters are clear examples of Jenkins' voice feeling at odds with higher-up obligations to make a broad appeal. Plus, the recurring Timon and Pumbaa scenes leave little room for Kiara’s character to stand out in any way.
The biggest emotional disconnect of the film comes from one of the most passionate filmmakers working in the very limiting playground of photorealism. The attempts to replicate real emotion, without actually emoting, makes for a jarring experience. While the visuals of Mufasa: The Lion King technically look lifelike, and the characters show more emotion in comparison to the 2019 film, this art form still creates a barrier to authenticity. There is less room for imagination and liveliness, which also impacts the use of visuals for the film’s soundtrack.
The original songs written by Lin-Manuel Miranda range from underwhelming (“Brother Betrayed”; “Milele”) to catchy (“I Always Wanted A Brother”; “Bye Bye”), but even the catchy songs are let down by forgettable choreography in the film. As well, Dave Metzger’s original score gets lost in the shadows of a far more iconic one that lingers to this day. The brief use of “Under the Stars” and “King of Pride Rock,” two tracks from Hans Zimmer’s score for the 1994 animation, still manage to reverberate over Metzger’s score.
Mufasa: The Lion King tumbles in its narrative framing, rushed pacing, and underwhelming visuals. While disappointing that it doesn’t fully work on an emotional and visual level, Barry Jenkins deserves credit for adding some personality to this prequel. Certain scenes evoke Jenkins’ distinctive visual style, such as the shots of characters looking almost directly into the camera. He puts the viewer into the animals’ perspectives quite well, and captures the epic scope of the first half to push Mufasa and Taka into their journey of brotherhood. The end result lacks staying power, but hopefully the closing of this big-budget chapter will lead to more personal, intimate films from Jenkins where his voice can be embraced fully.
‘Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl’ Review
January 2, 2025
Aardman Animation never disappoints with the beloved claymation duo Wallace & Gromit. The pair’s latest adventure, Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl, boasts another great day of inventing, complete with modern thematic urgency and a film noir twist. That Vengeance Most Fowl slides perfectly into a fun double feature with 2023’s Mission: Impossible Dead Reckoning — Part One speaks to how widespread the dangers of artificial intelligence are, both in life and the art it inspires. Co-directors Nick Park and Merlin Crossingham find sweet spots in a genre-hopping story that remind audiences of Wallace and Gromit’s endearing charm. The cheese-loving inventor and his gently devoted dog are given a fresh spin in a masterful balance of tension and British humor. The astounding puppetry, lovable characters, and villainous return of a fan favorite make Vengeance Most Fowl a most comforting ode to imagination.
Gnomes have always been interwoven into the fabric of Wallace and Gromit’s world, whether as lawn ornaments or extensions of Gromit’s love for gardening. Four-time Oscar winning filmmaker Nick Park, the co-director and co-writer of 2005’s Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, returns with a clever gnome-centric tale that plops Wallace and Gromit on a much grander scale. Though, the advancements in technology since Wallace and Gromit’s first feature are met with the upmost caution. Anne King’s puppet design and Matt Perry’s production design help retain the crafty, thumbprint charm of what makes the characters so distinctive. Whether it’s the flawed ambition of Wallace, or the quiet heroism and gentle impatience of Gromit, their classic personalities shine in an exploration of modern themes.
The use of gnomes is a neat vehicle for the dangers of artificial intelligence and over-reliance on technology. In Vengeance Most Fowl, Wallace (Ben Whitehead) introduces his latest cheery invention: Norbot (Reece Shearsmith). This nifty voice-activated “smart” gnome is pre-programmed to do all the gardening and various “tedious” maintenance jobs. Norbot’s completion of tasks in neat and tidy fashion attracts Wallace and Gromit’s neighbors, prompting the cheesed inventor to create “Gnome Improvements” from his West Wallaby Street home. But when the robot’s fixed smile is hacked by a masterminding force, Gromit must swoop in to save the day as an army of Norbots wreak havoc.
The core failing of Wallace’s new invention is that he considers Norbot progressive; the “smart” gnome is the inventor’s proof of how embracing technology makes life easier, because it allows him to sit back and let machines do all the work. This mentality extends even to the tiniest of actions in Wallace and Gromit’s household. Much to Gromit’s chagrin, the old teapot hasn’t been used in ages. Wallace even has an invention for giving Gromit a good ole pat on the head. But technology could never match a cozy hot cup of tea from a whistling kettle, or the warmth of a loving embrace.
We live in an age where technological innovations have gone too far, and as Mark Burton’s screenplay so deftly captures, such advancements can be catastrophic when fallen in the wrong hands. With fun echoes of Tom Cruise’s Ethan Hunt confronting an enemy of artificial intelligence in Dead Reckoning, Vengeance Most Fowl shines in its savvy script, which makes way for some smashing action sequences. The hacked gnome plot also provides a terrific opportunity for Aardman to bring back the mysterious Feathers McGraw, famously a silent menace of previous Wallace and Gromit adventures. With his red rubber glove hat and beady little eyes, his character serves as the motivation behind Norbot going rogue.
Feathers McGraw proves to be one of the most effective cinematic villains, animated or not. You constantly anticipate his next conniving move, each one adding irresistible layers to the character’s capabilities and under-the-surface personality. Feathers’s scenes bring elements of Hitchcockain suspense, film noir, and the prison heist sub-genre to Vengeance Most Fowl. His vengeance is clear as crystal and not to be underestimated, which adds real stakes to the story. It’s incredible how the simplicity of Feathers’s subtle animation style speaks volumes. The tiniest of details expose his intentions.
As is the case with every Aardman Animation production, the beauty is in the details. Beady eyes catching the light in a particular way can make a character appear evil inside. Silent shrugs and raised eyebrows can convey a world of frustration. Billboards and books are the perfect backdrops for cheeky local gags and cheesy literary puns. Most impressive about the visual language of Vengeance Most Fowl is that, while it looks slightly more elevated than previous Wallace & Gromit works, the animation never appears glossy. The action sequences and intricate villainous lairs call for bigger scopes, but the intimacy of the characters never get lost. The film still has that textured, rough-around-the-edges charm, which puts the animation team’s work on full display and keeps the makeup of this endearing world intact.
The film’s spectacular voice-work and music also play an integral part in retaining Wallace & Gromit’s DNA. Following the legendary original voice of Wallace, Peter Sallis, who passed away in 2017, Ben Whitehead proves worthy of maintaining the musicality in Wallace's voice. His performance is both an incredible mimic and a moving ode to the character fans fell in love with. Additional cast standouts include returning talent Peter Kay as Chief Inspector Mackintosh (who first appeared as a police constable in The Curse of the Were-Rabbit), and new talent Lauren Patel as P.C Mukherjee, an instinctive recruit determined to prove herself on her first day. Plus, the super cheerful Reece Shearsmith brings Norbot the “smart” gnome to life with lovable energy, successfully avoiding what could have been a monotone robotic voice.
Adding more music to the ears is Lorne Balfe and Julian Nott’s original score. Before we get the classic Wallace & Gromit theme, we get a taste of the suspenseful notes that convey Feathers McGraw’s villainy. Balfe and Nott keep up this musical range throughout. They heighten the dramatic stakes, enhance the humor, and maintain the whimsical eccentricity of Wallace and Gromit’s world. In listening to the evolution of each track, it feels like being guided on a journey of several genres packed seamlessly into one film.
With the many creatively told Wallace & Gromit stories out there, from The Curse of the Were-Rabbit to the delightful short films (the first being 1989’s A Grand Day Out), Vengeance Most Fowl might not top everyone’s list. Regardless, it’s an absolutely charming adventure, a memorable addition to this beloved world of a good-natured inventor and his intelligent dog.
Catch Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl on Netflix on January 3, 2025.
‘I’m Still Here’ Review
January 31, 2025
In order to understand the generational impact of tragedies, and to prevent history from repeating itself, we must confront the past. We must give voice to the lost, the erased, the vulnerable, the forcibly disappeared. Art holds the power to reflect the times. Many of us go to the cinema not only for an escape into someplace new, but for a mirror-effect of what’s happening on the ground. Many of us approach the medium of film with a yearning to see ourselves and learn about each other’s experiences. Walter Salles’ I’m Still Here, his first Brazilian feature film in 16 years, is both a time capsule and a transient experience. It will have remarkable staying power in the retelling of a very personal story born from a dark past. Salles, known for 1998’s Central Station and 2004’s The Motorcycle Diaries, brings to the screen an urgent reminder of a country’s disturbing history.
Thousands of families were torn apart by Brazil’s military dictatorship between 1964 and 1985. In 1971, engineer and former congressman Rubens Paiva was arrested and forcibly disappeared. His wife, Eunice Paiva, and their five children suddenly had the ground pulled from beneath them. From that moment onwards, Eunice made it a point to keep the family resilient, whether taking her children out to ice cream or asking them to smile in press photos (despite being told to act more serious and sad, given the circumstances). Eunice, who became an activist and human rights lawyer, led a decades-long fight for justice. Without her courage and strength, without her memories, we wouldn’t have her son’s 2015 memoir Ainda Estou Aqui (I’m Still Here), which he wrote in light of her Alzheimer’s diagnosis. Without the Paiva family, we wouldn’t have Salles’ film adaptation of the memoir. I’m Still Here, and an absolutely extraordinary performance by Fernanda Torres as Eunice, is a moving reminder not to allow the past to be forgotten. It’s not only about holding onto faded memories, but actively sharing them so that they can continue to live, as Salles’ film powerfully does.
The film’s opening song, É Preciso Dar Um Jeito, Meu Amigo (We Must Find a Way, My Friend) by Erasmo Carlos, sets a fitting tone as it accompanies footage of an idyllic family life. Ipanema beach in early 1970’s Rio de Janeiro looks serene, but Brazil’s military police presence in the background is anything but. Convoys and helicopters interrupt simple everyday joys, such as the Paiva family’s beach outing. Eunice (Fernanda Torres) looks beyond the shore to the harsh realities that unfold in broad daylight. However, Eunice and her husband Rubens (Selton Mello) make life feel relatively normal for their children — Veroca (Valentina Herszage), Eliana (Luiza Kosovski), Nalu (Barbara Luz), Marcelo (Guilherme Silveira), and Maria Beatriz Facciolla (Cora Mora). They fill the family home with warmth and togetherness. Eunice’s put-together demeanor is helped by Rubens, who assures her that the military tension will pass.
Any conversations having to do with political unrest are held in hushed tones, behind closed doors, so as not to disrupt the children’s sense of safety. But it’s gotten too dangerous in Rio de Janeiro, and one day, that danger arrives at the family’s doorstep. A group of men arrest Rubens for his suspected associations with resistance groups, and Rubens disappears from the family picture, never to be seen or heard from again. Eunice, who faces further injustice when she is taken in for questioning and kept in a cell for several days, fights back. She spends years investigating for proof of Rubens’ arrest, detainment, and disappearance. Through unwavering resilience, speaking out to her friends in power, and taking matters into her own hands, she will not rest until the Brazilian government are held accountable for cruel acts of the regime.
In conventional political thrillers, narrative focus often gets placed onto the investigation itself, drawing action from the threats behind enemy lines. In I’m Still Here, history is reconstructed through a familial and deeply personal lens. With Marcelo Rubens Paiva's book as an incredibly moving guideline, Salles’ film stresses how every day is a fight for Eunice to keep her family together. The smallest moments carry emotional resonance, especially when Eunice sees reminders of loss in her lively surroundings. One of the most quietly devastating scenes in the film is when she takes her children out to ice cream, shortly after their father is arrested. As she sits in her own familial disruption, she observes happy families around her, several reminders of uninterrupted love. The devastation rests on Eunice’s face, a composed and silent cry out, which Torres plays brilliantly.
As the story unfolds, primarily through Eunice's perspective, the film rests on Torres’ shoulders to communicate the character’s internal conflict. Eunice puts on an incredibly disciplined front. While experiencing loss, she reinvents herself and rebuilds hope for her children’s futures. Torres commands the screen with tremendous control. She builds onto tension, anger, fear, and resilience with subtle observations. Her remarkable performance not only heightens the intensity of her character’s surroundings, but also reinforces how life goes on in the midst of such turmoil. Whether it’s convoys passing while she swims in the ocean, or an ominous car parked across the street of her home, these threats are gradual, and she pushes through them to continue living. Torres finds strength in fleeting moments, where Eunice recognizes her waves of sadness, and chooses to internalize each crashing impact.
It is in such fleeting moments, such as Eunice taking her children out for ice cream (an exquisite scene), that serve as reminders of what was lost. By immersing the audience into the Paiva family's home from the beginning, Salles immerses you into lived-in dynamics. We observe joyous environments and safe spaces, open for family and friends at any time. When these spaces are disrupted, often without any hint or warning at all, the tension feels even more palpable. Salles makes a point to incorporate home video footage throughout the film, stressing not only personal connections to this story but also calms before the storm, pieces of history that have been washed away.
Art can hold a mirror to the times we live in, and shed light on largely forgotten parts of history. I’m Still Here does both tremendously well. Salles creates a piece of film history that says, all those affected are still here. They live on through generations of families that come after them. For this particular reason, the film’s time jump to 2014 reverberates. 85-year-old Eunice (played by Fernanda Torres’ mother, Fernanda Montenegro) reflects as best she can on the past. Even though she lives with Alzheimer’s, Eunice still recognizes history, however fleeting the memory. I’m Still Here feels like an ode to Eunice, and to the thousands of people who faced the cruelties and injustices of Brazil’s dictatorship, who continued to live in the shadows of horror and must never be forgotten.
I’m Still Here is now playing at TIFF Lightbox.
‘The Monkey’ Review
February 21, 2025
If you can hop aboard the twisted wavelength of The Monkey, you are in for a devilishly fun time. But if Osgood Perkins’ looney adaptation of the 1980s Stephen King short story is not your cup of tea, the dark humor and repeatedly nonsensical kills can quickly grow tiresome. In either case, Perkins continues to roll up his sleeves in the horror genre with another stylized vision, one that pivots from the creepy procedural he serves in Longlegs. Written and directed by Perkins, The Monkey takes a cartoonish approach to the senselessness of death. The film toys with tragedy through a disturbingly sarcastic tone, a drum-banging allegory of trauma, and a self-aware protagonist who becomes increasingly less bewildered by the gruesomeness of an ‘Itchy and Scratchy’ kind of world. Beyond the exploding bodies, there is an intriguing redemptive story about accepting the finality of death, finding levity in loss, and choosing to move forward with the itch of trauma on your back.
No matter how deep you bury trauma, it will resurface sooner or later. Twin brothers Hal and Bill learn this lesson the hard way. As children (both played by Christian Convery), they find their absent father’s old toy monkey in the attic. Despite its ominous supernatural energy, something about it calls out to the twins. The toy is a secret their father kept from them, and perhaps by winding it up, it will conjure some level of family reconciliation. Instead, the monkey causes sudden death and destruction. In the heat of the moment, this cursed toy simply wreaks morbidly entertaining havoc. In the bigger picture, it’s a blunt visual of life and death. The monkey observes as life does, and strikes as death does, without rhyme or reason. Those on the receiving end of the toy’s deadly drumroll have no choice but to face the music, and no amount of running can stop it. For the cursed childhood toy reemerges years later, forcing the estranged twins (both played by Theo James) to reexamine the way they process immeasurable tragedy.
What The Monkey conveys quite well is how members of the same family household can share the same loss, but fall down a totally different rabbit hole of grief over time. Hal shuffles through life as a haunted everyman who avoids spending time with his son Petey (Colin O’Brien), fearing the repeat of generational trauma. Bill hides maniacally in pitfalls of shame and blame, waiting for the precise moment to execute personal revenge. The villainy of Bill’s character gives Theo James an opportunity to chew the scenery, which he excels at. But because he is depicted through a zany lens, it’s a little tiring to take him seriously when the film frames him as a threatening presence. As a result, the story starts to fall apart in the film’s second half when Bill guides most of the action, and when the intense sarcasm starts to feel too repetitive.
One of the few things we know about life is that the end is inevitable. As the film’s rookie priest (Nicco Del Rio) says during one of several funerals, “It is what it is, the word to the Lord.” Perkins leans into this sentiment thematically and visually. He processes the immovability of grief with dark comedy, and uses blunt force to drive home the message of “It is what it is” with insane imagery. The supernatural power of the toy monkey is never explained. It doesn’t move around, or speak, or stab characters with drum sticks. It appears out of thin air. It simply exists. Wind up the toy, choose to control its presence, and the most intensely gory deaths will follow. No amount of explaining can make sense of it, which is why the monkey works as an allegory of loss.
People die around us, and we can spend the rest of our lives wrestling with the question of why. Why this person, at this particular time? The lack of control feels akin to a curse that follows you through life, “A monkey on your back.” Perkins wisely embraces the uncertainty, the relentlessness, the absurdity, adding fun tension to the monkey’s presence. As well, Disney’s ownership of the monkey with cymbals (as seen in the Toy Story franchise) gives Perkins a more fitting accessory of drums. The film literally drums up anticipation for the next ridiculous kill, moving to an unsettling rhythm. The monkey’s design also speaks to the creepiness of old toys, or even toy commercials, that often carry a sinister tone whether intentional or not. Beyond the concept of the toy itself, the world-building also fits neatly into Perkins’ vision. And whether intended or not, some of the film’s set design echoes faint slices of Psycho.
Some comparisons have been drawn between The Monkey and the Final Destination franchise, as both follow a morbid death pattern. Both utilize the act of ominously showing us what’s going to kill the characters before they die. While both feature extremely gory sequences, Final Destination instills more fear around the subject of death, evoking nerves around everyday objects and even causing one to avoid certain things (tanning beds, personally). The Monkey plays in the vein of pure absurdity, quite literally adopting the message of “Everybody dies, and it is what it is,” which creates more thematic resonance around the subject. The ridiculously brutal sequence of the motel swimmer, as an intense phone call transpires between adult Hal and Bill, best exemplifies the tone Perkins goes for. He excels at establishing this tone, and crafting a buildup in the first half, but lacks the power of consistency. While a lot of the freak accidents are fun to watch, the pointing and laughing at death eventually becomes redundant and lapses in tension.
Despite the inconsistent tonal effect, the film has a formidable star in Theo James, who balances the sardonic personality of Hal with the maniacal desperation of Bill. Between the two characters, James conveys more layers of his talent and charisma. He also conveys an impactful wink and nudge to the audience, as Hal gets progressively more accepting of the messed up scenarios happening around him. James locks into the absurd tone and believably carries the redemptive character arcs of both twins. While the film lends James a decent showcase, the same cannot be said for Tatiana Maslany and especially Elijah Wood, whose talents feel wasted and far too fleeting in the overall story. As Hal and Bill’s mother Lois, Maslany shows an incredibly acute understanding of the film’s tone; she balances the sarcastic, silly, and ominous elements of Perkins’ strangely crafted world. Sadly her character leaves a lot to be desired, and her presence is under-utilized. Meanwhile, the buildup to Wood as Petey’s holier-than-thou stepdad Ted amounts to a glorified cameo. Rounding out the supporting cast, Osgood Perkins makes a humorous appearance as Hal and Bill’s uncle Chip, the first to admit he probably wouldn’t do a good job at raising the twins. Sarah Levy (a standout on Schitt’s Creek) shows a new side to her talent as the twins’ aunt Ida, who gets nothing to do other than follow the ride and exemplify how gory the film can get.
While not without its faults, the idea of characters dying around a toy monkey in ridiculous ways is met with fitting sardonic absurdity in The Monkey. Perkins’ cartoonish, Looney Tunes-style of storytelling draws out the nonsensical side of mortality and grief. Does it all make sense? Not quite, but there is something refreshing about a film of this genre that avoids explaining the whys and hows of an evil presence or entity. In The Monkey, it carries enough weight simply by existing.
The Monkey is now playing in theaters across Canada.
‘Black Bag’ Review
March 12, 2025
Sex, lies, and espionage. Count on the great Steven Soderbergh to deliver deliciously on all three. He infuses his panache into the familiar spy genre with Black Bag, an intensely romantic thriller that makes no compromises on trusting the audience. With echoes of James Bond, Mission: Impossible, and Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, Soderbergh and three-time collaborator David Koepp find an alluring marital drama in the throes of a British intelligence crisis. The elegant married couple at the center of Black Bag would kill for each other, and that makes for an alluring story, especially in the context of top secret professions forcing them to withhold intelligence. Soderbergh’s exacting style, Koepp’s clever script, and a brilliant ensemble of actors play into the ambiguity and tension. A bewitching puzzle box of style and substance, Black Bag shines as one of the year’s most fun psychological studies.
Everything’s ambiguous in a world of cloaks and daggers. Thanks to the sensibilities of Soderbergh and Koepp, everyone and everything in Black Bag glides with the utmost precision. Intention can be felt reverberating behind each frame, whether tensely capturing a character on the move or pursuing an atmospheric angle. The story doesn’t lean too far into vagueness, nor does it overcompensate with bursts of action-packed fillers. It falls into the Goldilocks principle of “just right.” It’s a compelling story of outsiders and the games they play whilst in a state of constant paranoia. The idea of a married couple who happen to be spies offers just as compelling a narrative, since betrayal doesn’t impact them in the way that it would for ordinary people. The espionage of it all gives the marriage a level of protection where anything can be hidden under the guile that it’s confidential.
The film follows George Woodhouse (Michael Fassbender), an elite intelligence officer at London’s National Cyber Security Centre (NCSC). George faces the ultimate loyalty test when a security breach forces him to find a mole in the agency before they can activate Severus, a destructive software that has the power to destabilize a nuclear facility. Five names make the suspect list of being a traitor. Four are friends and colleagues: Freddie (Tom Burke), Clarissa (Marisa Abela), Zoe (Naomie Harris), James (Regé-Jean Page). The fifth is George’s wife Kathryn (Cate Blanchett), one of the organization’s most powerful and valuable agents. Who has the knowledge and clearance to reach Severus? A carefully spun web of secrets and lies casts doubt on George’s loyalty, leading him down a path of potentially risky devotion.
Black Bag poses the question, “When you can lie about everything, how do you tell the truth about anything?” David Koepp’s script takes this idea and glides with it, particularly through exploring the devotion between George and Kathryn. The couple’s professional loyalty calls upon them to mask the political turbulence that surrounds them. They are experts at not letting their emotions leave a facial trace. George and Kathryn’s achingly cool exterior raises envious eyebrows from their surroundings: how can two people in this line of espionage possibly operate on a romantic wavelength? How can they sustain a real relationship built on trust and communication? The trick lies in the “black bag,” their code for where to put information they can’t share. Koepp achieves the marvelous feat of centering the story using this portrait of a marriage, while also keeping ambiguity between the couple. More often than not, the film teases out details about George and Kathryn respectfully through other characters and/or scenarios.
The couple’s fabulous-looking home doesn’t reveal a lot of personal secrets about them in particular, but does invite the lives of others onto an exquisitely lit table. The film features not one, but two absolutely riveting dinner sequences, feasting with layered narratives and visual treats. The mind games Kathryn and especially George play with their guests echo bits of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?. It’s a serious game of truth and dare, where characters chew up and spit out information about each other, secretly hoping they can dare certain crucial truths to come out. These sequences are tons of fun to watch unravel. The biting dialogue keeps you hooked on every word, as do the brilliant cast, who keep you guessing on what the characters’ intentions are.
Whilst everyone at the table has a clear job of pulling intelligence from technology, they reveal themselves as much more concerned with pulling from each other’s humanity. The character of Clarissa (Abela) brings forth an intriguing observation. She pushes George (Fassbender) on his emotionality, questioning why he can’t have a normal conversation or express his feelings in a way that doesn’t sound so…operative. Clarissa’s self-awareness (played with great charisma by Abela) breaks up some of the tension, and speaks to a through-line of sophisticated humor in the film. The stakes are high, but so is the playfulness, and one can feel the satisfaction everyone’s having in devouring their characters. Michael Fassbender in particular brings magnificent control to George’s interior conflict, whether it’s his calm demeanor or minimalistic line deliveries. He has an alluring counterpart in his wife Kathryn, played with a delicious mix of vulnerability and expressiveness by Cate Blanchett. Blanchett brings a hypnotic old-school glamour to her role that aligns with Fassbender’s classic portrayal of George, making them a perfect match. Fassbender and Blanchett are also joined by a tremendous ensemble, from Naomie Harris and Regé-Jean Page to a small yet impactful appearance by Pierce Brosnan.
The ensemble of gorgeous spies, and the particular casting of Brosnan and Harris, sprinkles a bit of James Bond energy to the story. Additinally, the themes built on espionage, technology, and loyalty echo some quintessential Bond storytelling. These echoes enhance the cinematic feeling Black Bag carries, and Steven Soderbergh makes it all look so easy. Through lean and exacting direction, Soderbergh shows the beauty of efficient filmmaking. He strives to make one lean picture after another, and in the last few years alone, continued to prove his remarkable range; from 2017’s Logan Lucky and 2018’s Unsane, to 2022’s Kimi and 2024’s Presence. Black Bag is by no means a “welcome back” for Soderbergh, but rather a testament to the consistency he’s demonstrated throughout his career. He is simply one of the greats, with an envious ability to visualize such captivating stories in swift runtimes. Throughout Black Bag, Soderbergh draws tension and mystery from achingly beautiful and precise angles, full of narrative intention.
The film’s exquisite crafts also speak to the strength of Soderbergh’s vision. From the director’s own cinematography (the fog on George’s glasses while cooking!) and Ellen Mirojnick’s costume design, to David Holmes’s score and Philip Messina’s production design (George and Kathryn’s house!), the visual language beams with 1970s London glam. The characters’ luxurious, sophisticated costumes are never compromised. There is a consistent level of detail to each one, whether Kathryn’s sleek fabrics she can easily slip in and out of, or George’s perfectly tailored suits and matching glasses. All the locations feel fully realized and evoke the feeling of watching a 60s or 70s film in a contemporary vein, which can also be said for how the characters operate. Fassbender’s George in particular reminds me of Michael Caine in Sleuth and Richard Burton in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, especially in the sophisticated mental gymnastics and controlled playfulness of those characters.
Some settings can be described as having “a quietly noisy relaxed intensity,” to quote Burton in Virginia Woolf?. Black Bag operates in that vein of intensity from beginning to end. A sleek and precise surface masks a whole lot of messy turbulence. What can’t be masked, no matter how much expertise these spies have in cloaking their intentions, is how sexy intelligence and romantic loyalty are. This story works just as much magic as a relationship drama than it does as a spy thriller.
Black Bag arrives in theaters on March 14.
‘Snow White’ Review
March 21, 2025
Once upon a time, anticipating a new Disney film didn’t come with grumpiness around which animated classic from an 87-year-old vault the studio would remake next. But ever since the massive success of Disney’s live-action Oscar-winning Alice in Wonderland in 2010, the studio quickly jumped on a moneymaking train, and it seemed no stone would go unturned. Then came the live-action Disney princess trend, from 2015’s Cinderella and 2017’s Beauty and the Beast to 2020’s Mulan and 2023’s The Little Mermaid. The latest addition to this trend goes back 87 years to the vault’s first animated film entry: Snow White. Director Marc Webb and writer Erin Cressida Wilson adapt the Grimm’s Fairy Tale to give the story a new spin for modern audiences. Snow White shows promise in attempting to refresh dated source material and give the titular princess a lot more to dream about than Prince Charming. But there are too many rotten apples that spoil this fairy tale adaptation.
Snow White follows the same skeleton as the 1939 story. The princess (Rachel Zegler) is exiled from her kingdom by her cruel stepmother the Evil Queen (Gal Gadot). Fueled by jealousy and vanity, the Queen recites to her Magic Mirror, “who is the fairest of them all?” As long as the Mirror replies in good standing with the Queen, Snow White is safe from harm, however the truth eventually finds its way to a broken reflection. Snow White is a threat to the throne, so the Queen orders the Huntsman (Ansu Kabia) to take her into the forest and kill her. But Snow White’s capacity for kindness far overpowers the ruling. The Huntsman spares the princess’s life, and she flees into a magical forest, where her kind-hearted soul leads the forest animals to help her find shelter. This brings them to the Seven Dwarfs’ cottage, where Snow White joins forces with the diamond miners to reclaim the kingdom from tyranny.
Snow White also reimagines some tunes from the 1939 film, namely ‘Waiting On a Wish’ (originally ‘I’m Wishing’). The lyrics work to establish new desires and motivations for Snow White. Rather than wishing for love to find her, she wishes to become a leader of change. She wants to live up to the values her father instilled in her, carry on her parents’ legacy, and do right not only by them but the people of this kingdom. Core messages of bravery, leadership, and kindness resonate in Snow White’s journey, especially when she stands up to the Queen and confronts her guards in the film’s final act. By refocusing what Snow White wishes for, the film finds a way to offer something new that can strike a contemporary chord.
Unfortunately, Snow White’s characterization is one of few strengths in Wilson’s screenplay. Among the few, the seven dwarfs are surprisingly spirited, given their awfully distracting CGI appearances. Dopey (Andrew Barth Feldman) in particular, who finds comfort in meeting Snow White as she helps find his voice, becomes the film’s best supporting character. Doc (Jeremy Swift) and Grumpy (Martin Klebba) also get moments to shine. Most impressively, the dwarfs’ ‘Heigh-Ho’ musical number (derived from the original film) pleasantly stands out with the vocals, choreography, and production design (especially for the mines). The dwarfs themselves, however, speak to one of the most misguided decisions in the film. The combination of CGI and motion capture give them a distracting, uninspired appearance. It feels especially odd when these characters are sharing scenes alongside George Appleby, an actor with dwarfism, who plays an on-screen bandit named Quigg. While it’s great that Appleby plays a character not defined by height, the approach to the dwarfs (which featured the voice of one actor with dwarfism, Martin Klebba) leaves behind a conflicting message.
The screenplay overall lacks consistency and clarity, ultimately failing to give the story a sense of urgency. The attempts to create a modern retelling pays off in some ways (Snow White) and falls flat in others (Prince Charming, who is transformed into a town thief named Jonathan). Jonathan (Andrew Burnap) makes it clear that he’s not the romantic knight in shining armor, and the film makes it clear that Snow White doesn’t need a Prince to save her. But the notions still manage to come up, whether in scenes that lead up to a potential romance, or in Jonathan literally saving Snow White’s life. The writing shows an attempt to balance Snow White’s wishes for leadership with her romantic desires, as it’s okay to want both, but it lacks the precision and nuance. There’s also a lot of uncertainty around who Jonathan’s character ought to be, and the script does no favors for Burnap, who tries his best to add some personality but ends up becoming a monotonous presence.
Thankfully, the film has a compelling lead in Rachel Zegler, who portrays her best version of this character. She absolutely carries this film on her shoulders. Whether it’s her magical renditions of old and new songs, or the movie star energy she radiates, Zegler shows a keen understanding of the material she’s working with and commits to rising above it. One of her most impressive moments is featured in the film’s final act, when Snow White finds her leadership and reignites the entire kingdom to fight for fairness and truth. Zegler’s strong sense of conviction lends perfectly to this moment, infusing much-needed emotionality into hollow storytelling and making up for a weak antagonist opposite her.
The poison apple of Snow White is unfortunately Gal Gadot, whose Evil Queen feels woefully out of place in Marc Webb’s adaptation. As the primary source of conflict in this story, Gadot falls short of emoting a threatening presence, causing one to question how any character can take her seriously at all. Gadot makes an attempt to go the campy route, by way of exaggerated mannerisms and line deliveries. You can almost sense that Webb encourages her to keep trying. But she leans too far into one note, and plays that note repeatedly, without really exploring the villainy of her character beyond “looking” evil through icy glares. A good Disney villain, despite their antagonistic qualities, still has charm and a conviction that they are in the right. Gadot lacks the range to pull it off, and her scenes rob the film of its momentum.
Disney’s track record continues to disappoint with Snow White. The studio’s dollar-sign eyes behind flipping animated films into live-action commodities can’t help but make one weary for whenever the next one will arrive. Though, while Snow White may not be the fairest Disney remake of them all, it’s also not the bad apple of the bunch. Rachel Zegler does her best to infuse genuine commitment and life into this adaptation, making it far at least an occasionally enjoyable endeavor. If anything, Snow White further solidifies Zegler as a movie star who continues to show her strengths in carrying a film, and a movie star who deserves better.
Canadian Film Festival (CFF) Capsule Reviews
“Executive produced by Charlie Kaufman and based on Martha Baillie’s 2009 novel The Incident Report, Darkest Miriam plays in a darkly humorous and deeply fragmented wheelhouse.”
March 29, 2025
Sarah Galea-Davis’s feature directorial debut The Players tells a universal story of power dynamics and gender roles through an avant-garde lens. Set in Ontario in the summer of 1994, the film follows aspiring young actor Emily (Stefani Kimber), whose dream comes true when she gets cast in a local production of Hamlet. Emily begins to feel seen and heard by the group of actors, as though she’s found her family through experimental expression. But in her naivete, she trusts that her aspirations will be nurtured and not taken advantage of. She trusts that putting herself in pain is “necessary” in the name of art. The company director, Reinhardt (Eric Johnson), operates his theatre like a cult, blurring lines between personal and creative relationships to feed his ego and toxic behavior. Written and directed by Davis, the film resonates as a coming-of-age story and a cautionary tale for young women who wish to get into the industry. Davis deftly captures the 90s mentality around what behaviors were tolerated. Additionally, Davis points out how this pre-#MeToo era made it more difficult for women to speak up about exploitation and abuse, not to mention the lack of safe spaces for women to discuss their experiences with one another. Led by an impressive performance from Stefani Kimber, The Players strikes a reverberating chord.
The Players premieres on Saturday, March 29 at 6:30 pm and will be preceded by Dan Abramovici’s short film Spaceman.
March 28, 2025
Closing out this year’s Canadian Film Fest (CFF), Lunatic: The Luna Vachon Story steps into the ring of pro-wrestler Luna “The Lunatic” as she wrestles between personal and professional demons. The documentary paints a troubling portrait of an intimidating stage persona of the World Wrestling Federation (WWF), particularly when so few women were embraced or taken seriously in the sport. From hyper-sexualization and stereotypical expectations to sexual assault and gender inequity, the documentary explores a challenging landscape through which Luna navigated. Directed, written, and produced by pro-wrestler Kate Kroll, Lunatic delves less into wrestling narratives and more into observations on Luna’s identity and how she was perceived by her surroundings, whether family and friends or former colleagues and fellow female wrestlers. Kroll attempts to infuse in-depth perspective with a mix of archival footage and floating head interviews, however, the material feels redundant and the focus is scattered. Additionally, repetitive storytelling techniques and shaky editing rob the documentary of its potential emotionality and staying power. Despite such shortcomings, Lunatic raises some intrigue about Luna Vachon’s uniquely carved legacy.
Lunatic: The Luna Vachon Story premieres on Saturday, March 29 at 9:00 pm and will be preceded by Michelle D’Alessandro Hatt’s short film Brave Rebel Army.
March 26, 2025
Meelad Moaphi’s feature debut His Father’s Son shines as one of the most intriguing stories in this year’s Canadian Film Fest (CFF) lineup. Written and directed by Moaphi, the film explores an Iranian-Canadian family through lived-in character dynamics and layered performances. Struggling chef Amir (Alireza Shojaei) and his seemingly more successful younger brother Mahyar (Parham Rownaghi) face daily expectations from their parents, Farhad (Gus Tayari) and Arezou (Mitra Lohrasb). When the family receive news that an unexpected inheritance has been left to Mahyar, the gift cracks open revelations that will shape the family’s future. The film balances strong portrayals of each character’s perspective and finds strength in establishing how they relate to one another Amir and his father Farhad in particular share an ambiguously tense dynamic. Amir tries to make a name for himself through cooking, which Farhad does not consider a feasible career path. While the film attempts to earn an emotionally satisfying ending using this narrative father + son conflict, Moaphi’s writing lacks the depth and precision to pull it off. Additionally, the female supporting characters are not given much nuance outside of playing “the girlfriend” role. However, compelling performances elevate the material and help craft a memorable story.
His Father’s Son premieres on Thursday, March 27 at 6:00 pm and will be preceded by Aisha Evelyna and Natalie Novak Remplakowski’s short film, Nola.
March 25, 2025
This year’s Canadian Film Fest (CFF) kicked off with Naomi Jaye’s eccentric sophomore directorial feature, Darkest Miriam. The film stars Britt Lower (known for her role as Helly R. in Severance) as Miriam Gordon, a Toronto librarian who lives a relatively strange and quiet life. Haunted by the death of her father, Miriam navigates enigmatic waves of grief while dealing with the everyday oddities of library patrons. No matter how many incident reports she files away, the patrons (Fainting Man and Unusually Pale Female Patron, to name a few) persist. So too does Miriam’s mysterious interior world, as it flows eloquently into frame, whether through Lower’s majestic performance or Jaye’s poetic use of imagery. Executive produced by Charlie Kaufman and based on Martha Baillie’s 2009 novel The Incident Report, Darkest Miriam plays in a darkly humorous and deeply fragmented wheelhouse. While the film often gets lost in Miriam’s trailing memories, and feels much longer than its runtime, there’s an enticing quality to the puzzling narrative and wry tone. Featuring an incredibly understated performance by Lower, who wisely lets the viewer put pieces of her character together, the film is full of little discoveries that speak volumes.
Darkest Miriam will be available digitally on April 15.
Canadian Film Festival (CFF) runs from March 24-29, 2025 at Cineplex’s Scotiabank Theatre in Toronto.
Celebrate Canadian Voices With CFF 2025
March 23, 2025
Now in its 19th year, Canadian Film Festival (CFF) returns today with another stellar lineup of Canadian stories. CFF celebrates creative voices from across the country, including British Columbia, Quebec, Ontario, Newfoundland, and Nova Scotia. This year, the festival will be showcasing 16 features and 50 shorts at Cineplex’s Scotiabank Theatre in Toronto from March 24-29, 2025. Tickets can be purchased at www.canfilmfest.ca. From the impressive lineup, 53% of films are by female/non-binary filmmakers, and 44% are from BIPOC filmmakers.
The opening night film, Naomi Jaye’s Darkest Miriam, stars Britt Lower (known for her role as Helly R. in Severance) as Miriam Gordon, a sheltered librarian faced with grief as she navigates her job at the Toronto Public Library. Miriam’s existence cracks open when she receives a series of threatening letters addressed to her. The film marks Naomi Jaye’s sophomore directorial feature following 2013’s The Pin, a love story set during WWII. Darkest Miriam (based in Ontario) premieres Monday, March 24 at 7:00 pm, and will be sure to spark buzz amongst Severance fans.
The closing night film, Kate Kroll’s Lunatic: The Luna Vachon Story, shines a light on WWF villain Luna Vachon. The documentary follows Vachon through the peak of her 90’s fame, her hidden battle with mental health, and how she challenged mainstream expectations of women in the wrestling industry. The film marks Kroll’s third directorial feature following 2010’s No Fun City and 2014’s Path of Pilgrims. Lunatic: The Luna Vachon Story (based in British Columbia) premieres March 29 at 9:00 pm.
Among the festival highlights, Catherine Legault’s LARRY (they/them) spotlights Laurence Philomène, a non-binary trans photographer based in Montreal. This intimate documentary explores Laurence’s inspired work through their empowering Non-Binary Portrait Series and ongoing autobiographical book called Puberty. The book features colorful, detailed self-portraits of Laurence in domestic spaces, as they undergo testosterone shots during their transition. LARRY (they/them) excels at amplifying the autonomy of non-binary storytelling and the power of unlearning what society has taught about gender and bodies. Legault infuses her second feature with a candid approach and crafts a tender experience. Her direction and writing create a safe space for honest expression, turning the lens inward to reflect Laurence’s self-care. LARRY (they/them) radiates a powerful sense of community. Given the intimacy of Legault’s filmmaking and Laurence’s candor, you feel completely present, as though you’re in the room with them. LARRY (they/them) uplifts one of the most inspiring voices of their generation as they find personal joy amidst hardships. The documentary premieres Tuesday, March 25 at 1:00 pm and will be preceded by Laura King's short film, Paper Lanterns.
Continuing Canadian Film Fest’s showcase of diverse perspectives, Tarique Qayumi’s Conceiving Clara explores the resonant subjects of midwifery and IVF treatment. The film follows Clara (Tajana Susanna Prka), a midwife who helps women give birth but cannot bear a child. Facing constant pressure from her mother-in-law, Clara decides to undergo IVF treatment and experiences complications that lead to desperate measures. Directed by Qayumi, and co-written by Qayumi and Prka, the story puts you under a spell of frustration and uncertainty as Clara searches for answers. The film leans heavily into ambiguous storytelling and features some disjointed editing. As a result, the story loses momentum and focus in its overall message. However, the thematic urgency around this narrative stands out, from protecting midwifery practices to increasing awareness and support for the commonality of infertility. In addition, Tajana Susanna Prka’s performance holds the film together with strong emotionality. Conceiving Clara premieres Wednesday, March 26 at 6:30 pm and will be preceded by Luvleen Hunjan’s short film, Whispering in the Leaves.
Also featured at CFF this year, Meelad Moaphi’s brilliant family drama His Father’s Son and Sarah Galea-Davis’s avant-garde The Players each represent Ontario-based productions that explore complex character dynamics, whether between fellow relatives or fellow actors. His Father’s Son, premiering Thursday, March 27 at 6:00 pm, centers on an Iranian-Canadian family whose collective history unravels unexpected truths. The Players, premiering Saturday, March 29 at 6:30 pm, follows a young actor who finds a surrogate family when she joins an exciting theatre production.
Spanning a variety of genres, themes, and cultures, CFF continues to bring original and inspiring Canadian stories to Canadian audiences. Celebrate the art of cinema with CFF from March 24-29 at Cineplex’s Scotiabank Theatre in Toronto. To purchase tickets and view the complete festival schedule, visit www.canfilmfest.ca/films-2025. For more information on CFF, stay updated through the channels below:
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‘Thunderbolts*’ Review
April 30, 2025
What better way to awaken the Marvel Cinematic Universe fatigue than getting a group of anti-heroes together? After years of formulaic action, underwhelming character introductions, and redundant revivals across the past few phases, Thunderbolts* has closed out Phase 5 with a level of optimism that reminds audiences how much dramatic strength these ensembles can hold. Much like The Avengers, which closed out Phase One, Thunderbolts* excels through character dynamics that let personalities shine, and action sequences that actually have real stakes. Each and every misfit, normally cast aside and left to their own devices, becomes part of a fluid collective. They get to know one another as a means of survival, and learn the power they have within themselves to push through the irredeemable bits of their past that have held them to solitude. Thunderbolts* turns the idea of an emulative superhero on its head. The film resonates by looking inward to figure out who these characters are, beyond playing connect-the-dots in the Marvel universe, and impressively navigates mental health without compromising the seriousness of the subject. Led by the magnificent Florence Pugh, and featuring a charismatic Lewis Pullman as a fresh-faced addition to the MCU, Thunderbolts* steers the future of Marvel Studios onto an excitedly different path.
Finding strength and heroism in antagonistic Marvel characters, Thunderbolts* has assembled a fitting creative team to balance heightened stakes with entertaining personalities. Director Jake Schreier (co-director of the Emmy-winning Netflix series Beef) reimagines what makes a superhero and leans into moral ambiguity to create a grounded environment where he can explore darker subjects like mental health, and emphasize those narrative elements visually. His ability to also incorporate comedy into poignancy, as exemplified throughout Beef, helps the oddball team of MCU loners in Thunderbolts* stand out in their respective internal battles, while also being universal and fun to watch. Schreier’s tonal balance complements the work of co-writers Eric Pearson (who previously wrote Black Widow) and Joanna Calo (the Emmy-winning writer behind hit shows The Bear, Hacks, and BoJack Horseman), both of whom can easily spot the grey areas of a character and find intrigue in the shadows. Their screenplay grounds the story with a humanistic focus, startling with our dynamic central character.
Picking up from Cate Shortland’s Black Widow, Russian Red Room-trained assassin Yelena Belova (Florence Pugh) now freelances for OXE Group chairman Valentina Allegra de Fontaine (Julia Louis-Dreyfus). While Valentina has Yelena’s next rogue move lined up, Yelena feels empty and directionless. Deeply impacted by the loss of her sister, Natasha Romanoff (Scarlett Johansson), and vulnerable to emotional manipulation, Yelena’s motivation to go through countless missions comes from a heavy void. The film opens with a face of loneliness and isolation, a close-up of Yelena’s vulnerability (and Pugh’s fearlessness), as she leaps off one of the tallest skyscrapers in the world. When she lands, she breaks new ground within herself and reluctantly agrees to do one last mission before calling it quits on assassin work. But that mountainous trap of a mission has a lot more in store for Yelena’s fate.
Valentina, under impeachment from the U.S. government, orders her assistant Mel (Geraldine Viswanathan) to scrub all OXE Group assets from history, including mercenaries — Yelena, John Walker (Wyatt Russell), Ghost (Hannah John-Kamen), and Taskmaster (Olga Kurylenko). The disillusioned misfits are lured into a fortress to kill each other, and in eventually seeing through the faux mission, they realize they must work together to survive an explosion of betrayal. Making matters more complicated, the mercenaries are joined by a civilian named Bob (Lewis Pullman), who cannot remember why or how he’s in the room with them.
The emotional anchors of Thunderbolts* ride on character arcs, especially for Yelena and Bob. She feels a strong connection to his energy, and the two share an intriguing conversation in the mountainous fortress that foreshadows the narrative directions to come. There’s a reason why Yelena is drawn to Bob, a mentally troubled young man whose dark side is being exploited. Through their interconnectedness, the film explores resonant themes of mental health, depression, and fighting inner demons. The characters’ internal conflicts carry the story forward, letting Thunderbolts* work its magic as a relationship-building film. It’s not about connecting dots within the Marvel universe, nor discerning Easter eggs from interactions, nor fighting for the greater good of mankind. It’s very much about the individual growing pains of misfits who are figuring out their humanistic superpowers and, for the most part, get moments to shine.
Since her standout performance in Black Widow, Florence Pugh’s Yelena has become a fan favourite. Pugh brought incredible depth, charm, and humour to her character. Her talent elevated the film and ultimately inspired an exciting new direction for the MCU to go in; it felt a no-brainer that she would go on to lead a franchise project. Thunderbolts* meets Yelena at a vulnerable point where she has sharpened her skills and learnt so much from her sister, but lost a sense of purpose. Haunted by the deepest, darkest rooms of her past, Yelena’s inner struggle is compelling material for Pugh to sink into, and she does so beautifully. One can immediately identify with her isolation, recognize the qualities that make Yelena who she is, and discover the character’s growth. Yelena’s attentiveness towards Bob’s vulnerability, and her willingness to take him under her wing, emphasize an exploration of mental health through the superhero genre.
The film is not immune to some of the MCU’s repeat storytelling offences such as clunky pacing and, in more recent years, unfunny marketing-driven banter. The actors’ sensibilities and wit are more than enough to interject levity without forced, cheesy comedic timing. Additionally, the writing structure can be redundant and surface-level in how messages around mental health are presented. However, this does not diminish the sincerity of wanting to include such messages and tell a more human story than what audiences expect from a Marvel blockbuster. Thunderbolts* has the endearing ensemble and thoughtful writing to pull off character and story developments that genuinely do stir emotion. That a major MCU franchise film pushes for more mature subject matter feels incredibly refreshing, and does not underestimate the universality of a topic like depression, nor does it undermine the seriousness of it.
Of the ensemble, Lewis Pullman has the most delicate role to play, calling on him to be vulnerable and intimidating at the switch of a hat. As a new addition to the MCU, he makes an engaging first impression and creates someone you immediately feel drawn to, as there is more to Bob than meets the eye. Pullman brings an endearing charisma to this seemingly innocent civilian, and the film’s first act smartly keeps his full abilities shrouded. Each layer of the character builds onto a compelling backstory and gives him a motivating factor, while also shedding light on Val’s shady intentions.
When Bob volunteers to participate in a lab test, under the guise that it will take his pain away, Val has him injected with a DNA-altering serum to create Sentry, “Earth’s Mightiest Hero.” The superhuman’s powers are designed to rival all of the Avengers rolled into one. In exploiting Bob’s trauma, she unwittingly creates The Void, an entity that heightens his dark side to an all-consuming level. The Void keeps Bob stuck in a shadowy maze of his traumatic past, unable to fight against the emptiness and loneliness. Pullman, no pun intended, pulls off an incredibly multi-faceted role, from Void’s darkness and Sentry’s intimidation to Bob’s vulnerability. He navigates disorientating compartments of the character’s mind and, in a particularly moving sequence, shows Bob’s inner strength of realizing he’s not alone in the world.
Sentry’s arc speaks to how depression doesn’t simply go away with a masked front, and how even the people one may perceive as superheroes can also struggle on the inside. Sentry also proves to be a far more intriguing character than expected; beyond a superhuman silhouette who can fight off any misfit without so much as flinching, he has enough self-awareness to question why he needs to follow Val’s orders. If he is so almighty, why would he answer to anyone? Through this character, the film finds emotionally resonating ways of communicating something that so many of us need to hear: you are not alone.
The Void’s visualization also makes for some of the most engaging action sequences the MCU has ever produced. From turning civilians into shadows, to the misfits fighting their way through Bob’s psychological maze of dark rooms, to Bob fighting his inner self, the action derives from character development. It helps that much of the choreography we see is also from a ground-level perspective, which feels more tangible and creates a realistic set of stakes. Additionally, the brilliant score by Son Lux highlights the oddities of these characters and the tension of their heightened circumstances, while keeping humanity at the core.
The level of tact involved in Yelena and Bob’s character arcs extends, for the most part, to all the misfits in this ensemble. The film gives familiar faces such as Walker (Russell) and Ghost (John-Kamen) more material than they’ve had across the entirety of the MCU. While this still leaves more to be desired, particularly from Ghost who disappears from the frame far too often, the time spent on their characters reveals a unique edge. Thunderbolts* excels at focusing on how to approach the misfits as an ensemble. It’s not so much about the group seeking revenge, but rather learning how to work together, and how to address their own pasts out of a need to keep surviving. The film’s second half also smartly gives each character a moment of saving bystanders not for the greater good, nor for any reason other than lending a helping hand, just as Yelena extends to Bob.
This sentiment of helping hands also extends to characters such as Yelena’s father, Alexei (David Harbour), who not only provides comic relief but a voice of poignancy. During the film’s second half, Harbour and Pugh share an incredibly moving moment in a conversation of purpose and healing. With both actors so present in this moment, their conversation truly echoes and gives weight to Yelena’s character development. The presence of another familiar face, Bucky Barnes (Sebastian Stan), also emphasizes the film’s recurring theme of finding your community. While the character doesn’t get much to do, he still manages to resonate in identifying with the misfits, and at least makes an appearance as the Winter Soldier. As a former assassin, he has been in their position, and has the foresight to guide them towards pushing through complicated pasts.
The battle between good and evil has long been the structure of superhero films. Thunderbolts* stands out by taking this approach to explore the interior conflicts within characters. The wrestling of good and bad elements exists within them, and watching those psychological battles play out is far more emotionally involving than much of what the MCU franchise has offered in recent years. With resonating subjects, a tremendous cast, and enough heart to feel purposeful, Thunderbolts* signifies that Marvel creatives still have the capacity to tell interesting stories within the superhero genre.