Challengers preview screening provided by Universal Pictures
Challengers feels like both a breath of fresh air for sports movies and a film struggling to find air, mainly because it’s less about the act of winning and more about savouring the build up to a point, soaking in the tension, and when Luca Guadagnino is the director, pushing the boundaries of continuous edging that only free spirited, experimental youths seem to bring. Make no mistake, tennis is the lens through which we untangle Guadagnino’s webs and fascination with youths being unorthodox, but this is by no means a sports rags-to-riches story like King Richard (2021) or a light-hearted underdog tale like Next Goal Wins (2023).
It follows two up-and-coming tennis prodigies, childhood friends Art Donaldson (Mike Faist) and Patrick Zweig (Josh O’Connor), and an established youth pro, Tashi Duncan (Zendaya). Things get a little complicated for this trio who meet long before Art becomes a touring pro and Tashi, his coach and wife. In fact, Guadagnino’s film takes many turns, often dovetailing from one moment in time to another, with Marco Costa’s editing giving the film this back-and-forth rally like quality, sometimes a bit too excessively but enough to keep you on your toes.
We open in the present, where Art’s game isn’t as great as it once was and Tashi signs him up for a challenger event in New Rochelle to find some flair before the US Open. Unbeknownst to Art, Patrick, now his former friend, will also be competing. It’s from here that Guadagnino cuts between the present and the past, sometimes for a matter of days, other times for years. It becomes clear that there’s some unresolved history between the trio who first met 12 years ago at a juniors tournament where they hit it off both on and off the court.
Guadagnino, an expert at extrapolating meaning from odd situations, uses Tashi as a catalyst for carnage, or to put it in her own words, a “homewrecker”. From early stages, her motivations aren’t entirely clear in terms of her fascination with the duo —there’s a steamy scene where the trio lock lips before Tashi pulls back and leaves Art and Patrick still going at it before she admires her work and ducks out— but she’s clearly the focal point that pushes the narrative forward. And that’s largerly because Zendaya does a great job at conveying this larger than life presence, mainly since that’s how she’s perceived in pop culture more broadly. Guadagnino is able to tap into that to a greater degree, working with cinematographer Sayombhu Mukdeeprom to box her into the frame through tight close-ups and really portray her as a figure of authority who has a grip on Art and Patrick that can’t be shaken off.
The enjoyment of the film comes from the tension that is bubbling beneath the surface, after all this is a story about competing and winning no matter the cost. That’s at least the mentality that Tashi has instilled into both Art and Patrick who, no matter their rankings in the wider sense, constantly seem to be tussling with one another. At the same time, this tussle seems to be less about proving anything to themselves and more about proving something to Tashi.
Ultimately, tennis provides the perfect platform for Guadagnino to pivot such ideas against one another, with the underlying horniness of it all working to give the film a unique edge —especially when paired with Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’ pulsating techno score which further breathes life in any given moment. Whether or not this is the sort of film you’ll walk away from and continue to ponder isn’t clear, especially with an ending that doesn’t exactly prod you to ask any more questions but almost leaves you wanting more answers in the same unfulfilled way the trio have been all movie.
Challengers opens nationally from the 18th of April, 2024.
Monkey Man preview screening provided by Universal Pictures
It doesn’t take long for Monkey Man, Dev Patel’s directorial debut 10 years in the making, to thrust you into a world teeming with injustice, blood and grime. In fact, it’s there from the outset following a short monologue describing the backstory to an Indian legend, Hanuman, that drives much of the film’s undertones.
Monkey Man is a brutal revenge thriller charting a man’s rise from blood soaked human cockfighting in the slums, to the bustling streets of the vibrant, fictional Yatana city beyond. It’s not unlike similar action revenge flicks of recent times like the John Wick series (which it even name drops) or Nobody (2021), yet it retains a level of verisimilitude through its distinguishable identity that Patel has clearly spent time trying to workshop on top of the frenetic fight sequences.
Kid (Patel) has experienced loss at the hands of people in power (namely the police and its chief), and like John Wick, he’s all-in on enacting vengeance to those who did him wrong. As you’d expect, much of this film plays out in a rather formulaic fashion where we see our hero rise from the ashes and fall again before re-building himself up for once last hurrah.
Where Patel has tried to impose himself on the genre is by weaving in the aforementioned legend of Hanuman to imbue the character with a purpose that extends beyond simply trying to kill and be done with it. Ultimately this never really lands in the way Patel might hope it would, with large chunks of the second act often falling flat when away from the action while Kid is nursed back to health following a failed assassination of Rana (Sikandar Kher as the film’s prime adversary) and attempt to flee. This dip takes away from the momentum that has been building up in the moments prior and feels like Patel is trying to get all of his eggs in a basket in ways that similar directorial debuts tend to go —and that’s not surprising since the film was in limbo for a while until producer Jordan Peele practically ‘saved’ it.
MONKEY MAN, directed by Dev Patel
Yet when Monkey Man is hitting, it’s really hitting, and that’s through the well crafted hand-to-hand and gun combat that is reminiscent of classic Bruce Lee titles like Enter the Dragon (1973) or fellow suit-wearer John Wick’s tussles, respectively. There’s a greater freedom in these sequences with Patel experimenting a bit more and having fun with the affordances of breakable chairs, glass and the wider space of these fancy venues (there’s even a few knife and axe moments that had me squirming).
By the time the third act has rolled around Kid is a fully fledged badass who has embraced his proverbial destiny. It opens the film up from the shell it became in the second act and is really where it’s at its best. Some of the political tendencies that Patel tries to inject feel forced in this third act and really reiterate that the film just has too much it wants to say but not the leg room or the chops to do so. The punches in the film land great, the subtext, not so much. Then again, this is a director finding his voice, and if Monkey Man is anything to go by, this won’t be the last we see of Patel behind the camera, and that’s the best hit of the bunch.
Monkey Man opens nationally from the 4th of April.
Kung Fu Panda 4 preview screening provided by Universal Pictures
It’s been nearly 16 years since the first Kung Fu Panda film graced our screens and introduced audiences to the fun loving, butt kicking Dragon Warrior, Po (Jack Black), yet you wouldn’t think a day has passed. A large majority of older animations that have had sequels years later tend to show just how dated the animations of their predecessor are in comparison; by contrast, the latest entry in this franchise looks just as vibrant and polished as it did all those years ago.
The same can’t be said for the story, which feels like it’s treading old ground by returning a character who has reached the peak of his powers to a point where most franchises tend to begin (including this one). Eight years have passed since Kung Fu Panda 3 (2016), but as the beauty of animation so allows it, time moves much much slower. Po (Jack Black), having seemingly cleared the Valley of Peace of all adversaries and cast them into the Spirit Realm, must now select a new Dragon Warrior to take his place. As expected, this doesn’t make sense to him, no matter how much Master Shifu (Dustin Hoffman) tries to remind him that he has a new purpose to assume: that of Spiritual Leader of the Valley. Stubborn and set in his ways, he reluctantly agrees.
It doesn’t take long for his focus to shift though as word of the return of Tai Lung (Ian McShane), Po’s foe from the first film, reaches his ear. But things aren’t as they seem, with Po coming to realise a new threat has emerged in the form of the Chameleon (Viola Davis), a shapeshifter set on luring Po and his Staff of Wisdom from the Valley and enacting her own sinister plans. Naturally, Po’s curiosity gets the better of him and he decides to pursue the Chameleon along with the help of Zhen (Awkwafina), a thieving fox who agrees to take him to the Chameleon after being captured while trying to steal a bunch of precious artefacts from the temple in his town.
(Center) Chameleon (Viola Davis) in ‘Kung Fu Panda 4’ directed by Mike Mitchell.
So begins the duo’s quest from the Valley to Juniper City where the Chameleon resides. There are thrills and spills that keep them (and the audience) on edge; whether at a tavern on the brink of falling off a cliff where crooks of all sorts gather to gamble and stuff their faces, or through the streets of Juniper City where foot chases ensue —director Mike Mitchell has nailed the look and feel of the first three.
While a majority of the original cast, specifically that of the Furious Five —comprised of Angelina Jolie, Jackie Chan, Seth Rogen, Lucy Liu and David Cross— haven’t reprised their roles (much to this critic’s dismay), the heart of the film that is Po, returns with the same rampant energy and sincerity as he had in the first three films. And that’s largely owed to the cuddly and sincere Jack Black who consistently brings his A-game to any and every role he takes on. Black has carried this franchise on his voice and boisterousness alone, and he once again saddles up in the voice acting booth as though 16 years haven’t passed.
Joining him are some of those aforementioned familiar faces and voices from past entries including Mr. Ping (James Hong) and Li (Bryan Cranston) who have their own subplot as they venture out to help Po. The humour of the film is derived from their back-and-forths and while amusing, serves more as an afterthought especially in the absence of more thought-out plotting for the main quest.
(from left) Po (Jack Black) and Zhen (Awkwafina) in ‘Kung Fu Panda 4’ directed by Mike Mitchell.
As with most DreamWorks animations (and the best Disney animations), there’s always a simple moral underpinning the story. This time around it’s not being afraid of change which, in essence, was what the first film did so well in communicating especially given the stakes felt greater and Po had more to gain than lose. The message itself doesn’t lose weight per se, but it doesn’t land as meaningfully either which is perhaps owed more to the first three films rounding off really well as a trilogy and the fourth opening up threads that felt nicely closed.
Even still, Mitchell’s film is a breezy time at the cinema and never overstays its welcome. The animations are crisp and the world is teeming with goofy action that is reminiscent of the best parts of its predecessors —especially towards the closing sequence which contains some well executed kung fu fighting. Could more have been done in giving the script less of a repetitive feel? Definitely. Then again, this franchise has survived as long as it has because of Black’s penchant for comic timing and the unconventional hero arc of Po, and that’s the perfect recipe for further longevity if it so requires a fifth film.
Kung Fu Panda 4 opens nationally from the 28th of March.
Dune: Part Two preview screening provided by Universal Pictures
Few working directors have the capacity to deliver such audacious tentpole features like George Lucas and Sir Peter Jackson, and even fewer are able to do so authentically while ensuring that the end result is nothing short of spectacular. But that’s exactly what Denis Villeneuve has done with Dune: Part Two, his sequel to 2021’s Oscar winning Dune: Part One.
To call Dune: Part Two anything other than a generation defining Sci-Fi would be to undersell just how monumental an achievement the director has on his hands. Where Part One focused more on methodical world-building and planting the narrative seeds of Frank Herbert’s iconic novel (some might say in a much more trimmed down, thin fashion than expected), Part Two is all about scale and upping the ante.
And it picks up almost immediately after the first film, where Paul Atreides (Timothee Chalamet) has found his way to the Fremen and is working towards building their trust, learning to assimilate in their ways, and realising his potential as a Messiah. There is seemingly more pandering this time around, with the first film having the skeleton of what is sure to become a trilogy, established, but lacking that extra flesh for why we should care about these characters, the Kwisatz Haderach or any of the novel’s deeper lore.
The care for those aspects all starts with Paul though, with his plight becoming increasingly refined by screenwriters Villeneuve and Jon Spaihts, who inject more oomph into the script. Paul is much more nuanced here, having had to grow up faster than he would have liked, especially now that the Harkonnens have reoccupied Arrakis (or Dune) and are actively pursuing spice. In turn, time is of the essence for Paul and the Fremen, especially as the Harkonnens edge closer to their hidden locations.
(L-R JOSH BROLIN as Gurney Halleck and JAVIER BARDEM as Stilgar in Warner Bros. Pictures and Legendary Pictures’ action adventure “DUNE: PART TWO,” a Warner Bros. Pictures release. (PRESS KIT)
As a result the film places greater attention on the interplay between Paul and the Fremen. Fremen leader Stilgar (Javier Bardem) has become the guiding voice of reason who echoes the idea that the chosen one has arrived. He puts Paul through his paces via a series of trials that test out whether he truly lives up to all that was foretold. Whether that’s venturing out into the desert to overcome its harshness, battling the Harkonnens as they attempt to harvest spice, or riding a Shai-Hulud without guidance —there’s not shortage of incredible individual moments that both propel the narrative forward but also leave one in awe every time.
It’s in these moments that Part Two really shines and speaks to Villeneuve’s eye for detail and scale. It helps that the returning Greig Fraser (who won an Oscar for his cinematography for the first film) once again captures Dune’s deceptively beautiful vistas on a macro level, which allows that scale to shine through. Everything on Dune looks blown up in size which works to its advantage in creating this look of endlessness and enormity, a creative decision that speaks to the gravitas of the journey awaiting Paul. It’s all the more crystallised in the vibrancy of the desert colours, which further evoke that deceptive beauty of a world that will show you no mercy and swallow you whole.
For Paul, the only beauty that isn’t deceptive is that of young Fremen warrior, Chani (Zendaya). She helps him through his series of trials while continuing to hold her own as a character of interest that isn’t just sidelined to play second fiddle as a muse. Often she claps back against the popular opinion of Stilgar, and refuses to fall privy to what she sees as a cause that doesn’t exactly serve the interests of her people.
In fact, most of the female characters in Part Two play crucial roles in the film’s events, with Paul’s mother Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson) embracing her destiny as the Fremen’s Reverend Mother. Princess Irulan (Florence Pugh) has a much smaller part in proceedings as the Emperor’s (Christopher Walken) daughter, serving more as a springboard for the plot and entry point to its politics rather than anything else, which isn’t a problem per se.
A scene from Warner Bros. Pictures and Legendary Pictures’ action adventure “DUNE: PART TWO,” a Warner Bros. Pictures release.
On the flip side are the Harkonnens, with the Baron (Stellan Skarsgård) returning in his hauntingly enlarged state alongside his incompetent nephew Rabban (Dave Bautista) who is continually being outsmarted by the Fremen as he tries to gather spice on Arrakis. But it’s Austin Butler’s portrayal as the Baron’s nephew, Feyd-Rautha, that is a particular standout; he comes across across as both raw and subtle, at once menacingly distant yet eerily close.
When the Fremen do lock horns with the Harkonnens, the result is always jaw-dropping set pieces with well choreographed fights that are supported rather than supplanted by those unique visual effects. The battles are also much easier on the eye compared to a majority of recent blockbusters, in that the action is discernible rather than messy. To top it off, Hans Zimmer’s score is also complimentary rather than excessive, with his use of drums and sharp crescendos aptly suiting the various cultures and moments (I had literal goosebumps at moments as the soundscape reverberated through my seat and being).
If there was to be a shortcoming it would be that the closing sequence rounds off rather abruptly. At various points throughout the film I couldn’t help but wonder how Villeneuve would bring everything together as the finish line was becoming clearer and closer to the end. However, he had always said that this was a continuation rather than a direct sequel, and that aspect is felt, even though audiences might be left wondering by the end —with some threads left hanging.
That said, there are few directors who can create a spectacle at such a scale while leaving their own mark and remaining faithful to the source material. Dune: Part Two takes the best parts of the second half of Herbert’s novel —allegory and all— and serves them up in a digestible, refined and spectacular result that is reminiscent of some of the best sequels (or continuations) in cinema history.
Dune: Part Two opens nationally from the 29th of February.
Bob Marley: One Love preview screening provided by Paramount Pictures
It’s telling that a film showcasing one of music’s most audacious artists who refused to ‘play it safe’ is the exact opposite in its approach to capturing his significance to history. Reggae icon Bob Marley is just that, an icon, which is why Reinaldo Marcus Green’s Bob Marley: One Love (2024) should feel like more than just a surface level recount of a trailblazing artist.
Unfortunately this exact problem has plagued a majority of recent films that have focused on iconic musicians. Film’s like Bohemian Rhapsody (2018), Elvis (2022) and Rocketman (2019) are all guilty of playing it too safely when it comes to taking a historical figure and adapting their story from a fictional lens. These film’s all ultimately lean too far into accuracy (or their version of it) at the expense of deeper character drama, a nurtured plot and an understanding that every nook and cranny of the musician’s life doesn’t need to be shown (we’ve got Wikipedia for that).
One Love falls into that category where it never really tells you more about the subject beyond what a simple google search might. If we consider A Star is Born (2018), Walk the Line (2005) and even The United States vs. Billie Holiday (2021), all of these films said more about the characters at their core through the very fact that they understood how to tow the line between fiction (of which A Star is Born is completely) and utilising drama to create tension ––– and that’s all while never losing sight of the protagonist at their core.
Marcus Green’s film picks up at a point in Marley’s (Kingsley Ben-Adir) life when he’s already reached a level of fame that has him ruffling a few political feathers. It’s a commendable point in his life to start at (in the mid-70s) rather than tracing the complete rags-to-riches story like some of the aforementioned titles.
Kingsley Ben-Adir as Bob Marley and Lashana Lynch as Rita Marley in Bob Marley: One Love from Paramount Pictures.
After being shot in an attempted murder, Marley is advised to leave Jamaica for a period of time while tensions ease at the top. This is much to his dismay since his wife Rita (Lashana Lynch) was also shot and narrowly avoided death. It proves to be a worthwhile move, with Marley finding inspiration in the UK music scene after arriving in London, and eventually releasing albums like Exodus which were undercut with political commentary and offered a twist on the sort of reggae beat he had become accustomed to in prior years.
If there’s one saving grace in a film about an iconic musician, it’s the music itself. There’s no shortage of hits that are played throughout like War, Exodus, I Shot the Sheriff, Three Little Birds and more. Fortunately they’re not showcased in the same way as the hits of Queen in Bohemian Rhapsody where they were seemingly devised on a whim and almost purely exist in that film for nostalgic purposes rather than to propel the narrative forward.
The film rounds off to a close after some 95 minutes which is a silver lining at a time where most overstay their welcome. This film doesn’t overstay its welcome and will no doubt be lopped up by an audience familiar with and intrigued by, Marley’s story. Should there have been a greater focus on accentuating that internal dialogue and sentiment Marley had towards the political situation in his country that ultimately led to his performance of unity at the One Love peace concert? Definitely. Ultimately the film gets you to that point, but the result is more of a split, cobbled-together look at key milestones rather than a deeper dive into a man who united a nation.
Bob Marley: One Love opens nationally from the 14th of February.
Driven, work-oriented men who struggle to balance the personal with the professional and are often trapped by their own desires has always been Michael Mann’s bread and butter. In Ferrari (2023), his latest foray into biopics after Ali (2001), Public Enemies (2009) and to a lesser extent, The Insider (1999), he tackles automotive titan Enzo Ferrari. A figure notorious for his desire to win at all costs, Ferrari fits perfectly into the book of self-destructive but purposeful protagonists that Mann has been exploring.
A perfectionist professionally but a loose cannon personally, Enzo Ferrari (Adam Driver) was a multi-faceted man, with his mind ever so focused on innovating and winning races but also ever so muddled when it came to his marriage and family life. Mann wastes no time in connecting those two worlds, introducing Ferrari (after a short montage of recreated black-and-white footage of a young Enzo behind the wheel) slipping out of the home of his mistress Lina (Shailene Woodley), slowly pushing a car downhill before jumping into it and speeding off. It’s a subtle introduction but helps establish what follows as a deeper look beneath the bonnet.
Where he’s speeding off to is his blindsided, somewhat estranged wife Laura (Penelope Cruz) whom he shares his struggling business with as well as a deceased son, Alfredo, whose death is a trigger point Mann continually comes back to over the course of the film to access that hidden internal layer that Enzo tries to hide.
It makes sense to ground the film to a particular moment in time rather than simply treating this as a by-the-books, cookie cutter biopic. The moment he chooses here is in 1957, with Enzo continuing to grapple with the loss of his son while living a double life with another woman and a second child, Piero. It’s a period in time where the Ferrari brand was at risk of collapse and the Mille Miglia race was a way for Enzo to clap back at doubters and hopefully, debt.
Mann is an expert at extrapolating key info from his subject matter, something Driver attests to in a Collider interview by stating that Mann’s characters “internal lives are so rich and so specific” and that “all of his notes are about character and internal life”. And Troy Kennedy Martin’s screenplay, based on Brock Yates’ Enzo Ferrari: The Man, the Cars, the Races, the Machine, offers enough legroom for Mann to build out the sort of bubbling tension that Enzo is harbouring over the course of the film where you feel that at any given moment, something will burst as it often does in his films.
Adam Driver is Enzo Ferrari in FERRARI, directed and produced by Michael Mann
As mentioned, the Mille Miglia feels like the Hail Mary for Enzo to redeem his brand, and across the film he tests cars around a track with professional drivers while reminding them that it’s a privilege to race in one of his cars. It’s in these very transaction-like conversations that his ruthlessness and hunger to win comes through, with Driver playing the Commendatore (as he was known) with a composed edge but towering presence as though he was truly a force of nature in this world. Not to take away from Driver, but at times his performance feels a little less accessible than some of Mann’s other characters who share similar traits but often have a more engaging charisma.
It’s in the more personal exchanges he has with those he cares about that the true duality of his life comes through. Laura matches him in bluntness, with the loss of their son evidently creating a rift between the two that’s left them stagnant in their marriage. Cruz’s performance here is up there with the best of the year as she plays Laura as a woman on the cusp of losing it, with her dark, hollow eyes and blank expressions evoking the rawness she stills feels for her son’s death and distance from her husband.
While the film is more of a melodrama in its muted moments, it wouldn’t be a Mann film without some thrills and spills. The racing sequences, including that of the track tests and the Miglia itself, are shot expertly by cinematographer Erik Messerschmidt with cameras situated in seemingly every part of the car except the drivers laps. The sound-design adds to the flair of the races and the sense of foreboding doom as the cars rocket around turns and narrowly avoid knocking into each other.
The closing sequence is one of the most confronting of Mann’s career and definitely of the last year, with a crash that kills nine onlookers at the Miglia. Sure the CGI feels a bit jarring in a film that focuses on practical effects for its majority, but the moment itself and Enzo’s reaction afterwards speaks to the coolness that he projects where things happen in this line of work and you move on, because that’s what winners do, no matter the cost.
“Can you find the wolves in this picture?” As the simple Earnest (Leonardo DiCaprio) reads from a history book given to him by his uncle William “King” Hale (Robert De Niro) about the Osage Nation, to acclimatise himself to the new land in Oklahoma he has found himself in after returning from the war, we are not so subtly asked to investigate the frame of each scene. The land is almost entirely owned by the First Nations Osage community that, after being slaughtered and chased out of other states before finding themselves here, struck a reserve of oil on the land they had legal rights to, making them the richest per capita community in the world. And now their people are being brutally killed in careless succession, with the government nowhere in sight to investigate.
Killers of the Flower Moon (2023), a sprawling period crime epic based on the incredible best-selling nonfiction book of the same name by David Grann tracking the 1921 Osage Nation murders (potentially hundreds even though the reported count reached only 20), is the best film to arrive in theatres in years. An astonishing work of the clashing worlds of empathy and cruelty, the legendary director Martin Scorsese, alongside veteran screenwriter Eric Roth set out to explore and probe the original sins of white exploitation and destruction that dismantled a once thriving community in the Osage Nation.
Central to the story is Mollie Kyle (Lily Gladstone in the must-see performance of the year), and her family who were amongst the wealthiest in the community through their Osage headrights. From the opening moments of the film, the plan is established by the wolf Hale: set up his family to marry into and then assassinate Mollie’s family to gain their land through these headrights, with the newest entrant Earnest, Hale’s young (in reality Earnest was 19) nephew with nowhere else to go, to be placed alongside Mollie.
Lily Gladstone, Robert De Niro, and Leonardo DiCaprio in Killers of the Flower Moon
With a task as grave and serious about a community unfamiliar to their own, Scorsese and Roth’s script remarkably lands at a point of empathy and understanding they can reach as outsiders to this world. Scorsese’s self-reflective limitations as the person to tell this story are palpable throughout the film. This crime film’s capacity to tell a story of a community not his own arrives at a peak in a final sequence that may not evoke the same emotions in audience members as personal opinions of this vary (more on this later). However, it is disingenuous to wholly dismiss this remarkable film on those grounds, just as it is disingenuous to wholly dismiss the air of white guilt and limitations as storytellers that frame Killers.
The film is a surprisingly straightforward narrative story, using its 206-minute runtime to form as tight a compulsive story as is possible with Grann’s sprawling book, with the marriage of Earnest and Mollie at its core. There are many changes in structure and perspective to the book, with the most crucial being the shift in storytelling philosophy with the character of William Hale. In Grann’s book, the revelation of Hale’s orchestration of the gaining of head rights through systemic murders of the Osage Nation plays out closer to a whodunit true crime thrill ride that concludes with the formation of the FBI and the men that uncovered the truth — a sharp contrast to how the story is presented in the film. By changing the storytelling style from a whodunit into a bottomless well of foreboding dread through our connection to his character, Scorsese is tying us to the poison in his veins, feeling the bounds of the American condition and original sin within this vile man more directly.
Roth’s original screenplay focused on a more procedural whodunit that would’ve subbed as a perfectly adequate recreation of Grann’s book, centring early on Mollie and following onto Tom White’s (Jesse Plemons) role in the FBI investigation. Scorsese, in his first co-screenwriting credit since Silence (2016), alongside Roth, altered the perspective of the script, maintaining focus on Mollie and Ernest. In Grann’s book, the primary question being posed is: who is the culprit of these hideous acts? In Killers, the power of the storytelling comes from pursuing the more unanswerable questions at the core of their relationship and marriage: How can you do this to someone you believe to love? And how can you not see the root from which all these horrible events are stemming from? The boiling frustrations that stem from these probing, emotional questions are allowed to simmer across the entire extended runtime of the film, evolving into a profound sadness that will last with you a lifetime. Very few films attempt this level of emotional connection with the viewer, and even fewer films achieve it.
Lily Gladstone and Leonardo DiCaprio in Killers of the Flower Moon
What allows Killers to capture an audience’s hearts and minds across its extended runtime is the trio of performances by DiCaprio, Gladstone, and De Niro in one of the finest ensembles in Scorsese’s storied career. De Niro, in his best performance in many years, is nightmarish as the wolf Hale, able to talk and smile through both sides of his mouth, taking up residence as a haunting figure of colonial greed and arrogance in the early 20th century. Alongside him is DiCaprio in his Calvin Candie mode from Django Unchained (2012), a performance style he has grown more comfortable with in recent years. The choice of DiCaprio to play an individual some 30 years his junior is a fascinating one. It can be read as a director pulling his muse into another film for the central role, or as a compelling provocation to the audience of seeing the star portray a despicable and complicated person. The weight of Earnest’s wilful ignorance is also deepened when placed across DiCaprio’s face than a more age accurate performer. What allows the film to transcend however, is Gladstone, perhaps the most compelling screen presence to emerge in a decade, whether in a single scene in the great TV series Reservation Dogs (2022) or Certain Women (2016), she is simply astonishing. Gladstone’s chemistry with DiCaprio is established early and becomes the crux of the film, with each scene together tethered to an anchor of tension that remains all the way into their incredible final meeting.
There are arguments to be made that Gladstone is sidelined for too much of the back end of the film due to her illness, which is as much a compliment to her performance as a narrative choice. This element of the film is also forced due to the reality of Mollie’s poisoning and illness, a storytelling hurdle that would’ve been disrespectful to sidestep. Her powerful presence is felt on and off screen equally, her piercing eyes hold a deep well of humanity which buries into your psyche for the elongated runtime. To avoid this aspect of the real story is to avoid the real pain that was subjugated on each member of this community, something that was clear throughout the production as being integral to telling this story. This family of women, with Mollie at the centre, want for a normal, wealthy American life that should have been afforded to them, but the ingrained systems of racial vilification and capitalism — the two are intrinsically linked — force them into a victimhood they should have been able to avoid through their wealth.
The longer Roth and Scorsese worked with the community, listening to their stories and hearing their truth, the deeper the well of understanding was established which is felt in powerful sequences throughout the film. A key moment displaying this respect to the Osage Nation is in the profoundly moving sequence as Lizzie (Tantoo Cardinal), Mollie’s mother, passes on, holding hands with her ancestors as she walks, smiling and without regret, into the next life. The sequence is quiet, simply staged, and made with great respect, with the air of an Apichatpong Weerasethakul film. The sequence echoes Silence (2016), Scorsese exploration into his own faith late in life, through its stripped-down and respectful style, displaying the utmost care when dealing with the faith of the people portrayed on screen.
Robert De Niro and Leonardo DiCaprio in Killers of the Flower Moon
By saddling the audience with Earnest for much of the film, a man with absolutely no moral core in the centre of the frame, Scorsese seeks to probe and destabilise us in equal measure. We don’t have the comforts of a future-set flashback to reassure us of his remorse, nor do we have saccharine familial moments that give us an easy out of the atrocities portrayed in the film. The further and further we are stretched, the more determined we are to uncover some hidden truth in DiCaprio’s performance, but he is equally as withholding with us as he is with his own wife. Over 200 minutes, the greatest living filmmaker is asking us not to find the wolves in sheep’s clothing, but to ask how these wolves can live amongst sheep after consuming their families.
As an Australian, it’s impossible to ignore the echoes of our own history in this story, of The Stolen Generations and the arrogant dark seed of colonialism at its core. The pain in seeing the universality of these vicious and callous crimes is overwhelming, especially as it overlaps with this year’s referendum vote. It has never been easier to be wilfully ignorant of our past, dooming ourselves to continue them.
This dark cloud hangs over many aspects of the story of Killers. There is a deliberate air of inevitability to the murders and distressing moments of the story, shown through the edit and deliberately bleak sound cues that saddens whilst never veering into an unbearably solemn experience. Too often a film, especially an epic of this scale and runtime, will lose all propulsion as a compelling narrative in order to express the grave nature of the experience. This is a balancing act that is beautifully achieved, where the wealth of film knowledge of Scorsese and his long-time crew shines through to create this tremendous work of art.
Legendary musician and collaborator Robbie Robertson in his final work feels an inch off screen at all times, holding court on proceedings through his Stratocaster with a beautifully anachronistic score that brings to mind the famous Neil Young improvised score for Dead Man (1996). The real highlight piece for Robertson is the mournful guitar and vocal duet “They Don’t Live Long”, which seeps into your bone marrow through its mixture of seething rage and sorrow at the feeling of utter helplessness to these vile acts we are bearing witness to.
Leonardo DiCaprio, Lily Gladstone, Martin Scorsese, and Robert De Niro on the set of Killers of the Flower Moon
There is a care taken to each death that is heart wrenching and overwhelming that builds across the film. These moments aren’t calloused, or moments of entertainment that Scorsese has been accused of leaning too heavily on in the past. They are stark and honest, allowing the pulverising emotion of an audience experiencing these brutishly evil acts without a guide rope.
There is a special kind of pain Scorsese is carving out of you through the ham-fisted manner in which these horrific crimes are taking place. Not only is no one properly investigating these crimes due to the collective apathy those in real power hold for the Osage, but that is understood by those involved. This is not some elaborate web of seemingly innocuous murders, but a collection of obvious crimes committed by a group that never thought they’d get caught due to the privilege they wield over this community. For the master of the organised crime genre in cinema to focus on this collection of brutish, disorganised crime figures is pointed and considered, a continuation of his previous film The Irishman (2019), which is present throughout.
The film concludes with a charming Lucky Strike-helmed 50s radio play — sponsored by the FBI, valorising and sensationalising their involvement in the events — performing the events that transpire post the film in place of the usual text over photographs that close many a nonfiction adaptation. In these final moments, Scorsese enters the frame in an emotionally charged note to Molly’s ending, emanating both a solemn goodbye and apology for the nightmarish life she had to endure. He is overtly surrendering to the material and the Osage Nation. Not in some Variety interview or for your consideration campaign spot, but in the very text itself. The greatest living American filmmaker – and perhaps the country’s greatest ever auteur – closing potentially his final film in this manner will resonate till the end of time.
Killers of the Flower Moon is in select theatres now and streaming soon on Apple TV+.
Several animated series have made the leap from broadcasting to celluloid in years gone by — The Simpsons, South Park and Beavis and Butt-Head to name but a few. Although most examples have proven enjoyable, to date none of these feature-length adaptations have been of a greater calibre than the shows which inspired them, nor outshone them in the public zeitgeist. Such a problem afflicts the newest addition to this cohort of adaptations, despite the movie being quite enjoyable in its own right.
Father-of-three and small business owner Bob Belcher (voice of H. Jon “Archer” Benjamin) has been issued an ultimatum by his bank: pay his latest instalment within seven days, or see his beloved, self-named burger eatery repossessed. Making that repayment won’t be easy for the perpetually cash-strapped Bob, not least because his busiest period — the summer holidays — are still a week away; worse still, a giant sinkhole has emerged right outside the entrance of his store, robbing him of what little income he already receives.
Before The Bob’s Burgers Movie (2022), there was the animated television programme Bob’s Burgers, which premiered on the Fox Network in 2011 to meteoric ratings. While those sky-high viewing figures didn’t last — as has been the case for most shows the world over — interest remained strong in the seasons that followed, in part due to its many and varied qualities. Such attributes include a wholesome tone, quirky sense of humour, fantastic use of colour, catchy soundtrack, great cast of voice-actors, and bevy of eccentric supporting characters — among them handyman and loyal customer Teddy (Larry Murphy), who is practically a lead protagonist.
Most of those elements have carried over to the Movie including, most pleasingly, the principal voice-cast. Jon Benjamin reprises his role as the series’ patriarchal namesake, so too John Roberts as Bob’s ultra-supportive, high-energy wife Linda; Dan Mintz as their lovesick thirteen-year-old daughter Tina; Eugene Mirman as middle-child and musical prodigy Gene; Kristen Schaal as youngest daughter, the pink bunny-ears-wearing Louise; Murphy as fan-favourite Teddy, plus several other supporting players. All voices involved have nailed the persona and emotions of their characters, giving their all whether they be uttering dialogue, or singing one of the film’s tunes.
Talking of the latter, jaunty music is another quality this picture shares with its televisual source. A trio of numbers is contained within, first of which being the upbeat opener “Sunny Side-Up Summer”, then the Louise-led “Lucky Ducks” and, as the plot enters its third act, “Not That Evil” – sung by the Movie’s hidden antagonist. Though there isn’t much to distinguish the three songs from each other — all have a similar sound and tempo, differentiated only by the lyrics and key they are sung in – it’s the opening track which proves the most enjoyable, being memorable, hummable, infectiously happy, and setting the mood for all that follows.
Bob and Linda Belcher, trying to stay positive in the face their restaurant’s impending closure in The Bob’s Burgers Movie.
One of the significant improvements the film holds over its originator is the strength of its hand-drawn animation. Where in the show, a limited budget sees humans move stiffly or remain static for many a scene, here the characters bounce, weave, flex and shimmy with near-fluid motion; likewise, their faces are as rubbery and expressive as they’ve ever been. All this energetic bodily and facial movement only adds to the joyous atmosphere, as does the vibrant palette — note how the buildings and backgrounds are multi-hued, rather than painted in a single shade.
Yet another strength is the screenplay, which contains multiple, interweaving conflicts. The most investing of these threads is one centring a skeleton found in the abovementioned sinkhole; it sees Louise coerce her older siblings into solving the mystery of who placed it there, both in hopes of saving her family’s restaurant and proving to her schoolmates that she’s braver than her pink ears suggest. It’s an intriguing subplot with some great turns, and a strong one too — so much so, it becomes the central narrative by the third act. That in turn, and unfortunately, means the pre-established struggles of the other characters are relegated to tertiary importance.
Such is the case with Tina, who is hoping to ask long-time crush Jimmy Pesto Jr. (voiced by Benjamin, like Bob) to be her summer boyfriend, yet is reluctant to commit to a relationship; and Gene, who wants to reunite his band but fears their avantgarde sound won’t be accepted — effort is made to integrate both subplots into the main narrative, but with limited success. More frustrating, though, is the lack of story afforded to Linda, who’s given no conflict of her own to explore nor the opportunity to grow as a character, instead tasked with being’s Bob’s better conscience.
Another grievance to be had with the film is how it fails to utilise the large roster of characters who frequent the TV show. This was a deliberate choice made on the part of director (and show creator) Loren Bouchard and his co-producer Nora Smith, who say they didn’t wish to see their adaptation become an endless parade of cameos and risk alienating newcomers. That’s a fair call, but when one considers how effectively and cleverly The Simpsons Movie (2007) incorporated an even-bigger list of deuteragonists into its tale, it more or less makes Bouchard and Smith’s argument invalid. Yet that’s not the biggest gripe to be had.
The Belcher siblings (from left) Tina, Louise and Gene in The Bob’s Burgers Movie.
Of foremost disappointment is the low-key manner in which The Bob’s Burgers Movie presents itself. Making an appearance in theatres should be a cause for celebration, an opportunity to take the characters in a new direction, or make some bold decisions that wouldn’t be possible to enact in the medium of TV. Or ideally, all of the above, as was the case with The Simpsons Movie. Instead, what’s being presented seems more akin to an extended episode of the series, one which could just as happily be watched on a smaller screen. And for fans of the show, that’s a real shame.
Having said that, this remains an enjoyable piece of Bob’s Burgers media and, importantly, a great film when judged solely on its own merits, fulfilling Bouchard’s wish of being accessible to “all the good people who’ve never seen the show.” Rating Frames is not alone in this view — upon its initial release, critics seasoned and unfamiliar with the Belcher clan alike found a shared appreciation for the Movie and its merits, as evidenced by a Certified Fresh designation from Rotten Tomatoes and average rating of 75 percent from Metacritic. Which begs the question as to why that praise — and the programme’s avid following to boot — did not translate into box-office success.
There are, as it happens, multiple factors that point to The Bob’s Burgers Movie’s lacklustre theatrical run, such as the constant production delays, limited marketing, wariness around the pandemic, and the negative sentiment toward the programme which has lingered since its first season. Yet ultimately, fault lies with the decision to release it on the very same date as Top Gun: Maverick (2022) in a misguided attempt at counterprogramming. Had it not been released at that time, there’s every chance the film would have found the audience, and the returns, it so rightly deserves.
Even though it falls short of being the stirring adventure that fans desired and were promised, The Bob’s Burgers Movie is nevertheless a bright, joyous feature for viewers of all ages, whether they’re devotees of the original series or not. All the virtues of its source material are there, while the slick animation and mystery element of the screenplay only adds to the delight. Not the Belchers’ crowning achievement, but a letdown it most certainly is not.
Across four nights in 1983, one of the most indelible acts in America turned the Pantages Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard into the greatest party on Earth. Luckily for the rest of the world, these performances were immortalised by one of the greatest filmmakers of his generation, Jonathan Demme. Forty years on, Stop Making Sense (1984) lives long in the minds of fans old and new of the Talking Heads. The original is to this day still consistently embraced in repertory theatres around the world on a yearly basis with the same level of cult appreciation as Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) and The Room (2003). Now, one of cinema’s great achievements is coming to theatres visually and sonically enhanced by A24, bringing us closer inside the walls of the Pantages Theatre without removing any of the original’s charms. The power of this eternal classic flows from both the incredible music and extraordinary filmmaking and stagecraft that cannot be taken for granted.
Even the highest quality concert films don’t have the scope of emotionality that Demme achieves throughout Stop Making Sense, to the same level he executes in Philadelphia (1993) and Rachel’s Getting Married (2008). Demme’s cinematic superpower has always been in finding an impossibly deep well of humanity and emotion in a short, single frame, a feat that is perfect for the theatrical production David Byrne has crafted for these performances.
With the humble beginnings of David Byrne entering from stage right, with a boombox and acoustic guitar to perform “Psycho Killer” solo, we are folded into this simple but compelling setting for what has become the band’s biggest track. As the band trickles in one by one, the first act is complete and the concert can launch from street busking art kids into the best nightclub band in town. With an all-killer no-filler set (I won’t hear a bad word about the Tom Tom Club), Stop Making Sense has a more potent propulsion from scene to scene than almost any film you’ll see. What allows it to flow as gloriously and seamlessly through its four performances is the collaboration between editor Lisa Day and Blade Runner (1982) cinematographer Jordan Cronenweth alongside Demme, finding the perfect moments for each song without the camera obstructing the band.
David Byrne in Stop Making Sense
Talking Heads’ acrimonious disbandment has created an aura of profound scarcity with the legendary band which has allowed both this film and the live album (impeccably recorded and produced for a live album) to live on across multiple generations. “Psycho Killer” and “Once in a Lifetime” were always going to be iconic American art anthems, but the way they are captured here by the band and Demme make them immortal.
With the characters established and location set, we are vaulted into as big a cinematic moment as you’ll find this year with “Burning Down The House”, a triumphant detonation of everything that has made the Talking Heads iconoclastic. Communal choruses, a joyous blend of new wave, funk, and pop rock, and a buoyancy of enthusiasm beaming from the whole band, with Byrne’s body movements a lightning rod of motion tapped directly into the frequency of the music. The serotonin spike this moment achieves is profound, connecting as deeply to a live band as you’ll find in person, no matter the regularity with which you watch this film. Stop Making Sense has a serious case to be made as the most rewatchable film ever made.
Stop Making Sense has had a long tail on the genre of concert films in the forty years since its release. However, it is still one of the only performance films that focus on the performer’s excitement and joy instead of a glorified document of the difficulty of pulling off a large concert. The great humanist filmmaker Jonathan Demme is a rare auteur who is able to imprint his own style into a concert film whilst never detracting from the artist and the moment being captured. Demme keenly focused this concert film on the small human moments between band members, displaying the pure joy and excitement of performing together, allowing all of Stop Making Sense to transcend into the near consensus place as the Michael Jordan of concert films it arrived at quickly.
David Byrne and Tina Weymouth in Stop Making Sense
The other key decision Demme makes in the film that continues to be a rarity in the genre is the importance given to the crew members building the set during the show. The 4k restoration only heightens these human moments, with its greater emphasis on clarity in viewing the crew in motion. The team restoring this masterpiece are clearly operating on the wavelength in which Stop Making Sense is operating. A great restoration operates similarly to a work of honest adaptation, with the creators needing to be keyed into why the work resonates and lives on in the audience’s minds for decades, something that is proudly achieved here.
Indelible moments like the lamp dance in “This Must Be the Place” and the emergence of David’s enormous suit in “Girlfriend is Better” after the Tom Tom Club reprieve play with a renewed verve in the remaster, particularly sonically. The powerful synth duo performance from Tiny Weymouth and the legend Bernie Worrell of Parliament-Funkadelic pulses throughout the cinema, with your eyes locked on Byrne at the centre, commanding a uniquely transfixing allure that’s not easily quantified. The oversized suit quickly became the icon of the film, a humorous and strange cultural object that will be the lasting image of a film full of iconography.
David Byrne in Stop Making Sense
Uniquely, Demme avoids showing the audience, concealing them until this enormous explosion of joy when they are shown during the conclusion of “Take Me to the River” and into “Crosseyed and Painless”. Demme arrives at the moment after Byrne has introduced the entire extended band like the audience is the final member of this incredible performance. After that point, the lid is off and Demme is unable to stop the powerful geyser from erupting. The audience’s excitement is so overwhelming for the final tracks of the concert that Demme shifts the atmosphere of the Pantages Theatre from an intimate warehouse soundcheck to an almost religious exuberance with the Talking Heads as our saviour.
There is an emotive religiosity to the whole performance, with Byrne donning the energy of a pastor in fleeting moments of “Life During Wartime” and “Once in a Lifetime” that compels you forward. Demme’s decision to frame this iconic performance as a near single take of Byrne having this near-religious experience an hour into the film is electric, highlighted by a sharp spotlight on the frontman’s right side. In a song about the existential insecurities of life itself, Demme and the Talking Heads combine to create a powerfully emotional moment inside this already overwhelming cinematic experience.
In what could’ve been an easy cash grab with minimal effort, this remaster has improved upon a perfect film that is genuinely life-changing. With crisper contrasts that never feel artificially enhanced like is the case with poorer quality restorations, A24’s 4k update is an improvement on a perfect film, becoming a new definitive version of a true masterpiece. To have one of my ten favourite films remastered with this level of care, as well as having it return to theatres again, is something I will treasure forever.
Due to the frenetic nature of modern streaming churn based on shareholder growth over humane work practices or audience desire, the Star Wars industrial complex has pivoted to television in recent years. These shows have the blown-out budgets for blockbuster sci-fi epics, but are piped into our TVs and laptops. Some of these shows are great (Tony Gilroy’s Andor), and some aren’t (Obi-Wan Kenobi), but as a whole, this pivot has created a dearth of real blockbuster sci-fi with a sense of originality and modernity.
Enter The Creator (2023), the latest from visual stylist Gareth Edwards of Rogue One (2016) and Godzilla (2014) fame. In an alt-history world where robotic development arrived much earlier and Asia is seemingly conquered by Japan (the film is not equipped to deal with the meaning of his choice) and renamed New Asia, the US, seemingly under martial law, has declared war on AI who have allegedly detonated a nuclear weapon on LA (another choice we are not left given time to process). Joshua (John David Washington), an ex-special forces soldier, still mourning the death of his pregnant wife Maya (Gemma Chan in the most thankless role of the year), is brought onto a mission in New Asia to extract what they believe to be a new AI weapon.
Quickly we discover the weapon is actually an adorable child whom Joshua names Alphie (the standout newcomer Madeleine Yuna Voyles), turning The Creator into a showreel of Star Wars (1977) tropes that begin with a lone wolf and cub story, and concluding with the inevitable explode-death-ship-equals-victory mission. From the outset, the film is at war with itself, with its cheesy 90s sci-fi plot machinations and tropes on AI, robots, and human connection in a sci-fi world, styled as a contemplative Denis Villeneuve sci-fi. Edwards compels you into this visually entrancing film with real locations, considered visual effects, and evocative lighting that is truly stunning.
John David Washington and Madeleine Yuna Voyles in The Creator
The extraordinary production and visual design keep you invested in a film that’s narrative constantly draws groans from the audience. With a fifth of the budget of Star Wars Episode 9: Rise of Skywalker (2019) ($80m vs $416m), it is incredible what Edwards and his all star team have created visually. To contend with the wash of franchise blockbusters, Edwards has returned to the big screen with real weight behind him, including Hans Zimmer, cinematographer Greig Fraser, and editors Hank Corwin and Joe Walker, to elevate this familiar story to greater heights than this script deserves.
With Zimmer behind the wheel of a modern sci-fi, one would expect to be awestruck at the master composer’s work, but in The Creator, the great German is on autopilot. With some truly bizarre needle drops including Radiohead’s Everything in its Right Place, the audience is constantly pulled between the furiously disjointed world that is created in the theatre. Edwards has an enormous mountain to climb with this hacky script, with each decision taking away instead of building upon the last.
The film is loaded with arresting images and beautifully unique production designs, like the Nomad ship and South East Asia setting, but it’s all in service to a script that is a collection of sloppy plot machinations and simple tropes rather than genuine insight or human emotion. There is a pregnant wife to be sacrificed as character motivation. There is a surrogate child given to a character that lost a child to learn fatherhood. There are moustache-twirling, blonde military villains that were seemingly given a tape of Stephen Lang in Avatar (2009) to emulate. None of these moments are knowingly familiar or aware that fall into place by a steady hand, instead arriving to us as a manic bingo card of staid sci-fi plots that consistently underwhelm and frustrate.
Madeleine Yuna Voyles in The Creator
Events, even the visually stunning ones, occur as cheap building blocks designed to arrive in its most obvious destination. There is no room for exploration and character moments in this beautifully realised sci-fi world, like a child given every toy in a store only to spend an afternoon throwing a rock at a wall. These critiques on story and film structure pale in comparison to the wild othering and orientalism that occurs throughout this story that can seemingly be put down to a team of white writers not considering their choices and subject matter, a trend that becomes clear the further down the rabbit hole of the film you go. It is lovely to see the real world locations of Cambodia and Vietnam used in a large-scale studio sci-fi, but at what cost?
Concluding with a mandatory ‘defeat the enemy by blowing up their Death Star’ plot removes any hope for a satisfying and unique story that earns its dazzling imagery and sound design. The Creator flashes of brilliance are crashing waves, thrashing you against the sea, but once those waves subside, you realise you can easily stand in the shallow depths of the water.
Rating Frames 