Arnie, Darcy and Tom recap the 95th Academy Awards, including everything from Ke Huy Quan’s extraordinary journey to win the Best Supporting Actor award; his fellow cast member Michelle Yeoh’s Best Actress win; the biggest winner of the night in Everything Everywhere All At Once; All Quiet on the Western Front‘s underdog wins; and Brendan Fraser’s Best Actor win to cap off his run of wins — we have it all.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year if you’re a cinephile, and it’s just around the corner.
Yes, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ Night of Nights —otherwise known as “The Oscars”— will be taking place this Monday morning, March 13th (Naarm time) and the team at Rating Frames is as excited as ever.
As they did last year, our three resident critics have made their predictions as to what, or who, will be victorious in all 23 categories.
Below are the films that Arnel, Darcy and Tom are predicting will walk away with a coveted statuette at the 95th Academy Awards, and their personal vote, in each category.
What will win // What deserves to win
Arnel: The Fabelmans // The Fabelmans
Darcy: Everything Everywhere All at Once // Tár
Tom: Everything Everywhere All at Once // Everything Everywhere…
Arnel: Steven Spielberg (The Fabelmans) // Steven Spielberg (The Fabelmans)
Darcy: Daniel Kwan & Daniel Scheinert (Everything Everywhere All at Once) // Steven Spielberg (The Fabelmans)
Tom: Daniels (Everything Everywhere All at Once) // Martin McDonagh (The Banshees of Inisherin)
Arnel: Brendan Fraser (The Whale) // Colin Farrell (The Banshees of Inisherin)
Darcy: Brendan Fraser (The Whale) // Paul Mescal (Aftersun)
Tom: Brendan Fraser (The Whale) // Colin Farrell (The Banshees of Inisherin)
Arnel: Cate Blanchett (Tár) // Cate Blanchett (Tár)
Darcy: Cate Blanchett (Tár) // Cate Blanchett (Tár)
Tom: Michelle Yeoh (Everything Everywhere All at Once) // Michelle Yeoh (Everything Everywhere…)
Arnel: Ke Huy Quan (Everything Everywhere All at Once) // Brendan Gleeson (The Banshees of Inisherin)
Darcy: Ke Huy Quan (Everything Everywhere All at Once) // Ke Huy Quan (Everything Everywhere All at Once)
Tom: Ke Huy Quan (Everything Everywhere All at Once) // Brian Tyree Henry (Causeway)
Arnel: Angela Bassett (Black Panther: Wakanda Forever) // Kerry Condon (The Banshees of Inisherin)
Darcy: Angela Bassett (Black Panther: Wakanda Forever) // Kerry Condon (The Banshees of Inisherin)
Tom: Jamie Lee Curtis (Everything Everywhere All at Once) // Stephanie Hsu (Everything Everywhere All at Once)
Arnel: Martin McDonagh (The Banshees of Inisherin) // Martin McDonagh (The Banshees of Inisherin)
Darcy: Martin McDonagh (The Banshees of Inisherin) // Todd Field (Tár)
Tom: Daniels (Everything Everywhere All at Once) // Martin McDonagh (The Banshees of Inisherin)
Arnel: Sarah Polley (Women Talking) // Sarah Polley (Women Talking)
Darcy: Sarah Polley (Women Talking) // Sarah Polley (Women Talking)
Tom: Sarah Polley (Women Talking) // Rian Johnson (Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery)
Arnel: Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio // Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio
Darcy: Turning Red // Turning Red
Tom: Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio // Turning Red
Arnel: All Quiet on the Western Front // All Quiet on the Western Front (ideally, none)
Darcy: All Quiet on the Western Front // The Quiet Girl
Tom: All Quiet on the Western Front // All Quiet on the Western Front
Arnel: Guess answer: Fire of Love // Fire of Love
Darcy: Navalny // All the Beauty and the Bloodshed
Tom: Fire of Love // Fire of Love
Arnel: Guess answer: Haulout
Darcy: Haulout
Tom: How Do You Measure a Year?
Arnel: Guess answer: Le Pupille
Darcy: Le Pupille
Tom: Le Pupille
Arnel: Guess answer: The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse
Darcy: The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse
Tom: The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse
Arnel: Justin Hurwitz (Babylon) // Justin Hurwitz (Babylon)
Darcy: Justin Hurwitz (Babylon) // Justin Hurwitz (Babylon)
Tom: Volker Bertelmann (All Quiet on the Western Front) // Justin Hurwitz (Babylon)
Arnel: “Naatu Naatu” (RRR) // “Hold My Hand” (Top Gun: Maverick)
Darcy: “Naatu Naatu” (RRR) // “This is a Life” (Everything Everywhere All at Once)
Tom: “Naatu Naatu” (RRR) // “Hold My Hand” (Top Gun: Maverick)
Arnel: Top Gun: Maverick // Top Gun: Maverick
Darcy: Top Gun: Maverick // The Batman
Tom: All Quiet on the Western Front // Top Gun: Maverick
Arnel: Babylon // Babylon
Darcy: Babylon // Babylon
Tom: Elvis // All Quiet on the Western Front
Arnel: Roger Deakins (Empire of Light) // Roger Deakins (Empire of Light)
Darcy: Roger Deakins (Empire of Light) // Florian Hoffmeister (Tár)
Tom: Mandy Walker (Elvis) // James Friend (All Quiet on the Western Front)
Arnel: The Whale // The Batman
Darcy: Elvis // Black Panther: Wakanda Forever
Tom: The Whale // The Batman
Arnel: Shirley Kurata (Everything Everywhere All at Once) // Shirley Kurata (Everything Everywhere All at Once)
Darcy: Shirley Kurata (Everything Everywhere All at Once) // Shirley Kurata (Everything Everywhere All at Once)
Tom: Catherine Martin (Elvis) // Ruth Carter (Black Panther: Wakanda Forever)
Arnel: Paul Rogers (Everything Everywhere All at Once) // Paul Rogers (Everything Everywhere All at Once)
Darcy: Paul Rogers (Everything Everywhere All at Once) // Paul Rogers (Everything Everywhere All at Once)
Tom: Paul Rogers (Everything Everywhere All at Once) // Eddie Hamilton (Top Gun: Maverick)
Arnel: Avatar: The Way of Water // Avatar: The Way of Water
Darcy: Avatar: The Way of Water // Avatar: The Way of Water
Tom: Avatar: The Way of Water // Top Gun: Maverick
“Please lord, make me the biggest star the world has ever seen”, our heroine Pearl (Mia Goth) pleads each night before bed, accompanied by a garish string accompaniment that draws immediate comparisons to the early colour cinema. A skilled director of pastiche, Ti West has crafted a Douglas Sirk-styled film within the dark and gory world he has created with muse Goth, that is sure to thrill old and new fans alike. Immediately following the release of one of 2022’s best horror films, X, it was announced West and Goth will be creating a trilogy surrounding these characters, here with the prequel Pearl (2022), and concluding with MaXXXine (2023), all following Goth’s characters.
Set in 1918 Texas during the Influenza pandemic, Pearl is the only child of a German immigrant family. Pearl’s father (Matthew Sunderland) is infirm, laying the burden of survival in a trying time with Ruth (Tandi Wright), Pearl’s domineering mother who needs to get her daughter to help out around the farm. Pearl, however, is desperate to become a silent film star and dancer, sneaking off to the picture house every opportunity she gets.
Pearl’s love of cinema and desire to be a star is established in X, something that ties her to Goth’s other character Maxine in that film, which is deepened here. Pearl is never more joyful than when she is at the picture house, watching the newest dancing features. Goth and West craft such an empathetic and archetypal image of a budding star hoping to break out, that her budding malevolence is allowed to boil under the surface.
The film is aware its greatest strength is a close-up of Goth’s expressive face, a cinematic world into itself. Enough can’t be said about Goth’s commitment to the performance of this character, beginning in X but truly flowering here to create a singular horror cinema performance. You can immediately feel Goth’s co-writing credit in the character, similar to Hunter Schaeffer’s co-writing credit in the Euphoria (2019) Covid special, Fuck Anyone Who’s Not a Sea Blob (the artistic peak of the show), where a performer has a psychic connection to their role that tears through the screen.
The saturated, Wizard of Oz (1939) inspired-yet-repressed world that Pearl inhabits can grow tiring at stages, but the final act is such a showcase for Goth’s magnetism as a performer and writer, that the film leaves you satisfied. West’s films often have an issue of peaking early through his deft skill at creating tension and dread compared to his bloody finales, an issue absent in Pearl.
The film’s setting within the Influenza pandemic whilst being a Covid-produced film has a simple charm to it, with all crowds in masks and characters bemoaning the difficulties of recognising people in them. Pearl’s yearning to be out of the isolation of her farm during this pandemic is a more relatable experience than you’d expect to come out of this film.
Pearl is a unique prequel in that it has the potential to be viewed before the original film, X, due to its focused character study of Pearl, a character you leave the first film aching for more details on. West and Goth feel acutely aware of the aspects audiences were craving more from in X, namely the Pearl character and a further relishing of Goth’s unique screen presence.
Where X focuses on its wide ensemble and 70s environment, Pearl is very much a character study. Aside from a compelling performance by Tandi Wright as Ruth, Pearl’s mother, we are not given many deeply written side characters, allowing the audience to narrow their attention to our star. Wright and Goth have a similar dynamic to Spacek and Laurie in Carrie (1976), a foundational text for the film, particularly in its latter stages. While West is focusing on the juxtaposition of the Cinemascope aesthetic with the gore, the true dynamism is achieved through Goth’s varied performance that gets stymied by Wright’s hard-lined determination to survive their struggling lives. The real climax of the film is not a gory showstopper like in X, but the culmination of Pearl and Ruth’s resentments colliding at a family dinner.
The West trilogy is soon to be completed with the upcoming MaXXXine (2023), the first A24 trilogy. Following on from the events of X, this second entry in this quickly produced franchise is a unique world that has been crafted by a pair of oddball filmmakers in West and Goth that is refreshing in the world of IP drudgery we find ourselves in the never-ending middle of.
Pearl is in theatres from March 16th.
The Oscar-bait film too contrived even for awards voters, Sam Mendes’ follow-up to the acclaimed war film 1917 (2019) Empire of Light (2022) is a flat ode to the theatre made by some of the best industry professionals. Spanning the early 80s in the small British seaside town of Margate, we follow the workers of the quiet movie theatre including deputy manager Hillary (Olivia Colman), manager Donald (Colin Firth), projectionist Norman (Toby Jones), and bright-eyed new crew member Stephen (Michael Ward). We are mostly locked onto the world of Hillary, a depressive older woman burnt out and fading through life until a romance is sparked with the much younger Stephen.
Made with the best intentions with a world class crew and ensemble, Empire of Light stumbles not just in its underbaked racial and political underpinnings, but in its narrative contrivances that permeate every moment. Hillary is written into a dead end within 40 minutes, sucking the air out of the film before it even gets going. Mendes overreaches in so many narrative directions that no one moment is given the time it deserves, reducing everything to its thinnest ideas, making all the plot machinations nakedly visible.
There are many films inside this one, making it feel closer to a debut Sundance feature from an upstart filmmaker that is unsure whether they will ever make another film. Through its flat characters spouting unfelt political statements, Mendes has made a unmemorable film that takes for granted its extraordinary crew.
And enough cannot be said about the crew involved here; Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross craft an interesting piano score that unfortunately never seeps deeply into the drama; greatest living cinematographer Roger Deakins has mastered his craft to an absurd degree that we should be thankful doesn’t get relegated to a TV screen just yet; the ensemble of Colman, Firth, Jones, and the breakout of Michael Ward is punching well above the script, finding emotional depths to their characters that were clearly underdeveloped on the page.
One of the best technical filmmakers working, Mendes has always been successful when working with quality screenwriters (Skyfall, Jarhead, American Beauty if that’s your thing) while still pursuing his own point of view, often surrounded by top-tier craftspeople. He has been able to create quality features without working as the screenwriter, but was clearly emboldened by his original screenplay Oscar nomination for 1917, a film that is effective more as a set piece art installation than as a work of screenwriting, to pen his follow-up feature.
Much has been made about Empire of Light being a love letter to the theatre, which is reductive at best. This film is as much a movie about the movies as Snowpiercer (2013) is a movie about trains. Cinema has enough love letters to itself, but too few ones of quality and substance that values the audience on the other end of that beam of light.
The racial politics of the film are tired and dated, with the anti-black violence made in service of a white character’s emotional development that is a disservice to both performers. The few instances of racialised violence do not even give Ward the respect of a reaction shot. There is also the issue of the depiction of Stephen’s mother Delia (Tanya Moodie) in the film, a character who does not speak to her son for almost its entirety, having more lines of dialogue with Colman than Ward. Mendes shows little maturity to handle these racial aspects of his film, souring any goodwill in its pursuits of bringing to light the racism of 1980s England.
Colman does better than any actor could with her extraordinary mix of subtle rage, but the script lends her or the other actors little assistance. Her performance in 2021’s The Lost Daughter (which she should’ve won an Oscar for last year), is a better demonstration of her quality at playing a depressive older woman.
Ward’s performance as Stephen is above the level given to him, as a purely contrived character that is more aggressively attached to the film’s writing faults and poor writing than any other character. Even with the quality of individual performance from Ward and Colman, the pair’s growing romance never garners genuine interest or stirred emotions as it is just another one of Mendes’ undercooked ideas in a film without a strong perspective.
Mendes never trusts his actors and, to a greater self-critique, his own penned characters, to develop the story and romance organically, ending up with a collection of contrivances. Empire of Light is a beautifully shot but unsubstantial feature that will quickly be forgotten, adding up to less than the sum of the parts with its top-tier cast and crew.
Empire of Light is in theatres now.
The only story more common in Hollywood than a film about filmmaking is an award-winning director cashing in a blank check to make a dream project they may never get the chance to do again. Babylon (2022), the new film by Oscar-winning director Damien Chazelle, is an all-in movie for a filmmaker who knows the opportunity to make a big-budget, silent-era Hollywood romp with A-list stars will not come around again. We should be grateful the prodigious filmmaker chose to use seemingly every ounce of industry capital he had to get this oddball movie made, as even if the film isn’t great, there are enough transcendent moments, particularly early on, that makes it a ride worth taking.
Inside this whirlwind of frenetic Hollywood excess is a group of artists striving for their place in the moviemaking circus as it begins to transition from the silent era into the talkies. These include the star-to-be Nellie LaRoy (pitched to eleven Margot Robbie); a hustling upstart looking for his place in the movies and true heart of the film, Manuel Torres (Diego Calva); and ageing star with a waning grip on the top, Jack Conrad (Brad Pitt); including a suite of other terrific performers in this frenetic tragicomedy that you won’t soon forget.
Calva is wonderful in the film and a true revelation, but the standouts for the film are Li Jun Li and Jovan Adepo, who play singer and artist Lady Fay Zhu and jazz trumpeter Sidney Palmer respectively. Both characters are great in limited time, but even in a film of this width, their stories are sidelined too easily. There are essentially four films worth of story in Babylon, from Manny and Nellie’s rise, to Palmer’s rise in the industry that does not value him, to Lady Fay’s weaving through a constantly changing industry without the recognition she deserves, to finally Jack Conrad’s slow decline from the heights of stardom into irrelevancy. All these dense stories deserve more time than they are given, sidelined in favour of ambitious dalliances into the debauchery of the industry Chazelle seems so persistent to explore.
Surprisingly, given the long runtime, Babylon is stretched thin by its wide array of storylines. Jack’s story rarely interweaves with Nelly and Manuel’s, making them feel isolated. Chazelle’s previous films, Whiplash (2014) and La La Land (2016) work emotionally as two-handers between the leads, whilst here the key characters are oftentimes isolated from each other, striving for their own ambitious goals alone in a chaotic world. This is clearly by design, as Jack’s declining trajectory works alongside his divergence from the young upstarts who are looking to take over the budding talkies boom, but the film ultimately falters because of it.
Where Babylon never falters is in the deliriously bombastic score from Justin Hurwitz, which will no doubt pick him up another Oscar. This may be his crowning achievement as a film composer as Chazelle allows him room to dominate. Full of bombastic horns and drums that propel us into each scene with boundless energy, Hurwitz is the shining light in an uneven film with easily the year’s best score.
A surprisingly dark film visually, with Chazelle and cinematographer Linus Sandgren opting for a more natural use of lighting which heightens the dynamic contrast between the debaucherous night sequences and the bright daylight where the work gets done. This is most effective through the opening two sequences from the coke-fuelled bacchanalia prologue into the extended scene of manic moviemaking. It is clear this is where Chazelle finds himself most comfortable and where Babylon truly shines. Watching Manuel organise a mass of skid row extras for Jack’s war film or Nellie’s first day on set is electric, set to Hurwitz’s bombastic score, all within the ticking clock structure of the single day shoot, is one of the best sequences of the year. While I am always in favour of directors taking big ambitious swings when given the opportunity, there is a tinge of sadness that Chazelle moves away from these high points later in the film.
Chazelle has always been a filmmaker who wears his influences on his sleeve, which has been felt in the past, with Whiplash and of course La La Land, like a prodigious young filmmaker attempting to brush shoulders with both modern and canonical directors simultaneously. Here, the Oscar-winning director is working to rewrite the legendary Singin in the Rain (1952) as a tragicomedy structured somewhere between Scorsese classics Goodfellas (1990) and The Wolf of Wall Street (2013), or Paul Thomas Anderson’s braggadocio Hollywood epic Boogie Nights (1997). This is a lofty goal that is certainly appreciated, even if it doesn’t hit the mark consistently.
By wielding PTA as a key inspirational pole instead of the Boogie Nights director’s idol Robert Altman, Chazelle is playing a game of telephone with this style of film, ending up with a story with smoothed-over edges. Scenes of freneticism are shown cleanly, never feeling dangerous to the audience or its key players. Nellie and Manuel glide through manic scenes as smoothly as Sandgren’s graceful camera, creating a certain inevitability to their landing point that while interesting as a decision, ultimately flattens most defining sequences.
There are thematic depths to mine in Babylon, but they feel oftentimes short-changed in favour of larger set pieces. Manuel’s narrative of assimilation and identity is compelling and the most consistent thread being pulled throughout this 188-minute cinematic feast. We follow this immigrant story of a man who must essentially remove his nationality in pursuit of his ambitions within a rigid Hollywood system. Total annihilation of personhood for your art is something that clearly compels Chazelle as it is a key driver for his characters across his filmography, but it is here with Manuel that these themes truly land. We see him transform throughout the film, shifting into whiter clothing, changing his name to Manny more diligently, and even telling producers that he is Spanish, all in the hope that it gets him closer to his goal.
What separates PTA’s writing from Chazelle’s is ultimately what is lacking in a garish epic like Babylon: romanticism towards its characters. This does not mean fawning over them but treating them with respect and humanity that allows us to connect with them. Chazelle too often uses his characters as vessels for obsession and ambition in a primordial sense, making them kinetic and engaging, but rarely emotionally involving. The most personal moment of the whole film is wedged between its two great opening set pieces, as we see the modest living arrangements of Nellie and Lady Fay after seeing them command the attention of the lavish Hollywood party through their powerful charisma.
Chazelle has made a career of crafting sequences with wide dynamics, thrilling highs hard cut into crushing lows that usually work wonders like in Whiplash and La La Land. Unfortunately, adding to its issues with being stretched thin, these dynamics end up compressing the emotionality into dust.
The anguish-laden death march that consumes much of the second half sucks all air and exhilaration from the theatre, so the film is unable to coast off his own momentum as it languishes to its finale. This total fever dream opening into a death spiral has been done to great effect before (Boogie Nights and Goodfellas), but in Babylon the work on characters is less involved on a human level so the feeling is widely cheapened.
Ultimately, Babylon feels like a terrarium of meticulous detail about a revered moment in Hollywood history, with the edges sanded down to create a smooth glass dome. Even its finale, which is attempting a Godard-esque swing for the fences, feels strained. Authenticity was not the predominant goal of the film (this is not 2009’s The Artist but with coke), but somewhere along the way, the heart of the film was sidelined in terms of gawking ambitious set pieces. There are incredible sequences here that will be burned into my retinas to the tune of blaring trumpets, but you may not feel anything at the end.
Babylon is in select theatres now.
Picking out any 10 films from a year with stellar titles is never an easy task; this was especially the case for my 2022 list. In fact, not since 2017 have I had to think as much about the films on my end-of-year list. From David Cronenberg’s return to directing almost eight years since his last feature, to James Cameron’s return to Pandora almost 13 years since Avatar, right through to Tom Cruise’s return to the character that propelled him to A-class status — there was no shortage of the epic, iconic and memorable. That’s just a snippet of the below, so here’s my best 10 films of 2022.
Having not directed a film since Maps to the Stars over eight years ago, David Cronenberg’s latest, Crimes of the Future, sees the body-horror mastermind return in resounding fashion.
The film, which I view as one of the dark-horse titles on my list, delivers all the signature Cronenberg goodies that audiences love (blood, guts and more guts) but in a much more toned down display. Of course, Cronenberg never does gore for the sake of it, but instead explores mankind’s deepest rooted fears —experiments gone wrong, tech turning on us etc.— while using the grotesque to amplify his concerns.
Crimes of the Future is no different in that regard, as it looks to a time ahead where humans have a changed digestive system and a hunger that can only be fed through the likes of plastic. Performance art meets the grotesque, with Saul Tenser (Viggo Mortensen) growing organs almost at a whim, and his partner in crime, Caprice (Léa Seydoux) removing them to a much appreciative audience.
Howard Shore’s hauntingly subtle score gives weight to the eeriness at play and even heightens Mortensen and Seydoux’s already brilliant, nonchalant performances. It’s a film that’s creepy but clever in its creepiness, one that captures the festering of the human body and the need to adjust the way we live as our bodies change. That’s only part of it, of course — the real crime is not watching the latest Cronenberg.
There’s few films in 2022 that will throw you an emotional curveball like Panah Panahi’s Hit the Road. Panahi, son of legendary Iranian filmmaker Jafar Panahi, crafts a road trip story that explores the struggle of separation, something that is a staple of Iranian filmmaking and a harsh reality in a country with a turbulent political standing.
Politics aside, the film is peppered in the humour often found in similar works from the region —Jafar Panahi’s, in particular— as it incorporates everyday family bickering and banter that I’m sure everyone who has ever been on an “are we there yet” type road trip with their family, has experienced. Films like this often require a convincing ensemble to help hit home that tense but loving family feel, and fortunately the ensemble here do an excellent job.
A covid-era film that doesn’t make covid its main story point? Count me in.
With an overlooked performance by Zoe Kravitz who nails the agoraphobia-isolated character with her very blank, “leave me alone” facial expressions, Kimi sees Steven Soderbergh pack a lot of nuance into this smaller-scale crime-thriller. The result is a nail-biting search for answers as Angela Childs (Kravitz) is forced by circumstance to venture outside after hearing what she suspects is a sexual assault or a murder, on the Kimi device (this film’s equivalent to Amazon Alexa).
Obvious comparisons have been made to Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window (1954), though the films are entirely separate in how they approach their subject matter.
Matt Reeves’ The Batman represents a fresh take on the caped crusader, one that is more akin to the ‘Arkham’ video games in that it explores the Batman’s more detective leanings.
What follows is a crime-thriller worthy of the highest praise and one that is reminiscent of the likes of classics in the sub-genre including Seven (1995). Greig Fraser’s cinematography is wonderous and keeps in line with the very gothic leanings that Reeves is going for here. Michael Giacchino’s score is equally inspired, with the composer using church bells and low hums to create an eerie sensation.
Reeves no doubt looked to the Christopher Nolan and Tim Burton’s films when figuring out how he would approach this, and there are obvious correlations like the gothic-vibe from Burton’s films and the development of the Riddler being very similar to that of the Joker in Nolan’s The Dark Knight (2008). Yet, this film is unequivocally Reeves’. Sure he drew on the films that came before his, but this is a film made up of close-knit conversations, measured action sequences, and clever storytelling. The rowdiest this film gets is during a truly memorable chase sequence involving Batman’s custom V8 Batmobile.
The cast is just as committed, with Robert Pattinson’s emo-like appearance being fitting for the darker aesthetic; Zoe Kravitz once again fits the part perfectly playing Catwoman; Collin Farrell shines as Oswald Cobblepot in what has been a stellar year for him; and the likes of Paul Dano and Jeffrey Wright do well in their parts as well. In fact, all aspects of production come together brilliantly like cogs in a machine. The end product is a welcome addition to the ever-growing Batman story.
When it comes to practicality in filmmaking, Johnny Knoxville and his crew of misfits are the ones you can count on to put on a show.
Jackass Forever is a film nestled in its own comfy corner of cinema. Yes, Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin and Jackie Chan are incredible actors and stuntmen who have put their bodies on the line for the sake of entertainment, but it’s the man-child Jackass group who have done it because they find it fun to face death.
Yet, Jackass Forever isn’t just people doing things that are best left to the imagination, it’s also a culmination of 20+ years of commitment to pushing the boundaries of what can be done in front of the camera. For all of its death-defying moments, Jackass Forever feels like a warm hug that throws you a sucker punch when you’re least expecting it. Bringing in the classic faces that have laid the groundwork for Jackass, along with some new and equally risk-embracing ones, this is a film that celebrates the unimaginable, and doesn’t hold back on the bruises.
It’s a film, like the others in the series, that is built up of ‘firsts’ both in terms of what you’re seeing and for the cinema broadly, and deserves the highest of praise for what it achieves.
You either love him, hate him or tolerate him, but there’s no denying the Michael Bay is a man of the cinema — particularly action cinema.
Ambulance, like all of Bay’s previous films, is set on displaying the biggest and wildest action sequences you can get. The film hits like a heavy dose of adrenaline, and it keeps you infused right from its early stages until its heartfelt finale.
The film is a testament to Bay’s unabashed approach to direction where he keeps the tension boiling, turns up the temperature gradually, and then drops the heat to a boil again while never turning it off. The best examples of this are found in the way the film’s technical elements work together to sing Bay’s chaotic tune: the piercing score, the snappy cross-cutting, the canted camera angles, and the mobile drone camerawork that takes the audience and positions them in unfamiliar situations.
Ambulance works because even with all the absurdity leading up to the characters finding themselves in this dire chase situation (let’s face it, no one would escape that many LAPD officers and vehicles), there’s never any respite to dwell on that aspect of the film. Bay knows what he’s doing and you can either buckle up for the ride, or dive ride out the passenger seat.
In what is quite clearly a spiritual successor to McDonagh’s equally witty and heartfelt debut feature In Bruges (2008), The Banshees of Inisherin paints a perplexing picture of the human condition against the beautiful backdrop of a fictional Irish town during the Irish Civil War.
It’s a story of two friends —Colm (Brendan Gleeson) and Pádraic (Colin Farrell)— who decide not to be friends anymore (well, at least one of them decides). But more than that, The Banshees of Inisherin is about the fleeting nature of life; the realisation that nothing lasts forever even if we want it to.
McDonagh’s script here is easily his most realised — even if In Bruges still contains some of my favourite lines from any movie ever. He manages to mesh together humour and poignancy in ways that no other director does, and it leaves you in a state where you’re not sure whether to laugh, cry or both.
Gleeson and Farrell are at the top of their game (as is the rest of the cast), and I wouldn’t be surprised if we see the male acting categories be swept up by this duo in the coming awards season.
Anything I say about Steven Spielberg is superfluous at this stage, and honestly if The Fabelmans is anything to go by, Spielberg tells (or shows) you everything you need to know about him anyway.
This is ultimately Spielberg’s visual diary, one that at once examines the very youthful promise of endless possibility —with the only limitations being your imagination (as symbolised by the camera)—, and the navigation of expectation, of the un-imaginary and the tangible (the reality that hits when the record button is turned off).
It’s clear that Spielberg and co-writer and frequent collaborator, Tony Kushner, have dug into the nitty gritty of the directors’ life. There is a level of verisimilitude coursing through the film whether it be in the performances, the very raw and grounded screenplay that avoids glossiness, or John Williams’ moving score — the duo have cashed in all of the chips Spielberg has accrued and pulled no stops.
The Fabelmans paints an interesting portrait of self-actualisation, of finding your place in the world and pursuing what you love even if it means confronting hard truths in the process. This is Spielberg’s world, and we’re living in it.
No one does blockbusters quite like James “Jim” Cameron, and Avatar: The Way of Water is the proof in the pudding.
The Way of Water takes audiences to the far beyond of Pandora, namely to its oceanic vistas that, on their own, make the 13 year wait between the original and the sequel all the more worth it.
Cameron, of course, is no stranger to pushing the boundaries of what is achievable at such a scale; if a project isn’t ready to be pursued, be it because of a lack of technological development or the moment just not feeling right, he won’t pursue it. That was the case with Avatar (2009) which he decided to eventually make almost a decade after writing the treatment. He saw Peter Jackson’s development of motion capture with Gollum in The Lord of the Rings films and King Kong in King Kong (2005) as turning points for technology in cinema, as well as Davy Jones in Gore Verbinski’s The Pirates of the Caribbean films.
But The Way of Water blows all of these titles out of the water with what it achieves visually (and that’s coming from a died hard Jackson and Pirates fan). From the refined look of the Na’vi including the way they move under water and their human-like movement generally, to the bumped up frame rate at 48fps which adds extra fluidity to proceedings — The Way of Water is a visual masterpiece that represents a pivotal turning point in visual effects and motion capture.
Aside from its technical marvels, it’s also a sum of all of Cameron’s experiences up until now. His brilliance ultimately rests in his unmatched understanding of scale — of how to get all of his story points in a basket while showcasing them in the biggest way possible.
He clearly cares for this world and everything within it, and he pours his heart and soul into each and every frame to the point where you can’t help but care for it as well.
Do you feel the need for speed? I sure did.
Top Gun: Maverick is the Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991) of 2022. The perfect sequel to Tony Scott’s iconic Top Gun (1986) and one that goes above and beyond its predecessor in (almost) every department (save for maybe how iconic it is, though we should maybe give it 36 odd years).
Joseph Kosinski’s film is the one that I’ve though about the most throughout 2022, so much so that I’ve been desperate to buy its original poster which has now ignited a fascination with poster collecting that I never knew existed.
Whether it be the death-defying air-scapades that prove how much of a madman Tom Cruise truly is, or the care with which this sequel is able to revisit and reimagine its titular character — there’s no shortage of brilliance behind every decision. The stakes are raised, and Maverick is forced to come to terms with his past, find his place in the world, and pass the torch on to the younger generation — directions in characterisation that screenwriters Ehren Kruger, Eric Warren Singer, and frequent Cruise-collaborator, Christopher McQuarrie, do a great job of balancing.
This film will make you nostalgic, will leave you in awe, and will sit with you long after its end credits roll by.
Honourable Mentions: Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery, Ticket to Paradise, Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio, Puss in Boots: The Last Wish, The Northman and Good Luck to You, Leo Grande.
With films returning to their native home of the theatre, 2022 delivered an interesting year of releases. Returning to some sort of cinema normalcy, even if the industry has been quite radically changed by Covid, the year has been full of quality films, including a large suite of self-reflexive stories from filmmakers old and new, to surprising and uber-entertaining box office hits, and the return to form for some incredible directors.
My 2022 list is surprisingly different to my most anticipated list from March, with Nope being on both lists, as my favourite works of the year came from unexpected places. This list includes two debut features (Hit the Road, Aftersun), a film from a filmmaker I’ve struggled with in the past (Armageddon Time), and a filmmaking blindspot I need immediately filled (Tár). While no five-star classics exist in this year of film, an impressive level of depth made this a difficult list to order and will no doubt change years from now. But for now, here is my list of the best films of 2022.
A cheeky but politically and thematically resonant road trip dramedy of a young Iranian family attempting to smuggle their son out of the country to avoid military duty.
Panah Panahi, son of legendary filmmaker Jafar Panahi, is no stranger to the industry, but what he is still able to achieve on a debut feature is remarkable. Weaving in a deft political statement with a director well aware of where he is crafting his films, Hit the Road is elevated by a delightful and emotive family ensemble, centred by a lightning rod performance by Rayan Sarlak as the little brother.
Filmmaker Brett Morgen, known for his wonderful 2015 documentary, Cobain: A Montage of Heck, declared this an experience about Bowie, not a biography of David Jones, and he truly delivered on this promise. Moonage Daydream (2022) is a deeply arresting piece of nonfiction cinema that operates as a mood piece that will be put up next to the very best in the genre.
The film weaponises its breathless propulsion in sly and interesting ways that sneaks up on you emotionally, much like Bowie’s very best work. It takes time to show its form to you, but once it does its effect is moving and profound. Morgen found something deeply relatable in his pursuit of capturing the figure of Bowie on film, unveiling a beautiful portrait of isolation for an artist that created community, showing us an image of the chameleonic legend that you won’t soon forget.
A master of humanist cinema, Hirokazo Kore-eda has crafted his most challenging makeshift family yet. Following a duo of child brokers of babies left at the local church’s baby box, Broker is complicated but deeply enriching in its portrayal of morality in the greyest of areas. Not of the same quality as Kore-eda’s Japan set masterpieces After Life (1999) and Shoplifters (2017), but is still one of the year’s best.
The film that grew on me the most this year. Peele has crafted a deeply engaging and entertaining riot of a sci-fi, Hollywood western that breezes through its first two acts to crescendo at a massive final act with a truly unique antagonist. While the film does lack in character work, its wielding of spectacle while also throwing those audience compulsions back in our faces is extraordinary, and is a brilliant use of the massive studio budget Peele is able to receive for these original stories.
Armageddon Time is emotionally devastating in ways that evolve beautifully over time, lingering long in the heart like a critical memory. What allows the emotion to thrive is the outstanding cast that could all individually contend come awards season. A gorgeous ensemble that introduced layers of nuance and understanding to each character over the runtime, highlighted by Banks Repeta and Anthony Hopkins.
Floating along a constant stream of intertextuality, self-referentiality, and reverence to the films that paved the way to gift this film into audiences’ laps—The Matrix (1999), In The Mood for Love (2000), any Charlie Kaufman film—Everything Everywhere feels like a cinematic miracle that is at risk of breaking at any point.
Everything Everywhere is a technical marvel of small-budget filmmaking, from its mind-blowing costume and production design to its sound design and visual effects, but the real hero of the film is editor Paul Rogers. Rogers’ work here is nothing short of miraculous. Tasked with building a feverish momentum for over two hours while having each individual emotional moment land with as much impact as each comedic or absurdist one. Rogers moulds the filmmaking duo’s creative madness into a deeply resonant and enjoyable work, not just another overly ambitious indie that feels more like a creative dare than a work of art with deep truths. Don’t take for granted what an achievement this film is.
The debut feature of the year (in a uniquely stacked debutant class), Charlotte Wells’ memory drama of a young father bringing his 12-year-old daughter on a holiday to Turkey is so beautifully crafted, teeming with empathy and respect for the perspectives of both individuals’ experiences. Paul Mescal is enthralling in the year’s best performance as Calum, a tortured bird that must force himself to put up a front to protect his daughter. There are some ideas explored in Aftersun, like the fear of parents with mental illnesses handing it down somehow to their child, that will obliterate you. Wells wields a flexible script that is explored with care and restraint that is extraordinary for a first-time feature filmmaker, making her the director to watch in the next few years.
Spielberg’s whole heart is on the screen, warts and all. What makes The Fabelmans succeed is its lack of pure saccharine while still maintaining his signature warmth. The power of Spielberg’s clear-eyed and impassioned filmmaking, mixed with Kushner’s deft hand at profound characterisation, allows the audience to see themselves in every character. This is as much a film about Mitzi and Burt as it is about Sammy, with Kushner able to establish an extraordinary amount of emotional depth out of these personal stories for Spielberg whilst never feeling overly soft or cruel to their lives.
A densely compacted fable on friendship, breakups, art, passions, and how one chooses to spend a life, that is never less than wonderfully entertaining. A brilliant balancing act that consistently grounds itself in the earth of its characters, never allowing its more ethereal themes to float into wistful abstraction. McDonagh is at the top of his game both as a writer and director here, allowing the non-dialogue-heavy moments to shine as much as the musicality of his feckin’ barbs.
McDonagh has grown exponentially as a visual storyteller, allowing his sharp pen to relax and using the other aspects of cinema to communicate his themes and ideas in deeply rewarding ways.
In a year without a true five-star film, several films on this list could have made it to number one, and perhaps in a couple years this order will change, but as of posting, this film has a way of burrowing into my subconscious and bubbling up every other day. American films just aren’t like this anymore. A provocative thriller that has no easy answers that will have you enthralled over its long but rewarding 158-minute runtime.
Todd Field returns after a 16-year absence from the cinema with the year’s best film about a deeply flawed figure that’s warts are shown under a fierce precision, never allowing a scene to end with an easy answer. Tár is a tangled web of clashing ideas that have sparked some of the best film writing around an American film in who knows how long. Field has crafted a film of ideas that gives nothing to the audience easily, but rewards all who view this strange and entrancing object.
Tony Gilroy described the film as “hard and perfect on the outside. Mayhem brewing within. Masterwork.” These competing forces of interiority and external poise are the powerful tempest that builds throughout Tár, creating a singular viewing experience, and one of the year’s best films.
Honourable Mentions: After Yang, Barbarian, Crimes of the Future, Kimi, Top Gun:Maverick, RRR, The Northman, and Lingui
Pauline Kael in her legendary review for Steven Spielberg’s pre-Jaws (1975) breakout feature The Sugarland Express (1974), a film she called “one of the most phenomenal debut films in the history of movies”, that Spielberg “isn’t saying anything special in The Sugarland Express, but he has a knack for bringing out young actors and a sense of composition and movement that almost any director might envy.” This note encapsulates the pantheon filmmaker’s now long-serving skill set and potential flaws as an empty escapist entertainer (a critique Spielberg agreed with as something he had to grow into).
This should be kept in mind while watching his most personal film yet, The Fabelmans (2022), both in following our budding protagonist’s journey as a filmmaker, but also in Spielberg’s own journey behind the camera to arrive at a place where he felt daring enough to put his life on screen in this openly vulnerable way.
The film follows Sammy (Mateo Zoryan as young Sammy, Gabriel LaBelle as teenage Sammy) and the family Fabelman from a child to 18, tracing the journey from New Jersey, to Phoenix, and finally to California as he discovers his love for film. This love, however, begins to complicate as Sammy grows more invested in cinema, an investment that intertwines and impacts his love, both internally and externally, for his family.
The opening scene is a microcosm of the film, with Sammy and his parents Mitzi (Michelle Williams) and Burt (Paul Dano), going to a showing of Cecil B. Demille’s The Greatest Show on Earth (1952), his first film experience. Sammy is scared to go in, with Spielberg opening the frame from his perspective, with his parents’ legs looming over the screen like Charlie Brown adults, so the pair do their best to reassure their child in their own ways. Burt believes this can be achieved by explaining to Sammy how the projector operates on a mechanical level, while Mitzi rebuts by expressing to him that “movies are a dream”. This duality plays throughout the film, with Spielberg with Sammy as his stand-in, as a budding craftsman that has the soul of a big-dreaming artist.
On its surface, The Fablemans has the appearance of the ultimate final Spielberg film. In a half-century-long career, the legendary filmmaker is looking back at his upbringing, mining the depths of his childhood to create a truly individual coming-of-age story that he has more than deserved to make. Whether intentional or not, Spielberg has created an aura around The Fabelmans as the film he has wanted to make his whole life and feels may not get another chance besides now. There is an urgency to the storytelling that creates propulsion from scene to scene. Spielberg is the ultimate sentimentalist filmmaker, but this may be his most naked and open-hearted. Surprisingly though, the film is a more biting reflection on one’s upbringing as a young artist than it is perceived and is a truly unique film experience by modern Hollywood’s most important filmmaker.
The film has a truly fascinating origin and is worth adding an extra chapter to the documentary Spielberg (2017), with the filmmaker shifting his focus during Covid, which forced West Side Story (2021) to delay a year, and for his children to be at home with him in lockdown. He also began working on this film shortly after his parents passed away (his father living to 103!) which should be noted in the context of the film. The pandemic is a large reason for this glut of memoiristic films by seasoned veteran filmmakers, with Spielberg being no exception. And, to no surprise, the master filmmaker has made the best film of the class.
Divorce is a defining aspect of Spielberg’s career so depicting the ur-separation that defines him is deeply compelling. Family units being separated can be seen throughout Spielberg’s filmography, from E.T. (1982), Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989), Catch Me if You Can (2002), A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001), and Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), all mining from similar experiences and placing them inside of other stories. In the Fabelmans, his relationship with his family changes and shifts in interesting and messy ways, especially in relation to his obsession with the camera and the power he wields in it. Seeing Sammy be oblivious to the power and destruction that his filmmaking obsession has on his family, with the emotional journey we see him go through, eventually unravels to him by the end of The Fabelmans that with great power comes great responsibility.
Frequent writing partner Tony Kushner has discussed how he believes Steven needed someone outside of the family to help work on the script. Anne Spielberg (Steven’s sister portrayed by Julia Butters in the film) wrote a script I’ll Be Home in 1999 about their childhood that they considered making into a film but never did. Their relationship is so connected at this stage, Kushner is able to balance the necessary mix of therapeutic memoir ghostwriter, and close filmmaking partner to create a truly special film. Using Kushner’s masterful skills in humanising and empathising with each character, Spielberg is able to create an honest love letter to his parents and those that made him who he is.
The power of Spielberg’s clear-eyed and impassioned filmmaking, mixed with Kushner’s deft hand at profound characterisation, allows the audience to see themselves in every character. This is as much a film about Mitzi and Burt as it is about Sammy, with Kushner able to establish an extraordinary amount of emotional depth out of these personal stories for Spielberg whilst never feeling overly soft or cruel to their lives.
The film mines aspects of Spielberg’s childhood that were not known, as he was clearly not ready to discuss in interviews or in the 2017 documentary, opting instead to express it the only way he knows how: by putting it on celluloid. The revelations made in The Fabelmans are clearly so personal to him that it is so heartwarming and heart-wrenching to see them rendered on screen for the world to see in some of the best scenes of the year.
A personal favourite scene of the film and perhaps of the year, is the pivotal scene of Sammy deciding to show Mitzi the camping trip edit that has been eating him up and could rupture his family. Every moment of this scene is emotionally charged and perfect, leading to perhaps the most important use of Spielberg Face in his career. Beginning with a collection of insert shots, delicately showing the tactile and personal process of setting up his projector, adding to the weight of Sammy’s decision. Nothing illustrates his character more than choosing to show this film to his mother as his voice in an argument, both in his fear and his unknowing power his camera has. This moment also illustrates the evolution Mitzi and Sammy’s relationship has with these films in the closet, from humble childhood beginnings to emotionally shattering ends.
What allows The Fabelmans to expand past an individual coming-of-age story is the connection Kushner and Spielberg give to supporting characters in Sammy’s life. Woven delicately underneath the film is Reggie, (played wonderfully by Once Upon a Time in Hollywood 2019 breakout Julia Butters) and her emotional connection with her mother Mitzi. In the mother’s dress rehearsal for her piano performance, on the camping trip as the men are enraptured by Mitzi’s dance, and after the parents announce their divorce, Reggie is defending her mother, someone she is clearly emotionally in tune with while others are merely drawn to it. The Fabelmans is more than just Sammy’s story, through these other characters the film has shown a wider lens at this family as it emerges through crisis and change in an emerging America.
Biopics often fall into a trap of whipping through the subject’s life at a rapid pace, never allowing the film to ground itself in a place for long stretches, with important figures whipping through their life scene to scene. The Fabelmans has several scenes that play out that way, like the abrupt entrance of Uncle Boris (with an awards-worthy performance by Judd Hirsch), as well as a chance meeting with John Ford (I won’t spoil who he is played by) that closes the film. But there is never an air of dishonesty or hokiness to these moments, especially the Uncle Boris scene which really illuminates to Sammy his connection to his mother and their familial bond to art which is sure to lead to heartbreak.
Spielberg’s whole heart is on the screen, warts and all. What makes The Fabelmans succeed is its lack of pure saccharine while still maintaining his signature warmth. It is a crucial scene that can be put up against any of his totemic scenes, showing Mitzi and Burt sitting down with their children to tell them about the divorce, which devolves into a shouting match. While frozen by what’s happening, Sammy isolates himself on the staircase while his family sits around the couch, he sees himself in the mirror, holding a camera up to this distressing confrontation. With an audible groan coursing through the audience, this is perhaps the most critical Spielberg has ever been about himself and how he uses filmmaking as a way to both reveal and hide behind his personal life.
Pair that with the pivotal scene of the antisemitic bully Logan (Sam Rechner in a quietly brilliant performance) confronting Sammy after the burgeoning filmmaker decided to capture him as the golden child of the school, and we have a truly unique experience of watching a masterful artist trying to come to terms with his camera-wielding compulsions.
The Fabelmans is in select theatres from January 5th.
A densely compacted tragic fable on friendship, breakups, art, passions, and how one spends one’s life, Banshees of Inisherin is one of the year’s most rewarding films, with a collection of brilliant performances by Colin Farrell, Brendan Gleeson, Kerry Condon, and Barry Keoghan amplifying an extraordinary script by Oscar winning filmmaker Martin McDonagh.
At the tail end of the Irish Civil War in 1923, on the outskirts of the conflict sits the fictitious isle of Inisherin, a quiet town that feels universal in both place and time. The conversations and bickering being had on Inisherin could be happening in the 1920s, 1820s, or even today. Revered playwright turned filmmaker Martin Mcdonagh often plays with the idea of places as a form of purgatory for his characters, with Inisherin being no exception.
Reuniting after 14 years, Mcdonagh, Farrell, and Gleeson echo their masterpiece In Bruges (2008) throughout Banshees, making for a perfect double feature. Gleeson plays Colm, a folk musician in Inisherin who decides, for unclear reasons, to abruptly ignore and reject his long-time friend Pádraic, played by Farrell. He tells Pádraic he finds him dull and would rather spend the rest of his days composing music, wanting to leave behind a legacy rather than drink at the pub and listen to idle conversation. The actors seem to mirror the disposition of the other in these two films, with Farrell turning from a vessel of guilt to a sweetheart, and Gleeson from a kind and endearing soul to a self-absorbed and increasingly cruel man.
The setup is simple with the characters devolving as Pádraic’s desire to understand and rekindle this relationship with his closest friend persists. As Pádraic continues in his endeavour, Colm’s threats towards him to be left alone grow more and more extreme, leading to truly shocking places.
What allows Banshees to thrive is its ability to entertain throughout as a film of friendship, art, and finding meaning in one’s life, as well as operating at an incredibly high level of thematic and political resonance. McDonagh has grown exponentially as a visual storyteller, allowing his sharp pen to relax and to allow the other aspects of cinema to communicate his themes and ideas in deeply rewarding ways.
A series of thematic ties to Colm and Van Gogh plays both into the conflict the musician is feeling about his life and his work, and his desire to emit a legacy in a town that is absent of one. Gleeson gives a nuanced and subtle performance that should hopefully be rewarded in the awards season, exuding pathos and despair in a world he finds incredibly meaningless. In an interview with GQ, production designer Mark Tildesley describes Colm’s home like a Van Gogh painting;
“When you get into Colm’s house, the inside is almost like a Van Gogh painting. It’s yellow, bright. It has a red floor, which is an old oilskin from sailcloth, and a black ceiling, [which] are strong colours for a period film.”
Hannah Strong, GQ
These striking visual choices and the obvious allusion to Van Gogh’s ear with Colm’s threat of mutilation further cement the comparison between artists. The genius of this thematic connection is in how the filmmakers create the ties through the character Colm’s own choices, not their own. The sadness of the Colm story is his desperate need to have his work evaluated and celebrated, something we are never actually shown. We never hear his completed works so his projected idea of himself as this tortured artist is never redeemed for us as the audience, allowing only the pathos and cruelty of his decisions to fester throughout. What allows the very best character-led dramas to succeed is in creating a world that is believably crafted by its characters, something Banshees achieves superbly.
The war of friends is a microcosm of the civil war taking place on its fringes in heartbreaking ways. There are better places to learn of the Irish civil war, but in essence, it was an internal struggle between the Irish about the ownership of land by the British, occurring shortly after the Irish War of Independence that created the free state. Viewing Colm and Pádraic’s falling out between brothers, devolving into increasing brutality (both to their land and personhood) in this historical sense allows the weight of this quirky comedy to ascend to greater heights. The heartbreak at the conclusion of the film is further extended with the knowledge of the troubles to come.
But to call The Banshees of Inisherin a political film about the Irish Civil War would be to reduce the breadth of ideas McDonagh is working with here. Complicated characters working against each other and their place in the world for seemingly asinine reasons, inside a deeply enjoyable and melancholic comedy, is the work of a master writer at the top of his game.
Banshees is a brilliant balancing act that consistently grounds itself in its characters, never allowing its more ethereal themes to float away into wistful abstraction. McDonagh is at the top of his game both as a writer and filmmaker here, allowing the non dialogue heavy moments to shine as much as the musicality of his feckin’ barbs to create one of the year’s best films.
The Banshees of Inisherin is in select theatres from Boxing Day.
Avatar: The Way of Water preview screening provided by Disney
In a year where caped crusaders have played second fiddle to F18’s and dinosaurs, Avatar: The Way of Water sees James Cameron swimming in his exclusive pool of opportunity; a sandbox style, open world, video game feeling film that is as hearty as it is beefy. Cameron, unsurprisingly, is no stranger to pushing the boundaries of what a high concept blockbuster looks like. Setting the trend with The Terminator (1984), he’s always been out to entertain first, and worry about everything else second. The Way of Water speaks to that sentiment and culminates in a sensory experience unlike any at the cinema this year.
This is, after all, a film that —like the original Avatar (2009) before it— places an emphasis on out-of-body living, on connecting with the surrounding world and learning how to nurture and care for it. Cameron, an environmental activist in his own right, made Avatar and has pursued these sequels in part because he sees them as an opportunity to raise more awareness about our own world and environment.
In The Way of Water, he follows similar concerns to that of the first film, but trades the fullness of the foresty terrain, for the breadth and depth of the oceanic surroundings. The Na’vi continue to thrive, with Jake Sully (Sam Worthington) now leading the tribe alongside his partner Neytiri (Zoe Saldana). They also have a few mini-Sully’s of their own: two sons —Neteyam (Jamie Flatters) and Lo’ak (Britain Dalton)— and a daughter, Tuk (Trinity Jo-Li Bliss). They also care for Kiri (Sigourney Weaver) who has a connection to Weaver’s character from the first film, but one that is kept intentionally vague.
The actual events of the film take place some 10 years after those of the first one. Humans continue to arrive to Pandora to harvest resources, and are even continuing to create avatars of their own. One of those is Colonel Miles Quartich (Stephen Lang), whose DNA and memories have been imbued in one of the lab grown blue beings to the point where he acts and talks like the Colonel in the first film, but he’s not him per se.
In essence, the stakes feel similar: Jake and co are on the backfoot while the Sky People pursue and hunt them. Sometimes the actual motive behind this continued hunting isn’t explained all that clearly — the Colonel seems to have retained the same grudge for Sully in his avatar form as he had in his human form, but beyond that, the plot plays out like a game of hide and seek. Most of that hiding happens in the distant islands far off the mainland, where other tribes reside and have grown and learned the way of water. A good chunk of the film is spent leading up to Sully’s retreat into this unseen part of Pandora, but once out in open waters, the film opens up both visually and sonically.
Cameron has a penchant for anything aqua related, and it shows in these deep diving areas. The flora and fauna pop in ways that make one believe this world is tucked away somewhere in our own oceanic backyard. Maybe seeing all of this unfold through Cameron’s other love, 3D, might have heightened the immersion? But there is an evident care for this world that entraps and allures you, and makes you believe it’s real, if but for a split second.
It helps that the frame rate is bumped up to 48fps at certain parts. Character movements are crisp and almost life-like, where there is a fluidity to the motion. This is especially noticeable in the underwater portions of the film that are as visceral as they are breathtaking, with colours popping out like a Van Gogh painting as you try and absorb each section of the frame.
Cameron makes it easy to care for these characters, who have more nuance splashed across their digital faces and more realness behind their big anime-like eyes, than any of the beings before and since Avatar. The technology is a large reason why this film works, because there just hasn’t been anything like it in cinemas previously, Avatar included. The film’s weakest link tends to be anything that isn’t digitised to the gills, like the Tarzan-esque boy Spider (Jack Champion) who was left an outcast and was essentially adopted by the Sully’s. While the film justifies his presence, it’s more jarring to spend time with anything that isn’t wholly CGI.
Cameron’s brilliance ultimately rests in his unmatched understanding of scale — of how to get all of his story points in a basket while showcasing them in the biggest way possible. He swiftly transitions from moments of bonding and connection between tribes and creatures, to large battles sequences involving these tribes and creatures as they glide over the ocean. You might not end up caring for the whale like Tulkin beasts that end up playing a more vital role in the plot than anything else, but it’s enough to believe that Cameron does. It’s a large reason he takes so long with these films, and especially with The Way of Water, as he finds that balance between telling a story about big blue people and everything in between that’s worth caring about, with the trailblazing action and scenery on display.
Even if the plot is very akin to that of the original film, The Way of Water is a sum of all of Cameron’s experiences and experiments up until now, where he pours his heart and soul into each and every frame, as though this could be the last ride in Pandora even with most of the sequels penned and planned out. The Way of Water hits like a tidal wave, and it’s worth getting drenched for.
This post was originally published on SYN
Avatar: The Way of Water opens nationally from the 15th of December, 2022.
Rating Frames 