From the opening moments of Tran Anh Hung’s sumptuous new film The Taste of Things (2023), we understand this is not your typical cinematic culinary experience. A glorious 38-minute sequence of its central characters, esteemed cook Eugénie (Juliette Binoche), gourmet chef and partner Dodin Bouffant (Benoît Magimel), as well as teenage assistants Violette (Galatéa Bellugi) and Pauline (Bonnie Chagneau-Ravoire), preparing a gastronomical adventure for a dinner party, is almost the antithesis of American kitchen dramas like The Bear and Boiling Point. The motions are smooth and articulate, and the pace is casual but never languid. Tran is keenly aware that an audience will be salivating over this high execution of French cuisine and intrigued by its characters, desiring to know more than just how to get their hands on a plate. The lack of score and dynamic sounds throughout this sequence and the film as a whole allows the quiet expression of the art of cooking and eating to dance across the screen.
Based on the popular French novel The Passionate Epicure (1920), written by Marcel Rouff, The Taste of Things operates closer to a prequel to the novel, expanding on and inhabiting this merging of equals between Eugénie and Dodin. Their relationship plays out in a slow simmer across the film, with Tran’s camera dancing calmly between their cooking and intimate dialogue scenes, while remaining an impressively clear eye for both situations as an opportunity to explore the characters. Binoche has always been an extraordinary screen presence and the film relishes in that from entrée to dessert.
Like a perfectly cooked meal at a dinner party, it is impossible to avoid becoming entranced in the moment-to-moment treasures of this charming film. From the opening frames, we are taught to embrace the pleasant ambience of crackling pork fat and the sizzling butter, allowing its narrative to surprise you like the pang of spice in a seemingly gentle soup. There is a simple plot of Dodin being invited to a prince’s palace that boasts one of the best chefs in the world (played by three-star chef and the film’s culinary consultant Pierre Gagnaire), whose response is to return serve with an invitation of his own, but Tran is only tepidly interested in this space. He is more keenly preoccupied with the relationship found between Eugénie and Dodin, a pair of incredible artists who want for life and to share their love of food and cooking with others.
Benoît Magimel and Juliette Binoche in The Taste of Things.
A gentle smile between Magimel and Binoche, during a gorgeously romantic dinner where Dodin cooks for Eugénie, simply melts your heart. The air of trepidation and expectation before someone eats the first bite of a meal you’ve sought to perfect is a difficult moment to reflect on screen and is perhaps the film’s greatest accomplishment. This powerful moment is achieved through the chemistry both behind and in front of the camera, from Binoche and Magimel, to cinematographer Jonathan Ricquebourgand director Tran Anh Hung, and importantly, culinary consultant Gagnaire who designed an extraordinary menu for the film.
The Taste of Things feels closely tied to Kelly Reichardt’s recent wonder Showing Up (2022), a gentle but honest depiction of the day-to-day craft of creativity and creation through the eyes of a sculptor. The camera weaves in and out of the patient crafting of stock and demi-glace alongside a spread of different meats, learning more and more about the characters in the kitchen as they prepare and cook. French cuisine is all about patience and simplicity, seeking bite-sized perfection from a large base, which is emulated in the filmmaking style on display.
Culinary and gastronomy nerds will savour the glancing mentions of famed chefs Carême and Escoffier, placing the film directly within the deep history of French cuisine and gastronomy. The Taste of Things could operate perfectly at any time, but there is an evocative nature to the period setting of the film, particularly inside the world of the kitchen.
Juliette Binoche and Benoît Magimel in The Taste of Things.
Much like Dodin’s decision to serve pot-au-feu (simple but delicious slow-cooked meat and veg) to the prince, the film’s narrative is simple and elegant with an undercurrent of complexity and nuance that heightens each scene, even when you know the destination. What allows us to connect with this simple narrative is Tran’s use of time, executed through a near-constant camera motion, weaved with some of the most seamless editing by Mario Barristel that you’ll see this year.
In its transcendent final sequence, the total emulsion comes together to leave you wholly satisfied. The combination of contrasting natural lighting, echoes of its rigorous but delicate opening sequence, and the compelling performances of Binoche and Magimel heightens the crescendo to a point of potency that arrives unexpectedly on the palate. The Taste of Things gives you just enough narrative and plot on your plate to satisfy, but it is this unique focus on naturalism and craft that is the aftertaste you are left with.
However, this is not a film of food porn extravagance, there is a compelling world of emotion and relationships steeped below. Like the perfect demi-glace, the most important component is time and patience. Give this film both and you’ll be richly rewarded.
The Fall Guy Melbourne Premiere provided by Universal Pictures
Car flips, ramp jumps, countless explosions and high tumbles are just some of the obstacles that stunt people face, and David Leitch’s The Fall Guy has them all. Leitch’s film seeks to celebrate the unsung heroes of stunts by putting two of Hollywood’s hottest properties, Ryan Gosling and Emily Blunt, in the driver’s seat and letting them run amok.
Stuntman Colt Seavers’ (Ryan Gosling) life takes an expected turn after a stunt-gone-wrong puts him out of the business for over a year. To make matters worse, he’s derailed a relationship with another crew member, cinematographer Jody Moreno (Emily Blunt) after ghosting her in the time since. But it’s not until a phone call from producer Gail (Hannah Waddingham), begging him to return to stunt work on a film that Jody is now directing, that his life really takes a turn. And that’s because amidst his awkward return to facing Jody, he’s also been tasked with locating the film’s missing star that he stunt-doubles for, Tom Ryder (Aaron Taylor-Johnson).
On paper, it’s hardly a unique premise, but it lends itself to a rampant few hours at the cinema, largely because of Gosling and Blunt’s on-screen chemistry. The duo, fresh off of their 2023 blockbuster hits Barbie and Oppenheimer, respectively, seamlessly work off of one another here.
Gosling has a penchant for dry humour, as evidenced by his straight faced delivery of lines, but he’s also an incredibly versatile actor and it shows here as he effortlessly exudes charisma —at once being able to cry in the car to Taylor Swift’s ‘All Too Well’ and then go and burst through a door like a clumsy Jackie Chan. Blunt matches him in her charm, where she finds a balance between being obliviously innocent and a straight-up butt-kicking baddie.
Ryan Gosling is Colt Seavers in THE FALL GUY, directed by David Leitch
The duo are really the heart and soul of the film, which sometimes gets caught up in its own self-reflexivity. Characters will often call out wider pop culture references (Winston Duke’s character slams a bad guy through a table while shouting “Dwayne Johnson!”) and sometimes the writing doesn’t take itself seriously enough, leading to a feeling that the stakes just don’t feel that important —or the wider “why should I care if you don’t” aspect that Leitch’s films are notorious for.
Make no mistake, this is a film that revels in blowing everything out of proportion, so much so that it affords little respite. There are boat chases, three major ramp jumps, a sequence where Gosling is tripping on psychedelics and seeing unicorns, street chases throughout Sydney (which has never looked better), and a closing sequence that is committed to blowing things up.
In other words, Leitch (a former stuntman himself, famously for Brad Pitt) and lead stunt coordinator Keir Beck are all-in on going as big as they can and as fast as they can. For the most part they achieve that as the film rarely gives you a moment to stop and think, at times to its own detriment (the third act resolves in a rather eye-roll moment of spewy exposition), but at the same time that’s the name of the game as stunt people rarely hesitate.
Whether or not the stunts themselves will stand the test of time in the same way Tom Cruise throwing himself off of a mountain face will, isn’t clear. For the most part they’re great in the moment, but I wouldn’t call them memorable, especially when it’s Gosling and Blunt who will steal the accolades for their effortless banter. But Leitch (like Chad Stahelski with his John Wick franchise) knows the stunt game better than anyone, and The Fall Guy delivers the popcorn filmmaking goods while celebrating the bodies behind the actors.
The Fall Guy opens nationally from the 24th of April.
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.
We’re just mere hours away now from this year’s Oscars telecast, and with it, the reveal as to what America’s Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences deems the most outstanding films of 2023.
Continuing a tradition that began two years prior and continued last year, our writers are once again hedging their bets as to which movies and artists will walk home with a coveted statuette.
Read on to reveal the predictions of Arnel, Darcy and Tom for the upcoming ceremony, plus who they’d most like to see emerge victorious.
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.
With Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer (2023) accumulating a swathe of awards wins and nominations, including its recent 13 Oscar nominations — which are all most likely to result in wins — now is the opportune moment to look through the last three features of one of Hollywood’s most influential 21st-century auteurs, in particular, the use of sound in these films.
Sound has always been a primary focus in the work of Christopher Nolan, a stylistic and philosophical choice in filmmaking that has been placed at the forefront of storytelling choices since 2017’s Dunkirk, the filmmaker’s towering achievement. This forward approach to storytelling through sound carried through to the controversial Covid defining feature Tenet (2020), a bombastic and jittery experiment in how much a celebrated auteur can push an audience to their breaking point. Questions of poor mixing and dialogue decisions became the opening remarks to the film’s obituary, offhand jokes that displayed a level of creative freedom that felt a necessary evolution for modern Hollywood’s straightest shooter. Gone were the days of lifeless exposition scenes, music, and sound design cues that drew comparisons to photocopies of Michael Mann and Stanley Kubrick, with Nolan finally settling into a dynamic cinematic experience that no one in the industry can be compared to.
In the language of cinema, sound is the primary form of subjectivity. Diving into the mind of a character is profoundly more effective going between their ears than their eyes, with the right mixture of score and sound design achieving a level of symbiosis with an audience that can last a lifetime. These are ideas Christopher Nolan has been building towards in recent features, with his latest, Oppenheimer, his landmark achievement in cinematic sonic storytelling, more than likely take home multiple Oscars including best score and sound. It is his greatest film to date through its culmination of skills the revered director has accumulated over the years.
Sonically, these three films are abundantly similar even though Nolan changed several collaborators between Dunkirk and Tenet, mostly a result of scheduling issues with Denis Villeneuve’s Dune (2020), but perhaps also an indicator of a filmmaker’s style shifting as his sensibilities develop. Even though revered sound designer Richard King has worked with Nolan since The Prestige (2006) — netting himself three of his four Oscars in the process — his approach has clearly adapted alongside the filmmakers shifting ideas on how a blockbuster film can sound and how it can challenge and overwhelm an audience’s senses.
Cillian Murphy in Oppenheimer.
Before this shift in sonic philosophy there was Interstellar (2014), Nolan’s scientifically precise sci-fi sentimentalist epic. The film has a large fanbase, with many viewing it as the auteur’s best, but its flaws of flat character archetypes floating along overly contorted plots that have plagued many a Nolan script felt like a true nadir, ushering in this new era which has opened up his style and filmmaking in exciting ways. Sound in Interstellar is used more as an absence, to create moments of awe while still maintaining the authenticity of muted space travel. There are still wonderful moments of sound however, with Hans Zimmer’s iconic score and Cooper’s (Matthew McConaughey) act of grounding himself on Earth when in orbit through a simple act of listening to the sounds of nature through headphones. What lets the film down ultimately is Nolan’s over reliance on dialogue to explain concepts he was executing wonderfully already, muting the emotional swells at every turn, particularly in its lopsided final act.
In cinema, dialogue usually gets placed on a separate physical (in a mono track in a separate speaker in the middle of the screen) and ideological track to music and sound design for increased clarity, but this mode of thinking has shifted for Nolan since Dunkirk. In the film, King and Nolan decide to democratise dialogue in the cinematic hierarchy, allowing the full breadth of audio to translate the stories being told. This approach challenged audiences’ ears, a rarity in American cinema, especially large-scale studio films, that should be commended even if you don’t agree with the result.
This is also where Nolan’s evolution as a screenwriter starts to deviate in strange and compelling ways after Inception (2010) and Interstellar. With Dunkirk, there is little characterisation or dialogue in general, with actors like Mark Rylance and Tom Hardy playing archetypes that give way to the overwhelming war narrative they find themselves trapped within. The film, now alongside Oppenheimer, is Nolan’s greatest cinematic achievement as it highlights all of his talents as a visceral filmmaker while avoiding all of his classic pitfalls: female character punishments as motivation for male characters, over-explaining concepts, and basic protagonist arcs based on core American archetypes. Nolan’s films have now become more akin to cinematic symphonies, where the artistic goal is a full sensory experience, guided through sound, to tell a simple yet engaging story.
Robert Pattinson and John David Washington in Tenet.
In Tenet, John David Washington’s character is literally called Protagonist, a nod of self awareness that allows the kinetic energy to overwhelm the audience instead of attaching ourselves to any characters, a wild filmmaking decision that works as a creative exploration in audience engagement, one that ultimately creates a hard ceiling for the film’s quality overall. Make no mistake however, there is not an absence of expository dialogue in the film. In fact, the film is mostly expository scenes with very little room given to characterisation or emotionality, but it is in the delivery method of these dialogue dumps that expresses to an audience that the words being said are only part of what is being portrayed in the moment. In understanding Nolan’s creative decision making with Tenet, there is no better scene than Neil’s (Robert Pattinson) walkthrough of the freeport before the heist.
With the dial cranked to eleven with Tenet, Nolan rolled back these experimental concepts of cinematic sound and narrative to a surprising sweet spot that will see him recognised by his peers at the Academy Awards. Oppenheimer‘s dialogue is stickier than his previous two films, brandishing the weight of historical record to great effect. The film is clearly detailed in its research from this time, taken often from the book American Prometheus by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin that the film is adapted from, which has allowed Nolan to ground the reality of the story, opening up space to create this vivid exploration in subjectivity and purpose, led through sound. Oppenheimer’s dialogue is not positioned on the sonic field as liberally as it is in Dunkirk or Tenet, valuing the historical accuracy of the people and events involved. It is, however, greatly influenced by the exploration Nolan and King took across those films, landing in a Goldilocks zone of sonic potency that is sure to define his future filmography.
Outside of Memento (2000) with its deliberately unreliable protagonist, all of Nolan’s lead characters have clear, defined minds that an audience can attach themselves to and connect with, until J. Robert Oppenheimer, a notably obtuse and withholding historical figure that even his closest friends and allies struggled to get inside the mind of. In Oppenheimer, the brilliant music and sound design allow us an entry point into an artist’s interpretation of this challenging mind through deep subjectivity, ideas that Nolan has never felt comfortable exploring until now.
Tom Hardy in Dunkirk.
It is impossible to talk about the relationship Nolan has with sound without delving into how music is used in his films, something that has also expanded in recent years. With a clear allergy to song cues, Nolan views the use of music and score like an opera, crashing waves that hurdles an audience towards the rocks of the drama.
In Dunkirk, much was made of Nolan and Zimmer’s collaborative writing through their mutual interest in the sonic phenomena of Shepard tones as both a film score and script writing exercise. In brief, Shepard tones are a phenomenon where a bass frequency either ascends or descends alongside another tone an octave high which creates an audible illusion of a perpetually ascending or descending sound. Zimmer used this as a jumping-off point for his tension-filled score, with Nolan using the Shepard Tone concept in line with the three intercut narratives to give the audience a similar sensation of perpetual movement and tension. At the time this was a radical approach to blockbuster filmmaking to offer little respite to an audience’s eardrums, but has now developed into Nolan’s post-Interstellar style.
Like Nolan, we will work nonlinearly here in regards to Ludwig Göransson’s work with the filmmaker, as his film score for Oppenheimer is in much closer discussion with Dunkirk than Tenet, his first collaboration with the director. Perhaps bluntly but no less affecting, Göransson’s score focuses on descending pieces in a work of musical allusion to the dropping of the bomb. Göransson’s piece “Can You Hear The Music” defines the film, with its swirls of strings, horns, and synths, beginning in a swell of glorious ascension, before plummeting down through descending scale progressions that are an inversion of the ascending progression. The piece also changes tempo up to 21 different times (from 180bpm to 350bpm!) in a deceptively short piece of music, placing us within the manic Neuron sparks of Oppenheimer’s brain that everyone in the film and in the audience is trying to match the wavelength with. Of all the incredible technical achievements that define the success of Oppenheimer from the editing, cinematography, performances, and production design, perhaps the most impressive artists involved in the production are the violinists that beautifully performed this piece in one take. The stuff of legends.
The film’s near-constant score which focuses on descending scales, accentuates the creeping dread that permeates the fringes of the film leading up to the Trinity test. Most of this frenetic opening two hours operate as a whirlwind of character establishments in tight office spaces and classrooms that can at times feel like Nolan directing an episode of Genius (2017) through the lens of his and Tenet editor Jennifer Lame’s emerging house-style. Where Nolan matches Göransson’s ominous tone is fascinating. With an early scene of Oppenheimer injecting cyanide into his Cambridge professor Patrick Blackett’s (James D’Arcy) apple (a disputed event in the man’s complicated life), Nolan is highlighting the undercurrent of malice and potential valuation of those that hinder his progress in his being that matches the tone set from the outset by Göransson’s score.
Cillian Murphy in Oppenheimer.
In Göransson’s first project with Nolan, Tenet, the composer centred his score on a layering of guitars, altering its structure through time shifting and inversion, mirroring the film’s text that has become more and more crucial to Nolan’s filmmaking process. This shift in ideology can be felt more prominently in the differences between Göransson’s work on Tenet and Hans Zimmer’s work on Interstellar. While Zimmer’s work on Interstellar is perhaps some of his best compositionally (Cornfield Chase is a masterpiece), it often soars above the film instead of permeating its core. Nolan asked the famed composer to write pieces with clear restrictions on information about the narrative which certainly allowed Zimmer to write freely, but in contrast to the following features, lacks that cohesion that allows those films to thrive.
In Oppenheimer, what allows the sound design to weave seamlessly throughout the continuous score is Göransson’s removal of any percussion. By removing this floor, King and the sound design team were able to oscillate between stabilising and destabilising the audience, matching the mind of Oppenheimer scene to scene as it is splayed out on the brilliant Cillian Murphy’s anguished face, at will. King and Göransson have a tremendous cinematic chemistry, striving for the mountainous peak of Walter Murch and David Shire in the masterpiece The Conversation (1974).
Blending sound design with score, there are sounds and music compositions that emit a mechanically demonic presence, with its metallic jittering edges and sub-bass heartbeat, which are used in the scenes leading up to the Trinity test — sure to be a defining moment in Nolan’s storied career — that becomes an overwhelming experience, titled “Ground Zero” in the soundtrack.
The explosion itself, the culmination of the previous two hours of manic motion of montage editing, near constant score (the first non scored scene doesn’t arrive till around the one hour mark), and propulsive soundscaping, is shown in near silence, opting instead for the introspection achieved through Oppenheimer’s anxious breaths. What else could be said in a seismic moment like this? Across three films, Nolan pulverises you with an almost constant barrage of overwhelming sound, but in this critical moment, he asks for your own moment of introspection. It’s impossible not to get swept up in the awe felt by the scientists at Los Alamos as a years-long theoretical exploration illuminates the desert sky in crystal clarity, but that feeling morphs into a solemn understanding of what this moment will mean for the rest of the world. In a film of chain reactions, this central colliding moment needed near silence, until the reality of its impact came rushing forwards in a world defining blast. No moment better captures the evolution Nolan has made as a filmmaker and storyteller in these past 10 years, and is why he will be rewarded come the Academy Awards.
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.
Nearly a quarter of a century has passed since the last Peanuts comic strip was printed in newspapers; in that time, neither its popularity nor its relevance have faded — merchandise and media featuring its many characters are a constant, while the timelessness of the material ensures cross-generational appeal. And there is no better assurance of the latter fact than this feature-length adaptation from Blue Sky Studios.
Charlie Brown (voice of future Stranger Things star Noah Schnapp) is a boy with a perennial run of Bad Luck, unable to so much as fly a kite without it gravitating toward a tree, and everybody in the neighbourhood knows it. Well-aware that his reputation precedes him, he is spurred to reverse his fortunes by the arrival of a new kid in town, hopeful of leaving a positive impression on them and not an unfortunate one. That willpower only grows when Charlie Brown learns who the kid is: a cute girl with red hair who just so happens to be the same age as he.
Meanwhile, Charlie Brown’s dog Snoopy (voice of Bill Melendez) — a bipedal, literate beagle who sleeps atop a red kennel — is scripting works of fiction on a second-hand typewriter. Utilising his owner’s misfortunes as inspiration, and with the assistance of his good friend Woodstock the bird (also voiced by Melendez) he conceives tales of a fighter pilot in France, his aerial exchanges with the Red Baron, and his attempts to win the affections of a poodle named Fifi (Kristin Chenoweth).
Characters of The Peanuts Movie (from left): Franklin, Lucy, Snoopy, Linus, Charlie Brown, Peppermint Patty, and Sally.
The origins of Peanuts can be traced back to the late 1940s, when American cartoonist Charles M. “Sparky” Schulz published a weekly strip called Li’l Folks in his local newspaper. Within three years, the strip had become a daily, earned nationwide syndication and was renamed to its better-known title, which would be drawn and continuously printed for the next five decades. By the end of its print run in February 2000, Peanuts had established itself as a cultural institution, with its widely-recognised characters — chiefly Snoopy — proving as popular globally as the likes of Mickey Mouse and Bugs Bunny.
Key to the popularity and longevity of Peanuts was its resonant material. Beneath its juvenile sheen were philosophical musings that covered all aspects of life, be they existential or minute, and young minds whose constant streak of heartbreaks proved equal parts tragic and hilarious. Additionally, Schulz would often write storylines or introduce protagonists to align his strip with the times, such as Charlie Brown’s sage African-American friend Franklin, or the lovesick, sports-mad tomboy Peppermint Patty.
Both qualities are somewhat lacking from The Peanuts Movie (2015) but, pleasingly, its tone remains consistent with the spirit and ethos of the comics on which it’s based. A perfect balance is found between gentleness and causticity, the positive and the sombre; there’s plenty of tragedy that befalls our protagonists, but always an underlying sense of hope and optimism. Some pundits argue that its approach is a tad too saccharine and feel-good when compared to the source material, though such a fault could hardly be labelled as egregious — and it certainly won’t bother younger viewers who aren’t as familiar with the film’s origins.
Charlie Brown and Peppermint Patty in The Peanuts Movie.
The multitude of Peanuts television series and specials from years gone by also play their part in shaping the picture. A Charlie Brown Christmas (1965) is the most overt point of reference, as evidenced by the partial Christmas setting, the music of Vince Guaraldi, and the children’s wintry outfits that mimic those seen in the programme. Elsewhere, Melendez’s voicework of Snoopy and Woodstock is entirely archival, recorded for other adaptations prior to the famed animator’s death in 2008, and the voices of the child actors perfectly match those of their filmic counterparts, emulating a key strength of the TV shows.
Another commendable aspect is the lowkey nature of the screenplay, with Snoopy and Charlie Brown: The Peanuts Movie (to give its Australian title) eschewing the blockbuster trends of grandiose adventures and riotous humour to, again, mirror the ambiance of the original strips. That’s not to say its story is all minutiae and mundanity, with Snoopy’s adventures as the Flying Ace helping to offset the relative sedateness of the principal storyline — that being Charlie Brown’s quest to improve his reputation — before easing back into the main proceedings just as the aviation sequences become too much, once again finding a perfect balance.
Charming further is the animation, which blends contemporary techniques with the traditional Peanuts aesthetics. Characters are rendered with computers into three-dimensional imagery, yet appear much the same as they do in the strips, owing to the clever utilisation of cel-shading; their movements are animated at half the usual frame-rate, evoking the hand-drawn specials and shows of yesteryear; and, as an added treat, Charlie Brown’s dream sequences are two-dimensional, black-and-white illustrations that practically mirror what Schulz drew. Yet again, a perfect balance has been found.
One of Snoopy’s dream sequences in The Peanuts Movie, featuring a dogfight with the Red Baron.
Despite all these many and impressive qualities — not to mention the brand prestige and nostalgia — The Peanuts Movie made only a modest impact on the box-office, in part due to the fierce competition it faced in theatres. Its opening weekend was shared with the James Bond flick Spectre (2015) in North America, and upon reaching Australia the following January, Snoopy and Charlie Brown had to contend with the blockbuster juggernaut that was Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015). Resultingly, any contemporary impact the picture could have achieved was annulled.
But nobody can argue it has damaged the Peanuts legacy which, if anything, has strengthened since the film’s release eight years ago. Strips are still being printed in book form; merchandise continues to adorn the shelves of retailers; Apple TV+ has an exclusive deal to stream not just the classic Peanuts shows and specials, but any motion-picture material produced forthwith. To the latter point, Apple revealed just two months ago that the company would be producing a feature-length movie of its own, boasting the talents of director Steve Martino, Schulz’s son Craig and his grandson Bryan — the same team behind the 2015 picture.
And why shouldn’t they return for a follow-up when their first effort is as likeable and delightful as the comics on which it’s based? The Peanuts Movie draws upon the strengths of its originator and fuses them with its own quirks, presenting a somewhat fresh perspective that ideally, and remarkably, moulds with Charles M. Schulz’s vision. The result is a film that all viewers can appreciate, whether they be young or old, fans or otherwise.
The Peanuts Movie is available to stream on Disney+.
Rating Frames 