Tag: criticism

Best of 2023: Tom’s Picks

Best of 2023: Tom’s Picks

Tom Parry

With 2023 having drawn to a close, Rating Frames is continuing to look back at the past twelve months of cinema and streaming releases which have come our way. In the second of our series of articles, Tom Parry takes a look at his ten favourite films of the year that was.

It’s been a most productive film-viewing period for yours truly. He began 2023 settled in Gippsland, with opportunities for cinema visits proving few and far between; but as the year passed its midway point, he found himself landing a new job and returning to his hometown of Bendigo, thereby allowing him additional time to see the newest releases and, better still, make more frequent journeys to Melbourne to see what he otherwise would not be able to in regional Victoria.

While this writer hasn’t viewed as many new releases as his contemporaries — and he’s still eagerly awaiting a chance to see Yorgos Lanthimos’ Poor Things (2023) — he did visit the theatre more often than he did in 2022, meaning he can once more utilise the Top Ten format to which everybody is most accustomed.

10. Bottoms

Its synopsis reads like the plot of a seedy adult film: A group of lesbian high-schoolers start a Fight Club as a means to lose their virginities to cheerleaders. Yet look beyond this raunchy premise, and there’s a picture that subverts the “traditional” Hollywood teen sex comedy through its queer representation, message of female empowerment and left-field gags.

Neat gags they are too, with Bottoms (2023) being one of the funnier comedies to emerge in recent times; it also boasts a great soundtrack and fantastic cast, with Ayo Edebiri being the standout as co-lead Josie. While the screenplay could use more originality — its use of the juvenile, overdone “Liar Revealed” trope particularly frustrates — the film nevertheless remains one of the most energetic and refreshing comedies to emerge in recent times.

9. Past Lives

The romance genre relishes in the cliché of the Star-Crossed Lovers — a pair of individuals who are ideally suited for one another, yet destined never to be together. Such is the premise of writer-director Celine Song’s debut feature, which draws upon her own life experiences to craft a tender, stirring and beautifully-told narrative.

Song admirably refuses to adhere to the genre’s conventions, telling the story at her own pace and largely without conflict, all while eliciting a stellar performance from lead actor Greta Lee and brilliantly utilising natural light to bathe her scenes (as evidenced above). Though it is a gorgeous product, viewers must note that Past Lives (2023) is also a slow-moving film that takes some length to reach the crux of its story.

8. Elemental

At one stage, this feature-length animation looked destined to become Pixar’s first box-office bomb, owing to muted returns from the opening weekend of its theatrical run. But as the weeks passed, interest in the film remained steady as audiences found resonance with its tale of a migrant daughter struggling to meet the expectations of her parents, and the bond she forges with a young man whose personality could not be any more different.

Elemental (2023) is enjoyed best when viewed as a romantic-comedy — its tale of a mismatched duo who develop feelings for each other proves the most gripping aspect of what is, ostensibly, an allegorical examination of racism through a fantasy lens. Adding to the enjoyment is the beautiful score of Thomas Newman, and creative imagery rendered to the high standards of Emeryville.

7. Suzume

‘Twas a long wait for Makoto Shinkai’s latest feature to reach our shores, coming five months after its Japanese release and nearly 14 months after its world premiere. It sees the famed Japanese animator return to the fantasy genre once more, telling of a teenage girl who is tasked with preventing a series of supernatural calamities and delivering yet another compelling, wonderfully-told story in the process.

All the Shinkai hallmarks are present in Suzume (2022), including references to Japanese fables, natural disasters, adolescents pining for the affections of another, and trains. (He really does love his trains.) Yet there are also plenty of improvements over his previous works, including a rousing orchestral soundtrack, a screenplay filled with tension and humour, and Shinkai’s most detailed and cleanly-animated illustrations to date.

6. Saltburn

Having won Best Screenplay at the 93rd Academy Awards for Promising Young Woman (2020), anticipation was justifiably high for Emerald Fennell’s second directorial effort. Her follow-up takes place in England, where a scholarship student at a prestigious university (Barry Keoghan) befriends a classmate from an aristocratic family (Jacob Elordi) and is subsequently invited to spend the summer at their sprawling estate.

A beautifully twisted thriller, Saltburn (2023) possesses a sharper edge and level of savagery that Fennell’s debut feature sorely lacked. Her direction once again is confident and assured, her characters nuanced and complex, the performances great and the soundtrack fantastic. This author’s only issue with the film is that it doesn’t adequately explain or justify the actions of its main character.

5. Broker

First premiering at the Cannes Film Festival last year, it would be another nine months before this feature-length Asian drama gained a limited theatrical release in the Antipodes — a very apt length of time to wait, when one considers the subject matter. Broker (2022) follows a ragtag group of criminals who form an emotional bond while trading orphaned babies to infertile couples for money. Though the premise is somewhat cheesy, the final product is anything but, with director Hirokazu Kore-eda delivering a story which is equal parts charming and poignant.

Fellow Rating Frames scribe Darcy Read has long been a champion of this feature, having listed it in his Best of 2022 list and reviewed it glowingly and at-length back in March. There’s not much that can be added to his remarks; all that this writer can offer is a reiteration of Darcy’s praise.

4. Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One

Seldom can a film series lay claim to having improved with each and every instalment; Mission: Impossible is one of the few. For the franchise’s seventh feature-length outing, the ante and excitement is upped once more as secret agent Ethan Hunt (Tom Cruise) faces his most threatening antagonist yet: a faceless, internet-borne Artificial Intelligence program that can not only predict his every move, but distort the truth as it sees fit.

Dead Reckoning Part One (2023) is filled with exhilarating action sequences, including a car chase through the streets of Rome, a duel of close-quarters combat in a narrow alleyway, fisticuffs on a runaway train, and plenty of throwbacks to the series’ past. In doing so, M:I7 eclipses the thrills of Mission: Impossible – Fallout (2018) to position itself as one of the greatest action movies of all time.

3. Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

Not for the first time, Sony Pictures Animation floored all expectations with their latest feature-length release, surpassing the very high bar the studio itself had set four-and-a-half years earlier. The studio’s successor to the much-adored Into the Spider-Verse (2018) is an improvement in many regards, placing a greater focus on the struggles of Gwen Stacy (voice of Hailee Steinfeld) while also continuing with the narrative of Miles Morales (Shameik Moore).

There are many aspects in which Across the Spider-Verse (2023) proves a better film than its predecessor, particularly in the screenplay department — the story here is less clichéd and more original — and visually, with no shortage of lush images to gaze at. Impressively, the film does this while also sharing its precursor’s qualities, such as a talented voice-cast and awesome soundtrack.

2. John Wick: Chapter 4

Turns out that 2023 delivered not one, but TWO of the greatest action movies ever made. The more impressive example proved to be the fourth entry in the Keanu Reeves-starring John Wick franchise, which once again has the professional hitman seeking revenge against the figures who have wronged him, and simultaneously trying to avoid the network of bounty hunters who wish him dead.

Plenty of the franchise’s trademarks are present here, including the exceptional stunt-work, astonishing set-pieces, brilliant choreography, immaculate sound design and gorgeous lighting, all richer than ever. It’s best appreciated by those who have seen and enjoyed the three previous instalments — anybody walking into John Wick: Chapter 4 (2023) without doing so is bound to be confused.

1. Oppenheimer

Since helming The Dark Knight (2008), Christopher Nolan has been revered by cinephiles as one of the artform’s best directors, his every film greeted with fervent enthusiasm. Subsequent releases have been met with overblown mania, such as Interstellar (2014), while others earned muted praise, like Dunkirk (2017). But for his portrait of scientist J. Robert Oppenheimer (Cillian Murphy), the hype and audience response is truly deserved.

Despite its three-hour length and multitude of secondary characters, Oppenheimer (2023) is never boring nor baffling — it’s enthralling from beginning to end. Within the picture is a fantastic screenplay dealing with complex themes, strong performances from the entire cast, a remarkable score from Ludwig Göransson, dexterous film editing, great sound design, incredible practical effects, and a surprisingly tense bomb-testing sequence.

What’s here is Nolan’s magnum opus; his crowning achievement, the picture which shall come to define him years from now. At the risk of being rash, it could well become this writer’s favourite film of the decade.

Honourable Mentions: Babylon (released January 2023), Creed III, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3, Dumb Money, The Killer.

Best of 2023: Darcy’s Picks

Best of 2023: Darcy’s Picks

Darcy Read

With 2023 drawing to a close, Rating Frames is looking back at the past twelve months of cinema and streaming releases that have come our way. In the first of our series of articles, Darcy Read is taking a look at his ten favourite films of the year that was.

2023 has been a bizarre but ultimately wonderful year in cinema. A film year that felt like a genuine rebound after multiple years of roadblocks — and that’s with long-running SAG and WGA strikes with impacts felt in the latter stages of the year but will impact next year more on the ledger — through the success of ‘Barbenheimer’ and the return of some of the best veteran filmmakers we have working. While none of these storied filmmakers like Martin Scorsese, Hayao Miyazaki, or Wes Anderson delivered a film that will be the first project referenced in their obituary, all have produced work that will contend for the best cinema has to offer this decade.

As 2023 draws to a close, it is clear this year has the potential to enter legend status alongside calendar years like 1999 or 2019, with its combination of peaks and depth by creators both established and emerging, gifting us deeply personal works that have clearly resonated with audiences around the world. 2023 has been a wonderful year to write about for the site, and 2024 looks to be a fascinating year with the return of incredible artists like Bong Joon-ho, Steve McQueen, and Barry Jenkins to name a few. But before we get ahead of ourselves, here is my list of the best of cinema this year.

10. Oppenheimer

A vicious knife fight to land on the 10th spot on this list with a collection of wonderful films by veteran auteurs like Hirokazu Kore-eda and David Fincher, but the scale and power of the fleeting moments in Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer (2023) proved too difficult to ignore. Nolan has been on a manic kick in recent years, adopting a sound-focused filmmaking pursuit that is just catnip for me. Combining an all-time score by Ludwig Göransson with an elastic soundscape that never lacks emotional or narrative potency by the legendary Richard King, Nolan and emerging editor Jennifer Lame throw you into the subjective war zone that is J. Robert Oppenheimer.

The film is littered with flaws and strange moments that threaten to derail the three-hour tirade through the scientific pursuit of unprecedented destruction, but the rigorous nature of the film allows for some transcendent sequences that stack up amongst Nolan’s very best work.

9. The Eight Mountains

A serene indie film shot across stunning vistas of the Italian Alps centred on two men building a house in a plot of land owned by one of their recently deceased fathers, Felix van Groeningen and Charlotte Vandermeersch’s The Eight Mountains (2022) plays out like a contemplative short story across two and a half hours, a personal favourite flavour that is not a universal palette.

The earnestness of the storytelling about two complicated men seeking purpose through their past and into their present transcends into a reflective pool of emotion and intimacy with a mesmerisingly natural performance by Alessandro Borghi as Bruno. Grab some tea and warm up by the fire of this enchanting Italian epic that would work as a perfect double feature with Past Lives (2023), a film we will get to.

8. May December

A sticky, chewy meal of a film, May December (2023) is less interested in the central scandal of the story (echoing the story of Mary Kay Letourneau and Vili Fualaau) than in the modern societal structures around a tabloid scandal, with the insidious media ecosystem that invades lives for an increasingly uncertain gain and the human impact that ripples out decades later, as the scandal itself.

Casting director turned screenwriter Samy Burch is perfectly matched on the screen by the brilliant Todd Haynes, a filmmaker most comfortable getting into the weeds of a dark, complicated story and emerging with something equally compelling and repugnant. The trio of performances from Julianne Moore, Natalie Portman, and the emergence of Charles Melton present this knotty and potently transgressive story with a heightened tension of melodrama whilst never losing the humanity at its core that allows the film to shine.

7. Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

It took months for me to embrace the ‘to be continued’ nature of Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023), but once that hurdle is vaulted, the Jackson Pollock-styled explosion of creativity and narrative inventiveness on display in this sequel to the hit animated superhero film Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018) took hold.

Across the Spider-Verse’s first 20 minutes is the greatest example of riotous, shotgun blast openings to come across in years, miraculously blending art styles with raw emotion and vulnerability that created an avalanche of ideas to cascade from beginning to end.

6. Asteroid City

“Am I doing it right?” Anderson has long been known for his extensive production designs and air-tight dialogue, but what stands out in Asteroid City (2023) is the attention placed on the act of looking. These looks of longing and understanding permeate every moment and every character of the film. From June (Maya Hawke) and Montana’s (Rupert Friend) longing looks of romance tinged with the desire for understanding in an increasingly incomprehensible world, to the gazing scenes of Jason Schwartzman as both Augie in the play with Midge (Scarlett Johansson), and as the actor Jones Hall with the actress of his wife that was ultimately cut played by Margot Robbie – in one of the scenes of the year – Anderson reflects the modern world’s unease and uncertainty by displaying these feelings across the extended ensemble.

Schwartzman — who has never been better — wears layers upon layers of uncertainty about the future and how to feel in the present across his face, opening up like a flower in the final act. By penetrating the hermetically sealed world that Anderson and his crew craft here in Asteroid City with touchingly modern feelings of uncertainty and fear, the potency of the message burrows its way into the soul, where it has remained all year. “Am I doing it right?”

5. The Zone of Interest

The normalisation of genocide as a collection of active, domestic choices, Jonathan Glazer’s attentive formalism is a perfect match for this profound piece of art on the naturalism that real evil lives within. Based on a slither of Martin Ames’ book of the same name, The Zone of Interest centres on the young family of Höss, mass murderer and commandant of Auschwitz, as they live day to day alongside unimaginable horror. Glazer avoids almost all iconography of the camp and world inside of the walls, tightly focusing on the family mundanity through scenes of pool parties, teatime chats, and grandmothers coming over for a weekend as the black smoke billows constantly above them.

Glazer, alongside sonic collaborators Johnnie Burn and Mica Levi as sound designer and composer has crafted a piece of cinema that transcends the formal exercise it easily could’ve become, instead striving for an art film that lands close to a Nazi-based Jeanne Dielman (1975). There is no, and may never be, another experience like it.

4. La chimera

One of the great pleasures of following the career of an emerging artist is seeing them put it all together. In La chimera (2023), Italian filmmaker Alice Rohrwacher perfectly blends the rich, textured grounds of Tuscan farm life of The Wonders (2014) with the magical realism and whimsy from her revered film Happy as Lazzaro (2018) to create one of the year’s best and most creatively rich films.

Set in 1980s Tuscany, we follow Arthur (an extraordinary Josh O’Connor) and his band of tombaroli — Italian looters archaeological heritage — as he returns to his long lost love Beniamina’s local town after a stint in jail. Rohrwacher’s seemingly limitless filmmaking inventiveness wraps around a knotty and evocative story of local heritage and ownership of the past shot gloriously on 16 and 35mm.

3. (How Do You Live?) The Boy and the Heron

Went with the original title for this entrancing and engaging gift of cinema, as it so perfectly captures the film in many ways compared to a seemingly rushed decision to rename this endlessly compelling feature from another old master Hayao Miyazaki. Not only is the title How Do You Live? (2023) taken from a beloved Japanese novel that Miyazaki has called an ur-text for him creatively — heightened by having the book play a crucial story beat with it being gifted to our protagonist Mahito by his recently deceased mother — but it works as the central thesis question for the film Miyazaki came out of retirement to ask. A question he gives no answer to, understanding that a life’s purpose is in the pursuit. The film operates as a deep meditation on life and grief from a world-weary filmmaker and as a goofy, playful Ghibli movie with its eccentric parakeets and Warawara’s that are sure to make their way into the heart of the recently opened Ghibli park.

What allows these larger ideas and themes to flow freely across this entrancing film is the work of longtime collaborator Joe Hisaishi’s score, somehow in career-best form after all these years, echoing these thematic questions through his delicate strings, tense orchestrations, and loving piano melodies that wash over a crowded audience like an emotional wave. No film on this list has better potential to leapfrog up to number one than this film, probing for questions on day-to-day existence than any piece of art released in 2023, like only a true master storyteller can.

2. Past Lives

Saw this treasure of a film back in June at the Sydney Film Festival and remained top of this list for months, Past Lives (2023), the best debut feature of the year by Celine Song, has stayed top of mind for 6 months through its unique mixture of personal and romantic longing with a powerful trio of performances by Greta Lee, Teo Yoo, and John Magaro.

In Past Lives, the present is framed in a unique liminal space, an uncertain future result of past decisions and indecisions, more so than a real time experience, like watching Richard Linklater’s miraculous Before trilogy simultaneously across three screens. How Song is able to merge these ideas inside a tight 105-minute narrative feature is not to be understated, crafting the best screenplay of 2023 and one that will only expand and mature moving forward.

1. Killers of the Flower Moon

From my review for the film: “Killers of the Flower Moon (2023), a sprawling period crime epic based on the incredible best-selling nonfiction book of the same name by David Grann tracking the 1921 Osage Nation murders (potentially hundreds even though the reported count reached only 20), is the best film to arrive in theatres in years. An astonishing work, capturing the clashing worlds of empathy and cruelty, the legendary director Martin Scorsese alongside veteran screenwriter Eric Roth, set out to explore and probe the original sins of white exploitation and destruction that dismantled a once thriving community in the Osage Nation.

With a task as grave and serious about a community unfamiliar to their own, Scorsese and Roth’s script remarkably lands at a point of empathy and understanding they can reach as outsiders to this world. Scorsese’s self-reflective limitations as the person to tell this story are palpable throughout the film. This crime film’s capacity to tell a story of a community not his own arrives at a peak in a final sequence that may not evoke the same emotions in audience members as personal opinions of this vary. However, it is disingenuous to wholly dismiss this remarkable film on those grounds, just as it is disingenuous to wholly dismiss the air of white guilt and limitations as storytellers that frame Killers.”

My only five-star film of the year, Killers of the Flower Moon may not reach the Mount Rushmore of Scorsese’s career but is more than worthy of entering the discussion once the greatest living American director decides to hang it up.

Honourable Mentions: The Killer, Monster, How to Blow Up a Pipeline, Barbie, Showing Up.

The Films of Hayao Miyazaki, Ranked

The Films of Hayao Miyazaki, Ranked

Tom Parry

In recognition of The Boy and The Heron releasing nationwide this very week, our resident animation buff Tom Parry is here to list its director’s filmography from least best to absolute best — because there is no such thing as a bad Miyazaki picture! But first, an explainer…


With the exception of Walt Disney, there is indisputably no animator more famous or revered than Hayao Miyazaki. In a career spanning six decades, the Japanese auteur has left an indelible mark on the artform through his distinctive films, readily identified by their gentle tone, strong female characters, fantasy themes, pertinent morals and gorgeous illustrations.

His work has spawned plenty of imitators and thousands more admirers, both within the industry and outside of it — all of his feature-length pictures have an average rating of 3.95 stars or above on Letterboxd, plus an approval rating of 87 percent or above on Rotten Tomatoes. He’s garnered no shortage of accolades either, including Berlin’s Golden Bear, numerous Annie Awards, and two Oscars — one competitive, one honorary.

Miyazaki-san is also notorious for prematurely exiting the industry, having declared retirement in the late 1990s, 2013, and again in 2018, only to return to directing each time, hence earning himself a reputation as the John Farnham of Cinema. He pulled the same trick just this year, announcing he has another project in the works despite previously saying that The Boy and The Heron (2023) would be his last as a director.

That title is finally reaching local cinemas this week, and to celebrate this momentous occasion, yours truly is taking a look back at Miyazaki’s previous 11 releases and determining which of his releases is best. Of course, all of his pictures are fantastic, which makes ranking his filmography a nigh-on impossible task; if nothing else, consider this list a guide for which of the living legend’s masterpieces to prioritise seeing before his latest one.

11. Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (1984)

One of the earliest directorial efforts from Miyazaki, and it shows — but it’s certainly not without charm. Nausicaä follows its eponymous heroine, a teenage princess of a post-apocalyptic land, who seeks to protect a neighbouring jungle and its large insectile inhabitants from a warring kingdom, one seemingly hellbent on the forest’s destruction.

This feature, the second to be helmed by Miyazaki, can be considered the genesis for the themes which would later come to define his catalogue. Its screenplay touches upon themes of conservation, pacifism and anti-Imperialism, all tropes which have come to be a consistent presence in his career, while also drawing upon his penchant for aviation and placing a brave, resourceful young woman in a leading role.

Yet it’s not without flaw. The screenplay is too reliant on dialogue to tell its story; the score of Joe Hisaishi — in the first of his many collaborations with Miyazaki — utilises electronic instruments at times, which prove tonally jarring; and the illustrations lack detail, being near-indistinguishable from other anime projects of the period. (In fairness, the film was produced on a limited budget.) Nausicaä may be considered a classic, and rightly so, but to consider it Miyazaki’s best is doing the remainder of his works a great disservice.

10. Howl’s Moving Castle (2004)

Countless productions have paid tribute to Miyazaki, but here is a rare instance in which the director pays homage to himself. Adapted from British author Diana Wynne Jones’ novel of the same name, its plot concerns a young woman who is cursed with an elderly body, the wizard who offers her refuge, and the moving, mechanical fortress which they call home.

Howl’s Moving Castle plays like a melange, or even a rehash of all the Miyazaki films released up until that point, sharing many of the themes and even the same aesthetics as those made previously. This, in turn, marks the picture as the least distinctive and least memorable of his career.

Yet the film is not without appeal. The characters are all likeable and well-written, the orchestrations of Hisaishi beautiful and the illustrations, as ever, stunning to look at. It’s a less-than-stellar glint in his resumé, sure, but certainly not bad. Heck, compared to most other animated features, it’s exceptional.

9. Ponyo (2008)

For a film-maker unafraid to place mature and complex themes into his stories, Ponyo appears a retrograde step for Miyazaki-san; it takes place in a contemporary setting, has two kindergarten-aged children as its core protagonists, and borrows heavily from a Danish fairy-tale that has been told countless times elsewhere. The only difference being, this Little Mermaid’s dream of becoming human could lead to an ecological catastrophe. Now there’s a twist!

Despite being a definite contender for the cutesiest and most juvenile product in this list, it’s impossible not the be charmed by Ponyo, nor its namesake character — her insatiable enthusiasm for the human world and its delicacies is the undoubted highlight. Pleasing further is a driving sequence that evokes Miyazaki’s earliest cinematic handiwork (more on that later) and rich use of colour throughout; less so a nauseating theme that accompanies the English dub, and the heavy-handed application of its environmentalist themes.

Anime purists may scoff at its soft tone and simplistic messaging, but those apparent misgivings are what makes the title ideal for a younger audience, or those needing an easy entry point to Japanese animation.

8. The Wind Rises (2013)

Biographical stories aren’t typically the domain of animators; then again, Miyazaki isn’t your typical animator. This one recounts the life of inventor, aviator and engineer Jiro Horikoshi — infamous for developing the Mitsubishi “Zero” fighter planes that fought during World War II — tracing his journey from teenagehood to immediately after the Japanese surrender, revealing himself to be an idealistic dreamer.

The Wind Rises ties firmly with two of Miyazaki’s persistent motifs: his fondness for aviation, and his unwavering advocacy for pacifism. It’s the former which comes through most strongly, courtesy of the mesmeric flying scenes, Jiro’s dream sequences, and the human sound effects applied to the aircraft that assist in personifying them. And, of course, the animation and music are exquisite.

Sadly, there are flaws. The film does romanticise its main protagonist somewhat, who lacks complexity and doesn’t appear particularly distressed by his aircraft being utilised for warfare; and some of the minor characters present themselves more like caricatures than they do human beings.

7. Castle in the Sky (1986)

Properly considered the first movie to hail from Studio Ghibli — the world-renowned animation firm co-founded by Miyazaki, fellow director Isao Takahata, and producer Toshio Suzuki — and a captivating one at that. Its story is about a young girl and boy in possession of a powerful crystal, who travel across their homeland in search of a mythical flying kingdom known as Laputa.

There are numerous signs of a director transitioning into an auteur in Castle in the Sky, as Miyazaki again applies his themes of environmentalism, nonviolence and aviation to the screenplay. Other connections to his future output are also present, such as the steampunk visuals that would later be applied to Howl’s Moving Castle.

Even so, parts of this picture clearly indicate a career still in its infancy. The script is rather dialogue-heavy, much like Nausicaä, breaking the medium’s golden rule of “Show, Don’t Tell”; the moods of the supporting characters are rather capricious; and it doesn’t quite reach the level of storytelling magic for which Studio Ghibli is nowadays famed for.

6. My Neighbour Totoro (1988)

Undoubtedly the sweetest, cutest and most innocent feature to be directed by Miyazaki.  Here, the plot unfolds in rural Japan, where a mother-of-two is recuperating from an undisclosed illness; nearby lives her husband and their two daughters, who occupy their time by playing in the adjacent forest. It’s in this same forest that the girls encounter a series of friendly beings — including a large grey one whose name graces the title.

Chief to the appeal of Totoro is the ingeniously-designed creatures who interact with Satsuki and Mei; this includes Totoro himself, who would go on to be incorporated into Studio Ghibli’s logo, and become the company’s official mascot. Also notable is the picture’s tone, which is light and palatable to even the youngest of viewers, possessing very little in the way of threat or conflict.

And therein lies Totoro’s biggest problem: this slice-of-life drama is too light and fluffy for its own good. The only tension that occurs is when Satsuki learns of her mother’s deteriorating health, leaving her angry and causing her to yell at her younger sister, and even that low level of friction is resolved in a matter of what feels like seconds.

5. Princess Mononoke (1997)

Quite possibly the most mature and complex work of this list, and one often rated highly in animation circles. Its title refers to a female warrior raised by wolves, who seeks to protect the forests she calls home in feudal-era Japan. But she is not the central figure in this tale. Instead, the lead protagonist is a young prince who seeks to stop the demons that are terrorising his village.

Mononoke’s tone is noticeably darker than all other Miyazaki pictures, as evidenced by the amount of violence and blood on display; it also leans heavily into its conservationist, pacifist and anti-imperialist themes. Additionally, the film possesses characters that are well-written with intricate personalities; and what may well be Hisaishi’s best score, at times evoking the work of his American contemporary, Howard Shore.

As for problems, having the narrative follow Prince Ashitaka — as noted above — means less attention is paid to San, who is by far the more interesting of the duo; and the conclusion isn’t wholly satisfying. Those flaws aside, there’s very little to complain about.

4. Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989)

Another literary adaptation, and one of Miyazaki’s better examples. Beginning with its heroine, a young witch, leaving her home to partake in an adolescent rite-of-passage, the story eventually settles in the town of Koriko, where our broomstick-riding maiden comes to find employment at a bakery in exchange for a place to stay.

Like Totoro before it and Ponyo after it, Kiki has a sweet, inoffensive tone that makes it perfect viewing for youngsters, or those otherwise unfamiliar with anime. But where Totoro is largely devoid of conflict, Kiki has its central protagonist undergo a great emotional struggle; and where Ponyo talks down to its audience with simplistic messaging, Kiki has faith in their intelligence and maturity.

And then there’s the wonderful flying sequences, and the immensely likeable characters, and the European aesthetics, all of which combine with the usual Miyazaki hallmarks to make a fun, heart-warming adventure. If there’s any fault with Kiki, it lies in the somewhat rushed conclusion, and the convenient amount of time its witch takes to overcome her woes.  

3. Porco Rosso (1992)

This one is quite the achievement; not only does it contain a Flying Pig as the main character, but it manages to overcome its rather silly premise to be a funny, heartfelt and mesmerising tale. It’s a tale that sees Marco — a veteran of the First World War who has gone on to become an aerial bounty hunter — partner with an aspiring female mechanic to defeat his American arch-rival, Curtis, and the shenanigans that ensue.

Predictably, yet pleasingly, Miyazaki’s love of aviation shines through in Porco Rosso, with detailed illustrations of aircraft and enchanting moments of planes in flight; also emerging strongly is his steadfast objection to Imperialism, with the film’s titular protagonist outrightly condemning fascist ideology. What makes this picture truly stand-out though, is the level of humour, with more gags and therefore laughs to be had than just about any production from the Great Man.

Porco Rosso comes ever so close to being top-ranked; but, as with Kiki, the conclusion arrives rather abruptly, almost to the point of being anti-climactic and leaving the viewer underwhelmed. Thankfully, no such issue plagues the next two entries on the list.

2. The Castle of Cagliostro (1979)

Miyazaki’s debut feature is one far removed from anything else in his filmography, yet proves one of his most entertaining works. Spinning off from the Lupin the Third TV series — which itself was based on the manga of the same name — Cagliostro tells of a gentleman thief who uncovers a counterfeiting operation in a dilapidated European kingdom, while simultaneously pining for the affections of the country’s Princess.

Laced within this ostensible crime-caper is a mystery bountiful in action and humour, as evidenced by a chaotic, destructive chase scene between a yellow Fiat 500 and two much-larger sedans (see above); our hero, Arsene Lupin III running full-pelt down the steepest of roofs; and Lupin desperately trying to escape a plunge of certain death by swimming up a waterfall! Additionally, there’s a surprisingly warm romance between Princess Clarisse and Lupin; and while the illustrations aren’t up to the standards of later Miyazaki efforts, they still have appeal.

Cagliostro was a critical and commercial success upon release in Japan, and went on to have a profound impact on several Western film-makers — its influence can be seen everywhere, from the climactic clocktower sequence in Basil the Great Mouse Detective (1986) to the Roman car chase in Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One (2023). Steven Spielberg is also said to be an admirer, with the story purportedly inspiring him to create Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981).

1. Spirited Away (2001)

Is it a cliché to consider this Miyazaki’s best film? At this point in history, possibly; yet to consider anything other than Spirited Away as his greatest achievement would be sacrilege. Inspired by Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland stories, it centres on a girl named Chihiro and her journey through a mystical realm of spirits, witches and beasts; a realm where she must grow-up in order to find her way home.

Along the way, viewers are met with imaginatively designed creatures; strangers who are curt and kind; stunning painted landscapes; and Joe Hisaishi’s gentle, catchy piano refrain that enters the ear like a cool breeze on a summer’s day. In terms of faults, the pacing is lethargic on initial viewing, taking a long time to establish the setting and its characters; and the screenplay is a bit too eager to portray Chihiro as a spoilt brat in its early stages, rather than a flawed heroine. But so haunting, moving and transfixing is the story that these qualms are more or less forgotten by its end.

Universally, rightly lauded, Spirited Away is to date the only Japanese production and the only hand-drawn work to have won the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature; it’s also beloved by the public, sitting in the upper-echelons of the IMDb Top 250, and Letterboxd’s Top 250 Narrative Features. And, on a personal note, it happens to be the very film that fostered this writer’s interest in anime — there are almost certainly others who can say the same.

This is a film not to be ignored; a must-see for fans of animation, cinephiles, and indeed anybody with even the barest of interest in movies.

Killers of the Flower Moon is a Profound Achievement 

Killers of the Flower Moon is a Profound Achievement 

Darcy Read

Rating: 5 out of 5.

“Can you find the wolves in this picture?” As the simple Earnest (Leonardo DiCaprio) reads from a history book given to him by his uncle William “King” Hale (Robert De Niro) about the Osage Nation, to acclimatise himself to the new land in Oklahoma he has found himself in after returning from the war, we are not so subtly asked to investigate the frame of each scene. The land is almost entirely owned by the First Nations Osage community that, after being slaughtered and chased out of other states before finding themselves here, struck a reserve of oil on the land they had legal rights to, making them the richest per capita community in the world. And now their people are being brutally killed in careless succession, with the government nowhere in sight to investigate. 

Killers of the Flower Moon (2023), a sprawling period crime epic based on the incredible best-selling nonfiction book of the same name by David Grann tracking the 1921 Osage Nation murders (potentially hundreds even though the reported count reached only 20), is the best film to arrive in theatres in years. An astonishing work of the clashing worlds of empathy and cruelty, the legendary director Martin Scorsese, alongside veteran screenwriter Eric Roth set out to explore and probe the original sins of white exploitation and destruction that dismantled a once thriving community in the Osage Nation. 

Central to the story is Mollie Kyle (Lily Gladstone in the must-see performance of the year), and her family who were amongst the wealthiest in the community through their Osage headrights. From the opening moments of the film, the plan is established by the wolf Hale: set up his family to marry into and then assassinate Mollie’s family to gain their land through these headrights, with the newest entrant Earnest, Hale’s young (in reality Earnest was 19) nephew with nowhere else to go, to be placed alongside Mollie. 

Lily Gladstone, Robert De Niro, and Leonardo DiCaprio in Killers of the Flower Moon

With a task as grave and serious about a community unfamiliar to their own, Scorsese and Roth’s script remarkably lands at a point of empathy and understanding they can reach as outsiders to this world. Scorsese’s self-reflective limitations as the person to tell this story are palpable throughout the film. This crime film’s capacity to tell a story of a community not his own arrives at a peak in a final sequence that may not evoke the same emotions in audience members as personal opinions of this vary (more on this later). However, it is disingenuous to wholly dismiss this remarkable film on those grounds, just as it is disingenuous to wholly dismiss the air of white guilt and limitations as storytellers that frame Killers.

The film is a surprisingly straightforward narrative story, using its 206-minute runtime to form as tight a compulsive story as is possible with Grann’s sprawling book, with the marriage of Earnest and Mollie at its core. There are many changes in structure and perspective to the book, with the most crucial being the shift in storytelling philosophy with the character of William Hale. In Grann’s book, the revelation of Hale’s orchestration of the gaining of head rights through systemic murders of the Osage Nation plays out closer to a whodunit true crime thrill ride that concludes with the formation of the FBI and the men that uncovered the truth — a sharp contrast to how the story is presented in the film. By changing the storytelling style from a whodunit into a bottomless well of foreboding dread through our connection to his character, Scorsese is tying us to the poison in his veins, feeling the bounds of the American condition and original sin within this vile man more directly. 

Roth’s original screenplay focused on a more procedural whodunit that would’ve subbed as a perfectly adequate recreation of Grann’s book, centring early on Mollie and following onto Tom White’s (Jesse Plemons) role in the FBI investigation. Scorsese, in his first co-screenwriting credit since Silence (2016), alongside Roth, altered the perspective of the script, maintaining focus on Mollie and Ernest. In Grann’s book, the primary question being posed is: who is the culprit of these hideous acts? In Killers, the power of the storytelling comes from pursuing the more unanswerable questions at the core of their relationship and marriage: How can you do this to someone you believe to love? And how can you not see the root from which all these horrible events are stemming from? The boiling frustrations that stem from these probing, emotional questions are allowed to simmer across the entire extended runtime of the film, evolving into a profound sadness that will last with you a lifetime. Very few films attempt this level of emotional connection with the viewer, and even fewer films achieve it.

Lily Gladstone and Leonardo DiCaprio in Killers of the Flower Moon

What allows Killers to capture an audience’s hearts and minds across its extended runtime is the trio of performances by DiCaprio, Gladstone, and De Niro in one of the finest ensembles in Scorsese’s storied career. De Niro, in his best performance in many years, is nightmarish as the wolf Hale, able to talk and smile through both sides of his mouth, taking up residence as a haunting figure of colonial greed and arrogance in the early 20th century. Alongside him is DiCaprio in his Calvin Candie mode from Django Unchained (2012), a performance style he has grown more comfortable with in recent years. The choice of DiCaprio to play an individual some 30 years his junior is a fascinating one. It can be read as a director pulling his muse into another film for the central role, or as a compelling provocation to the audience of seeing the star portray a despicable and complicated person. The weight of Earnest’s wilful ignorance is also deepened when placed across DiCaprio’s face than a more age accurate performer. What allows the film to transcend however, is Gladstone, perhaps the most compelling screen presence to emerge in a decade, whether in a single scene in the great TV series Reservation Dogs (2022) or Certain Women (2016), she is simply astonishing. Gladstone’s chemistry with DiCaprio is established early and becomes the crux of the film, with each scene together tethered to an anchor of tension that remains all the way into their incredible final meeting.

There are arguments to be made that Gladstone is sidelined for too much of the back end of the film due to her illness, which is as much a compliment to her performance as a narrative choice. This element of the film is also forced due to the reality of Mollie’s poisoning and illness, a storytelling hurdle that would’ve been disrespectful to sidestep. Her powerful presence is felt on and off screen equally, her piercing eyes hold a deep well of humanity which buries into your psyche for the elongated runtime. To avoid this aspect of the real story is to avoid the real pain that was subjugated on each member of this community, something that was clear throughout the production as being integral to telling this story. This family of women, with Mollie at the centre, want for a normal, wealthy American life that should have been afforded to them, but the ingrained systems of racial vilification and capitalism — the two are intrinsically linked — force them into a victimhood they should have been able to avoid through their wealth. 

The longer Roth and Scorsese worked with the community, listening to their stories and hearing their truth, the deeper the well of understanding was established which is felt in powerful sequences throughout the film. A key moment displaying this respect to the Osage Nation is in the profoundly moving sequence as Lizzie (Tantoo Cardinal), Mollie’s mother, passes on, holding hands with her ancestors as she walks, smiling and without regret, into the next life. The sequence is quiet, simply staged, and made with great respect, with the air of an Apichatpong Weerasethakul film. The sequence echoes Silence (2016), Scorsese exploration into his own faith late in life, through its stripped-down and respectful style, displaying the utmost care when dealing with the faith of the people portrayed on screen. 

Robert De Niro and Leonardo DiCaprio in Killers of the Flower Moon

By saddling the audience with Earnest for much of the film, a man with absolutely no moral core in the centre of the frame, Scorsese seeks to probe and destabilise us in equal measure. We don’t have the comforts of a future-set flashback to reassure us of his remorse, nor do we have saccharine familial moments that give us an easy out of the atrocities portrayed in the film. The further and further we are stretched, the more determined we are to uncover some hidden truth in DiCaprio’s performance, but he is equally as withholding with us as he is with his own wife. Over 200 minutes, the greatest living filmmaker is asking us not to find the wolves in sheep’s clothing, but to ask how these wolves can live amongst sheep after consuming their families.

As an Australian, it’s impossible to ignore the echoes of our own history in this story, of The Stolen Generations and the arrogant dark seed of colonialism at its core. The pain in seeing the universality of these vicious and callous crimes is overwhelming, especially as it overlaps with this year’s referendum vote. It has never been easier to be wilfully ignorant of our past, dooming ourselves to continue them. 

This dark cloud hangs over many aspects of the story of Killers. There is a deliberate air of inevitability to the murders and distressing moments of the story, shown through the edit and deliberately bleak sound cues that saddens whilst never veering into an unbearably solemn experience. Too often a film, especially an epic of this scale and runtime, will lose all propulsion as a compelling narrative in order to express the grave nature of the experience. This is a balancing act that is beautifully achieved, where the wealth of film knowledge of Scorsese and his long-time crew shines through to create this tremendous work of art. 

Legendary musician and collaborator Robbie Robertson in his final work feels an inch off screen at all times, holding court on proceedings through his Stratocaster with a beautifully anachronistic score that brings to mind the famous Neil Young improvised score for Dead Man (1996). The real highlight piece for Robertson is the mournful guitar and vocal duet “They Don’t Live Long”, which seeps into your bone marrow through its mixture of seething rage and sorrow at the feeling of utter helplessness to these vile acts we are bearing witness to. 

Leonardo DiCaprio, Lily Gladstone, Martin Scorsese, and Robert De Niro on the set of Killers of the Flower Moon

There is a care taken to each death that is heart wrenching and overwhelming that builds across the film. These moments aren’t calloused, or moments of entertainment that Scorsese has been accused of leaning too heavily on in the past. They are stark and honest, allowing the pulverising emotion of an audience experiencing these brutishly evil acts without a guide rope.

There is a special kind of pain Scorsese is carving out of you through the ham-fisted manner in which these horrific crimes are taking place. Not only is no one properly investigating these crimes due to the collective apathy those in real power hold for the Osage, but that is understood by those involved. This is not some elaborate web of seemingly innocuous murders, but a collection of obvious crimes committed by a group that never thought they’d get caught due to the privilege they wield over this community. For the master of the organised crime genre in cinema to focus on this collection of brutish, disorganised crime figures is pointed and considered, a continuation of his previous film The Irishman (2019), which is present throughout.

The film concludes with a charming Lucky Strike-helmed 50s radio play — sponsored by the FBI, valorising and sensationalising their involvement in the events — performing the events that transpire post the film in place of the usual text over photographs that close many a nonfiction adaptation. In these final moments, Scorsese enters the frame in an emotionally charged note to Molly’s ending, emanating both a solemn goodbye and apology for the nightmarish life she had to endure. He is overtly surrendering to the material and the Osage Nation. Not in some Variety interview or for your consideration campaign spot, but in the very text itself. The greatest living American filmmaker – and perhaps the country’s greatest ever auteur – closing potentially his final film in this manner will resonate till the end of time.

Killers of the Flower Moon is in select theatres now and streaming soon on Apple TV+.

Hold up, The Bob’s Burgers Movie is a Tasty Adaptation

Hold up, The Bob’s Burgers Movie is a Tasty Adaptation

Tom Parry

Rating: 4 out of 5.

Several animated series have made the leap from broadcasting to celluloid in years gone by — The Simpsons, South Park and Beavis and Butt-Head to name but a few. Although most examples have proven enjoyable, to date none of these feature-length adaptations have been of a greater calibre than the shows which inspired them, nor outshone them in the public zeitgeist. Such a problem afflicts the newest addition to this cohort of adaptations, despite the movie being quite enjoyable in its own right.

Father-of-three and small business owner Bob Belcher (voice of H. Jon “Archer” Benjamin) has been issued an ultimatum by his bank: pay his latest instalment within seven days, or see his beloved, self-named burger eatery repossessed. Making that repayment won’t be easy for the perpetually cash-strapped Bob, not least because his busiest period — the summer holidays — are still a week away; worse still, a giant sinkhole has emerged right outside the entrance of his store, robbing him of what little income he already receives.

Before The Bob’s Burgers Movie (2022), there was the animated television programme Bob’s Burgers, which premiered on the Fox Network in 2011 to meteoric ratings. While those sky-high viewing figures didn’t last — as has been the case for most shows the world over — interest remained strong in the seasons that followed, in part due to its many and varied qualities. Such attributes include a wholesome tone, quirky sense of humour, fantastic use of colour, catchy soundtrack, great cast of voice-actors, and bevy of eccentric supporting characters — among them handyman and loyal customer Teddy (Larry Murphy), who is practically a lead protagonist.

Most of those elements have carried over to the Movie including, most pleasingly, the principal voice-cast. Jon Benjamin reprises his role as the series’ patriarchal namesake, so too John Roberts as Bob’s ultra-supportive, high-energy wife Linda; Dan Mintz as their lovesick thirteen-year-old daughter Tina; Eugene Mirman as middle-child and musical prodigy Gene; Kristen Schaal as youngest daughter, the pink bunny-ears-wearing Louise; Murphy as fan-favourite Teddy, plus several other supporting players. All voices involved have nailed the persona and emotions of their characters, giving their all whether they be uttering dialogue, or singing one of the film’s tunes.

Talking of the latter, jaunty music is another quality this picture shares with its televisual source. A trio of numbers is contained within, first of which being the upbeat opener “Sunny Side-Up Summer”, then the Louise-led “Lucky Ducks” and, as the plot enters its third act, “Not That Evil” – sung by the Movie’s hidden antagonist. Though there isn’t much to distinguish the three songs from each other — all have a similar sound and tempo, differentiated only by the lyrics and key they are sung in – it’s the opening track which proves the most enjoyable, being memorable, hummable, infectiously happy, and setting the mood for all that follows.

Bob and Linda Belcher, trying to stay positive in the face their restaurant’s impending closure in The Bob’s Burgers Movie.

One of the significant improvements the film holds over its originator is the strength of its hand-drawn animation. Where in the show, a limited budget sees humans move stiffly or remain static for many a scene, here the characters bounce, weave, flex and shimmy with near-fluid motion; likewise, their faces are as rubbery and expressive as they’ve ever been. All this energetic bodily and facial movement only adds to the joyous atmosphere, as does the vibrant palette — note how the buildings and backgrounds are multi-hued, rather than painted in a single shade.

Yet another strength is the screenplay, which contains multiple, interweaving conflicts. The most investing of these threads is one centring a skeleton found in the abovementioned sinkhole; it sees Louise coerce her older siblings into solving the mystery of who placed it there, both in hopes of saving her family’s restaurant and proving to her schoolmates that she’s braver than her pink ears suggest. It’s an intriguing subplot with some great turns, and a strong one too — so much so, it becomes the central narrative by the third act. That in turn, and unfortunately, means the pre-established struggles of the other characters are relegated to tertiary importance.

Such is the case with Tina, who is hoping to ask long-time crush Jimmy Pesto Jr. (voiced by Benjamin, like Bob) to be her summer boyfriend, yet is reluctant to commit to a relationship; and Gene, who wants to reunite his band but fears their avantgarde sound won’t be accepted — effort is made to integrate both subplots into the main narrative, but with limited success. More frustrating, though, is the lack of story afforded to Linda, who’s given no conflict of her own to explore nor the opportunity to grow as a character, instead tasked with being’s Bob’s better conscience.

Another grievance to be had with the film is how it fails to utilise the large roster of characters who frequent the TV show. This was a deliberate choice made on the part of director (and show creator) Loren Bouchard and his co-producer Nora Smith, who say they didn’t wish to see their adaptation become an endless parade of cameos and risk alienating newcomers. That’s a fair call, but when one considers how effectively and cleverly The Simpsons Movie (2007) incorporated an even-bigger list of deuteragonists into its tale, it more or less makes Bouchard and Smith’s argument invalid. Yet that’s not the biggest gripe to be had.

The Belcher siblings (from left) Tina, Louise and Gene in The Bob’s Burgers Movie.

Of foremost disappointment is the low-key manner in which The Bob’s Burgers Movie presents itself. Making an appearance in theatres should be a cause for celebration, an opportunity to take the characters in a new direction, or make some bold decisions that wouldn’t be possible to enact in the medium of TV. Or ideally, all of the above, as was the case with The Simpsons Movie. Instead, what’s being presented seems more akin to an extended episode of the series, one which could just as happily be watched on a smaller screen. And for fans of the show, that’s a real shame.

Having said that, this remains an enjoyable piece of Bob’s Burgers media and, importantly, a great film when judged solely on its own merits, fulfilling Bouchard’s wish of being accessible to “all the good people who’ve never seen the show.” Rating Frames is not alone in this view — upon its initial release, critics seasoned and unfamiliar with the Belcher clan alike found a shared appreciation for the Movie and its merits, as evidenced by a Certified Fresh designation from Rotten Tomatoes and average rating of 75 percent from Metacritic. Which begs the question as to why that praise — and the programme’s avid following to boot — did not translate into box-office success.

There are, as it happens, multiple factors that point to The Bob’s Burgers Movie’s lacklustre theatrical run, such as the constant production delays, limited marketing, wariness around the pandemic, and the negative sentiment toward the programme which has lingered since its first season. Yet ultimately, fault lies with the decision to release it on the very same date as Top Gun: Maverick (2022) in a misguided attempt at counterprogramming. Had it not been released at that time, there’s every chance the film would have found the audience, and the returns, it so rightly deserves.

Even though it falls short of being the stirring adventure that fans desired and were promised, The Bob’s Burgers Movie is nevertheless a bright, joyous feature for viewers of all ages, whether they’re devotees of the original series or not. All the virtues of its source material are there, while the slick animation and mystery element of the screenplay only adds to the delight. Not the Belchers’ crowning achievement, but a letdown it most certainly is not.

The Bob’s Burgers Movie and its associated series are both available to stream on Disney+.

Stop Making Sense is Better Than it Ever Was

Stop Making Sense is Better Than it Ever Was

Darcy Read

Rating: 5 out of 5.

Across four nights in 1983, one of the most indelible acts in America turned the Pantages Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard into the greatest party on Earth. Luckily for the rest of the world, these performances were immortalised by one of the greatest filmmakers of his generation, Jonathan Demme. Forty years on, Stop Making Sense (1984) lives long in the minds of fans old and new of the Talking Heads. The original is to this day still consistently embraced in repertory theatres around the world on a yearly basis with the same level of cult appreciation as Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) and The Room (2003). Now, one of cinema’s great achievements is coming to theatres visually and sonically enhanced by A24, bringing us closer inside the walls of the Pantages Theatre without removing any of the original’s charms. The power of this eternal classic flows from both the incredible music and extraordinary filmmaking and stagecraft that cannot be taken for granted.

Even the highest quality concert films don’t have the scope of emotionality that Demme achieves throughout Stop Making Sense, to the same level he executes in Philadelphia (1993) and Rachel’s Getting Married (2008). Demme’s cinematic superpower has always been in finding an impossibly deep well of humanity and emotion in a short, single frame, a feat that is perfect for the theatrical production David Byrne has crafted for these performances.

With the humble beginnings of David Byrne entering from stage right, with a boombox and acoustic guitar to perform “Psycho Killer” solo, we are folded into this simple but compelling setting for what has become the band’s biggest track. As the band trickles in one by one, the first act is complete and the concert can launch from street busking art kids into the best nightclub band in town. With an all-killer no-filler set (I won’t hear a bad word about the Tom Tom Club), Stop Making Sense has a more potent propulsion from scene to scene than almost any film you’ll see. What allows it to flow as gloriously and seamlessly through its four performances is the collaboration between editor Lisa Day and Blade Runner (1982) cinematographer Jordan Cronenweth alongside Demme, finding the perfect moments for each song without the camera obstructing the band.

David Byrne in Stop Making Sense

Talking Heads’ acrimonious disbandment has created an aura of profound scarcity with the legendary band which has allowed both this film and the live album (impeccably recorded and produced for a live album) to live on across multiple generations. “Psycho Killer” and “Once in a Lifetime” were always going to be iconic American art anthems, but the way they are captured here by the band and Demme make them immortal.

With the characters established and location set, we are vaulted into as big a cinematic moment as you’ll find this year with “Burning Down The House”, a triumphant detonation of everything that has made the Talking Heads iconoclastic. Communal choruses, a joyous blend of new wave, funk, and pop rock, and a buoyancy of enthusiasm beaming from the whole band, with Byrne’s body movements a lightning rod of motion tapped directly into the frequency of the music. The serotonin spike this moment achieves is profound, connecting as deeply to a live band as you’ll find in person, no matter the regularity with which you watch this film. Stop Making Sense has a serious case to be made as the most rewatchable film ever made.

Stop Making Sense has had a long tail on the genre of concert films in the forty years since its release. However, it is still one of the only performance films that focus on the performer’s excitement and joy instead of a glorified document of the difficulty of pulling off a large concert. The great humanist filmmaker Jonathan Demme is a rare auteur who is able to imprint his own style into a concert film whilst never detracting from the artist and the moment being captured. Demme keenly focused this concert film on the small human moments between band members, displaying the pure joy and excitement of performing together, allowing all of Stop Making Sense to transcend into the near consensus place as the Michael Jordan of concert films it arrived at quickly. 

David Byrne and Tina Weymouth in Stop Making Sense

The other key decision Demme makes in the film that continues to be a rarity in the genre is the importance given to the crew members building the set during the show. The 4k restoration only heightens these human moments, with its greater emphasis on clarity in viewing the crew in motion. The team restoring this masterpiece are clearly operating on the wavelength in which Stop Making Sense is operating. A great restoration operates similarly to a work of honest adaptation, with the creators needing to be keyed into why the work resonates and lives on in the audience’s minds for decades, something that is proudly achieved here.

Indelible moments like the lamp dance in “This Must Be the Place” and the emergence of David’s enormous suit in “Girlfriend is Better” after the Tom Tom Club reprieve play with a renewed verve in the remaster, particularly sonically. The powerful synth duo performance from Tiny Weymouth and the legend Bernie Worrell of Parliament-Funkadelic pulses throughout the cinema, with your eyes locked on Byrne at the centre, commanding a uniquely transfixing allure that’s not easily quantified. The oversized suit quickly became the icon of the film, a humorous and strange cultural object that will be the lasting image of a film full of iconography. 

David Byrne in Stop Making Sense

Uniquely, Demme avoids showing the audience, concealing them until this enormous explosion of joy when they are shown during the conclusion of “Take Me to the River” and into “Crosseyed and Painless”. Demme arrives at the moment after Byrne has introduced the entire extended band like the audience is the final member of this incredible performance. After that point, the lid is off and Demme is unable to stop the powerful geyser from erupting. The audience’s excitement is so overwhelming for the final tracks of the concert that Demme shifts the atmosphere of the Pantages Theatre from an intimate warehouse soundcheck to an almost religious exuberance with the Talking Heads as our saviour.

There is an emotive religiosity to the whole performance, with Byrne donning the energy of a pastor in fleeting moments of “Life During Wartime” and “Once in a Lifetime” that compels you forward. Demme’s decision to frame this iconic performance as a near single take of Byrne having this near-religious experience an hour into the film is electric, highlighted by a sharp spotlight on the frontman’s right side. In a song about the existential insecurities of life itself, Demme and the Talking Heads combine to create a powerfully emotional moment inside this already overwhelming cinematic experience.

In what could’ve been an easy cash grab with minimal effort, this remaster has improved upon a perfect film that is genuinely life-changing. With crisper contrasts that never feel artificially enhanced like is the case with poorer quality restorations, A24’s 4k update is an improvement on a perfect film, becoming a new definitive version of a true masterpiece. To have one of my ten favourite films remastered with this level of care, as well as having it return to theatres again, is something I will treasure forever.

Stop Making Sense is in select theatres now.

7 Best Shudder Original Films, Ranked

7 Best Shudder Original Films, Ranked

Darcy Read

Arriving on our shores in 2020, the horror-centric streaming service Shudder has become the definitive location for the boundary-pushing genre that comes alive every October. Its library boasts entire collections from the decades-spanning series’ to the micro-budget international indies, all available under one roof that promises shocks, thrills, and subversive moments that get seared into the brain.

In recent years, Shudder has ramped up its original programming, in the states and across the globe, giving its devoted audiences the opportunity to discover some of the most interesting international and indie films of the 2020s. Here, we have ranked the 7 best originals Shudder has to offer, from the perverse to the exhilarating, these are ones not to miss.

7. When Evil Lurks (2023)

Evil lurking through a film with true malice, The newest Shudder original from Argentina arrives on this list with a dark heart that is certainly the feel-bad film of the year. Opening with its grotesque makeup designs that should only be seen at least an hour after eating, When Evil Lurks devolves into a series of purely chilling experiences in a world without a soul.

Demián Rugna has crafted a strangely dense piece of world-building on a post-religion Earth where evil and demonic possession are very real occurrences with a series of rules to keep the peace and protect the community. This film is not for the faint of heart, as its stark malevolence and propensity for child endangerment never form a callous in the mind.

6. Revenge (2017)

The brilliance of Coralie Fargeat’s Revenge is in its ability to consistently take the more compelling path, both narratively and visually, weaving through the obstacles of horror’s thorniest subgenre (the rape-revenge thriller) with a powerful ease. A film this forward does not move with grace but with the bombast and assuredness of a filmmaker driven by their convictions and choices. 


Fargeat’s debut feature is defined by its extreme closeups of body parts, focusing our eye on the human body consistently, from the lurid to the violent extremity. With a potent sound design and score combination heightening both these closeups and spanning, otherworldly vistas of this Moroccan desert, Revenge is as good as it gets in this oft-misguided genre, with as tense a final 30 minutes as you’ll find on the service.

5. Speak No Evil (2022) (U.S. Exclusive)

The feeling of a knife slowly being twisted over and over and over again put to film. Speak no Evil is a profoundly upsetting film about our inability to speak up for the everyday evils we may face, centring on a Danish family that makes quick friends with a Dutch couple on vacation and takes them up on an offer to stay with them for a weekend at their remote home. A shockingly bizarre invitation to some, more normal for others, that devolves as these friendly strangers reveal themselves in time. Filmmaker Christian Tafdrup feels content sitting with the audience in a pure form of discomfort that veers slowly into dread that has rarely been captured so well on screen.

There is a hilarious moment halfway through the film where it appears the family will return home without harm and only a mild unease about their new friends, only for the husband Bjørn (Morten Burian) to turn the car around over the slightest thing. Tafdrup never sells this as a moment of triumph you’d find at the end of a horror film, knowing full well that the dread and banal claustrophobia that has been cultivated from the opening images is about to take a turn for the worse. Tafdrup’s complete control of the situation revels in the story he’s created, with the fearful exhilaration of being lowered into a seemingly endless well by someone with a tight grip on the rope.

4. Skinamarink (2022)

Wrote about the film back on the site in February, Skinamarink was a flash in the pan in terms of internet notoriety (that expanded into multiple sold-out sessions at indie theatres), but the style and lingering impact this film has on your subconscious is remarkable.

The effectiveness of the film’s horror is its depiction of a universal childhood fear shown from an actual child’s perspective. Filmmaker Kyle Edward Ball is tapping into primordial fears that dwell within all of us, using the constraints of his very modest budget to heighten the atmosphere of dread across its extended run time. The film is certainly too long for its narrow scope coming in at 100 minutes, but when Skinamarink is working, it is one of the most effective horror experiences in years.

Its central set piece, which involves Kaylee (Dali Rose Tetreault) going upstairs into her parent’s room, is one of the most haunting film sequences in years. After 40 minutes of atmospheric buildup, completely unsure of where we are being led, you will be wishing to return to watching cartoons downstairs and staring at Legos. The extended long take in this scene ratchets up the tension to a boiling point, with your palms a sweating mess in a sequence that seemingly goes for eternity. This is no doubt the peak of the film, with only smaller moments in the proceeding hour that match its tension and atmosphere. Structurally, Skinamarink could’ve taken some notes from its predecessors Paranormal Activity and Blair Witch Project (1999), by peaking in its final moments, but the atmosphere is definitely more of the Ball’s focus than the bigger scares the film has. Unfortunately, this makes the film drag in its second half, even for a great lover of durational cinema as I am.

3. One Cut of the Dead (2017)

An ingenious adrenaline shot in the arm of the zombie horror genre desperately at the tail end of the 2010s, Shin’ichirô Ueda’s One Cut of the Dead may never terrify you, but it will have you in hysterics on the floor. With a unique format with its 40-minute intentionally sloppy long take to begin the film, unfolding into a hysterical love letter to independent filmmaking that is as sharp in its cinema satire as The Player (1992).

2. Flux Gourmet (2022)

The world of sonic caterers, a fascinating and beguiling location for the new film by the great filmmaker Peter Strickland, is full of deeply flawed but fascinating characters that potently satirise modern art collectives, musicians, and gastronomical cuisine inside of a wildly satisfying feature. With terrific performances from Gwendoline Christie (and her wardrobe), Asa Butterfield, and Fatma Mohamed, Flux Gourmet will floor you with its audacity and style that is merely the coating to a terrifically detailed and well-drawn world you’ll never question the validity of.

Viewing this world predominantly through the eyes of Stones (Makis Papadimitriou), a Greek hack writer just trying to make a living whilst wholly focusing his writing on his flatulence issues is a hilarious throughline that arrives at a chaotic conclusion you cannot predict. Strickland forces you to remain present within his films through the sheer force of unpredictability that is a defining feature of all great thrillers and horrors.

The wonderful combination of evocative culinary insert shots, mixed in with copious levels of guitar and synth pedals used by the performers (a flanger is a key plot point), realises Strickland’s uniquely bizarre world from the inside out. We are grounded in a story so fully realised, the comedy cannot help but ooze out of every orifice. This film was designed in a gastronomy lab to cater to my tastes and interests, but Strickland’s pure style and chops mean Flux Gourmet caters to all diets.

1. Saloum (2021)

A wonderfully wild and propulsive genre mashup of supernatural horror, revenge western, and mercenary action cinema, Saloum tops this list through its confident filmmaking by Jean Luc Herbulot and a trio of powerful performances, headed by Yann Gael who in a just world would be a certain star.

In a nimble 84 minutes, we track the journey of a trio of mercenaries escaping a coup in Guinea-Bissau, making a forced landing in a small community on the Saloum river in Senegal. Herbulot is able to shift style every scene while maintaining a guile and confidence that the destination will be worth the wildly entertaining journey. You will be begging for this tight indie feature to be expanded into a multi film series through the power and style of Herbulot’s craft and world-building, layered on a truly stellar cast that’ll you’ll never want to leave. This is the must watch original film on Shudder right now.

The Creator is Missing Some Parts

The Creator is Missing Some Parts

Darcy Read

Rating: 3 out of 5.

Due to the frenetic nature of modern streaming churn based on shareholder growth over humane work practices or audience desire, the Star Wars industrial complex has pivoted to television in recent years. These shows have the blown-out budgets for blockbuster sci-fi epics, but are piped into our TVs and laptops. Some of these shows are great (Tony Gilroy’s Andor), and some aren’t (Obi-Wan Kenobi), but as a whole, this pivot has created a dearth of real blockbuster sci-fi with a sense of originality and modernity.

Enter The Creator (2023), the latest from visual stylist Gareth Edwards of Rogue One (2016) and Godzilla (2014) fame. In an alt-history world where robotic development arrived much earlier and Asia is seemingly conquered by Japan (the film is not equipped to deal with the meaning of his choice) and renamed New Asia, the US, seemingly under martial law, has declared war on AI who have allegedly detonated a nuclear weapon on LA (another choice we are not left given time to process). Joshua (John David Washington), an ex-special forces soldier, still mourning the death of his pregnant wife Maya (Gemma Chan in the most thankless role of the year), is brought onto a mission in New Asia to extract what they believe to be a new AI weapon.

Quickly we discover the weapon is actually an adorable child whom Joshua names Alphie (the standout newcomer Madeleine Yuna Voyles), turning The Creator into a showreel of Star Wars (1977) tropes that begin with a lone wolf and cub story, and concluding with the inevitable explode-death-ship-equals-victory mission. From the outset, the film is at war with itself, with its cheesy 90s sci-fi plot machinations and tropes on AI, robots, and human connection in a sci-fi world, styled as a contemplative Denis Villeneuve sci-fi. Edwards compels you into this visually entrancing film with real locations, considered visual effects, and evocative lighting that is truly stunning.

John David Washington and Madeleine Yuna Voyles in The Creator

The extraordinary production and visual design keep you invested in a film that’s narrative constantly draws groans from the audience. With a fifth of the budget of Star Wars Episode 9: Rise of Skywalker (2019) ($80m vs $416m), it is incredible what Edwards and his all star team have created visually. To contend with the wash of franchise blockbusters, Edwards has returned to the big screen with real weight behind him, including Hans Zimmer, cinematographer Greig Fraser, and editors Hank Corwin and Joe Walker, to elevate this familiar story to greater heights than this script deserves.

With Zimmer behind the wheel of a modern sci-fi, one would expect to be awestruck at the master composer’s work, but in The Creator, the great German is on autopilot. With some truly bizarre needle drops including Radiohead’s Everything in its Right Place, the audience is constantly pulled between the furiously disjointed world that is created in the theatre. Edwards has an enormous mountain to climb with this hacky script, with each decision taking away instead of building upon the last.

The film is loaded with arresting images and beautifully unique production designs, like the Nomad ship and South East Asia setting, but it’s all in service to a script that is a collection of sloppy plot machinations and simple tropes rather than genuine insight or human emotion. There is a pregnant wife to be sacrificed as character motivation. There is a surrogate child given to a character that lost a child to learn fatherhood. There are moustache-twirling, blonde military villains that were seemingly given a tape of Stephen Lang in Avatar (2009) to emulate. None of these moments are knowingly familiar or aware that fall into place by a steady hand, instead arriving to us as a manic bingo card of staid sci-fi plots that consistently underwhelm and frustrate.

Madeleine Yuna Voyles in The Creator

Events, even the visually stunning ones, occur as cheap building blocks designed to arrive in its most obvious destination. There is no room for exploration and character moments in this beautifully realised sci-fi world, like a child given every toy in a store only to spend an afternoon throwing a rock at a wall. These critiques on story and film structure pale in comparison to the wild othering and orientalism that occurs throughout this story that can seemingly be put down to a team of white writers not considering their choices and subject matter, a trend that becomes clear the further down the rabbit hole of the film you go. It is lovely to see the real world locations of Cambodia and Vietnam used in a large-scale studio sci-fi, but at what cost?

Concluding with a mandatory ‘defeat the enemy by blowing up their Death Star’ plot removes any hope for a satisfying and unique story that earns its dazzling imagery and sound design. The Creator flashes of brilliance are crashing waves, thrashing you against the sea, but once those waves subside, you realise you can easily stand in the shallow depths of the water.

The Creator is in theatres now.

MIFF ’23: Darcy’s Notebook Pt.2

MIFF ’23: Darcy’s Notebook Pt.2

Darcy Read

With another wonderful festival in the books, MIFF 2023 was a surprising mix of emerging artists from home and abroad spotlighting the program that gave the year a distinct flavour. Here, our writer Darcy has dropped part one of his notebook full of notes and thoughts on the many films he was able to catch at the festival, all of which should hopefully be brought to larger audiences throughout the rest of the year.

Sleep (Jason Yu) 2022:

A wonderfully charming but uneven riff on Rosemary’s Baby (1968) dances between comedy and genuine tension throughout, Sleep (2023) will keep the audience teetering on the edge of uncertainty until its delicious final image.

With an entrancing combination of performances by Lee Sun-kyun and Jung Yu-mi as a young couple about to welcome their first child, the stage is set for a tension-filled domestic horror, one that filmmaker Jason Yu is adept in weaving despite it being his first feature. Sleep, however, is more brash and darkly comic in nature, with a tone that will certainly reward the film with a certain cinephilic cult status. 


While structurally inventive that should always stay a few steps ahead of even the most adept horror fans, Sleep’s third-act decisions lessen the forceful impact that was delighting and engaging its audience in the delicious tension Yu builds in exciting and unexpected ways. The enjoyment of the film stems from the deft dance between genre formalism and charming diversions, so further exploring these third-act choices will lessen the adventure as a whole.

I’m being deliberately coy about these aspects of the film as Yu has earned the surprise of these revelations on future audiences. This is a proud and confident debut that is sure to elevate Yu as an emerging voice in Korean genre cinema, one that is sure to expand on and improve on his deft filmmaking skills.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.
The Breaking Ice (Anthony Chen) 2023:

A collection of transitory young people in moments of quiet stagnation that could soon harden into a crisis, Anthony Chen’s first of two films at the festival, the familiar but evocative drama The Breaking Ice (2023), illustrates the filmmaker’s deft hand in crafting relatable and defined characters you can’t help but see yourself in.

The film is an exploration of life’s transitional nature, depicted through the constant theme of ice. Ice is a fascinating property to base a film around, something that is constantly thawing and refreezing, altering its shape when in contact with warmth, only to regain its solidity through its frigid surroundings in a new shape, forever changed by this transition.

Situated in a frozen Chinese town of Yanji on the North Korean border, a town that literally exports and profits from the ice around them, we meet Haofeng (Liu Haoran), a depressed Shanghai financier alone at a destination wedding of a distant college friend. Through happenstance, he wills himself onto —’s () tour bus, a relatively new local who is also in a moment of stagnation and personal crisis. They quickly form a trio with — (), an older local kitchen hand who feels stuck in this small town.

The film brings to mind a more modern and sombre Bande à part (1964) with its young trio traversing a town and experiencing a shifting world. A romantic film depicted with true honesty, Chen has a deep love for these three transitory characters who arrive and depart in different and life-affirming ways. This intense connection between the trio doesn’t change the matter of their being, but they were thawed out enough to emerge in a new shape. These are still the characters who question the value of their life and the purpose moving forward that we are greeted by but are more assured in their sense of self and their place in the world that is deeply moving.

Rating: 4 out of 5.
La Chimera (Alice Rohrwacher) 2023:

There is no one like Alice Rohrwacher working today, with the Happy as Lazaro (2018) filmmaker consistently producing wry, comic, and deeply felt films that harken back to a stranger and often more interesting period in arthouse cinema. With her new feature, La Chimera (2023), Rohrwacher uses her breezy charm to glance into the world of Italian generational class and history through the lens of an instantly iconic band of lost boys, led by Josh O’Connor in a true star-making performance as the ivory suit wearing tortured archaeologist-slash-graverobber Arthur. 

The separation between grave-robbing and archeological profiteering is placed at the centre of this brilliant surrealist tragicomedy, asking us to constantly look downwards and question the rights and possessions of the deceased, especially the impoverished deceased. There is weight to these themes and Rohrwacher’s often allows her characters to linger in their moral ambiguity, but through her virtuosic camera work and editing, La Chimera is full of vitality.

Rohrwacher’s camera is alive with cinematic ideas both profound and charming, exuding both personal character moments as well as a wider filmmaking language that can beguile a full theatre in its motions. She is able to land big ideas in her films through her focus on both cinematic and mythic storytelling styles that are rarely so well blended. Few films look and sound like La Chimera, as Rohrwacher is both patient in showing you her style, and confident enough in the story being told that the audience will be put under its spell.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.
Drift (Anthony Chen) 2023:

Anthony Chen’s second feature at the festival, Drift centres on a young woman Jacqueline (a captivating Cynthia Erivo) who finds herself houseless on a Greek island, both running from her past and avoiding her future. In a mostly wordless first act, Erivo moves through the town, just managing to survive as she sleeps amongst the crashing waves and rock pools on the coast.


Drift operates across three timelines, showing us her life in London with her girlfriend Helen (a surprising Honor Swinton Bryne appearance), and her trip back to her family in Liberia that precedes her arrival in Greece. Much like Jacqueline, we drift through these moments with little to latch ourselves into. Where The Breaking Ice succeeds is in informing its audience about the characters enough to engage and propel the narrative forward. Here, however, the withholding nature of the storytelling becomes the combustion engine of the film instead of the central characters. This structure works perfectly in thrillers and horror, but in a more contemplative character drama, the results are too slim to be wholly engaging.

Rating: 3 out of 5.
Ama Gloria (Marie Amachoukeli-Barsacq) 2023:

Featuring one of the best child performances in years, Marie Amachoukeli-Barsacq’s Ama Gloria (2023) follows 6-year-old Cléo, (a charming and captivating Louise Mauroy-Panzani) who spends her summer with her au pair Gloria (Ilça Moreno Zego), who has returned home to Cape Verde to care for her own children after the death of her mother. This tight-focus drama of a young person sharing a final core memory with someone they love is emotionally potent in its simplicity. For two characters that have endured recent untimely loss, there is a genuine warmth in showing this elongated goodbye to a loved one that washes over you like the summer afternoon sun.


The visual highlight of the film is in the gorgeous animated painting sequences that dot the short runtime of Ama Gloria, diving into not just Cleo’s mind, but of Gloria’a, riding an ocean of tears back home. The second painted sequence transforms into a roaring volcano, enacting Cleo’s rage at the sudden departure of her surrogate mother. Both sequences are transitioned with gorgeous sonic match cuts, blending seamlessly into the ether of the 4:3 film stock showing the control and respect Amachoukeli-Barsacq has for her characters and the relationship we have invested in over the efficient runtime of just 83 minutes.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.
Earth Mama (Savanah Leaf) 2023:

A debut of honest warmth, Savanah Leaf’s Earth Mama (2023) is designed to stay with you the next time you pass a stranger on the street. With its captivating 16mm cinematography of Oakland by Jody Lee Lipes and provocative central performance by Tia Nomore as Gia, a pregnant single mother of two trying to get by while battling the US foster care to regain custody of her children, Earth Mama strips away feelings of judgement until only a depth of empathy is left.

Instead of constructing a film with a tight, domineeringly singular perspective of Gia, Leaf opts to move supportingly alongside her. In the opening moments of the film, a pregnant mother tells us matter-of-factly, “You can’t walk in my shoes, feel my experience, but you can walk alongside me, holding my hand.” 

The heartbreak and emotionality of Earth Mama stem from Leaf’s tender honesty she exudes in telling Gia’s story. We want the best for her and her family, so when she hits her lowest point, we feel that moment, not as if it were ourselves, but as a dear friend.

The film shines in its unexpected relationships as Gia searches for solid ground inside a world that feels designed to destabilise. On first meeting with the prospective family in a diner, Gia has a beautiful moment with the family’s teenage daughter Amber (Kami Jones), who she immediately strikes a connection with. Earth Mama has quickly demonstrated Leaf’s deft hand as a writer and filmmaker who will only improve as new opportunities arise.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.
MIFF ’23: Darcy’s Notebook Pt.1

MIFF ’23: Darcy’s Notebook Pt.1

Darcy Read

With another wonderful festival in the books, MIFF 2023 was a surprising mix of emerging artists from home and abroad spotlighting the program that gave the year a distinct flavour. Here, our writer Darcy has dropped part one of his notebook full of notes and thoughts on the many films he was able to catch at the festival, all of which should hopefully be brought to larger audiences throughout the rest of the year.

Blue Jean (Georgia Oakley) 2022:

It would be a diminishment to label Blue Jean (2022) a period film as the theatrical experience felt closer to a retrospective of a lost 80s gem than an indie debut from 2023. The debut feature from Georgia Oakley set the stage for a wonderful festival of emerging artists, centring on a young queer gym teacher Jeanie (a transfixing Rosy McEwan), trying to balance her life amongst the authoritarian and anti-LGBT+ Thatcher government in late 1980s Newcastle. The film is intricate in its layering of Jeanie’s clashing worlds as she aims to compartmentalise her sexuality from her work and family, loading even the simplest gestures and moments with palpable anxiety.

Oakley positions the story in an interesting state of generational limbo, with Jeanie’s behaviour clearly ingrained by the regressive world she grew up in and remains. She must navigate being an authority figure to a group of teenage girls that feel destined to progress past her. It’s almost cliche for films centred on teachers to develop into a story of the kids being the real teachers, but Blue Jean is able to maturely navigate these waters with confidence and purpose, developed through an immense level of authenticity.

And this achievement in period authenticity by Oakley and the whole crew cannot be understated. Oakley, alongside cinematographer Victor Seguin and production designer Soraya Gilanni Viljoen, work well beyond their means to create an incredibly lived-in 80s period drama that grounds the worlds of the characters. All three will be ones to watch in the following years.

Rating: 4 out of 5.
Disco Boy (Giacomo Abbruzzese) 2023:

Disco Boy (2023) is a fascinating but slight debut from Giacomo Abbruzzese about a pair of interconnected but opposed soldiers, Aleksei (Franz Rogowski) and Jomo (Morr Ndiaye), which aims for Denis but lands closer to Winding Refn. A fascinating moral portrait of who fights our wars and for what purpose, Abbruzzese weaves compelling visual choices, including a heat-vision sensory explosion of violence in the Niger Delta, into this more atmospheric than deeply felt character work, bouncing between engaging and alienating in equal measure.

More a collection of fragmented visual ideas about self-identity, cultural identity through conflict, and purpose, than a developed story, Disco Boy ultimately disengages and limits one’s investment in the story of Alex and Jomo, especially as it enters its final act.

These are weighty themes for a debut feature, one that often falls into flat abstraction instead of provocative imagery that in more seasoned hands, would envelop an audience more fully.

Rating: 3 out of 5.
Showing Up (Kelly Reichardt) 2022:

Even a minor feeling Reichardt is still an event, packed with nuggets of wisdom and exploration into the delicate, tiny worlds of its characters. With her muse Michelle Williams, Reichardt centres the world of a tight artist community in her standard milieu of Portland. Williams inhabits Lizzy, a ceramics artist trying to get by while she works on her new independent show. Her friend-slash-landlord Jo (the terrific Hong Chau) keeps putting off fixing her hot water on top of a myriad of other minor obstacles involving an injured pigeon, her office work at the artist’s community keeps overtaking her time, leaving little time for Lizzy’s passion for her art as her patience gets stretched to a breaking point. But there is no true outburst of crescendo to Lizzy’s frustrations, that is never how Reichardt operates.  

The master of American neorealism, the lives and conflicts of Showing Up (2022) involve the anxiety of unexpected moments soaking up time. The beautiful counterpoint to these moments however, is in the simple giving of one’s time, whether through a simple walk home, alleviating a colleague’s work, or coming to a friend’s art show, is as powerful a show of love one can demonstrate in this life. In a time of feverish multitasking and anxiety-inducing attention economy, Reichardt instead centres her film around just showing up (which is why this is easily the film title of the year).

There is an intense focus on the physical work of creativity rarely shown on film, giving the sensation of a mid-afternoon stroll through a tiny gallery, seeking to understand an artist through their work. There is genuine comedy rarely felt in Reichardt’s films here that is never snarky or mocking. She has a real care and love for this world and the people within it that emanates through Showing Up, allowing its humour to bubble to the surface in surprising moments.

When she is at her best, Reichardt’s screenplays never show the seams of a Robert McKee-approved story structure, with character arcs never becoming clear until their peaks are unveiled through the clouds. This allows her work to thrive and engage an audience consistently, developing one of the most consistent filmographies in 21st-century American auteurs. We should not take these films for granted.

Rating: 4 out of 5.
Shayda (Noora Niasari) 2023:

A gorgeous debut from a real bright light in Australian cinema, Noora Niasari’s deeply personal portrait of her mother, portrayed in the film by the stunning Zar Amir Ebrahimi, brings to mind many great films before it, including MIFF 2022 highlight Aftersun, but is able to confidently stand on its own. 

Following a young mother, Shayda, and her six-year-old (Selina Zahednia) daughter Mona, escaping an abusive father to a women’s shelter, Niasari has a clear-eyed but empathetic view of a story so close to her that emanates through the screen. Shayda’s (2023) sense of place and community is tight and focused while still allowing a beautiful freedom for the performers. 

Niasari has a graceful way of weaving inner character life into scenes that in lesser hands would be doled out as blunt exposition. By giving the audience just enough story to understand the situation, we are rewarded with an expanded glance into the world of these characters and their relationships as they navigate the difficult situation they have been placed in. This year’s festival has been a wonder of debut features and emerging voices, with Shayda a real spotlight on the new and creative minds coming out of Australian cinema. It was heartwarming to see the festival wrap their arms around her and this impressive film.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.
Past Lives (Celine Song) 2023:

I wrote about my favourite film of the year in my Sydney notebook here, but I just had to come back to see it with a packed MIFF crowd. It’s just as gorgeous the second time around. An absolute miracle in filmmaking, Celine Song is able to toe the line between the grandiosity of life and destiny and the minutiae of a relationship across many years with the ease of a veteran screenwriter and filmmaker. 

In Celine Song’s extraordinary debut Past Lives (2023), time is the central tenet. During the post-screening Q&A, Song said she wanted the film to have the lived-in feeling that “12 years could pass in an instant, but a two-minute wait for an Uber could be an eternity.” What stood out on rewatch at the festival is the underrated challenge of editing this film, particularly in its shifting perspectives at the placement of its time shifts. We are never rushed into these leaps, nor are we led slowly into them, but Song and editor Keith Fraase (who came up working with Terrence Malick) are able to achieve a breathtaking sensation of each stage in Nora (Greta Lee) and Hae Sung’s (Teo Yoo) relationship feeling cut short. 

MIFF is the perfect place to be exposed to the emerging talents of filmmakers and actors that will define the next generation, with Song joining Aftersun’s Charlotte Wells at the top of that list. This is the year’s best film to date with an instantly iconic ending that holds a packed theatre’s heart in its hands.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.
Anatomy of a Fall (Justine Triet) 2023:

Beginning with an abrasive soundtrack of 50 Cent’s P.I.M.P (not a joke), Justine Triet’s Palme d’Or-winning film Anatomy of a Fall (2023) is seeking to destabilise its audience. With a winding courtroom structure and almost comical documentary film style, we are shown an increasingly engaging excavation in truth and what it means to us.

The film is a fascinating investigation of marriage and family through the lens of a tense courtroom drama that lures you deeper and deeper into its world with a powerful pair of performances by Sandra Hüller and Milo Machado Graner as mother and son Sandra and Daniel. Sandra Voyter, a novelist, stands trial for the murder of her husband Samuel (Samuel Theis), who “fell” from the second floor of their reclusive vacation home in the Alps.

Over the extended 150-minute runtime, Triet explores the legal system, guilt, and a family living with trauma inside a distinct Cinéma vérité comic realism. Anatomy of a Fall is a film that teaches you how to watch it, forcing an audience to give themselves over to its style and storytelling. This may be too big an ask for some films, but through Hüller’s all-encompassing guile as the compelling figure of Sandra, alongside Graner’s stellar work as her son Daniel, the beating heart of the film, it achieves something special as the story reaches its tipping point.

Rating: 4 out of 5.