Colman Domingo in "Sing Sing" Since the inception of Rehabilitation Through the Arts (RTA), a theater program that helps prisoners expand their capabilities through creative workshops, the percentage of prisoners re-incarcerated in the U.S. prison system has fallen. Over the course of 25 years, less than 3% of people returned to prison, compared to the 60% national rate. Incarcerated people are given life-changing opportunities to explore their creativity and nourish their vulnerability through the arts. This message of restoration reverberates in each and every frame of “Sing Sing,” a remarkable true story directed and co-written by Greg Kwedar. Based on a real RTA program at Sing Sing Correctional Facility in New York, the docudrama vocalizes an abundance of talent to be found within prison walls. It’s an uplifting experience bursting with heart and soul. It speaks to how theater can heal, and how the power of a safe space can stitch communities together for life. Starring Colman Domingo, Paul Raci, and an ensemble of formerly incarcerated people as well as RTA alumni, “Sing Sing” shines as one of the must-see films of the year.
Behind the walls of Sing Sing Correctional Facility, a group of prisoners sit around a circle deciding on a new play to perform. Their production of Shakespeare’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” had gone well, and theater director Brent (Paul Raci) motivates everyone to think of a new story to work with. The group usually looks to mentor and actor Divine G (Colman Domingo) for ideas, and he has one ready to go – a story of overzealous ambition that follows a record player who gets cheated out of his record store. Everyone seems onboard, until the group’s new member Divine Eye (Clarence Maclin) suggests they shake things up and do a comedy. The notion sets Divine G into slight hesitancy. “Dying is easy…comedy is hard,” he poses. But Brent welcomes the change of tone, and soon the entire group brainstorms an eclectic mishmash of ideas – from sprinkles of time travel and Ancient Egypt, to a Hamlet soliloquy and a very amusing Freddy Krueger appearance. Brent cobbles the ideas together into a script called “Breakin’ The Mummy’s Code,” which becomes the troupe’s new production. Inspired by John H. Richardson’s 2005 Esquire article “The Sing Sing Follies,” about a time-traveling comedy (Brent Buell’s “Breakin’ The Mummy’s Code”) that a real group of prisoners performed, the film recounts the play from its inception to opening night. Greg Kwedar’s direction takes a fly-on-the-wall approach to the theater troupe. He immerses the viewer into their environment, giving a front row seat to the inner workings of their energetic stage production. By focusing on what the acting process looks like for the troupe, Kwedar shines a light on how their personal characteristics help inform their sense of playfulness and artistic expression. The viewer gets to know each actor in their creative element and watch them adapt on the fly. The film’s screenplay – co-written by Kwedar, Brent Buell, and Clint Bentley – is structured in a neat way that shows the benefits of the RTA program in action, and lets raw talent soar to exciting places. Between “Rustin,” “The Color Purple,” “Drive-Away Dolls,” and now “Sing Sing,” Colman Domingo is about to have an incredible year in film. The actor’s astounding performance in “Sing Sing” is the finest of his career thus far. Playing Divine G, mentor and organizer of the prison’s theater program, Domingo charts an emotional journey of artistic expression while navigating the realities of the U.S. prison system. As he engages in creative group exercises and aids in putting the production together, he also prepares for his own clemency hearing. The character of Divine G shines further light on how broken and despairing the system is. While pouring his all into theater, preserving the restorative and transformative qualities of the program, the reality of his own experiences sinks in: that in the face of humanity and dignity, lies the inescapability of injustice and stereotype. Domingo’s charming screen presence and insightful character work bring compelling truth to the screen. Among the wonderful cast is Paul Raci, whose fantastic performance in 2020’s “Sound of Metal” has thankfully led to more opportunities such as this one. Raci’s character is based on Brent Bruell, the real theater programming director whose work at Sing Sing has transformed lives. Bringing humanity into a system that is built to destroy it, Raci embodies the character’s intention and spirit. His performance feels so emotionally present, immersed in his surroundings as he shares genuine reactions with the prisoners. The ensemble cast of “Sing Sing” is nearly full of real people playing a version of themselves, from formerly incarcerated actors to various alumni of the RTA program. Their open-hearted performances are an absolute joy to watch. Just seeing them interact, whether during a performance or while expressing a personal moment, gives a candid first-look at how impactful the theater workshop is. It’s incredibly moving to watch the program’s restorative power, plus the creation of a safe space where compassion is shared, people can be vulnerable, and true friendships can form. One of the most resonating dynamics of the film is the bond that deepens between Domingo and Maclin. Their characters initially don’t see eye to eye on a creative level. Divine G has a preference of what material to explore, and Divine Eye’s push for the troupe to do a comedic play presents a challenge. As well, Divine G loses out on the part he wanted to play when Divine Eye goes for Hamlet, ironically the most dramatic role of the entire production. The two characters have a bit of tension, which the film explores in the most organic of ways that simply lets it play out. Through the act of performing together, and in learning about each other’s prison sentences, their deepened bond builds toward a heartfelt final moment. In addition to the cast, the crew of “Sing Sing” reinforce the film’s dynamic energy from a technical standpoint. Pat Scola’s cinematography finds the warmth in moments of reflection and creativity. The detailed production design by Ruta Kiskyte adds to the film’s stage play environment. The editing by Parker Laramie, despite a bit of meandering during the final act, maintains a concise level of pacing overall. As well, the film features a beautiful score composed by Bryce Dessner (of The National). On more than one occasion, Paul Raci’s character Brent goes around the troupe circle and asks everyone to close their eyes. During one instance, he asks the actors to remember a moment that made them happy and let that memory wash over them. In another, he prompts them to think about an old friend and imagine what that person might look like now. The actors’ responses on both occasions, particularly when it comes to happy memories, are key parts of what makes this film so special. The tenderness of “Sing Sing” derives from so many beautiful places, most of all its wonderful ensemble, to which the film sings its tune. From their personalities and idiosyncrasies, inner conflicts and harsh realities, to their hopes and dreams, they define the story. Told with incredible energy and vulnerability, “Sing Sing” is an emotional piece of cinema that challenges a broken system and finds a safe space through the transformative power of art.
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Kate Winslet in "Lee" The story of Lee Miller is deeply fascinating on paper. From avant-garde muse and fashion model, to war photographer and photojournalist, Miller explored the realms of several worlds in one shot. She went from being the subject of images, to the person behind the lens controlling the perspective. Among her many accomplishments, Miller is responsible for some of the most haunting and piercing images taken from the aftermath of World War II. Miller’s time spent on the frontlines of war, as well as her fight to publish the images she took of the atrocities that happened, are just a snapshot of a trailblazing legacy. To put this role into the hands of Kate Winslet, who plays Miller in Ellen Kuras’s feature narrative directorial debut “Lee,” seems a no-brainer choice. Winslet serves as a producer on the film, her passion project following years of meticulous research and immersion into the subject. Why Lee Miller? The character, entrenched in rich personal and historical material, is an exciting canvas for Winslet to explore. Though while she paints a compelling picture herself, the film leaves more of a blank page behind, leaning too prosaic to fully convey how fascinating a subject Lee Miller is. “Lee” is beholden to Winslet’s emotionally present performance; she brings an energy that the film at times struggles to catch up with.
Given the vastness of Miller’s life, it makes sense to focus only on certain periods in a narrative, which “Lee” technically does: frolicking artists in France, London domesticity, and war across Europe. The film begins in the 1970s with an older version of Lee (Winslet) talking to a young journalist Antony (Josh O’Connor) about her life, as they go through a series of photographs in a living room. Winslet narrates the film through time-spanning flashbacks, powerful imagery, and haunting secrets. The story consistently returns to her and O’Connor’s discussion, which reflects on the emotional impact Miller’s photographic work had, not only on her surroundings and the world at large, but on herself. How does she view her past? What personal memory does each image unlock? Director Ellen Kuras explores “Lee” in and around this line of questioning. Nearly everything that the viewer sees is directly through Lee Miller’s lens, with Winslet present in each and every frame. “Lee” tackles the subject’s life from within prominent decades. The first act explores 1930s South of France, where Lee mingles with artistic friends including fashion editor Solange D’Ayen (Marion Cotillard) and artist Nusch Eluard (Noémie Merlant). Lee’s soon-to-be lover, surrealist artist Roland Penrose (Alexander Skarsgård) strolls up to the sun-kissed party, and the two exchange a dynamic conversation, taking turns psychoanalyzing each other. Moments later comes the early blossoming of a romance, and the rest is history. Towards the film’s middle act, Lee moves to London with Roland and becomes his muse. While he paints absurdist works, she finds employment with magazine editor Audrey Withers (Andrea Riseborough) at British Vogue. During her time at the magazine, Lee gets photojournalist accreditation with the American army and joins the front lines of World War II. At this point in the story, she teams up with LIFE magazine photographer David E. Scherman (Andy Samberg) to document the liberation of Paris, the aftermath of Nazi Germany, and the horrors of the concentration camps. All the while, Lee reckons with a painful secret from her past that unravels in the film’s strong final act. Winslet coming to terms with a harrowing experience she had long buried is an astonishing piece of acting. Though the quality of such material is something she doesn’t receive enough of in the film. The screenplay (co-penned by Liz Hannah, Marion Hume, and John Collee) explores Lee’s perspective as a paradoxical figure. On the one hand, she is determined to expose hard-hitting truths. Her voice throughout the film speaks to the urgency of her work and the impact that historical events have on her career (leading to the shift from Miller as a Vogue model to a war correspondent). The realities she witnesses demand to be seen and shared. On the other hand, Lee Miller the person is more of a closed book to some. While she fights to keep photographic memories alive and wants her work to be shared with the world (echoed by Winslet in an impassioned speech to Riseborough), these contributions are kept secret from Lee’s family. The writing explores an interesting dichotomy between which truths to tell, and which to hide. What gives the film intrigue is its questioning of what people ought to (or are ready to) see through Miller’s perspective. Whether it’s the readers of a fashion magazine, those closest to her personal life, or how the subjects of images are portrayed. In a scene between Lee and the journalist Antony, she questions whether he finds it wrong that she posed for a photograph in the bathtub of Hitler’s abandoned Munich apartment. Lee’s question, and the sense of resilience in her demeanor, is a resonating reminder of just how much power an image can hold, decades after being taken. Her determination to capture moments because she feels the significance of them being seen is a sentiment just as prevalent today as it was forty years ago. The screenplay has potential to further explore rich material such as this, however, often goes about telling the story in a surprisingly monotonous way that feels too reserved for its fearless subject. Where the writing lacks in fervor, Kate Winslet makes up for in spades. “Lee” is a wonderful acting showcase for her to live and breathe the character of Lee Miller. Her performance is a fascinating portrait of a no-nonsense spirit who carries the emotional aftermath of repressed pain. She immediately establishes a connection to the audience and gets to the emotional core of Miller. Her exploration of the character’s psyche and fight to tell the truth builds towards a heart-wrenching moment in the final act. In light of her war images not being published in Vogue, she begins to wrestle with a personal truth that comes out. It’s the sort of moment that jolts you to reflect on just how extraordinary an actor she is, which is not a surprise of course, but nevertheless marks exciting new territory in her range. “Lee” is a multi-faceted role that Winslet tackles with remarkable detail and a commanding presence. If only she were given more opportunities within the film to showcase a deeper characterization, as the third act provides. The talented supporting cast of “Lee” is not given much material to work with, beyond moving the plot along. A chameleonic Riseborough stands out as Withers and shares in one of the most heartbreaking scenes of the film. As does Andy Samberg, whose initially aloof presence settles into a subtle and introspective performance. His character Scherman, hyper-aware of his surroundings, eventually reaches an emotional breaking point when he and Lee start visiting the concentration camps and the abandoned Munich apartment. The haunting visitation sequences in the final act are among the film’s most visceral and emotionally charged moments. Kuras shows atrocities through Lee’s photographs, as well as in the reactions on Lee and Scherman’s faces. These sequences highlight the strengths of Kuras’s visual communication with the audience. Alongside the work of cinematographer Pawel Edelman, the decisions on what to show, in addition to when and how, are made carefully. As a photographer and cinematographer herself, Kuras has a unique perspective on visual storytelling. Beautifully exhibited in films such as “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” and “David Byrne’s American Utopia,” her cinematography stands out as a vivid reflection of any given environment. She exhibits a similar quality in her direction, bringing a keen eye to the subjects and settings of “Lee.” From intimate close-ups to faraway snapshots, she puts you in Lee’s mindset and sticks as closely as possible to her perspective. The visual focus also rests not so much on Lee herself, but on the artistry created through her photographs. “Lee” follows from behind the camera to capture the character’s initial reactions to images as she witnesses them in real time. The film’s recreations of Miller’s iconic photographs in particular, and the weight they carry, are an impressive feat. While the visual language of “Lee” shines and is anchored by Winslet’s performance, the film is too often weighed down by an inconsistent screenplay and middling pacing. This is especially noticeable considering just how distinctive and accomplished a voice Lee Miller is, not to mention the breadth of interesting material available to cover. Though above all, one of the most resonating takeaways of the film is the discovery of a relatively unknown figure in history, who worked to break through male-dominated spaces and accomplished incredible journalistic milestones. Winslet and Kuras are on the same page in terms of giving their all to bring an extraordinary life to the big screen. While the film does not entirely reach the fascination of its subject, “Lee” is sure to spark greater interest in exploring the legacy Miller leaves behind, and her powerful images that will live on forever. Alma Pöysti and Jussi Vatanen in "Fallen Leaves" The backdrop of Aki Kaurismäki’s tragic romantic comedy “Fallen Leaves” has the makings of a devastating drama. Set in present day Helsinki, Finland, the film tells the story of a sweet romance clouded by a sense of impending dread. Talk of the war in Ukraine fills radio news broadcasts on a daily basis. The film’s protagonist Ansa (Alma Pöysti) listens on in frustration before switching to a more hopeful station, one where wistful love songs crackle through the static. Ansa’s loneliness is as palpable as the setting; the city is painted as a sleepy and almost deserted place. Characters often find themselves at the local karaoke bar or cinema in search of diversion, as though desperately holding onto bits of joy. Writer and director Kaurismäki adopts the same perspective in his storytelling. Amidst a depressing environment of lost souls looking for companionship, he brings levity through sharp dialogue and an amusingly deadpan tone. Every bit funny as it is sad, “Fallen Leaves” finds glimmers of humor and hope in moments of tragedy.
The story begins at a sad-looking supermarket where Ansa stocks shelves on a zero-hour contract. She is eyed intensely by a security officer, who then reports her to a superior for stealing expired food (which would have gone to waste otherwise). Ansa lives a simple, single life. When she’s not standing up against her company’s egregious food waste during scarce times, she spends her days at home listening to the radio, or at the karaoke bar watching life go by. The local bar becomes the setting of a meet-cute as Ansa comes across Holappa (Jussi Vatanen), a lonely trades worker addicted to alcohol. They immediately gravitate towards each other, united by an underlying desire for togetherness and meaningful human interaction. The time that Ansa and Holappa spend together, initially delayed by him losing her phone number and not knowing her name, stresses not only the loneliness within themselves but also the growing necessity of their presence in each other’s lives. Depressing as the story of “Fallen Leaves” can be, the film is a consistently funny and light watch, thanks to Kaurismäki’s poker-faced sense of humor and the equally deadpan performances that compliment his vision. Ansa and Holappa are conveyed in an incredibly ubiquitous way; while the screenplay is specific to their everyday lives, there is something universal about these two characters and their yearning to feel something beyond the confines of mundanity. This universality captures well-rounded characters who can be everything all at once, amusing one moment and miserable the next. In the hands of Kaurismäki, the inscrutable tone of “Fallen Leaves” still manages to be expressive and not alienating. Pöysti and Vatanen each find their way through the characters’ stifled emotions and, in that journey, unveil a resonating wistfulness to them. From Ansa’s depleted facial expressions to Vatanen’s intense blank stares, powerful emotion radiates from the characters. The actors’ chemistry suggests their characters have a mutual understanding of the other’s qualities, almost like an unspoken language that only they can draw from each other. In addition to the performances, the charm of “Fallen Leaves” rests in Kaurismäki’s witty screenplay. The dialogue is brisk and straightforward. Kaurismäki takes a literal approach to the storytelling, which gives the film a down-to-earth quality, especially when it comes to the central romance. Romantic comedies can often exist in a heightened version of reality, where everything seems a little easier and the world feels a little more magical. This of course is part of the charm. “Fallen Leaves” is a pared down rom-com that finds its unique charm in the simplicity and harshness of life. The romance feels naturalistic, and unfolds truthfully with the characters’ personalities as their quiet relationship deepens. Watching Ansa and especially Holappa tame their interior battles to show up for each other on an emotional and physical level gives the film a special staying power. The film’s strength of establishing character extends to the supporting cast as well, particularly Holappa’s drinking buddy Huotari (played by a wonderfully stoic Janne Hyytiäinen). The actor’s presence alone, not to mention his comically recurring one-liners, is a vivid depiction of forlornness mixed with wry self-deprecation. A neat way in which Ansa and Holappa bond is through their appreciation of cinema. The local movie theater becomes a comforting antidote to their cynical world. One of their date nights is a screening of Jim Jarmusch’s “The Dead Don’t Die,” which they both express a liking to. The impact of Jarmusch’s absurdist film extends beyond the two protagonists. It finds its way into a brief conversation shared between two background characters, chatting amongst themselves about how the film reminded them of Jean-Luc Godard’s work. The scene is a fleeting but memorable moment that speaks to how Kaurismäki infuses cinematic influences in a subtle way, whether through pieces of dialogue or through locations. For instance, the local movie theater is used as the setting where Ansa gives Holappa her phone number, and he loses it mere minutes later. There is something incredibly cinematic about him returning to the scene of the romantic crime in the hopes of running into her again. The film works at its best in such moments of quiet, where the camera sits with the characters as they yearn and wonder. The simplicity of Holappa standing by the theater is reminiscent of classic romances that linger in moments of waiting, which can be just as romantic. It may come as a surprise that “Fallen Leaves,” beyond its poignancy and melodrama, is one of the funniest and most optimistic films of the year. The deadpan humor gives weight to the common saying, “If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry.” Kaurismäki adopts this mentality brilliantly, presenting characters in the most unassuming way possible, and then pushing beyond their individual hurdles to reach moments of levity and idealism. While the screenplay becomes too literal for its own good at times, undercutting some of the film’s plot points particularly in the final act, overall it works as a singular expression of Kaurismäki’s distinctive voice in cinema. Bittersweet and endearing, “Fallen Leaves” satisfies in the way a good rom-com does. Ayo Edebiri and Jeremy Allen White in season two of "The Bear" (2023) When the first season of a returning show captures lightning in a bottle, the question becomes, how will the next chapter live up to its various measures of expectation? Culinary smash hit “The Bear,” created by Christopher Storer, sets the bar high in its first season. A work of fiction feels like a documentary; every ingredient from the impeccable writing to the immersive acting evokes an energy that hooks you in from the start. Jeremy Allen White plays a young chef risen from the ashes, shoved through the world of fine dining, and pulled towards his family’s scrappy Chicago sandwich shop under mournful circumstances. Amidst the kitchen frenzy, however sticky and stressful things get, White’s yearning stares into the distance ground everything into place. This restaurant means something. And because he and the kitchen team have so much stock in the place, every little mishap feels like the entire world is crashing down.
The restaurant’s meaning depends on any given character’s perspective. How do they measure success? Where do they find themselves on the never-ending journey of self-discovery and growth? These are questions that the show smartly continues to explore in its second season, for the bedrock of “The Bear” has always been its characters. From the precise words on the page to the actors who interpret and embody them, their roles are the main ingredient as to why “The Bear” resonates. By building onto them and expanding their personal worlds outside of the kitchen, the writing of season two not only surpasses expectations, but creates a new recipe for success. The boiling, frenetic stress ball of season one is brought to a simmer in season two. Intimate character-driven episodes serve up a mostly soothing departure from clattering pots and pans. That is, until you swim with the Berzatto fishes in episode six… Season two continues the chaos-ridden saga of Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto (White). The environment this time around is more contemplative and slightly less anxiety-inducing. The show picks up where season one leaves off — promising the birth of ‘The Bear’ (Carmy’s nickname), after the closure of ‘The Beef’ which was owned by Carmy’s late brother Mikey (Jon Bernthal). As Carmy and the team clean out shop to create a fine-dining Michelin star-worthy restaurant, they face numerous road blocks along the way, from outdated infrastructure to failed safety inspections. But in the process of starting over, they unearth new layers about themselves. When the pressures of the kitchen are stripped back, so too are the characters inhabiting that space. The writers take them beyond the environment you had been accustomed to seeing them in. Over the course of ten episodes, characters are coming into their own. Their personal experiences, family dynamics, and support systems are explored with a ton of heart, humor, and intensity. From Carmy’s culinary influence on the team, and subtle callbacks evoking the first season, to the ferocious dialogue of a holiday dinner gone sour. Piece by piece, the writers of “The Bear” dig deeper into the characters’ lives while maintaining a recurring theme: it is never too late to have a breakthrough. Every second counts. That has never been more felt than in these standout moments of the season. ***SPOILERS AHEAD FOR “THE BEAR”*** “Pasta” (episode two) Written by Christopher Storer, Joanna Calo, Sofya Levitsky-Weitz Twelve weeks out from ‘The Bear’ opening, Sydney ‘Syd’ (Ayo Edebiri) delivers the news that Tina (Liza Colón-Zayas) and Ebraheim ‘Ebra’ (Edwin Lee Gibson) are being sent to culinary school to sharpen their skills. Tina beams with excitement while Ebra is hesitant. The difference in their reactions — one looking forward to change, the other afraid of it — is a great depiction of the restaurant’s transformative power over the people who help run it. Change and opportunity are spinning by; either you take the leap and fill your sidelines with support, or find yourself behind. Many characters are wrestling between old and new support systems in this episode. During a family dinner between Syd and her father (Robert Townsend), when she shares her excitement about the new restaurant opening and he struggles to take her profession seriously, she reminds him that she is in a different place: one where she is still learning and not alone; she has a partner. Nearing the end of this episode, her partner Carmy and his ex-girlfriend, Claire (Molly Gordon), reconnect at a grocery store. Claire walks into his life when he is on the cusp of newness and in need of positive influence, but he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. By introducing this new character, the writing expands on Carmy’s past and evokes the feeling of him being almost frozen in time. As well, the choice to set their conversation by a freezer is a neat example of the season’s strength in planting moments that come full circle later on (in this case, the season finale). “Sundae” (episode three) Written by Karen Joseph Adcock, Catherine Schetina, Christopher Storer Eleven weeks out from ‘The Bear’ opening, Syd and Carmy work on the new menu. Their attempts to figure out which dishes to serve fall apart. After a little too much of this and not enough of that, Carmy suggests that they both go out and try some stuff. They need to reset their palates and find culinary inspiration. But he ditches the plan after an impromptu phone call from Claire, leaving Syd to embark on a solo culinary tour of Chicago. “Sundae” is one of the finest examples of the writers’ love for these characters, Syd in particular as this episode focuses on her perspective. This is where the show’s new recipe for success really comes into play. The gorgeous montages of Syd exploring different foods is an odyssey of her hunger and attention to detail. Sprinkled in the mix, various chefs give her advice that unwittingly sheds light on her relationship with Carmy. The episode marks a strong example of how the writers find moments to reflect on character dynamics. Lines of advice such as, “Make sure you have a great partner, someone you can trust,” or “Listen to your gut” come at the right time. In building the menu with Carmy, Syd has just as much say on the direction of ‘The Bear’. Whether he also truly believes that is called into question. “Honeydew” (episode four) Written by Stacy Osei-Kuffour, Christopher Storer, Sofya Levitsky-Weitz In the running for season two’s best episode is “Honeydew,” an emotionally intimate half-hour of pastry chef Marcus (Lionel Boyce) challenging himself. Upon a suggestion from Syd, who recognizes the need to empower her fellow chefs, Carmy sends Marcus on a Copenhagen trip to gain exposure and sweeten his dessert game. In Denmark, Marcus is trained by British pastry chef Luca (guest star Will Poulter), an old friend of Carmy’s and a walking example of precision. Luca's technique is delicate. He operates in stillness, the polar opposite to what Marcus is used to back home. “Honeydew” lovingly expands on Marcus’ character, impressively combining bits of his past, present, and budding future all in one. As written in the first season, Marcus always possessed an eagerness to create, and a desire to improve. Season two charts Marcus’ journey from a ‘clock in and out’ job to nourishing his career as a pastry chef. Additionally, “Honeydew” marks the first time Marcus opens up about his mother who is ill (season two begins with him by her side in a hospital). You could feel the weight on his shoulders when he visits Copenhagen; as he soaks in his new experiences, he makes a point of sharing his thoughts with her, even if she is unable to respond. “Pop” (episode five) Written by Sofya Levitsky-Weitz, Christopher Storer, Karen Joseph Adcock One can only hope that season three is full of even more self-contained character-driven episodes, because Tina deserves her big moment. While the first season portrays her as having a chip on her shoulder, season two expands on the character through means of various opportunities. After Syd offers her the role of sous chef, and she attends the culinary arts training program (for which Carmy lends his knife), Tina has a more noticeable sparkle in her eyes. She is stepping into the potentiality of a new role with increased confidence and an inspired spirit. This training not only influences her career but also her social life; upon showing up to a gathering her fellow trainees had invited her to, Tina takes the mic at a karaoke bar and stuns with a heartfelt rendition of the song “Before the Next Teardrop Falls.” Moments like this are a prime example of stellar acting and character development coming together to create magic. “Fishes” (episode six) Written by Joanna Calo, Christopher Storer, Sofya Levitsky-Weitz Following the palate cleansers and appetizers of episodes one through five, the main course of the season is “Fishes,” a bitter and fiery holiday time-capsule. The writers take you back a few years to a heated Berzatto family dinner that descends into a traumatic nightmare. What family dinner doesn’t have underlying tension on the brink of explosion? Carmy, Mikey, their sister Natalie (Abby Elliott), ‘Cousin’ Richie (Ebon Moss-Bachrach), Uncle Jimmy (Oliver Platt), and a nervous bunch of relatives (played by a star-studded guest cast) join forces for Christmas with the family matriarch, Donna (guest star Jamie Lee Curtis). This flashback episode gives remarkable context to the behaviors and dynamics between Carmy and his family across both seasons. The overlapping flow of dialogue and buildup of tension creates an environment that rivals season one’s kitchen disaster “The Review” when it comes to inducing anxiety. The incredible writing of “Fishes” hits home how the show has always been in service to its characters. Each and every detail counts. “Forks” (episode seven) Written by Alex Russell, Christopher Storer, Sofya Levitsky-Weitz In the season two premiere, Cousin Richie asks Carmy, “You ever think about purpose?”. The loaded question (and the time it would take to be addressed) drives Carmy away, until he notices the look of defeat on Richie’s face. In season one, Richie was the loudest voice in the kitchen. Season two meets him in an existential crisis. Feeling as though he has not accomplished anything, he questions where he belongs, just as the sandwich shop he had helped run is getting a facelift. Richie’s frame of mind makes episode seven all the more satisfying and inspiring. In “Forks,” Richie is sent to stage a three Michelin-star restaurant in Chicago. After days of polishing forks in a cold-looking kitchen, he moves up the ladder to shadow the pristine front-of-house staff. He also gets to meet the restaurant’s mysterious chef Terry (guest star Olivia Colman). Richie’s apprenticeship opens up a world of possibility; suddenly he sees a potentially rewarding path to follow, particularly in the business of hospitality. Whereas season one sees the characters in ‘fight or flight’ mode, just trying to survive back of house, the writers make an interesting shift towards front-facing hospitality. The season focuses intently on characters such as Richie, working on themselves and in turn, becoming of better service to others. “The Bear” (episode ten) Written by Christopher Storer, Kelly Galuska, Sofya Levitsky-Weitz Overall, this season follows a more simmered down recipe in comparison to its predecessor. But it wouldn’t be “The Bear” without scenes of non-stop stress against the tick of a clock. In the finale, family and friends are invited to celebrate the opening of ‘The Bear,’ a fine-dining experience accumulated from months of training and renovating. The team make a fresh start with some new practices: Richie’s ‘note passing’ communication method taken up from his apprenticeship; Carmy and Syd’s temper-diffusing physical signaling of “I’m sorry,” which Tina observes and uses later on. But old patterns are hard to shake, and nobody can relate to that harder than Carmy. From the beginning of the series, fixing the restaurant is what he always set out to do, and he did not need a reason more sufficient than it being his birthright. Fast forward to the season two finale, and the sentiment of this culinary responsibility consuming him has never been clearer. When an unexpected obstacle forces him to self-reflect in isolation, he simply cannot let go of being that person who keeps all the plates spinning. The writing of Carmy, as well as White’s deeply present and emotionally articulate portrayal, reaches new heights. What does the restaurant really mean to him? How intertwined are his measures of success with his definitions of self-worth and relationships? When the pressure of the kitchen is stripped away, so too is Carmy, trying to understand his place in all the routine chaos he has been living in. In a monologue played tremendously by White, he speaks of failing everyone around him. He resists letting something potentially good happen to him, which recalls his mother’s opinion of herself (not being deserving of goodness) in the “Fishes” episode. When the show leans into quieter moments such as this monologue, it showcases how the writing captures full-circle expressions of character. All it takes is one line — “No amount of good is worth how terrible this feels” — to realize just how much of a cyclical grip Carmy’s traumatic past has on him. A still from "Making Time" (2023) Time is precious. It’s the one thing that we can’t make more of, no matter how many regretful pleas or wistful wishes. But we can harness time by how we use it. The way we spend our days is one of the truest reflections of who we are and what we’ve been through. For the subjects of “Making Time,” directed by Liz Unna, time is the ultimate measure of human beings. The documentary follows five horologists who design and create exquisite watches using ancient and modern practices. Each subject has a unique perspective on how they got into the world of watchmaking; whether through a personal epiphany, grief after losing a loved one, or a lifelong interest in the craftsmanship. Their experiences help indicate their designs, from imaginative and modern to antique. Told through glimpses of their life stories, the film presents the beauty and the philosophy that watches carry for them.
While the role of horology plays an intriguing part in many people’s lives, Unna barely scratches the surface of what makes her subjects tick. The film moves at a glacial pace and yet feels rushed in its exploration of otherwise prominent themes. Erratic editing disrupts you from forming strong connections to the horologists beyond their philosophical statements. Frequent dramatizations, sentimental music, and cutaways to tiny gears often evoke the feeling of watching one long commercial. Contrary to its title, the documentary makes little time for delving into the subjects’ interior lives enough to make a lasting impression. “Making Time” features the timepieces of watchmaker Ludovic Ballouard, independent watch brand founder Max Busser, antique horologist Nico Cox, hand-made watchmaker Philippe Dufour, and watch designer/actor Aldis Hodge (known for his screen roles including 2020’s “One Night in Miami…” and 2022’s “Black Adam”). The film spends a shaky amount of time with each person, without establishing a strong enough foundation to return to. After each encounter with the subjects and in listening to their perspectives, you are left wanting more insight into why they are so fascinated by and drawn to the world of watchmaking. While admirable in not over-using the “floating heads” approach, which so typically characterizes how documentaries are structured, the non-linear direction undercuts the intrigue of the subjects. The film presents their stories often through narration, rather than spending more intimate time with them directly. By jumping from one limiting presence to another, a plethora of interesting ideas and topics of discussion get lost. We are all constantly in motion. Even on days spent doing nothing at all, time passes us by. One of the more intriguing ideas “Making Time” presents is that each subject themselves is a measure of time. The film becomes a question of how the subjects’ life choices — driven by everything from fear and regret to joy and love — is connected to their work. Through timekeeping, they can’t help but engage in all the formative moments of their lives and how they have spent their time thus far. One subject, Max Busser, recalls his strained relationship with his late father, and the regret of them not having shared strong communication skills. The pain of that regret has led Busser to completely reframe his way of living and follow the pursuits that bring him greater inner joy. The nature of this material prompts you to confront your own place in life, as well as all the dreams you may have abandoned out of fear, social conformity, and more realistically a lack of resources. The art and science of measuring time is fascinating on its own accord. From hourglasses and clock towers, to timers and wristwatches, timekeeping has taken on various forms of precision that point to different ways of life. Some horologists have maintained antique handcrafted practices, while others are engaged in modernized instruments. Each are united by making something with the purpose of outlasting them. You could look at a watch and recognize not only all the time that has passed, but the future of how we measure time. The subjects of “Making Time” evoke various threads of conversation in retrospect, but the film falls short in maximizing their perspectives on both a narrative and visual level. The lack of focus in direction leads to an underwhelming final scene with parting words that feel out of place. While “Making Time” is full of potential, the approach is too concentrated on how the documentary will come across and lets the subjects dictate the direction to the point of repetitively stated self-philosophies. Samuel L. Jackson in "Secret Invasion" (2023) Over the past seven years, the Marvel Cinematic Universe has expanded some of its iconic characters and storylines into several Disney+ limited series. MCU phase four kicked off with the stellar “WandaVision,” which went on to receive 23 Emmy nominations and marked the studio’s first major recognition by the Television Academy. The Emmy love continued with such shows as “Moon Knight,” “What If…?”, “Loki,” and “Hawkeye.” By this time next year, the MCU could see more awards love with their new slate of shows. Phase five kicks off with the star-studded “Secret Invasion,” a Nick Fury spinoff from showrunner Kyle Bradstreet. Set in the present day, the plot follows Samuel L. Jackson’s Fury as he learns of an invasion by the shapeshifting Skrulls that were featured in the 2019 film “Captain Marvel.” Facing imminent destruction of Earth, Fury and his ally group band together to save humanity.
The conflicts between Marvel’s heroes and the rogue Skrulls are given time to percolate in the first two episodes. The viewer gets a strong sense of the key players, first and foremost. Familiar faces from the Marvel universe return, including Ben Mendelsohn as the Skrull Talos, Martin Freeman as Everett K. Ross, Don Cheadle as Rhodey, and Cobie Smulders as Fury’s right hand Maria Hill. Plus, promising new additions to the cast are scattered throughout. Olivia Colman makes a deliciously joyful appearance as Sonya Falsworth, an MI6 agent who works separate from Fury to thwart the Skrull invasion. While Fury knows the nature of the Skrulls threat, Falsworth believes that Fury as a partner is pointless, and wants him to go back to his space station. The witty banter between Colman and Jackson is among the highlights of the series. Each and every word takes on a form of weaponry, and both actors make the sparring fun. Their scenes in the first episode add to a foundation of compelling character work across the board. Rounding out the new cast are Emilia Clarke as the mysterious Skrull operative G’iah, and Kingsley Ben-Adir as Skrull force leader Gravik. In particular, Ben-Adir makes a no-nonsense appearance in the surprising, high-stakes conclusion of episode one. His character is given more backstory in episode two, which travels momentarily to 1997 for a glimpse at Gravik as a child. Episode two shifts its focus onto Gravik’s intentions and how the council votes him into the role of general. Seeking revenge for Fury casting the alien species aside, breaking a promise to create a home for them, Gravik ignites war. This also comes at a time of the Cold War between Russia and the U.S. By incorporating the shapeshifting Skrulls into such context, the story maximizes the earthly threats that Fury faces. The alien infiltration on humans adds an entertaining and grounded angle to the series, especially when it comes to shapeshifting into influential figures to ignite governmental change. While there is a refreshingly grounded quality to “Secret Invasion,” the show stumbles in perhaps being a little too grounded for its own good sometimes. The exploration of the espionage plot feels tiresome, and the direction lacks urgency. The sprawling material creates an unfocused narrative that tends to drag its plot points. Thankfully, consistent writing and performances carry the story along, especially in portraying the evolving dynamics between characters. Plus, the visual language of the series stands out, from the neat opening titles to the establishing set designs. The always-terrific Samuel L. Jackson gets the opportunity to flesh out Nick Fury for new and returning Marvel fans alike. Facing the threat of the Skrulls, and the tragic aftermath of the Moscow attack, Jackson balances entertainment value with poignancy to convey new layers of a familiar character in the Marvel universe. Additionally, he establishes an interesting tension with Mendelsohn; the conflict of interest between the two of them regarding the planet’s tolerance for Skrulls makes for an emotionally compelling dynamic. They share such endearing chemistry, you long for more material that unites them. Of the new cast, Olivia Colman rises highest to the occasion with a deliriously wicked performance that colors outside the lines. Her instant likability and charm are a perfect match for the many shades of Sonya Falsworth. Her development throughout the series has great potential of interconnectivity in the Marvel universe beyond the small screen. Also rising to the occasion is Ben-Adir’s memorable performance as the series villain Gravik. The writing of his character can be a little too surface-level, especially for Ben-Adir’s remarkable range. However, the actor brings an engaging persuasiveness to the role that makes no mistake of how ruthless Gravik is as a threat to Fury. The secret weapons of “Secret Invasion” are the talented ensemble of actors. Without their commitment, especially Jackson and Ben-Adir representing the classic hero vs. villain narrative, the series would fall into the deep end of forgettable storylines. With a shifted attention towards strong character development, particularly in a vast and expansive universe full of new and returning faces, “Secret Invasion” puts phase five of the MCU off to a decent start. “Secret Invasion” premieres on Disney+ on June 21. A still from "Elemental" (2023) Themes of immigration and acceptance are given vibrant exploration in Pixar’s “Elemental,” an immersive mix of fire and water elements to create a charming love story. From the mind of Peter Sohn, who had previously directed Pixar’s 2015 feaure “The Good Dinosaur,” “Elemental” traces Sohn’s personal experiences as an immigrant traveling from Korea to the United States. The story is set in the colorful world of Element City, which houses residents of earth, fire, water, and air. Each element group co-exists but keeps to themselves, technically due to the harm some could cause if mixed together. Pixar has an illustrious track record of telling heartfelt stories through layered metaphors, from puberty as a giant red panda in “Turning Red” to emotions as live characters in “Inside Out.” “Elemental” continues in the vein of high-concept creativity by personifying the four classical elements of nature. Each must work together in harmony for the world to survive, which drives home the strong emotional core “Elemental” lives in.
The story focuses on hot tempered fireball Ember (voiced by Leah Lewis), daughter of immigrants Bernie (voiced by Ronnie Del Carmen) and Cinder (voiced by Shila Ommi), who had moved into Firetown and turned their home into a store called The Fireplace. Since she was a little girl, Ember has helped her parents run the store. She stays close to home, much to her father’s delight. He dreams that one day she will take over The Fireplace and provide a future for her that he never had. But their cozy business is at risk of shutting down forever when a basement pipe bursts on a busy customer day, and a momentary flood introduces a watery Wade Ripple (voiced by Mamoudou Athie) into the picture. As it turns out, Wade is a city inspector, and his notes are not looking good for the future of The Fireplace. In an effort to save her family’s livelihood, Ember follows Wade outside of Firetown and toward the water-centric City Hall, to stop him from sending his notes to the higher-ups. The idea of opposites attracting is a staple of the romantic comedy genre, and it is used to charming effect in “Elemental.” Ember and Wade, both witness to the widespread belief that fire and water do not go together, start to discover just how much they have in common. Her fiery passion and his nervous, sentimental temperament become a complimentary match. The film also incorporates sweet rom-com cues, from awkward dates and pickup lines, to meeting each other’s parents and learning valuable lessons. Adding spark to the characters’ blossoming relationship are terrific performances by Leah Lewis and Mamoudou Athie, whose vocal ranges bring out the humor and drama of a shared story. Their chemistry gives sincerity to the rom-com elements, and urgency to the moments of danger that they face together. While the romance itself feels a bit too sped up for the sake of plot, the emotions behind it are heartfelt and fun. The film dually works as a moving story about immigrant families and their experiences arriving in a new city, full of dreams, only to be met with hostility. In Element City, the infrastructure is water-based, which drives Firetown on the outskirts where residents can live safely. The city “isn’t made with fire people in mind.” Fire people and their culture face prejudice and scorn. The depiction of such themes are extremely on-the-nose at times, but what resonates is how these subjects are worked into the story of a family following their dreams. The relationship between Ember and her father is an enormous source of the film’s heart. While he wants her to inherit The Fireplace, she carries anxiety about the prospect. Ember fears being honest with him about how her own dreams are different than his. Their dynamic gives the film an added layer of universal identity. The visual language and soundscape of “Elemental” compliment the story wonderfully. The look of Element City mirrors a melting pot of different districts. The city is full of neat-looking designs, from waterfall skyscrapers and forest towers to a tornado-shaped stadium. Firetown also bursts with creative animation, with incorporation of warm colors and fire-based settings. Most impressively are the interactions between fire and water characters. From the flickers of heat to the transparency of fluids, the animation captures them in constant movement. Additionally, acclaimed composer Thomas Newman brings his familiar sounds to the film’s imaginary world, while also capturing human emotion. Newman creates one of his most experimental scores, full of crackling excitement, jazzy strings, and vocal chatters. While “Elemental” can be heavy-handed at times, and the central romance feels rushed, the film is a funny and sweet story about generational expectations. The story shines through beautifully animated world-building, vivid voice work, and a resonating father-daughter relationship that strikes a chord close to home. Halle Bailey in "The Little Mermaid" With each new live action remake from Disney comes a dose of apprehension. The studio’s track record of reimagining their vault of animated films runs the gamut from enjoyable (Kenneth Branagh’s “Cinderella,”), to average (David Lowery’s “Peter Pan and Wendy”), to painfully empty (Jon Favreau’s “The Lion King”). Last year’s soulless offering of Robert Zemeckis’ “Pinocchio” may very well have been rock bottom. One can only go up from there, and the studio certainly does so with “The Little Mermaid,” a charming musical adaptation which soars comfortably in the top tier of Disney live action remakes. At the helm of theater and film director Rob Marshall, “The Little Mermaid” shimmers with splashes of romance and spirited energy throughout. Marshall’s vibrant theater background compliments the beloved story of Ariel, a young mermaid whose curiosity and drive for adventure opens up a world of possibilities. “The Little Mermaid” tells a familiar story in a familiar way, on a much more grandiose scale. At times, the film is visually distracting and narratively flat. But overall it resonates primarily through Halle Bailey, whose magnificent star-making performance holds the film together.
Those who have seen the 1989 animated version will pick up on the story’s main features — mermaid dreams, family expectations, trusty sea creature sidekicks, an evil sea witch, a lost voice, a dashing prince. Marshall’s adaptation of this underwater universe retains the magic of a classic story while finding an incredible star in Halle Bailey for a new generation. From the moment Bailey appears on screen and her voice is heard, she exudes Disney Princess. She exudes heroism, wonder, curiosity. She brings heart and soul to Ariel. From melody to facial expression, you could feel the character’s longing. Her determination to detach from the expectations of her father King Triton (Javier Bardem, who oddly sleepwalks in the role), and become part of a new world are the driving forces of the film. It’s why the iconic song ‘Part of Your World’ resonates so deeply. The lyrics encompass the character’s spirit. Bailey’s rendition of the song is a show stopping musical experience that hits all the high notes. Beyond a beautiful singing voice, Bailey also navigates the dramatic shifts of life above water when she and Prince Eric (Jonah Hauer-King) fall in love. The film expands on the animated version by spending more time with their on-land romance. The two characters bond out of a strong desire to gain independence from family pressures. Hauer-King’s passionate performance of ‘Wild Uncharted Waters,’ a new song penned by Lin-Manuel Miranda, is a strong expression of character. Eric too leads with his heart and desires new adventures. The decision to include this song adds a layer to the romance, as it provides a behind-the-scenes of why Ariel feels attracted to him. Similarly, the inclusion of another new song, ‘For the First Time,’ gives Ariel an endearing ‘fish out of water’ moment where she discovers the world above the sea. Once lonely underwater, she’s now on the cusp of independence and the exploration of new experiences. Ariel and Eric’s spirited musical sequences show the strength of their romantic spark and what draws them to each other. The characters’ spark is complimented by winning chemistry between Bailey and Hauer-King. Bailey also conveys how Ariel maintains a meaningful connection with Eric without the use of her voice. As those familiar with the story will know, the loss of Ariel’s voice is a sacrifice made through a spell that turns her into a human. When it comes to iconic Disney villains, one would be hard pressed not to mention the sea witch Ursula. In the animated version of “The Little Mermaid,” Ursula was voiced by the brilliant Pat Carroll and inspired by drag queen Divine. What made Ursula so entertaining was that in her eyes, she was the hero of her own story. She was euphoric in her own dark magical power, and Carroll gave the character a compelling theatricality by voice work alone. The animated Ursula was lively and terrifying in equal measure, which matched and flowed with Carroll’s vocal range. The 2023 live-action Ursula, played by Melissa McCarthy, pays homage to the icon who came before, sometimes to a fault. McCarthy has a lot of fun with the role. She infuses her own comedic charm, and utilizes her character’s hair and makeup as an extension of her performance. She also holds her own vocally during the classic ‘Poor Unfortunate Souls’ number. But she doesn’t embody the role beyond a surface level. The experience feels very much like one watching McCarthy in costume, as opposed to feeling immersed into a villainous character. By no means a bad performance, and it is no easy feat following the animated version. But given the similarities in approach, it does feel as though McCarthy does her best Carroll voice without bringing a more unique quality forward. Of all the supporting performances in the film, Daveed Diggs stands out through his voice work as Sebastian the crab, who becomes Ariel’s primary protector and encouraging ally in place of King Triton. Sebastian is another role made iconic in the animated version, considering the late Samuel E. Wright’s entertaining performance as the lovable crustacean. But Diggs makes his own mark on the character and brings out excellent comedic timing. His line delivery elicits consistent laughs throughout. Plus, his singing voice tackles not one but two big musical numbers — ‘Under the Sea’ and ‘Kiss the Girl.’ The only downside of such vibrant voice work is the hyper-realistic CGI, which doesn’t always flow with the actor’s energy. Sometimes the voice work overpowers the effects, and sometimes the CGI is a distraction. This is most noticeable with the character of Skuttle, played with super heightened enthusiasm by Awkwafina but lacking the visual energy to match. Contrary to very premature online chatter that scenes are too dimly lit, there is a lot of vibrancy and color to be found throughout the film. However, there are a number of rough patches that stick out particularly during the ‘Under the Sea’ musical number, and in the dullish animation of characters like Skuttle and Flounder. While the film looks and feels grandiose, the inconsistent visual effects takes you out of the escapist experience at times. It’s a missed opportunity in really immersing into a colorful underwater universe, especially given the set pieces and unconventional direction Rob Marshall tends to go in. He brings strong theater energy to “The Little Mermaid.” There are some visually interesting choreographed sequences that unfortunately clash with distracting CGI. What “The Little Mermaid” achieves that many live action Disney releases don't is the retelling of a familiar and beloved story without feeling aimless. The combination of Rob Marshall’s lively direction, a mix of old and new lyrics, and a brilliant performance by Halle Bailey help create an enjoyable experience. The story itself doesn’t change much from the animated version’s blueprint, which leads to some dullness in the narrative and pacing. But where the film lacks in that respect, it makes up for with the most significant element of them all: the casting of Ariel. Halle Bailey seamlessly bridges the worlds of enchanted fantasy and grounded reality. She is the little mermaid, and the film sings to her tune. "The Little Mermaid" releases in theaters on May 26. Alexander Molony, Ever Anderson, Joshua Pickering, and Jacobi Jupe in "Peter Pan & Wendy" (2023) After bursting onto the scene with such films as “Pete’s Dragon,” “A Ghost Story,” and visual marvel “The Green Knight,” David Lowery became an exciting name to anticipate a new project from. When news broke of a live-action reimagining of Peter Pan with Lowery at the helm, ideas swirled around how the director would bring a coming-of-age classic to the screen. There seemed to be a fitting prelude to the task. Much of Lowery’s recent work explored wistful fables and lost souls. His stories often explored the imaginative, indescribable planes of consciousness where fantastical new worlds still felt grounded. As such, there is something about Lowery’s “Peter Pan & Wendy” that feels independent from a lot of disheartening Disney live-action remakes. But as he injects realism into Neverland, he loses the pixie dust that makes this adventure so magical.
The J.M. Barrie play, originally published in 1904, has sparked several re-imaginings from the 1953 Disney animated “Peter Pan” and the 1991 Steven Spielberg adventure “Hook,” to P.J. Hogan’s dreamy 2003 adaptation “Peter Pan.” Spielberg and Hogan had their distinctive visions that felt fully realized and committed. The former asks the question, what if Peter Pan grew up? The latter leans fully into the whimsy of innocence and first love. Lowery’s version exists somewhere in between realism and idealism. Based on Barrie’s play and the 1953 animation, “Peter Pan & Wendy” somehow feels both engaged in the material and disinterested in it altogether. The familiar skeleton of Peter Pan plays out in the story. The film follows young Wendy Darling (Ever Anderson) and her little brothers (Joshua Pickering and Jacobi Jupe), living in 20th century London with their mother (Molly Parker) and father (Alan Tudyk). On the eve of Wendy’s move to boarding school and about to leave her childhood home, she gets a visit from Peter Pan (Alexander Molony), the free-spirited boy who refuses to grow up. He arrives looking for his shadow, and alongside his fairy best friend Tinker Bell (Yara Shahidi), brings the Darling siblings to the ethereal world of Neverland. Once there, the group embark on an adventure and thwart the evil pirate, Captain Hook (Jude Law). Lowery re-teams with his “The Green Knight” co-writer Toby Halbrooks to pen the screenplay for “Peter Pan & Wendy,” which doesn’t necessarily live up to its title of giving Wendy interesting exploration. She is admirably given an outgoing role in the story, and often takes the lead on action-based sequences as well as more emotionally charged moments. But the film tends to keep her at arm’s length when it comes to who she is beyond the circumstances, and what sparks her intense interest in what being a grown up would be like. Complex ideas are thrown into the narrative without really coming to fruition. One such idea is the relationship between Peter and Captain Hook being given more history. This leads to the revelation of Captain Hook as a more tragic figure than expected, which paints Peter in a negative light. But the screenplay doesn’t engage in the history of their dynamics, and as a result it sits on the surface. Though the relationship does give Jude Law a bit more material to play with. The actor relishes in Hook’s backstory beneath the moustache-twirling persona. His lively performance is far and away the most engaging; he flies with an energy that the rest of the film can’t quite reach. “Peter Pan & Wendy” is filled with glimpses of greatness. By taking on a more realistic approach to Peter Pan, Lowery shakes the glitter off of its iconography. He makes stunning use of Newfoundland landscapes, which add a natural quality to the film’s grounded and ethereal version of Neverland. The visual language and soundscape are a strong extension of Lowery’s vision. He presents the opportunity to dive deep into the wistfulness of this story, and the pangs of eternal childhood. Unfortunately, the screenplay is only halfway there, intrigued by fresh ideas but not fully equipped to explore them well. The film holds onto the familiar structure of the Pan story, and takes away the parts that make the possibilities of this world feel so enchanting. Lowery’s full vision feels broken into pieces between the two approaches. “Peter Pan & Wendy” is now available on Disney+. A still from "Bystanders" (2023) Friendship reunions run the gamut of emotion. Some relationships are able to pick up where they left off as if no time has passed. Others have been shaken by the very common occurrence of simply drifting apart, without rhyme or reason. Approaching a reunion is a cocktail of expectation and uncertainty, as you are getting to know someone all over again, for better or worse. The Canadian film “Bystanders,” written and directed by Koumbie, explores what happens when six childhood friends ruminate on the disturbing past experiences of someone in their circle. The group, who gather for their annual weekend getaway at a remote cottage, are forced to confront the knowledge that one of them is guilty of sexual assault. Each friend takes a stance, ranging from defense and bewilderment, to accountability and punishment. “Bystanders” tackles the aftermath of sexual assault from the perspectives of those who personally know the abuser. Will the circle of friends maintain silence and complicity? Or will the abuser be confronted? Adhering to its title, “Bystanders” is an uncomfortable story of how people navigate confessional wrongdoing and how their decisions reflect society at large.
The story begins with an air of innocence. In watching the group of friends arrive at the getaway home, Koumbie refrains from giving an early indication of the difficult conversations to come. She initially brings a more light hearted tone to the film, engaging in a secret romantic relationship between two characters Ayda (Marlee Sansom) and Zeke (Cavell Holland). The two of them toy with the idea of telling the rest of the group that they are seeing each other. The viewer also sees jovial moments among the friend group overall. Though as the film progresses, the tone becomes more dramatic with the arrival of Justin (Taylor Olson), Adya’s first love and Zeke’s roommate. From the chemistry that Sansom and Olson share, to the energy they bring to their performances, it’s clear that their characters have a history. Ayda appears to have moved on, but Justin is adamant about continuing to pursue her attention. The film establishes from early on that he crosses boundaries and lacks accountability. The tensions between characters, and the way they all observe one another in a shared space, eventually build to a shattering dinner table conversation. It is revealed that Justin is guilty of sexually assaulting his girlfriend when they were university students. When he describes what happened, he fails to grasp the wrongdoing of his behavior. Rather than turn into a character study about the perpetrator, the film branches outward to his surroundings. How each of them reacts to this information is extremely telling of their character. One of the friends, Sophia (Katelyn McCulloch), immediately calls him out and stresses to the group that Justin should be jailed for what he did. Justin’s brother, Kyle (Peter Sarty), carries the frustration that a family member committed something horrible, struggling to fathom that his own brother would do such a thing. The film’s bystanders constantly navigate not only how to approach Justin, but whether their own reactions align with their core beliefs and values. Co-written by Koumbie and Taylor Olson, the film explores literally and figuratively how shared spaces are utilized. Whether sharing a physical space, or an intimate experience. Justin shatters the safe space that held his friend group together; trust is broken upon them finding out someone they thought was a decent human being had committed violence. The film also explores how a man’s actions puts a woman’s experiences into perspective. In light of the news, Ayda begins to reexamine her own relationship history with Justin, and specifically the times she felt that her own safety was violated. It is an unsettling moment in the film that speaks to how women are so often gaslit, and their experiences are not taken seriously. The biggest missed opportunity in “Bystanders” is not centering Ayda’s character throughout. The majority of her scenes tend to revolve around Justin’s presence, rather than elaborate on her point of view. This is a character with conflicting emotions, trying to reconcile the person she once had feelings for with the person he reveals himself to be on the weekend getaway. While there is a strong imbalance of perspective, “Bystanders” makes for a promising feature debut by Koumbie. In exploring the bystanders of the story, she takes an intriguing and introspective approach to heavy subject matter. |
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