Ninety-three years ago Balsam Lake, a long and narrow body of water located in in the City of Kawartha Lakes in Central Ontario, made worldwide headlines when a freak summer storm brought tragedy to a group of men canoeing on its waters. The story, largely forgotten today, is brought back to vivid life in “Brotherhood,” a new film from director Richard Bell.
It’s the year 1926. A group of young men, many teens among them, are spending the hot and steamy July at Long Point Camp on what now might be called an eco-adventure but was then thought of as two weeks of male bonding, canoeing, sing-alongs and character building. Led by Great War veterans Arthur (Brendan Fletcher) and Robert (Brendan Fehr) they head out on a routine expedition in a thirty-foot canoe to gather supplies but capsized off Grand Island. For hours the group, the team leaders and thirteen boys, fought against the cold, unforgiving waters for survival.
“Brotherhood” begins with a buoyant boyhood feel of anticipation. The campers are excited, friendships are building, the tone is very Heritage Minute. From there Bell flashes back and forth from the good times on dry land to the struggle on the open water. It’s an effective treatment that ups the stakes. It allows the viewer get a clear and concise before-and-after look at the boys as they change from young men into adults over the course of one very difficult night. Heroes are formed in adversity and the survivors, just four, become a band of brothers, thrown together by fate.
Along the way the script provides plenty of foreshadowing. People say things like, “a hero is just a man too afraid to run away,” and one even quotes Shakespeare’s famous “Henry V” “For he today that sheds his blood with me/Shall be my brother,” speech. It feels heavy handed and melodramatic by times but there is no denying the power of the film’s message of strength by community.
“Light of my Life,” a quiet new film written, directed and starring Casey Affleck, is a thriller that follows in the footsteps of “Children of Men,” imagining a world in which women were wiped out by a virus.
Affleck plays the father of Rag (Anna Pniowsky), a tween he’s raising in the wilderness, far from prying eyes. As a devoted father he understands that a world without women presents terrible danger to his daughter and he protects her no matter what. When an old man stumbles across their camp Rag is introduced as “my son Alex,” and while the interloper seems to buy their story, dad knows they have to hit the road before word spreads.
Through flashbacks we see the life they had before the virus, when Rag was a baby and her mother, played by Elisabeth Moss, was still alive. They play in stark contrast to their current nomadic, uncertain existence in the wood.
By the time they arrive at a would-be sanctuary—“It’s got a boat with a lake and it’s really far away from everyone.”—the world catches up with them, forcing Rags to grow up before her time.
“Light of my Life” is a low-key dystopian drama that feels like a pastiche of a number of recent films and television shows. Echoes of “Children of Men,” last year’s “Leave No Trace” and “The Road” with a dollop of “The Handmaid’s Tale” form the backbone while Affleck relies on the rapport with Pniowsky to give the bleak story a human touch. The slow-moving, ponderous story allows the viewer to get a sense of their bond. It takes time to establish the gravity of the situation, and Affleck lets the clock run, but an opening ten-minute monologue, punctuated by questions from Rags, may be the very definition of self-indulgent.
“Light of my Life” isn’t Affleck’s first film since #MeToo allegations were leveled against him and settled out of court, but it is thematically the most startling. Some will see Affleck painting himself as a protector of women in a world where all women are in imminent danger of violence, sexual or otherwise. Others will see a movie that attempts to atone for the sins of its creator, a film that suggests, be careful, you can’t always know what is in the hearts of men. Either way, it feels like a response to the claims of sexual harassment and its effectiveness will, by and large, depend on how you feel about the actor and VERY long monologues.
“The Last Black Man in San Francisco,” a captivating new drama starring Jimmie Fails and Jonathan Majors, wonders aloud if Thomas Wolfe was right when he wrote, “You can’t go home again.”
Jimmie Fails (Fails) has a dream. He wants to live in the ornate Victorian house with red and gold trim his grandfather built after WWII in San Fran’s in Filmore district. His father (Rob Morgan) lost the house when Jimmie was just a child and now the home’s contents are stored in a relative’s basement. When he isn’t working at the old folk’s home he spends time at the house, even though another older couple own it. Uninvited and much to the consternation of the residents, he does odd jobs like yard work and painting the windowsills. “This house,” he says. “This is what I do.”
When the old couple moves, leaving the home empty, Jimmie moves in. After an unsuccessful attempt to buy the place from a realtor (Finn Wittrock) who needs 20% down on the $4 million price he claims squatter’s rights and has the bills put in his name. His friend, budding playwright Montgomery (Jonathan Majors), moves in with him and they attempt to recreate the home as Jimmie remembers it from his youth.
“The Last Black Man in San Francisco” is about many things. Nostalgia. Love of friends and city. It’s about how gentrification in San Francisco has marginalized people of colour creating housing inequality. Mostly, though, it’s about the bittersweet romanticizing of the past with a healthy dose of reality. Perhaps Wolfe was right, but simply because the home in question is four walls and a roof, not a panacea to Jimmie’s feelings of emotional displacement. Jimmie’s expectations linked to the idea of home, in this his case feelings of family unity, are likely never to be met. It’s melancholic and beautifully rendered in a film that feels like a tone poem of love and loss.
A meta study of grief and self-expression, “Mouthpiece” takes a novel approach to one woman, played by two actresses, Amy Nostbakken and Norah Sadava, and her reaction to the death of her mother Elaine (Maev Beaty). “Grief can manifest itself in unexpected ways,” says a mortician, a line that is as good a tag line as any for this engaging film.
Adapted from Nostbakken and Sadava’s play of the same name, the film essays the 48-hour period in which Cassandra takes care of the business of death, choosing flowers, picking out her mother’s dress for burial and informing friends and family while dealing with the sting of loss. Despite her family’s objections she wants to do the eulogy but struggles to come to grips with her mother’s legacy. Was she a “rock star; a woman who didn’t need a man to get through life” or “a doormat who laid out for people to walk all over?” Did Elaine sacrifice a promising career as a writer in favour of her family, the patriarchy or did she just give up?
Cassandra’s journey includes musical numbers, flashbacks, dark comedy and despite the experimental framing device—two people simultaneously playing one character—a very grounded feeling of connectedness between the Casandri. Nostbakken and Sadava do not play twins, imaginary friends or flip sides of the same coin; they are Casandra’s internal and external psychological conflicts made physical. It creates a tension that constantly questions the complexities of the situations and the attendant emotions.
Director Patricia Rozema opens up the play, allowing the characters to roam the streets of Toronto and perform production numbers without losing the intimate power of the story. Interesting visual style from cinematographer Catherine Lutes cleverly emphasizes the connected quality of the characters.
“Mouthpiece” is unconventional but does something important. From the a cappella score by the two leads to the sparkling dialogue, it gives voice to its female creators, presenting the story from a contemporary point of view while ignoring stereotypes. It’s a personal film that embraces all aspects of its humanity, from vulnerability and strength and everything in between.
Tantoo Cardinal has been acting for forty years, building up a resume heavy with dozens of film and television credits like “Dances with Wolves,” “Black Robe,” “Legends of the Fall” and cult favourite “Smoke Signals.” Her latest film, “Falls Around Her,” is a career landmark, her first solo lead in a feature film. After watching the Northern Ontario-set drama you’ll wonder why it took so long to put her front and center.
Renowned Anishinaabe musician Mary Birchbark (Cardinal) is at a professional and personal crossroad. Exhausted and feeling career burn out she returns to the Atikameksheng Anishnawbek First Nation in northern Ontario to recharge her depleted batteries; to reconnect with friends, family and the land. Unfortunately, the solitary she hoped for is elusive. She hears noises outside her cabin and has the feeling someone or something from her past is lurking outside.
“Falls Around Her” is a tale of resilience. When we first meet Mary she’s disconnected from the very things that ground her. As she slowly takes back her life, easing out of the road work and a new show in a new town every night, she opens herself to rediscovering what is really important, family, friends, being happy. She is not a victim. She’s in control, putting past trauma in the rearview mirror. Cardinal is a living breathing embodiment of Mary’s renewal. Her performance dominates the film, a fiery mix of experience, hurt and joy. It’s remarkable work, done with a minimum of dialogue, that presents one of the most complex and interesting characters in recent memory.
In “Through Black Spruce,” an adaptation of Joseph Boyden’s Giller Prize-winning novel, “Yellowstone” actress Tanaya Beatty stars as Annie Bird, a Cree woman from James Bay who travels to Toronto in search of her twin sister Suzanne, a model who disappeared without a trace.
As Annie explores the dark underbelly of the city’s fashion scene at home in Moosonee her Uncle Will (Mohawk actor Brandon Oakes) runs afoul of local drug dealers. They think Suzanne’s boyfriend ripped them off and want to talk to her about where he is. When Will won’t tell them he is beaten within an inch of his life.
“Through Black Spruce” comes with the weight of a backstory unrelated to what we see on the screen. The film, opening amid controversy over Boyden’s Indigenous identity and directed by Don McKellar, who is not indigenous, comes at a flashpoint in our cultural history regarding First Nations filmmakers and artists and who should tell their stories.
“Through Black Spruce’s” story touches on important issues. Annie’s grief over her missing sister puts a human face on the plight of missing First Nations women whose stories are rarely told let alone solved. The second story, Uncle Will’s struggle between the traditional and modern world, is played out in an interesting encounter with First Nations couple (Tantoo Cardinal and Edmund Metatawabin) in the deep woods.
As a narrative “Through Black Spruce” is split, connected in spirit, but separate. The story zig zags between the Toronto and Moosonee sections, laid out linearly. McKellar cuts back and forth, doling out the stories but the technique sometimes slows the film’s momentum.
More interesting than the structure are the performances. In subtle ways Beatty and Oakes both find psychological and cultural context for their characters, a framework missing from the script. As Annie, Beatty is a haunting and haunted presence. Oakes brings Will’s struggle with alcohol to vivid life.
Every one of us processes grief differently. Most people know the five stages of grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance—but “In Dust,” a dark comedy starring Matthew Broderick and Géza Röhrig, suggests there are a few phases missing from that list.Röhrig, the Hungarian actor best known as star of the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar winner “Son of Saul,” stars as Shmuel, an upstate New York Hasidic cantor distraught by the sudden passing of his wife Rivkah. Tormented by the thought that her ruach (soul) will not rest until she is turned to dust he becomes obsessed by the rate of her decomposition.
As I said, we all grieve differently.
His anguish pushes him to break religious law and seek guidance outside of his community. A casket salesman (Joseph Siprut), once he realizes Shmuel isn’t in the market to buy a casket, offers no help. “We don’t check their progress,” he says. In desperation he approaches bumbling community college biology professor Albert (Broderick).
The odd couple perform some decidedly non-kosher experiments—most notably with a stolen pig named Harold—to establish a timeline for Rivkah’s decay and put Shmuel’s mind to rest.
“Who doesn’t like bacon?” asks Albert, placing foot firmly in mouth.
First time feature director Shawn Snyder has crafted an offbeat but appealing comedy that offers up laughs as well as bittersweet sensitivity. In what is essentially a two hander, Snyder amps up the absurdity by allowing his actors to be both unlikeable and yet strangely compelling. Röhrig and Broderick are a perfectly matched, if morbid, odd couple.
Röhrig plays Shmuel as a sympathetic character but one who pushes the boundaries of behaviour as he follows through in his tormented obsession. He finds the tragedy and the humour in the situation, equal parts comic exasperation, stubbornness and heartache.
Broderick, often decked out in his ex-wife’s lacy housecoat, is a delight. His Albert has let life pass him by. Hapless and hopeless, he seizes on this experience as a way to reawaken his love of science and life. Broderick is deadpan perfection.
“To Dust” is a one-joke movie but it is a good joke brought to life by two actors who make their extreme characters relatable and recognizable.
“Ghost Town Anthology” feels like an episode of “The Twilight Zone” that Rod Serling didn’t get to make. Set in the tiny fictional Quebecois town of Irenee-les-Neiges, it’s a story about a tragedy that mixes the physical and metaphysical.
Irenee-les-Neiges is a wind swept town of just 215 people. Austere and unwelcoming, the snow bound town has been hit hard by a souring economy. It’s the kind of place where everyone knows everyone’s business so when a popular 21-year-old hockey player Simon Dubé kills himself in a rather dramatic fashion, it is the talk of the town.
Most directly impacted are his older brother Jimmy (Robert Naylor) and parents Gisele (Josee Deschenes) and father Romuald (Jean-Michel Anctil). Jimmy skips through most of the five stages of grief, vacillating between two, anger and depression, while his devastated mother and father search (sometimes literally) for answers. Soon ghosts from the past, including Simon, appear in town as though they had never left. “If you think about it,” says Richard (Normand Carrière), “they’re like us, in a way.”
Written and directed by Denis Côte and based on a novel by Montrealer Laurence Olivier, “Ghost Town Anthology” (“Répertoire des villes disparues”) is not a horror film. There are unsettling moments but the tone is more mournful.
Côte does an admirable job of creating an atmosphere of unease, using handheld cameras and a grainy film stock that emphasizes the stark nature of life in Irenee-les-Neiges.
“Ghost Town Anthology,” in French with English subtitles, is a slow burn that builds to a disquieting climax. These ghosts are not malevolent; they are nostalgia, reminders of what once was. Simon and the others may or may not be real but this isn’t their story. This is a story of the people living in a forgotten place in a changing world thinking about what they have lost, of appraising their past and facing an uncertain future.
Tough and tender, “What They Had” is a story of Alzheimer’s and dysfunction but never dips into the easy sentimentality of many other family dramas.
Writer-director Elizabeth Chomko begins the story with Ruth (Blythe Danner), in a dementia daze, dressed in a nightgown, getting out of bed and walking off into a blizzard. The disappearance is short-lived but serious enough for Ruth’s daughter Bridget (Hilary Swank) and granddaughter Emma (Taissa Farmiga) to fly to Chicago from California to come to her side.
Son Nick (Michael Shannon) thinks it is time to put Ruth in a home where she can be looked after but Burt (Robert Forster), her husband of decades, wants her to stay home where he can look after her. Caught between Nick and Burt, Bridget believes her mother should be put in a memory care facility called Reminisce Neighbourhood but is torn in the best way to make it happen.
The synopsis does “What They Had” no favours. It sounds like a downer, an earnest movie of the week style story of bickering siblings up against a stubborn patriarch. But it is more than that. There is pain, anger and heartbreak but there is also humour. Shannon’s outbursts, born of frustration and a certain amount of realism, are often amusing and always hit exactly the right notes.
There are strong performances across the board—Swank, Forster and Farmiga all feel completely authentic—but the film’s beating heart is Danner, who plays Ruth as though she’s wearing a shroud of sadness at her fleeting memory.
“What They Said” occasionally feels cluttered, as though the focus is spread to widely over all the characters, but its unflinching eye for detail is a strength not a minus.
