A reimagining of “Ikiru,” the 1952 film Roger Ebert called Akira Kurosawa’s greatest movie, “Living” transplants the action from Tokyo to London, but maintains the thoughtful emotionalism that earned the original accolades.
Bill Nighy plays Mr. Williams, a post-World War II veteran bureaucrat in the county Public Works department, who leads a life of quiet desperation. Widowed, and living with his son and daughter-in-law, Michael (Barney Fishwick) and Fiona (Patsy Ferran), his life has a “Groundhog Day” regularity.
From the train commute and boring paper shuffling at work, to the long nights in the company of his disinterested son and his wife, he is sleepwalking through a rinse and repeat rut. One of his employees, Miss Margaret Harris (Aimee Lou Wood), has even nicknamed him Mr. Zombie.
“You need to live a little,” he’s told. “I don’t know how,” comes the reply.
But when he is diagnosed with a terminal illness, given just months to live, he breaks free of the shackles of his former life to seize each and every day.
Despite his quiet, internalized performance, Nighy is the center of attention. Mr. Williams is buttoned-down and repressed, but as he lets the inner light shine, a long-lost warmth emerges. Whether he’s singing a sentimental song in a pub or teaching Miss. Harris how to use an arcade game, Nighy blossoms. He never allows grief to enter the picture, instead he’s introspective, looking back at a life left unfulfilled.
“It’s a small wonder,” he says, “I didn’t notice what I was becoming.”
It’s a heartbreaking performance, but one that bristles with life the closer Mr. Williams comes to death.
“Living” is a restrained movie, “A Christmas Carol” of a sort about a man visited by two spirits, in this case a very real novelist (Tom Burke) and Miss. Harris, who teach him to embrace whatever time he has left on earth. With beautiful mid-century period details, director Oliver Hermanus tells a simple story of regret, sadness and a last attempt at doing something meaningful.
Based on writer/director Elegance Bratton’s experiences as a queer Black man in the Marines boot camp, “The Inspection,” now playing in theatres, avoids the jingoistic tone of so many films set within the military. Instead, it is a painful, cathartic tale of overcoming oppression in order to survive.
When we first meet Ellis French (Jeremy Pope), he’s a queer, 26-year-old Black man, cut loose from his disapproving family. “I will love you till the day that I die,” says his prison guard mother Inez (Gabrielle Union), “but I can’t love what you are.” Her deeply held religious beliefs have led her to reject her son, so much so, she even puts down a newspaper on the couch before he sits. With no home to call his own, he has spent years living rough, in and out of Trenton, New Jersey shelters.
With no money and no family support, he makes the choice to join the Marines and do whatever it takes to create a future for himself in the military. At boot camp Ellis, nicknamed French by the other recruits, is a disciplined candidate, even under pressure from his strict drill sergeant (Bokeem Woodbine) who promises, “I will break you.”
Although French never formally announces his queerness, his sexuality puts a target on his back. At the barracks, despite beatings, bullying and outright bias, he excels, proving to himself, the other jarheads and possibly even his homophobic mother, he has found his niche.
“The Inspection” will likely bear the weight of comparison to “Full Metal Jacket,” but despite the obvious similarities in location and the presence of a harsh drill sergeant, these are two very different films thematically. Bratton’s film is not an anti-war film. Instead, it adopts a neutral stance to most of the questions about the duality of war Stanley Kubrick raised in “Full Metal Jacket,” preferring to concentrate on the more introspective note of one man’s transformation in the face of adversity.
This is a classic against-all-odds story that paints a vivid picture of life inside the boot camp, the dehumanization, the violence, but also brotherhood, in the form of instructor Rosales as played by Raul Castillo. Bratton and cinematographer Lachlan Milne carefully build the world of the boot camp, creating a palette of claustrophobia, brutality and tension that adds layers to the telling of French’s survival story.
Bratton brings a personal touch to the filmmaking that feels therapeutic, the kind of storytelling that can only come from his lived experience. The director is aided by a raw and powerful performance from Pope and an unrelenting Union, whose work helps elevate the occasionally cliched aspects of the story.
“Minamata” is a mix-and-match of a few different things. The story of celebrated “Life” photojournalist W. Eugene Smith as he documented the effects of toxic mercury poisoning in Japan is part, biopic and part exposé of corporate malfeasance with just a hint of “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” thrown in for color.
The story begins in 1971 in New York. Smith (Johnny Depp) is at the tail end of a legendary career. His reclusive and erratic behavior has eroded his relationship with “Life” editor Robert Hayes (Bill Nighy) and the years as a World War II photographer haunt his memory.
Aileen (Minami), a translator for Fuji film advertisement, suggests he go to Japan to witness and document the effects of mercury pollution in the city of Minamata. For a decade and a half, the locals have suffered a neurological disease caused by mercury poisoning, the result of toxic waste dumped into Minamata Bay by the Chisso chemical plant. Aileen wants the eyes of the world to focus on the problem.
The gruff Smith is initially reluctant, but his growing fondness for Aileen, an assignment from “Life” and his own sense of journalistic integrity change his mind. The resulting trip and story transforms both Smith and the perception of the situation in Minamata.
The long delayed “Minamata”—it premiered at the Berlin International Film Festival in February 2020—is an uneven film anchored by a rock-solid performance by Johnny Depp. He humanizes the curt Smith, milking out a redemption arc for the character as he atones for past transgressions by applying his craft to make the world a better place for the people of Minamata. His torment is made clear in a speech about the old belief that a photograph steals the soul of its subject. “What gets left out of the fine print,” he says, “is that it can also take a piece of the photographer’s soul.”
It is mature work, without a trace of Capt. Jack. A flash of Hunter S. Thompson peaks through in Smith’s abuse of methamphetamine, alcohol and general disregard for the niceties of being respectful to one’s editor, but overall, Depp digs deep and brings a rough-hewn mix of charm and compassion.
Depp shines in a movie that travels a well-worn path. Stories of activism vs. corporate malfeasance tend to follow a similar trajectory, and “Minamata” is no different. It hits familiar beats of corporate callousness but offers something new in the stunning recreations of Smith’s photos, specifically “Tomoko in her Bath,” the most famous picture from the portfolio.
“Minamata” takes liberties with historical timelines, but this isn’t a documentary, it is a dramatic recreation of Smith’s call to arms, and as such, delivers a compelling, if familiar, story.
In “Learn To Swim,” a new film about memories and music, and now playing in theatres, first time feature filmmaker Thyrone Tommy tells the story as though he was creating a jazz riff. The love story may be familiar but he bends the notes just enough to create something new.
The story of gifted sax player Dezi (Thomas Antony Olajide) is told on a broken timeline. His past affair with singer Selma (Emma Ferreira) is shot in warm, welcoming colors as the two create music and fall in love. Interspersed are colder, harder scenes from Dezi’s present day. Bitter and alone, he is isolated from the world, unable to play music because of a jaw infection.
It is a study of Dezi’s relationships, with Selma, others around him and his connection to music. Like real life, those relationships are often messy and chaotic, but even as the disparate parts of Dezi’s story threaten to become obtuse, Tommy brings the story back into focus as the sax player’s pain becomes a common thread between the two timelines.
“Learn To Swim” is a simple story told in a way that adds depth and complexity. Dezi is an interesting character, talented and troubled, yet still, often sympathetic. Olajide brings him to life in a quietly powerful performance that emphasizes not only the character’s talent but the love and loss that shaped his creativity.
Ferreira is an effective foil, but never loses sight of what makes Selma tick.
The real star here, however, is Tommy. He and co-writer Marni Van Dyk create a story palette to paint a portrait of love, loss and beautiful music. It is a very promising feature debut, one that expertly balances performance and feel, just like the best jazz.
Adapted from a 2017 novel by Catherine Hernandez, which captured the author’s experiences of running a home daycare, “Scarborough,” now playing in theatres, is a raw yet inspirational look at life in the diverse, low-income community in east Toronto that gives the movie its name.
The film, directed by Shasha Nakhai and Rich Williamson, focusses on the marginalized kids at a neighborhood literacy center like Bing (Liam Diaz), a bright, chipper Filipino boy whose single mom works at a nail salon. His bestie, Sylvie (Mekiya Fox), looks out for him, but must also cope with unstable housing and a troubled brother. A third student, Laura (Anna Claire Beitel), struggles as she learns to read while addiction and racism hobbles her home life.
The centre is a safe space, a place for these kids to grow and learn. Outside the walls of the literacy centre the film explores themes of addiction, autism, child abuse and systemic negligence.
Shot in a documentary style, this coming-of-age story has a natural feel. Part of it comes from the use of first-time actors in the lead roles.
The stories and characters that fuel “Scarborough” are complex and while the handling of some of the big moments feels unwieldly by times, the film makes up for those lapses with an ambitious focus that includes many powerful moments.
A scene in which a mother is told her son is autistic and may never be able to live on his own amplifies the helplessness that can be felt by marginalized people as they try an navigate the health care system. It’s a potent sequence, nicely directed to share the character’s overwhelming sense of vulnerability. In moments like this, the movie shines.
It all sounds depressing, like an exercise in misery, but the movie is infused with hope. Hope for the kids, hope for the future. And, (NO SPOILERS HERE) Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” may never be used as effectively in any other movie as it is here.
Much of that uplift comes from social worker Ms. Hina (Aliya Kanani), a warm figure of encouragement who genuinely feels for the children she looks after, often at the expense of her own well-being. Her empathetic character gives the film its beating heart.
Austere and theatrical, “The Tragedy of Macbeth,” in theatres on December 25, streaming on Apple TV+ on January 14, feels like an up-scale horror film in its examination of ambition and violence.
The plot is familiar from high school English class. Three witches (all played by Kathryn Hunter) prophesize that Macbeth (Denzel Washington), a heroic general in King Duncan’s (Brendan Gleeson) army, is bound for glory. He will be named Thane of Cawdor, they say, and one day, if he has the backbone, King. It’s welcome news for the ambitious warrior and his ruthlessly Machiavellian wife, Lady Macbeth (Frances McDormand), who helps kickstart her husband’s rise to power by devising a plot to kill the King.
Their bloody coup sees the well-liked Duncan murdered, triggering Macbeth’s ascent to the throne. The couple’s lust for power leads to a reign of terror, which includes the wholesale slaughter of King Duncan loyalist Macduff’s (Corey Hawkins) family and a civil war.
The crown sits heavily on their collective heads. The new power couple are soon overwhelmed by insomnia, festering paranoia and guilt. “By the pricking of my thumbs,” says one of the witches, “something wicked this way comes.”
Adapted for the screen by director Joel Coen, working for the first time without his brother Ethan, “The Tragedy of Macbeth” blends theatre and cinema in a seamless and powerful way. The expressionistic sets and minimalist soundtrack feel transported in from the theatre, while the beautiful stark black-and-white photography and charismatic performances are pure cinema.
Washington is quietly powerful as his immorality grows. His entrance, a bold walk straight up to the camera out of the fog, establishes his movie star cred. His letter-perfect line readings, imbuing meaning and emotion into even the most intimidating of Shakespeare’s passages proves he was born to say these words.
McDormand plays Lady Macbeth as her husband’s equal. She captures her ambition, but tempers the performance with notes of desperation.
Also striking is legendary stage actress Kathryn Hunter. She plays all three of the prophetic weird sisters in a physically transformative way that sees her bend into shapes that look almost supernatural.
All are ably supported by an exemplary cast, including Gleeson, Corey Hawkins as Macduff, the Thane of Fife, Bertie Carvel as Macbeth ally Banquo and Harry Melling as Malcolm, the King Duncan’s eldest.
“The Tragedy of Macbeth” is accessible without ever playing down to the audience. Masterful filmmaking mixes and matches the text with compelling images and wonderful performances to create a new take on the Scottish Play that is both respectful and fearlessly fresh.
Go see it, “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow…”
The story of “Mass,” a new drama from writer-director Fran Kranz, now playing in theatres, is simple but the emotions it evokes are anything but.
A bland meeting room in an Episcopal church in Idaho is the backdrop for the meeting of two couples bound together by shared trauma. Years before, Richard and Linda’s (Reed Birney and Ann Dowd) son Hayden shot and killed eleven kids in a high school massacre, including Gail and Jay’s (Martha Plimpton and Jason Isaacs) son Evan. The intimate summit is meant to provide clarity and closure, but distrust and frustration steer the proceedings as they volley anger and recrimination back and forth.
“Mass” often feels like a stage play transposed to the screen. The bulk of the “action” takes place in one room, around a table as the four hash out the events that shaped their lives in the aftermath of the tragedy. A tempest of anguish, blame and forgiveness, it forcefully mines the emotion of the situation without resorting to sensational flashbacks or lurid recreations of the film’s defining event. Instead, director Kranz trusts the performances and the words to do the job. “I loved Hayden so much,” says Richard, “but maybe he should never have been born.”
Questions about responsibility, radicalization, gun culture and mental illness are woven into “Mass’s” fabric, but the movie is more interested in the human dynamic than answering those queries. This is about the who, not the why.
To that end the main cast members are never anything less than believable. Each explore a different avenue of grief and remembrance, and each deliver an acting masterclass. Restrained and realistic, the actors go deep, unconcerned with flashy pyrotechnics or showboating.
“Mass” is raw and real, devastating, nuanced and somber, a beautifully acted study in misery that allows for a flicker of hope.
“Joe Bell,” a new based-on-true events drama starring Mark Wahlberg and now on VOD, is a film with a message and a disarming way of delivering it.
Wahlberg is the good man of the title, Joe Bell, husband to Lola (Connie Britton), father to sons Joseph (Maxwell Jenkins) and Jadin (Reid Miller), a young gay man who took his own life after repeated bullying from the jocks at his high school. Unable to resolve his feelings, Joe hits the road, vowing to walk from La Grande, Oregon to New York City, the city of Jadin’s dreams. It’s a time of solitude for Joe to wrestle with his own complicity in his son’s death and make stops along the way to mumble his way through halting speeches about bullying at local high schools.
Written by the “Brokeback Mountain” screenwriting team of Diana Ossana and Larry McMurtry, “Joe Bell” has its heart in the right place but makes missteps along Joe’s journey.
Told with flashbacks interspersed throughout the present-day action, (the story takes place in 2013), “Joe Bell” looks for new ways to tell the true story. Using Joe’s anguish as a starting point, it conjures up images from his imagination to fill the screen while he is on his solitary journey. (MILD SPOILER ALERT) Jadin appears as a device for Joe to ease his guilty mind. It’s a way of establishing what could have been, had Jadin not ended his life and mostly it works as Reid gives his character a youthful exuberance that makes his absence in real life more acute.
Minus those scenes “Joe Bell” is a slight film. The message, that kids are marginalized and bullied every day, everywhere, is potent and important but the film’s earnest repetitiveness threatens to reduce the point to a series of platitudes.
Good supporting performances from Miller, Britton and Gary Sinise as a sympathetic police officer, share the screen with Wahlberg who is, essentially, a one note character with a scraggly beard. His inability to truly articulate his feelings hinders the character’s effectiveness. A message movie should have a central character able to bring the moral to life. Wahlberg’s take on Bell is not that character.
“Joe Bell” is a movie about soul searching, with a good message, that never finds its way.
The opening of “Rare Beasts,” the ambitious new film on VOD starring Billie Piper, who also wrote and directed, is the tail end of the worst date of all time. Over a dinner and a glass or two of wine TV writer Mandy (Piper) and over-confident Pete (Leo Bill) butt heads, discussing everything from his ultra-traditional view of women as a wives and mothers, to the size of her teeth. It appears he doesn’t really like women, but can’t imagine his life without one by his side. Or, at least, in his kitchen and bedroom.
They are oil and water, chalk and cheese. In a rom com, this would be an example of exactly the kind of misogynist bottom-of-the-barrel person Mandy should shun until Mr. Right comes along, particularly after Mandy snaps back after one of his outbursts, “Those are classic rapist remarks.”
But “Rare Beasts” is no rom com. It feels more like a thriller, because Mandy and Pete’s first meeting is so awful, as time ticks on, you’ll be on the edge of your seat wondering what will happen between them.
Mandy is the insecure single mother of Larch (Toby Woolf) who attempts to tame her negative thoughts with a Stuart Smiley-style mantra, “Even though I am scared and angry, I still love and respect myself.” The disastrous date is the beginning of a strained relationship, born out of insecurity and now small amount of self-loathing. “I want to unveil myself one piece at a time,” she says, “so that I can talk you through what I physically hate about myself.”
Despite their complete incompatibility and Pete’s claim of finding women “intolerable,” the pair struggle through a relationship, driven by dysfunction. She visits his parents on holiday in Spain and they even discuss marriage.
“Rare Beasts” has audacity on its side. Piper populates the film with difficult characters, neurosis and up-close-and-personal shots of Mandy that almost peer inside her head to reveal the character’s inner chaos. It is confrontational in its treatment of the form—perhaps we’ll call it a non rom com—and its characters, who are almost as disconnected as the storytelling.
Piper bolts through the story, slowing every now and again to focus on memorable scenes, like a party of coke-snorting new mothers, or taking a detour into more darkly whimsical moments. The result is a dizzying, off kilter film that paints a modern picture of feminism while establishing Piper as a fearless (and often quite funny) filmmaker.
