Romance and ‘roid rage collide in “Love Lies Bleeding,” a pulpy new romp starring Kristen Stewart, now playing in theatres.
Set in 1989, Stewart is Lou, a loner who works at Crater Gym, a rundown fitness center owned by her estranged father Lou Sr (Ede Harris). When she isn’t fixing plugged toilets at the gym, she listens to How to Quit Smoking cassette tapes while inhaling deeply on cigarettes and helps her sister (Jena Malone) and abusive brother-in-law JJ (Dave Franco) look after their kids.
When ambitious bodybuilding drifter Jackie (Katy O’Brian) blows into town, on a quick pitstop on her way to a Vegas bodybuilding competition, she falls hard for Lou. But will a sudden, violent chain of events get in the way of their love and bodybuilding glory?
“Love Lies Bleeding” is a squirmy, no-holds-barred hybrid of crime thriller, family drama, psychological study and LGBTQ2S+ romance. Director Rose Glass entertainingly juggles the various elements, and isn’t afraid to shock and amuse the audience with audacious breaks from reality. No spoilers here, but the visualization of the protective power of love is eye-popping, funny and, if you are willing to take an artistic leap, really effective.
Stewart is a brooding character whose actions are governed by new love and some old habits (again, no spoilers here). She’s a jumble of rough edges, but underneath her sneering facade is a warm, beating heart, open to those brave enough to get close. As the situation around her spins out of control, old instincts arise, and Lou morphs from taciturn gym worker to a dynamo fueled by anger and lust.
O’Brian plays Jackie as a fit and toned archetype, a drifter with a past and maybe not much of a future. Glass cleverly uses the traits of Jackie’s bodybuilding—the bulging muscles, popping veins shot in extreme close-ups—as a metaphor for the rage that bubbles just underneath her carefully sculpted physique.
The chemistry between them lies at the heart of the success of the film and yet, Anna Baryshnikov (dancer Mikhail’s daughter) as the messy Daisy manages to steal every scene she appears in. As a young woman with an unrequited love for Lou, she is a catalyst for some of the film’s chaos, with a baby voice and some strange, but kinda sweet, energy that almost makes you feel bad for her. Almost, but not quite.
“Love Lies Bleeding” is a bloody and brutal twist on the neo noir that harkens back to films like “Wild at Heart” and early Coen bros. It comes equipped with a scruffy looking Ed Harris, some shocking violence, but also an attitude. It is a wild and occasionally thrilling ride that plays into old crime story tropes with fresh and fun execution.
They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. If so, David Cronenberg must be basking in the reflected glow of some pretty serious film fawning. The OG of Body Horror’s influence can be seen in lurid detail in recent movies like the Palme d’Or winner “Titane” and Natalie Portman’s biological thriller “Annihilation” among others.
The Virtuoso of the Grosso Rosso returns to cinemas after an eight-year break with “Crimes of the Future,” an all-star story of eroticized human evolution starring Kristen Stewart, Viggo Mortensen and Léa Seydoux.
Named after an early Cronenberg movie and based on a script the director wrote in the early 2000s, “Crimes of the Future” takes place in a time when “Accelerated Evolution Syndrome” has all but eliminated pain in most humans.
“Desk top surgery” is commonplace and a practice that performance artists Saul Tenser (Mortensen) and former trauma surgeon Caprice (Seydoux) turn into a form of nightclub bio-entertainment.
Saul’s advanced AES enables him to grow new, never-before-seen organs, which Caprice removes as part of their medical-theatrical shows. The gruesome act attracts lots of attention, particularly from Timlin (Kristen Stewart), an investigator from the National Organ Registry who becomes enchanted by Saul. “Surgery is the new sex,” she coos to him. “I wanted you to be cutting onto me.”
There’s more. Transformation activist Lang Dotrice (Scott Speedman) requests Saul and Caprice perform a public autopsy on his late, eight-year-old son, the New Vice Unit (“There’s no crime like the present!”) investigates the rapidly changing world of body modification while Saul considers entering a literal “inner beauty contest.”
Despite the array of bits and pieces we see on screen, the most important body part in “Crimes of the Future” is the head. Cronenberg’s head. The director has made a cerebral film, one that riffs on his “Videodrome” era “old flesh vs. the new flesh” mantra.
Laden with metaphor, it’s a portrait of a rapidly changing world where bodies are morphing and shadowy government organizations work feverishly to understand the repercussions. They fear too much evolution could lead to insurrection. That eventually we’ll morph into something that isn’t strictly human and wonder what happens when we can’t feel anything anymore.
That last point is the film’s beating heart. When Saul tells Timlin that he’s, “not very good at the old sex,” it signals a search for something new, of different sensations. In a numb world, where do you go for kicks? Is it the performance art of Saul and Caprice, or something else? Is it evolution or revolution, or both? If everything is changing, is anything new?
“Crime of the Future” asks many questions, but stops just short of providing understandable resolutions. Cronenberg is interested in provocation, in world building, in bringing together previously investigated themes (cults, new flesh, odd children) in a new way to add brush strokes to a painting he began with films such as “Shivers” and “Rabid.”
Cronenberg’s “A History of Violence” and “Eastern Promises” muse Mortensen gets under the skin of Saul. Charismatic, he’s a rock star of a sort, willing to give of himself for his art. Often hidden under an Ingmar Bergman “Seventh Seal” cloak, he is a reluctant celebrity, a man who spends the bulk of the film reacting to his surroundings, his body and mutations. It’s something different for Mortensen. Saul is a passive, brooding character vulnerable to the whims of his ever-changing body. It’s a quiet yet powerful performance that details a man trying to maintain his humanity, despite the elimination of many of his most human traits, pain chief among them.
Co-star Seydoux’s mix of sensuality, artistry and humanity brings warmth to the film’s cool texture.
Stewart, as the mousy Timlin, is all eagerness. She’s timid but curious, speaking in a strange cadence, as if a hummingbird dubbed her lines.
Both help blunt the edge of the blood-splattered story, bringing feelings to a world drained of such sentiments.
“Crimes of the Future” is an olio of ideas. The neo-noir setting plays host to an unconventional love story, a parable of climate change (characters have a taste for waste in a world where garbage is becoming more accessible than food), evolution and the search to feel something real. The result is a subversive movie that, as Caprice says, is “juicy with meaning,” but perhaps too enigmatic for those unfamiliar with the director’s body horror oeuvre.
Kristen Stewart may always be best known for playing Bella Swan, the young woman who fell in love with a vampire, in the “Twilight” series but if that lifestyle choice seemed scary, it has nothing on the atmosphere of dread in her new movie. “Spencer,” a new impressionistic biopic of Lady Diana (born Diana Spencer) and now playing in theatres, sees her embroiled in a tale of real-life Gothic horror.
It’s Christmas, 1991 at Sandringham House, one of Queen Elizabeth’s country homes. The Royal Family has assembled for their annual holiday celebrations, complete with protocols, paparazzi, strange Royal traditions, disapproving looks, a ghost and the prying eyes of as Equerry Major Alistair Gregory (Timothy Spall). Despite being surrounded by people, including husband Prince Charles (Jack Farthing) and sons William (Jack Nielen) and Harry (Freddie Spry), she feels alone except for her lone confidant is Maggie (Sally Hawkins), her tailor and best friend.
It is, as a title card tells us, a “fable based on a real tragedy,” and over the course of almost two hours we experience Diana’s life years after the fairy tale wedding. Her marriage is crumbling, a she’s battling an eating disorder and the gap between perception of her private life and public persona is widening.
That Sandringham is located next to Park House, the home she grew up in and harbors many happy memories about, only deepens the wellspring of sorrow she feels as her life spins out of control.
“Spencer” is a portrait of the Princess of Wales at her most vulnerable and isolated but it never feels as though it is exploiting Diana. The director, Chilean auteur Pablo Larraín, working from a script by “Eastern Promises” writer Steven Knight, doesn’t turn her life into a pity party. The character is having a rough time equating her life, and the future of her children, with the reality of her situation and yet she perseveres. In the moments away from the protocols of royal life—mommy time with William and Harry or on a trip to the beach with Maggie—the veil lifts and she becomes Diana Spencer, able to leave the titles and tradition in the dust.
Stewart nails the voice and mannerisms but doesn’t try to imitate Diana, one of the world’s best-known people. Instead, she reaches deep to delicately create a portrait of a person riddled with anxiety at a crossroads in her life. Stewart, whose own experiences with an intrusive press and paparazzi have been well documented, brings that lived experience to the film. Stewart’s face during a photocall scene outside a church says it all, expertly showing the mix of duty and terror Diana must have felt toward the press who hounded her.
“Spencer” is a heightened look at Diana’s life, but it’s not all Sturm und Drang. The script is laced with Diana’s sarcastic sense of humour and the beautiful cinematography provides a somewhat serene backdrop to the cooly chaotic action. But make no mistake, the story’s underlying tension, despite a rather joyous finale, has more to do with a psychological horror film than a traditional biopic.
Who says the “Alien” franchise is dead? Ridley Scott may have exhausted the storytelling possibilities of the original franchise but don’t tell that to Kristen Stewart and the annoying T.J. Miller, stars of the new thriller “Underwater,” a.k.a. “Aquatic Alien,” new this week on VOD.
Stewart is Norah an engineer working on a rig at the bottom of the ocean. She and the crew of nautical scientists, (Vincent Cassel, Jessica Henwick, John Gallagher Jr., Mamoudou Athie, Gunner Wright and Miller) are at the mercy of the watery depths when an earthquake destroys their subterranean laboratory. As they fight for survival they discover they may have woken a fierce enemy. “This better not be some ‘20,000 Leagues Under the Sea’ crap,” says Paul (Miller).
On the ocean floor no one can hear you scream but we can hear lots of heavy breathing as the cast grunt their lines into their deep-sea diving suits.
“Underwater” is an ocean floor people in peril flick with loads of wet, claustrophobic atmosphere but little in the way of actual thrills. The earthquake happens in the opening minutes of the film, throwing the characters into danger right off the bat so we don’t get to know anything about them other than their “never say die” attitude and Norah’s wondrous ability to squeeze through very tight spaces before the bad stuff happens. There is no emotional connection, just characters navigating the murky depths with the occasional jump scare thrown in. The final showdown with the deep-sea beast has a certain majesty to it but by then echoes of better movies like “Alien,” “The Abyss” and ”Leviathan” have done in the film’s chances of making an impression.
Lots of movies have mined similar territory but the ones that stand out add something interesting to the mix. Unfortunately “Underwater” brings nothing new to the outer space/underwater monster genre.
Iowa-born actress Jean Seberg was an as an icon of French New Wave cinema who made 34 movies in Europe and Hollywood. Her signature pixie haircut was a sensation, inspiring a generation to cut their hair and Madonna to copy the look for her “Papa Don’t Preach” video. Seberg was a favorite of Jean-Luc Godard and Francois Truffaut who wrote, “When Jean Seberg is on the screen, which is all the time, you can’t look at anything else.” She was also one of the best-known targets of the FBI COINTELPRO project, an illegal surveillance operation aimed at disrupting American political organizations. A new film starring Kristen Stewart as the star details the how the FBI ruined her reputation.
As Australian director Benedict Andrews begins the story Seberg is already a famous. She makes headlines when she publicly supports the Black Panther Party and privately carries on an affair with Black Power leader, Hakim Jamal (Anthony Mackie). Her interest in political causes—and financial support of civil rights organizations—also attracts the attention of the FBI who place her under surveillance. The big brass are determined to undermine her career but when Agent Jack Solomon (Jack O’Connell) sees the toll the operation is taking on Seberg’s mental health and her marriage to French novelist Romain Gary, he tries to intervene.
“Seberg” is a by-the-book retelling of the defining time of Seberg’s career but it never allows us to get to know her. Half the film is eaten up by the procedural aspects of the FBI’s campaign, spending too much time with side characters like Vince Vaughn’s villainous agent and O’Connell’s goody-two-shoes agent. The heart and soul of the story should be Seberg. The thing that should drive the story is how she was pushed to paranoia by the surveillance, not the surveillance itself.
Stewart does what she can with the clichéd dialogue but the inertness of the storytelling doesn’t allow her to portray Seberg’s innate renegade charisma.
“Seberg” is well appointed—the costumes and sets evocatively conjure up the late 1960s setting—but never creates a convincing character.
Ghostbusting is supposed to make you feel good. If that’s true, why does Personal Shopper’s Maureen (played by Kristen Stewart) appear so miserable all the time? Perhaps it’s because the spirit she is trying to bust is that of her brother Lewis, a twin who died of a heart attack in a rambling, old Paris house.
In her second film with French director Olivier Assayas, the Twilight star gives a career topping performance, brittle yet calm in the face of mounting terror. There is a detached feel to the performance that recalls the remove Hitchcock’s leading ladies often projected as she navigates through personal tragedy and supernatural mystery.
“Kristen is the great actress of her generation,” says Assayas. “I feel very privileged to have this connection with her. It is miraculous to work with a young actress who realizes there is no end to what she can do. You tell her, ‘You can fly,’ and she doesn’t believe it and then she does it.
“I have always loved to work with young actors and actresses. You catch them at a moment when they are transforming and opening up. I think it is always interesting to work with actors when you can give them something. When you work with great actors who have done it all, it is very difficult because you give them something that they have already done better in another movie ten years before. “
Their previous collaboration, Clouds of Sils Maria, earned Stewart a rare honour. She was the first American actress to be nominated for and win a best supporting actress César award, the French equivalent of an Oscar.
“She is obsessed with breaking anything that could feel like routine,” he says. “She gives herself this rule of not doing what she would instinctively do. When you do a scene there is an obvious starting place. She never takes it. That’s what I love. As a writer I don’t want to see what I imagined, I want to see an actor who takes it, who appropriates it and does something else with it. That’s when it becomes real and human.”
“Usually I work with actors once, twice and after a while I realize we’ve gone all the way. With Kristen I think I could go on and on.”
Personal Shopper is a ghost story, so things take a strange turn when Maureen’s phone lights up with mysterious texts while she’s on a quick Chunnel trip to London. “R U real? R U alive or dead?” she writes, replying to the Unknown texter. “Tell me something you find unsettling,” comes the response, opening the door for Maureen to begin exploring her fears, phobias, digging deeper than she ever has.
“I don’t believe in the supernatural but I believe there is more to life than the material world. Science kind of proves it. There is so much going on that we can’t see because it is too small or too big or whatever. We have our own relationship with some invisible world. Each of us has his own version of it. You end up living with the departed. Each of us has an inner world which is much more complex than the material world. It’s much more fascinating in terms of cinema. I don’t think it is bizarre to try and connect with that.”
Ghostbusting is supposed to make you feel good. If that’s true, why does Maureen (Kristen Stewart) appear so miserable all the time? Perhaps it’s because the spirit she is trying to bust is that of her brother Lewis, a twin who died of a heart attack in a rambling, old Paris house.
Maureen is an American in Paris working as a personal shopper for pampered jet setter Kyra Hellman (Nora Von Waltstätten). Her job is to pick up and deliver Kyra’s glamorous clothes and jewellery from fashion houses all over the city. When she isn’t choosing filmy Chanel dresses or weighty Cartier necklaces for her boss Maureen spends time trying to contact her dead sibling. They had a deal, whoever died first would send the other a sign. Lewis was a medium, a person able to contact the dead. “I’m not a medium,” she says. “I have to give his spirit, whatever you call it,” she says, “a chance to prove he was right.”
This is a ghost story, so things take a strange turn when Maureen’s phone lights up with mysterious texts while she’s on a quick Chunnel trip to London. “R U real? R U alive or dead?” she writes, replying to the Unknown texter. “Tell me something you find unsettling,” comes the response, opening the door for Maureen to begin exploring her fears, phobias, digging deeper than she ever has.
Spines will be tingled during “Personal Shopper.” The computerized ghostly spirit that visits Maureen from time to time isn’t spooky, but the atmosphere director Olivier Assayas cultivates throughout sure is. Tension and unease build slowly as Maureen’s life slowly takes a turn to the surreal.
Stewart gives a career topping performance, brittle yet calm in the face of mounting terror. This isn’t a showy performance. Instead Stewart opts for naturalism, at least as natural as possible given the subject matter that highlights the deep sense of loneliness she feels in the wake of her brother’s passing. There is a detached feel to the performance that recalls the remove Hitchcock’s leading ladies often projected as she navigates through personal tragedy and supernatural mystery.
“Personal Shopper” doesn’t feel like a horror film. Assayas has made a moody psychological thriller that is about the absence of a loved one as much as it is about thrills and chills.
In this mixed-up, shook-up world there are fewer and fewer things we can count on as absolutes. One of them is that there will be a new Woody Allen movie every year with a jaunty jazz soundtrack and credits written in the Windsor Light Condensed font. His new film, “Café Society,” the story of a frantic young romantic trying to find himself in 1930s Hollywood, is slice of comfort cinema with all of Allen’s trademarks intact.
Bobby Dorfman (Jesse Eisenberg) is a native New Yorker who jumped coasts to take up in Los Angeles. The slightly neurotic east coaster is not a natural fit in Tinsel Town, but his powerhouse uncle Phil (Steve Carell) helps out, giving him a job at his powerhouse talent agency and introducing him to a beautiful secretary named Vonnie (Kristen Stewart). By day he does odd jobs for Phil—“Menial errands are my specialty,” Bobby says, “but I don’t see a great future in it.”—while on the weekends he slowly falls for Vonnie. They share a disdain for industry talk and Hollywood’s catty innuendo and a love of cheap Mexican food but she doesn’t share his feelings. Unfortunately (for Bobby) Vonnie has a mostly absent boyfriend.
Enter romantic plot complications and Bobby hightails it back to New York where he goes into the nightclub business with his gangster brother Ben (Corey Stall). Finally successful, he marries and has a child with Veronica (Blake Lively), who he nicknames Vonnie, betraying the feelings he harbours for his west coast love. When Vonnie number one returns to New York for a visit the film offers up a line that sums the situation up, “Life is a comedy written by a sadistic comedy writer.”
A light-hearted tapestry, “Café Society” is embroidered with the odd punch line and hints of melancholy. It’s a comedy tinted with heartbreak, a look at true love and unsatisfactory options. It returns Allen to the fertile ground he ploughed with “Annie Hall” and “Manhattan” and while this film isn’t a classic on those terms, it’s an engaging look at life and love buoyed by great performances.
Eisenberg does the best Woody Allen impression we’ve seen on screen in some time, but there’s more to him than simply aping the master. His journey from nebbish to notable is believable and gives the movie its heart.
Co-star Stewart hands in what may be her first truly adult role. She plays Vonnie as level-headed in a sea of dreamers. When Bobby describes Joan Crawford as “larger-than-life” she replies, simply but compellingly, “I think I’d be happier life-sized.” It’s the line that sums up her character and Stewart makes the most of it and Vonnie.
“Café Society” is a welcome uptick after Allen’s last two films, “Magic in the Moonlight” and “Irrational Man.” For Woody’s fans it may feel familiar but in the most soothing of ways.
You’d be forgiven for thinking that “Equals,” the new film starring Kristen Stewart and Nicholas Hoult, was a zombie movie. Characters roam around aimlessly, mumble dialogue and stare at one another as though they’d like to take a bite out of one another.
But it’s not a zombie flick, it’s a high-concept sci-fi love against-all-odds story set in a utopian society where emotions don’t exist. IE, it’s 101 minutes of whispered words and blank stares.
“Equals” is takes place in a place where human emotions have been eradicated. It has resulted in a peaceful, if somewhat dull world. Like small town Ontario, everyone dresses the same and is unfailingly polite. The only disease they have been unable to remedy is S.O.S., a virus that eats away at their icy demeanours and restores their pleasure centers. In other words, it allows people to feel again. Illustrator Silas (Hoult) is infected with feelings, developing romantic thoughts for co-worker Nia (Stewart). She is also sick but undiagnosed. They begin an affair but when a cure is found their new-found feelings and romance are threatened.
Director Drake Doremus has set up an almost impossible situation for himself and his actors. Flat and unaffected, “Equals” is icy in the extreme. The only heat on display comes from several hand-holding sessions which, I suppose, are meant to melt the screen but honestly, there are Amish love stories with more sexual tension.
What could have been an exploration of the very core of what makes us human, a kind of star-crossed sci fi “Romeo and Juliet,” is instead a plodding look at two people experiencing late puberty.
It’s a shame, but perhaps not a surprise, that a movie that aims to sap the emotion out of most of its characters, is a bit of a slog.
