SYNOPSIS: “Hamnet,” is a fictionalized look how the the lives of William Shakespeare and his wife Agnes Hathaway are left in tatters following their son Hamnet’s death from the plague.
CAST: Jessie Buckley, Paul Mescal, Emily Watson, Joe Alwyn. Directed by Chloé Zhao.
REVIEW: Based on Maggie O’Farrell’s 2020 novel of the same name, “Hamnet” is an unflinching portrait of love and loss.
Set in Warwickshire, England in the late 16th century, “Hamnet” begins with love at first sight between the free-spirited Agnes Hathaway (Jessie Buckley) and Latin tutor and poet William Shakespeare (Paul Mescal). Defying their families, they marry and soon have twins, Judith (Olivia Lynes) and Hamnet (Jacobi Jupe).
When Hamnet is stricken with the bubonic plague, Agnes cares for him as Will, unaware of his son’s illness, works in London and returns after the boy’s death. Consumed by grief, they live separate lives of anguish, until that pain transforms into a work of art that provides an opportunity to heal.
Intimate and as raw, “Hamnet” is an open wound; a profound portrait of heartache that is as uncompromising as it is emotionally involving in its depiction of a mother’s loss of a child. Buckley, one of the finest actors of her generation, taps into the harrowing stages of grief with an unforgettable ferocity. Her despair is palatable, which makes the extended “healing power of art” climax, the climb out of the abyss of woe, even more powerful.
It’s not a spoiler to note that the work of art in question is Shakespeare’s tragedy “Hamlet.” (BUT TREAD CAREFULLY, DETAILS TO FOLLOW) A title card at the film’s beginning reads, “Hamnet and Hamlet are in fact the same name, entirely interchangeable in Stratford records in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries.”
As an examination of death from all angles—philosophical, emotional, spiritual and physical—the writing and preforming of “Hamlet” is an epiphany for both William and Agnes, in that it meets mortality head-on, from the mourning of a loved one, to the effects of loss on those left behind and the fear of, “what dreams may come” in “that undiscovered country, from whose bourn / No traveller returns.” Their healing may never be complete, but the play’s examination of art as a source of solace is uplifting.
The play, which makes up much of the film’s final moments, may be the thing, but it’s director Chloé Zhao’s intimate exploration of child loss, as expressed by Buckley’s riveting performance, that sticks. It’s so overwhelming I may never submit to the raw intensity of it again—it’s not a movie you could rightly say you “enjoyed”—but it stands as a powerful study of loss.
SYNOPSIS: In “The History of Sound,” a historical romantic drama starring Paul Mescal and Josh O’Connor, and now playing in theatres, college students Lionel (Mescal) and ethnomusicologist David (O’Connor) begin a romantic relationship over a shared love of music. Separated by World War One, they rekindle their romance post war as they travel through Maine recording traditional folk songs for posterity.
CAST: Paul Mescal, Josh O’Connor, Chris Cooper. Directed by Oliver Hermanus.
REVIEW: There is very little actual action in “The History of Sound.” Scenes play out at their own tempo, the restrained performances quietly pushing the movie along at a very deliberate pace.
The film’s real action lies in the emotional fireworks of yearning that light up every frame. A meandering study of love found and lost; it is understated to a fault but remains compelling because of the chemistry between Paul Mescal and Josh O’Connor.
The beauty in their performances comes from what is left unsaid, what is implied between the two. The story is driven by looks of longing, self-contained emotions, long separations and stolen intimate moments between the two men. It gently dawdles along, punctuated by passionate performances of the folk songs that musically comment on the story.
The story is touched by tragedy, (NO SPOILERS HERE) but a soulful coda to the main story brings with it a sense of closure that is both bittersweet and beautiful. Set to a folk tune called The Silver Dagger—”Oh, who sits weeping on my grave, and will not let me sleep?”—ii is a powerful comment on the character’s (AGAIN NO SPOILERS HERE!) unresolved grief.
“The History of Sound” will be a bit too leisurely for some viewers, but, if you’re up for it, the deliberate pacing allows the audience to steep in the story, soaking up every nuanced moment between Mescal and O’Connor.
SYNOPSIS: In “Gladiator II,” director Ridley Scott’s long-gestating sequel to his 2000 blockbuster of almost the same name, Paul Mescal plays Lucius, former heir to the Roman Empire, now forced to battle in the Colosseum after his home is invaded by General Marcus Acacius on the orders of Rome’s syphilitic, power-hungry emperors Caracalla (Fred Hechinger) and Geta (Joseph Quinn).
CAST: Paul Mescal, Pedro Pascal, Joseph Quinn, Fred Hechinger, Lior Raz, Derek Jacobi, Connie Nielsen, and Denzel Washington. Directed by Ridley Scott.
REVIEW: Come to see a man bite a monkey, stay for Denzel Washington’s deliciously devious villain.
The follow-up to Best Picture Oscar winner “Gladiator” is long on spectacle—Lucius not only battles giant monkeys, but also sharks and a huge, bloodthirsty rhino—but short on soul. It is loud and proud but the emotional connectivity offered by the original film, and specifically Russell Crowe’s performance, gets lost in this new translation.
The story of corruption, loyalty, birthright, vengeance and angry fighting animals is lavish and epic, but it isn’t much fun.
The set pieces in the Colosseum deliver big CGI action, there’s a fake severed head (a practical effect that makes the infamous rubber baby in Clint Eastwood’s “American Sniper” look photorealistic) and throngs of soldiers for as far as the eye can see. It is epic filmmaking on a grand scale, but it’s missing adrenaline, that hit of dopamine that gives you a rush.
The opening battle scene and the abovementioned monkey bite are rousing, but after that the movie gets bogged down, not with plot—that’s relatively simple—but with heroic banter and political intrigue.
Paul Mescal, as Lucius, son of Russell Crowe’s character Maximus Decimus Meridius from the first film, takes pains to differentiate himself from Crowe’s Oscar winning performance. His gladiator is pensive, weighed down by the death of his warrior wife at the end of an arrow fired by Marcus Acacius (Pedro Pascal). Mescal is charismatic but in his quest for vengeance, he’s tasked with delivering a series of heroic speeches, none of which are as memorable as Crowe’s “Are you not entertained?” declaration.
Pascal’s gets the job done as the conflicted Roman general Marcus Acacius. He’s a warrior, but fears Rome is headed in the wrong direction under the sadistic twin emperors, Caracalla (Fred Hechinger) and Geta (Joseph Quinn).
Both hand in fine performances, but then, into the mix, comes Denzel Washington. It’s a supporting role, but he’s here for a good time, not a long time. As Macrinus, a wealthy former slave with a plan to control Rome, he gives the film some bounce, some real personality.
As the villain of the piece, his cunning would put Machiavelli to shame. He’s a master chess player, moving everyone around as though they are pawns in his devilish game. His scenes are the film’s most memorable, and remember, this is in a movie where the lead character bites a monkey!
Ridley Scott’s “Gladiator II” has sword and sandal sequelitis. It’s bigger, louder and longer than the original film, but more, in this case, doesn’t mean better.
There will likely not be a more melancholic movie this year than “All of Us Strangers,” a new, otherworldly study of grief, adapted from a Japanese ghost story by Taichi Yamada, that is grounded by real, earthbound emotion
Andrew Scott, best known for portraying James Moriarty in the BBC series “Sherlock,” and his role as the “hot priest” on “Fleabag,” is lonely screenwriter Adam. He lives alone in an abandoned London high rise, empty save for Harry (Paul Mescal), who lives on the sixth floor.
They meet when Harry, unannounced, arrives at Adam’s door with a bottle of whiskey. “I saw you looking at me from the street,” he says. “I’ve seen you a bunch of times, coming and going with your head down.” He’s fishing for an invite in, but Adam keeps the door between them.
Adam’s new project is a script set in 1987. To put himself in the right mindset he listens to music from the era, and makes a visit to his childhood home. There, he encounters the ghosts of his parents, played with warmth by Claire Foy and Jamie Bell. Killed in a car accident when Adam was twelve, they are stuck in 1987, while he exists in present day.
“You were just a boy,” says mom, “but now you’re not. You look different but it’s you. I thought you’d be hairier, like your dad.”
Visiting with these apparitions from the past provides a measure of closure for him, as he attempts to make up for decades of missed moments.
Back in London, he and Harry begin a relationship, the first meaningful connection of his adult life. “I’d always felt alone,” says Adam. “This is a new feeling.”
“All of Us Strangers” is a supernatural family drama, but it isn’t an “I see dead people” rehash. It is a chance for Adam to get to know the parents who left him, to tell them about his life, hear them tell them they love him and are proud of him, and possibly most importantly, get to say goodbye. It’s a work of melancholy, a study of one man coping with grief and loss, that is both gentle and devastating.
It’s never clear whether the parents are hallucinations, dreams or actual ghosts, but Scott’s contemplative performance renders that question moot. What’s important is Adam’s relationship to them, how they make him feel, not if they are real or not.
You may question what is real, and what is not throughout, but the individual moments—a father embracing his son for sins committed years ago, a mother’s comforting touch, Harry and Adam relaxing at home, happy and in love—feel real, and are by times moving, painful and utterly earthbound expressions of the power of love in the face of Adam’s unbearable loneliness.
“All of Us Strangers” is an intimate, haunting film that comforts and aches in equal measure.
“Carmen” borrows its name and main themes from 19th century works by romantic novelist Prosper Mérimée and composer Georges Bizet, but is set very firmly in modern day. A loose and often surreal adaptation of the novel and the opera of the same name, this movie begins with a tragic event that shapes the rest of the story.
When a bullet from a drug cartel member kills defiant flamenco dancer Zilah (Marina Tamayo) in the Mexican desert, her daughter Carmen (Melissa Barrera) is left alone and vulnerable. Fleeing to safety with the help of a smuggler, she heads for the US border and Masilda (Rossy de Palma), her mother’s best friend.
On the American side in Texas, Aiden (recent Oscar nominee Paul Mescal), a discharged Marine suffering from PTSD, reluctantly takes a job patrolling the border.
The journeys intersect when Carmen and other immigrants attempt an illegal crawl under the fence dividing the two countries. Spotted by Mike (Benedict Hardie), a racist guard with a quick trigger finger, they are met with a hail of gunfire. Carmen escapes with Adreian in tow. On the run, the pair begin a passionate affair as they plot their next steps.
“Carmen” is a musical odyssey but it isn’t exactly a musical. It is a gritty and timely story told with magic realism, where contemporary dance and music are part of the story’s language. Directed by French dancer Benjamin Millepied, who choreographed the 2010 movie “Black Swan” and the “sandwalk” in “Dune,” goes for a dream like feel that stands at stark contrast to the gritty reality of Carmen and Adrian’s situation.
This approach does make for some jarring transitions from scene to scene, as the movie shifts from pragmatism to avant-garde fever dreams, and it can be confusing, but the sheer beauty of the dance sequences and the music goes a long way in keeping the experience compelling. Millepied’s dance sequences are, unsurprisingly, visually stunning, and often worth the price of admission alone.
Barrera and Mescal’s smoldering chemistry is “Carmen’s” touchstone to reality, but this isn’t about realism, it is about pure emotion. Often more beautiful than cohesive, it’s geared to make you think and feel, and on that level it succeeds.
