I join CTV NewsChannel anchor Akshay Tandon to talk about the fantasy of “The Magic Faraway Tree,” the horrors of “Insidious: Out of the Further,” the character study of “The Rivals of Amziah King” and the drama of “Late Fame.”
Watch the whole thing HERE!
Watch the whole thing HERE!
SYNOPSIS: In “Late Fame,” a new drama now playing in theatres, Willem Dafoe stars as a forgotten New York City poet whose work is rediscovered by an enthusiastic group of young fans.
CAST: Willem Dafoe, Greta Lee, Edmund Donovan, Clay Singer, Luca Padovan, Graham Campbell, Arthur Langlie, Jake Lacy, Tony Torn, Clark Johnson. Directed by Kent Jones.
REVIEW: Ed Saxberger (Willem Dafoe) moved to New York City in 1977 with dreams of becoming a poet. “Downtown was another world,” he says, “and Soho was like being on the moon.” In present day, he’s a postal worker who spends most nights at the local bar, and whose one book of poetry lies, mostly unread, in the delete bin of bohemian history.
His long-forgotten dreams of glory are reignited when he’s approached by Meyers (Edmund Donovan), an animated young man who slowly ingratiates his way into Saxberger’s quietly ordered life through flattery and persistence. Meyers is the leader of a circle of twentysomething so-called renaissance men called the Enthusiasm Society. Their literary salon is a pretentious throwback to old New York in their stilted celebration of poetry and art.
Feted as a rediscovered genius, Saxberger reluctantly bathes in the group’s attention, particularly from Gloria (Greta Lee) a tragic heroine in the vein of Daisy Buchanan.
In the ramp up to the group’s inaugural poetry reading, Saxberger’s first public appearance in decades, the poet-turned-postal-worker ponders his place in the world of letters and whether this newfound attention is genuine or not.
Based on the novella “Late Fame” (“Später Ruhm”) by the nineteenth century Austrian writer Arthur Schnitzler, the film is a witty and wistful look at art and aging that gives Dafoe and Lee a showcase for their powerhouse performances.
As Saxberger, Dafoe goes low-key, delivering a natural performance without any of the fun artifice of his work in “Poor Things” or “The Lighthouse.” Those heightened characterizations are expertly crafted, but he’s doing something different here, playing a world-weary guy whose second chance at recognition is a thorny rose; alluring but potentially harmful. It’s beautiful work that subtly reveals frustrations and ambition he thought were long buried.
Working opposite him is Greta Lee, in a much more flamboyant role. As the would-be flapper diva Gloria, she is by time theatrical à la Sally Bowles, even handing in an exhilarating version of Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht’s “Surabaya Johnny,” by times prickly and by times vulnerable. It’s dramatic, scene stealing work, the opposite of her restrained performance in “Past Lives.” Here she’s filled with glamour and pathos.
“Late Fame” longs for a more bohemian time, one where art and poetry had cultural currency. As a relic from that era, Saxberger is a curiosity to the Enthusiasm Society, but Dafoe quietly never allows us to forget that he’s a living, breathing person and not an artefact from another time. He is as authentic and grounded as Gloria is ephemeral and that push and pull gives the film its enticing allure.
SYNOPSIS: The new family fantasy film “The Legend of Ochi,” starring Willem Dafoe and an adorable puppet, tells the story of a young girl who learns that everything she’s been taught is a lie. “I am strong, and I am cool,” she writes in a note to her father, “and I don’t believe what you say.”
CAST: Helena Zengel, Willem Dafoe, Finn Wolfhard and Emily Watson. Directed by Isaiah Saxon.
REVIEW: “The Legend of Ochi” feels like an arthouse “How to Train Your Dragon” or a 1980s Amblin movie without the lens flares but with a Dr. Doolittle twist.
Set in the mountains of Carpathia, the story of Yuri (Helena Zengel), teenage daughter of her village’s head Ochi hunter Maxim (Willem Dafoe), unfolds as she discovers these woodland creatures aren’t the terrible beasts of her people’s folktales.
These creatures, who like a Gremlin and Baby Yoda had a child, are under constant threat from Maxim who believes they pillage the village, kill livestock and, years ago, kidnapped his wife. When Yuri learns the truth, that her father’s stories are more myth than truth, she goes all “E.T. the Extraterrestrial” and attempts to reunite one of the big-eyed creature with its mother.
Shot on location in Romania’s Carpathian Mountains—where apparently, they had trouble keeping bears from eating the sets at night—“The Legend of Ochi” has the look of a medieval fantasy. Although set in modern (ish) day there is a magical feel to the film’s scenery. The Frank Frazetta-esque backdrop is enhanced by a dramatic, mostly orchestral score by David Longstreth that does as much as the locations to set the stage for Yuri’s adventure.
Against this are a striking human cast. As Maxim, Willem DaFoe takes an over-the-top character who says things like, “I saw the devil dancing in the goblin’s eyes,” and still manages to make him human and not simply a flowery caricature of a mountain man on a mission.
Emily Watson, as Maxim’s ex with a wooden hand, is true grit personified, living life on the side of a mountain, alone, save for her research into the Ochi and their connection with nature.
As Yuri, Helena Zengel hands in a retrained performance, fueled by her concern for the Ochi. If Spielberg still made movies like this, she would be expecting a call.
The themes of connection, resilience and eco-responsibility wouldn’t mean much if we didn’t care about the Ochi, but the animatronic creatures are not only adorable but also bring real emotional appeal. Hand operated puppets, they have an organic, artisanal vibe that sets them apart from so many of their CGI counterparts. They are, at once, a nostalgic throwback to the days of rubber ETs and a charming new presence that gives the movie an emotional core.
“The Legend of Ochi” has much to recommend it but suffers from pacing issues and a predictable ending. Still, as new, stand-alone kid’s fantasy goes, it delivers a magical story that feels definitely and delightfully handmade.
I join CTV NewsChannel anchor Scott Hirsch to talk about the Bob Dylan biopic “A Complete Unknown” and the vampire drama “Nosferatu.”
Watch the whole thing HERE!
SYNOPSIS: A gothic tale of an ancient vampire’s infatuation with an innocent young woman, Robert Egger’s “Nosferatu” is a reimaging of F. W. Murnau’s 1922 expressionist horror masterpiece “Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror.”
CAST: Bill Skarsgård, Nicholas Hoult, Lily-Rose Depp, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Emma Corrin, Ralph Ineson, Simon McBurney, and Willem Dafoe. Directed by Robert Eggers.
REVIEW: In a showstopper of an opening, the story of “Nosferatu” begins as Ellen (Lily-Rose Depp) telepathically awakens an ancient evil in the form of Count Orlock, a.k.a. Nosferatu from the dead.
Years later this story of evil and sacrifice continues in 1838 Germany with Ellen, now newly wed to real estate agent Thomas Hutter (Nicholas Hoult).
Recently, Ellen’s nights have been flooded with terrifying dreams she doesn’t understand. Thomas dismisses them as “enchanted memories,” but she thinks her visions portend something terrible for the couple.
When Thomas’s boss Herr Knock (Simon McBurney) asks him to travel to the Carpathian Mountains to meet with an elderly new client named Count Orlock (Bill Skarsgård)—“He has one foot in the grave,” jokes Herr Knock—Ellen doesn’t want him to go, but the job offers the kind of money they need to start a family and soon Thomas is off.
Weeks pass. Ellen’s dreams become so intense her doctor calls in Prof. Albin Eberhart Von Franz (Willem Dafoe), a metaphysician and occult scientist who declares, “I have seen things in this world that would make Isaac Newton crawl back into the womb!”
Meanwhile, at Orlock’s creepy castle, the arduous journey and sleep deprivation caused by strange dreams has left Thomas weakened and afraid. Are his dreams morbid fairy tales, as Orlock suggests, or has the Count, a.k.a. Nosferatu, placed a spell on him, as it appears he has on Ellen?
In Germany, as Orlock’s ship heads for their shores, Ellen and others are held in his telepathic sway. “There is,” Von Franz says, “a dread storm rising.”
Director Robert Eggers breathes new life into “Nosferatu’s” withered lungs, staying true to his gorgeously gothic aesthetic while at the same time paying tribute to F. W. Murnau’s classic 1922 film. Immaculately crafted, unsettling images of scurrying rats, crumbling castles and ominous shadows projected by flickering candlelight create a nightmarish canvas onto which this story of dark obsession and sacrifice is projected.
It will be categorized as a horror film, and there are elements of gore, death and the unnerving auditory experience of hearing Count Orlock drain his victims, but it is an old-school horror movie that aims to unnerve its audience with just a few jump scares and no vats of fake blood. Eggers conveys terror with the film’s atmosphere of dread and depiction of madness, decay and unrelenting, elemental evil.
As the film’s tragic heroine Ellen, Depp carries much of the story’s emotional darkness. Ellen is tormented by visions she doesn’t understand, but Depp doesn’t play her as a victim. It’s more like she’s trapped in a toxic relationship and, as such, carries a complex panoply of feelings. Fear and lust top the list, but ultimately it is the steeliness Depp gives her that makes Ellen a compelling but helplessness and hunted character.
The beating—or, in this case, non-beating—heart of the story is Bill Skarsgård as the vampiric Count Orlock. The Dracula stereotype of the vampire with a cape is out of the window. Instead, Orlock is a long-dead Transylvanian noble man, a figure from some folk tale mythology, complete with a bushy moustache and opulent clothing befitting his aristocratic status. But whatever he was when he was alive, he has transformed into a sinister being, a partially decomposed primordial vision of terror. Unseen for most of the film, save for some stunning shadow play early on, Orlock is an avatar of evil and entitlement.
From Orlock’s slow, deliberate speech to his ferocity, Skarsgård, unrecognizable under an inch of make-up, plays him as though he’s just stepped out of a nightmare.
As Thomas, Hoult is a sturdy leading man, and Dafoe, continuing his exploration of off kilter old timey doctors, is obviously having fun, and brings a hint of lightness to this very dark tale.
“Nosferatu” is a story of shadows and light, both thematically and in its visual style.
In one creepy flourish Eggers utilizes shadows to represent the spread of Orlock’s influence. The image of his hand slowly casting shade over Thomas and Ellen’s hometown of Wisborg is eye popping, both visually and metaphorically. As a stylist Eggers creates an atmosphere of evil that emerges from the darkness, painstakingly enveloping all in its path. There is a terrible beauty in these images, one that plumbs the depths of Orlock’s depravity in ways that is both spellbinding and repulsive.
By the time the end credits roll “Nosferatu” is both a compelling homage to, and a reimaging of, Murnau’s original film. The atmosphere of dread remains, given new life with impressive visuals, but it is in Egger’s revision of the core story of obsession and sacrifice that the film becomes truly horrific.
SYNOPSIS: In “Saturday Night,” a new show business biography from director Jason Reitman, and now playing in theatres, tensions run high as producer Lorne Michaels and his not ready for prime-time gang of young comedians count down the minutes until the first broadcast of “Saturday Night Live” on Oct. 11, 1975.
CAST: Gabriel LaBelle, Rachel Sennott, Cory Michael Smith, Ella Hunt, Dylan O’Brien, Emily Fairn, Matt Wood, Lamorne Morris, Kim Matula, Finn Wolfhard, Nicholas Braun, Cooper Hoffman, Andrew Barth Feldman, Kaia Gerber, Tommy Dewey, Willem Dafoe, Matthew Rhys, and J. K. Simmons. Directed by Jason Reitman.
REVIEW: “Saturday Night” captures the anxiety, the humor and the sheer nerve it took to get the first episode of “SNL” off the ground. Chaos reigns for much of the movie’s run time as producer Lorne Michaels attempts to wrangle an unruly cast, a drug addled host (a terrific Matthew Rhys as George Carlin), indecision and a network executive (Willem Dafoe) who may, or may not, order a Johnny Carson rerun to air instead of Michaels’s disorganized counterculture circus.
Reitman captures the behind-the-scenes action with a restless camera that never seems to stop moving, rat-a-tat-tat Arron Sorkin style fast talking dialogue and meticulous recreations of the iconic “SNL” set and sketches.
Reitman’s biggest storytelling accomplishment, however, may be that he imbues the film with a sense that everything may come crashing down at any second. We know it won’t, of course—“SNL” celebrates 50 seasons this year—but the threat of imminent collapse hangs over frame.
Michaels’s high wire act is the film’s engine, but it’s the insights into the cast that provide the key to deciphering what made the original 1975 cast so compelling.
Cory Michael Smith captures “SNL’s” first superstar Chevy Chase’s comic ability, fueled by talent, ego and bluster. Dylan O’Brien’s take on Dan Aykroyd is eerily accurate vocally and physically, and Matt Wood puts John Belushi’s troubled genius routine front and centre. Lamorne Morris plays Garrett Morris, the lone Black performer in the original cast, as a searcher, looking for purpose in a show that appears to be rudderless.
The women in the boy’s club, Ella Hunt as Gilda Radner, Emily Fairn as Laraine Newman, and Kim Matula as Jane Curtin, are given less to do, but each has a moment amid the chaos. Hunt gets Radner’s buoyant, sunshiny personality, Fairn is all eagerness as Newman and Curtain’s one-on-one backstage chat with Morris is a funny, yet poignant, conversation about her place in this cast. Cumulatively, they are at their best in a recreation of a sketch where the women, as construction workers, ogle and objectify Aykroyd.
The large ensemble cast is rounded out by a scene-stealing J.K. Simmons as Hollywood legend Milton Berle and “Succession’s” Nicholas Braun in the dual roles of Andy Kaufman and Muppet master Jim Henson.
The film’s soul comes courtesy of the pairing of Gabriel LaBelle and Rachel Sennott as Michaels and his wife and “SNL” writer, Rosie Shuster. “We may be married,” she says, “but I’m not your wife,” and it is their bond, in whatever form it takes, that grounds Michaels as everything appears to spin out of control.
“Saturday Night” is a love letter to show business. It’s high energy nostalgic fun, told in almost real time, that captures the tenacity of the creative mind and the beginnings of a cultural institution.
Betelgeuse, the bio-exorcist made famous by Michael Keaton in the 1988 film of (almost) the same name, thinks of himself as “nightmare material,” but for fans of the much-loved original movie, his reunion with director Tim Burton is a dream.
The new film, “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” returns to Winter River, and three generations of the Deetz family, wacky artist Delia (Catherine O’Hara), mother of goth TV personality Lydia (Winona Ryder)—”The Living. The Dead. Can they coexist? That’s what we’re here to find out,” she says— and grandmother of the rebellious Astrid (Jenna Ortega), who thinks her mother’s clairvoyance is a sham.
Brought together by the passing of Deetz family patriarch Charles, (originally played by Jeffrey Jones), the trio becomes a quartet when Astrid opens a portal to the Afterlife, releasing the ghostly presence of Betelgeuse (Keaton). “The juice is loose!”
Lydia, now engaged to greasy television producer Rory (Justin Theroux), must reckon with her past betrothal to Betelgeuse—“When I was a teenager, a trickster demon terrorized our entire family and tried to force me to marry him,” she says—while the rambunctious spirit has marital troubles of his own. His ex-wife, the soul-sucking Delores (Monica Belucci) has pulled herself together—when we first see her, she’s reassembling her dismembered body—and looking for revenge.
Flip flopping between past and present, our world and the otherworld, “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” explores Astrid’s crush on emo local boy Jeremy (Arthur Conti), the adventures of b-movie-action-star-turned-ghost-detective Wolf Jackson (Willem Dafoe) and the power of the “Handbook for the Recently Deceased.”
A sequel to a movie released when Ronald Reagan was the President of the United States, “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” is in some ways a back-to-basics Tim Burton movie.
A return to the pop pastiche style that made his name, it’s an eye-popping collection of influences. From the German Expressionism of “The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari” and classic 50s kitsch to exaggerated dreamscapes and the gothic “Gashlycrumb Tinies,” his energized visuals will make your eyeballs dance. It’s a welcome return to the marvellously macabre window dressing that defined the original and made it so much fun.
But sequel culture, being what it is, means that the follow-up to a beloved hit must be bigger than what came before. So, “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” is longer, louder and unrulier than the original. In its attempt to recreate the magic of the first film, it tries too hard, stuffing the story with side-stories, new characters and callbacks to 1988. It’s a new “Day-O” for Betelgeuse, and the effort is evident, but the extra stuff doesn’t do much in terms of freshening up Mr. Juice’s mouldy corpse.
Still, although bigger is not better, it brims with humor and heart, courtesy of a handpicked cast of Burton regulars. Keaton has an expanded role—he only appears for 17.5 minutes in the original—and goes for it. The character isn’t exactly subtle, but both Burton and Keaton use restraint, so the wild-and-wacky “ghost with the most” doesn’t overstay his welcome.
The Deetz family dynamic, the film’s beating heart, is well represented in the relationship between Ryder, O’Hara and Ortega. National treasure O’Hara is reliably hilarious, stealing every scene she’s in, while Ryder and Ortega do the dramatic heavy lifting.
You may not have the time of your afterlife at “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” but it’s far from a dead end for Burton and Company. It doesn’t have the charm of the first film, but does deliver enough laughs, fan service and new ideas to cast its spell.
LOGLINE: “Kinds of Kindness,” a new, absurdist dark comedy now playing in theatres, reteams “Poor Things” director Yorgos Lanthimos and star Emma Stone, in three interconnected stories, detailing the codependency between a man and his eccentric and controlling employer, a policeman whose missing wife reappears, but isn’t the person he remembers and a woman devoted to a spiritual leader.
CAST: Emma Stone, Jesse Plemons, Willem Dafoe, Margaret Qualley, Hong Chau, Joe Alwyn, Mamoudou Athie, Hunter Schafer. Directed by Yorgos Lanthimos.
REVIEW: Director Yorgos Lanthimos follows up the Academy Award winning success of “Poor Things” with another study of the dark side of humanity. The film, “Kinds of Kindness” is a portmanteau, a triptych of tales, each featuring different stories and characters, but the same main cast. Loosely connected, each section deals with some sort of manipulation and falling under the sway of someone who may, or may not, have the best of intentions.
Those expecting a rehash of “Poor Things” or “The Favourite,” the Lanthimos films that edged the Greek director into the mainstream, will have to adjust expectations. This is a return to the, despite the movie’s title, unkind tone of earlier works like “Dogtooth,” “The Lobster,” and “The Killing of a Sacred Deer.” The harder edge brings with it a certain kind of bleak, mean spiritedness that may be entertaining to watch, but not always exactly enjoyable to process as a viewer.
Still, Lanthimos has made a movie that is not soon forgotten.
In a landscape of movies that offer instant gratification, “Kinds of Kindness,” with its unexpected twists and often unpleasant story developments, is one that takes its time to burrow into its audience’s collective consciousness.
To say it takes some surprising zig zags is an understatement, but it’s not simply strange for the sake of being strange. There does seem to be a motive behind the madness of this co-dependency comedy, no matter how impenetrable it may be. Your enjoyment level will depend on your ability to hang on to the mast as the waters get very choppy.
