“Okay, so let me get this straight. It comes out, from wherever, to record podcasts for, like, a year, and then what? It just goes into hibernation?”
Here on the UW Film Club Podcast, we’ve managed to do something completely unheard of: cover a relevant movie in the same week it’s relevant! This time, we’ve decided to reflect on the 2017 horror flick It, just in time for the release of It: Chapter Two! Although only one of us have seen the sequel so far, we talk about how the two compare, we praise the stellar cast and performances, and ponder over whether its blend of horror and comedy is as sharp and well-balanced as was initially perceived. It’s time to float on the 49th episode of the UW Film Club Podcast! Tune in now!
You can find us on Facebook at /UWFilmClub, and on Twitter and Instagram @FilmClubUW. Make sure to rate, comment, and subscribe to our podcast on Apple Podcasts, Soundcloud, Spotify, and Google Play, and tune in every Monday for a new episode of the UW Film Club Podcast!
Phantom Thread is in every sense an exacting film. Everything from the aesthetic to the performances is carried out with such precision that it is hard not to be impressed with what writer/director (and cinematographer) Paul Thomas Anderson has crafted. It is an unconventional love story that pursues the “it has to be perfect” idea that all artists strive for, but never has the precision of the filmmaking process so perfectly aligned itself with the themes and characters of the film. In its own way, Phantom Thread is a demanding film of itself, and because of it, the audience is treated to one of the most intricate works of 2017.
Phantom Thread follows Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis), a famous dressmaker in 1950s London who is rigorously precise and committed to his work. While on a day trip seeking inspiration, he successfully finds his new muse (and companion) in a shy waitress named Alma (Vickey Krieps). Together, a romantic relationship blossoms that eventually disrupts Reynold’s work, and as he pushes her away because of it, Alma finds ways to bring herself back into his life and change the power disparity between them, creating the film’s central attraction of a toxic relationship, the power dichotomy between them, and the dependence on each other in the face of it all.
One of the most attractive aspects of this film is Daniel Day-Lewis’s performance. Claimed as his final role before retirement, Day-Lewis gives an amazing tour de force performance as Reynolds that runs the spectrum of demanding and in control to flustered and vulnerable. He encapsulates a man that is so incredibly dedicated to his work, its mastery, and the incessant need to maintain control while showcasing the fragility of such a commanding figure. It’s quite the sight seeing an actor put everything he has left into his ‘final role’, and though I’m fairly certain we haven’t seen the last of Day-Lewis, he is certainly leaving on a high note.
It is interesting to look at this film as a reflective work for Anderson. The film’s official synopsis describes the film as an “illuminating portrait both of an artist on a creative journey, and the women who keep his world running” which makes you wonder how much of Anderson’s personal attributes are embodied in Reynolds and his wife Maya Rudolph’s in Alma. It seems to me that the film is very much a personal work that puts into words what their relationship is and how Anderson, as an artist, taxes his relationship through his creative methods. I’m not going to sit here and act like I know anything about their marriage, but the film certainly has something to say about the artist’s sacrifice and the conditions of living with one.
The aesthetic of this film should certainly be noted too. Shot beautifully on 70mm, the film’s visual quality comes alive with a close attention to detail and precision that matches that of Reynold’s. Anderson’s mastery behind the camera is a kind of artistry that compliments what we’re supposed to feel in the film, and it really shows that Anderson is an auteur if there ever was one. Supporting this is a fantastic score by Johnny Greenwood; the music is so pronounced when events on the scene come to a head and subdued during intimate moments with tons of strings and an all too catchy piano melody (just listen to House of Woodcock and be amazed).
Phantom Thread is another great film from Paul Thomas Anderson that has all the depth you would come to expect. The latest offering is a more personal perspective of the artist itself, wrapped in a romance story that takes surprising turns and forces you to look at individual relationships as they are tested. With something so immaculate it is hard to appreciate it all in one sitting let alone so immediately after, but it goes without saying that the film lends itself to a certain sophistication that is beautifully auteurist.
Oscar winning pen Aaron Sorkin steps out of writing room and into the director’s chair with his debut: Molly’s Game — a true to life story based on Molly Bloom and the underground poker games that made her famous. Like his screenplays before it, Molly’s Game has the same snap that all Sorkin scripts have, but this time without the direction that takes the film to the next level.
The story follows Molly Bloom (Jessica Chastain), a self-determine, former olympic ski hopeful who moves to Los Angeles after an injury puts her on the sideline. While working as a secretary, she is introduced to the world of underground poker and the famous Hollywood celebrities*, CEOs, and mobsters that inhabit it. Soon there after, she becomes proficient enough to start her own weekly games, and from then on, Molly enters an upward power trip and subsequent downward spiral that leads to an FBI arrest. It is then up to attorney Charlie Jaffey (Idris Elba) to defend Molly in court after learning there is more to her character than the greedy pit manager she was made out to be.
*The film never says the names of the Hollywood celebrities that cross paths with Molly (only using Michael Cera’s “Player X” as a stand in), but a quick Google search will reveal the likes of Ben Affleck, Tobey Maguire, Macaulay Culkin, and Leonardo DiCaprio.
Left, Michael Cera playing Player X. Right, Ben Affleck playing poker. Coincidence?
One of the film’s faults is how it cuts between sequences of young Molly navigating her way up the illegal gambling ladder and current-day Molly presenting her legal case with Jaffey. The former sequences are far more interesting not only because they are kinetic and stylized, but also because Molly’s rise to power is so much more fascinating than the end result. When ever the film took a break from these sequences to talk about her legal case, the film’s pacing and ability to command attention takes a considerable hit. These current day moments are in the film to give Molly sympathetic character traits and answer why she did the things she did, but when they are placed in between more momentous sequences, it’s hard to see them as anything but a roadblock to the narrative that is selling the movie.
This is of course still an Aaron Sorkin script at heart. The dialog reaches ungodly words per minute, there are quick jokes that fly by, and there are still quotable lines of dialog you find in every Sorkin script. It’s a beautiful thing to hear when in motion, and the opening scene perfectly encapsulates Sorkin’s writing style. At the heart of the script there is a message about Molly being her own hero in a world of powerful men; influenced by her father (played by Kevin Costner) and reenforced by the wealthy men that occupy her poker games, Molly rigorously declares that she has no heroes and once she achieves her goals she will be her own, but like all character archetypes, she has vulnerabilities and flaws that prevent herself from getting there. It’s a good script, but I couldn’t help but wonder how the film would of differed (or in this case benefited) from a different director taking hold of the project.
In the past, you have auteurs like Bennett Miller (Moneyball), Danny Boyle (Steve Jobs), and David Fincher (The Social Network) helm a Sorkin script. They take his tact sharp screenplay, add in their directing styles, and create a great film that combines the best of both worlds. It is this pairing of Sorkin script with auteur director that makes a “Sorkin movie” so great. But this time, Sorkin is in the director’s chair, and there is a notable change in how the film feels. It sounds like a Sorkin script, but it doesn’t look like a “Sorkin movie” we’ve come to expect, and because of it, Molly’s Game lives in the shadow of his other writer-only works.
Molly’s Game is a sharply written drama that lacks the directorial pizazz to go the extra mile. It’s a good start to Aaron Sorkin’s director career, but it could use a little more refinement and style to reach the level of his other contributions. Molly’s rise to power is worth the watch especially because it is underpinned with Sorkin dialog, but the film is fine as whole. You won’t be disappointed with Molly’s Game, but you won’t really be blown away either.
“If you thought porgs were gonna be the most divisive part of the film, think again.”
Star Wars is without a doubt one of the most important franchises in cinematic history, creating some of the most iconic moments ever put to film and generating a loyal following spanning all demographics in the process. Through the last 9 theatrical releases, Star Wars has created an image for itself (both bad and good) among these fans, and with The Last Jedi, director Rian Johnson aims to subvert the expectations they have come to know and love with something new, something unique, and something unexpected. However, in that pursuit, Johnson has created a prequel-level division among fans that is so wide and deep that Episode 8 is arguably the most controversial film in the series.
So as if the internet reached out and asked for another hot take on the film, I am here to offer up my review and layout the good, the bad, and the ugly of The Last Jedi, and why it is ultimately a very frustrating movie that ends up crafting a few redeemable moments. This review will be spoiler free, but if you want a further, spoilerific explanation, there will be one at the end.
“Light. Darkness. A balance”
The Last Jedi as a whole is the victim of a thousand cuts: no one particular issue is that bad on its own, but when combined with a flurry of them, they end up degrading the overall experience. The narrative choices, use of humor, and characterizations are what really did the film in, and these flaws linger and brand the film.
Of these problems, the ill-timed and poorly executed humor is the most problematic. When scenes should have weight and meaning, a joke is thrown right in the middle. When a character is conditioned to act a certain way, they say something out of character. A moment like this happens every 15-25 minutes in The Last Jedi, so whenever the film started to earn my trust back, it goes and does something off-putting. Upon second viewing, the humor works a little bit better, but important scenes are still tainted. That is to not say there isn’t humor that works; Chewbacca and BB-8 have great moments based on humor that work within the context of their characters without disrupting the scene or the momentum of the film.
Which leads into the next prevalent problem with The Last Jedi: how it treats its characters. Whether it be problematic characterizations or formless arcs, the way in which the film handles characters ranges from useless to meaningful. All the main characters get their own unique arc, but most feel unrealized and unfulfilled. The ones that work the best are Kylo Ren’s and Luke’s (albeit a very different Luke than we have come to know and love which most people, including Mark Hamil himself, have issue with, but I found to be the best in the entire film), and the ones that fail are Poe’s and Fin’s, while Rey’s is good if not ever so slightly flawed. There is a lot of arcs going on in this film, that Johnson should be commended (even if Fin and Poe’s arcs are subject to a plot hole 12 parsecs wide), but with it, some characters such as Snoke and Captain Phasma get shortchanged in the process, which is also problematic considering how much promise they had coming out of The Force Awakens.
Long Live the Porgs!
With all the problems in the film, it’s safe to say that the final act is great. In fact, it’s downright iconic at times. You will need to accept everything that came before it for what it’s worth, but doing so will yield some extremely redeemable moments. The set piece’s choreography flows so well when it goes unbroken with subplots or character arcs, concluding in a very succinct manner that drives home ideas of identity, purpose, and hope within the narrative. You will be on the edge of your seat, you will be surprised, and perhaps you will even shed a tear. The end provides such a clear path for the future of the franchise and gives hope for the conclusion of the trilogy. It’s just a shame that the first two-thirds are as problematic as they are. Oh, and the porgs are great; ten out of ten on the scale of humor, cuteness, and merchandisability.
Overall, your mileage for The Last Jedi will depend on how well all of these changes jive with you. If you’re on board with all the plot twists, subversions, and narrative choices, then you will enjoy this movie. The film takes risks with an established franchise, and it has undeniable problems because of it, but in conversation I’ve heard people who have had no problem with the criticisms I laid out above. The division that is plaguing the internet stems from whether or not you’re willing to accept these decisions and take them as the new face of the franchise. For those who don’t, prepare to be disappointed. For those that do, get ready to enjoy the ride.
SCORE: 3/5 STARS
SPOILER SECTION
The following section contains spoilers and elaborates on points in the review. You’ve been warned!
“You may be disappointed with the film in its entirety, but do it knowing you’ll see Winslet carry the whole film.”
Woody Allen is back at it again producing another fourth-wall breaking, relationship drama, with most of the Woody-isms you would come to expect. Wonder Wheel is Allen’s 48th directorial film, and while it’s no Annie Hall or Blue Jasmine, it has some genuine moments of sympathy that are impaired by its overt simplicity.
The story follows Ginny, a 39 year old waitress played by Kate Winslet who feels like her life is going no where and has no meaning, as she has an affair with Mickey, a twenty-something grad student played by Justin Timberlake who has taken up a summer job as a lifeguard on the Coney Island Boardwalk. Her husband Humpty, played by Jim Bulushi, is a supportive husband albeit a settlement for Ginny who is still holding on to her failed dreams that lead her here. The drama unfolds when Humpty’s estranged daughter from a previous marriage, Carolina played by Juno Temple, returns home and threatens Ginny’s youthful hopes when she too falls for Mickey.
While Timberlake is all well and good, it is Winslet’s performance that is at the heart of the film, often propping up Wonder Wheel and elevating it to be compelling and emotionally driven. Winslet’s sorrowful portrayal of Ginny creates a very empathetic view of the character, and because of it, there is something very tangible at the core of Wonder Wheel that I think the audience will appreciate. It’s a shame that such a wonderful performance is positioned in a film that is otherwise bland with characters that are downright shallow in comparison to Ginny.
Adding to this sentiment is how simplistic the screenplay can feel at times. Any drama comes from Ginny, characters lack true dimension, and the narrative will pan out the way you think, culminating in a narrative that is pretty level overall, but is proclaimed by Allen as highly sophisticated. The film seems to be fixated with itself and how smart it is, making reference to character archetypes within conversations and opening the film with Mickey proclaiming the story as riveting and unbelievable. This arrogance undercuts some of the film’s better qualities and doesn’t seem to serve a purpose rather than to make cheeky references about its own self importance.
On a secondary note, the whole production feels like it should be a stage play. The long takes with a floating camera that moves in and around scenes, the use of only a handful of sets, and the composition of characters within scenes made me wonder if this was ever written for the stage before Allen took it to Amazon and brought it to the big screen. The whole time I was watching, I was thinking how the film feels like a theatrical experience rather than a cinematic one, which isn’t inherently bad, but it should be noted.
The movie is a visual candyland of the 1950s Coney Island Boardwalk (call back to Annie Hall’s Alvy), oozing with colorful saturation and pupil-dilating brightness that shifts to a mute color grading and darker lighting when the story turns sour for Ginny. For example, as Ginny becomes disheartened, the scene will take on a dim blue, or as she boils over with emotion, the light intensity will be ratcheted up and blow out the highlights mid-scene. This is an admirable technique that clues the audience into character emotions through a visual medium, but sometimes can border on being artificial with how hyper realized it can be.
It can be said that this movie is over-confident, too simple, and rather dull, but the entire conflict with Ginny and her inner conflict is too good to pass up. If the performance wasn’t held back by the film’s shortcomings, it may be award worthy which is why I find the film incredibly redeeming at times. If you have the time when the film makes its way onto Amazon Prime, give it watch. You may be disappointed with the film in its entirety, but do it knowing you’ll see Winslet carry the whole film.
