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SIFF Review: ‘Chef’s Diaries: Scotland’ Highlights Scotland’s Unrealized Gastronomy

The Roca Brothers embark on a tour of Scotland, learning about its unique history, food and culture in Chef’s Diaries: Scotland. Joan, Josep, and Jordi — all of whom are culinary maestros behind one of the best restaurants on the planet El Celler de Can Roca — pay homage in this documentary to the tastes and traditions of a small nation, often absent from the global culinary stage.

As an aside, Jordi – the visionary pastry chef of the formidable trio – was featured in the second series of Chef’s Table, which afforded some additional insight into the brothers’ creative process and the genius behind their restaurant.

This documentary certainly has a similar feel to the popular Netflix series, with close up shots of artfully plated dishes that defy culinary conventions, and intimate interviews with the brothers and the experts they meet along their journey. If anything is to be criticized about this documentary it is the development and structure of its narrative arc. We are repeatedly taken between a brainstorming session in Spain to different parts of Scotland and then back again, and sometimes it feels although not enough time is given to the individual stories that they present. That being said, I would expect a film such as this to result in an extravagant denouement where we see all of the brothers’ fieldwork culminate in a spectacular showcase of Scottish-inspired gastronomy, but, in keeping with its focus on the producers and the land itself, the beautiful dishes that they create are devoted less than 5 minutes of the film’s 75-minute run time.

At the core of the documentary is a heartfelt and respectful sentiment for the Scottish environment as a natural pantry, full of resources that we would be foolish to waste or overlook. A sense that we should all adopt a greater awareness and appreciation for where our food comes from, and the people who produce it, is communicated poetically and eloquently throughout, and is embedded within the brothers’ culinary philosophy. Josep states that the angle of the light in Scotland makes one view things differently, and it is clear that the Roca brothers see the beauty in a culinary tradition that is often disregarded as basic or unrefined. Ultimately, the documentary serves as a tribute to the land, the people, and most importantly, the great food that is waiting to be discovered.

Review: ‘Avengers: Endgame’ Provides a Proper Sendoff to Earth’s Mightiest Heroes

Everything below is spoiler free!

A year ago, I said Avenger: Infinity War was a glass half full situation. The two and a half hour behemoth predicated itself on a bevy of superficial consequences that had yet to be realized in part because characters who had “died” were inevitably going to get a sequel, but more importantly it was the first half of a two parter. 

But now we’re here. We’ve reached the end. The Endgame, and after 21 films in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, this is the culmination of an eleven year project that promised to bring Earth’s mightiest heroes — and then some — together to take on the mad titan. The fact that we arrived here, the twenty second film in a superhero franchise, and audiences still come in droves to their releases is pretty remarkable.

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Review: ‘Long Day’s Journey Into Night’ Bafflingly Amazes

Bafflingly amazes. An oxymoron I suppose, and a difficult feat to accomplish in the cinematic sense, but what does that even mean? How can something be baffling and amazing at the same time? I pair these two because Bi Gan’s Long Day’s Journey Into Night is a film which manages to confuse and disorient the audience on multiple levels, and somehow after viewing, still manages to stun and amaze. From its unconventional construction to its technical selling points, Journey Into Night has so much to talk about, especially with regards film’s dialog with the audience. The layered confusion of it all makes it difficult to pick a singular starting point for this review, and I can’t even say I understood it all — perhaps intentional or maybe a sign of own inability —, but I cannot deny how enthralling it is.

On a distilled narrative level, the film is about a man (Huang Jue) trying to recall a woman (Tang Wei) who he hasn’t been able to forget. From there you are taken on a journey into a dreamlike state that is as disorienting as it beautiful. Pulling from influences like Wong Kar-Wai, the film throws you into an almost deliberately confusing narrative that speaks to memory and truth, and the lines that are drawn between them. One stand out line of dialog that directly addresses this notion is the difference between cinema and memory; that cinema always presents a fiction while memory walks between deception and truth. This very notion takes on a greater significance especially when considering how Bi uses the medium itself to present different truths in his own narrative. Are we looking at a reliable recollection from our protagonist or are we looking at a fallible memory? We may not know.

This would also be a great time to mention the first half of this film is in 2D and the latter half is in 3D featuring a giant 59 minute one take. I feel truly sorry for people who can’t see this in 3D, because the dual format is pretty much essential to the narrative’s dreamlike effect. Half way through the film, our protagonist puts on the 3D glasses and the film’s title card appears for the first time. Whether you are transported into a film or a dream is not clear, but the pairing of the long take and format change makes for a captivating selling point that has a purpose — a technical feat that leverages the medium to feed into the overall disorientation and immersion. As of writing this, the film has already left SIFF, and I don’t know how Journey Into Night will live on at home without the 3D, but make no mistake, it is essential to one’s viewing.

The overall feel of the film is somewhat of an anomaly. I can’t place my finger on the exact minutia of the film beyond its treatment of memory, but when you’re barreling through this seedy world, you don’t seem to care. More of a feeling rather than a holistic understanding, A Long Day’s Journey Into Night presents a bafflingly assembly of its material, but one that generates something intriguing. Something you may not fully understand initially, but what you come to feel long after, and that feeling is unforgettable.

4/5 STARS

Review: ‘Teen Spirit’ Presents a Promising Debut for Max Minghella

In his directorial debut, Max Minghella’s Teen Spirit tells the all too familiar tale of the underdog trying to make it big. While I won’t give the film any points for narrative originality, its style and cinematography not only resonate strongly with the indie aesthetic, but are also bold and unapologetic in nature. Combined with great performances from Elle Fanning, Zlatko Buric, Rebecca Hall, and Agnieszka Grochowska, Teen Spirit is an honest homage to the dreams we hold on to growing up.

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SXSW Review: ‘Good Boys’ Fails to Even Entertain

From time to time, a film makes its inspiration so evidently clear that it’s impossible to remove the viewing experience from what birthed it. For Gene Stupnitsky’s Good Boys, it’s clear that Superbad inspired the premise of his film, but instead of teenagers running around town carrying out crazy hijinks, it’s twelve year old children. What’s even more curious is that a competing film at SXSW, Booksmart, also owes a lot to Superbad.

Two films cut from the same loin premiering at the same festival one day apart present opposite ends of the spectrum for what it means to be inspired by a particular film. Booksmart takes its inspiration and exceeds it, while Good Boys tries to rebottle the magic of the 2007 classic to no avail. The resulting film is a drawn out bore that operates under a singular mode of comedy that grows tiresome far too quick.  

Bear with me for a few moments as I try to explain this stilted plot. The film tracks three kids Max, Thor, and Lucas (Jacob Tremblay, Brady Noon, and Keith L. Wiliams respectively) gallivanting around town trying to recover a drone they took from Max’s dad (Will Forte), a drone they stole so they can spy on teenagers and learn how to kiss for a middle school party. The drone crashes and sets them on a looney adventure based on anything the writers thought was remotely funny on paper. You probably read that synopsis and thought it was overtly trivial and you would be right. It’s such a bad premise that it barely, barely, functions as nothing more than a skeleton for the antics written in. 

By sheer circumstance, this coming-of-age tale is made even worse by the fact that I had just finished my second screening of Booksmart. Imagine seeing one of the greatest teen comedies of all time that is destined to become an all time classic, and then immediately seeing a raunchy, child-based comedy that has a near one to one thematic core, but executed to a much worse degree. Clearly, this isn’t a fault on Good Boys, but it makes all its shortcomings more blatantly obvious, especially when the film you are inspired by, Superbad, is evoked better by a fellow festival film. To put it simply, it got outplayed in every way.

What Good Boys lives off is a very narrow brand of comedy. These are kids so half the jokes in the film are based on them doing, saying, or seeing very mature things. The humor then draws from the idea that these children shouldn’t be doing these things in their age group, but oh well, ‘eff it. Kids playing with dildos, dealing drugs, and swearing excessively has potential, POTENTIAL, but this is playing purely to shock and awe instead of something truly funny. Also, when I say narrow brand of comedy, I mean that you should expect this rinsed and repeated several dozen times. When the humor derives from the events in the plot, which is seldom at best, you can see some variety, but don’t expect much.

It doesn’t help that the children are child actors. We’re not talking Kirsten Dunst in Interview with the Vampire here, we’re talking Disney Channel sitcom level acting. It’s gratingly unpleasant after about forty minutes. Everyone is yelling and screaming and I don’t know why. Whether it be overacting or underacting, you’ll find something in here that will make your head ache. 

In all, the film isn’t even all that entertaining. It goes without saying that a comedy should be funny, and when that fails, you’re left with a completely rudimentary narrative that doesn’t move the needle in any respect. After the credits rolled, I kinda just sat there and thought, “Damn, I really wish I saw something else at SXSW instead.”

2/5 STARS

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Review: Mark Cousins Pens a Speculative Letter in ‘The Eyes of Orson Welles’

If you’re reading this you have probably heard of Orson Welles. In the pantheon of film, he’s one of the most respected directors of all time who had a life as fascinating as the ones he put on screen, but I bet you didn’t know he was also a painter. The man who gave birth to Citizen Kane, The Trial, and Touch of Evil was not only an artist in the realm of cinema, but also a proficient doodler and creative on oil and canvas. 

The works he created were largely stored away or kept in person collections, until Mark Cousins tracked them down and compiled a sample into the two hour documentary called The Eyes of Orson Welles. Premiering at Cannes last year and only now getting a release at North West Film Forum, this documentary unearths a trove of art work by the late virtuoso in an effort to better understand the personal and creative genius that was Orson Welles. The result is an interesting gallery of images that underpins his filmography, but which is diminished by the speculative nature of the film and the lengthy personal address.

What breathes so much life into this documentary are the unearthed paintings. The selection spans his entire life, and as such, has a great deal of artistic variety to them to reflect different periods in his life. One image may be a sporadic doodle while the next might be a paint-drip Christmas card. Or one an expressionist painting rife with color and the next one a pre-production sketch. The expansive collection that Cousin’s uncovers is remarkable, and even in death, Welles proves his creative abilities as second to none.

The artistry is impressive on its own, but how Cousin’s relates it to his filmography and life is where the collection is elevated in significance. The work is presented as a reflection of Orson Welles’ eyes — that if we can see what he saw in his art work, we can gain some insight into his creative mind as well. To do this, Cousin’s curates the artwork in a speculative address; he narrates the film in the form of a letter to the late director, pondering what he was in life and what he would think about his art, his films, and society today. That being said, it certainly feels presumptuous. 

As you may know, Orson Welles is dead, so this second-person address has to pose lines of thinking that may or may not be true. It’s not a documentary in the traditional sense; the information outlined isn’t based on cold hard facts or testimonies, but rather what Cousins thinks these images represent and how they may tie to Welles’ character. It’s very argumentative in its attempts to position abstract art as inspiration for Orson Welles’ creative choices, and while some are reasonable connections, others can be stretches.

And all this speculation makes for a lengthy essay on Welles’ paintings. At two hours, the film is staying its welcome for about thirty minutes too long. Like I said above, there is a variety of work to choose from, and as a result, there are a lot of paths to explore. Whether or not all those patches need to be given their dues is debatable with each viewer, but I think a narrower approach would benefit the overall flow of the film.

The Eyes of Orson Welles has the material for an interesting take on the late-great master of cinema, but the structure doesn’t hold up the lofty ideas it wants to pitch. A monotonous narration that speculates more than it informs upends some truly interesting pieces of art from a very important figure in cinema. The art is invaluable especially for fans of Orson Welles, but unfortunately the package doesn’t do them service. Here’s hoping they are archived and made available through other channels.

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Review: ‘Missing Link’ Nestles a Contemporary Message Inside a Beautifully Animated Adventure Film

Ten years ago, Laika burst onto the scene with that lush Nike money and a fresh new stop motion animated film called Coraline. The dark and nightmarish feature that evoked the same atmosphere as Henry Selick’s prior film The Nightmare Before Christmas made a name for the studio and gave it a seat at the table with the likes of Dreamworks and Pixar. Between Paranorman, The Boxtrolls, and Kubo, the studio has a penchant for creative filmmaking and embodies the sense of originality like that of early Pixar. Their latest, Missing Link, continues that streak, and while it doesn’t reach the highs of their debut film, the studio has crafted another tale with top-notch animation and a substantial, albeit surface level, contemporary message. 

Our globe trotting adventure kicks off in England where cryptid-seeker Sir Lionel Frost (Hugh Jackman) makes repeated attempts to join a society of hunters and explorers to no avail. To prove his worth, he makes a bet that he can find the ever elusive Big Foot, aka Susan Link (Zach Galifianakis). His head strong determination leads him to our very own Washington, but upon discovery, Susan convinces him to team up and journey to Shambhala in the hopes that he may find the last of his kind.

The film is set in the mid 19th century and given the aforementioned English origin, you might expect some unsavory themes to popup. An egotistical explorer trying to make a name for himself could very well veer into dubious colonialist territory, but Laika aptly takes this concern and makes it one of its main addresses. The film’s antagonist Lord Piggot-Dunceby (Stephen Fry) not only has a name that’s a play on the word ‘bigot,’ but he also really is one, playing up ideas of manifest destiny and patriarchal norms in a devious and detestable manor. This of-time behavior is positioned in contrast to Lionel’s development as a character and firmly placed in the “this is bad” side of the ring. 

Much of Lionel’s and Susan’s arc is about coming to understand that your identity isn’t tied to the achievements of others. Both want acceptance, but raise issue when they are rejected by the very thing they want to be, causing them to forge their own, new identity. A commendable theme for a ‘children’s film,’ but you get a little more mileage with the aforementioned historical and social subtext added in. Granted this is all very heavy handed at times, so whether you want to call it subtext is up to you. Nuance is not Missing Link’s strong suit, but for what it’s worth, its thematically functional. 

And you can’t talk about a Laika film without mentioning their unworldly stop motion animation. With each subsequent  film, the studio has made strides evolving their animation process by adding more detail to their models, creating larger set pieces, and expanding their overall undertaking. Comparing Coraline to Missing Link is almost a night and day difference that leaves you stunned by the work behind every frame. Blending CG imagery with stop motion puppets is as seamless as ever, and the hybrid animation makes for the right amount of “Is that CG or stop motion?” postulation. 

The film’s globe trotting nature makes for varied environments that sing with life and set pieces that are as imaginative as the animation medium permits. My fellow Washingtonians will appreciate Laika’s rendition of the Pacific Northwest while the film’s climatic ending is equal parts exhilarating as it is gorgeous. Just absolutely stunning work all around that further solidifies Laika as one of the premiere talents in the industry.

Over ten years into making their own films, Laika is releasing their fifth feature film and showing no signs in a lack on imagination. Despite a narrative that is very on the nose with its thematic aims, the world wide adventure and god-tier animation is enough to give the film an edge. Maybe not their sharpest edge, but one that is solid addition to their arsenal of original films.

3.5/5 STARS

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SXSW Review: ‘Villains’ is a Wickedly Delightful Thriller

This review was originally published on Cinema As We Know It as part of a  joint effort in South by South West coverage.

This film was screened for SXSW 2019. This review contains mild spoilers.

As with every festival, sometimes it’s better knowing absolutely nothing about a film going in. No logline, no trailers, no early reviews, just a film badge and some modest appeal. A degree of uncertainty pervades early morning screenings, and general buzz from a prior screening can occasionally be a fluke, so in situations like these, you might as well get comfy in those Alamo Drafthouse seats, order some breakfast, and hope for the best. Fortunately, I was lucky to enter Villains completely fresh, and I found myself completely taken by the film’s wickedly delightful thriller elements, enough so to melt my surroundings and forget all hesitations.

Directed by Robert Olsen and Dan Berk, Villains caught audiences by total surprise in the best way possible. Simply put, it’s the story of a Bonnie and Clyde pair who are caught in the clutches of a far more dangerous couple with a house full of deadly secrets. Villains gracefully introduces its main characters, Mickey (Bill Skarsgård) and Jules (Maika Monroe), under the context of their motivations and desires within the first two shots of the film. It’s a proficient approach that wastes no time endearing our anti-heroes to the audience. Although they behave as outlaws, their youthful affection for each other keeps us rooting for them at every turn. After bungling a robbery, their dreams of escaping to the sunny and carefree beaches of Florida are put on hold when they encounter George (Jeffrey Donovan) and Gloria (Kyra Sedgewick) during a supply run break-in. Having stumbled upon a horrible secret, it becomes a question of whether or not they can escape with their lives at all as they are ensnared by the sinister couple.

It’s not unusual for many films like Villains making their way to the festival circuit to boast a stacked cast. It’s far rarer to find a film that utilizes their talent so very effectively. Maika Monroe has found a role with plenty of room to explore personality, allowing her to be as feisty as she is heartfelt with Jules’ liveliness complimented by a deeper emotional side. Her past tragedy is subtly woven into the plot without coming to define her character. It’s clear Monroe is amply capable of embodying multidimensional leads and in this role in particular she shines. Bill Skarsgård is her equal match, a chameleon of a man able to inhabit perfectly the sweet, slightly goofy personality of Mickey. He has something of a young Leo Dicaprio heartthrob look going on, with greased hair and bright eyes. Monroe and Skarsgård share an unexpectedly delightful chemistry, playing off each other constantly. Their relationship is the light soul of this dark comedy, both with a high aptitude for quick banter and physical humor. Their bumbling antics and drug habit somehow enhance the charm of these two lovers on the lam.

The other perfect duo at play is Jeffrey Donovan and Kyra Sedgewick. Donovan is impeccably cast as the sociopathic antithesis to Mickey, a proper southern gentleman whose genial surface conceals venomous intentions. Even as he explains his plans to murder Jules and Mickey, his smooth drawl is seductively ensnaring beneath a well-kept pencil mustache. George’s personality is a welcome break from Donovan’s typecasting as a trigger-happy tough guy,  and trading it in for a devious and sophisticated villain. Kyra Sedgewick sells the unhinged, bizarre domestic housewife persona, which proves to be just as creepy as her husband.  In spite of her cruel intentions, there is a hint of sympathy in certain moments, as delusional and maniacal as she is. George and Gloria are the older foils to our star crossed protagonists; what Mickey would become if he continued down a path of selfish delinquency and what Jules would become if she never became independent. They are both instances of codependency, driven by their devotion for one another.

Olsen and Berk are seriously committed to the arcs of their characters, with a deep understanding of who they are at the beginning, and how they will change by the film’s conclusion.  It’s obvious a great deal of thought went into their individual moralities, and how their endings needed to play out in order to satisfy the narrative. The witty and original writing addresses some of the unavoidable clichés and gags of the genre with creative solutions. Villains could never have existed as a product of a corporate writers’ room or a heavily produced studio film. It carries a tight collaborative spirit between the two directors and the  creative talents in front of and behind the camera.

Villains relishes in its visuals, taking great care with every element on screen. The shots themselves are filled with a love for the characters, paying close attention to their actions and expressions. A personal favorite instance is the inventive ‘carwash’ shot, where Jules drapes her long hair over Mickey’s head, creating an intimate tunnel where they look in each other’s eyes and the rest of the world  fades away. Loving, inventive shots like this drive home the tenderness between the characters while simultaneously making their relationship memorable for the audience. Villains is also an instance of a collaborative melding between cinematography and design. Although the film is set in modern day, it plays with a timeless  aesthetic wherever it can. The costumes, the production design, the music, and more all harken to the 60s and 80s. It’s a mashup of retro stylings that give George and Gloria’s home an air of personality. The film matches primary colors and patterns  with the character clothing, walls, and furniture, emitting an idyllic uneasiness much like a dollhouse with their victims akin to playthings.  The vision shared by Olsen and Berk and their creative team isn’t just an aesthetic choice, it’s invaluable to the plot.

While it’s not without its quirks and wrinkles, Villains is a big revelation for SXSW. It strikes a healthy balance between building tension and cracking jokes without placating the viewer or patting itself on the back. On top of this, the film sincerely endears an audience to its characters. It bookends their arcs in a lovely manner that unexpectedly strikes emotion, and it’s a testament to the devoted collaboration at all levels. At a nimble and bold 89 minutes, Villains is an exceedingly worthwhile watch. Without doubt I will be returning to this one as a ‘comfort food’ film for a long time, and I have high hopes for it to win over many more audiences as well.

4/5 STARS

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SXSW Review: ‘Pet Sematary’ is Resurrected, but Doesn’t Come Back Quite Right

This review was originally published on Cinema As We Know It as part of a  joint effort in South by South West coverage.

The film was screened for the SXSW 2019 Closing Night. This review contains spoilers for the 1989 and 2019 films.

Much of the popularization of American horror cinema over the past 50 years could never have happened without the imagination of one man sitting at a typewriter in Maine. Stephen King’s body of work has frightened and transfixed readers, inspiring dozens of film adaptations which have gone on to conjure up many more nightmares for audiences. In 1989, Mary Lambert directed Pet Sematary, King’s terrifying story of familial loss, and now, 30 years later, the novel is given new life by Dennis Widmyer and Kevin Kölsch.

The Pet Sematary narrative opens on an idyllic new beginning for the Creed family as they move to a small town. Dr. Louis Creed (Jason Clarke), his wife Rachel (Amy Seimetz), their two young children Ellie (Jeté Laurence) and Gage (Lucas and Hugo Lavoie), and the family cat Winston Churchill embrace their home and the surrounding woodland and befriend their senior neighbor Jud Crandall (John Lithgow). Their newfound tranquility is immediately interrupted by semi-trucks that roar down the adjacent road at top speeds and the discovery that their property hosts a graveyard for the town’s pets, kicking off a series of sinister portents. One day at work, Louis fails to save the life of a man named Victor Pascow after a horrible accident, and from then on, the mangled corpse rises again for only Louis to see, haunting him with messages warning about the woods beyond the pet cemetery. A truck strikes down Church, and when Louis cannot admit to his daughter her cat’s fate, Jud leads him past the pet cemetery, over a deadfall of trees, and into an ancient burial ground. Ignoring Pascow’s omens that the ground there has gone “sour,” Louis buries Church. Though the cat returns to the family home by morning, he is not the same affectionate feline they once knew. When an even more unimaginable tragedy then befalls the family, Louis crosses the deadfall again to bring his daughter back from the grave.

King’s story is a phenomenal basis for a horror film, and to a certain extent, it’s hard to go wrong. Widyer and Kölsch have a decent grasp on themes that create tangible fear. Like all good horror, the fear is derived from anxieties that are innately human. The evil lives in the characters’ hearts as guilt and grief, and their weaknesses and decisions are what ultimately doom them. Louis believes there is no afterlife, but springs at the opportunity to right his failures as a father. He plays fate and bends life and death to his will, unconscious of the consequences of his transgression. For his violation of fate, his deepest desire is achieved, but with a horrible catch: it isn’t his sweet little girl any more.

And Louis isn’t the only one haunted by the guilt of loss. Rachel is given more screen time than the 1989 version to investigate her own backstory. She blames herself for the death of her disfigured and ill sister Zelda when they were young. Rachel never outgrew the terror she felt having to care for her, admitting she wished Zelda would die, only for that desperate hope to later be fulfilled. Zelda’s reimagining is much scarier and in the forefront here than in the prior iteration, doubling down on the trauma of the incident. It feels true to the kind of fear a child would have regarding pain and sickness, a dark unknown that has literally twisted her sibling. And worse, Zelda is resentful and vitriolic, cursing Rachel to one day feel that same agony she does. The film employs discrete flashbacks, but what is most frightening is the sense of psychosis it creates. We hear and see Zelda’s presence in the Creed’s new home, blurring Rachel’s reality in a way that sympathizes the audience to her terror. She could be behind any door, causing the bumps and creaks in the old house. It’s the knowledge that she is to blame for this harrowing, inescapable haunting in her home.

By far the most significant change in the narrative is Widyer and Kölsch’s switch from Gage’s death to Ellie’s. While it was a substantial risk, the decision thematically pays off. In the premier’s post-film Q&A session, the pair of directors explained the bold choice was made to explore how an older and more cognitive child would respond to their death and return. Additionally, to recreate the adorable yet chilling performances of toddler Miko Hughes as Gage in 1987 would be far too difficult. The manner by which Louis shelters Ellie from the concept of mortality allows for a much more meaningful reckoning. In establishing her friendship with Jud, the impact of their final encounter is heightened as well. Laurence is a wonderfully creepy young Ellie, deteriorating from a sweet and curious child to a feral creature out for blood. The bold choice pays off to make the film more complicated and disturbing.

In examining what has been gained from this updated retelling, there is no avoiding the sacrifices as well. One major infraction is its explanation of the narrative world. Pieces of essential exposition have been cut, leaving holes that would confuse anyone not well familiarized with the 1889 film or original novel. It’s far too easy to miss the connection that the pet cemetery exists because of the semi-trucks, which is critical information to grounding the environment. This film also slacks on justification for the indigenous burial ground, which in other versions is identified as MicMac. Pet Sematary and Stephen King have always had an issue with appropriating and mythicizing Native American lore with the Wendigo, but in this instance it is especially generalized and simplified for easy use. The film entirely drops Jud’s story of the last time a mourning parent resurrected their child, leading to chaos and fatalities in the town. Beyond all of that, the character of Pascow is relegated to the background rather than the driving conscience of the story. His personality has been replaced by some ominous lines, hardly given a second thought. By rushing through proper explanations and disregarding the main moral compass of the film, it leaves the events feeling baseless and shallow.

Problems with writing don’t end there. The film searches for a proper tone for the entire first half, quite possibly a result of its diminished exposition. It can’t seem to decide wither or not it wants to play the horror straight or inject some poorly timed comedy to ease the tension. What happens is that when the film reaches Ellie’s death, the audience is blindsided by the sudden gravity of the situation and must reevaluate everything leading up to it. The modernization of the script clashes with King’s sensibilities at every turn, frequently undercutting dialog. Lines directly lifted from the book stand out like black eyes amidst the sloppiness, it seems the directors don’t really understand anything about the soil of a man’s heart, but it wouldn’t be Pet Sematary without it. It’s clear that in putting their own signature on the project, Widmyer and Kölsch lost the point.

With this hackneyed direction, the performances simply cannot carry the themes and impact of the story as successfully. Compared to Toni Collette’s extraordinary physicality in last year’s Hereditary, Amy Seimetz and Jason Clarke hardly register on camera as distraught parents. Compared to their child and cat costars, they’re going through the motions, cashing their checks, and barely delivering. The hysterics of the moment never quite arrived in full force, and these glaringly underwhelming reactions reduce some genuinely unsettling sequences. Even my beloved Church isn’t as compelling as before. Without his iconic and otherworldly eye shine and rumbling growl, he seems rather grumpy instead of an unholy abomination back from the dead.

In comparison to Mary Lambert’s film, what seems to be the stumbling point for this remake is the loss of the female gaze. Lambert’s perspective is more nuanced with the Creeds’ relationships, demonstrating a grasp on their emotional states that is lacking in this updated version. The moment this difference became apparent was when Widmyer and Kölsch got into describing their work during the SXSW Q&A, uttering the phrase “elevated horror.” It suddenly made sense that these two men had set out to revise the work of a woman for vanity’s sake, and in the process failed to tell a cohesive story.  The ongoing problem of trying to ‘elevate’ the genre seems to be the result of a superiority complex to the subversive themes and gore of slashers and earlier horror. The “elevation” usually just means more distribution and appeal to wider audiences, while rejecting how the genre grew outside of the mainstream. Alienating these roots is ridiculous and self-righteous, especially when it’s with a Stephen King property, for Christ’s sake. In a time that horror is at its most popular, the wrong move is to allow egotism to distance oneself from the source material. Ironically, the film boasts zero experimentation on form or technical achievement.  It’s played so safe in fact that it mimics some of Lambert’s shots to a T, down to a depressing cover of the Ramones played over the credits.  In truth, it hasn’t been so much elevated as zombified.

I will forever love the horror story of Pet Sematary. It’s one of the concise and deftly written pieces that King has produced in his extensive career, and it reverberates with such lingering dread and pain that even this rocky interpretation carries some value. I’m not sure why this current cultural obsession with the need to update good film has touched this corner of the genre, but Pet Sematary has little new or interesting to say about the themes of horror that haven’t been accomplished before. I hate point it out, but the irony of this remake bearing the tagline “sometimes dead is better” is just asking for it.

2.5/5 STARS

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SXSW Review: ‘For Sama’ is a Necessary Watch About the Syrian Civil War

Since 2011, the Syrian Civil War has been a hotbed for controversy regarding international diplomacy, human rights, and political revolution. The war has taken on a complex geopolitical identity that has multiple sides, factions, and countries vying for control of the region, and it has lasted so long, becoming so intricate that the average American has limited understanding of its implications. It takes something like For Sama to remind us of the very real reality taking place in Syria. With incredible documentation, Waad al-Kateab and Edward Watts show the war through a human perspective where audiences bear witness to an incredibly difficult watch, but one that is necessary for raising awareness about the conflict. 

The film is narrated by al-Kateab as she looks back at her time in Syria and addresses her daughter, Sama. From the day the revolution breaks to the day she flees the country, al-Kateab traces the important moments in her life that happened in the middle of the war, and what that means for the future of the country.

Through violence, injury, and death, al-Kateab and Watts paint a bloody picture of the Syrian Civil War, but they ground it with the people who experience the conflict. To see a city full of life devolve into complete ruin is unworldly, yet al-Kateab speaks about her country with such tender affection that you come to understand why a family would stay—even with young children. Self-sacrifice and revolution are married as revolutionaries like al-Kateab and her husband put everything on the line and stay in Syria with the hope that their children will not have to live under Bashir al-Assad. But as the war rages on, the film transitions into the possibility that the children themselves will have to bring about change, a somber and sympathetic message for a country whose fate is uncertain.

This thematic element flows through the narration of the doc. The personal address and the subjects it covers makes the film feel like an intimate testimony and reflection, a letter that Sama will someday read, and when she does, there will be an optimism for the future despite the current situation.

The documentary avoids the diplomatic aspects of the conflict in favor of the interpersonal relationships that highlight the lives of those surviving the conflict, especially those of children. Sama is what al-Kateab positions as the future of the country— children who have only grown up in conflict and have lived through unimaginable ordeals. The film explicitly details these ordeals, events nothing short of horrifying. As I write, a scene of a child’s birth is hard to forget, and I can’t help but get a little emotional thinking about it. The footage is remarkably powerful at showing the on-the-ground travesties—and as this article’s title suggests, is disturbing but 100% necessary to understand the conflict.

As outsiders, we have little idea of the situation from an American perspective. Headlines and chyrons only go so far, spurring interest in a war across the globe, but failing to show the full impact. A film like For Sama gets the viewer closer. It’s a documentary that shows the longevity and human impact of the Syrian Civil War in ways news coverage can’t capture, and hopefully, that difference makes people more cognizant and active to the situation at hand.

4/5 Stars