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‘The Art of Self-Defense’ Interview with Director Riley Stearns

Way back in March, we saw the world premiere of The Art of Self-Defense at SXSW. The film centers on Casey (Jesse Eisenberg) who is determined to muscle up by joining a karate dojo after becoming the victim of a brutal mugging that leaves him shaken and traumatized. At the time, we praised it for its dark and humorous take on toxic masculinity, and how it’s a film that’ll “make you think twice before you caveman that beer in front of your friends.”

Fast forward two months and the film made another appearance at the Seattle International Film Festival, and along with it came writer-director Riley Stearns. During the festival, we had the opportunity to speak with the director and discuss where the idea came from, the process of scripting such a tact-sharp comedy, and whether or not he himself knows karate.

Below you’ll find a written transcript of the interview as well as the audio recording of our discussion with Stearns. The interview has been edited for clarity and readability.

G: One of the themes in The Art of Self-Defense deals with toxic masculinity and the absurdity of it all. Where did the idea come from and what set you in motion?

R: The initial feeling is one I think a lot of men have and one they aren’t willing to admit having and that is they don’t feel like they’re enough of a man. I didn’t feel like I was as masculine as other guys presented themselves as, and I didn’t know that I related to men in the same way that I was supposed to. I kinda wanted to explore what that meant.

That was also how i got into jujitsu without even realizing it. I started out as, “Oh I want to learn how to defend myself, and I’m super into watching MMA fights, but this jujitsu element seems really cool.”

The deep-seated thing in my head was that I don’t understand who I am. It came from a real place of wanting to deconstruct what it means to be a man, and tackle it in a super literal way. And if you present these things as literal as possible, then it can be easy to see how absurd it is.

G: The scenarios are very spot on. You talked about how literal it is at times. For example, not being able to learn French because it’s a feminine language. It’s like a hyperrealistic form of our own reality that’s not so far removed from experiences in normal conversation.

R: Yah, people have over the years said that sort of thing, and that’s why it’s so dumb. This is something we’ve heard before, but we’re gonna say it even more in the film — it’s gonna be louder. There’s a scene where — and I don’t think I realized it as I was writing it — when Alessandro [Nivola — Sensei in the film] is explaining masculinity versus femininity to Casey, he says the word masculine four or five times in the scene. It’s just hammering it home. It’s being super overt and that’s where the humor lies for me . . . being as on the nose as possible in some scenes.

In other scenes, you can be more subtle. People are very black and white about how they present their thoughts and feelings. Imogen’s [Poots — Anna in the film] character is the one who can present the gray area. Sensei is super on the nose. Jesse is just like a sponge that soaks up everything he is learning. Imogen gets to play devil’s advocate and fill the role of the audience. I liked exploring all those thoughts in a comedic way.

G: One other question I had was how early on did Jesse Eisenberg sign on to the project because he fits that role very well.

R: It’s so weird to think about it now, but at one point his name was brought up, and I said, “No he’s not right for it.” The initial idea was that Casey was supposed to be in his forties so it would be even more ridicules and sad that a middle-aged guy wasn’t feeling like a man. And when he signs up for something like karate, I thought of how ridiculous that would look — like jumping, kicking and punching along side teenagers in the class. I was really set on that age for a while, so when Jesse’s name was first brought up, I thought, “He’s not the right age,” but as we went down that path, we began to realize a lot of guys around that age didn’t feel like they could do the role.

I had one actor tell me in an email something along the lines of he didn’t want to play a weak character. That kind of struck me, and made me realize why I wanted to make a movie like this. Like, why is Casey considered weak? He’s just trying to figure out who he is, so why is that weak? He’s actively trying to better himself and figure out who he is for himself instead of letting expectations define him.

When Jesse’s name was brought up later on, it kind of just clicked. The fact that he got the script as well as he did, it was a no brainer, but at the same time, that also meant once he said ‘yes’ his schedule was very finite with regards to how much we could shoot with him. He was coming off a project and had another one starting at the end of the year after Self-Defense. He said he wanted to make it in late June or early July 2017, so the second he said that, we started prepping in Kentucky. I think we were in Kentucky in August 11th until September 11th.

So from the beginning of July to September 11th, that’s the amount of time we had with Jesse from him saying, “Ok, I want to do it. Figure it out,” and actually shooting. It was a 25 day shoot. It was fast and by the seed of your pants sort of thing, but we did it. It’s still insane to think that we were able to put everything together in the way that we did.

G: The film works in a lot of dark, dry pan humor. Do you have any personal inspirations that worked their way in there?

R: I don’t necessarily feel like I’m inspired by films while I’m writing. I want it to feel like a world with my own thoughts and views. I’d say in general that people who inspire me are Paul Thomas Anderson, Hal Ashby, Yorgos Lanthimos… I really respond to people who like to blend tones … oh, the Coen Brothers for sure. People who blend tones and aren’t afraid of making people uncomfortable for laughing at something really dark or uneasy. That kind of stuff is fun for me. In terms of tone, I definitely borrow from those people. I’m very inspired by them, but I definitely don’t try to give an homage to something or put other people’s shots into my movies. That’s just the way that I work.

G: When I was watching The Art of Self-Defense, the first thing I connected it to was Dr. Strangelove and how that situation is very similar to this film — that being a serious situation that’s set to absurdist escalation.

R: That’s super cool to hear you say. I actually hadn’t thought of that film with regards to this movie in a long time, but when I first put together a director’s packet and I was sending the script to certain producers to get the feel if people wanted to work on it, I did mention Dr. Strangelove as a film The Art of Self-Defense could be loosely inspired by tonally. I hadn’t thought of that in forever, but I remember that.

G: Tone management for a comedy is very important. Your film goes from an absurdist comedy to being pretty serious about its subject— it reaches a tipping point where it is no longer a funny. Spoilers, but Casey ends up carrying out the same acts of violence that were committed against him.

R: He becomes a tool for Sensei’s machine. It’s fun to play around with that . . . to have a character that you are relating to go down a path that you know is wrong and still hope that they come out on the other side in a positive way. Being able to play around with the darkness while they’re in it is fun.

G: How many revisions of the script did you do?

R: Zero. I don’t like to rewrite. It’s probably out of laziness more than anything. Faults [Stearns’ first feature] is a first draft. The Art of Self-Defense is a first draft. I say first draft as in the script is what it is. What is in the movie is on the page. That first draft gets modified dialog and situations change here and there, but for the most part, the shooting script is almost identical to the first draft. It’s not that I’m not thinking about it though. I think about a movie for up to a year before I start writing it.

That time is coming down because I just want to do more things, but I like to really figure out exactly what I want to happen— in terms of structure —and then fill in the blanks with writing. That’s the fun part, discovering fun things that happened or making a good callback. That sort of stuff isn’t what I think about when I make the story’s structure, but I usually let the idea percolate a while before I start writing. I’ve almost done all the rewrites before I start writing. It’s not just like I go in blind and be like, “Oh, he does this and then that which leads to this.” I know what I want to do, and then when I don’t do a rewrite, it’s because I’m lazy.

G: You usually hear stories about actors or producers who give input and then the script goes through rewrite after rewrite to the point where the original is a distillation of the original script.

R: I’m in a very lucky position where for two movies now, I’ve met producers who trusted my perspective and vision. Keith Calder and Jess Calder [producers on Stearns’ first feature] for Faults loved the script. That script is a first draft, and it ended up on the Black List that year — I think it was top ten for that year, what ever that means. People liked it and it was great. People would say, “Well, if I would do that script, I would need another ten rewrites.” Well, then you aren’t the right producer for it. I’m looking for the things I want to make and I hope I find people who want to do the same. When I send the script out, that’s the film.

Self-Defense was the same thing. I found Andrew Kortschak [producer on the film] and he got what I wanted to do, trusted that vision, and didn’t make me rewrite anything. The edit was where we go to collaborate. If something really isn’t working, that’s where we talk about it and have back and forths. But yah, if you want me to do ten rewrites on something, then we’re not gonna be the right team. I’ve gotten to the point now where I don’t have to worry about that. On this next movie I’m working on called Dual, I met these producers who are incredible and make really incredible movies. They are trusting me to be like, “This is the script. This is what we’re making,” and they’re not coming in and changing anything.

G: I don’t know how much you can say about it, but how different will Dual be from your prior works?

R: It’s definitely in the same vein. It’s more along the lines of Self-Defense than Faults in the sense that it is more heightened and pseudo-sci-fi. There’s a cloning element involved with a female lead. It’s its own beast, but still very dark and very comedic. I don’t think I would be able to make something that isn’t funny — not in an egotistical way — but i just like making stuff that’s funny, so I’m not gonna try to make something that is exclusively dramatic. I’m always gonna be trying to have a sense of humor about something. That’s something that’s always gonna stick in my work hopefully.

G: The comedic payoffs in this film are really good, especially with the finger technique punchline. When you are writing, are you threading these jokes into the film as you are writing it?

R: There’s two things that come to mind. It goes back to the idea of filling in the blanks after the structure is there. In Faults, there is a part in the beginning when the two characters get to the motel and one of them reverses the door knob so that the other character can’t lock herself in the bathroom. He reverses the knob so he has control of the lock. That was just something I had in my head for the narrative.

I didn’t think anything of it until later on when I got to a scene where the two were gonna have to be trapped in a confined space. I realized that would be how they’d be forced to talk. It was something that came about as I was writing. It wasn’t planned, but it became a cool callback, and I really love those.

Self-Defense has moments like that too, in particular that finger moment that you brought up. Without spoiling things for your audiences, there is a moment when Sensei is explaining his signature technique that his master never taught him. It seems so unrealistic, and in the moment as I was writing, I thought it was just this fun thing that I would figure out later. I myself believed the finger technique was real. Later on, I knew how the movie was gonna climax, and I had this epiphany moment where I could connect those two elements. It’s a callback that ended up informing the dialog after the fact. It made the original story be rewritten as a fake legend that circulates the dojo. Sensei believes it, but the grandmaster was probably lying.

That was something that came about in the moment. I like how you can have an idea about a character or a line of dialog, and then something happens later on that makes you rethink your motives or that character’s motives. All that kind of stuff is really fun to play around with and that’s where the experimentation comes into play with the writing process.

G: One last question, you mentioned it way in the beginning, do you actually know karate? You mentioned jujitsu.

R: I’ve been doing jujitsu for six years now. I go five times a week. Haven’t gone since last Saturday.

G: The junket messing up your scheduling? You’ve been on the festival circuit right?

R: I have, but I’ve been in L.A.. This is the first festival in a string of festivals coming up. I went to Maryland a couple weeks ago then this one leads into a lot of others. I was just sick all last week, so my voice is a little lower and weaker than usual, but it effected my training. I’m like addicted to jujitsu now. If I don’t after a couple of days, I start feeling a little weird. Right now, I’m just in the mood to go choke somebody out.

I would be training in Seattle, I just don’t think I have enough time. I’m here for two days, and then head back to L.A.. I’ll train there, and then in Oklahoma City hopefully, then in New Jersey. Internationally, there’s one in South Korea that my instructor told me about and it’s great. I don’t have to speak the same language, but we’ll understand each other through jujitsu.

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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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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 2019 Capsule Reviews

Over the last week we saw dozens of films at the South by South West Film Festival in Austin, Texas. There were highs and lows, but each one an experience onto itself. Over the next couple days we’ll be updating this article with capsule reviews and links to full reviews of films from the festival. Check back regularly to see whats new!

This SXSW coverage was done as a joint effort with Cinema As We Know It.

Booksmart

“Easily the strongest feature to come out SXSW is Olivia Wilde’s comedic directorial debut Booksmart. Kaitlyn Dever (Beautiful Boy, Short Term 12) and Beanie Feldstein (Lady Bird) star as Amy and Molly, two brilliant high schoolers on the cusp of graduation, dutifully prepared to chase their grand dreams of leadership and social change in college. All their focus and energy on school has earned them admissions to Ivy League Schools, but it isn’t until the eleventh hour they realize there may have been more to their teenage years than a grade point average. In a last ditch effort to redeem themselves, they plan to attend a wild high school party on their last night before donning their caps and gowns.

Booksmart operates as a coming of age story, which seems to be a running theme the past couple years with young directors on the rise. While on the heels of the excellence of Lady Bird and Eighth Grade, Booksmart’s wholehearted brilliance stands up there with the rest of them. Olivia Wilde’s fresh directorial influence comes with a willingness to break conventional rules and take risks that others more entrenched such a may not. Her style is clearly full of enthusiasm and love for the craft, and her perspective as an actor works as a catalyst for some inspired performances. The entire film is an embarrassment of riches with endless re-watch value. It will without doubt secure a place in audiences’ hearts as an instant classic. Much like Molly and Amy, Booksmart has earned its A+.”

-Megan Bernovich

Full Review Here

Adopt a Highway

“When you saw Marshall-Green as a robot cyborg kicking ass last year, I bet you didn’t think he had directing chops. And good ones at that. With the right balance of heart and empathy, he strikes a winning formula for a story about redemption in the face of extraneous circumstances. Adopt a Highway shows that despite all the things that can go wrong in our life and how dire it can get, with a little hope, humanity, and compassion, we can all get a second chance at life.”

-Greg Arietta

Full Review Here

The Peanut Butter Falcon

“Zak’s down syndrome is often brought up as a rationale to restrict him, but what PBF rightfully asserts is that it shouldn’t matter. He is not seen in the same light as others because of what others project onto him, and not what Zak knows true about himself. Elenor’s character is perhaps representative of the audience and the realization that comes from the film’s message. To see someone with a disability is to automatically assume inability, but what comes to fruition is that their hopes and dreams shouldn’t be shelved because of labels.”

-Greg Arietta

Full Review Here

Pet Sematary

“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.”

-Megan Bernovich

Full Review Here

For Sama

“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.”

-Greg Arietta

Full Review Here

Tales from the Lodge

Part of SXSW’s Midnighters programming, the film features a misfit college friend group, now grown up, with unsettled interpersonal relationships. As they awkwardly reunite to spread the ashes of their deceased comrade, this purpose is complicated by the fact that they are perhaps being hunted by a homicidal maniac. Tales from the Lodge is a portmanteau film, featuring a main plotline interspersed with scary tall tales as told by the characters. Each anecdote is directed by the actor telling it, with significant variation in tone and quality. The inconsistency is furthered by a central narrative that substitutes “gotcha!” moments for actual twists. Much of the character’s humor and dialog doesn’t quite come across for a non-British audience. One positive aspect is a solid cast of unconventional figures for a horror film.  For its small scope and budget, it’s a passable late-night watch.

-Megan Bernovich

Body at Brighton Rock

The film begins with strong potential to be a survival thriller about a young woman learning self-reliance and courage in a hostile wilderness. The discovery of a dead body is an intriguing hook, but execution grows weaker from there. The plot is somewhat disorganized and fails to explain some of its central plot devices, while saving others for reveals that come too late. While the heroine does fight for her life, there is never a revelatory moment of triumph, but rather a flimsy open-ended conclusion. The film’s visuals have integrity, with striking vistas and vibrant colors that make the watch worthwhile. The lesson to be learned here is that you can either make a good natural survival film or supernatural film, but from what I saw, not both at once.

-Megan Bernovich

The Gift: The Journey of Johnny Cash

This documentary takes a look at the internal life of the legendary Johnny Cash, whose unmistakable voice and vast career redefined American folk, country, and gospel music. The film utilizes Cash’s autobiographic tape recordings to emphasize the power of hearing the “gift” of his voice, along with audio testimonies of fellow artists and his children. This oral storytelling is paired with an abundance of still and video footage spanning his entire life, providing a full and intimate arc.  The Gift also candidly examines fame changed his career, as well as his long struggle with drug addiction. The film uses his live performance at Folsom Prison as an extended metaphor for his folk hero status, but also for his tortured inner life. Overall, the film is a wonderful chance to get to know the man behind the music.

-Megan Bernovich

Building the American Dream

Chelsea Hernandez’s documentary is a culmination of years of work assembled into a powerful and personal experience. Building the American Dream follows undocumented individuals in Texas fighting for basic rights in their working conditions. It’s a sobering look at how urban development exploits laborers who have no protections physically or legally, and at how many have lost their lives trying to make a living. Hernandez’s camera is noninvasive but rather a symbol of solidarity and compassion, the action of filming a commitment to representing those ignored by corporations. It also casts a damning light on the people and structures in power that allow wage theft and unsafe conditions to continue. Ultimately, the film underscores the power of solidarity in the face of oppression, and the continued fight for human rights.

-Megan Bernovich

The Beach Bum

“You may be thinking at this point, “This sounds like a fun ass time.” And to that I would say, “Yah, if you’re into Harmony Korine.” Like I said, this film is one giant joke for an hour and half, and by the hour mark it really grades on you. Or at least me. I’m indifferent to Korine; I admire his audacity in some moments and other times times I can’t believe someone thought this was a good creative decision, but that’s kinda what makes his films his films. Those who have seen his prior work and enjoyed it will surely feel the same about The Beach Bum, but at the same time, I don’t think this will do anything to change the minds of those who already have baggage with Korine.”

-Greg Arietta

Full Review Here

Yes, God, Yes

“What Yes, God, Yes does so well is talk openly about female sexuality in the context of a Catholic upbringing. In this repressive environment, Alice is led to believe a number of misconceptions about sex and its peripheries that results in conflicting emotions. In her ‘sex ed’ classes, she is taught to believe that sex is only supposed to occur between a married man and woman, and that anything outside of that, including pleasuring oneself, is a sin. This leads Alice to repress herself again and again until she learns that she will not in fact go to hell for masturbating.

Alice’s conflict regarding her sexual urges reinforces society’s inadequacy in addressing such issues, and Maine tackles it on multiple fronts. One instance may find Alice ridiculed for sexual behaviors she never did while the alleged male recipient gains social currency. Another finds Alice holding back her desires for a camp counselor in fear that she may be viewed as unvirtuous. And as pitched in the synopsis, Alice learning about masturbation in a society that doesn’t even acknowledge it. The scenarios ask the audience to reconsider the ways in which society treats these issues about female sexuality, particularly under religious institutions.”

-Greg Arietta

Full Review Here

The Art of Self Defense

“The film centers on Casey (Jesse Eisenberg) who is your average, awkward, white collar accountant. One evening on his way back from the store, he is the victim of a brutal mugging that leaves him shaken and traumatized. Determined to muscle up and prevent a future attack, his search for self defense leads him to a karate dojo. There he quickly ascends rank and becomes a star pupil of Sensei (Alessandro Nivola), but what he soon learns is there is more to the dojo and his training than he first thought.

The film thrives at dry-pan, dark humor. The script is tack sharp when laughing at things that come off as bizarre, strange, or absurd, but presented as totally normal in the narrative. This sense of humor gives the film an edge to cut deep into the hyper-masculine practices in our own society that we have adopted and normalized. Ditching your plans to learn French because the nation is perceived as weak, or refusing to pet your dog as to not show weakness through compassion are just two of the several dozen sharp witted and exaggerated jokes that Stearns writes into the script to build his hyper-masculine world of the dojo. What are initially pitched as methods of improving your karate abilities are underscored with just the right amount of out-there, rational thinking that makes it funny to laugh at until, eventually, it isn’t anymore, and we realize, ‘Oh … this has taken a dark turn.’”

-Greg Arietta

Full Review Here

Villains

“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.”

-Megan Bernovich

Full Review Here

Good Boys 

“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.”

-Greg Arietta

Full Review Here

 

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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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UW Film Club Podcast #27 – SXSW 2019 Round Up

With South by South West behind us, Megan Bernovich and Greg Arietta sit down and reflect on all the films they saw in Austin, Texas. Seeing 24 films over the course of 9 days, the two talk about their favorite films, the disappointments, and their experience attending this one of a kind festival. Plus they have a few anecdotes about their brushes with fame! Find out what films you should have on your radar with the 27th episode of the UW Film Club Podcast!

On this week’s episode: Megan Bernovich and Greg Arietta.

You can find Megan’s writing at Cinema As We Know It: www.cinemaasweknowit.com
Find our full SXSW 2019 coverage on our site: students.washington.edu/film/tag/sxsw2019/

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!

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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

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SXSW Review: The Heartfelt Comedy of ‘Booksmart’ Manifests an Instant Classic

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

Easily the strongest feature to come out SXSW is Olivia Wilde’s comedic directorial debut Booksmart. Kaitlyn Dever (Beautiful Boy, Short Term 12) and Beanie Feldstein (Lady Bird) star as Amy and Molly, two brilliant high schoolers on the cusp of graduation, dutifully prepared to chase their grand dreams of leadership and social change in college. All their focus and energy on school has earned them admissions to Ivy League Schools, but it isn’t until the eleventh hour they realize there may have been more to their teenage years than a grade point average. In a last ditch effort to redeem themselves, they plan to attend a wild high school party on their last night before donning their caps and gowns.

Olivia Wilde’s team of all female writers, Emily Halpern, Sarah Haskins, Susanna Fogel, and Katie Silberman, devote the entire film to flaunting their razor-sharp script. Their intelligent and purposeful comedy never strays from the story at hand to get to a punchline. The film breezes from one hilarious scenario to the next as each hitch in the girl’s plan forces them to reroute, but managing to never stall out or disrupt the narrative. Molly and Amy bring a refreshing flavor of feminism to a storyline reminiscent of Superbad. Jokes about Ken Burns documentaries and Ruth Bader Ginsberg demonstrates how specific Wilde is able to be with their personalities, while also evoking laughs. Their friendship is the comedic and emotional centerpiece of the film, and their adoration for each other is sincere. Thanks to Wilde’s commitment to a unique female-centered narrative, Booksmart is well rounded with both a dazzling sense of humor and emotional depths.

The film is as contemporary as it gets, taking as succinct a snapshot of modern youth as last year’s Eighth Grade. It effortlessly captures the culture of social media and taps into the climate of feminism that is permeating this younger generation. Amy and Molly are politically involved, practitioners of radical self-love, and outspokenly ambitious, embodying a new generation of activists dissatisfied with their environment and brimming with optimism. But as they are also teens, the film stays true to the inherent melodrama that comes with high school crushes and gossip. Their awkward romances and clumsy confrontations is as honest as it is compelling. Booksmart explores the surreality of being 18 years old and standing on a precipice. It’s looking out over a wide unknown world ahead of you while looking back at the path you’ve taken and asking, who are you trying to be? Will end up where you want? Have you done everything you could?

On a personal level, Amy and Molly are exceptionally relatable. As the same kind of honor student who obsessed over grades and was more eager to chat with teachers than other students, they felt all too familiar. Their vast academic career and motto of “take no prisoners” is where they draw their confidence, but it’s also a shield from their colleagues. Their dependence on each other stems from their own personal isolation and social difference from their fellow students. They believe they are somehow a different, perhaps superior, species separated from the theater kids, jocks or the skaters. Having been rarely invited along to any extracurricular events and never partaking, it was an emotional experience to live vicariously through their wild night of exploring the social strata. While Molly and Amy know that their peers are strangers to them, there’s still a great deal they have to learn about their own relationship. The two best friends are unprepared for the realization that they aren’t growing in the same direction anymore, and while on their quest for the ultimate party, the fear that they may not factor into each other’s aspirations as much they thought rises. With graduation around the corner, their devotion is suddenly strained, and time and again, Wilde handles this tension with a sincerely human compassion. Though these themes remain playful and light, it’s the authenticity that pushes it beyond an ordinary R-rated coming of age film.

Booksmart also establishes Amy’s storyline as openly queer in a manner that feels natural and fully developed. As most are, her first attempts at romance are awkward as she works up the courage to speak to the girl she pines for. She’s never singled out for her sexuality. In fact, the film holds an abundance of canonically queer characters that feel full of life, and her romantic experiences are treated with the same consideration as Molly’s. This isn’t the first major film to feature a young lesbian prominently, but it’s still a huge deal for a queer teen to pursue a crush without being outed against their will or rejected by their own friends. I’m looking right at you, Love, Simon.

On top of everything else, the supporting cast is stacked with fantastic roles. Lisa Kudrow and Will Forte are Amy’s loving, out of touch parents who are confused by modern teens but still supportive of her close friendship with Molly. Skyler Gisondo is hilarious as Jared, a thoughtful but overenthusiastic classmate who learns from our protagonists that money can’t buy genuine friendship. Jason Sudeikis has a bit part as a principal by day, Uber driver by night who becomes reluctantly embroiled with the girls’ scheme. And then, there is Billie Lourd. Compared to the rest, she’s on a whole other level as Gigi, an utter enigma of a party girl. Lourd’s deep dive into this befuddling persona is so rewarding and memorable that each instance she pops up triggers an instant dose of dopamine to the brain. As small as some of these comic characters are, the real genius is how they fold into and enrich the larger narrative.

Booksmart operates as a coming of age story, which seems to be a running theme the past couple years with young directors on the rise. While on the heels of the excellence of Lady Bird and Eighth Grade, Booksmart’s wholehearted brilliance stands up there with the rest of them. Olivia Wilde’s fresh directorial influence comes with a willingness to break conventional rules and take risks that others more entrenched may not. Her style is clearly full of enthusiasm and love for the craft, and her perspective as an actor works as a catalyst for some inspired performances. The entire film is an embarrassment of riches with endless re-watch value. It will without doubt secure a place in audiences’ hearts as an instant classic. Much like Molly and Amy, Booksmart has earned its A+.

4.5/5 STARS

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SXSW Review: ‘The Art of Self Defense’ Takes Aim at Toxic Masculinity

The way in which toxic masculinity manifests itself can be aggressive to say the least. Stroll by greek row on a Thursday night and you’ll find several cases that prove my point. It’s the kind of psychology for the Brads and Chads of the world, and as such, it’s an easy target for ridicule, satire, and criticism. Riley Stearns seemingly knows this and created The Art of Self Defense, a dark comedy that laughs at absurdism of hyper-masculinity and all its pitfalls.

The film centers on Casey (Jesse Eisenberg) who is your average, awkward, white collar accountant. One evening on his way back from the store, he is the victim of a brutal mugging that leaves him shaken and traumatized. Determined to muscle up and prevent a future attack, his search for self defense leads him to a karate dojo. There he quickly ascends rank and becomes a star pupil of Sensei (Alessandro Nivola), but what he soon learns is there is more to the dojo and his training than he first thought.

The film thrives at dry-pan, dark humor. The script is tack sharp when laughing at things that come off as bizarre, strange, or absurd, but presented as totally normal in the narrative. This sense of humor gives the film an edge to cut deep into the hyper-masculine practices in our own society that we have adopted and normalized. Ditching your plans to learn French because the nation is perceived as weak, or refusing to pet your dog as to not show weakness through compassion are just two of the several dozen sharp witted and exaggerated jokes that Stearns writes into the script to build his hyper-masculine world of the dojo. What are initially pitched as methods of improving your karate abilities are underscored with just the right amount of out-there, rational thinking that makes it funny to laugh at until, eventually, it isn’t anymore, and we realize, “Oh … this has taken a dark turn.”

Eisenberg is often typecast as an awkward, dweeb-ish character, and that is no different here, but in this case it’s a perfect typecast. His delivery is smart and precise, but also awkward and socially reclusive, giving Casey this kind of innocence and malleability that makes his transformation believable. His performance is a perfect match for the film and really gives way to the dry humor that characterizes the film.

The whole cast plays their roles this way including the indomitable, aforementioned Sensei who leads the testosterone filled dojo. Nivola plays him stoic, virtuous, and well disciplined to the tune of a well defined masculine creed. He is, for a lack of a better term, a major Chad, and holds beliefs the film wants to critique. His excessive use of force as a means of punishment, sexism towards the lone female student Anna (Imogen Poots), and being the top alpha male are characteristics that eventually rear their head, and show what toxic masculinity can manifest itself as.

But the film rightfully puts the Sensei at odds with the audience. Sensei plays up the masculine role model who starts Casey on his journey with promise of being a fine tuned weapon. Casey naively follows Sensei’s requests, but what he doesn’t understand is the negative transition he undergoes. I think what the film does well is straddle the line between wanting to learn a healthy ‘art of self defense’ and tipping over into complete Brad status. To show this, the film gets dark near the end, a type of seriousness that, upon reflection, I probably should have seen coming with all the dry-pan humor. In spite of that sharp tonal shift, The Art of Self Defense finishes strong.

Oh, and while we’re on the ending, the film has some really funny clever payoffs. Jokes start in act one and come back forty minutes later with new meaning and revelation. It’s top notch humor and great stuff all around.

With a target so easy to make fun of, you might think you already have a beat on the film’s pulse, but The Art of Self Defense’s use of clever humor really makes it a stand out. The film’s surface may indicate a small, quirky comedy, but under it, there is some real substance. I haven’t even mentioned Stearns’ strong sense of direction and style, but it shows there’s an adept ability behind the camera that matches the themes on screen. To put simply, it’s smart, it’s funny, and it’ll make you think twice before you caveman that beer in front of your friends.

3.75/5 Stars

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SXSW Review: ‘Yes, God, Yes’ Works to Destigmatize Female Sexuality

From the utilitarianism of sex in the Victorian era that spawn the sexually repressed vampire tropes, to the ideal and virtuous woman who waited to have sex until her wedding night, female sexuality  persists as a taboo subject. It goes without saying that as women’s rights are debated on a federal level that there is still plenty to be learned on the matter, particularly by much of the male population. But director Karen Maine’s debut feature film Yes, God, Yes aims to destigmatize a reality that society has long turned a blind eye to. 

Set in the early 2000s, the story centers on Alice (Natalia Dyer), a teenager who attends a strict Catholic high school. There she is taught of the perils of *gasp* extramarital sex, homosexuality, and masturbation. However an encounter in an AOL chat room, prompts her sexual curiosity just before a weekend retreat that promises to change her life.

What Yes, God, Yes does so well is talk openly about female sexuality in the context of a Catholic upbringing. In this repressive environment, Alice is led to believe a number of misconceptions about sex and its peripheries that results in conflicting emotions. In her ‘sex ed’ classes, she is taught to believe that sex is only supposed to occur between a married man and woman, and that anything outside of that, including pleasuring oneself, is a sin. This leads Alice to repress herself again and again until she learns that she will not in fact go to hell for masturbating.

Alice’s conflict regarding her sexual urges reinforces society’s inadequacy in addressing such issues, and Maine tackles it on multiple fronts. One instance may find Alice ridiculed for sexual behaviors she never did while the alleged male recipient gains social currency. Another finds Alice holding back her desires for a camp counselor in fear that she may be viewed as unvirtuous. And as pitched in the synopsis, Alice learning about masturbation in a society that doesn’t even acknowledge it. The scenarios ask the audience to reconsider the ways in which society treats these issues about female sexuality, particularly under religious institutions. 

Religious values are critiqued much in the same way The Miseducation of Cameron Post did last year. Absurdist humor is used to underscore the ways in which religion, in this case Catholicism, preaches ironies it doesn’t uphold or antiquated principles that fail to stand the test of time in modern social contexts. It doesn’t have the bite that Cameron Post has when critiquing these institutions. Instead, Yes, God, Yes goes with a more playful interaction that keeps it light and humorous which may come off as dismissive of larger social issues, but for the tone it sets, it comes out alright.

The film is also a coming of age film, so we get a handful of genre touch stones, but Maine hones in on the teenage rumor mill. We’ve all experienced high school gossip in some form or another, but in this case, Alice is accused of tossing someone’s salad, a term she doesn’t even know the meaning of. Lies, truth, and social perception mix and mingle in the midst of Alice’s sexual urges, leading to some cringeworthy, albeit funny scenarios. Alice herself bears witness to the hypocrisy of others as they like to cast judgement on others while also violating their own virtues. From this, Alice is put right in the center of a Scarlet Letter-esque public shaming, but one that affirms her own conclusions about herself in the process.

The film’s resolve leads to an unceremonious climax. The hypocrites the film takes aim at are set up for a real reckoning, but instead of breaking them down, the drama just defuses. You expect some sort of boiling-over point where lies are brought to fruition and characters are exposed, but instead of giving what is expected, Alice makes a final proclamation that sums up what she learned over the four day retreat. Perhaps this is a way of saying these liars, scenarios, and critics you receive are hurdles in life that cannot be avoided, but it does leave something to be desired.

Regardless, by the end of Yes, God, Yes you come to learn more about the social inadequacies of female sexuality. Everyone can learn from this narrative, as it speaks specifically to women on how to cope with this sort of scenarios and how men can avoid being active enablers. The stigma attached to female sexuality is one that is not made equal to the experiences of male counterparts, and even though our culture has made some strides in the years since the early 2000s, we still have a ways to go.

3.75/5 Stars