film reviews, interviews, features | BRWC

Author: BRWC

  • Rom Boys: Review

    Rom Boys: Review

    By John Battiston.

    One visiting East London suburb Hornchurch for the first or hundredth time wouldn’t possibly think to liken it to southern California, the epicenter of, among a bevy of other phenomena, skate culture. But upon entering the ramshackle gates of The Rom, a forty-year-old, 8,000-square-metre skatepark built within a ’70s-esque, drained-pool-style framework, one might just buy such a comparison, if only fleetingly. As one interviewee in Rom Boys: 40 Years of Rad — Matt Harris’s debut documentary feature covering the park’s history, inspiration and influence over the years — tells the camera, The Rom is basically “a little corner of California in Hornchurch.”

    While Harris makes it clear that Americanism was integral in the construction of both The Rom itself and U.K. skate culture at large (modern patrons are seen wearing Dodgers ballcaps, NYC t-shirts and the like), his film first explicates the impact The Rom itself has had on the surrounding skate and BMX community. It establishes the myth behind The Rom and the mythically freewheeling, punk-infused epoch whence it came, before narrowing its scope to dynamically illustrate the passion, kinship and creative chutzpah that brought it into the world and sustained it for decades.

    While Rom Boys does actively deconstruct the grandiose lore that surrounds spots like The Rom, these efforts never undermine the park’s importance in the lives of Hornchurch locals, its function as a much-needed creative outlet for the neglected. Judging by its first few minutes, one might dismiss the film as an advertisement for the park or a hamfisted plea to place it into governmental protection as an historic landmark — The Rom is one of the film’s sponsors, after all. By the end of its less-than-80-minute run, however, Rom Boys transforms into a broad assertion for a need to offer local, youth-centric recreation spaces. 

    Further, Harris has crafted his documentary to act as an interrogation of what we consider historic, and which characteristics might qualify or disqualify a person, structure, movement or other landmark to receive such a label. As another interviewee puts it, “It’s not a cathedral. It’s not a monastery. It’s not a great house. It’s about fun. It’s about recreation.” In the eyes of the highbrow viewer, The Rom’s function as a monument to the signature sport of a cultural faction so often associated with punkish, sometimes anarchistic attitudes could easily preclude it from obtaining historic status tantamount to religious or governmental landmarks. But with its touching, forthright investigation of the park’s personal benefits for many (“It’s kept me on the straight and narrow,” one regular admits), Rom Boys convincingly argues that an entity’s historicity ought to be measured in its bare-bones human impact.

    On a macro scale, the material in this documentary is so captivatingly sequenced and photographed that one can easily overlook its less refined minutiae, formal blunders that indicate Harris’s newness to the feature-documentary format. Specifically, the graphics frequently interwoven into archive and interview footage are often feckless, if not altogether daft: The choice to lay pull-quotes over audio of a subject offering a different statement is, to say the least, baffling and disorienting, while many other captions peppered throughout the film are penned in an almost self-parodic sort of pseudo-poetry, seemingly antithetical to the unpretentious nature of the film’s subject. On that same wavelength, more thought could have been given to the overall effects design, which, instead of the roughhewn appearance more befitting the subject matter, tends to be uncannily glossy, as if thrown together with iMovie.

    Nonetheless, it isn’t the formal assembly that will lead Rom Boys to wow viewers. Rather, this document of an expressive, community-binding artefact will enwrap even those completely unstudied in the world of skate with its dazzling photography, compelling framework and, most of all, its passion for an increasingly under-appreciated craft that has invigorated and anchored the lives of many.

  • A 1984 Period Piece In Present Day: Review

    A 1984 Period Piece In Present Day: Review

    A 1984 Period Piece in Present Day: Review. By John Battiston.

    Before watching Sean Glass’s latest short film, A 1984 Period Piece in Present Day, I had never thought it possible to judge a film by, of all things, its title card — or, in this case, cards. But it’s difficult to read the text that opens this 18-minute short and not accurately predict the film’s disaffecting sense of grandiosity.

    Scribbled on translucent paper in what Glass, judging by his social media photos, has fashioned as a sort of trademark scrawl, the first bit of text essentially communicates the filmmaker’s conviction that titles themselves are redundant and ought to be done away with, before reluctantly cutting to the title itself (which notes this film comprises merely a first act). The discerning, open-minded viewer will do their best to suppress the urge to immediately dismiss Glass as the irritating sort of self-proclaimed “artist” you’d find aimlessly lounging around a campus radio station, who thinks subversion for subversion’s sake is meritorious regardless of purpose or effect.

    Those who manage to press past this distasteful introduction are thankfully rewarded for doing so, at least from a cinematic standpoint. A black screen punctuated with an unseen character’s coughs gives way to a darkened, middle-American landscape in which an eerie roadside motel glows fluorescently, a single car rumbling to a stop in front as late-night travelers buzz past in the background. This shot alone, which runs for a solid minute or so, is a testament to Glass’s behind-the-camera abilities despite an ostensibly constrained budget. He, cinematographer James Siewert, and especially sound designers Jon Eckhaus and Allistair Johnson establish a dynamic setting with subtle, painterly touches that deserve to be experienced with a high-quality screen and set of speakers.

    But after the painfully plodding introduction of the two unnamed guests (played by Glass and Isabel Sandoval) and creepy motel clerk (Carlos Dengler), one can’t help but feel Glass is leaning on his craftsmanship to distract from his film’s lack of substance. His and Sandoval’s characters take up a decent chunk of screen time simply walking to their room — which, sure, allows for a neat tracking shot through the low-light exterior haze, but is horribly plodding all the same.

    From there, we watch restlessly as the characters glacially explore their new hotel room, receive a non sequitur-laced visit from the clerk, and eventually switch on the television to a showing of Creepshow 2. (Is that 1987 movie’s placement in a 1984-set story a simple oversight? Or, as the title suggests, is time in this world nebulous and simply not worth our meditation? By this point, few will care enough to ponder further.)

    Glass’s character, dressed in an oversized Beastie Boys tee, pontificates about his childhood obsession with a particular segment of Creepshow 2 and how it resulted in a lasting sexual fantasy, though as he and Sandoval watch the movie, it’s revealed that the source of his romantic ideations is more problematic than he remembered.

    Still, as Glass seems to be telling us during the final few minutes before an abrupt cut-to-black, adult conscience has little power over the inexpungible desires of youth, no matter how long they might have had to deteriorate. It’s an idea worthy of interrogation, to be sure, and perhaps a second act of A 1984 Period Piece in Present Day intends to explore it further.

    Still, this short, as it currently stands, doesn’t do nearly enough with its limited runtime to either substantially flesh out its themes or engage viewers enough to bring them back for a follow-up, if or when it arrives. For a filmmaker with such a brief resume, Glass has an impressive grasp of mise en scène and a distinct auteurial voice, but will only achieve substantial impact as a storyteller if he can mesh his aesthetic talents with a compelling narrative and leave his narcissistic pretense at the door.

  • Summer Of 85: The BRWC Review

    Summer Of 85: The BRWC Review

    By John Battiston.

    The jarring transition from the broodingly dour opening of Summer of 85 into the thick of its titular milieu is only the first of the film’s many overtly purposeful choices. By smash-cutting from the aftermath of sixteen-year-old Alex’s (Félix Lefebvre) ostensible arrest — overlaid with aloof, resigned narration and capped by a baggy-eyed fourth-wall break — to an airy synthpop track and a sun-dappled beachscape, writer-director François Ozon presents a barefaced harbinger of the film’s juggling act between hypnagogic teen romance and sullen coming-of-age tragedy.

    From there, Alex’s arrest and the lead-up to any potential disciplinary action act as a framing device for the preceding six weeks, when he develops an intense summer romance with eighteen-year-old fishing-shop operator David (Benjamin Voisin). Their meet-cute, in which David swoops in to the rescue after Alex’s sailboat capsizes off the coast of Normandy, plays out beneath an obsidian thunderstorm, yet another in a series of portents that remind us — along with the peppered-in fast-forwards to Alex’s contemplation of events we have yet to witness — that imminent doom and gloom await.

    As the main narrative continues, Alex and David begin to not-so-gradually integrate into each other’s lives, working together in the fishing shop by day, hitting the boardwalk and discotheques by night. Friendly ribbing quickly turn into longing glances, which soon give way to behind-closed-doors trysts. But while Alex’s borderline iambic narration illuminates just how deep his infatuation with his newfound paramour runs, David’s noncommittal, laissez-faire approach to romance becomes increasingly evident, telegraphing an inevitable schism. And judging by the future events we’ve been clued in on, that schism can’t end up being pretty.

    While Summer of 85 sets itself up as a blend of Call Me by Your Name and The Talented Mr. Ripley, Ozon really only succeeds at evoking the dreamy patina and extreme sensuousness of the former, while his attempts to inject tension or mystery go frustratingly unrealized. The chemistry between Lefebvre and Voisin is too palpable to dismiss as maudlin, surface-level romance, their characters too expertly constructed as congenial foils to one another. In particular, Lefebvre’s embodiment of disillusioned, starry-eyed desire goes beyond the eye-rolling naiveté similar characters invoke, rather earning our fullest sympathy for simply not knowing any better when it comes to the weight of love. (He’s sixteen; why should he?)

    But while Ozon excels at exploring the complications of teen sexuality (as he previously did with Young and Beautiful), the sinister expectations he sets for the latter half of the narrative are such that the culmination is, to say the least, underwhelming. This is not to say the plot itself — adapted from Aidan Chambers’s novel Dance on My Grave — is poorly conceived; rather, Ozon’s sequencing and presentation of that plot as a nonlinear thriller (complete with corny bass rumbles during weightier moments) is tremendously ill-advised. Summer of 85 hinges on an eventual tragedy, to be sure, but both the tragedy itself and the manner in which it occurs cast shadows that neither warrant the ominous foreshadowing that riddles the script nor manage to leave a mark that lasts to the final cut-to-black.

    While gorgeously composed and boasting two excellent performances, Summer of 85 is a tragic romance that simply overplays its hand.

    Summer of 85 – released in cinemas and on Curzon Home Cinema 23rd October.

  • What I’ve Learnt From Terrence Malick

    What I’ve Learnt From Terrence Malick

    Terrence Malick: What I’ve Learnt – By Tomas Gold.

    Terrence Malick. His career has spanned more than forty-five years, directing ten feature films, winning multiple awards and earning praise & adulation from critics, audiences and filmmakers around the world. This has cemented his reputation as one of the most celebrated and revered directors in the history of cinema. 

    Since the early 1970s, Terrence Malick has directed a wide range of feature films, including Badlands (1973), Days of Heaven (1978), The Thin Red Line (1998) and The Tree of Life (2011). Throughout his career, he has sought to tell stories that push the boundaries of filmmaking and to explore alternative cinematic techniques. In making To The Wonder (2012), for instance, this meant forgoing a formal script: In A Hidden Life (2019), he used only wide-angle lenses to film. These are just a few examples of how Malick has been able to create a distinctive body of work, often receiving considerable praise for its beguiling cinematography, philosophical themes and poignant, introspective voiceover narration. These approaches explain my own adoration for Malick’s films. 

    I also admire his creative approach. As a filmmaker myself, I have been inspired by Malick’s eagerness to experiment with traditional narrative structure, the way he encourages actors to improvise & follow their own ideas, and his determination not to be restricted by the “rules” of filmmaking. Malick is by no means the first director to diverge from a conventional filmmaking process, however there is something about my experience of watching his films that leaves me captivated, enthralled and feeling I have gained a deeper understanding of the world around me, in a way that other films do not. They are philosophical, poetic journeys, filled with life, energy and beauty, that I do no try to fully understand objectively, I question what they mean to me, how it makes me feel, what my interpretation of the work is. 

    He is a maverick, ready to make films that go beyond  conventional expectations, on his own terms. This has influenced how I approach my own work. One of the most important aspects of filmmaking that I feel I have learnt from Malick’s approach is to not hold onto your pre-conceptions of how a film should be made, from pre-production, filming, and to post-production. If you are not beholden to those pre-conceptions, your creativity can flourish because you are not limiting yourself, you are able to explore new ideas and angles.

    In a rare public appearance at the 2017 South By Southwest festival, Malick mentions “I find it very hard to execute anything that is too pre-conceived, or storyboards, I’ve never been able to work from a storyboard.”[]He goes on to explain that to him “You always have a little feeling that you’re trying to fit a square peg in a round hole.” For me, what I take from this is that sometimes if you plan with too much detail, mapping out exactly how the finished film will be made, you can in fact arrive at the opposite conclusion. In this situation, you start filming and when things aren’t going in the direction you hoped it would, although they seemed great during pre-production, it becomes apparent that certain aspects are ultimately not suited to the realisation of your project.

    You are constantly attempting to replicate very specific visions and details (which can leave you with very limited options if unsuccessful), whereas if you approach an idea with the expectation that on the filming days you may diverge from the script or shooting schedule, and focus on capturing the essence or feeling of that idea, you can do what feels right on the day, follow your instincts and work with the cast & crew to embody that direction. 

    This method of course does not work with everyone or every type of production, but what I want to emphasise is that from my perspective, Malick has taught me that there are many possibilities & directions when making a film, and that they should be explored as much as possible, because you may find something wonderful that you wouldn’t have planned for. Don’t stifle creativity based on a formal understanding of the work, be free to create your own path.

  • Miss Juneteenth: The BRWC Review

    Miss Juneteenth: The BRWC Review. By Alif Majeed.

    Miss Juneteenth’s first scene has the main character lovingly caressing the pageant crown she had won a lifetime ago. It says quite a bit about all her shattered dreams and problems with the best-laid plans that she might have had. It is a very relatable scene to anyone who had ever caught themselves reminiscing about a long lost part of their past they so severely wish to change.

    The movie is about Turquoise Jones (Nicole Beharie), a former winner of the Miss Juneteenth beauty pageant. Despite winning the pageant and getting full scholarships to prestigious educational institutions, her dream was cut short as she got pregnant while still in school. This makes her push her daughter hard to compete as she is determined to make sure that her daughter Kai (Alexis Chikaeze) does not repeat her mistakes. 

    Kai’s utter lack of interest and reluctance in sharing her parent’s dream plays a considerable part in their dynamic and is utterly relatable for anyone who has ever had their parent’s choices forced down on them. Especially when she makes her desire to dance rather than participate in the competition evident to her mother on more than one occasion.

    Add to this Turquoise’s complicated relationships with her ex-husband and Kai’s father, and her religiously fanatic mother spills out to further strain her relationship with her daughter.

    A significant part of why Miss Juneteenth works is its cast. It is tough not to root for Nicole Beharie, who may as well be playing the title character. She does not try to portray her as a victim, even if there is ample scope for that. And she also might not always be making the best choices for both her and Kai. 

    An excellent example of it is her toxic relationship with her husband, which has had a massive part in how her life has shaped up. She continues having a casual fling with him, despite seeming like a person who would make far saner choices. 

    Her paranoid reactions at facing the nightmare scenario that Kai might make the same mistakes she once did make sense purely because she perfectly sells how much she had suffered, making those awful choices.

    Her helplessness at realizing that her husband had let her down again comes to a head when he fails to cough up money for the pageant’s dress for Kai. To his credit, Kendrick Sampson infuses enough charm in the role that you understand why Turqoiuse gave him a free pass all his life. Despite being the deadbeat disappointment that he has been. His odd logic in not being enthusiastic enough to cough up the cash for the dress almost makes sense even if he tries to justify his screw up. 

    Alexis Chikaeze is also outstanding as Kai on the other side of the spectrum. What also stands out is the way Turquoise and Kai deals with people. While Turquoise prefers not to take things silently, Kai chooses to be introspective and be quiet about things. When her fellow participants call her out for her lack of table etiquettes, Kai cowers down in shame, and her uncomfortableness clearly shows.

    This is why her final act at the talent contest comes as an act of defiance meant to silence everyone. Especially is seeing her mother’s reaction, who, until then, would always have a snarky comeback for anything and anyone, is silently watching in mute pride. 

    It also says a lot about how people can get stuck in the past without really moving on. Take the case of Turquoise and her rivalry with her fellow Miss Juneteeth participant Clarissa (Lisha Hackney). Despite being more successful than Turquoise, there is still resentment at coming in second in her childhood. Just a few glances and snide remarks at each other is all that takes to say a lot about school rivalries and the reason why someone who did not make it, at least in their head, dreads to go to their reunion. 

    Whether Kai and Turquoise succeed at the pageant is something that should not be spoilt here. But the movie’s final scene is just perfect because there is a real sense of an ending. Not all loose ends have been tied up, and these characters are far from being on the road to that perfect life Turquoise always strived to achieve. But there is real hope that maybe they will be fine when the two sit down and share that piece of chicken. 

    Shoehorning Miss Juneteenth, as a simple mother-daughter relationship movie, is doing it a grave injustice. It is a must-see movie for anyone who wishes they could course-correct their future from all the mistakes they made in the past. Now, who among us wouldn’t dream of doing that?