Author: BRWC

EO – Review. By Samhith Ankam.

Pronounce the letters E and O together, and it will sound similar to what the animal makes on the poster. With an animal that’s not domesticated enough to become a pet, nor one that takes up books that teach kids the sounds animals make, it allows a silly detail to bring us back to when we first learned onomatopoeia, but even more so, it’s representative of the ethos of Jerzy Skolimowski’s movie: To immerse into the animal experience, without a human facade to translate emotions, to talk and walk like the creatures that have to live beside us, but rarely alongside us.

This isn’t a documentary but an exercise in naturalism. The lack of internal dialogue is a stylistic choice, not one born out of necessity; all it asks for is empathy for EO, who’s continuously shoved down scenarios in the hope that he’ll see his owner, Kassandra, again. Separated from her when a circus where he performs finds itself in bankruptcy, there’s an ironic propulsion given the animal rights activists protesting in that scene from that point on – maybe there’s no escape once eyed by a human.

Every vignette holds this movie hostage for short periods of time in the human experience. Almost nonsensical, but forced detours from nature and into the concrete landscapes until they have no purpose of existing anymore. It ranges from a man hitting on a girl with no sense of boundaries to a spoiled kid who’ll never lose his position at the top, because of heirlooms and his affair with his step-mom (played with a straight face, even in absurdity, by Isabelle Huppert)

Our problems, even as genuine as can be, feel like vanity in the presence of EO, whose big black eyes pervade every scene like he’s out of his depth. There’s a sense of depression rocketing through this very slow movie, not only in a failing plight for “family,” i.e., his owner, but as being unable to respond to pain and joy with anything other than a movement of head or bray. At the party in the movie’s most “maybe there’s hope for us all” scene, all the drunk dancing is juxtaposed with EO’s big black eye – no one knows what he thinks of what’s happening, but they try to welcome him regardless. Such a lovely ask for us – to love, to give love, and not ask for any in return. Earth can hold us all, let it.

The director, Jerzy Skolimowski, often operates in the realm of pure imagery, given EO’s lack of voice, utilizing color and movement to create a mood. The uses of reds, in particular, are almost primal – the closest we get to EO’s inner state, whether that be a remembrance of why all of this matters or freedom to travel the world against the forces of humanity, even if that means to fly.

This all may all be an experiment, but it’s empathetic through its restrictive imagination, and its whimsy, if not to the level of a kids’ movie as this maybe could have been, is enough to keep this chugging along in the vein of a road-trip movie, just one to hell. A little too floaty despite it all, though.

Winner of the Jury Prize at the 2022 Cannes Film Festival, which won’t be the last award it would go on to win. But it’s not just asking for you to love *it*, but also the animals around you. 

You Resemble Me: Review. By Samhith Ankam.

“You Resemble Me,” in its original language, French, titled “Tu Me Ressembles,” may be labeled as a documentary, but it takes a while to reveal itself as such in terms of form. In fact, it may be as well be like BlacKKKlansman (2018) ending with a montage of the “Unite the Rally” march where a peaceful protestor gets murdered, except here it’s not fantasy opening eyes to reality but giving reality to fantasy constructed by a news cycle. The director, Dina Amer, aims to follow Hasna Ait Boulachen’s story starting from birth, not working back from death – a way for her to clear her conscience after falsely reporting Hasna as Europe’s First Female Suicide Bomber. 

What happened since those words were published would dictate the creation of this documentary. Nothing is simple and shouldn’t be simple because that’s where the news of Hasna’s involvement was manipulated through misogynistic lenses. Nothing is obvious; the clear-cut nature of the headline obfuscated the fact that there’s a person underneath all that talk whose life ended in fear, not glory. We give into the facts, but maybe the real story is about subjectivity, how people sometimes are forced to choose from limited options. 

What results is more of a docu-drama, moments recreated after 360 hours of interviews with the family and community surrounding Hasna, strikingly brought to screen with actors who make a smile feel like nothing more than a temporary escape from purgatory. As fragmented as it is, there’s a throughline of grappling with religion from front to back. From Hasna witnessing a street fight commenced by a white Parisian who called a boy a “dirty Arab,” to her foster-family force feeding her Pork at a Christmas Dinner when it’s not Halal, to getting ticketed by a police officer for wearing a Burka in public, there’s an unacceptance of Islam in France that further questions her identity, the one thing she’s trying to stabilize.

What does she give herself to, the systems of European civilization or being a Muslim? What can allow her to move on from abusive parents, a lack of schooling, a life sustained through prostitution, and a service job still insufficient to cover housing? But, her choice is a facade; this documentary depicts how religion and its promises to forgive and hope for a better life can be twisted into fitting someone else’s goal – A terrorist’s one. That sense of hope upon chatting with her cousin, who’s orchestrating attacks in Paris, isn’t forgotten until it has to be, but in those moments of wearing the Burka, she finally feels like she’s marching to the beat of her own drum.

Tragically, her sworn responsibility to save others, we see it with her bond with her sister and her attempt to enlist in the French military, only ends in harm (in extension, her self-demise). The violence isn’t incessant here, it plants the seeds as an outlet in the opening minutes, but this doesn’t follow Hasna giving into it, even at the eleventh hour. But, at that point, it’s too late – the title “You Resemble Me” is put out of desperation, hoping that someone will see themselves here and not fall into the trap. Dina Amer goes a step further than mere words, having three actors play the adult version of Hasna, even herself, at no rhyme or reason other than create a blur of a face to project yourself onto.

“You Resemble Me” follows every failure of support in Hasna’s life and when different forms of support are battling each other. There’s nuance to the story – never taking away her blame but also finding fault in society at large – The cut into the documented footage at the end shows that there is definitely reason to. The understanding of “why” and “how” through vignettes pieced together creates a sense of unbelonging and degradation that shatters Dina Amer’s original headline on the subject. This is storytelling, raw and a little messy, but necessarily so to feel real. Every person is a product of everything around them, so following character impulses based on that instead of narrative logic is the only way to be honest.

Maybe I Do: Another Review. By Jake Peffer.

Maybe I Do follows Michelle (Emma Roberts) and Allen (Luke Bracey), they’re in a relationship together and it seems like the next step is for them to get married. Michelle is sure she is ready for marriage while Allen doesn’t know if he’s ready yet, going as far as disrupting her from catching the bouquet at a friend’s wedding. The two decide to finally get their parents together to meet for the first time. Turns out the parents already know one another well, which leads to some interesting opinions about marriage.

The story here is adapted from a play written by Director/Writer Michael Jacobs, most known for creating Boy Meets World. This marks the directorial debut for Jacobs, and he does a fine job adapting his play to the big screen. Adapting his own work certainly helps his case and despite some definite flaws it’s clear Jacobs has a natural touch for working behind the camera. Having an extremely talented cast bodes well too as it doesn’t take much to get good performances out of the actors involved.

It’s easy to tell this story was adapted from a play as everything flows the same way a play would. There are some establishing shots of the city and a few scenes that take place outside but for the most part everything takes place in just a few indoor settings making the story feel more intimate. A lot of the dialogue feels like it belongs in a play and at times feels like it takes something away from some of the more dramatic scenes. The performances of the cast help smooth over some of the inconsistent parts of the movie.

While everyone in the cast does a great job there isn’t a standout performance from anybody. There are no weak performances, and everyone brings enough to their characters to make each one interesting. The main part of the story is centered around Michelle and Allen but it’s their parents that have the more interesting stories going on. A large portion of the movie focuses its attention on the parents rather than the kids which seems like an odd choice considering it’s supposed to be their story. It feels like the story is missing something as it doesn’t spend as much time with Michelle and Allen as it should.

Overall, Maybe I Do never does anything particularly bad but it doesn’t feel like it ever lives up to its potential either. Michael Jacobs does well enough for his first time directing and everyone in the cast gives a good performance. It feels like the script could have used some punching up as the comedy comes off bland and the story loses some steam towards the end.

Maybe I Do: The BRWC Review. By Joe Muldoon.

Boasting a star-studded cast including Hollywood heavyweights Susan Sarandon, Diane Keaton, Richard Gere, and William Macy, director Michael Jacobs’ upcoming romantic comedy was always bound to be entertaining. Michelle (Emma Roberts) and Allen (Luke Bracey) are a young couple deciding upon their future together. At a wedding, the bride has agreed to throw the bouquet directly to Michelle, knowing her fantasy is to be the one to catch it.

Allen, however, is anxious about taking the next step in their relationship, being content with how they currently are – the sensible course of action, he decides, is naturally to leap from a table and intercept the bouquet midair, catching it himself. Unsurprisingly, Michelle and the rest of the bridesmaids are quite unimpressed, and this leads to an ultimatum about the future of their relationship together.

In the meantime, their parents – unbeknownst to one another – are becoming well-acquainted; Allen’s father Sam (William Macy) and Michelle’s mother Grace (Diane Keaton) meet each other at the cinema, whilst Allen’s mother Monica (Susan Sarandon) and Michelle’s father Howard (Richard Gere) are at a fancy hotel rendezvous.

Being painfully relatable to myself, Sam feels that a good remedy to his feeling of distress is to visit the cinema alone, which leads to his chance encounter with Grace, who comforts Sam after hearing him sobbing into his popcorn. The pair feel unsatisfied with their home lives, a lack of emotional or physical intimacy from their significant others. Getting cold feet after they rent a by-the-hour motel room, they instead decide to take to the New Jersey streets, discussing their lives and views.

Howard and Monica’s night is decidedly less fulfilling, with Howard’s existential crisis getting in the way of their planned lovemaking. Looking back on his life, Howard laments that if the next 20 years pass as quickly as the last 20 have in his memory, his life will be over in the blink of an eye. “If that’s what we’ve got left, are we living our best lives?”, he asks. Unsurprisingly, this does little to whet Monica’s appetite, so their night turns into a fairly expensive (albeit luxurious) discussion.

After Michelle and Allen have lengthy discussions with their parents about their views on love and relationships, Michelle decides to ask Allen and his parents over for dinner, an attempt to patch things up and introduce everybody to one another. As one may expect, some rather amusing discussions entail upon the realisation that everyone already knows one another far better than anticipated.

Maybe I Do offers little new to the romcom genre, but it doesn’t need to – it’s a charming and entertaining comedy, helped along by its excellent cast, who share a splendid amount of chemistry. Particularly impressive is Susan Sarandon’s performance, her zesty remarks and demeanour bringing out genuine chuckles from the audience. Underneath its comical face is a compelling existential dialogue on meaning, fulfilment, and ageing. If I can look even half as good as Richard Gere in 50 years, I’ll be quite content with myself. Maybe I Do opens in cinemas on 27th January.

By Joe Muldoon

More Than Ever: Review. By By Joe Muldoon.

Since the widespread critical acclaim of her most notable roles in 2017’s Phantom Thread and 2021’s Bergman Island, Vicky Krieps’ career has rapidly attracted a fanbase, with great gusto. Following on from her impressive leading performance in Marie Kreutzer’s Corsage, her most recent film feature is in Emily Atef’s More Than Ever, in which she plays Hélène, a woman who is terminally ill with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis. Krieps’ now-trademark stoicism drives her performance home. Starring alongside her is the sadly late Gaspard Ulliel, playing her longtime partner, Matthieu.

Hélène is informed by her doctor that there are few treatments viable, but that she has the option to undergo a lung transplant with a 50% success rate. Matthieu feels cautiously optimistic, urging her to undergo the operation, but Hélène is deeply uncomfortable with the idea of potentially spending the majority of the rest of her life in hospital care, especially after observing patients in hospital beds.

Growing tired of the way in which the terminally ill are treated, she finds solace in a blog written by a chronically ill man under the moniker ‘Mister’. Yearning for a feeling of freedom and solitude, and much to Matthieu’s discomfort, she travels to Norway to meet ‘Mister’ (or Bent, as we later find to be his name, played by Bjørn Floberg).

Despite her surprise at him being nothing like she expected, Hélène finds solace in her new companion, a mutual understanding and experience shared between them. The remoteness of Bent’s Norwegian home provides Hélène with the escape she seeks.

More Than Ever is a poignant silent meditation on sickness and death. Those surrounding Hélène attempt to awkwardly dance around the topic, unsure of how to treat their friend. She feels frustrated about the immediate shift in treatment, whilst they feel uneasy about the prospect of prematurely losing their friend. Atef’s piece works best when it plays to its strength in its silence; Hélène finds peace with her fate, opting to take agency over the inevitable, whilst Matthieu quietly comes to accept his partner’s decision.

Breaking with the standard fare of ending the picture on a tear-jerking note with Hélène’s inevitable death and funeral, Atef instead opts to end Hélène and Matthieu’s time together with a passionate sex sequence, a unique spin on la petite mort.

Rather than with a Hollywood feelgood glimmer of optimism, the decision to close with a measure of ecstasy feels far more fitting, a way to allow Hélène the dignified control over her fate she so desires.