Author: Mark Goodyear

Judy: The BRWC Review. I will always be a staunch defender of biopics. They are so often criticised as avenues for mere imitations and half-truths, which in the case of some films is true. But to disparage all biopics for simply being made is only a failure to realise their cultural and historical importance, and above all else, the homage they pay to the extraordinary individuals who find themselves the subject of a script. 

Judy Garland to me was always the little girl following the yellow brick road, she lifted my imagination to new heights as a child, but I knew nothing more of her. It wasn’t my generation that became endeared to her as a stage performer, nor was it even my parents. My grandparents were who was around for her all too brief time on this planet.

And when all was said and done, it was her journey to Oz that endured more than anything else. Now her biopic “Judy” has arrived and stars Rene Zellweger in her finest performance ever. It taught me that Dorothy went on to become someone so larger than life that she got lost in the stars and never fully came back down. But for a few, far too brief moments, she managed to take us up there with her, and it was extraordinary. 

Judy captures the twilight of the prolific performer’s career and sees her dwindling for next to no money as the United States forgets about her more and more. Despite it meaning she must leave her beloved children behind she decides to head to London, where her fame still resonates, to make enough money to get custody of her children. There she begins to perform a series of sold-out concerts, that unbeknownst to anyone, would be her last hurrah. 

There is a whole lot love about Judy and nothing more so than the masterful performance of Rene Zellweger in the starring role. Hers is the best performance I have seen all year, and I say that knowing very well who else is in that conversation. She swoons on-screen and paints an endearing and sincere portrait of her muse. She does Judy Garland a great honour with her portrayal as when she begins to sing, and the lights are blaring down onto her, she becomes so captivating you won’t even blink. Zellweger becomes Garland, and she does so with a passion that ensures even when the script begins to fizzle, she continues to command the screen. 

With that said the script does indeed have some flaws, there are the usual historical inaccuracies, though they’re nothing too egregious. One problem occurs late in the film when the major drama reaches its conclusion, it happens quite suddenly and in a somewhat stunted fashion, but I must say the performance is more than good enough to make this easy to ignore. In fact, the scene this leads too is one of Zellweger’s best, even if it is a slightly underwhelming resolution to a crucial plot point.

The other slight issue is in the grey area the film doesn’t shed any light on. We never get to see Judy in her best days as a stage performer, only her final days and her tumultuous beginnings on the set of the Wizard of Oz. This makes for some powerful parallels that explain how Garland ended up where she did, but it does feel as if we skipped some rather important occurrences in between. 

Director Rupert Goold has made something quite special with his efforts. He generates an enormous amount of empathy for Garland and does so in a compassionate manner. Yes, her flaws are there for all to see. She takes to the stage when in no condition to do so and insults unruly audiences for being impatient with her.

But Goold makes it very clear that despite her failings she was a special, one of a kind performer who, as one of the characters say in so many words, managed to bypass the ears with her songs and land straight in the heart. Goold’s first feature “True Story” was scrutinised for lacking substance and his inability to realise his subjects fully, he has come a long way since and it was to Judy Garland’s benefit that he has. 

Judy, we won’t forget you, I promise. This is a film that enhances the grandeur of a star from the past and does so with enough empathy and kindness to make it one of the finest films of the year.

I often find myself using the term melodrama as a dirty word, particularly when critiquing low budget independent films. I acknowledge that I shouldn’t do that, melodrama as a genre doesn’t mean bad, Magnolia is in every essence melodramatic, and it’s a masterpiece. However, there is something about the genre in the hands of debuting and promising directors that sees everything go wrong very quickly. Cyrus Mirakhor’s first feature film “Wake.” falls victim to this, and it could have been so much more. 

Carey Crim adapted the scripted from her play of the same name. It tells the story of Molly Harrison (Myndy Crist), her mother Ivy (Caroline Lagerfelt) and daughter Sam (Page Searcy) and how they deal with Molly’s severe agoraphobia that manifested when her husband died three years ago. As a joke present for her birthday, Sam and her grandmother buy Molly a life-sized doll they christen Pedro, and all is well until Molly begins to see it come to life as her deceased husband, Peter (Jo Koy). From there, Molly juggles her anxiety, her mother and daughter and tries to find it within herself to explore her feelings for Joe (James Denton), a documentary filmmaker she meets through work. 

A lot happens in this movie, so much that the runtime is a massive problem. An hour and a half isn’t enough time to explore the giant themes Wake throws at us. Loss, mental illness, parental influence across generations, and romance are all a factor in the story at some point, and it becomes too much very quickly. Early on, I began to think that this setting would have worked far better in a television format; I actually think it would have been quite good. But as a movie, Wake doesn’t function.

The tone changes with every scene because the humour doesn’t balance evenly against the bleak concept. As such Mirakhor fails to create genuine resolutions because the film is so uneven and rushed. So when the time comes to begin wrapping everything with a nice big bow Wake dissolves into melodrama, and I say that with the harshest of connotations. 

Wake has a very distinct moment where everything begins to collapse around Molly and her family, and it begins with the best scene in the entire film. Paige Searcy delves deep into her repertoire as a performer and finds a pitch that is incredibly moving in a crucial scene, and she steals the movie in the process. In this moment, around an hour into the film, the emotional turmoil between mother and daughter begins to erupt, and Sam bares herself to her mother and pleads with her; it moved me to tears.

I loved this scene with all my heart; what I didn’t love was every minute that followed. Unfortunately, this heartbreaking piece of writing and acting triggers every other plotline disintegrating into turmoil and what I believe Mirakhor intended to be a dramatic crescendo only amounts to a melodramatic calamity. 

There is one other glaring issue with the narrative, and it’s Pedro the gag doll. Pedro comes to represent the big thing that holds Molly back, which we know right from the start is her dead husband, Peter. From the moment he first appears it’s unclear what he represents, at first, he’s a joke, then he’s a lover, and then he becomes a physical presence that will do anything to hold Molly back.

It’s clear she doesn’t know how to move on from her husband’s death, but it all feels like a condemnation of a man whom, to our knowledge, didn’t deserve to be condemned. Molly’s only way of moving on is to blame her husband and cut him out of her mind, and I don’t believe that is a wise or logical depiction of closure, and it left me scratching my head.

Wake. has all the potential to be an emotionally satisfying television show. However, as a film, it simply doesn’t work. Keep an eye on the impressive Paige Searcy though; this endeavour should be a mere blip on the career she should go on to have.

Character studies can make for spectacular films. They are a versatile basis for any filmmaker looking to develop depth in the story they are setting out to tell. From there such films can go anywhere, and, if done correctly, they may become evocative and mesmerising as they paint new ways to see the world.

Harmony Korine’s The Beach Bum is a character study, and it does none of that. However, its central character, Moondog (Matthew McConaughey), makes for an almost irresistible character to analyse, and even if everything is a bit much, it’s one hell of a ride. 

Moondog, in his own words, has to “get low to get high”. He likes to slum it on the streets, and as long as he’s got a can of Blue Ribbon (which is shamelessly promoted throughout) and a joint with him, he’s having a good time, and that’s all he wants to do in life. Yet, he is so much more than just the titular ‘beach bum’. Moondog is a published poet, slowly writing another book at the behest of his slimy agent Lewis (Jonah Hill) and his wealthy wife Minnie (Isla Fisher). Joined by more eccentric members of society along the way, Moondog escapes what little responsibility he has to live his dream and to do so without compromise, and this is a strong parallel to the movie itself. 

Korine goes at this film knowing exactly what he wants to do, and even though what he is trying to do is insane, he still sticks to its rigorously. At no point does this film feign genuine emotional depth or attempt to impart influential wisdom, but I don’t think Korine was trying to do that. At the end of the day, The Beach Bum plays just like you think it would, wild and free, with zero effort to be anything it’s not.

I respect this film as a whole for being that way; it knows precisely what it is and wholly embraces the lack of logic and etiquette that saturates its narrative. In going this way, we might not get the most exciting story, but we do get a fully realised performance from a totally immersed Matthew McConaughey who was born to star as Moondog. 

His performance is hilarious and unwavering. McConaughey simply is Moondog, as if he always has been, it is quite remarkable. Moondog’s adventure has plenty of glaring plot holes that ensure none of what occurs could ever translate into real life. However, he has a clear, if simple, worldview, nonetheless. He sees life as a game, and he doesn’t understand why he’s the only one playing, he doesn’t care either. He is the very essence of freedom and is impervious to anything breaking his spirit as he puffs along the road to nowhere.

The all-star cast around him don’t have nearly as much to sink their teeth into, but all come across as if they were having loads of fun filming this utterly mental experience. How could you not? For better or for worse the film is fun, illogical, lacking insight and vulgar, but fun. 

The Beach Bum may completely lack competent storytelling, but the antics of Mattew McConaughey’s Moondog still make for an intriguing character study. It’s a shame Korine didn’t look to do more with Moondog as an individual who refuses to conform in a judgemental world and the consequences of that; there may well have been a compelling story in that concept. At least we had a good time, right?

Joker: The BRWC Review. Evocative, dark, twisted and utterly mesmerising, that is what Todd Phillips has done with Joker. When the announcement first came in 2017 that we were getting a Joker origin story, I had no idea what to expect. The seemingly constant failure of the DCEU had continued with the release of Justice League, after only briefly being salvaged by Wonder Woman, and snarky laughter and insults met everything attached to the brand.

Yet here was something Warner Brothers told us was going to be completely separate, with no CGI upper lips and, most importantly and interestingly, no Caped Crusader. Soon Joaquin Phoenix was attached, and all we knew was that he would be The Joker going around Gotham with no one capable of stopping him.

Now we know what that’s like and the best way to describe it is a punch in the face quickly followed by an ice bath. This Joker origin story plays very much like the clown prince of crime himself is giving us a list of excuses for his actions, everything is from his perspective, and it’s crucial to understand that. The world Phillips puts us in is a cruel one, a distressingly cruel one that, had the man introduced to us as Arthur Fleck not become The Joker, would generate empathy from audiences for our main character.

However, we are only seeing what our demented antagonist is allowing us to see, and we can’t trust him, so we are left to our own devices, subject to only disturbing behaviour from disturbing people.

Our leader through this world is the relentless Joaquin Phoenix, who gives what is very possibly the finest performance of his career. He summons the feeling that he was born to play this role and brings back all the mental chaos that the character lacked in Suicide Squad. The writers (Todd Phillips and Scott Silver) placed all their cards in the Joker character with the film relying on him in every scene, and phoenix delivers to an incredibly high standard. Robert De Niro is also excellent as funny man talk show host Murray Franklin, who serves almost as a reminder that we have been forced to follow The Joker down a path no one would ever actually tread. In other words, he reiterates that the world isn’t all that bad, at least compared to how Arthur sees it.

The architect behind the entire film, Todd Phillips, has plain and simple never directed a better movie. The Hangover and War Dogs don’t even come close; this is work from an entirely different filmmaker and of a calibre, I’ll admit, I didn’t believe him capable of. I was so foolishly wrong, and I’m so happy to write that. His direction is gobsmacking as he paints his depiction of a treacherous descent into insanity.

In working with cinematographer Lawrence Sher, they have managed to make something so captivating that even when the images make you want to look away, you never will. From his eerie dancing to his harrowing laughter, they capture The Joker in an entirely unforgettable fashion making this depiction of the famous character one of the most impactful ever.

There are parallels to the real world, ones that are quite unsettling. At times it’s unclear if the film was trying to acknowledge these or not. They may be a minority, but there are people out there who agree with the psychopathic ramblings of the Joker, and every so often they mimic his style of deranged violence.

I wholeheartedly believe Joker is a film that condemns these people and acknowledges their legitimate threat to the world as we know it. For some, the story will come on a little strong because the world in the film takes the real-life problems and turns them up to 11. The violence is unrelenting as a result, and that is where the debate of the films potential to incite real crimes arises, I hope it doesn’t, but I can’t say for sure that it won’t. We aren’t at the stage where criminal members of an audience should be dictating how to make a film though, that is something I know for sure. So even if you are against the narrative, Joker had an unequivocal right to be made, and as of the time of writing, I’m sure happy it did.

The score by Hildur Guðnadóttir is bone-chilling and gut-wrenching. 2019 has been a particularly good year for film scores, and this one further extends the ever-growing terrific library of music. The editing is also first-rate as it never lets you fully settle from the insane acts before the next one occurs. In the grand scheme of things, the violence is quite sparse, coming in bursts rather than smothering the whole experience, so not being able to settle is a sign of a director and editor that has you well and truly on a hook.

I could go through the other aspects of the movie and sing my praises, but I mean it when I say that in every category this is one of the year’s best films and it will make a significant impact this awards season.

Joker is a disturbing look through the eyes of a mad man who blames the world for his insanity, one told via career-best work from Todd Phillips and the performance of a lifetime by Joaquin Phoenix.

Some movies can get by on heart alone. The pieces may not all tie together perfectly, and there may be a few moments where they lose their way, but films with a big heart and a loveable story will always be worth watching. Rachel Griffiths’ feature directorial debut Ride Like a Girl, is a film with a silly title, and a few head-scratching issues, but an undeniably massive heart.

We follow the story of Michelle Payne (Teresa Palmer) from her youth, all the way to becoming the first woman ever to win the Melbourne Cup. We first meet her as a young girl getting up to mischief with her instantly loveable brother Stevie (played by himself), as well as trying to survive her other 8 siblings. She comes a long way from these humble beginnings and fights for everything she achieves.

Hampered primarily by the misogynistic stance that female jockeys aren’t as good as male ones. She overcomes this and so much more along the way, and eventually finds herself racing ‘The Race that Stops the Nation’, with every scar, emotional and physical, pushing her around the track to glory. 

There’s a lot to love about this film, but there are some glaring and questionable issues as well. For starters, the script has a knack of glossing over the hardships Michelle and her family face, particularly when she is just starting out. She loses a sister, was raised only by her father, as her mother passed while she was very young, and later finds herself facing multiple career-threatening injuries.

All of which is in the film, but none of it is granted enough time or depth to make clear how painful these periods had to of been for her. One moment she’s grieving her sister, the next she’s achieving another triumph, it’s a slightly fantastical depiction of a life that can’t have been as easy as it all comes across in the film. Overall the movie becomes uneven; As if Griffiths couldn’t decide if she wanted to make something about all of Michelle’s blood sweat and tears, or if she only wanted to display her victory.

The other big issue I take with the Ride Like a Girl is the music. Ride Like a Girl boasts a beautiful score by David Hirschfelder, swelling with notes that wholly encompass the dream we get to witness come true. And yet licenced music still pops its head in where it doesn’t belong. Every time a piece of popular music leaks through the speakers, it’s tacky and jarring. Why, when you have such a terrific composer creating such wonderful music, would you ever bother paying money to licence music? Plain and simple this was the wrong decision, and I have no idea how it came to be. 

Now onto what I liked, and I liked more than I disliked. Right from the start, all 11 members of the Payne family are loveable. They have a wonderfully Australian dynamic that may involve our unique style of badgering but also the unshakable bonds we hide beneath that humour. You want them to achieve their dreams, and you feel for them when things aren’t so bright, and by the end, they become why this film has as much heart as it does. Calling Ride Like a Girl overly sentimental would be easy, but I feel it rises above that. You really get a sense this movie is telling an inspiring story when the best moments arrive. And those moments are deeply loveable and come directly from the brilliant cast.

I loved the performances in this film a lot. I can’t say they’re anything groundbreaking or awe-inspiring. But I can say that of all the movies involving Screen Australia or one of their state offshoots this year Ride Like a Girl is one of the best, and that’s thanks to the spectacular work of Teresa Palmer and Sam Neill. Neill plays Paddy Payne, Michelle’s father, and does so with evident and dedicated respect for the role.

He finds himself in some of the pictures best scenes as he connects with and passes on wisdom to, his daughter, and Neill nails it at every turn. Palmer is just as good as her veteran counterpart; she shows her superstar potential here more than in anything else I’ve seen her in. She makes it hard to imagine anyone else paying Michelle; she’s that good. The unevenly happy/ sad edit does her no favours, and yet she still makes the impact felt when she needs to. The experience as a whole may not get across Payne’s hardship on the way to glory, but in the most important moments, Palmer sure does.

Ride Like a Girl has a huge heart, and that’s enough to carry it over the finish line. Yes, the execution could have been smoother, and the pacing is all wrong, but when it comes right down to it, the story of Michelle Payne is too incredible not to fall in love with, and her winning moment truly is irresistible cinema.