It’s a tale as old as time. A brilliant doctor suffering from a life-threatening condition crafts one last-ditch attempt at curing their ailment, but the results dream up a nightmarish new reality far beyond their control. Dr. Michael Morbius embodies this anti-hero treatment in Sony’s latest ploy for a cinematic universe Morbius. Latest might be putting it kindly, as the vampire anti-hero origin story sat on the shelf for nearly two years due to the pandemic.
Following in the footsteps of crowdpleasers Venom: Let There Be Carnageand Spider-Man: No Way Home, Morbius marks a bold odyssey of expansion. The brooding vampire is a minor cog in the mainstream superhero marketplace, placing extra responsibility on Sony and their filmmaking team to establish an arresting first chapter in a new saga. Instead, Morbius delivers a toothless and aggressively soulless descent into beige superhero formula.
Before the film drives off the rails, Morbius presents glimmers of life for the all-too-commonplace genre. The film is surprisingly sincere in its anti-hero approach, crafting Michael into a well-meaning scientist who finds himself consumed by his failed experiment. Seeing a protagonist toiling with his super-powered affliction rather than being enhanced by it offers a refreshing perspective to explore onscreen.
Unfortunately, director Danny Espinosa rarely gets a chance to represent Morbius’ gothic sensibility. The film drapes every frame in a thick coat of bleak lighting choices and murky visuals, a style that vyes for the macabre but looks more like a bad TV pilot. Espinosa and company seem petrified of embracing a darker vision onscreen, with the few horror setpieces lacking the palpable tension one would expect. His flat presentation represents a studio-for-hire filmmaker who does not imbue an artistic voice into the project.
Morbius also feels severely restricted by its family-friendly PG-13 rating. Espinosa finds a few creative maneuvers around the rating restrictions (a POV shot of Morbius consuming a foe displays a rare burst of creativity) – but the director mostly finds himself confined to an autopilot delivery. The approach creates a passionless, personality-free product, a listless film exclusively formed by the half-based vision of studio mandates.
Matt Sazama and Burk Sharpless collaborate on a similarly listless screenplay. The nucleus of Michael Morbius’ story radiates promise, taking an intimate dive into a tragic anti-hero who pays the price for trying to cure his deadly disease. His struggles as a doctor morphed into a flesh-eating monster never receives the time it needs to breathe onscreen. Mixed with dialogue exclusively made of exposition jargon, Morbius passes by without ever drawing a genuine attachment from audiences.
I know star Jared Leto is somewhat of a punching bag in critical pundits, with several ostracizing the actor’s penchant for over-the-top performances. I will say it’s refreshing to see the actor step into a more grounded figure that fits the performer’s brooding energy. However, Leto finds himself stuck on a sinking ship. Neither he nor capable supporting players Matt Smith and Adria Arjona have any room to create distinct characters within the droning screenplay. It’s all so monotone and drab, leaving everyone in the cast looking around waiting for something to do.
Capped off with an incomprehensible CGI-slugfest of a finale, Morbius showcases the superhero genre in its most generic state. If the character continues forward in future sequels, I hope the creative team develops a more succinct vision for who the character should be.
Apollo 10 1/2: A Space Age Childhood Synopsis: Stan (Jack Black) narrates stories of his life as a 10-year-old boy (Milo Coy) in 1969 Houston, weaving tales of nostalgia with a fantastical account of a journey to the moon.
Growing up in the late 1960s, Stan finds himself in a period of great intrigue. While the harsh realities of the Vietnam War and the Civil Rights Movement wage on, Stan finds himself lost amidst the endless possibilities of space as the United States pursues a trip to the ephemeral moon.
The juxtaposition of the era’s wide-eyed hopes and impending doom takes center stage in Richard Linklater’s latest animated offering, Apollo 10 1/2: A Space Age Childhood. Linklater and his shaggy sensibility endure some inconsistencies, but the beloved auteur creates another affectionate time capsule of the adolescent experience.
Few paint a picture of memory and experience as vividly as Linklater. The writer/director’s signature shift away from traditional narrative devices allows Apollo 10 1/2 to maintain a breezy airiness that feels tailor-made to adolescence. From the multitude of family idiosyncracies to days frolicking in the streets with friends, Linklater embeds audiences in our protagonist’s day-to-day experiences. Each detail and personal reflection radiates such sincerity and warmth, conjuring the type of reflective spirit that will leave most viewers looking back at their own youthful experiences.
It’s also a joy to see Linklater return to his distinctive rotoscoping animation style, a dream-like presentation that bolstered previous Linklater gems like A Scanner Darkly and Waking Life. Rotoscoping’s lack of refined details oddly makes for a more immersive experience, with Linklater and his skilled team of animations utilizing the craft to draw from the emotions of each warmly-expressed memoir rather than creating picturesque reenactments. Akin to the Saturday morning cartoons Stan idolizes, the style offers boundless expressions of emotions and memory that fit Linklater’s nostalgic sensibility like a glove.
Apollo 10 1/2 draws more emotional resonance than your typical coming-of-age offering (looking at you, Belfast). The decision to contrast Stan’s experiences with narration from his older self helps paint a detailed picture of the era and the character’s now-aged perspective. As the space age captures the interest of Stan and America alike, Stan’s aged self – voiced with a balance of precision and wistful melancholy by Jack Black – finds himself drawn back to an experience that represented the best of youth and its endless optimism. Linklater’s descent into nostalgia draws some unevenness in its repetitive structure, but the helmer endures the few narrative inconsistencies through his sheer sense of sincerity.
Apollo 10 1/2 finds Richard Linklater operating comfortably in his nostalgia-glazed wheelhouse. Fans of the auteur will be more than happy to dive into another freewheeling descent into his youthful experiences.
Apollo 10 1/2: A Space Age Childhood is now playing on Netflix.
Infinite Storm Synopsis: As Pam Bales (Naomi Watts), an experienced climber, ascends into Mount Washington, she turns back before she reaches the summit as a huge blizzard approaches. However, on her way down, she encounters a stranded man (Billy Howle) and takes it upon herself to get them both down the mountain before nightfall arrives and they succumb to the elements. Based on a true story.
Tales of humanity overcoming the foreboding dangers of nature populate cineplexes at a fast and furious rate. From pulpy thrillers like The Mountain Between Us and The Grey to humanistic dramas like Arctic and Adrift, dozens of filmmakers continue to mine insights into the trials and tribulations of enduring the world at its most dangerous and unpredictable.
Director Malgorzata Szumowska and screenwriters Joshua Rollins lean into nature’s harsh realism with the Pam Bales biopic Infinite Storm. Framed as a triumph of personal traumas through surviving the treacherous mountain conditions, Szumowska crafts a film radiating with competence and noble intentions. Unfortunately, neither quality makes for a compelling narrative.
Infinite Storm struggles to overcome its inherent timidness. Suzmowska and Rollins approach Bale’s experiences with the utmost reverence for her sacrifices – but rarely offer much digging beneath the surface of her persona. Suzmowska tries to introduce occasional flashbacks amidst the wintery landscape. However, few of these blips conjure the type of emotional resonance to connect with audiences. The lack of meaningful reflection reduces the setup into a boilerplate premise, a plotline that feels indistinguishable from several other superior dramas of this ilk.
As Pam and her mysterious counterpart try to overcome the growing dangers, viewers must endure the overbearing haze of familiarity. It’s unfortunate that one of Infinite Storm’s weaknesses comes from its poor timing, with the film following up a recent slew of survivalist drama that mine very similar subject matter. Lacking its own stylistic and emotional imprint, Infinite Storm ultimately reads as a well-meaning yet uninteresting continuation of the all-too-familiar trend.
That said, diehard fans of the survival thriller genre should get their money’s worth. Naomi Watts continues to serve as one of the industry’s most reliable stars, embracing Pam’s life with a detailed eye for naturalism. From the way Watts hums along with radio songs to the whirlwind of frustration and care she feels towards her counterpart, the actress emanates authenticity with every frame. I also credit Szumowska for embracing the genre without Hollywood theatrics, conjuring a deliberate pace and straightforward visual presentation that lets the dreary setting speak for itself.
Infinite Storm never stumbles mightily, but the film doesn’t do enough to elevate its familiar formula.
The Lost City Synopsis: Reclusive author Loretta Sage (Sandra Bullock) writes about exotic places in her popular adventure novels that feature a handsome cover model named Alan (Channing Tatum). While on tour promoting her new book with Alan, Loretta gets kidnapped by an eccentric billionaire (Daniel Radcliffe) who hopes she can lead him to an ancient city’s lost treasure from her latest story.
An articulate author and her dim-witted cover model suddenly find themselves on a death-defying jungle adventure in The Lost City. Oddly enough, the only thing more archaic than the ancient tombs Loretta and Alan journey through is the film’s studio comedy approach. Studio comedies once dominated cinemas with star-studded casts and playful high-concept premises – but the genre now rests on life support as most efforts quietly wander into existence as streaming releases (Vacation Friends and The Bubble are recent examples).
With The Lost City, directors Adam and Aaron Nee resuscitate the genre’s crowdpleasing appeals onto the big screen. The Nees create a spirited revival of long-forgotten trends, an affably silly and straightforward romp that goes down easy despite its inherent disposability.
Credit to the Nees for understanding what makes films of this mold pop. The Lost City refreshingly harkens to a time when movie stars embraced their charismatic personas, composing the narrative as a mere canvas for two likable leads to go toe-to-toe comedically. I also appreciate the duo’s favoring of practical sets and effects work. The old-school jungle aesthetics are a huge step up from recent adventure epics like Jungle Cruiseand Uncharted that reeked of over-produced artificiality.
The cast also elicits infectious energy as they play to the material’s lampooning spirit. I’m unsure if there’s a more affable goofball in the business than Channing Tatum, with the actor’s puppy dog naivete and movie star presence allowing him to bumble through comedic situations as the bud of several humorous jokes. Sandra Bullock makes for an effective foil through her sharp one-liners and poised comedic abilities, while supporting players Brad Pitt and Daniel Radcliffe steal the show in their limited screentime as over-the-top side characters.
The Lost City pursuits for a breezy fun time are somewhat limited. Screenwriters Oren Uziel, Dana Fox, and Adam Nee stick too rigidly to the studio comedy formula, rarely taking a chance to elevate the genre’s tried and true staples. The lack of innovation can occasionally stunt the material as it embraces a wave of over-familiar cliches and generally stunted character building.
I also wouldn’t call The Lost City an incredibly consistent experience. After the first act zips by off the appeals of its premise and some clever comedic setpieces, the rest of the experience jockeys between cleverness and obviousness as the gag-a-minute approach delivers at an inconsistent rate. I can’t help but feel that a sharper version of Lost City exists, one that leans further into the subversiveness of its protagonist’s personal connection to the dopey book franchise they are defined by.
Still, I found myself endeared by The Lost City and its lack of self-seriousness. The Nees successfully morph conventional studio formula into a comedic adventure that never forgets its star-studded appeals.
As viewers of Scream could tell you, arthouse horror, or “elevated horror,” is gaining a stranglehold of the tried and true genre. The pastiche showcases a few familiar tenants, particularly the meditation of a theme infused through horror’s macabre sensibility. That said, horror and its innate versatility create a pandora’s box of creativity for filmmakers. Revered directors like Jordan Peele, Ari Aster, M. Night Shyamalan, and Julia Docournua continue to gather beloved fanbases by envisioning their creative and articulate perspectives on the big screen.
I love the modern wave of auteur-driven approaches. Going to the theater in the wintery months of the 2010s often represented a risky proposition for horror fans like myself. The dredges of The Forrest, The Boy, and The Devil Inside presented an overt carelessness that haunted screens like an ominous specter. By comparison, most arthouse horror films at least take sincere risks with their material. I can note several praiseworthy aspects in even the films I don’t particularly care for from the subgenre (Relic).
Some are less optimistic about the growing trend. I’ve seen many already express weariness with meditative horror’s dominant presence is in the marketplace, often fixating on the genre’s lesser examples that reek of derivative artfulness. This perspective isn’t exactly unfounded, as the popularization of the approach continues to lead to several poorly-formed copy-cat offerings coming out of the fray.
Considering the divisiveness, I wanted to look at X, Master, and Uma – three new horror releases approaching the meditative sensibility in their own light.
X – Directed by Ti West
X Synopsis: A group of actors (Mia Goth, Brittany Snow, Kid Cudi, Jenna Ortega, Owen Campbell, and Martin Henderson) sets out to make an adult film in rural Texas under the noses of their reclusive hosts, but when the elderly couple catches their young guests in the act, the cast finds themselves in a desperate fight for their lives.
The House of the Devil director Ti West returns after a nine-year feature-film reprieve with the 70’s set slasher X. Tuned into his creative frequency, West crafts a blood-soaked tribute to the era’s slashers while inserting his own thoughtful meditations.
West amassed a passionate cult fanbase for a reason, often approaching various compelling topics through different horror pastiches. With X, West descends into familiar tenants of the slasher genre as we follow a group of self-assured “professionals” filming their latest porn project. The opening hour patiently allows these characters to establish their playful personas – with sharp dialogue interactions articulating a group of aspiring artists who see merits in their form of sleazy entertainment.
I appreciate West for not being single-minded in his approach to the era and its contents. Instead of coming off as vapid dreamers, West allows his ensemble to feel like full-fledged people who approach their work with sincerity. A star-studded ensemble also enhances the thoughtful characterizations. Kid Cudi and Brittany Snow share an electric rapport as a pair of adult film stars. Owen Campbell is fittingly goofy as a pretentious filmmaker opining over his craft, while Martin Henderson delivers as the group’s shady organizer. Ultimately, it’s Mia Goth who steals the show in her dual role as the young star Maxine and the bitter host Pearl. Goth conveys both characters and their dissident personalities with exacting precision, allowing for the dual role approach to radiate greater thematic connotations.
The group’s artistic pursuits make for an interesting clash when the ensemble’s archaic hosts begin to exhibit their sinister intentions. West cleverly juxtaposes the promiscuous freedoms of our central characters with the stern prudishness of their aged counterparts, creating a conflict that’s well-entrenched in the era’s cultural sentiments. I don’t think his ruminations build a truly captivating thesis – but the concepts still serve as a thoughtful reflection of the slasher genre and the pearl-clutching audiences who continue to denounce their merits over time.
Thankfully, West never forgets time-honored pleasures behind a great slasher film. Once the kills kick into gear, West and company dream up an array of twisted set pieces that push the team’s creativity and grungy craftsmanship to its limits. I continue to respect West’s ability to lean into different horror genre tenants while still charting his own artistic pathway.
X isn’t particularly revelatory in its contents, but that doesn’t stop West and company from crafting a bloody-good time at the cineplex. I am already excited to see what the filmmaker brings to the table with his already-filmed prequel Pearl.
X is now playing in theaters.
Master – Directed by Mariama Diallo
Master Synopsis: At an elite New England university built on the site of a Salem-era gallows hill, a black student (Zoe Renee), professor (Amber Gray), and administrator (Regina Hall) strive to find their place. Navigating politics and privilege, they encounter increasingly terrifying manifestations of the school’s haunted past and present.
The college ecosystem continues to strive for diversity, often plastering together agreeable ad campaigns that depict a well-rounded campus center. For the most part, these advertisements only work to mask the ongoing struggles between colleges and their lackluster understanding of race relations. Writer/director Mariama Diallo delves into this conceit with her debut feature, Master, a nuanced and emotionally captivating film that displays Diallo as a breakout filmmaker to watch.
As an offshoot of the 2022 Sundance Film Festival, Master exemplifies a finite understanding of elevated horror sensibilities. Diallo intimately delves into the ostracized treatment of black participants at each institutional level, showcasing how each character operates inside a culture that constantly reminds them of their outsider status and tokenism treatment. While the university’s damaged history serves as a mere footnote to most attendees, the troubling past remains an inescapable specter haunting our central protagonists in their day-to-day lives.
Diallo and her handle of the subject matter always feels authentic in its approach and empathetic to its subjects. Her insights felt personally resonant to me as my girlfriend endured similar struggles when we integrated into our college lifestyle. The lack of cultural understanding at colleges is a facet of the education system that does not get enough recognition among mainstream circles – and I give Diallo ample credit for exploring this topic with the gravity it deserves. Stars Regina Hall, Amber Gray, and Zoe Renee deserve similar praise, with Hall continuing her journey as a thoughtful dramatic voice in independent cinema.
The skilled filmmaker also excels at infusing horror trademarks to enrichen her themes. At their best, Diallo and Cinematographer Charlotte Hornsby morph familiar social situations into nightmarish reflections from our characters’ perspectives, including a club scene that transform the frat-boy anthem Mo Bamba into a haunting war chant of sorts. Diallo’s only major misstep comes with some of her narrative devices, as her somewhat generic lore-building lacks further elevation of the visuals and themes.
As a whole, I love what Master brings to the table. The film serves as an apt reflection of arthouse horror and its distinct strengths, articulating piercing statements about race relations within our flawed educational systems.
Master is now playing in select theaters and on Amazon Prime.
Umma – Directed by Iris Shim
Umma Synopsis: Amanda (Sandra Oh) and her daughter Chris (Fivel Stewart) live a quiet life on an American farm, but when the remains of her estranged mother arrive from Korea, Amanda becomes haunted by the fear of turning into her mother.
Last – and ironically enough the least effective of these films – is Iris Shim’s feature-length debut Umma. When critics of arthouse horror bemoan the growing trend, Umma represents the kind of aimless, substance-free experience they are referencing.
As a filmmaker, Shim never possesses a confident hold over her material. Ruminating on the generational baggage passed between a Korean family presents ample opportunities for intimate character-building. That said, the film coasts by without enacting a real purpose. Most scenes during the sparse 83-minute runtime feel drab in their conception, often incorporating played-out framing choices and inconsequential dialogue exchanges that lack any artistry. The failed approach creates an experience that rests solely on the surface level, which isn’t helped by Shim’s timid descent into the horror genre (I would honestly call this more of a drama than a horror film with its infrequent scares).
Umma is never dreadful, but the film is an oppressively ineffective experience on its horror and thematic fronts.
Thank you for indulging me in my deep-dive of arthouse horror. You can also check out my review of other arthouse horror titles like Freshand Last Night in Soho.
