Malignant Synopsis: Madison (Annabelle Wallis) is paralyzed by shocking visions of grisly murders, and her torment worsens as she discovers that these waking dreams are in fact the terrifying realities.
Even as he’s amassed financial and critical success, James Wan still doesn’t receive enough praise for being the leading voice in modern horror. Wan’s adept craftsmanship has spearheaded three of the millennium’s marquee horror franchises (Saw, Insidious, and The Conjuring), with each embracing traditioned horror aesthetics through Wan’s dynamic verve behind the camera.
The director’s latest spooky endeavor, Malignant, is his boldest descent yet. Operating with full carte blanche, Wan meshes Giallo, 80s slasher, and an array of horror influences in a bold genre concoction. His effort radiates with passion and adept craftsmanship, creating a piece of high-art camp that will go down as one of this generation’s definitive cult classics.
Wan’s direction isn’t unbridled by the tendencies of modern horror – with the craftsman reaching for the stars with a chaotic blend of loving influences. Malignant conjures the image of video store camp that permeated the marketplace in the 80s and 90s, refreshingly steering away from the self-serious posturing behind far too many modern horror outings.
From melodramatic screeches of the score to laughably stiff dialogue exchanges, Wan and screenwriter Akela Cooper cleverly capture the spirit of this bygone era without descending into mawkish self-awareness. There’s never a wink at the camera or moments of smug cutesiness – Wan instead establishes an adoring love letter to his vast array of influences. The tandem spin a wildly unhinged narrative, including an infectiously insane third act that has rightfully drawn jaw-dropping reactions (no spoilers here, everyone should experience it with their own eyes).
From a direction standpoint, Wan’s already impressive work reaches new heights in visceral craftsmanship. He and Cinematographer Michael Burgess unload a limitless bag of tricks, morphing even the most rudimentary of horror bits into lively pieces of cinema. Astute audiences can point out Wan’s numerous sources of inspiration, but each panache is reinvigorated under the director’s visceral eye. The camera swerves with relentless energy while bold lighting choices and buckets of bloodshed paint the screen with colorful imagery. Similar to Gabriel himself, there’s a reckless abandon streak in Wan’s work that’s shamelessly enjoyable to embrace.
Malignant has driven a stark division of reactions – with the film’s campy performance work being a central target for several critics. To me, I think the acting is getting a bad wrap. While most of the performances work due to their campy, soap opera delivery (the buddy cop duo played by George Young and Michole Briana White are a hoot in their self-serious line deliveries), star Annabelle Wallis provides a much-needed emotional core. As Maddison, Wallis effectively conveys the character’s mental breakdown and longing for emotional connection. Co-star Maddie Hasson also elevates the material’s straightforward nature, with the duo cobbling a semblance of emotionality from the campy romp.
Like a lost relic from a bygone time, Malignant feels timeless in its bold recontextualization of horror influences. It feels like James Wan can do no wrong at this point, and I hope audiences begin to fully appreciate him as one of this generation’s defining voices.
Malignant is now playing in theaters and on HBO Max.
While we continue to endure abnormal conditions, it’s a delight to see the Toronto International Film Festival return during the unofficial start of awards season. I am ecstatic to be covering the long-traditioned fest for the first time as a member of the press. Over the next week, I will be engulfing a series of snacks as I try to highlight as many of the festival’s offerings as possible. Some of my coverage will feature full-length reviews, while other indie entries will be covered in the form of bite-sized reviews. Either way, let’s get this show on the road!
Violet – Directed by Justine Bateman
Violet Synopsis: Violet (Olivia Munn) realizes that her entire life is built on fear-based decisions and must do everything differently to become her true self.
Actress Justine Bateman makes her written/directorial debut with Violet –a visceral manifestation of angst and self-doubt set in Hollywood’s male-dominant world. Bateman imbues bold visceral imagery to extenuate Violet’s internal struggles, and while her choices don’t always land, the writer/director creates an affecting portrait of an all-too-familiar reality.
Violet’s sincere intentions take off due to a career-best performance from Olivia Munn. The actress skillfully manifests Violet’s insular pains through a balance of subtle techniques, communicating her wave of frustration and angst from each longing gaze. Her journey through a toxic workplace filled with judgemental peers showcases the sexist undertones that permeate our society while still injecting personal steaks from Violet’s day-to-day struggles.
Where Violet will divide audiences is its abrasive use of style. Bateman deploys a range of bold visual (the color grading changes to reflect emotions) and audio (Justin Theroux narrates Violet’s negative inner-voice) techniques to place viewers in the character’s perspective. These inclusions land with a mixed bag of impacts. Certain elements dig under the surface of Violet’s timid persona, while others stand as clumsy representations of potent emotions. Bateman’s narrative also isn’t without inconsistencies, as the script often plays out as a series of vignettes that lack a driving center.
Violet modulates between moments of powerful emotion and bits of stagnant drama. That said, Bateman and Munn’s well-articulated work creates a worthwhile portrait of its potent subject matter.
Encounter – Directed by Michael Pearce
Encounter Synopsis: Two young brothers (Lucian-River Chauhun and Aditya Geddada) go on the run with their father (Riz Ahmed), a decorated Marine, who is trying to protect them from an inhuman threat. As the journey takes them in increasingly dangerous and unexpected directions, the boys will need to confront hard truths and leave their childhood behind.
Encounter is one of TIFF’s most intriguing prospects. Writer/director Michael Pearce (who co-wrote the film with Joe Barton) borrows from the 80’s science fiction playbook to set the table for a tale of rekindling family dynamics. From there, Pearce subverts viewers’ expectations in a sincere yet uneven family road trip.
Pearce deserves praise for his assured craftsmanship. The director keenly stays two steps ahead of the audience’s expectations, redefining traditional sci-fi trademarks through his refreshingly grounded touch. When the film finds its narrative groove, Pearce crafts a meaningful portrait of a disconnected family rekindling their distant bond. Riz Ahmed’s empathetic work guides Encounter through its distinct twist and turns. He paints the paternal Malik with brutal honesty, balancing the character’s loving tendencies and extreme habits without a false moment. Young stars Lucian-River Chauhun and Aditya Geddada also offer affecting performances as Malik’s spirited sons.
I appreciate the bold switch-up Pearce embraces with the film’s distinctly different second half, but the choice presents some weaknesses. The change brings intriguing meditations on the exceedingly relevant subject matter. However, Pearce’s well-intended ruminations are often over-delivered without proper nuance. I wish the breathless and unnecessarily action-filled second half took more time to sit with its characters, as the film lands like a great concept that lacks proper shading.
Inconsistencies aside, Encounter strikes a resonant journey from its character-driven road trip.
DASHCAM – Directed by Rob Savage
Dashcam Synopsis: Annie Hardy (played by Hardy) is a toxic streamer who gains views from her polarizing perspective. Once she picks up a seemingly mundane delivery, Annie endures a supernatural force that stalks her every move.
Rob Savage shattered the horror mold with 2020’s The Host – an inspired and fiercely crafted Zoom scare-fest that intelligently utilized its COVID-19 conditions. His second feature, DASHCAM, expands the director’s range in a found footage/social media-infused horror film. While results will vary with audiences, I had a blast with Savage’s sardonic take on social media’s vapid culture.
DASHCAM’s ability to enthrall hinges on the viewer’s tolerance for the film’s loud-mouthed protagonist Annie. Savage creates an abrasive amalgam of social media’s worst tendencies – hodgepodging conspiracy theorist rhetoric and a general lack of empathy into Annie’s meandering journey for clicks. Her repelling presence serves as a humorously mean-spirited guide through Savage’s relentless series of bloody encounters. Savage further showcases his adept understanding of the genre, uncorking several patient scares while infectiously tossing buckets of bloodshed onscreen.
I enjoyed DASHCAM slightly more than Savage’s universally praised debut, but both films suffer from their inherent lack of narrative structure. The writer/director deserves praise for infusing some worthwhile portraits of social media influencers’ ghastly actions. However, there isn’t an established thematic core to boost these entertaining frames into something more substantial.
DASHCAM indulges in its vile characters and horror with winning results. I am excited to see how Savage continues to grow as a voice in horror.
Lakewood – Directed by Philip Noyce
Lakewood Synopsis: A mother (Naomi Watts) desperately races against time to rescue her child as authorities place her small town on lockdown due to a school shooting.
Veteran craftsman Philip Noyce injects his distinct thriller edge in Lakewood – a race-against-time narrative that plays to the standards of Hollywood norms. Noyce and screenwriter Chris Sparling conjure a breathless experience that lacks in terms of substance and naturalism.
Even in a film that doesn’t work, Naomi Watts continues to provide a sturdy presence onscreen. Without having much in terms of backstory, Watts’s balance of hyperactive mania and subdued pains morphs the empty character into an engaging presence. Aside from Watts, Lakewood is a vehicle consistently stuck in the wrong gear.
I can see where Sparling’s script could work in a Cinéma vérité presentation, but he and Noyce overwork the concept into maudlin theatrics. Every five minutes presents an overdramatic speech or falsely rousing attempt to crowd please, with the duo zapping the material of its promising simplicity. On a personal note, I don’t think these school shooter-themed films are handling their subject matter with enough dramatic weight. Lakewood holds a closer resemblance to the dreadfully exaggerated Run Hide Fight than the meditative tonality of Elephant. Both former films reduce their meaningful slice of cultural zeitgeist into lame-duck premises cynically manufactured for Hollywood entertainment.
Lakewood strikes competent marks from a visual and performance standpoint, but the film’s insincere approach to vital subject matter left me with a sour taste in my mouth.
The Guilty – Directed by Antoine Fuqua
The Guilty Synopsis: A troubled police detective demoted to 911 operator duty (Jake Gyllenhaal) scrambles to save a distressed caller during a harrowing day of revelations — and reckonings.
Based on the 2018 international Sundance breakout, The Guilty finds star Jake Gyllenhaal and director Antonie Fuqua attempting to recraft the narrative into America’s challenging times. While I haven’t seen the film it’s based on – this glossy and dramatically over-pronounced effort left me wishing I checked the original out instead.
Viewing this film in succession with Lakewood left me with lingering deja vu, as both possess similar strengths and weaknesses. Jake Gyllenhaal keeps the combustible narrative semi afloat through his sheer gravitas alone, throwing himself into the determined yet damaged character with sincerity. The Guilty works marginally better than Lakewood as an engrossing piece of entertainment, whisking audiences along a hectic 911 call full of dramatic twists and turns.
However, The Guilty lacks dramatic potency within its chaotic narrative. Fuqua and screenwriter Nic Pizzolato capably move the nonstop narrative thread along, but the breakneck pace allows little time to flesh out the straightforward characters. The film’s thematic ambitions are equally underbaked, including a third act reveal that tries – and fails desperately at addressing the ongoing circumstances of police work.
The Guilty’s weightless thrills never atone for the film’s glaring lack of purpose. I can see where Fuqua and company tried to make this story prominent for American audiences, but their efforts lack the required nuance to truly deliver.
The Card Counter Synopsis: William Tell (Oscar Isaac) is a gambler and former serviceman fresh out of jail for crimes he committed. Tell just wants to play cards. His spartan existence on the casino trail is shattered when he is approached by Cirk (Ty Sheridan), a vulnerable and angry young man seeking help to execute his plan for revenge on a military colonel.
From precisely cold features to his questionable comments in the press, Paul Schrader stands as a singular presence in Hollywood’s conformed system. His somewhat dormant career received a breath of fresh air with 2018’s First Reformed– an effectively chilling look at a priest disillusioned by the toxic world around him.
Schrader’s long-awaited follow-up, The Card Counter, feels like a spiritual sequel of sorts. Instead of the vacant halls of an antiquated church, Schrader engulfs audiences in protagonist William Teller’s existential dread amidst the vapid poker scene. Schrader’s sensibilities suffer from inconsistencies, but the writer/director’s searing ambitions render an impactful portrait of inescapable pains.
Casino films are typically lit and framed with glossy vibrancy, utilizing bold techniques to place audiences in the thrilling rush of high-steak gambling. In The Card Counter, Schrader wisely turns against the subgenre’s usual panache. His muted color tones and steady framing zap the sleazy appeals right out of the setting, with Schrader keenly observing the farce existing in this overly-produced environment. The inclusion of Robert Levon Been’s sparse yet haunting score adds to the ominous tonality while consistently keeping audiences on their toes.
The mannered aesthetics suddenly morph into a haunting nightmare when introducing William’s painful memories from the military. Schrader’s fish-eye, VR-esque framing creates a viscerally distorted image of the character’s oppressive torment. Through his thoughtful filmmaking choices and pointed script, Schrader keenly observes William’s battle for redemption against his pre-destined descent into foreboding darkness. The addition of timely social ruminations – including the harsh juxtaposition between the US’s manufactured casinos and the inhumane cruelty under the country’s surface – further cement William’s existence as a damaged byproduct of broken systems.
William’s insular torments come to life under Oscar Isaac’s skilled tutelage. The actor showcases a deft balance between William’s buttoned-up facade and the untamed emotions lying just under the surface, manifesting powerful sentiments through effectively subtle techniques (his empty gaze speaks volumes). Ty Sheridan and Willem Dafoe also offered assured performances, with Sheridan and Isaac building a steady rapport between William and Sheridan’s disenfranchised young adult. The two share a bond forged by shared trauma, with both trying to stay ahead of the lingering demons through their unlikely camaraderie.
The Card Counter is consistently compelling – even as sections of the film don’t quite connect. I was excited to see Tiffany Haddish step into new territory as William’s aloof gambling financier La Linda, but the character’s stiff delivery does not utilize her skillset well. Haddish and Isaac lack the chemistry to sell their budding romance, ultimately detracting from the third act’s balance between hope and despair. I also can’t deny that Schrader explores familiar terrain with his latest project, which detracts from some of the theme’s raw impact.
I don’t think The Card Counter will be for everyone, but those who can tune into Schrader’s distinct frequency will find an unshakeable cinematic experience. Even with its issues, Schrader’s latest is one of the strongest big-screen offerings to date this year.
Kate Synopsis: After being irreversibly poisoned, a ruthless criminal operative (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) has less than 24 hours to exact revenge on her enemies and, in the process, forms an unexpected bond with the daughter of one of her past victims.
Mary Elizabeth Winstead has amassed a career of consistent excellence, shinning in indie darlings (Smashed) while exhibiting herself as a poised action star (The Thingremake and Birds of Prey) along the way. Winstead’s sturdy yet overlooked presence serves as the driving force behind Netflix’s latest actioner Kate – a disposable actioner that does just enough to energize its familiar foundation.
As usual, Winstead establishes instant gravitas onscreen. As an assassin stuck in a fruitless cycle of violence, the actress presents the cold precision of a well-trained killer. She conveys the typical gruff charm of an action hero while still conveying some much-needed vulnerabilities. In the chances she gets, Winstead effectively touches on the heart of the character’s longing for connection and foreboding regret over her isolated lifestyle.
The writing presents clear limitations, yet that doesn’t stop Winstead from developing a sturdy presence to center the narrative around. Miku Patricia Martineau adds lively spunk as Kate’s unlikely friend, while Woody Harrelson fittingly modulates between smooth charm and nastiness as Kate’s parental trainer.
From an action standard, Kate delivers enough visceral pop to elevate its rudimentary setpieces. Director Cedric Nicolas-Troyan basks in the neon-soaked carnage Tokyo setting, teaming with Cinematographer Lyle Vincent to execute a whirlwind of kinetic setpieces. From heart-racing car chases to numerous close-quarter shootouts, Nicolas-Troyan showcases an assured touch with his swift movements. While the dully dilated color grading takes away some of the impacts, the setpieces present just enough creative flourishes to reinvent the familiar action movie wheel.
Kate has the bones of a strong actioner, but the script undermines the film’s fruitful nucleus. I love the concept of a hitman staring eye-to-eye with their mortality – it opens up room for self-reflection amidst the genre’s noisier tendencies. However, Umair Aleem’s screenplay is as barebones as it gets for the genre. The narrative chugs along at a stagnate clip, embracing a medley of played-out narrative tropes and thinly defined character beats (the third act twist could be predicted from a look at the poster). The flat writing damages the Asian characters the most, as they are rarely imbued with enough empathy or dimension to rise past standard-issue cliches.
Kate works as a passable enough diversion despite its uninspired narrative approach. If audiences leave with one takeaway, it’s that Mary Elizabeth Winstead should be an action star for years to come.
Small Engine Repair Synopsis: Blue-collar childhood buddies Frank (John Pollono), Swaino (Jon Bernthal), and Packie (Shea Whigham) – deeply bonded over Frank’s daughter Crystal (Ciara Bravo), who they helped raise – meet off-hours one night in Frank’s out-of-the-way repair shop under cloudy circumstances that only Frank seems to have a handle on.
Digging into the crevices of the rustic New England Americana, John Pollono’s directorial debut Small Engine Repair takes an authentic look at a community that is near and dear to my heart (I have been a Massachusetts resident my whole life). Pollono, who co-wrote 2017’s criminally underrated Stronger, breathes vitality and surprising warmth into a chaotic tale of the region’s best and worst qualities.
Pollono deserves ample credit for defining a distinct sense of place. From cooking steaks amidst snowy conditions to the run-down appeals of their local bar, the director makes a concentrated effort to convey the essence of the working-class New England lifestyle. Pollono and Cinematographer Matt Mitchell craft a gritty presentation style that feels like an apt fit for our characters’ lunchpail sensibility, with the duo never beautifying the inherently mucky setting. Pollono’s deft touch within the potent dramatic scenes also helps to steadily guide the narrative through its whirlwind of twists and turns.
The dreary setting isn’t just an aesthetic, as Pollono fleshes out his lively world through thoughtful introspections. His script zeroes its sights on the delicate bond between the film’s overly-macho trio, finding a genuine camaraderie amidst the crassness and casual cruelty. That said, Small Engine Repair intelligently resists overly-glowing shmaltz, properly taking the characters to task for the toxic ways they cope with their environment. Whether it’s casual homophobia or a restless penchant for violence, I would not be shocked if critics dismissed the film for the character’s occasionally repugnant actions. For me, I enjoyed how openly flawed Pollono makes his characters, with his script allowing their warmth and callous anger to stand as an apt reflection of the setting’s cold-hard truths (I can’t tell you how many times I have met people like the grandstanding Swaino).
The spirited cast works wonders to sell these dynamics. Jon Bernthal imbues brash energy and squeamish vulnerability as Swaino – a brutish man who tries to conquer all through his sheer swagger. Shea Whigham is fittingly squirely as Packie, the intelligent heart of the group who remains loyal despite the constant belittlement. Pollono skillfully showcases Frank’s repressed anger, while Ciara Bravo brings much-needed warmth into her few scenes as Frank’s intelligent yet wise-cracking daughter.
Without revealing the many narrative surprises, the script doesn’t quite come together. I love Pollono’s ambition and emotionally challenging themes, including a third-act twist that takes his characters to surprisingly dire circumstances. However, an oversimplified final third reduces many of the potent ideas into a tidy bow. The clean conclusion undermines the character’s toxicity in favor of giving audiences a studio-approved ending that doesn’t feel entirely earned. It’s the one point where the film slips into Hollywoodized theatrics.
An uneven final third still doesn’t mask Small Engine Repair and its notable strengths. This is a diamond in the rough that I hope gets discovered upon release.
Small Engine Repair opens in theaters on September 10th.
