film reviews, interviews, features | BRWC

Author: Matt Conway

  • Voyagers: The BRWC Review

    Voyagers: The BRWC Review

    Voyagers Synopsis: With the future of the human race at stake, a group of young men and women embark on an expedition to colonize a distant planet. But when they uncover disturbing secrets about the mission, they defy their training and begin to explore their most primitive natures.

    Outside of celebrated auteurs like Martin Scorsese and Spike Lee, directors’ careers often undertake a roller coaster journey filled with soaring highs and lows (it’s practically impossible to work in the film industry unscathed by criticism or studio mandates). Neil Burger stands as a strong example of this dynamic, building his profile with indie darlings (The Illusionist and Interview with the Assasin) before striking big with the high-concept sci-fi hit Limitless. His success led him to a mainstream transition, a journey that’s generated a few profitable yet middlingly received outings along the way (Divergent and The Upside).

    Now, Burger is re-taking control with his latest directorial/writing vehicle Voyagers. I am a sucker for inventive and meaningful sci-fi efforts, with Voyagers taking an interesting dive into unbridled adolescents fresh off the suppressive control of a mysterious chemical. While Voyagers certainly possesses the bones of a sturdy offering, it’s a shame that Burger’s effort leaves most of the film’s potential untapped.

    To Burger’s credit, this is easily his most lively effort since Limitless nearly a decade ago. Burger’s astute direction defines a cloyingly claustrophobic sense of place, allowing each chromatic lab and swerving hallway to come to life in their own distorted ways. The director also reprises his usage of kinetic montages, with blips of untamed imagery doing a skillful job replicating the character’s newfound euphoria. It’s a joy to see Burger working in his element viscerally. When he’s able to let loose, Burger finds insightful ways to relay the character’s emotional flurry.

    With his first feature script in over a decade, Burger certainly has a pulse on worthwhile conceits. His sci-fi/Lord of Flies hybrid views insular conflicts under a microscope. Whether it’s humanity’s struggle between selflessness and selfishness, the awakening of adolescent emotions, or the duality of good and evil, Burger makes several admirable attempts to dress up his familiar storyline.

    I love what Voyagers tries to say, but its neutered delivery feels oddly akin to the chemically-castrated characters. Burger seems to be fighting an uphill battle with studio mandates, as his film often opts towards simplistic, teeny-bopper entertainment over the more weighty conceits (the film feels like it’s in a frenetic rush towards the chaotic third act, sprinting past quieter frames that are sorely lacking). For a film about the release of controlled emotions, Voyagers lands with an oddly buttoned-up delivery. The film’s PG-13 rating prevents the material from traversing down the darkly untamed avenues, with Voyagers including depictions of violence and sex that reak of empty posturing.

    Voyagers proudly wears its influences on its sleeve, a decision that leads to those inspirations dominating anything the material is trying to say. Burger’s script desperately lacks presence in a character-front. The talented young ensemble is stuck playing thankless ciphers, with their characters shifting to the whims of the storyline rather than possessing dimension or agency on their own accord (Fionn Whitehead’s antagonistic role is cartoonishly empty). The addition of Colin Farrell as a paternal guide does present some promise, but his short-lived role makes little impact before the chaotic action takes center stage. I don’t think this film will register as anything more than a Lord of Flies ripoff for most audiences.

    Heady science-fiction is right up my alley, but Voyagers compromises too much on what makes the material inherently interesting.

    Voyagers opens in theaters nationwide on April 9th.

  • Every Breath You Take: Review

    Every Breath You Take: Review

    Every Breath You Take Synopsis: A psychiatrist (Casey Affleck), whose client commits suicide, finds his family life disrupted after introducing her surviving brother (Sam Claflin) to his wife (Michelle Monaghan) and daughter (India Eisley).

    While in no relation to the iconic Police song, Vaughn Stein’s new domestic thriller Every Breath You Take adopts similarly foreboding connotations (carefully listen to that song again). Personally, I have a soft spot for the soap opera-esque melodrama featured in domestic thrillers of this elk. At its best, the subgenre exhibits its own form of preposterous entertainment that’s sorely lacking on the big-screen today.

    Even with my personal attachment, Stein’s wayward effort captures none of the genre’s vibrant allures. For a film that vies to be a compelling psychological thriller, Every Breath You Take sinks from its distinct lack of psychology and logic. This by-the-numbers effort is likely to be forgotten amongst a wave of similarly disposable thrillers.

    No one involved seems to be all that invested. The star-studded cast solemnly mulls their way through blandly-formed roles, with neither Casey Affleck nor Michelle Monaghan imbuing their usual strengths onscreen (when Affleck doesn’t have substance to work with, his insular delivery looks more like sleepwalking). I do credit Sam Claflin for injecting a semblance of energy as the charismatic yet unhinged antagonist, but his performance still can’t mask the character’s banal design.

    I can’t blame the cast for going through the motions considering the film’s beige delivery. Three films into his upstart career, Stein has struggled to implement much presence into his cookie-cutter efforts (Terminal and Inheritance are similarly flavorless despite the talent involved). His flat imagery only works to muck up the picture, while Stein lacks the attentive hand to escalate tension. It doesn’t help that Stein is stuck with a thanklessly generic screenplay, with David Murray’s effort acting like an unfocused hodgepodge of far superior films (take your pick between far superior domestic thrillers like Basic Instinct or David Fincher’s tense 90’s thrillers).

    Somehow the predictability isn’t even the film’s biggest problem. Every Breath You Take possesses a serious identity crisis. The self-seriousness prevents any sort of guilty pleasure engagement, while the script’s simple-minded approach does little of note with its volatile subject matter. Also, how many times must a mentally ill character serve as a villain without any dimension or humanity? It’s become such a tired trope, one that reduces people’s genuine struggles into an empty veneer of craziness (the film has such little care for its characters, ending amidst the climactic conflict without any resolutions).

    I’m glad I am writing this review fresh off watching it, as Every Breath You Take does little to elicit interest. Even if you’re a fan of domestic thrillers, I suggest checking out Fatale instead (or even Fatal Affair, which has its own goofy appeals despite my initially negative review).

    Every Breath You Take is now available on VOD.

  • Shiva Baby: Review

    Shiva Baby: Review

    Shiva Baby Synopsis: Danielle (Rachel Sennott) attends a family shiva where she is accosted by her relatives, outshined by her ex-girlfriend Maya (Molly Gordon), and face-to-face with her sugar daddy (Danny Deferrari) and his family. Based on a short film of the same name.

    Returning home for family functions is never ideal, but rarely has this uncomfortably awkward rite of passage come to life like in writer/director Emma Seligman’s debut feature Shiva Baby. In her big-screen adaptation of a deeply personal short film, Seligman exhibits her immense abilities in one of the year’s most assured films to date.

    From the premise alone, one would not expect Shiva Baby to implement a visceral edge akin to sweaty thrillers like Uncut Gems, yet Seligman skillfully infuses her familiar premise with newfound vitality. Her intensely claustrophobic framing serves as a boisterous manifestation of Danielle’s bottled-up angst, with Seligman utilizing a melody of zooming quick pans and thundering score choices to depict the intense eyes of her judgemental family (the looming eyes of casual onlookers feels like a deafening Greek chorus).

    Shiva Baby should honestly be showcased in film classes. Seligman’s effort displays just how much a few thoughtful techniques can morph a familiar interaction into something with pulse-pounding intensity. The alluring style aids Seligman’s all-too-real depictions of familial/cultural pressures, placing audiences right in Danielle’s shoes as she combats a wave of critiques from cloying members of her church.

    It’s a sentiment that could feel very one-note in the wrong hands, but Seligman’s clever comedic flourishes give some much-needed sweetness to Danielle’s bitter experience. Seligman effortlessly draws laughs from her commonplace situations, often relaying the uncomfortable cat-and-mouse dialogue exchanges through the spectrum of her Jewish culture. Everything has a welcomed specificity to it, yet the whole experience still conveys a universalness that connects with audiences.

    Shiva Baby isn’t only a breakout effort for its talented writer/director. Star Rachel Sennott grabs the audience’s interest from the opening frames, with her deft balance between dry wit and vulnerable emotive beats imbuing dimension into her persona (her deadpan facial expressions often speak volumes). Molly Gordon makes for a bright onscreen partner as Danielle’s ex-lover while the enclave of talented character actors brightens their archetype roles (Fred Melamed steals the show as Danielle’s eager father).

    Shiva Baby is a true delight. Seligman’s film strikes a great balance between acerbic humor and revealing character beats, jumpstarting what should be the start of a wonderful career.

    Shiva Baby is now available on VOD platforms.

    EXCLUSIVELY ON MUBI FROM 11 JUNE 2021

  • The Unholy: The BRWC Review

    The Unholy: The BRWC Review

    The Unholy Synopsis: Alice (Cricket Brown), a young hearing-impaired girl who, after a supposed visitation from the Virgin Mary, is inexplicably able to hear, speak and heal the sick. As word spreads, a disgraced journalist (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) hoping to revive his career visits the small New England town to investigate. When terrifying events begin to happen all around, he starts to question if these phenomena are the works of the Virgin Mary or something much more sinister. Based on the novel Shrine by James Herbert.

    The purity behind religious faith often serves as a great canvas for horror films. Whether it’s iconic staples of cinema (The Exorcist and The Omen) or new-age innovations of well-trudged ideas (the recently released Saint Maud), a plethora of filmmakers have cleverly twisted religious connotations to develop their own frightful thrill rides.

    This familiar trend continues forward with the latest religious spookfest The Unholy. Genre fans expecting the scare-a-minute structure of commonplace horror vehicles may be in for a rude awakening, as writer/director Evan Spiliotopoulos leans towards the source material’s favoring of weighty ideas. While never revelatory, The Unholy elevates the genre’s traditionalist form through its thoughtful construction.

    Oddly enough, The Unholy works best when the scares are quietly lurking offscreen. Part journalism narrative, part meditation on religion’s battle between spirituality and commercialization, Spiliotopoulos’s script aims for admirably high marks. He displays poise within his patient build-up, establishing an eerie sense of unease that compliments each evolving plot turn. Spiliotopoulos’ adaptation of Herbert’s novel thankfully leaves most of the intriguing dynamics intact. I enjoyed how the character’s tumultuous battles serve as fitting allusions to religious text, displaying a clear connection to the ideology that benefits the material.

    A lot of religious films depict their holy dynamics with blind goodness or bitter evil. With The Unholy, Spiliotopoulos strikes a well-observed balance for his objective sentiments to resonate, never preaching to the choir while also never condemning religion’s enchanting allures (most religious films placate to their target demographic, this film at least challenges some of the church’s corruption). I am not religious per se, but films like this can spur personal insights from the character’s connection (or lack thereof) to their faith. Spiliotopoulos’s script occasionally overworks his ideas to the point of blunt obviousness, but his effort succeeds at grabbing the audience’s interest even when demons aren’t flying at the screen.

    Credit to the well-suited ensemble for also guiding the dialogue-driven scenes. As a sardonic, half-in-the-bag journalist looking for redemption, Jeffrey Dean Morgan imbues a glowing charisma to lessen the character’s initial sleaziness. Similar to the likes of Robert Downey Jr., Morgan’s effortless comedic touch never overwhelms the character’s insular struggles, skillfully elevating his archetype role above your generic everyman protagonist. Cary Elwes, William Sadler, and Katie Aselton deliver much-needed gravitas to their one-note roles, while Cricket Brown handles Alice’s evolving personality with a genuine eye.

    Under all the revolving pieces, The Unholy still elicits some spooky thrills. Spiliotopoulos utilizes his PG-13 rating to re-create the atmospheric energy of traditional haunted house films. I can see the plethora of jump scares and timid visuals annoying some, but I enjoyed how assuredly Spiliotopoulos embraces the genre’s familiar playbook. His use of timing and framing allows the playful scares to land with a jumpy impact.

    Even considering my enjoyment of the film’s strengths, The Unholy has some very apparent blemishes. Whether it’s the byproduct of a tumultuous production or a result of inexperience (the film was paused in the middle of filming due to COVID-19), the film suffers from a myriad of technical falterings. Wonky CGI, nonsensical edits, and unimaginative setpieces prevent the scares from truly unnerving the audience as intended. I also wish the film engaged more with its promising conceits. At times, the more thematic qualities clash with the film’s unpretentious horror elements, including a blandly safe ending that wraps everything into an all-too-neat bow.

    I expect The Unholy to be written off by many, but those who give the movie a chance could be in for a twisted surprise. Writer/director Evan Spiliotopoulos achieves enough merits to overcome the film’s inherently disposable design.

    The Unholy hits US theaters on April 2nd.

  • Bad Trip: The BRWC Review

    Bad Trip: The BRWC Review

    Bad Trip Synopsis:  The film follows two best friends (Eric Andre and Lil Rel Howery) who take a road trip from Florida to New York City so one of them can declare his love for his high school crush (Michaela Conlin), all the while being chased by the other’s criminal sister (Tiffany Haddish), whose car they have stolen for the trip.

    Simply put, Eric Andre is a comedic genius. Throughout his five seasons as host of The Eric Andre Show, Andre has pushed his signature brand of surreal sketch comedy to exciting new boundaries. Few have boldly thrown themselves into their gags like this talented funnyman, often going to awe-inspiring extremes to elicit laughter from his audience (Andre’s RNC visit is still one of the funniest videos I’ve ever seen).

    While Andre has enjoyed some crossover on the big screen, his first starring vehicle Bad Trip is finally discovering the light of day after spending over a year on the shelf (it was originally scheduled to be a 2020 online SXSW premiere before being acquired by Netflix). His mixture of vulgarity and lovingly amoral gags won’t be for everyone, but the film had me bursting out in laughter throughout its 84-minute runtime.

    To Andre’s credit, Bad Trip works as a brilliant marriage between his hyper-realism style and a satirical parody on comedic conventions. Within the film’s slap-dash narrative, Andre and his team of writers (Dan Curry and director Kitao Sakurai) embrace every avenue to twist the audience’s expectations through the comedian’s distinctly bizarre stylings.

    Common comedy tropes like extravagant musical numbers and a half-baked love story are hilariously lampooned, with Andre having a blast coloring outside the lines of what the genre typically dictates (the end credit scene, which tributes a forgotten mid-2000s comedy, is sharp in its referencing and uproarious in its impact). I love the way real people are implemented into the mix as well. Their genuinely puzzled reactions serve as an unfiltered greek chorus to the madness at hand, creating a subversive angle from their nose-turning towards moments of studio comedy artifice. Bad Trip deserves praise for its hilarious and intelligent mockery of studio comedy norms.

    Only good things can come from assembling a trio of Hollywood’s most dynamic comedic stars. I don’t want to gush too much, but I consider Andre to be one of our generation’s defining comedic voices. Few could implement such steadfast dedication into wildly deranged gags, as Andre’s open-hearted sincerity creates laughter like no other. Lil Rey Howery makes a perfect straight man to Andre’s buffoonery, playing off the situations well with his own sharp sense of humor. I certainly can’t forget to mention Tiffany Haddish, who often steals the show as a comedic thunderstorm with unparalleled energy.

    Bad Trip certainly has the makings of a late-night classic, but a few blemishes do detract from the experience. Even considering its slight runtime, some frames lag as they work to set up more grandiose comedic set pieces. Andre’s scattershot sensibility highlights most of the film’s comedic strengths. That being said, it doesn’t always translate to the most succinct narrative experience.

    Missteps aside, I had an uproarious time watching Andre and company throw themselves into their inventively drawn gags. Bad Trip is one of the best mainstream comedies in some time, taking the well-trudged genre to daring new heights of hilarious stupidity.

    Bad Trip is now available on Netflix.