film reviews, interviews, features | BRWC

Author: Matt Conway

  • Somebody I Used to Know: The BRWC Review

    Somebody I Used to Know: The BRWC Review

    Somebody I Used to Know Synopsis: On a trip to her hometown, workaholic TV producer Ally (Allison Brie) reminisces with her ex Sean (Jay Ellis), and starts questioning everything about her life. Things only become more confusing when she learns Sean is getting married to Cassidy (Kiersey Clemons).

    Amidst a work crisis, Ally returns home and rekindles romantic sparks with her ex, Sean – only to learn that Sean is quickly approaching his wedding day in the coming-of-age dramedy Somebody I Used to Know. 

    Characters traversing through the nostalgic warmth of memory lane is familiar stomping grounds in Hollywood. Several stalwart coming-of-age features, such as Garden State and Adventureland, intelligently utilized this approach to reflect on the complications shadowing people stuck in a state of arrested development. 

    In the hand of writer/director Dave Franco and co-writer/star Allison Brie, Somebody I Used to Know imprints a humanistic eye on a tried and true narrative concept. The artistic team (and real-life couple) craft a refreshingly grounded twist on romantic comedy conventions. 

    It would have been easy for Somebody to congeal into the mold of a standard-issue feature. A love triangle between two old flames and a new bride, the constant jockeying of fluttering emotions, and numerous emotional revelations are cornerstones of several contrived rom-coms. Instead, Franco and Brie create the true anthesis of the genre’s comforting trends – and their movie is made all the better for it. 

    As Ally devises schemes to restore her former romance, she faces an uncomfortable reality. For as much as she wants to relive her past, she discovers that her treasured memories are ephemeral moments in time that can not be replicated. I appreciate the uncomfortable honesty Franco and Brie bring to the table – their choices help define a sincere character study that avoids typical Hollywodized schmaltz. 

    Additionally, Franco elevates the material through his assured technical command. With his second feature, Franco avoids superficial lighting and overly composed aesthetics in favor of a grounded, naturalistic presentation. This choice, while far from groundbreaking, makes for a great compliment to the material’s sensibilities. 

    Somebody I Used to Know still boasts some easy-going rom-com appeals. Franco and Brie display a sharp comedic edge in their screenplay, offering a few humorous bits and a ringing inditement on artificial Hollywood practices (a subplot about Ally’s role as an executive producer of insipid reality shows serves as an effective B-plot). Both are also wise to trust the talents of their dynamic cast. Brie defines authentic textures in her charismatic and emotionally captivating performance as Ally; Jay Ellis boasts an easy-going magnetism as Ally’s lost love, while Danny Pudi, Kiersey Clemmons and Hayley Joel Osment consistently elevate their supporting roles. 

    Strengths aside, the film is hampered by its run-of-the-mill foundation. I am glad Franco and Brie elevate their material’s core – their choices help tremendously in defining an expressive voice for the film – but a sense of conceptual fatigue remains buried beneath the cracks. Audiences can practically set their watch for when each emotional twist and turn will occur, with the predictability robbing Somebody of its dramatic potential.

    Somebody I Used to Know may never reinvent the wheel, but its well-tuned creative team still crafts a worthwhile endeavor. 

    Somebody I Used to Know is now playing on Amazon Prime. 

  • You People: The BRWC Review

    You People: The BRWC Review

    You People Synopsis: A new couple (Jonah Hill and Lauren London) and their families reckon with modern love amid culture clashes, societal expectations and generational differences.

    Cultures collide when Ezra introduces his Jewish family to his girlfriend Amira’s black family in the Netflix comedy You People.

    Mining humor from relevant cultural dynamics is a celebrated staple of writer/director Kenya Barris. Barris struck gold with his hit TV show Blackish – an irresistible success story that morphed Barris into a distinctive voice as a writer and producer. His cinematic oeuvre to date showcases its fair share of hits (Girls Trip) and misses (the 2019 Shaft sequel). Still, I always remain optimistic to see how Barris marries real-world insights within the confines of comforting comedies.

    With his directorial debut, Barris crafts You People as a timely twist on the Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner/Guess Who narrative concept of a couple wrestling with the disparity between their cultural identities. Exploring the comedic possibilities from systemic societal divides is a brilliant concept on paper. Unfortunately, You People fumbles its potential in a flatlining comedic showcase.

    Even in a wayward production, Barris’s keen social perspective remains firmly intact. He and co-writer/star Jonah Hill utilize their traditioned premise to examine the microaggressions fracturing two families from distinctly different racial and religious backgrounds. I appreciate how Barris and Hill attempt to reflect on how people’s good intentions can still often cause division when a sense of genuine understanding does not exist between them.

    It’s also hard to deny the luminous talent featured in the film’s cast. Hill remains an affable goofball who elevates comedic material through his bumbling shtick. He and charismatic costar Lauren London form a compelling pair as the central couple, while Eddie Murphy, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Nia Long, and David Duchovny inject their signature spark into the roles of Ezra and Amira’s parents.

    For all the talent on display, You People generates shockingly stagnant results. Barris and Hill collaborate on a screenplay that reads like a loosely-tied series of vignettes. Some gags connect on landing incisive insights, but most of the skits feel like lukewarm leftovers recycled from far superior comedies. It does not help that a good portion of the cast is awarded little purpose in their roles. Long, Duchovny, and even the comedic stalwart Murphy are left stewing in the confines of flatly written parts. An overbearing lack of genuine nuance turns most of these characters into one-note caricatures that repeatedly spout the same sentiments.

    You People and its tired comedic conventions lack the deft comedic edge to marinate on its concepts. As a result, the film is ultimately too gun-shy for its own good, settling for simplistic sitcom solutions rather than digging into the dysfunctional trenches of its complex real-world dynamics. Barris also proves to be ineffective in his feature-length directorial debut. Desperate attempts to inject infectious energy in the form of flashy edits and zeitgeist songs resonate instead as trite filmmaking devices borrowed from the tired Netflix visual sheen.

    You People consistently props up noble intentions. It’s just a shame the film never defines a humorous or meaningful experience from its potent concept.

    You People is now playing on Netflix.

  • Fear: The BRWC Review

    Fear: The BRWC Review

    Amidst the unease of the coronavirus pandemic, a celebratory gateway for a group of friends takes a sinister turn when their haunted vacation home incites oppressive paranoia in Fear.

    Conjuring startling scares is just one of writer, director, and producer Deon Taylor’s many versatile talents. I’ve always been a fan of Taylor and believe he is an unfairly overlooked voice in the industry. Taylor has gradually built a well-rounded repertoire of genre features that compel while drawing thoughtful reflections on our zeitgeist. Whether it’s culturally relevant comedies like Meet the Black or the sleek thrills of Fatale and The Intruder, Taylor is well-versed in providing crowdpleasing endeavors.

    As one of the first productions following COVID-19’s stateside onset, Fear finds Taylor trying to draw indelible frights from our exasperated post-coronavirus mental and emotional states. It’s a promising concept to explore on paper, yet Fear ultimately disconnects in a flatlining horror showcase.

    Filming a project during 2020’s rigid COVID restrictions is difficult enough, let alone completing that effort in a truncated 17-day window. While Taylor accomplishes an admirable filmmaking feat with Fear, his cinematic byproduct struggles to excel on any fundamental level.

    Calling Fear a horror movie is a generous label to place upon the film. Taylor and co-screenwriter John Ferry utilize a few familiar tenants of the genre, such as an eerie haunted house setting and a rogue’s gallery ensemble beset by lingering inner turmoils. Still, the slapdash script rarely engages with its horror pursuits.

    The screenplay haphazardly constructs characters without textured dimensions, showcasing an ensemble of flat personalities that never truly pop onscreen. Some actors can skillfully personify the makeshift roles (Terrence Jenkins and Andrew Bachelor exude charisma), although the material’s shortcomings significantly buoy others (lead Joseph Sikora is stuck in a lifeless role as a mythology-obsessed author).

    Taylor and Ferry instead focus on dumping buckets of empty exposition on viewers that never ignites interest. The flat characters and even flatter world-building end up feeling like a collage of horror tropes borrowed from Fear’s far superior contemporaries.

    Thematically, one can see how Fear could touch upon commonplace insular struggles exasperated throughout the coronavirus pandemic. Unfortunately, any worthwhile meditation is inevitably drowned out within a woefully didactic screenplay. Simply referencing COVID-19 or other societal dynamics does not equate to drawing actual reflections on those hot-button issues. If anything, the film’s COVID-based connotations preach an ill-advised downplaying of the virus’s impact.

    In place of meaningful sentiments, much of Fear aimlessly meanders throughout its 100-minute runtime without establishing a source for palpable tensions. Where most horror features would gravitate toward establishing a methodical build-up, Fear prefers running in place for two-thirds of its runtime before lazily emptying its bag of horror setpieces.

    Taylor utilizes his makeshift budget capably enough to try and elevate the proceedings behind the camera. His direction features an endless gamut of dingy hallways, flickering lights, and claustrophobically framed moments to unnerve viewers. There are blips of visceral frights buried within Fear, but these fearful glimmers lack the atmosphere or bite to leave a lasting impression. Fear additionally features a rough-around-the-edges technical polish that empathizes some of its lingering issues (the end credits title card references the movie’s previous title, Don’t Fear).

    Some of Taylor’s natural strengths still shine through Fear’s shortcomings. Taylor is skilled at cultivating genuine camaraderie between characters, injecting enough clever comedic gags and affectionate barbs to add a comforting sense of levity to the proceedings. He also knows how to draw an undeniably engaging cinematic yarn. Even as much of Fear falters, there’s still some shlocky amusement embedded in its embrace of midnight movie norms.

    Fear provokes uninspired results from its flat execution of a promising-enough horror concept. Still, I applaud Taylor for taking genuine risks as a filmmaker and remain intrigued to see where he goes next from here.

    Fear is now playing in theaters.

  • The Drop: The BRWC Review

    The Drop: The BRWC Review

    The Drop Synopsis: A seemingly happy married couple confronts a test of their relationship when one of them drops a baby while at a destination wedding on a tropical island.

    Lex and Mani enjoy a loving marriage on the precipice of entering its next chapter – parenthood. During a vacation getaway for one of Lex’s closest friends, their bond is suddenly fractured when Lex accidentally drops a baby in The Drop. 

    The latest Hulu original feature marks another collaboration from The Duplass Brothers. The duo is widely regarded as forefathers of the modern mumblecore movement from the mid-2000s, writing and directing films like The Puffy Chair and Cyrus that explored intimate human dynamics in a dialogue-driven manner. The Duplass Brothers have since cultivated their filmmaking style into a recognizable brand, greenlighting several character-driven projects that similarly favor naturalism over rigid narrative frameworks. Personally, I’ve always enjoyed their productions and the anti-Hollywoodized imprint they often embrace.

    With The Drop, writer/director Sarah Adina Smith and co-writer Joshua Leonard explore a deliciously deranged concept – what would be the fallout of a well-meaning person committing the heinous act of accidentally dropping a baby? Unfortunately, what may seem conceptually ripe on paper is inevitably squandered in an aimless and half-baked extension of mumblecore mannerisms.

    There are flashes where The Drop hones in on its promising potential. Smith and Leonard frame their admittedly clever premise in the mold of an ensemble comedy bursting with eccentric caricatures. Each of Lexi’s friends displays an overbearing embrace of narcissistic attitudes, propping up their ego and flatlining career aspirations over any semblance of human connection. When the material’s intentions connect, the screenwriters humorously take to task the vain behaviors motivating this group of yuppie socialites. The gifted comedic supporting cast, including Jillian Bell, Utkarsh Ambudkar, Leonard, and Aparna Nancherla, skillfully personifies these absurdist characters through their zany charms. 

    The Drop also showcases genuine thematic merits. The nuclear fallout from Lex’s unfortunate baby-dropping incident sparks thoughtful ruminations on the predestined roles society predicates on relationships and the myths of a picture-perfect parenting style. As Lex and Mani come face-to-face with their aspirations to start a family, the couple undergoes a soul-searching experience that elicits a few uncomfortable truths about the relationship they are trying to project. Stars Anna Konle and Jermaine Flower make for a winning pair as they explore the raw dynamics buried beneath Lex and Mani’s affable appearance. 

    Still, I wished The Drop’s fruitful ideas culminated in a more worthwhile experience. Smith and Leonard’s mumblecore sensibilities thankfully don’t paint straightforward answers to viewers, but the meandering approach never seizes a firm grasp on what the duo is trying to articulate. Instead, the film settles into being an erratic satire that features a roller coaster ride of well-timed gags and swing-and-a-miss vignettes. Inconsistent humor aside, The Drop’s thematic bend rarely generates novel reflections about socialite culture or the modern generation of self-serving, fly-by-night parents. 

    Creating an aimless narrative is the ultimate cinematic illusion. For story beats to evolve gradually and build towards a well-defined thesis requires a deft touch behind the camera. This specific sensibility feels elusive throughout The Drop’s runtime, with Smith and Leonard’s easy-going approach treading water rather than gaining any narrative or thematic momentum. Everything feels especially rushed across the film’s slapdash 92-minute runtime, including a half-hearted conclusion that never earns its intended impact. 

    While mildly diverting, The Drop drops the ball on realizing its true potential. 

    The Drop is now playing on Hulu.

  • Alice, Darling: The BRWC Review

    Alice, Darling: The BRWC Review

    Alice, Darling Synopsis: Alice, a young woman (Anna Kendrick) trapped in an abusive relationship with her boyfriend Simon, becomes an unwitting participant in an intervention staged by her two closest friends (Wunmi Mosaku and Kaniehtiio Horn).

    Alice comes face-to-face with the lingering damage caused by her psychologically manipulative boyfriend, Simon, in Alice, Darling. As a holdover from the 2022 Toronto International Film Festival slate, Alice, Darling examines a critical and frequently misunderstood issue that boasts profound resonance in our post-#MeToo world. 

    The topic holds extra weight for star and producer Anna Kendrick, who has openly discussed her history of overcoming an abusive ex-boyfriend. A toxic relationship can seize a transfixing hold on a person. In what is supposed to be one of humanity’s most affectionate dynamics, the constant bombardment of degrading remarks and intimidating attitudes can deprive a person of their identity.  

    Director Mary Nighy and screenwriter Alanna Francis explore these dynamics in a subdued chamber piece where Alice and her trusted friends reflect on the painful ramifications of a fractured relationship. While Alice, Darling’s heart is always in the right place, this sleight character study struggles to unearth nuanced revelations from its potent subject matter. 

    Alice, Darling conforms too closely to the standard-issue film festival mold. I appreciate the grounded realism Nighy imbues into her material; she takes a patient approach that quietly wrestles with the unescapable demons haunting Alice’s day-to-day existence. In execution, Nighy struggles to grasp a commanding hold of her material. The director’s utilization of a weepy musical score and inarticulate framing choices only hinder her reflective lens behind the camera. 

    Francis’ screenplay is similarly undercooked. The screenwriter invokes moments of stirring sentiments when unpacking the multitude of ways Simon leaves an inescapable imprint on Alice’s behaviors. The instances where Francis focuses on the subtle behavioral changes Alice undergoes are occasionally impactful, but the screenwriter ultimately paints a portrait that desperately needs additional shading. The airtight 89-minute runtime is more of a hindrance than a benefit to Francis, with her material struggling to define a thought-provoking thesis from its weighty ideals. 

    Even with its struggles, Alice, Darling maintains some engagement from its standout performances. Anna Kendrick delivers her best work since her 2009 breakout Up in the Air as the emotionally vulnerable Alice. Kendrick powerfully unearths the character’s struggles without an ounce of vanity as she gradually strips away the destructive impacts of her relationship. Co-stars Wunmi Mosaku and Kaniehtiio Horn are affectionate forces as Alice’s empathetic friends, while Charlie Carrick taps into the simmering menace behind Simon’s narcissistic personality. 

    There are glimmers of promise worth celebrating in Alice, Darling, but the final product never fully realizes its potential. 

    Alice, Darling opens in theaters on January 20.