Tapping into the refined charms of old-school romances, Amazon’s latest Sylvie’s Love isn’t merely an homage to a foregone period in film. Writer/Director Eugene Ashe recontextualizes this whitewashed period with charming results, placing the authentic struggles of black dreamers at the forefront in a refreshingly light romance.
Set between the 1950s/1960s, Sylvie’s Love follows Sylvie (Tessa Thompson) and Robert (Nnamdi Asomugha). The two aspire to reach groundbreaking plateaus in their respective fields, with Robert’s saxophone play gaining attention while Sylvie dreams of being a TV producer. Their love ignites a sweeping romance that transcends changing times, geography, and professional success.
Ashe’s decision to morph the strife of 20th century black Americans into a story of humanity and hope breeds new layers into a seemingly familiar set-up. While racism and civil rights are never in the forefront, his film keeps these struggles in the peripheral as Sylvie and Robert dream in a time where those conceits often took a back seat. Ashe’s approach imbues more authenticity and agency than your typically agreeable romance, with the filmmaker nailing a balance between the genre’s romanticized allures and the character’s real-world steaks.
Sylvie’s Love indulges in some lavish craftsmanship. From the soothing zeitgeist songs to Ashe’s patient framing, each scene portrays its setting with an engaging liveliness. Where some period films feel overly-dressed in cosmetics, Ashe allows his setting to breathe with well-thought textures that convey a classic aura. Stars Tessa Thompson and Nnamdi Asomugha’s charismatic performances also effectively command the screen. The actors share a subdued, yet palpable chemistry that resonates through the tried and true romance.
I was won over by Sylvie’s Love simple appeals, but some of that likable energy becomes overwhelmed by the film’s structure. The concept of dividing the two halves into different eras (one half in 1957 the other in 1962) has promise, but Ashe can’t quite balance the narrative evenly. The second half suffers from a frustrating case of whiplash, throwing a plethora of melodramatic plot turns without allowing these frames to properly develop (a divorce, death, and career change happen in a ten-minute span). Sometimes less can be more, especially when the film’s core elements are already so well-done.
Sylvie’s Love may not hit all the right notes, but Eugene Ashe’s film cleverly reinvents its genre framework with a well-defined lens. In an awards season that boasts several heavy-handed films, this is refreshing escapism for eager audiences.
Matt’s New Release Breakdown: Holiday Edition – 2020 is (finally) almost over. While the traditional theatrical calendar has been thrown out the window given our COVID-19 landscape, there are still some marquee titles for audiences to enjoy over the holiday weekend. Matt’s lazy ass is still too stuffed from Christmas dinner to write elongated reviews, so it’s time for another new release breakdown!
WE CAN BE HEROES – Directed by Robert Rodriguez
Synopsis: When alien invaders kidnap Earth’s superheroes, their children must team up and learn to work together if they want to save their parents and the world.
Robert Rodriguez’s auteur verve has dwindled in the eyes of mainstream audiences. After the success of spirited low-budget offerings like Desperados, Rodriguez made a surprisingly effective transition into family fare with Spy Kids. That film’s success spawned a franchise with diminishing results per entry, including a fourth film All the Time in the World that was rejected for its bizarrely-integrated smell-o-vision.
Whether it was his absence from his familial aesthetics or the blah normalization of 3D animation, Rodriguez’s latest We Can Be Heroes feels like a refreshing change of pace. Fans of his old efforts will be delighted to see Rodriguez’s low-budget, yet creatively-drawn imagery still intact. The sets are packed to the gills with alluringly bizarre creations. It feels like he’s a kid in the sandbox, concocting a level of wistful dreaminess that’s often entertaining to witness.
Where most family films present heroes for younger kids to aspire to become, We Can Be Heroes acts as an endearing roll-call for its target audience. Rodriguez’s script imbues power and agency into its adolescent characters, with the inclusive cast representing well-meaning parables about perseverance and teamwork. When the film finds its comfort zone, there’s an affable positivity that radiates throughout.
Not all of We Can Be Heroes lands as intended, as the kids’ limited acting abilities are made more apparent by Rodriguez’s ham-fisted dialogue (some messages are spelled out with a lack of dramatic grace). Even with some misgivings, I was delighted to see Rodriguez rediscover his spark as a family film visionary. I hope this is the start of a promising new franchise for Netflix and the company.
We Can Be Heroes is now available on Netflix.
Matt’s New Release Breakdown: Holiday Edition
SOUL – Directed by Pete Docter and Kemp Powers
Synopsis: Joe Gardner is a middle school teacher with a love for jazz music. After a successful gig at the Half Note Club, he suddenly gets into an accident that separates his soul from his body and is transported to the You Seminar, where Joe must learn the true meaning of life to regain his livelihood.
Pixar’s recent track record has been relatively hit (Incredibles 2) or miss (Brave) of late. Soul thankfully marks a return to form for the animated giant, tapping into the finite motifs and imaginative imagery that morphed Pixar into a household staple.
I am not exaggerating when crowning Soul as one of the best crafted animated films to date. Doctor utilizes the high-concept premise to envision a vibrantly drawn vision of the spectral reality. He intelligently taps into our natural curiosity and fears regarding the great beyond, navigating a potentially dour premise with sparks of humor and life. One Night in Miami scribe Kemp Powers also deserves recognition as co-director, ensuring the earth frames register with a rare sense of authenticity. The lively frames are well-acompanied by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’ boisterous score, with the duo tapping into Joe’s music-driven world with an infectious playfulness.
Like many of Pixar’s best efforts, Soul‘s busy frames aren’t without purpose. Joe’s journey connects to deeply human sentiments, meaningfully exploring the ways we let our lives be consumed aspirations. This obsession often drives people to miss the simple wonderments of the world around them, as Joe’s journey devolves a simple drive for connection and purpose. While delivered with some narrative handholding (I wish Doctor and company let the immersive imagery speak for itself), these are well-defined ideas that will speak to younger and older viewers alike.
After years of mixed results, it’s a joy to see Soul reconnect with Pixar’s apex form.
Synopsis: Diana Prince lives quietly among mortals in the vibrant, sleek 1980s — an era of excess driven by the pursuit of having it all. Though she’s come into her full powers, she maintains a low profile by curating ancient artifacts and only performing heroic acts incognito. But soon, Diana will have to muster all of her strength as she finds herself squaring off against Maxwell Lord and the Cheetah.
I adored Wonder Woman, a vibrant superhero endeavor with more emotional impact and enriched character dynamics than its formidable peers. Gal Gadot and Chris Pine’s romantic chemistry imbued refreshingly human steaks into the genre’s bombast-driven formula, with Patty Jenkins keen eye morphing big-budget setpieces into truly heroic moments (the no man’s land scene is still an iconic superhero moment).
Everything that propelled Jenkins’ previous effort feels notably absent from the long-awaited sequel Wonder Woman 1984. The down-to-earth humanistic frames are subbed out for a bloated narrative, one that stuffs itself full of tired superhero contrivances ripped from a bygone era. In its place, Jenkins presents several action setpieces with noisily disintersted results. Their mere competence isn’t enough to generate much excitement, with the pervasive emptiness permeating throughout most frames.
Like a lot of doomed superhero follow-ups, 1984 gives far too much attention to its one-note antagonists. Kristen Wiig and Pedro Pascal infuse energy into their personas, but the character’s predictable journey rarely presents dimension. Their empathetic backgrounds lack humanity as the script spoon-feeds flat developments for audiences to attach to. Jenkins and company’s attempts to connect to the glutenous trends of the 1980s are too inert to carry much weight, as the film constantly fumbles attempts to say anything of note (Wiig’s character could have been a pronounced reflection of women’s unfair societal expectations, but those frames are desperately lacking agency or nuance).
There are glimmers where Wonder Woman 1984 resembles its accomplished predecessor, particularly with the Gadot/Pine connection that worked so well in the first one. This sequel though feels more driven by studio mandates than any personal purpose, with the talented Patty Jenkins operating in auto pilot through most of the big-budget frame. I hope the third film can redeem this effort’s misgivings.
Wonder Woman 1984 is now in theaters and available on HBO Max.
You can also check out Matt’s reviews for other holiday releases like The Midnight Skyand Fatale.
Deon Taylor’s remarkable journey as a self-made filmmaker rarely gets proper attention. After years of producing and directing a plethora of genre vehicles, Taylor recently broke it big with mainstream audiences. Last year’s The Intruder and Black and Blue reinvigorated their tried and true premises through lively social commentary, with Taylor blending the two sensibilities into a satisfying genre remix. His latest effort Fatale plays homage to the 80/90s erotic thrillers of yesteryear (Fatal Attraction).It also marks Taylor’s finest offering to date, as the craftsmen’s sleek presentation elevates this fiercely provocative thriller.
Fatale follows Derrick (Michael Ealy), a successful sports agent who finds himself stuck in a mid-life crisis. Trying to escape his loveless marriage, Derek has a getaway affair with Valerie (Hillary Swank). As Derrick tries to bring his life back to normalcy, a break-in brings Valerie back into his life as an eager detective. Soon, the sinister detective involves Derrick in a dangerous scheme that could alter his livelihood forever.
As a fan of Taylor’s earlier work, it’s a pleasure to see the director further refine his visceral presentation. Cinematographer Dante Spinotti crafts a fittingly lavish lens to indulge in the character’s high-steaks reality. Dressing frames with fast cars, opulent penthouses, and towering skyscrapers, Taylor wisely plays into the premise’s evocative allures. He also wears notable influences on his sleeve, affably building upon his contemporaries through his inclusive lens (similar to Intruder and Black and Blue, the narrative addresses societal dynamics through Derrick’s unjust racial witch hunt).
Once the drama begins to unfold, Spinotti’s previously steady hand pulsates towards an unhinged whirlwind of framing techniques (I love the various ideas, including a tense slasher beat pulled straight from Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho). Paired with Geoff Zanelli’s nerve-wracking score, Taylor evokes a palatable unease that permeates through every frame. I love the reckless glee Taylor and company operate with, lovingly upping the dramatic steaks to enthralling levels of crowd-pleasing melodrama. The self-aware execution enhances the familiar formula while never folding into inauthentic parody.
Fatale’s campy pleasures work due to the capable cast. It’s a joy to see Oscar-winner Hillary Swank sink her teeth into Valrie’s wicked persona. Like a sinister spider entrapping her prey, Swank’s balance between coy wordplay and explosive meltdowns creates a fittingly unhinged antagonist for audiences to fear. I also appreciate Swank and screenwriter David Loughery’s attempts to empathize with the character, allowing her to be more than a crazed lunatic. Michael Ealy aptly flexes his talents as a charismatic leading man. His delivery discovers vulnerability under his character’s cool facade, imbuing much-needed agency into Derrick’s rollercoaster journey.
Fatale rarely reaches a dull moment, but its genre delivery does come with some limitations. Loughery’s screenplay occasionally touches upon timely conceits, whether it be Derrick’s outside pressures as a successful black man or the casual cruelty morphing Valerie’s conditions. These ideals are never explored beyond a surface level, as Loughery’s on-the-nose dialogue spells out conceits with a lack of grace. I also felt the film took some time to find its comfort zone, slow-playing the opening frames with a plethora of familiar cliches.
Minor gripes aside, Fatale is perhaps the best crowd-pleasing thrill ride to hit theaters this year. I can’t wait to see what Taylor has in store next for audiences, as he continues to shine as one of Hollywood’s most entertaining craftsmen.
Actors transitioning to the director’s chair is fairly common in Hollywood, but few have been as maddeningly inconsistent as Oscar-winner George Clooney. The superb actor registered a few notable splashes early on (Good Night and Good Luck and Ides of March are both riveting), but has since struggled despite his admirable ambitions (Leatherheads and Suburibcon couldn’t manage their mix of screwball and dramatic tonalities). Clooney’s latest endeavor, the big-budget Netflix epic The Midnight Sky, boasts similar inconsistencies. Even as the film grasps towards soaring heights, it’s well-meaning delivery never quite connects.
The Midnight Sky is a post-apocalyptic tale that follows Augustine (George Clooney), a lonely scientist in the Arctic who must raise an abandoned child(Caoilinn Springall). He races to stop Sully (Felicity Jones) and her fellow astronauts (David Oyelowo, Kyle Chandler, Demian Bichir) from returning home to a mysterious global catastrophe.
As a science fiction junkie, The Midnight Sky does impress with its well-constructed world-building. Clooney’s direction indulges in the film’s big-budget assets, constructing a dystopian landscape that still feels connected to our real-world plights. A mixture of sterile space facilities and barren landscapes further sells the character’s isolation as they search for personal solace amidst their warped realities. His opulent direction also impresses with the film’s tense action set pieces. Clooney successfully blends Martin Ruhe’s precise photography with Alexandre Desplat’s jumpy score to create a few sizzling blockbuster frames.
I appreciate Clooney’s efforts in marrying grand life-or-death steaks with insular character conflicts. Their sacrificial journey amidst humane desires to survive and reconnect with loved ones receives more empathetic frames than your typical blockbuster. The all-star cast excels at selling this dynamic, with George Clooney leading the way with a subdued paternal presence. Felicity Jones, David Oyelowo and Kyle Chandler also elevate fairly one-note roles, giving their workman-like crew members dramatic agency.
For a film that possesses all the right pieces, The Midnight Sky‘s narrative puzzle never flows as it should. In adapting Lily Brooks-Dalton’s novel Good Morning, Midnight, screenwriter Mark L. Smith tries to spin a plethora of B-plots to enrichen the central narrative. There are some deeply personal conceits buried beneath the surface, but the slapdash structure dances through without fleshing out the dynamics. Audiences are left with dramatic frames that are often laborsome in their over-written nature, with Smith’s clunky dialogue spelling out narrative ambitions without a naturalistic flow. While the actors carry some of the weight, the screenplay underserves them at every turn.
Clooney’s film also struggles to reach genuine sentiments. Without thematic flavoring (platitudes about humanity’s self-serving attitudes during desolate situations are thinly-conceived), there’s little of note for audiences to grasp onto. Ideas about love and sacrifice are too banal to really register, as the narrative hits its predictable beats while lacking its own identity. The expensive set designs become mere window dressing for this relatively hollow science fiction experience.
I’ll always be a fan of George Clooney’s on-screen charms, but his directorial career continues to miss the mark. With The Midnight Sky, his earnest intentions pale in comparison to the film’s superior genre counterparts.
2010’s Skyline was a forgettable dud, with a visual-effects laden trailer masking the cheap and overly-simplistic film underneath the surface (I remember being foolishly optimistic for the film based on the trailer). Instead of letting the brand vanish into the ether, producer/screenwriter Liam O’Donnell revived the franchise with 2017’s Beyond Skyline. Thriving as a dopey, yet wildly entertaining B-movie corn fest, O’Donnell pulled off a rare feat by correcting the first film’s major misgivings. Now back in the writer/director role with Skylines, O’Donnell’s sincere dedication to his world can only take the formulaic material so far.
Following the events of Beyond, Skyline follows a broken planet trying to pick up the pieces from the alien invasion. When a virus threatens to turn the now earth-dwelling friendly alien hybrids against humans, Captain Rose Corley (Lindsey Morgan) must lead a team of elite mercenaries on a mission to the alien world in order to save what’s left of humanity.
Similar to its surprise predecessor, much of Skylines’ strengths can be attributed to Liam O’Donnell’s makeshift technical abilities. I have ample respect for the ways O’Donnell operates within the low-budget genre framework. Instead of letting budgetary restrictions compromise his vision, he implements a clever mixture of practical and CGI effects to create his own lived-in landscape.
The action setpieces pack a blockbuster punch through O’Donnell’s steady framing, while his globe-trotting narrative conveys an immersive sense of scale for audiences to indulge in. Whereas Beyond Skyline focused on throwing gonzo energy at the screen, Skylines is O’Donnell’s attempt to make this franchise into its own entity. The script pays ample attention towards lore building, turning these formerly cliched creatures into their own unique presence.
As much adoration I can pay towards O’Donnell, his latest film ultimately did not mesh for me. I respect the writer/director’s decision to evolve the franchise rather than playing to what previously worked in Beyond, but this film loses some of that manic charm in the process. Without wildcard moments like Iko Uwais martial arts fighting aliens, Skylines bears a closer resemblance to your typical VOD genre vehicle. It doesn’t help that O’Donnell’s screenplay largely borrows from superior contemporaries, with the Alien meets District 9 premise lacking its own distinct voice (despite the premise’s surprising relevance, there’s little substance to be found).
Skylines lingering sense of familiarity is only made worse by the subpar cast. Lindsey Morgan is capable again as Rose, but the supporting cast does little to elevate their gruff stereotypical roles (the soldiers are basically your generic platoon troops without an ounce of charisma). Frank Grillo and Johnny Weston are sorely missed here, as there are few actors who can extract much personality from their by-the-numbers roles.
While the swift experience is entirely palatable, Skylines struggles to find its own presence amongst a crowded subgenre. That being said, this is still a night and day improvement over the 2010 original, and I am happy to support whatever Liam O’Donnell does next with his talents.
Vertical Entertainment will release SKYLINES in select Theaters, Drive-ins, on Demand and Digital on December 18th.
