Kevin Costner’s days as a box office megastar may be over, but the grizzled veteran still encapsulates his distinct persona in a variety of projects. Whether he’s leading on the big (Draft Day and The Art of Racing in the Rain) or small (Paramount’s Yosemite) screen, Costner has enjoyed a prosperous career second act following his 90’s heyday. The star’s latest frontier drama Let Him Go pits him side-by-side again with Oscar nominee Diane Lane (the two shared the screen as Superman’s parents in Man of Steel).
Let Him Go follows George (Costner) and Margaret (Lane) Blackledge, two parents coping with the sudden loss of their son. With their only other familial bond residing in their grandson, the two travel to find their daughter-in-law Lorna (Kayli Carter) in an attempt to reconnect their family. When they arrive, they are met with resistance by Lorna’s new husband, who belongs to the wicked Weboy family (Oscar-nominee Lesley Manville is their central matriarch). In order to ensure the boy a prosperous life, George and Margaret prepare for all-out war.
The general set-up reads like a run-of-the-mill western, yet writer/director Thomas Bezucha wisely infuses purpose behind his genre trappings. As the apt title would let on, this is a journey of self-recovery for George and Margaret, as the two try to put the pieces of their life back together following their son’s death. Let Him Go‘s meditative tonality offers a more soulful center than the pulpy marketing materials may have let on, allowing audiences to ruminate with the character’s pains while empathizing with their risky decisions. That isn’t to say that the movie lacks thrills, as Bezucha orchestrates a few tense, dialogue-driven standoffs that register genuine stakes. It all builds to a violent, tight-quarters finale, which matches the film’s quaint allures with its simple, yet effectively old-school delivery.
The quieter approach also provides two uniquely lived-in roles for its assured movie star leads. Kevin Costner continues to display a powerful magnetism onscreen, soundly conveying the ever-beating heart buried beneath George’s gruff exterior. Diane Lane’s veteran poise delicately displays Margaret’s balance of assertiveness and warmth, with the duo creating impressively easy-going chemistry on screen. George and Margaret are the kind of long-standing couple that can understand and predict their partner’s every move, a comfortable dynamic that Costner and Lane imbue with authentic nuance onscreen. Lesley Manville also leaves a notable impression as the Weboy’s wicked matriarch, capturing the character’s verbose nasty streak as a slimy, mustache-twirling villain. She’s the type of antagonist audiences love to hate, as Manville creates a sinister presence from her relatively limited screentime.
Let Him Go extracts a satisfying journey from its meat and potatoes elements, but Bezucha’s familiar scope ultimately limits his own film. While the script works during subdued frames, Bezucha seemingly can’t help himself at times, permeating the film’s atmosphere with sanctimonious speeches and overbearing score choices. I also wish the writer/director implemented a sharper visceral edge, with his mannered framing and over-bearing score lacking the grace to fully reinvent the material’s flaws.
Despite these noticeable limitations, Let Him Go works as a thoughtfully-conceived throwback to the soulful westerns of yesteryear.
The only thing more powerful than superheroes is their enormous drawing power with audiences. Considering the massive success of Marvel and DC, filmmakers have been granted the opportunity to get more creative with their super-powered protagonists. This year alone, Netflix experimented with two unique franchise-starters (The Old Guard and Project Power), while horror stalwart Andre Øvredal (Trollhunter and Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark) delivers his own fresh-spin with Mortal. Øvredal’s low-budget offering has some noticeable blemishes, but the film thankfully defines its own avenue in the well-trudged genre.
Mortal follows Eric (Nat Wolff), a drifter traveling through Norway to find the source of his mysterious powers. When he’s taken into captivity by the police, he befriends Christine (Iben Akerlie), a sympathetic therapist who looks to aid Eric on his mission. The duo travels across the country while facing off against armed forces who look to contain Eric’s unknown abilities.
Viewers expecting a straight-forward action romp may be disappointed, but this eschewing of expectations is part of what makes Mortal work. Øvredal defines his film with a gritty, slow-burn approach, setting a foreboding atmosphere around Eric’s mysterious presence. Whereas most films define their super-powered protagonists as noble heroes, Øvredal isn’t afraid to imbue the character with a murky sense of morality.
Nat Wolff offers an assured performance as a super-powered nomad, conveying the character’s unstable emotionality with a sensitive light. Alongside the concerned side characters, the film intentionally has viewers guessing throughout whether Eric will utilize his powers for good or evil. I appreciate this ambiguous approach immensely, with Øvredal grounding his narrative in our society’s own concerns about undefinable entities (Batman V Superman integrated a similar approach).
That’s not to say Mortal lacks crowd-pleasing setpieces. Øvredal continues to operate as an overlooked craftsman, displaying an innate ability to morph minimal assets into immersive and grand action beats. Between helicopters flurrying out of the sky and lightning bolts engulfing cars, I was impressed by the number of inventive action beats Øvredal seamlessly works into the narrative framework. I also commend the director for his tonal management of these sequences, subbing out the usual awe-inspiring mysticism for something far more dangerous and unkempt.
Perhaps the great shame in Mortal’s unique approach is the lingering potential outside of the film’s grasp. The script lacks proper dimension, rarely employing its character’s with the nuance or confliction that they desperately call for (Iben Akerlie is solid as Christine, but her character is reduced to a thankless love interest). This would be more forgivable if the film stuck the landing with its third act, as the finale closes with an anti-climactic whimper. Abruptly cutting off amidst a tense and shocking encounter, it almost feels like Øvredal and company ran out of resources to execute their bold conceit.
While shrouded in imperfections, Mortal offers a refreshing change-up from the traditional superhero formula. I will continue to look forward to Øvredal’s future projects, with the upcoming talent exhibiting some genuine filmmaking prowess.
Blumhouse’s reign of horror dominance only continues to grow, with producer Jason Blum’s wisely incorporating several well-known brands into his portfolio (The Invisible Man, Halloween, and Fantasy Island were all hits at the box office). Blum’s enterprising spirit treks forward with The Craft: Legacy, the long-awaited follow-up to the 1996 cult horror hit. While this sequel tries to reinvent its predecessor with a modern sensibility, Legacy never escapes the shadow of its far superior contemporary.
The Craft: Legacy follows Lilly (Cailee Spaeny), a teen moving to a new town with her mom Helen (Michelle Monaghan) and her motivational speaking father-in-law Adam (David Duchovny). While struggling to escape the cruel norms of high school life, Lilly is befriended by Lourdes (Zoey Luna), Frankie (Gideon Adlon), and Tabby (Lovie Simone), three inspiring witches looking for their fourth member. When the four try to evoke positive change with their newfound powers, they soon discover not all is as it seems when a sinister force interferes with their intentions.
My interest in Legacy peaked with the involvement of writer/director Zoe-Lister Jones, a sharp talent who proved her immense ability with 2017’s underrated character-drama Band Aid. In her first foray in genre filmmaking, Jones thankfully imbues her own thoughtful lens into the narrative framework.
Whereas the original Craft stood as a potent portrait of the 90’s anti-conformity movement, Legacy operates as a critical condemnation of the uber-masculinity that permeates through dated gender roles. It’s a strong conceit, one that Jones renders through metaphorical plotting and a few strong character-driven moments (Timmy, a bully who gets turned into a socially-progressive peer by the witches, offers raw reflections on his sexuality). I also appreciate Jones’ ability to ground the film into our modern zeitgeist, conveying these sentiments without implementing a mawkish heavy-handedness.
This well-realized foundation is part of what makes Legacy’s faulty final product so disappointing to endure. Whether the film was hacked in post-production or trimmed during filming, there’s a lingering sense that this is an unfinished product.
During the film’s brisk 97 minute runtime, subplots are introduced without resolution, the witchcraft process is reduced to meer montages, and the core witches rarely get time to grow onscreen (outside of Lilly, the other three witches lack dynamic qualities or proper depth, each speaking through the same wise-cracking dialogue). While I don’t want to unfairly hold this sequel to the original’s standard, the 96′ film incorporated patience and care with its development. Each of the central four had an arc and unique presence, with their journey towards witchcraft being carefully-designed from the opening frames. Legacy feels so truncated that none of its characters possess any real gravity onscreen.
From a genre perspective, the horror elements are frankly nonexistent. Not to bring up the original again (I swear, this is the last time!), but The Craft balanced witchcraft’s respective allures with an uncontrollable danger, as the character’s wishes come with their own unforeseen dark side. Here, a third act twist mitigates any consequences that could’ve come from the witches actions, with the only source of danger deriving from a villain that’s equally predictable and flat. Once the witchcraft is finally on display, Jones can’t elevate her low-budget assets into visually compelling sequences, with the third act landing with an awkward thud rather than a roaring climax (a last-second reveal offers unsatisfactory fanfare).
Making a film is a hard, especially when operating in a studio system that assigns specific mandates to follow upon. While The Craft: Legacy doesn’t really work, I do appreciate the conceits Jones brings to the table. She’s got a pulse on genuine dynamics, something that I hope she can employ more successfully with future projects.
Considering theaters dire financial straights, studios have been utilizing this time to release some of their shelved projects for content-starved audiences. That’s where Focus Features latest Come Play comes into action, trying to cash in on the Halloween weekend after its delayed-release (the film was originally scheduled for July 2020). While writer/director Jacob Chase’s film doesn’t reach a new plateau for the genre, his efforts offer an agreeable throwback to the Amblin horror films of yesteryear.
Set during our tech-driven times, Come Play follows Oliver (Azhy Robertson), an autistic adolescent growing up through the aid of his parents (Gillian Jacobs as Sarah and John Gallagher Jr. as Marty) and smart technology. When using his devices, a monster named Larry begins to manifest from the technology, springing to life in horrifying ways.
In his adaptation of his short film Larry, Chase approaches the horror genre through a non-traditional lens. Instead of favoring the scare-a-second aesthetic of modern horror films, Chase’s screenplay allows audiences to immerse themselves in the tight-knit family dynamic. This approach elicits a more potent emotional crux than most horror films, balancing sinister scares with Sarah and Oliver’s genuine comradery (Gillian Jacobs is underrated as always, while Robertson’s portrayal of Oliver never strikes a false note). Chase plays to the old-school Amblin sensibility without being overtly mawkish about it, registering a surprisingly dynamic film that balances the joys and pains of familial dynamics (the melancholic ending is a particular standout).
As a horror craftsman, Chase demonstrates his keen eye for impactful scares. He cleverly utilizes our tech-obsessed landscape to unearth frights from those always illuminating screens, patiently constructing well-timed jump scares from his eerily designed visuals. For a low-budget horror film, I was impressed with Larry’s distinct design. His long, lanky limbs are matched with a multitude of nightmarish forms, as Chase continuously finds new avenues to excite even the most experienced of genre fans.
Come Play achieves several positives within its traditional horror framework, though there’s ultimately little ingenuity speak of. Chase’s script rarely surprises audiences, with predictable plotting and a bevy of generic side characters offering a lingering sense of deja vu. If the writer/director zeroed in on the central dynamics that truly work, Chase could’ve had a special horror hit on his hands.
Still, Jacob Chase’s first outing is a relatively promising one. Come Play colors its horror trappings with an equal measure of craft and heart, making for a solid big-screen outing for any horror-starved audience members.
It’s no secret that streaming has taken an increased role in Hollywood, especially considering the current COVID-19 conditions. Studios are scaling back on theatrical content, leaving it to streaming services to pick up the slack this Halloween season. Thankfully, Amazon Prime is up for the task, debuting their “Welcome to Blumhouse” series to display the marquee horror studio’s latest content.
Before delving into their slate, I do want to commend Amazon for experimenting with this release. Despite horror being among the most popular film genres, streaming services have largely ignored scary movies in favor of sprawling TV shows (Haunting of Hill House). This year has been a welcome change to that structure, with Prime and Netflix debuting a few much-needed titles for scare-obsessed audiences (Vampires vs. The Bronx and Hubie Halloween were welcomed surprises).
Prime’s partnership with Blumhouse does create some mixed feelings. While Jason Blum has consistently proven his financial acumen, the horror studio’s slate has been the definition of a mixed bag. Breakout hits (The Invisible Manand Get Out) have often been followed up by uninspired missteps (Fantasy Island and Truth or Dare), leaving audiences on their toes with what to expect with each offering. With that being said, I decided to watch each “Welcome to Blumhouse” film and break down which films are worth your time (the list goes from best to worst).
BLACK BOX – Directed by Emmanuel Osei-Kuffour
Synopsis: After losing his wife and his memory in a car accident, Nolan, a single father undergoes an agonizing experimental treatment that causes him to question who he really is.
Presenting reflective thoughts on identity and it’s evolving relationship with technology, Black Box is delivered with the kind of weighty chilliness of Netflix’s Black Mirror anthology series. That’s not necessarily a bad trait, with Black Box spinning a high-concept yarn that keeps audiences on their toes throughout.
Emmanuel Osei-Kuffour’s film trudges through some formulaic sci-fi elements, but his slicks presentation always keeps the narrative engaging. The central mystery is deployed with enough care to register a few genuine surprises, while Osei-Kuffour employs some creative visuals to display the character’s murky descent into his lost memories. Mamoudou Athie’s lead performance imbues some much-needed agency and humanity into Nolan’s journey of self-rediscovery (he and his daughter played by Amanda Christine share a genuine rapport). I also was won over by Phylicia Rashad’s icy performance as Nolan’s mysterious doctor, with the overlooked character actress conveying the stern menace that the script desperately calls for.
Black Box ultimately restricts itself with relatively low aspirations. Intriguing questions that could derive from the subject matter are rarely addressed, with the script only incorporating these conceits through clumsy metaphors (the third act involves a physical fight inside Nolan’s head). There’s also little the film does that hasn’t been improved upon in other offerings, lacking the creative edge to reinvent its trappings.
Unlikely to challenge viewers’ mindsets, Black Box still draws a compelling psycho-thriller from its meat-and-potatoes elements.
EVIL EYE: Directed by Elan and Rajeev Dassani
Synopsis: A superstitious mother is convinced that her daughter’s new boyfriend is the reincarnation of a man who tried to kill her 30 years ago.
It may not be my favorite of the bunch, but I respect Blumehouse’s inclusive lens with Evil Eye (though one could argue they should be implementing that spirit with their big-screen offerings). Elan and Rajeev Dassani’s film represents their Indian culture with earnest sincerity, focusing on thoughtfully-constructed character dynamics over repetitive jump scares. Sarita Choudhury and Sunita Mani propel the film’s mother-daughter duo soundly, creating a lived-in dynamic that personalizes its familiar sentiments.
Ironically enough, Evil Eye works best when it skates away from its genre trappings. Elan and Rajeeve’s visual aesthetics are largely unimpressive, relying upon shaky camera motions that blur any potential horrors. The script also doesn’t develop its narrative with much care. Its central mystery plays out with haphazard obviousness, merely revealing the key twist without a proper build-up. Considering the promising nucleus, it’s a letdown that the film’s genre elements are so timid and unimpressive.
Evil Eye boasts some much-needed reinvention for its horror trappings, but that can only carry the middling genre elements so far. I am excited to see where Elan and Rajeeve’s career goes from here though, with the duo instilling a finite character-driven focus with their admirable misfire.
NOCTURNE – Directed by Zu Quirke
Synopsis: An incredibly gifted pianist makes a Faustian bargain to overtake her older sister at a prestigious institution for classical musicians.
Similar to Evil Eye, Nocturne is somewhat timid in its genre approach (works more as an adolescent drama than a horror film). While that will turn off conventional horror fans, Zu Quirke’s mannered depiction of music’s cutthroat nature packs some appealing qualities. Quirke’s direction conducts a few enthralling sequences, with her bold use of color and framing depicting the allures of the character’s vivid illusions. Euphoria star Sydney Sweeney also serves as a solid protagonist, portraying Juliet’s insecurities and desires with genuine weight.
Quirke’s amiable film ultimately derails itself through its lack of originality. Whether it’s dramatic heavyweights like Whiplashor surrealist masterworks like Black Swan, the dog-eats-dog culture of the refined arts has been depicted better by the film’s superior peers. As a screenwriter, Quirke’s effort lacks agency and dynamism, never digging underneath the surface of the school’s posh exterior. Qurike never pushes her narrative forward with a sense of discomfort, while her characters blankly stand in as generic stereotypes.
Nocturne is competently constructed, but the film fails to excel in any specific manner. It’s too flat to strike on a dramatic level, while also being too pale to register impactful genre thrills (it may not be the worst “Welcome to Blumhouse” film, but it’s certainly the most forgettable).
THE LIE- Directed by Veena Sud
Synopsis: A father and daughter are on their way to dance camp when they spot the girl’s best friend on the side of the road. When they stop to offer the friend a ride, their good intentions soon result in terrible consequences.
The Lie is a hard film to articulate my feelings towards, as its guilty-pleasure strengths are simultaneously the film’s stark falterings. Debuting back at the Toronto Film Festival in 2018 (it’s now infamously remembered as a centerpiece selection), Veena Sud’s woefully misguided attempt to ruminate on familial disconnect lands with a mawkish self-seriousness.
That being said, I can’t deny The Lie’s inherent entertainment value. Sud’s screenplay spins a bevy of illogical twists, leaving viewers hollowing at their screens with each implausible turn. The direction’s deadpan solemnness only enhances these missteps, with the pretentious sincerity registering with an infectious “so-bad-its-good” energy. It helps that the central performance muster genuine dramatic weight, with Joey King’s empathetic turn as a depressed teen elevating the poorly-constructed character.
Still, viewers will have a hard time ignoring the narrative’s apparent problems. The concept has the ability to connect to modern families’ apathetic tendencies, as they often highlight a superficial togetherness that masks their obvious disconnect. Sud’s script lacks the emotional intelligence to say anything of note, further distancing itself from reality with each passing twist. Everything concludes with one of the year’s most ridiculous finales, with the narrative woefully straining itself to a laughable degree.
The Lie doesn’t really work, but it’s the kind of infectious flop that will entertain genre enthusiasts. For a streaming title, it scratches that campy itch with reasonable success.
All and all, I enjoyed my descent into the “Welcome to Blumhouse” event. While these films don’t exhibit the best of what the studio has to offer, some of them are crafted with enough gusto and originality to please die-hard genre enthusiasts. I hope this becomes a recurring event in the future.
You can check out the “Welcome to Blumhouse” films on Amazon Prime
