film reviews, interviews, features | BRWC

Author: Matt Conway

  • Glass Onion A Knives Out Mystery: Another Review

    Glass Onion A Knives Out Mystery: Another Review

    Glass Onion A Knives Out Mystery Synopsis: Tech billionaire Miles Bron (Edward Norton) invites his friends for a getaway on his private Greek island. When someone turns up dead, Detective Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) is put on the case.

    Famed detective Benoit Blanc embarks on another investigative crusade when a dead body is discovered during a socialite getaway in Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery.

    Writer/director Rian Johnson left a substantial impact with the release of Knives Out in 2019. The film became one of the few original features to break the bank at the box office, earning over $300 million worldwide on an economical $40 million budget. Knives Out’s financial triumphs, along with an outpouring of glowing critical reviews and positive audience responses, positioned the film as the ignition point for our zeitgeist’s newfound obsession with engaging mystery narratives (Hulu’s Only Murders in the Building and AppleTV+’s The After Party also capitalized on the current craze).

    Now settled at Netflix after a massive $400 million rights acquisition, Johnson continues the Knives Out franchise with another page-turning puzzle. This time, Johnson travels from the stuffy confines of a Massachusetts mansion to the sun-kissed appeals of a private Greek island.

    In Glass Onion, affable detective Benoit Blanc finds himself as a guest for tech billionaire Miles Bron’s vacation getaway during the coronavirus pandemic’s onset. Bron invites his familiar league of faithful socialites, including surging politician Claire Debella, controversy-ridden fashion designer Biride Jay, an overtly masculine, Joe Rogan-esque streamer Duke Cody, and Bron’s scientific confidant, Lionel Toussaint.

    The invite is also extended to Cassandra Brand – Bron’s former business partner who was mercilessly cut out of the company after voting against Bron’s pursuit of a questionable new energy source. Miles plans to host a murder mystery game over the weekend getaway, but his plans suddenly shift when a dead body is discovered.

    Johnson, who initially made his name with inventive genre films like Brick and Looper, proves himself yet again as a master of whodunit narratives. His direction is wonderfully expressive in its buoyant energy and stylistic verve, with the filmmaker often discovering ingenious avenues for heightening the palpable tensions on display. Glass Onion also defines a lively sense of place. Johnson and Cinematographer Steve Yedlin entrench viewers in the glamorous allure of a scenic vacation destination bursting with affluent luxuries. The picture-perfect setting boasts undeniable appeal, but it quickly becomes apparent that not all is what it seems.

    Similar to its predecessor, Glass Onion’s screenplay is adept at staying two steps ahead of viewers’ expectations. I appreciate the gamble Johnson takes with his sequel, transforming the typical mystery plot thread on its head with ingenious risks that land with a compelling payoff. It’s clear with Glass Onion that the writer/director has no intentions of playing it safe as he continues to build upon Knives Out’s sturdy foundation.

    Johnson also remains well-versed in imbuing layers of intriguing social commentary beneath the film’s crowdpleasing elements. Miles and his motley crew of callous elites each serve as amusing representations of famous figureheads who concentrate solely on maintaining their illustrious status. While the characters may seem to possess meaningful camaraderie, their relationships are instead predicated on constant deceit and their own self-serving desires.

    I don’t think Knives Out or Glass Onion says anything particularly revelatory about elitist culture. Still, the film and its rogues’ gallery of self-entitled character does enhance the bubbling deception baked within the premise’s evolving predicament. I would say this sequel’s thematic ambitions work at their best when satirizing the self-absorbed aurae social elites wear – an invisible mask that makes the characters feel inherently superior to the struggling world around them.

    A skilled all-star cast helps tremendously in enriching the film’s scumbag subjects. Edward Norton is fittingly smarmy as tech “genius” Miles Bron. Kate Hudson chews the scenery with rousing comedic impact as the vapid Biride Jay. Janelle Monae evokes expressive dimensions as Cassandra Brand, while Dave Bautista, Leslie Odom Jr., and Kathryn Hahn skillfully personify their supporting roles as a trio of Miles’ indebted friends.

    At the center of it all is Daniel Craig as detective Benoit Blanc. Boasting a quick wit and a charming southern drawl, Blanc is a magnetic scene-stealer in every sense. Craig displays expressive range and radiant charms in his portrayal of Blanc’s vibrant personality, but it’s the actor’s immense skill set that always grounds the character in a genuine place.

    I had a blast through Glass Onion. It’s a well-composed and sharply delivered sequel that seamlessly builds upon the foundation of its acclaimed predecessor. I am excited to see what new ideas Johnson brings to the table with the series’ inevitable third entry.

    Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery is now playing on Netflix.

  • Aftersun: The BRWC Review

    Aftersun: The BRWC Review

    Aftersun Synopsis: Sophie (Frankie Corio) reflects on the shared joy and private melancholy of a holiday she took with her father (Paul Mescal) twenty years earlier. Memories, real and imagined, fill the gaps between miniDV footage as she tries to reconcile the father she knew with the man she didn’t.

    Lost memories from a cherished vacation with her father prompt Sophie to reflect on the pair’s elusive relationship in Aftersun. Coming-of-age memoirs centered from the perspective of a reflective adult are relatively commonplace, but few features have approached that reflective lens with the same creative vigor as Aftersun.

    The debut feature from writer/director Charlotte Wells utilizes several adept techniques in a meditative mood piece centered on the complex bond between a child and her parent. What may seem conceptually straightforward on paper eventually transforms into an unshakeable cinematic experience. Wells and her creative team develop a richly-textured gaze at the intense warmth and melancholy stemming from a nostalgic chapter in a woman’s life.

    For Wells, Aftersun represents one of the finest feature-length debuts in recent memory. The emerging talent showcases the immense ability and concise vision of a well-respected auteur as she envisions one seemingly ordinary trip into the defining chapter of a father and daughter’s relationship (much of the narrative is based on Wells’ own experiences).

    In terms of visceral craft, Aftersun defines an equally expressive and distinctive aesthetic. Wells paints a not-so-scenic vacation within a run-down Turkish resort with the youthful exuberance of her central protagonist. Each run-down corridor and vanilla hotel amenity receives the warmth of a sun-kissed paint job from Wells and Cinematographer Gregory Oke – a choice that skillfully conveys the wistfulness and wonderment of a teenager acquainting with the endless possibilities of adulthood.

    The inclusion of retrograde VHS footage also leaves a lasting impact. Wells displays remarkable tact with her deft inclusion of lo-fi footage, ensuring that each use of the well-executed technique builds upon the lingering sentiments of her film. The dizzying and imprecise imagery contained in these frames serves as an articulate vehicle for conveying the fuzzy reflections ensnared within a bygone memory.

    While rosy aesthetics convey deeply-seated nostalgia, Wells’ craft also showcases Aftersun’s darker connotations. Much of the film basks in the shared affection of two estranged family members enjoying a seldom chance at bonding together. Yet, under the surface of these travelogue moments, Wells nestles into the undeniable cracks of disconnect between both parties.

    Wells showcases this ideal best through her immersive framing of Sophie’s perspective. Her savvy camera placement on reflective surfaces, such as smugged mirrors or dim TV screens, adeptly captures the sizable gulf wedging the two apart. Sophie may yearn for the open-ended future of adulthood, but it’s clear from Wells’ wandering camerawork that Sophie’s father, Calum, is suffocating under the weight of his responsibilities.

    Wells captures the flickers of intimate warmth and isolating detachment between Sophie and Calum with a well-balanced temperament. Her cinéma vérité filmmaking approach never spells out clean conclusions for audiences. Instead, Wells articulates well-seasoned ruminations on familial bonds, memory’s fleeting nature, and humanity’s consuming desire for mutual understanding through her extraordinary naturalism.

    I also heap significant praise on Wells’s incisive writing abilities. Her screenplay never sacrifices its untamed realism in favor of mannered Hollywood cliches or heavyhanded speeches. The ambient artistic approach allows Aftersun to maintain the airs of an ephemeral memory – a fleeting moment in time that simultaneously feels incredibly vivid yet hauntingly undefined.

    Aftersun’s filmmaking strengths help generate two remarkably moving performances. Paul Mescal is emerging as a dark horse Best Actor Oscar contender for a reason. As Calum, the actor skilfully conveys the insular anguish building under the surface of his evasive yet charismatic persona. Young star Frankie Corio effortlessly inhabits the role of Sophie as the character unknowingly endures an eye-opening chapter in her life. Together, Mescal and Corio form a remarkably lived-in pair as they volley affectionate exchanges and moments of playful innocence.

    Through the intelligent perspective and boundless ability of Charlotte Wells, Aftersun left me shaken by its fearless pursuits. Wells and company have crafted one of the year’s most audacious and impactful works through their precise dive into raw human quandaries.

    Aftersun is now playing in theaters.

  • The Whale: The BRWC Review

    The Whale: The BRWC Review

    The Whale Synopsis: A reclusive English teacher (Brendan Fraser) suffering from severe obesity attempts to reconnect with his teenage daughter for one last chance at redemption. Based on a play by Samuel Hunter. 

    Self-aware of his near-fatal health condition, Charlie vies to find a sense of solace amidst his suffering by forging a connection with his estranged daughter in The Whale. 

    As the latest project from Requiem for a Dream writer/director Darren Aronofsky, The Whale serves as a fitting continuation of the auteur’s finite sensibility. Past works of his, like The Wrestler and Black Swan, define aching portraits of characters gradually succumbing into their ill-timed abyss. Both movies reflect painful truths from their authentic approach, but other works of Aronofsky drown under their overbearing nihilism.

    I found both of his recent works, 2014’s Noah and 2017’s Mother, painfully overworked. While densely packed with intriguing allegories and Arronofsky’s panache for bold thematic swings, neither title connected for me in films that ultimately rang hollow in their pursuits. 

    The Whale marks another unfortunately ill-conceived endeavor for Aronofsky. Framed as an intimate character piece, The Whale eventually disintegrates into a blunt soap opera that wildly disconnects from its noble pursuits. 

    The narrative stumbles from jump street. A clunkily-handled opening scene introduces the film’s erratic swings at shocking its audience as our obese protagonist, Charlie, finds himself entrapped by uncontrollable excess. Paralyzed by his behaviors and somber past, Charlie goes through the same day-to-day routine while fully aware that it will lead to his demise. 

    I do think Aronofsky and screenwriter Samuel Hunter possess sincere intentions in reckoning with Charlie and his dour existence while trying to discover a life-affirming silver lining from his journey. For me, the execution feels far too myopic for its own good. Every narrative and stylistic inclusion belabor the material’s inherent misery, so much so that barebones efforts to include a semblance of optimism feel half-hearted in their delivery.

    Aronofsky’s direction remains particularly heavy-handed. He and Cinematographer Matthew Libatique utilize a tightened 1.33 aspect ratio to relay a sense of claustrophobia – a choice that only works to gawk at its subject’s failing physical state rather than imbuing any worthwhile merits. An abrasive score by Rob Simonsen further hammers home the grating aesthetics. Every choice works to amplify a vision that desperately misses the mark in conveying a nuanced approach. 

    In a film adaptation of his stageplay, Hunter’s ambitions also disconnect onscreen. The setup seems promising enough. Charlie and the ensemble cast, which includes his seemingly self-absorbed daughter, a loyal friend tied to Charlie’s painful past, and a visiting missionary, represent fractured and discarded remnants of a divisive society. I admire how Hunter tries to entrench his characters in the zeitgeist, whether it’s the vitriol stemming from a one-sided religious ideology or the dangerous politics sprouting from the 2016 election. 

    Ultimately, the ideas Hunter grasps towards lie far beyond his reach. The Whale features several high-concept metaphors and subtle pieces of contextual background, yet none of these inclusions add meaningful textures to the characters. Instead, the film basks in its self-seriousness as it confuses busy narrative devices for having something to say. Hunter’s lack of depth especially prevents The Whale from landing its intended punch. Scenes of shallow character development occur solely through mawkish speeches, while the film’s balancing act between hope and anguish concludes ineptly in a maudlin final act. 

    The great shame in The Whale’s bombastic execution is the remarkable performances buried under the cracks. Brendan Fraser builds upon his recent run of impactful character actor roles with a deeply-affecting performance as Charlie. Even when the film drags Charlie through a melodramatic muck, Fraser imbues quiet sensitivity and raw authenticity that help find some humanity in an ill-convicted character. Saide Sink and Hong Chau also add weight to their supporting roles. Sink commands the screen with a bitting viciousness that works to conceal the character’s frustrations. Likewise, Chau elicits several tender and volatile moments as Charlie’s loyal friend who suffers alongside him. 

    Not even a trio of standout performances can save The Whale from stumbling. For a film so self-satisfied in its empathy, The Whale radiates misanthropic energy in what ultimately comes across as a pompous piece of Oscar bait. Still, I am happy some are getting value from the film, and my disregard for its failures is no reflection of its talented cast. Let’s all hope Fraser continues to gain momentum in what could be a second-half acting renaissance. 

    The Whale is now playing in theaters. 

  • Empire Of Light: The BRWC Review

    Empire Of Light: The BRWC Review

    Empire of Light Synopsis: Withdrawn movie theater manager Hilary Small (Olivia Colman) endures struggles with her mental health condition. Her pessimistic worldview suddenly changes when she meets Stephen (Michael Ward), an optimistic young adult dealing with the vicious racial tensions of 1980s England. 

    Two outsiders in 1980s England find solace in one another during shifts in an illustrious movie theater in Empire of Light. Following his one-take war epic 1917, acclaimed director Sam Mendes’s latest project showcases a nostalgic love letter to his mother and filmmaking’s eye-opening impact during his formative years. 

    Ironically enough, Mendes joins other auteurs, like James Gray with Armageddon Time and Steven Spielberg with The Fabelmans, who recently articulated coming-of-age trials and tribulations through their cinematic craft. Filmmaking can be a wonderfully empathetic prism for unpacking complex insular dynamics from one’s past, yet its inherent subjectivity can also conjure unintentionally sappy results (2021’s Belfast is a prime example). 

    With Empire of Light, Mendes and his team conjure a sumptuous feast for the eyes. He and Cinematographer extraordinaire Roger Deakins paint every frame with remarkable precision, cultivating a wistful romanticism that transforms the dusty confines of an ancient movie theater into a poignant relic bursting with hope and aspiration. Composers Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross match the lavish yet restrained visuals with an impactful score that quietly lingers in each frame. 

    When all the technical elements blend cohesively, certain frames of Empire of Light exude expressive emotions (a nighttime firework display is drawn with the enchantment of a historic watercolor painting). Unfortunately, much of the film’s visual splendor eventually gets lost in a listless concoction of flatlining sentiments. 

    Empire of Light is Mendes’s first screenplay penned solely by him, and his writing inexperience clearly shows throughout much of the discombobulated final product. The film explores many intriguing plot threads, including a love affair between Hilary and Stephen, Stephen’s daily dealings with racial discrimination, and Hilary’s decaying mental state. Each could feel meaningful if dressed with layers of nuance. Instead, Mendes relies heavily upon didactic dialogue exchanges and clunky montages to forward much of the narrative. 

    It all ends up feeling woefully contrived. Mendes plays every emotional beat in broad strokes, swooning for grand revelations that never feel earned by the material’s shortsightedness. He also struggles to imbue his characters with lived-in personalities.

    Stephen, in particular, feels like an empty vessel of a character. He lacks agency outside of his half-baked relationship with Hilary, and his ongoing struggles with racial aggressors rarely receives time to breathe onscreen. Moreover, the character’s treatment as a thinly-developed plot device comes off in poor taste considering the worthwhile dilemmas he faces. Even vulnerable performances from Oscar-winner Olivia Colman and emerging star Michael Ward can’t compensate for the material’s shortcomings. 

    Empire of Light is lushly crafted and noble in its intentions. However, those qualities can’t save the film from being another self-serious award hopeful that stumbles in its pursuits. 

    Empire of Light is now playing in theaters. 

  • Emancipation: The BRWC Review

    Emancipation: The BRWC Review

    Emancipation Synopsis: Peter (Will Smith), a runaway slave, forges through the swamps of Louisiana on a tortuous journey to escape plantation owners that nearly killed him. Based on a true story. 

    A runaway slave transforms into a symbol of resiliency in the Apple TV+ Oscar hopeful, Emancipation. For acclaimed Training Day director Antonie Fuqua, Emancipation marks another attempt at adding to a vital moment in United States history. 

    Tackling the hardships and lingering racial prejudice stemming from slavery in the US is an exceedingly tricky challenge for filmmakers. While some features, like 12 Years a Slave and Harriet, convey the gravity and unfortunate relevance of their portrayals, others, such as Free State of Jones and Birth of a Nation, offer trite regurgitations that drown under the significance of their subject matter. 

    With Emancipation, Fuqua and screenwriter Bill Collage center their focus on an escaped slave who became an inspirational figurehead during the Civil War. While admittedly conventional, Emancipation registers a strong impact through its evocative craft and undeniable empathy. 

    Fuqua is a beloved filmmaker in Hollywood for his adept work elevating traditional action titles like The Equilizer and Olympus Has Fallen. With Emancipation, Fuqua reaches new heights in his visceral craft. He and cinematographer Robert Richardson implement a washed-out color scheme that could quickly feel redundant in the wrong hands. Here, the stylistic choice is executed with remarkable thought and precision. 

    Fuqua’s tempered visual vision serves as a sobering tool to communicate the lingering despair onscreen. Peter, his family, and his escapee peers are ensnared in a black-and-white reality where they are the subjects of brutality and constant degradation. The achromatic visual profile and intimate framing choices elicit potent responses, with Fuqua and Richardson unearthing the raw anguish existing under the character’s somber states without drifting into uncomfortable exploitation. Fuqua also imbues his trademark skills as a Hollywood craftsman. The film’s grand, lived-in sets and mud-ridden imagery help define an arresting sense of place across Peter’s harrowing journey. 

    As Peter and his peers push through a deadly trek across the southern swamps, Emancipation gradually morphs into a tale of hope amidst dire circumstances. Fuqua and Collage mindfully balance the story’s hardships with a silver lining of optimism, ultimately understanding Peter’s significance as a symbol of undying perseverance. Fuqua displays delicate tact throughout Emancipation as he marries potentially dissident sensibilities into a cohesive package. 

    I will say, Emancipation is far more effective in communicating its ideals through imagery rather than writing. Collage’s screenplay is marred in one too many contrived speeches and Hollywood devices, including a bizarre blending of real-world history that will rightfully turn away some viewers. I wish Collage had incorporated more substantive reflections within his material and relied less on the type of artificial plotting tools viewers would find in most historical retellings. At its worst, Emancipation can occasionally feel like the type of respectable yet shallow historical feature I remember watching in social studies classes growing up. 

    Fortunately for Emancipation, a skilled ensemble cast consistently grounds the material in infectious humanity. Will Smith offers some of his most understated work to date as the soft-spoken Peter, quietly reckoning with the character’s plights while gradually discovering his agency amidst trials and tribulations. In addition, Ben Foster is fittingly menacing as a slave owner tracking Peter’s trail, and Charmaine Bingwa steals several scenes as Peter’s devoted wife. 

    Emancipation does not tread new waters, but the film still finds success as a stirring reminder of an essential chapter in history. 

    Emancipation is now playing in theaters and on Apple TV+.