Author: Matt Conway

The Beach House is a close-quarter, Lovecraftian horror project set amidst its tranquil ocean-side setting. The film follows Emily (Liana Liberato) and Randall (Noah Le Gros), a dysfunctional young couple looking to escape their daily doldrums with a romantic getaway. Their plans are upended when they discover two unexpected guests already inhabiting the house (acquaintances of Randall’s dad, played by Jake Weber and Maryanne Nagel). After a drug-filled night getting to know each other, the group wakes up in a distorted reality, with an unknown infection taking the quiet beach by storm.

While no one will champion The Beach House for its narrative ingenuity, writer/director Jeffery A. Brown leaves a distinct impression with his debut feature. Resourcefully pushing the boundaries of his budgetary restrictions, Brown cleverly develops a sense of unease within the opening frames, delving deep beneath the depths of the ocean to explore the murky unknown that lies ahead. These atmospheric frames eloquently contrast the quaint calm of the beach setting, with the impending sense of doom being further accented by the crashing roar of upcoming waves.

Once the infection takes hold of its unbeknownst victims, Brown unleashes a flurry of technically-accomplished flourishes to display the horror at hand. The director utilizes fog and dizzying camera work to depict the continual psychical decay of the characters, with warning lights radiating through the mist with visceral impact. Brown’s macabre vision offers a plethora of distinctive scares while keeping the pace moving during its tight 84-minute runtime.

The Beach House’s compact nature may satisfy from a scare department, but its scanty-developed script suffers in the process. It’s clear Brown utilizes his concept as an exercise in horror craftsmanship, but his writing feels stiff and simplistic. There are opportunities to explore the pains of life’s gradual decay, whether that be in our treasured relationships (represented by the fragile dynamic between Emily and Randall) or our mortality (one of Randall’s acquaintances is approaching their demise). While that’s conveyed in a visual sense, I wish Brown’s script had more ambition in displaying these human pains with more intimacy, while potentially adding inventive wrinkles to its overly-familiar structure.

While The Beach House plays is safe from a narrative perspective, it’s twisted, nightmarish presentation offers an alluring Lovecraft experience.

John Stewart has thrived at sharply skewering political ineptitude during his tenure on The Daily Show, operating as a critical voice while paving the way for other satirical correspondents. Since moving on from the program, Stewart has engaged in a multitude of artistic platforms, including an emerging directorial career launched by 2014’s Rosewater. Now stepping into the political comedy field that he once mastered, Stewart’s latest Irresistible is a bizarre misfire despite its promising agenda.

Irresistible follows Gary Zimmer (Steve Carrell, who worked on The Daily Show early in his career), a Democratic political executive searching for avenues to gain middle-Americans’ interest. After witnessing an inspiring town hall speech by retired marine Jack Hastings (Chris Cooper), Zimmer moves to the small Wisconsin town to run his campaign against Republican rival Faith Brewster (Rose Byrne).

Stewart’s film is a much-needed change-of-pace for the genre, admirably attempting to pointedly criticize the United State’s flawed political infrastructure. His script takes aim at White House elites’ ambivalent disdain towards their voter base, viewing their behind-the-scenes mucky mind games from both spectrums. I appreciate how Stewart cleverly implements Zimmeran’s elitist perspective throughout the narrative, viewing the townies as aw-shucks folksy simpletons the way a jaded executive would. This dynamic slyly builds to a third-act twist that cleverly eschews the audience’s preconceived notions, giving much-needed purpose to its simplistic character design.

Settling into the executive roles with ease, Steve Carrell and Rose Byrne are a joy to watch as dynamic love/hate rivals. Carrell feels tailor-made to play Zimmerman’s dismissive know-it-all personality, acerbically delivering bitting lines with a smarmy arrogance. His routine meshes well against Byrne’s well-tuned deadpan energy, with the two generating the film’s only laughs through sheer talent.

Considering Stewart’s wide-ranging ability and knowhow, Irresistible’s perplexing lack of presence behind-the-camera is a letdown to witness. His direction feels passive and stiff, suffering from bland visuals and a jumpy sitcom-esque score that plays moments too broadly. Stewart has acted as an outspoken lightning rod throughout his career, yet his film lacks the bite to examine its subject matter, saying little outside of generally obvious critiques.

Irresistible’s woeful swing-and-miss attempts at humor derail any of the project’s good intentions. Stewart’s attempts at capturing the awkward interplay between elites and average joes are stilted, with the script largely leaning on offbeat moments that are conceived without much wit. I can’t help but feel like there should be a more brazen version of this project, one that simultaneously condemns and satirizes the lingering disconnect with emphatic barbs.

Irresistible keys its focus towards vital subject matter, but lacks the sharp precision needed to properly satirize the ambivalence of our political infrastructure.

The festival circuit produces a plethora of acclaimed works, often being viewed as the starting point for a film’s journey to Oscar gold. While these events accentuate the quality of certain projects, others get lost in the crowded shuffle, suffering from divisive reactions and niche appeal. That’s where writer/director Olivia Assayas’ latest Wasp Network comes in, belatedly released on Netflix after a lukewarm 2019 festival run. While its imperfections are apparent, the film still displays a plethora of noteworthy qualities.

Set amidst Fidel Castro’s reign in Cuba, Wasp Network follows Rene Gonzalez (Edgar Ramirez), a pilot who unexpectedly leaves his wife Olga (Penelope Cruz) to work as a spy in an anti-Castro organization. The narrative follows Rene’s role in the Cuban Five, who worked to infiltrate US-based groups fighting against Cuba.

As a pseudo-cloak-and-dagger spy caper, Assayas craftsmanship indulges in its lush setting. Every frame is handsomely shot, contrasting its two settings effectively while emanating an impressive sense of scale. The aerial sequences majestically display the high-flying stakes of each mission, shot with precision and clarity while embracing a grounded approach.

Where most historical re-tellings offer a dry regurgitation of factoids, Assayas enriches Wasp Network as an intimate meditation on sacrificial agents operating on the ground floor of major change. The writer/director places audiences in the isolated perspective of Rene and his contemporaries, exploring the unwavering commitment and lingering pains from their detached lifestyle. It’s refreshing to see a spy narrative depict the less-heralded elements of the position to further humanize its central figures.

Instead of delineating obvious judgments, Assays lets his characters live and process their murky state. This complexion gives Wasp Network’s cast intriguing roles to explore. Edgar Ramirez’s subdued delivery fits the role of Rene seamlessly, confidently shrouding the character’s deeply-felt longing for familial bonds. Penelope Cruz is the standout of the bunch, displaying a whirlwind of emotions as she tries to piece things together amidst her husband’s departure. Veteran character actors Gael Garcia Bernal and Wagner Moura round out the cast effectively, with Moura especially sinking his teeth into the narrative’s most deceptive persona.

Wasp Network is aesthetically pleasing and thematically-promising, yet the film suffers substantially from its overly-ambitious nature. After a slow-burn first hour, the latter half finds Assayas trying to encompass a wide array of characters and pertinent information, ultimately over-stuffing the narrative framework. Cuba and America’s political strife is too complex to constrain into one 2-hour film, with the project’s aspirations likely being a better fit for the mini-series format where dynamics can properly render.

Despite its inability to reach grander heights, The Wasp Network offers an assured portrait of a largely unheralded chapter in the Cuban Revolution’s history.

Will Ferrell’s incendiary wildman charisma has generated a storied career for the former SNL funnyman, headlining uproarious vehicles like Anchorman, Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, and Step Brothers with his distinct energetic sensibility. His once-celebrated style is now enduring a career freefall, as a mixture of laugh-free comedies (Holmes and Watson) and unremarkable career deviations (Downhill) failed to gain traction. Ferrell’s latest endeavor Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga signals a mild return to form for the comedic stalwart, but the project can’t overcome its bombastic tendencies.

Eurovision Song Contest follows Lars (Ferrell) and Sigrit (Rachel McAdams), two outcast Icelanders growing up with a dream to represent their country in Europe’s notable singing contest. When the opportunity stumbles in front of them, the two battle to prove themselves as their friendship gets tested by their new-found fame.

Utilizing a unique premise that highlights a colorfully theatrical event, stars Will Ferrell and Rachel McAdams clearly relish the opportunity to explore their oft-kilter characters. Ferrel’s shameless dedication to his craft renders laughter throughout, with his spirited shouts and untamed physicality selling even the most obtuse gags. McAdams’ effervescent flair rarely gets proper attention, as she portrays Sigrit’s bubbly, yet assured personality with warmth and comedic impact. Both actors imbue Lars and Sigrit with a child-like innocence that endears them to audiences, grounding what could have been over-the-top caricatures in lesser hands.

Eurovision excels when its central stars are in the spotlight. The opening act wisely focuses on their ragtag dynamic, as the two quirky cast-offs explore their creative avenue in an effort to earn the respect of their quaint town. There’s a folksy outcast spirit to their pursuit that I genuinely admired, as the film portrays Iceland’s idiosyncratic culture without being overly-mawkish. The eccentricities that writer Andrew Steele enhances the script with stand out as the film’s comedic highlights, adding much-needed flavor to the studio comedy design (a certain pop icon appears as a decaying ghost warning Lars throughout the narrative).

It’s once the story kicks into gear where issues begin to arise. Director David Dobkin crafts some opulent musical set pieces, but the story sandwiched between them follows uninspired plot conventions to a tee. Contrived conflicts separate Lars and Sigrit for much of the second half, robbing its appealing core of screentime while introducing a melody of one-joke side characters (Dan Stevens in an energetic, yet underwritten supporting role as a dashing singer). Making matters worse is the project’s bloated final form, as the simplistic premise is stretched to a wholly unnecessary and unsustainable 2-hour run time.

Eurovision also wastes a sizable opportunity to display deeper thematic ruminations. Most of Ferrell’s best work has doubled as sly commentaries on specific sectors, whether its Talladega Nights’ skewering of NASCAR’s conservative culture or Step Brother‘s humorous mockery of the manchild subgenre. The roots of Eurovision’s narrative displays a critique on music’s over-glorified presentation, with showmanship often masking a dearth of substance and emotionality. This idea is butchered with the script’s obvious handling, essentially spelling this idea out in the third act without any grace or build-up.

Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga has glitz and glamour to spare, but this uneven comedy can’t match the talents of its uniquely-fitted stars.

COVID-19’s wide-spread impact has imposed a temporary pause for the theatrical business model, with most 2020 releases reluctantly being pushed back (No Time to Die and Fast 9) or released via Video On Demand services (The King of Staten Island and Trolls: World Tour). Amidst these closures, indie stalwart IFC generated a welcomed surprise with their release of The Wretched, which morphed into a drive-in staple since its May debut (its earned 1.4 million at the US box office in addition to VOD sales). Fitting the midnight genre movie sensibility to a tee, this admirable writing/directorial return for Brett and Drew Pierce can’t quite convey an original, well-rounded experience.

The Wretched follows Ben (John-Paul Howard) a troubled teenager spending the summer with his father (Jamison Jones) after his parent’s divorce. While encountering the familiarity of summer coming-of-age suburbia, Ben soon discovers all is not as it seems when a possessive witch commandeers his next-door neighbors.

Wearing its low-rent genre aspirations on its sleeve, Brett and Drew Pierce approach their familiar narrative framework with aplomb craftsmanship. Drawing inspirations from cult 80s horror pictures like Fright Night and The Thing, the two cleverly cast a cloud of unease from the first frame, with their precise and still framing oozing with tension. Devin Burrows’ orchestral score culminates the suspenseful build-up, playing into the horrific reveals with shock and exhilaration.

Making the most out of their shoestring budget, the Pierces devise some genuinely accomplished horror setpieces. It’s refreshing to see low-budget filmmakers rely more on creative designs and practical ingenuity than substandard CGI, holding their cards close to their chest while constructing a sense of intrigue. After offering mere glimpses at the witch’s design, the duo release a breathless onslaught of well-constructed scares with the third act, dumping buckets of bloodshed while creating a genuine sense of stakes.

The Wretched finds its comfort zone embracing macabre moments, but struggles mightily to find a rhythm outside its eerie set pieces. The unheralded cast hold their own (Piper Curda makes a strong impression as Ben’s bubbly friend), but the Pierces’ barebones script relies solely on familiar archetypes. The summer suburbia angle feels contrived in its schematic design, confusing its nostalgic pastiche for a sense of personality. The Pierces also waste a significant opportunity with their lackluster world-building, relying on a few skimpy asides to construct their central spiritual entity.

Perhaps most frustrating is The Wretched’s inability to engage with its thematically-promising set-up. A witch who makes people forget about their children/siblings could have cleverly portrayed a loss of innocence, acting as an ideal backdrop for Ben’s coming of age journey. However, there’s little interest in exploring the dark depths of this conceit, with offhand mentions at Ben’s drug usage and the fate of his neighbors merely serving as window dressing for the narrative

The Wretched‘s old-school approach should please genre enthusiasts, but its trope-heavy framework derails Brett and Drew Pierce’s promising low-budget craftsmanship.