Author: Rudie Obias

The Tank: Review. By Rudie Obias

The horror genre is one of the best ways for filmmakers to make something good and exciting for a very small budget. It’s also a way to get really creative and inventive to solve story problems during the screenwriting phase of production. A good writer and director can make the most out of any movie genre, but there’s something special about horror movies that lends itself to pushing against norms. However, when clichés and cheap scares get in the way, all of that good will just goes away. Unfortunately, The Tank suffers from the trappings of the horror genre without any bang or surprise.

Written and directed by Scott Walker (The Frozen Ground) and set in 1978, The Tank follows a young family and pet store owners in Oakland, California going to a small coastal town called Hobbit’s Trail in Oregon after the patriarch Ben (played by Matt Whelan) inherits a secret large plot of land and a small cabin in the woods after the death of his mother. However, his wife Jules (played by Luciane Buchanan) and daughter Reia (played by Zara Nausbaum) have apprehensions about the cabin once a mysterious prehistoric creature is discovered in its water tank. After reading this brief description of this movie, it’s very likely you can tell where this is going.

The Tank is a very serviceable horror movie that’s perfectly suited for late night streaming. If this movie was on cable, you’d stop to watch it for 15 minutes or so, but then go to the next channel during the commercial break and never think about it again. It’s pretty middle-of-the-road when it comes to genre elements like gags and scares, while it’s also ho-hum when it comes to any drama, conflict, or character development.

The story is wrapped in a puzzle pieces plot where the characters have Ben’s dead mother’s diary that they found at the cabin, so the film is peppered in with flashbacks that feel like Peter Jackson’s Heavenly Creatures. However, there’s a mystery about the sudden deaths of Ben’s father and sister during the mid-’40s and a lot of the answers to it (and the creatures that lurk beneath) are in Ben’s mother’s diary. But the characters never think to just skip to the date of his sister’s death. C’mon. That’s just bad writing.

The one shining element from The Tank that is completely worth a watch is the performance of Luciane Buchanan. She’s absolutely magnetic! Buchanan’s screen presence is something to notice, but, unfortunately, she isn’t helped by the movie itself. The film reaches the mark of “serviceable at best” because of Luciane Buchanan, who is someone to note.

All in all, The Tank won’t surprise you. It won’t scare you. But will have some moments of effective tension and atmosphere, but will ultimately disappoint you—despite the performance of Buchanan. It just seems that there’s nothing left in the tank for this one.

Little Richard: I Am Everything – Review. By Rudie Obias

“I am the innovator. I am the originator. I am the emancipator. I am the architect of Rock ‘N Roll!” These are the words of rock icon Little Richard during his acceptance speech for his Lifetime Achievement Award during the American Music Awards ceremony in 1997. These words also speak volumes to everything he contributed to the music genre. In the documentary Little Richard: I Am Everything, director Lisa Cortés (The Remix: Hip Hop X Fashion, All In: The Fight for Democracy) chronicles the life of one of rock’s biggest legends.

Starting from humble beginnings in Macon, Georgia in 1932, Little Richard (born Richard Wayne Penniman) was the son of a housewife and a church deacon and a brick mason—who also dabbled in bootlegging moonshine. From an early age, he had an interest in Blues and Gospel, which inspired him to create Rock ‘N Roll music.

The documentary tells his life story through interviews of people who knew him, including his family and childhood friends, people who worked with him, such as fellow musicians and longtime fans (like Paul McCartney from The Beatles, Mick Jagger from Rolling Stones), and scholars and contemporary artists (like Billy Porter and John Waters) who continue to be inspired by his music and life.

While the film, at times, feels pretty standard with a basic “and then this happened” structure, Little Richard: I Am Everything has a spirit and momentum to it, thanks to the interview subjects that really give the events context and deeper meaning. In fact, Little Richard himself provides that context through older interviews recorded over his life and career.

Although Little Richard was a pioneer in music, he was also a pioneer in Civil Rights and Queerness—which he, unfortunately, struggled with his own acceptance throughout his own life. Being Black in the Deep South during the mid-20th Century has its systematic obstacles, while also being an openly gay man didn’t make things easy for him. However, Little Richard still managed to write hit songs and change hearts and minds through his music, eccentric personality, and thrilling and out-of-this-world performances. Just existing as a Black gay man is a revolutionary act on its own.

Little Richard: I Am Everything provides a lot of information and context of Little Richard, how he created Rock ‘N Roll, and didn’t get the recognition or success as the White counterparts who were inspired by him—like Elvis Presley. Even if you are a fan of his work, or new to it, this documentary thoroughly catalog’s Little Richard’s life, work, and importance to American pop culture and music. It even explores his relationship with God and how he turned away from music and the Rock ‘N Roll lifestyle (excessive drugs and sex) again and again to deepen his connection to God and Seventh-day Adventist Church.

And while the documentary is a bit too broad for this writer’s taste, it’s worth a watch—especially if you’re a fan of Little Richard. It might even confront your notions of Blackness and queerness in Rock ‘N Roll and how the genre has been whitewashed throughout the decades.

Enys Men: The BRWC Review. By Rudie Obias.

The COVID-19 pandemic was an isolating and lonely time for much of the world. With social distancing and face coverings, it was tough to connect with people without fear of getting sick. In fact, during the pandemic, it felt like being trapped on a remote island reliving every day again and again. While that daily routine might be tiresome and monotonous, it was one of the few things that kept some people sane. However, doing the same thing over and over again for days and weeks on end, could cause others to break—if not careful.

In Enys Men, writer and director Mark Jenkin examines what it truly means to be isolated and cut off from the rest of the world. Set in 1973 (and since it’s filmed in 16mm, you might actually mistake it for a movie from the early ‘70s, but it was filmed during the COVID-19 lockdown in 2020) on an uninhabited island off the Cornish coast in the United Kingdom, the experimental horror film follows a wildlife volunteer (Mary Woodvine) who observes the life cycle of a rare indigenous flower. While going through her daily routine of observation, she discovers that the island itself has a dark history, as it slowly and nightmarishly starts taking over her body and her sanity.

Let’s just be straight about it: Enys Men (which is Cornish for Stone Island) is not a conventional horror film. It’s a movie that’s more about atmosphere than bone-crushing and bloody thrills. It’s more of a meditation on routine with hints of historical horror that feels like Jeanne Dielman, 23 Commerce Quay, 1080 Brussels (however, Jenkin’s camera is more dynamic than Akerman’s) meets Picnic at Hanging Rock (Jenkin is more straightforward than Weir). If those movies appeal to you, then you might get something more out of Enys Men. However, if you’re not a fan of slow artsy-fartsy movies, then look elsewhere. No harm. No foul. Make no mistake about it, while Enys Men might be mesmerizing and hypnotic, it’s also very challenging.

Jenkin tells this simple, yet engaging, story with very little dialogue. In fact, there’s maybe 25 lines of dialogue throughout the film’s 91-minute running time. Instead, Jenkin opts to tell the story through his camera with well-framed and considered cinematography, colorful costumes and eye-popping production design, and expert editing. In this way, Enys Men is a purely cinematic story.

Throughout the film, Enys Men has you guessing on what’s really going on in the story—is it reality or is it a dream (or nightmare). While the pace and tone are methodical, the movie doesn’t feel slow itself, but rather it builds and builds and builds to a bizarre, yet satisfying, climax that is sharp and terrifying.

Enys Men isn’t for everyone. However, if you’re willing to meet the movie where it is, then you can come away with a lot of pure craft and artistry with odd imagery that will make a lasting impression on you. Mark Jenkin—as the film’s writer, director, cinematographer, editor, and film composer—does a fantastic job delivering something that’s entirely original and smart that has something to say about what we all just went through without being explicitly a global pandemic. This movie rocks!

The Disappearance Of Mrs. Wu – The BRWC Review. By Rudie Obias.

The older we get, the harder it is to take chances—especially if you’ve built a comfortable and secure life for yourself and family. However, when you get older and you have all the time in the world to reflect on your past, you’re willing to take more chances before your number is up. In the movie, The Disappearance of Mrs. Wu, three generations of women learn how to live life and take risks—thanks to love, guidance, family, friends, and tasty dumplings.

Written by Donald Martin, Anna Chi, and Ella Lee and directed by Anna Chi, The Disappearance of Mrs. Wu follows Lily Wu (Lisa Lu), an elderly Chinese woman who isn’t happy with her daughter Mary (Michelle Krusiec) for putting her in a Los Angeles retirement home. It’s her 88th birthday and she wants nothing more than to look through old family photo albums instead of celebrating with her friends and family.

With the help of her best friend Charlotte (Joely Fisher), as well as her granddaughter Emma (Rochelle Ying) and her best friend Karen (Tiffany Wu), Lily plans “Operation Songbird,” an late night escape to go on a road trip to the city Carmel-by-the-Sea to visit the beach she lived on when she first immigrated to the United States many decades ago. Very unhappy and nervous when she discovers the secret road trip, Mary feverishly makes the nearly six-hour drive to find her mother—as Lily, Mary, and Emma try to reconnect after years of bitterness and resentment.

Let’s be clear, The Disappearance of Mrs. Wu is a rough watch. It’s clichéd, drawn out, and cringey with a dense and somewhat convoluted story that feels heavy-handed and stale at times—even at a 98-minute running time. It’s a tough hang. However, at its core, there’s a lot of heart though.

There’s a level of pathos and an emotional punch that Lisa Lu and Michelle Krusiec give this movie. While the material is underwritten, Lu (The Joy Luck Club, The Last Emperor) and Krusiec (The Joy Luck Club, Saving Face) are completely underrated actors who shine. They really do give it enough weight throughout the film to give it some life.

At one point, the character Mary says, “I’m not uptight. I’m Chinese.” This line speaks volumes to the film’s themes and nervous anxiety. It’s a balancing act between Asia’s stoic culture, while it comes in stark contrast to American culture of loud openness. The Disappearance of Mrs. Wu tackles these warring identities, while its character assimilates into their lives in Los Angeles—albeit in a clumsy and mishandled way.

Joyland: Review. By Rudie Obias.

Searching for your true identity is a lifelong journey that depends on openness, introspection, and honesty. And while it’s tough to find who you really are, denying yourself could lead to bigger problems down the road—especially for the loved ones in your life. Pakistani film Joyland examines sexual identity and gender fluidity in a very traditional patriarchal Muslim family in the city of Lahore.

Written and directed by Saim Sadiq, in his debut feature film, Joyland follows Haider (Ali Junejo), the youngest son of the middle-class Rana Family. Although he’s an adult and married to his wife Mumtaz (Rasti Farooq), who dreams of air conditioning, the pair live with his elderly wheelchair-bound father (Salmaan Peerzada)—who serves as the patriarch. His older brother Saleem (Sohail Sameer) and his wife Nucchi (Sarwat Gilani) also live in the home with their four daughters. 

Haider is playful, yet meek, and a somewhat boy-ish man, who struggles to find a job to contribute to the family. He finds a job as a background dancer for Madame Biba’s (Alina Khan), a transgender woman and performer, burlesque-style show, but tells his family that he’s a theater manager instead because he doesn’t want to bring shame to the family. However, throughout rehearsals, Haider and Biba become closer and closer, as Haider starts to struggle to fit in with Pakistani society, his duties as a husband, and a place within his family—all while trying to put together a dazzling stage show for an eager audience.

Joyland is a wonderful film that’s wild, passionate, and bittersweet. Although it’s his first film, Sadiq has such a command of the characters, story, and camerawork—which is often well-framed, artful, and considered. From scene to scene, the story unfolds in a very engaging manner, while he puts a lens on traditional family roles and how harmful masculinity can hamper a person’s life and identity—especially when it comes to queerness.

In some ways, Joyland is a very risqué film that’s meant to push you to question norms, while also humanizing people who are on the outskirts of society. It has moments that feel inspired by French director Claire Denis’ 1999 film Beau Travail, a film about repressed queerness and deconstructing masculinity among soldiers in the French Foreign Legion stationed in Djibouti. Both Joyland and Beau Travail subverts convention, while both are allegorical films about desire. Also, both films feature a bit of razzmatazz and panache with moments of joy through dance.

As a whole, Joyland is a lyrical and reflective film that’s intimate and tender mixed with nuance and poignancy. There’s a line in the film that perfectly sums up its themes and motivations. The character Haider says to Biba, “Sometimes I feel like I have nothing of my own. Everything feels borrowed or stolen from someone else.” It seems almost radical for cinema from Pakistan, a deeply Islamic and conservative country, but then again, the notions of love and empathy are truly universal.