If you weren’t already excited at the prospect of the great Steve McQueen directing five new films as part of an anthology series this year (Small Axe, coming to the BBC in November), the masterful Mangrove would’ve changed all that when it opened the London Film Festival recently. Now, as this year’s event draws to a sad close, audiences have been lucky enough to view another excellent installment in the series, but the experience of watching Lovers Rock couldn’t be more different.
Set in West London in the early 1980s and clocking in at a mere 68 minutes, Lovers Rock takes place over the course of one Saturday night, as dozens of young people from the local West Indian community show up for the house party of the year, filled with delicious food, booze and loud, soulful reggae music. What follows is perhaps the most authentic and unapologetic look at such a night in all of cinema, from the romantic pursuits of its guests and the alcohol-driven euphoria that erupts at the sound of a great song, right to the irresponsible use of narcotics and the drunken arguments with friends and family. Its razor-focused, ingenious in its simplicity.
Newcomer Amarah-Jae St Aubyn shines as Martha, who climbs from her bedroom window under the nose of her deeply devout mother to meet her friend Patty for a fun night out. They are hassled by various men before Martha meets Reggie (Francis Lovehall) and forms a surprise connection, in spite of her many reservations and much to the annoyance of Patty. Aside from the poor behaviour of Bammy (Daniel Francis-Swaby) towards the women at the party that quickly gets out of hand, and a row Martha has with her cousin, Lovers Rock is mostly a magical and positive experience, and is easily McQueen’s most upbeat film yet.
Audiences familiar with his work will watch Lovers Rock awaiting drama but, unlike Mangrove, or indeed any of his other films, it never really happens. The racial tensions in the area are clearly implied, most notably by a group of white men who hassle Martha on the street, but it never becomes the focal point of the story as one might expect. They’re there simply to remind us of why this party is happening in the first place; the guests don’t exactly feel welcome in the local clubs and have had to create their own safe space to party. But McQueen is far more interested in the fun his characters are having than the goings-on outside.
This is a film with very few characters and little story, more of an observational piece than a traditional narrative, high on atmosphere and spirit. McQueen, well-known for his signature long, motionless takes, moves the camera more than ever before, almost as an extra uninvited guest to the party and reflecting its hectic nature as the night continues. The engrossing reaction to the Janet Kay song Silly Games (making up almost ten minutes of screen-time, including almost five straight minutes of non-stop, passionate singing) is not only the finest moment of the picture, but one of the highlights of McQueen’s already illustrious career. He’s never had so much fun.
As the sun shines on Sunday morning, Reggie returns to work for his short-tempered boss and Martha makes it back just in time to attend church with her mother; a subtle reminder of the world these people must return to, having escaped from it the night before.
Lovers Rock is more concerned with mood than it is narrative, focused on capturing the magic of a moment that would normally make up only a handful of scenes. It perfectly captures the escapist magic of music, the essence of a house party and, more importantly, the comfort this one provides for its guests. Steve McQueen’s Small Axe series is becoming something very special indeed. This is sublime.
Let’s Watch The Paranormal Activity Franchise: Part 4
Every Halloween, I always make sure to watch specific horror films: ‘Saw’, ‘Trick ‘r’ Treat’, ‘Jeepers Creepers’ and ‘Tusk’ are all watched every year to the point where I probably know the script by heart. However, I wanted to do something different this year, and step out of my comfort zone a bit.
One of the horror subgenres that I dislike the most are Possession films. Films like ‘Devil’s Due’, ‘Amityville Horror’ and ‘The Last Exorcism’ never seem to hold my interest, and even a classic like ‘The Exorcist’ took me a few days to finish because I kept losing interest. So, I want to give myself a challenge: at the end of each week this month, starting today, I will be watching all of the ‘Paranormal Activity’ films, with the last four acting as a double upload on the last two weeks of October.
‘Paranormal Activity 4’ was released in 2011 and takes place in the same year. After a mysterious woman and her adopted son move opposite Alex, strange things start to happen in her family’s household after they look after the son for a few days.
After feeling extremely underwhelmed by Part 2 and 3, this entry was well needed. This continues the story left off from Part 2 and shows us what happened to Hunter and Katie. Hunter was adopted in the new family that the film focuses on, and renamed Wyatt, while Katie lives opposite them and has a son called Robbie. Part 4 even starts with the ending to the second film, a detail which seemed a little strange. However, if someone was watching this separately, and not back-to-back like I am, then this prologue makes sense. At the same time, the issue would’ve been resolved by completely erasing Part 3 altogether like previously mentioned in my last review.
This film was also a welcome addition: the acting and characters were a lot more charming and likable. Alex (played by Kathryn Newton – Detective Pikachu) and her family seem like a typical family who are unfortunate enough to get involved in the supernatural encounters that the franchise brings. Newton carries the film comfortably too and has a good relationship with her adopted brother Wyatt, which is how the exposition is given to its audience. The dialogue and exposition never felt forced; the conversations felt natural, even if the subject matter of those conversations would delve into the unnatural. The child actors are also fantastic. This was not mentioned in the previous review because, while the acting was fine, it was ultimately forgettable. However, in this case, the spotlight shines on Brady Allen, who plays Robbie. Robbie is the definition of the creepy child cliché in horror films, and Allen’s performance is fantastic as the quiet adopted son of Katie Featherston. The only issue is that Robbie seems to act as a red herring; the audience are led to believe that Robbie is Hunter, the child who was kidnapped in the second film. However, this is proven false as it is revealed that Wyatt is actually Hunter.
The story structure is slightly different than the previous entries; the security camera-style sequences don’t start until 30-40 minutes into the film, meaning that the first act is essentially introductions to the characters, a mystery subplot revolving around Robbie and his friend Toby (yes, the demon is still called Toby), and why strange things have started to occur in Alex’s house the second her family take care of Robbie. This is also the first film in which we’re following a family that has no relation to Katie Featherston which was a momentary breath of fresh air. However, the scares were problematic, with only two in particular standing out. The film uses volume increases and fake jump scares to scare its audience, which becomes frustrating very quickly. An example of this is when Alex is outside and it’s quiet then, when she turns round, someone’s right in front of her and speaks loudly to her. It’s a cheap tactic that I didn’t expect to see in the franchise, and it was tiresome to see. While the previous film didn’t have many jump scares, they were effective when they did occur and they gave the audience something interesting to look at, as well as being shocking or scary at the same time.
However, the scenes that stood out is when Wyatt is cycling round the kitchen and a chair suddenly moves in front of him, blocking his pathway. He then changes direction, moving out of camera view, and the sound of another chair moving is heard. This is simple but extremely effective, since no other sound appears, making the scene tense. It also lets the audience’ imagination run wild as they try to fill in the gaps, visually, of what Wyatt’s reaction or next move could be. Another scene that was effective was when Alex, Wyatt and Alex’s friend Ben use the Xbox Kinect and link it up to the camera’s night vision to create tracking dots in the shot. This stood out, not because of any scares, but because this is the best, but also most blatant, use of product placement I’ve ever seen. The best use of product placement is when it’s blended into its environment seamlessly due to it being part of the story.
Overall, ‘Paranormal Activity 4’ is a welcome improvement after the two previous disappointing entries. The new set of characters are, for the most part, charming and likable as well as being a welcome relief, even if it’s short-lived. However, while the film is tense, and the plot progression is interesting, the fake jump scare tactics that are used are frustrating and annoying, which is a shame.
Apologies that the quote section of this article did not appear for Part 2 and 3; I didn’t have much to say, or I felt that anything I did say wasn’t anything worth mentioning here. However, here are two notable quotes that I did want to place a spotlight on:
-At the 49:40 mark: (Wyatt says ‘he looks like his mum’ after meeting Katie, Robbie’s mum): ‘oooh no, Don’t like that! They’re both demons!’
-At the 1:18:30 mark: (Ben pulls the laptop lid down and Katie is behind him): ‘OH NO! LOOK BEHIND YOU!’
Francis Lee, who first impressed audiences with his 2017 Bafta-nominated debut God’s Own Country, never quite creates the same magic with his sophomore feature Ammonite, a well-produced yet flawed romance starring Kate Winslet and Saoirse Ronan.
It’s the 1840s, and famed palaeontologist Mary Anning (Winslet) spends her time walking the beaches of Lyme Regis in search of fossils that she can clean up and sell to wealthy tourists, one of whom (Sir Roderick Murchison, played by James McArdle) pays her to keep his wife Charlotte (Ronan) company for a few weeks while he’s away. Charlotte’s suffering from poor mental health, silenced by her oppressive husband and traumatised by a recent incident, the specifics of which are left for the viewer to interpret.
Mary is a subdued woman, angry at the world and living with her irritable mother Molly (Gemma Jones), and at first she finds Charlotte’s company to be nothing short of a nuisance, but soon they find a connection through their shared loneliness, baring all to one another and finding solace in their emotional presence.
It’s certainly unfair that Ammonite is already being compared to Céline Sciamma’sPortrait of a Lady on Fire(released earlier this year), but perhaps only natural, given the similarities the two share, both being beach-set romances between two women. Sadly for Ammonite, it never seems to rise from the shadow of Sciamma’s deeply affecting masterpiece, but the presence of a similar yet superior film is far from the only reason Lee’s new work never really takes flight.
Winslet and Ronan are, unsurprisingly, on top form, both hitting the heights of their already illustrious careers and conveying raw emotion with the subtlest of touches, but their blossoming romance, while compassionately developed, never hits the right emotional notes.
Stéphane Fontaine shoots the film with real passion, the sound design is superbly complimentary and Dustin O’Halloran and Volker Bertelmann’s score is used astutely, but these elements seem to serve to inflate the emotional core, rather than compliment it. At its bare bones, the film’s themes are approached a little too simplistically, with the inclusion of some fairly clunky dialogue, including the on-the-nose line ‘women are supposed to care for their sisters’ and Mary likening herself to a ‘bird in a cage.’ It feels like Lee telling us how we should feel, rather than earning it through strength of character, and it all just comes across a little too obvious, right down to the almost cartoon-ish portrayal of Roderick.
When it comes down to It, Mary and Charlotte’s relationship has no heat or any sense of passion. Of course, the film is more focused on the comfort that these two lonely people find together than it is their romance per se, but we’re left with performances so repressed that it masks any chemistry shared between the performers and feels as cold as the beach weather of Dorset. For a story so focused on the connection found between these two women, the material feels a little restrictive. Even the closing moments (an ambiguous ending that leaves Mary’s decision open to interpretation) feel a tad too implausible and, above all, not in keeping with the raw nature of the rest of the film.
Given the talent involved and the heartfelt character of Lee’s previous film, it’s somewhat disappointing that Ammonite seems so misjudged. His intentions are commendable and clear, but his execution seems to take any soul out of the picture.
While the film doesn’t necessarily succeed as a romance, it works far better as a character study of Mary Anning, a lonely, under-appreciated and repressed person who finds hope from an unexpected source and struggles with the risk of opening up to her. Kate Winslet’s performance is so wonderfully engrossing that these scenes are far stronger than much of the film, and one can’t help but wonder how special it might’ve been had it been more focused on her.
Much of Ammonite works very well indeed. The performances are exceptional, not just from Winslet and Ronan, but also from Fiona Shaw, who sells its emotional core better than most in just a couple of stand-out scenes. The film is expertly-crafted as a whole; talented professionals at work creating some truly beautiful cinema, but these elements aren’t able to elevate the film beyond its limited material.
The simple truth is that the heart of Ammonite is off-balance and doesn’t really work; a competent film, yes, but an emotionally dissonant one. It’s hard to fully engage with the material in any meaningful way, and it never strikes quite the chord that God’s Own Countrydid so effortlessly before.
Overall, it’s a film that’ll impress a lot of people, many of whom might say something along the lines of ‘well, that was very well-made’, but they probably won’t be moved. It’s trying far too hard.
Festival season is upon us, which means hours spent glued to computer screens due to the current COVID conditions. While the situation does put a damper on the typical festival spirit, it does allow critics like me the chance to sift through a wide array of content fairly easily. With that being said, here are my thoughts on some of the notable festival darlings grabbing audience’s interest, including films from NYFF (New York Film Festival), AFI (American Film Institute), Nightstream, Hampton, and Middleburg respectively.
MINARI: THE HEARTLAND FILM FESTIVAL
Synopsis: It’s the 1980s, and David, a seven-year-old Korean American boy, is faced with new surroundings and a different way of life when his father, Jacob, moves their family from the West Coast to rural Arkansas.
Drawn from writer/director Lee Isaac Chung’s personal experiences, Minari thrives as one of the rare comings of age tales to weave in a deeply-intimate, yet universally profound narrative about a family staying afloat while chasing the American Dream. It’s also one of the rare awards fare movies that are able to convey their central conceits with a humanistic eye, shying away from the theatrical grandiosity that plagues several dramas of this nature.
For Chung, this is an impressive breakout effort. He skillfully paints around the crevices, favoring finite moments of familial connection over major plot beats. The film’s low-key nature is part of its charm, allowing audiences to breathe with the characters and their personal journey. Chung and Director of Photography Lachlan Milne find visually-inspired ways to capture the story, while Chung’s screenplay rarely misses a beat from an authenticity standpoint. He balances the character’s plights with comforting warmth and humor, controlling the tonal balance with a deft sensibility (this is quietly one of the year’s funniest movies).
The performance work across the board is also exceptional, with Steven Yeun and Yuh-Jung Youn delivering two Oscar-worthy performances (Yeun conveys the character’s personal and paternal struggles while Youn is a joy as David’s eccentric grandma). Aside from a somewhat rushed and chaotic third act, there’s little to nitpick about Minari, which will likely be a film discussed throughout the 2021 awards season.
ONE NIGHT IN MIAMI: MIDDLEBURG FILM FESTIVAL
Synopsis: A fictional account of one incredible night where icons Muhammad Ali, Malcolm X, Sam Cooke, and Jim Brown gathered discussing their roles in the civil rights movement and cultural upheaval of the 60s.
Few festival films live up to their outsized hype, yet Regina King’s directorial debut One Night in Miami accomplishes that rare feat. Using its fictionalized set-up to meditate on black celebrities’ roles as agents of representation and progress, this is a rare film that ably speaks volumes about the past and our contemporary world.
Miami boasts one of the year’s strongest ensemble casts. Aldis Hodge (Jim Brown), Eli Goree (Muhammad Ali), and Leslie Odom Jr. (Sam Cooke) continue their impressive career ascensions, but its relative newcomer Kingsley Ben-Adir who leaves the strongest impression as the impassioned Malcolm X. Each actor is able to imbue their historic personas with nuance and agency, creating lived-in portraits that come to life in ways few biopics can match. Kemp Powers screenplay pops with lively dialogue exchanges and intelligent ruminations, eschewing the “Oscar bait” trappings that often hinder films of this caliber.
Some will critique King’s lack of visceral craft, though the actresses turned director accomplishes an impressive achievement with her first outing. Ruminating on its central conciets with soul and intelligence, One Night in Miami makes a powerful and exceedingly relevant statement.
THE FRENCH EXIT: NEW YORK FILM FESTIVAL
Synopsis: An aging Manhattan socialite living on what’s barely left of her inheritance moves to a small apartment in Paris with her son and cat.
French Exit operates as a distinctly mannered comedy unafraid to embrace a quirky sensibility. Few films can pull off having a cat (played by Tracy Letts) voice the dead spirit of a deceased love one with a straight face, but that’s just one of the many charming asides that Azazel Jacobs new film brings to the table. I wasn’t a huge fan of Jacobs’ last film The Lovers, which asked interesting questions about monogamy before bailing on its conceits in the third act. Here, Jacobs works vehemently to elicit an acerbic tonality that takes risks with its seemingly conventional set-up. Akin to the deadpan delivery of Wes Anderson films, Jacobs imbues a certain sincerity to the material that sells the bizarre gags, including a supporting cast of colorful characters who elevate their one-note roles.
While the film’s detached sensibility won’t sell everyone, its strong central performance will certainly turn heads. This was a role tailor-made for Michelle Pfeiffer’s bitting ability, bringing Frances’ sharp persona to life with wit and proper dimension. Lucas Hedges also offers one of his best performances as Frances’ neurotic son, ably working to define the character outside of his conditioned mannerisms. There’s a lingering sense of melancholy that pairs nicely with the comedic sensibility, as the film occasionally explores the intimacy, or lack thereof, of the mother-son duo (ruminations on the wealth’s ambivalent detachment to the world around them also register, as Frances makes a spirited effort to upend this with large monetary donations to random strangers).
That being said, French Exit lacks the refined visual identity and impactful emotional core to truly elevate its material. I can see some film fans clamoring to label this as a Wes Anderson rip-off (early world out of NYFF has been mixed), but that would be an unfair distinction to Jacobs’ work. While it may not register as the “awards film” people predicted it to be, Jacobs’ film unearths a humorous odyssey from the character’s separation with wealth and the baggage it brings.
CONCRETE COWBOY: MIDDLEBURG FILM FESTIVAL
Synopsis: A teenager discovers the world of urban horseback riding when he moves in with his estranged father in North Philadelphia.
I was enamored with what Concrete Cowboy attempts to uncover onscreen. Along with highlighting underserved real-world communities, writer/director Ricky Staub’s film critiques the numerous ways black frontier culture has been whitewashed in American history. At its peak, Staub’s effort personifies its own voice within the western ascetic while aptly representing thoughtful societal dynamics through his stylistic verve.
This innate promise makes Concrete Cowboy’s inconsistent delivery frustrating to endure. As an adaptation of Greg Neri’s novel, the narrative doesn’t translate well on screen, adapting a melody of cliches while never defining a consistent structure (the third act feels rushed and thinly-conceived). It’s a letdown to see a vital concept consistently marred by antiquated plot mechanics, including a distant father/son dynamic that lacks authenticity. Caleb McLaughlin and Idris Elba are a compelling onscreen pair, yet their charismatic performances feel underserved at every turn.
There are elements to appreciate throughout Staub’s film, but Concrete Cowboy ultimately lands as a missed opportunity.
SHADOW IN THE CLOUD: AFI FILM FESTIVAL
Synopsis: A female WWII pilot traveling with top-secret documents on a B-17 Flying Fortress encounters an evil presence on board the flight.
Winner of the TIFF Midnight Madness award, Shadow in the Cloud boasts the scrappy allures of a guilty pleasure B-movie. Director Roseanne Liang invents a few high-flying setpieces despite strict resources, including a third act that depicts its aerial dogfights with slick camera work. She pushes her 83-minute film with her frenetic pace, using her boilerplate set-up to convey an air of tension and intrigue.
Liang’s efforts are admirable, yet her film struggles to find its footing when the action isn’t onscreen. Liang’s script strives to critique the overt chauvinism of the era, an admirable intention that lacks proper nuance. The characters and dialogue are steeped in hokey 40’s cliches that severely undercut any dramatic aspirations. It’s a bummer, especially since Chloe Grace Moretz’s lead performance carries the film with a chipper and commanding energy.
Shadow in the Cloud has the shameless joys of a satisfying low-rent diversion. The issues arise when viewing the film as anything greater than that limited context.
MANDIBLES: THE NIGHTSTREAM FILM FESTIVAL
Synopsis: Two simple-minded friends discover a giant fly in the trunk of a car and decide to domesticate it to earn money with it.
Quentin Dupieux continues to push forward his surrealist comedic sensibility, with films like Rubber, Wrong Cops, and Deerskin showcasing a craftsman operating with an idiosyncratic voice onscreen. His latest Mandibles continues to push his unique vision forward, although it’s not quite as refined as some of his previous endeavors.
That’s not to say Mandibles is without its charming allures. Dupiex’s oddball sincerity is always admirable, knowingly handling bizarre gags with a straight-face delivery that sells the ridiculousness. His latest film brings a Dumb and Dumber approach to The Fly, following two abscent-minded friends (Gregoire Ludig and David Marsais) who continuously find unintelligible answers to their problems. The two central performances convey the idiocy with a certain charisma and conviction, often drawing laughs as the film sets up its premise.
Mandibles eventually overstays its welcome though, employing a plethora of gags that feel more grating than gratifying (Blue is the Warmest Color star Adele Exarchopoulos plays a character who shrieks all of her dialogue). Dupiex’s films go as far as their concept can take them, but I felt Mandibles ran out of steam even before its 77-minute runtime concluded. Still, his latest is sure to incite passionate support from some of his loyal followers.
BLACK BEAR: NIGHTSTREAM
Synopsis: A filmmaker at a creative impasse seeks solace from her tumultuous past at a rural retreat, only to find that the woods summon her inner demons in intense and surprising ways.
Few films this year have kept me on my toes like Lawrence Michael Levine’s latest Black Bear. Audiences who go in with a blind notion about the project will discover a film that continually evolves itself, ultimately creating a compelling character-driven piece that meditates on its own genre’s existence.
Without giving much away (I recommend avoiding the trailers if possible), Levine splits his narrative into two central halves, though he meshes these conjoined realities through the character’s insecurities and baggage. The second half is where the film finds its true voice, delving into the manner in which filmmakers and actors evoke their own damaged realities into their work. Aubrey Plaza and Christopher Abbott’s performances are stunning, with Plaza conveying an emotional whirlwind that is hard to look away from. It’s a joy to see her find new wrinkles in her persona, while Abbott continues to prove himself as one of the industry’s unheralded gems (he captures the neurotic focus of a director with wit and a deranged dedication).
Black Bear is a true must-see, boldly deconstructing its indie sensibility through an inventive narrative framework. It descends into emotionally raw and cerebral territory with impressive ease, possessing the ability to become a future cult staple.
Synopsis: A woman returns from combat and befriends a family in NYC. A gang of thieves plot to take the family’s valuables, and she is all that stands between them and their lives.
Ruby Rose has operated as a capable action star, yet her latest starring vehicle The Doorman does little to boost her profile. Contently swimming in a pool of genre contrivances, this straight-forward actioner rarely reanimates its antiquated roots.
It’s frustrating to see considering Rose and director Ryuhei Kitamura’s talents. The Midnight Meat Train director displays some stylistic verve with his framing, although his ingenuity is often hindered by the apparent budgetary restrictions. The narrative takes a promising Die Hard-esque approach that’s never spiced with fresh ingredients. Rose’s protagonist Ali isn’t much better, straddling the actress with a stoic, thinly-drawn hero that fails to engage.
Adequately passing the time but rarely engaging, The Doorman greets audiences with an oppressive sense of familiarity.
I also covered a few films from this year’s Toronto International Film Festival if you want to read full reviews of Nomadland and Another Round.
It’s been almost twenty years since Ken Fero’s highly controversial documentary Injustice was released (a film that was banned from television and effectively banished Fero from the mainstream), but he’s now returned with another, equally shocking and revealing film that picks up right where he left off. With Ultraviolence, Fero gives us yet more evidence of prisoners who died under ridiculous circumstances while in police custody.
Fero, who narrates much of the film himself with the help of Cathy Tysoe, frames the film as a letter to his son; a document to be looked back on, of a time that he hopes will one day pass. He tells various stories of such incidents one-by-one, referring to them as ‘memories’, accompanied with CCTV footage and interviews with family members. It’s a bleak and uncomfortable watch, as it should be.
Ultraviolence opens with the ‘memory’ of Christopher Adler, who was left to die on the floor of a police station entrance while several officers belittled and mocked his condition, claiming he was ‘faking it’. The footage is harrowing, to say the very least, and it’s the start of things to come, as we’re soon shown film of Paul Coker lying almost naked in his prison cell as he dies, while officers on the other side of the door joke about it together. Coker isn’t seen by a doctor until almost thirty minutes after he dies.
Allowing the footage to play out like this is a simple but very clever technique, letting the truth speak for itself without the need for cinematic extravagance. Fero isn’t making any allegations here because he simply doesn’t need to; the truth is right there. His film is a cry for justice; nothing more, nothing less, and he goes on to look at several other cases, including his old classmate Brian Douglas, who died from a fractured skull, and Jean Charles De Menezes, who was shot seven times in the head while trying to catch a tube, each story as shocking as the last.
Fero only strays from his bare knuckles approach during fleeting moments of animation, which he uses to illustrate how these men came to be in custody in the first place. It’s masterfully done, although the basic style of the rest of the picture does become a problem. It’s an understandable approach, but it doesn’t necessarily always work, often coming across quite jarring and confusing the tone he’s going for.
While Ultraviolence is a work brimming with anger, the heart of the stories comes from the familial interviews, which are compassionately observed by Fero. The victim’s families are articulate, intelligent, and every bit as frustrated as you’d expect. Their determination is admirable, as we follow them through meetings, campaigns and on various marches. The film would’ve been a far stranger experience had it not been for their inclusion; the interviews serve to brilliantly humanise the people we sadly watch dying before our very eyes.
Fero often comes across as something of a pessimist. He notes that outrage has only ever been temporary, cleverly comparing it to the footage of Vietnamese children suffering from the effects of Napalm in the seventies. Sure, people were angry at the time, but it never stopped the use of phosphorus gas in Iraq years later. They knew it was wrong, but they did it anyway, the outrage soon forgotten. Fero posits that the same has long been true of police brutality such as this.
But he’s truthfully something of an optimist, dreaming of a revolution and confident in future generations. He believes he’s doing the right thing to get through to people, noting that ‘endless brutality requires endless resistance’, and while this is mostly a brutal work that is unashamedly confrontational, he really believes things can change.
Ultraviolence is another startling exposé of police brutality that’ll stick with any kind-hearted individual watching, but it’s not just a record of the incidents themselves. Rather, it’s a story about the ongoing fight for justice, and the importance of holding guilty people to account. There are clear issues with its style, which all too often distracts from the content at hand and completely messes with the tone, but for the most part the stories themselves are enough to get the message across. Fero’s approach is sincere and personal, and while his film may be one of the most painful you’ll ever sit through, it’s one that simply must be watched.
