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Auteur directors leave their distinct stamp on every endeavor they’re attached to, injecting their stylistic flavor in a movie that becomes synonymous with their unique perspective. While the term is largely attributed to acclaimed craftsman, some auteurs are singular for their negative qualities. That’s where Olivier Megaton comes in, a Luc Besson prodigy who left his incoherent shaky-cam mark on the disappointing Taken sequels. After a five-year reprieve, Megaton is back with The Last Days of American Crime, a shockingly tone-deaf and bloated experience that ranks among the year’s worst projects. 

Set in a near-future dystopia where crime is about to be eradicated by a government signal, The Last Days of American Crime follows Graham Bricke (Edgar Ramirez), a jaded criminal looking for revenge for his deceased brother. He soon teams up with the reckless Kevin Cash (Michael Pitt) and his elusive girlfriend Shelby (Anna Brewster) to commit one last heist before time runs out. The film is an adaptation of a graphic novel written by Rick Remender and Greg Tocchini.

Inside its utterly-baffling 148-minute run time, Last Days of American Crime offers very little to endorse, with the sole highlight being Michael Pitt’s performance as Kevin. The underrated actor taps into manic energy as the smarmy cocksure crook while keeping audiences captivated with each bizarre personality quirk he imbues into the role. Under his abrasive façade, Pitt portrays an emotionally deranged emptiness that makes the character a menacing wildcard, elevating a role that would be cartoonish in the wrong hands 

While Pitt throws his all into the role, his contemporaries seemingly sleepwalk through their poorly-written roles. Edgar Ramirez’s talents are wasted as generic action hero Graham Bricke, solemnly uttering his machismo dialogue without expressing any range of dynamic qualities. Anna Brewster is straddled with one of the most thankless female roles in recent memory, portraying a femme fatale that lacks any real dimension or humanity. It’s also quite bizarre seeing District 9 star Sharlto Copley briefly appear as an over-eager police officer, lacking an opportunity to render a complex character with what’s on the page. 

The craftsmanship in The Last Days of American Crime reeks of clichés and ranges on borderline incompetence. Action screenwriter Karl Gajdusek offers the bare minimum with his by-the-books effort, establishing the most simplistic of motivations despite the high-concept premise. Olivier Megaton’s herky-jerky camerawork is more of a hindrance than an enhancement, showing an inability to create steady imagery in a desperate attempt to create a sense of style. His action setpieces are largely a bore, with an overuse of edits and lack of creativity preventing any sense of excitement. 

There’s being bad, and then there’s being downright tone-deaf. Considering our society’s current unrest over racial injustices, the careless handling of the narrative’s social implications ends up being in poor taste. A critical eye could have used the film’s constant portrayals of police brutality as an indictment of America’s overly-militant state, but these moments are used as window dressing to create its senselessly machismo action landscape. 

Equal parts dated and tasteless, The Last Days of American Crime fails desperately at its attempts to become a stylized genre hallmark. 

Disclosure. Not the 1994 erotic thriller starring Michael Douglas and Demi Moore. Nor the 2020 documentary on Hollywood’s depiction of Transgender people. This Disclosure, directed by Michael Bentham, is a drama set in an affluent suburb somewhere in Australia. 

Danny and Emily Bowman (Mark Leonard Winter and Matilda Ridgway) are journalists trying to figure out the next steps following a sexual assault on their four year old daughter. Politician Joel Chalmers (Tom Wren) and his wife Bek (Geraldine Hakewill) are the parents of the boy involved, and would like nothing more than to sweep this whole thing under the carpet. As the couples are long standing friends, a friendly chat might be all it would take to make this whole thing go away. For, you see, Joel is a good politician. His career could be in jeopardy if this got out etc etc, you see where this is going.

Disclosure shows how quickly this delicate situation can become encumbered by the baggage and agendas of the surrounding adults. They work quickly to discredit the accounts given by the children, then throw in blame and blackmail when that doesn’t work. The film uses Bek’s historic rape to explore the concept of victim blaming, and the way society can convince sexual assault victims that somehow they asked for it or could have prevented it.

The tagline “There are two sides to every story, and then there is the truth” refers to the two couples, building their own narratives to rationalise what has happened, erasing the voice of the child as they wrestle to have the upper hand. Disclosure utilises the relationship between politicians and journalists to illustrate a fluctuating power-dynamic. In doing so, it also illustrates the complexity of the relationship between government and the press.

Bentham takes a pressing matter (child-on-child violence; #metoo) and tries to illustrate it earnestly. However, Disclosure plays like a soap opera storyline and leans heavily on  slow-motion as a way to create gravitas. It adds nothing for the most part, except perhaps the flower smashing segment, which echoes a scene from that 2011 Polanski dreck Carnage. Disclosure has many parallels with Carnage, though the trailer is more than enough to see this, so don’t bother with the whole of Carnage—it’s a bore. Essentially, both films see the parents take something that has happened between their children, and make it all about themselves.

For similar themes and more complex storylines see Rewind (2019) and The Slap (2015).

With high-concept science fiction narratives seldom getting the spotlight in mainstream cinema, some directors have focused on re-living the genre’s glory days by harkening back to past eras. Films like Super 8, as well as the hit TV series Stranger Things, embraced an 80’s aesthetic in their telling of Spielbergian sci-fi-horror tales. The latest to join the sci-fi nostalgia lineage is The Vast of Night, which cleverly utilizes its 1950’s setting to tell an earnest and engaging radio serial brought to the screen. 

The Vast of Night follows Fay (Sierra McCormick), an eager aspiring radio operator working alongside her wise-talking host Everett (Jake Horowitz). While the town is preoccupied with the school basketball game, the two uncover an idiosyncratic radio signal that could lead to something far more sinister. 

Operating with a shoestring budget and a relatively unheralded cast, the success of Vast of Night’s unique approach is attributed to writer/director Andrew Patterson’s stellar debut (also served as editor and producer). Patterson displays rare patience in his shooting techniques, utilizing smoothly-constructed tracking shots seamlessly while creating a taut sense of momentum. This approach fits the slow-burn tale to a tee, dulling out nuggets of information throughout while keeping audiences on their toes. 

Many films have utilized a nostalgic approach to wear an era’s zeitgeist qualities as a cheap pastiche, but Patterson’s screenplay cleverly weaves 50’s culture into its presentation. As well as capturing the zippy vernacular of the time, Patterson plays off the era’s mixed emotions of the impending future, wistfully embracing the potential of technological advancements while holding a deeply-seated paranoia for what could be out there. 

These conceits are baked into every frame of the film, playfully capturing a sense of discovery and danger with impressive results. Credit to stars Sierra McCormick and Jake Horowitz for balancing this tonal high-wire act, with their easy-going chemistry and sharp banter creating an instantly likable duo on screen. McCormick adeptly captures Fay’s longing for a grander life, while Horowitz elevates the wisecracking archetype with a clever embodiment of that persona. 

There’s so much to admire about The Vast of Night, yet its slight missteps constraint the effort from reaching genre classic territory. Patterson’s script features familiar debut faults, including a framing device that goes nowhere despite its intriguing introduction. While I appreciate the slight approach to its singularly macabre vision, the third act ultimately feels rushed and unsatisfying, with the destination being far less absorbing than the journey that proceeded it. 

The Vast of Night is a unique low-budget surprise, with Andrew Patterson’s inspired 50s serial approach displaying his bright future in the film industry.