film reviews, interviews, features | BRWC

Category: REVIEWS

Here is where you would find our film reviews on BRWC.  We look at on trailers, shorts, indies and mainstream.  We love movies!

  • Cup Of Cheer: Review

    Cup Of Cheer: Review

    Cup of Cheer is a film from the Naked Gun school of comedy, with gags coming thick and fast. There’s a strong serving of American Pie, too, with a bucket of smut emptied onto the script.

    Leading us through this ironic chaos is Mary (Storm Steenson), a gentle parody of the typical New York millennial who lives in a ‘cute industrial loft’ that turns out to be a 6ft cage. A magazine journalist, Mary returns to her parochial hometown in search of a Christmas story when she runs into goofy cafe owner Chris (Alexander Oliver), who introduces himself by spilling a vat of hot chocolate down her.

    What ensues is a screwball-inflected romance, displaying the leads’ ceaseless energy that’s supported by equally zany turns from Liam Marshall, who plays Chris’s brother Keith, and Jacob Hogan, inexplicably assuming the role of ‘Authuh’, a time-traveling British army officer.

    Like the material that inspired it, Cup of Cheer’s purpose is to inundate with silliness. Naturally, it hits and it misses, with a theatrical energy that will irritate some and entertain others. Then there’s its good-humoured ridicule of Christmas schmaltz, which is better described as playful rather than outright cynical.

    It may lack the twinkle in the eye of Leslie Nielson or the grizzled misanthropy of Bad Santa, but Cup of Cheer may well find an audience with its knowingly twee and absurd shenanigans.

  • The Story Of Film: Book Review

    The Story Of Film: Book Review

    Filmmaker Mark Cousins, following his 2019 odyssey Women Make Film, has returned to his 2004 book The Story of Film for a 2020 update. Using innovation as his core theme, the author performs a kind of cultural cartography, mapping cinema’s tributaries back to the source.

    Film history spans over a century, so in order to fit it all in, the material must be finely honed. He gets his point across in very few words, and rarely idles on his whistle stop tour. So it’s almost comical when he fires off an abundance of examples — sometimes 11 in one sentence. But that just adds to the entertainment factor.

    For someone who is reluctant to be called a writer, he has written quite a few books: Scene by Scene (2002); The Story of Film (2004); Widescreen: Watching Real People Elsewhere (2008); The Story of Looking (2017). But as a director he is far more prolific. His video essays can be measured in days, with the best part of one day (900 minutes/15 hours) based on this book: The Story of Film: An Odyssey

    You wouldn’t need to be a film expert to recall the big success stories in cinema: The award winning titles and the (invariably male) influential directors — the ones that end up with an -ian or an -esque after their names. But the pivotal moments in film, the true innovations, are not necessarily ones you could mention off the top of your head. That’s the object of Cousins’ book.

    He gives away the plot of many films, but not to ruinous effect. In fact the way he describes so many of the films makes me want to put down the book and watch them right away. With this infectious passion for cinema, he comes across as a true enthusiast, without the trappings of toxic fandom that are so ubiquitous today. Though if (like me) you have managed so far to avoid watching Un Chien Andalou, maybe skip page 112.

    ‘This skeletal outline describes the elemental nature of Sunrise but does not capture its poetic force’ (p. 103)

    This quote is an admission of the spoilery nature of such a book, but it also exemplifies his interest in the art of the medium. In fact his initial inspiration was E.H. Gombrich’s The Story of Art. More than a timeline of technological advances, Cousins delves into the innovations that filmmakers have made in terms of artistic, musical, psychological, and communicative aspects or, for example, in circumventing the strict rules set by totalitarian regimes. He explores the fact that Cinema has real world political implications .

    Film is not created in a vacuum. Politics, literature, social movements, culture, technology and more apply pressure, which is released in a burst of inspiration (the jump cut; the Pan-Cinor lens), or an entire movement (New Wave).

    The author speaks with authority, but doesn’t pretend to offer an unbiased view. His politics are visible (trans rights: good, nationalism: bad), and as though Cousins feels that this wasn’t clear enough in 2004,  he makes it explicit in the new chapter Streaming: (2004-Now) “[A] cinema without borders approach is quietly radical.” (p.492)

    Knowing this, it therefore comes as a surprise that he has retained the word ‘prostitute’ (a word that appears no less than 16 times), rather than replacing it with ‘sex worker’. One of the benefits of issuing new editions is the opportunity to update language to fit the present day. If it’s stopping me in my tracks right now for some psychic fnr.exe action, then it’s likely it won’t age well. 

    Overall, the book is a delight, and one that I will return to for its sheer breadth of information. Cousins emphasises that this book is not definitive, and readily points to other authors for further study. He also respects you as a reader, which is not always the case in books about film. 

    “Film is one of the most accessible artforms so even its most obscure productions can be understood by an intelligent non-specialist, which I assume you are” (p.7)

    The Story of Film is thorough and illuminating. The evolution of film seen from Cousins’ vantage point looks tidal. The high tides of innovation occur at different times around the world, but are endlessly cyclical.

    The Story of Film (2020) is published by Pavilion Books

  • Songbird: Review

    Songbird: Review

    COVID-19’s unimaginable ramifications continue to infest our society, with news in the US and UK getting considerably worse by the day. A rising number of unemployment cases, deaths, and evictions damage our population with heartbreaking results. Considering these circumstances, the Michael Bay-produced COVID thriller Songbird comes at a rather complicated time. Instead of making a vital statement, writer/director Adam Mason vaguely utilizes our dire straights as a cheap pastiche for his lazily-conceived thriller.

    Set in 2024, Songbird follows an alternate future where COVID ravages the world at large (unless you are one of the lucky immune cases, most people are forced to spend their days inside). The film centers on an ensemble of people trying to navigate circumstances. There’s a hopeless romantic (K.J. Apa) working to set his girlfriend (Sofia Carlson) free, a rich family operating an illegal side hustle (Demi Moore and Bradley Whitford), a talented singer (Alexandria Daddario) who connects with a disenfranchised veteran (Paul Walter Hauser), and a corrupt government official who operates with a reckless abandon (Peter Stormare).

    For a narrative that introduces several subplots, Mason’s script does little to engage. The ensemble approach works when it’s constructed with thought and care, as thrillers like Contagion utilized their wide-spanning narrative to reflect on various perspectives. Songbird blatant disconnect from reality offers nothing to say about our world’s current condtions.

    Mason implements B-movie trappings into his web of narrative threads, dizzily dancing between subplots without developing much in the process. The characters register as hollow stereotypes due to the inconsistent plotting, leaving the capable cast of actors largely out to dry (Craig Robinson is the only highlight as a communications boss). It doesn’t help that the script packs a multitude of bewildering screw-ups, often breaking the world’s internal logic with humorous results (the virus is apparently airborne, but characters constantly have their windows open).

    Does Songbird at least work as a campy thriller? Not really. Mason may be working under the tutelage of Michael Bay, but his effort lacks the bombastic visual verve of Bay’s work. You can critique Bay all you (Transformers 2 through 5 range from bad to flat out terrible), but the controversial director creates vibrant sequences out of the dopiest of cliches. Mason’s visual identity implements some of Bay’s shaky movements, though it’s present without the director’s wildman framing and creativity. The noticeable budgetary restrictions don’t help Mason’s case either, restricting the world-building from developing past dystopian contrivances.

    Without much to say, Songbird’s existence feels rather repugnant. I can’t blame the cast for grabbing a paycheck during challenging times, yet Bay and company should know better than this. Similar to his mawkish historical epic Pearl Harbor, Songbird cheaply connects itself to our COVID-infested reality, lazily selling itself through cheap pop culture verbiage (a news reporter thanklessly says “talk about social distancing!”). The exploitation of a year-long of suffering is simply impossible to enjoy.

    Aided by its hilariously poor timing, Songbird ranks as one of the year’s most joyless experiences. I implore audiences to steer away from this film, as its empty attempts to monetize on COVID are distasteful, to say the least.

  • My Day: Review

    My Day: Review

    My Day: Review.  By Trent Neely 

    This film follows Ally (Hannah Laresa Smith) a teenage runaway trying to survive on the streets of London. We follow her as she seeks shelter along with other young people making a living through various means including prostitution and selling drugs. Ally makes cash as a drug mule for dealers Carol (Sallyann Fellowes), her son Kevin (Karl Jackson) and her boyfriend Gary (Daniel O’Meara), who in turn work for brutal drug supplier Illyas (Gediminas Adomaitis). One day, Ally volunteers to deliver drugs to a customer not usually on her route, Chris (Jonas Cemm).

    The day starts out as normal, Ally talks with Frank (Mike Kinsey), a kind old man before delivering drugs to her usual customer across the street from Frank’s residence. Things take a turn however when Chris drugs and sexually assaults Ally. She is able to escape but is forced to leave the money for the drugs and the supply of drugs behind. Fearing blame and punishment from Illyas, Carol and Gary send him after Ally. The rest of the film follows Ally as she attempts to escape punishment from Illyas, who seeks retribution for his lost payment and product.

    At the heart of this film lies a meditation on survival and what the pursuit of survival can do to a person. In the beginning, Ally is shown to be weary of the constant hustle required to survive on the street, but still seems to at least partially enjoy the freedom and autonomy it offers. But, once the realities of the dangers of the criminal underworld and those that inhabit become clear to her, when she considers how far she would have to go to continue to survive in this world, and when she comes to the realization that those she thought of as friends are willing put their own sake before hers, Ally truly begins to experience fear and sadness over where life has taken her.

    As a result, her need for survival becomes less focused on getting by one day at a time, but instead on a much larger change and centered on getting out of this way of life alive. Smith portrays this arc brilliantly, playing Ally at first with a sense of confidence in her ability to get by. As the film progresses and Ally’s circumstances become more serious however, Smith plays a more withdrawn Ally, one who has grown tired of being forced to get by on her own.  Someone who begins to feel truly isolated when people she trusted begin to abandon her or use her for their own gain.

    This theme of survival extends  beyond the character of Ally. When we first meet Carol and Gary, they are shown to have an affinity for Ally. However, once their relationship with Illyas, and by extension their own survival and safety in this world becomes threatened, they show little hesitation in offering her to him as a means of reconciliation. This is not to say that they do not care for Ally. There is one scene where Carol tries to comfort Ally after she is attacked.

    The subtle yet emotionally charged delivery and expression of Fellowes allows the audience to infer that Carol hearself has endured hardship as a result of her surviving in this criminal landscape. It is this survival instinct that causes her and Gary to put Ally in harm’s way, not callousness. For his part, Kevin is one of the few characters who from the outset is portrayed as wanting to leave this life behind.

    This is difficult for him however due to his mother’s influence and Illya’s power over those in his employ. Speaking of Illya, in his character we get the ultimate embodiment of a character who does what is needed to survive. Illya’s willingness to use others, threaten punishment and even death is what allows him to survive and keep his position as a top authority in this underworld.

    Director Ibrahim Miiro and writer Shirley Day do a great job crafting a story that showcases real, flawed characters operating in a world that feels harsh and lived in with escalating stakes and tension. This is in no small part due to great cinematography by Martyna Knitter and George Burt, whose handheld and cool-colored cinematography grants the audience easy access into the headspace of characters constantly on the move, under stress, and fighting  a variety of enemies.

    However, the expansive nature of the world and the ensemble cast leads to a slight loss in cohesion of the narrative. While the film is undoubtedly Ally’s story, she becomes somewhat sidelined for a stretch of the film near the halfway mark. While Ally is still the driving force of the narrative, the shift in character focus may be slightly disorienting for some viewers.

    This film serves as a great offering for viewers looking for a grounded, gritty thriller, featuring layered characters and complex themes focused on the choices people make in harsh conditions.    

  • Safety: The BRWC Review

    Safety: The BRWC Review

    While they tend to follow a tried and true formula, I’ve been feeling the notable absence of good sports movies lately. When done right, the genre can exemplify the innate appeals of both platforms, often showcasing the ways sports represent humanity in its rawest form. Disney+ is now taking a swing at inspiring audiences with Safety, a true story about one athlete’s persistent courage amidst challenging circumstances. This football drama is admittedly good-natured, yet rarely delves beneath the surface of its fascinating subject matter.

    Safety follows the empowering story of former Clemson University football safety Ray McElrathbey (Jay Reeves). Aided by his teammates and the Clemson community, he succeeds on the field while simultaneously raising and caring for his 11-year-old brother Fahmarr (Thaddeus J. Mixson) when his mom leaves for rehab. 

    Ray’s story resonates deeply not because of his triumphs on the football field, rather his enduring persistence to preserve his family under dire circumstances. When Safety touches upon the humanity behind Ray’s sacrifices, there are winning crowd-pleaser moments for audiences to embrace (the third act has some soaringly affectionate frames).

    Stars Jay Reeves and Thaddeus Mixson help make the real-life personas feel lived-in onscreen, with Reeves portraying the character’s emotional whirlwind with a layer of thoughtful confliction. Director Reginald Hudlin also deserves credit for operating effectively in the sports movie formula. His explosively kinetic football scenes convey the sport’s hard-hitting nature, while his patient handling of dramatic frames prevents any cloying manipulation.

    Safety reaches competent marks across the board, but it’s Disney-fied presentation limits the dramatic impact. Nick Santora’s screenplay utilizes a bevy of familiar sports movie cliches to haphazardly push the narrative forward (there’s an endless array of rah-rah speeches and stereotypically-defined teammates). These contrived elements bring an unwelcomed layer of artificiality to Ray’s story, often overwhelming the material’s impactful nucleus.

    By packaging this story into a family-friendly tale, Safety also sanitizes the real steaks behind Ray’s journey. The ample hardships the character faces are often treated with a bizarrely-integrated zaniness. Instead of seeing how the two pulled off their lifestyle, Santora’s script trivializes their struggle by turning to hokey comedic scenarios (the scenes where Ray attempts to hide Fahmarr feel better suited for a slapstick comedy). Along with the simplification of Rey/Fahmarr’s challenging upbringing and their mom’s struggles with addiction, Safety isn’t well-equipped to tackle the material’s real-world elements.

    There’s a great movie to be made about Ray McElrathbey’s story, but Safety’s timid delivery falls short of its subject’s impressive stature.