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!

  • The Campaign Of Miner Bo: Review

    The Campaign Of Miner Bo: Review

    The Campaign of Miner Bo

    Esme Betamax | @betamaxer

    In May of 2016, Copley was invited to join a roundtable discussion with Hillary Clinton, who was campaigning in West Virginia before the state’s presidential primary. Copley, his voice breaking, showed Clinton a picture of his three children and challenged her assertion that she was a friend to coal miners. Copley’s raw emotion broke through the usual campaign chatter, and throughout the campaign, he was a regular on cable news.

    Copley tried to take advantage of his surprise political celebrity by running for the Republican nomination for U.S. Senate in 2018.  But without money, experience, or a traditional campaign infrastructure, he quickly discovered that being a politician is harder than it looks.

    Between the breakneck pace of the news cycle and the magnitude of recent events, The Campaign of Miner Bo could easily be dismissed as old news. But in pursuing this story Director Todd Drezner has struck on something that illustrates what has happened in the US political system, somewhat demystifying it for non-US audiences.

    And the system is baffling: Democracy distorted. A self-proclaimed David to the incumbent Goliath, his confidence takes a pummeling when he doesn’t make a dent. Perhaps the most galling thing for Bo is realising that he is less popular than Don Blankenship. A shifty character, responsible for the deaths of 29 coal miners, fresh out of prison. Bo has to consider, is fame more important than integrity? That’s a bitter pill to swallow.

    Bo Copley has unwavering faith in historical figures—Jesus and the Founding Fathers . He talks about Jesus in that casual manner that suggests they just bumped into each other at the store. Though it will always give me pause when anyone claims “God told me to do it”, he’s no megalomaniac. (But is that just a question of money?) 

    At first appalled at Clinton’s coal mining stance, he becomes receptive to her once he discovers the full story. He begins to understand the extent to which media framing creates a new narrative by removing context. Political division is apparent in every conversation he has. But he is uncomfortable responding to the vitriol people have when Hillary Clinton is mentioned: Nervously laughing along with their threats of violence, like the new boy at school.

    Bo is conservative to the bone, so Clinton would never go so far as to convert him. But the Republican Party he belongs in is not Trump’s either. He’s likeable. An affectionate family man. A bad singer. He is reluctant to emulate career politicians—all that schmoozing and marketing. He wants to succeed as a person, not a brand. This documentary does not explain Trump’s success, but it goes some way to revealing the failures of the Democrats: Ordinary people, especially those in rural areas, feel abandoned.

    West Virginia is one example of an all-or-nothing economy that exists in America. Coal production is everything there, but like Motor City Detroit before it, ordinary people suffer when businesses go bust. They are victims of capitalism, convinced that capitalism will save them.

    The Campaign of Miner Bo is a critique of contemporary news media, which invents the news more often than reporting it. He mistakes a short burst of celebrity for something more, yet his passion makes him easy to root for. But ultimately he’s a poor man playing a rich man’s game.

  • Relic: Another Review

    Relic: Another Review

    A cursory glance at Relic’s reception shows a split between critics and audiences, with the former praising its ‘expertly crafted atmosphere of dread’ and the latter bemoaning how ‘slow’ and ‘dull’ it is. The audience has got it right this time, for Relic is indeed a trite, laboured debut.

    Co-written and directed by Natalie Erika James, the film tells a story of family crisis in which three generations of women – Edna (Robyn Nevin), the grandmother; Kay (Emily Mortimer), her daughter; and Sam (Bella Heathcote), her granddaughter – struggle with the elder’s psychological decline. Like many films before it, Relic uses horror as a metaphor for illness, yet this ghoulishly indirect treatment of dementia is far less scary than the realism of Still Alice, for example.

    The film begins as a missing person’s case, with Edna nowhere to be found in or out of her rural, white cladded house. It is an evocative location that’s attractively shot by Charlie Sarroff, whose camerawork is graded with a cool, dark tone that gives the film an overcast aura. Indeed, you can almost smell the petrichor as Kay, Sam and townspeople scour the forest for Edna. These opening moments, perhaps 20 minutes long, are Relic’s best.

    When Edna reappears, the film’s modicum of interest plateaus and then slowly declines toward the credits, at which point you’re willing for it to end. The so-called ‘atmosphere of dread’ consists of a lot of wide-eyed, trepidatious slinking, mostly in hallways but also in broom cupboards, and it’s usually caused by mysterious banging noises. It’s all part of a derivative haunted house formula: weird noises, tortured violin strings, moss on the wall – repeat. The only prop Relic gets here is that it doesn’t indulge in cattle prod jump scares.

    As Edna’s behaviour becomes stranger, we question whether it is because of her ostensible dementia or some kind of supernatural element. The aforementioned moss, which manifests on people as well as walls, suggests it may be the latter. However, when the family has this little chemistry, who cares? Kay is too po-faced to have a relationship with anyone; all we get from her is a vague suggestion that she’s shared a difficult relationship with her mother There’s some friendship between Edna and Sam, often at the expense of Kay, but nothing approaching a developed, interesting relationship. This is a reflection not of the performances – which are fine – but the script, which is more interested in plodding attempts at ambience than dialogue between its few characters.

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RUBx3hukKJ0

    In the climax, this frosty character work gives way to flat metaphor, with labyrinthine corridors representing the confusion of dementia and a fetal, mummified corpse symbolising the infantilisation of old age. It’s presented in a final-form monster climax like that of The Fly, only without all of the drama, heart and horror. Ultimately, Relic has taken the A24-style horror to a point of lifeless inertia, when perhaps it should have considered the transgression of The Exorcist, the detail of Rosemary’s Baby and even the punch of Paranormal Activity.


  • The Painter And The Thief: The BRWC LFF Review

    The Painter And The Thief: The BRWC LFF Review

    Norwegian filmmaker Benjamin Ree’s new documentary is a small story with a big heart, which follows artist Barbora Kysilkova as she forms a fascinating friendship with Karl-Bertil Nordland, one of the thieves who stole her paintings. 

    Barbora first acts in her own self-interest, keen to understand why Karl-Bertil did what he did and understandably desperate to recover her artwork. It soon becomes apparent that Karl-Bertil has serious drug issues and genuinely doesn’t remember what he did with the paintings, but the pair discover a surprise connection and continue to meet. A strong and loyal friendship is soon formed, as Barbora tries to help Karl-Bertil rediscover himself and get over his addiction.

    Ree is a man who knows how to tell a story; the continuity in The Painter and the Thief is expertly crafted, following a riveting structure with genuine surprises and conflicts, as we get to know Barbora and Karl-Bertil both together and independently of one another. 

    They are both very likeable people; Barbora, in her selfless approach to a man who so wronged her, and Karl-Bertil, a survivor of a difficult upbringing who seems to have lost sight of himself. His reaction to Barbora’s first painting of him is devastating to watch, and one of the most memorable cinematic moments of this year. He’s not used to being treated this way, and it’s in that moment that he realises it’s exactly what he needs. 

    While Barbora’s influence over him is at the forefront of the picture, the effect he has on her is far more subtle and doesn’t necessarily become clear until the final act. They are both kind but flawed individuals who meet each other at a crucial stage in their lives and offer the support that they need. It’s almost poetic, and by the final scene of the film (a happy accident that brings the story full circle in a special way), both are vastly different people, having grown in ways that they couldn’t have without their friend. 

    The Painter and the Thief is a classic ‘life is stranger than fiction’ tale about the unlikeliest of bonds formed between two polar opposites; one that leads to genuine healing and personal growth. It’s a meaningful tale of the power of human kindness, and a study of what we might discover if we open ourselves up to others in the same way. It’s exactly the kind of warm, hopeful film that 2020 needs. 

  • Mogul Mowgli: The BRWC LFF Review

    Mogul Mowgli: The BRWC LFF Review

    Bassam Tariq’s new film (his first since 2013 documentary These Birds Walk) is clearly a passion project for both its director and its star, Riz Ahmed, who also co-wrote and produced it himself. Having first premiered at the Berlinale back in February, Mogul Mowgli (which gets its title from a track by Swet Shop Boys, Ahmed’s own hip hop group), tells the story of British-Pakistani rapper Zed, who suddenly comes down with an autoimmune disease just as he’s about to get his big break, with young RPG waiting in the wings to fill his spot on an upcoming tour. 

    Of course, this isn’t what the film is really about. In truth, this is a story of a young man reconnecting with his family and rediscovering his roots. Having spent some time in America, Zed is constantly accused by his loved ones of having westernised himself, at one point even referred to as a ‘coconut’. They believe Zed to have forgotten where he comes from, or worse still, to be ashamed of it. This belief is only worsened when Zed undergoes dangerous treatment, which his father strongly disapproves of. 

    Mogul Mowgli would be nowhere near as successful were it not for Riz Ahmed, who lives and breathes every second of it. Already a vastly underappreciated actor, he’s arguably never been this committed to a role in his career. It’s clearly so personal to him; an exploration of his own culture and community, and it almost feels like he’s letting go of a weight on his shoulders. Perhaps the role he was born to play, Ahmed has never been better. (Sudha Bhuchar and Alyy Khan also deserve a special mention for their outstanding work as Zed’s parents). 

    It’s in the film’s hallucinogenic sequences that it begins to lose itself a little. While interesting at first (harkening back to the 1947 partition of India), they’re just a little overplayed. All too often, Tariq crosses the line into experimental cinema, and it just doesn’t mesh enough with the raw, authentic tone of the rest of the film. Perhaps it’s intentional, but it all seems a little confused and self-important. 

    For the most part, Mogul Mowgli is shot with real vigour. Erratic in nature, it’s cleverly presented in academy ratio, masterfully visualising the metaphorical walls closing in on Zed’s life. It’s claustrophobic and uncomfortable, as is undoubtedly intended, yet full of energy and sincerity. 

    The film isn’t consistent enough and it does begin to fade away in the third act, but it’s also mindful, driven, multi-layered and unashamedly personal, with Ahmed continuing to prove himself as one of Britain’s most exciting acting talents. 

  • Herself: LFF Review

    Herself: LFF Review

    Herself: LFF Review. By Jack Hawkins.

    After Mamma Mia!, The Iron Lady, and then Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again, director Phyllida Lloyd has said that she ‘doesn’t want to make another blockbuster!’ To realise this, she has directed her first piece of social realism, joining peers such as Andrea Arnold (Fish Tank), Clio Barnard (The Selfish Giant) and Sarah Gavron (Rocks). Frankly, emotional manipulation causes Herself to fall short of those titles, but it certainly isn’t without merit.

    The story concerns Sandra (Clare Dunne), an Irish mother of two girls who vows to build her own home after leaving her abusive partner Gary (Ian Lloyd Anderson). The script wastes no time in establishing this, opening with a short and nasty scene of domestic violence in which Gary knocks her to the ground and stomps on her hand, causing nerve damage. Weeks later, we see Sandra and her girls Emma (Ruby O’Hara) and Molly (Molly McCann) – both great performers –living in a hotel room.

    The following 20 minutes are sure to make you feel terrible. Sandra has no friends and no family beyond the girls; she counts only Jo (Cathy Belton), a women’s charity worker, as a support system. A freelance cleaner, most of Sandra’s interactions are with employers who show her casual disrespect. Indeed, almost everyone treats with Sandra with an unlikely degree of impatience and contempt. It is the first sign that Herself is contriving to evoke maximum sympathy from the audience, to jerk tears and wrench hearts. Yet the strength of Dunne’s performance – and the general grounding of Sandra’s desperate situation – is enough keep you interested.

    After viewing a particularly rancid flat offered for a laughable €1000pcm, Sandra’s outlook is bleak. It seems her life will consist of a hotel room, a slavish job and the shadow of her loathsome husband. However, the narrative changes course when she reads of houses that can be built for €35,000. Having no Internet connection of her own, Sandra conducts secret research on the laptop of employer, Peggy (Harriet Walker), a cantankerous doctor recovering from a hip injury. Such skulduggery will surely see her out the door, but when Peggy discovers Sandra’s trail of search terms, she is revealed to be more benevolent than battle-axe, offering Sandra a patch of land and a generous repayment scheme to build her home.

    Again, the film’s emotional intent is obvious during all of this but it’s hard to resist Sandra’s good fortune, especially when the performances are this strong.  The film is visceral when it needs to be, too, depicting Sandra’s posttraumatic stress with a thumping, disorientating heartbeat as she struggles to collect herself. Don’t expect easy answers or perfect resolutions, either, because you won’t get them, especially in one shock moment. But then, alas, is the schmaltz and outright naffness, especially a building montage set to the tune of David Guetta’s ‘Titanium’, which reminds one of being stuck in a minicab or queuing at a McDonald’s restaurant.

    Some will be more receptive to Herself’s engineered emotion than others, but Phyllida Lloyd must be happy either way, because with both small names and a small budget, she has clearly succeeded in not making another blockbuster. Unfortunately, though, cheese and contrivance will prevent an otherwise very watchable drama from joining the new women-led oeuvre of social realism.

    3/5 (positive)