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CFF 2025: ABIGAIL BEFORE BEATRICE is an Impressive and Empathetic Exploration of the ‘True Believer’
One of the things I love about covering indie fests is the ‘not knowing’. Walking into a film and having zero expectations, from the director, the stars, the IP — only a few sentences to go on, which is what landed me in Abigail Before Beatrice at the Chattanooga Film Festival.
The sophomore effort by Cassie Keet promised:
“An isolated woman is confronted by her past when a fellow former cult member reaches out with news that their leader has been released from prison early. What happens when your search for love and acceptance leads you to a toxic relationship? How do you move on when you can’t let go?”
As a fan of anything cult, be it doc, Netflix series or film, I was in the bag easy for this. But this film is so much more than its synopsis, because it sidesteps the more exploitive sordid trajectory you’d expect, to tell a story that is more moving and human than I thought possible from this sub-genre.
As the film begins Cassie is careful to build this world around our protagonist Beatrice. We know she lives alone, in a small apartment in the middle of nowhere of Arkansas, and struggles working the home telemarketer grind. We then start to dig into her character after she is caught stealing strawberries from a local farm and is befriended by the father and daughter now living there. It’s here we get to know Beatrice, as she struggles in her attempt to let go of her mysterious past, that we can see still has a very firm grip on her. The way it’s dealt out in dribs and drabs allows us as an audience to really drink in the performance by lead – Olivia Taylor Dudley, who is giving us something much more empathetic and relatable than I expected in this role.
The reason for this we soon discover is the cult angle, but also her romantic entanglements with not only the handsome enigmatic leader Grayson, but sister wife Abigail – flawlessly executed by Riley Dandy. The dynamic of this relationship as the heart of this film is something that comes out of nowhere, and really gives Beatrice’s journey an unexpected weight. In flashbacks we witness Abigail and Beatrice’s first meeting, and how they paired off on the farm, cooking together and tending to the garden. They also had a physical relationship that grows from this intimacy, which feels free of their cult leader’s stain. When Abigail tracks Beatrice down after being interviewed on a podcast – to let her know Grayson is out of jail, this all comes flooding back to Beatrice.
The film explores cults and our society’s fascination with them, but also actually manages to touch on some very human themes, I think most are probably afraid to. Like digging into, without looking down on the psyche of someone who actually found their place, and managed to find happiness in the day to day of cult life. It’s how masterfully Cassie executes that first act, that is all about the characters outside of the cult, which makes that second act when we’re on the inside of the cult looking out, not only work, but allow us to really feel like we can empathize and understand these characters and their eventual behavior in the third act. This is thanks to not only the script that uses the cult aspect as a metaphor for toxic relationships, but the performances here by our two female leads that bring the material to life.
Abigail Before Beatrice is a moving and empathetic exploration of the ‘true believer’, that because of how it treats its perfectly crafted protagonist, is easily one of the most nuanced and captivating portrayals we’ve seen of cult life on film. It’s a nearly impossible task but writer-director Cassie Keet manages to do this without dealing out any sympathy for Beatrice and Abigail’s captor, instead showing how dangerous loneliness and its exploitation can be to certain people. Abigail Before Beatrice is the reason I come to film festivals, to have my expectations completely obliterated by a film that I had no idea even existed before I decided to hit play and now can’t shut up about. Its extremely rare, but when it happens you can’t help but want to share it with others who might be looking for something off the beaten path and definitely worth seeking out.
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Criterion Review: KILLER OF SHEEP [4K-UHD]
![Criterion Review: KILLER OF SHEEP [4K-UHD]](https://i0.wp.com/cinapse.co/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/Ev1Wc2QXnr2g6ECuZB2dFjsYKxrXZ3RzSfEc2wXP.jpg?resize=1140%2C857&ssl=1)
Charles Burnett’s landmark yet little-available exploration of Black lives in 1970s Los Angeles is finally seen as intended
Stills courtesy of The Criterion Collection. Killer of Sheep’s production largely reflects the hardscrabble, determined lives of its central characters: Charles Burnett shot his student thesis film on a shoestring budget of $10,000 from 1972 to 1973, yet it wasn’t completed and released until 1977 on the festival circuit. Despite its instant acclaim, the struggle to properly license the film’s famed soundtrack compilation of iconic Black artists — and a rapidly deteriorating original negative — meant that Killer of Sheep existed in a cultural limbo for decades. Despite its scarcity, the film was one of the first to be inducted into the Library of Congress’s National Film Registry and was later named by multiple critics’ groups as one of the most essential films of all time. Milestone Films resurrected Burnett’s debut film in a long-awaited restoration in 2007–but it wasn’t until this new release by the Criterion Collection that Killer of Sheep can finally be seen as originally intended.
Killer of Sheep mainly unfolds as a scattershot series of poetic and insightful vignettes of life in the streets of the Watts neighborhood of Los Angeles, home to many African-American families who fled the South in search of potential prosperity in America’s post-WWII industrialization boom. For all intents and purposes, our lead is Stan (Henry Gayle Sanders), who works long hours at a nearby slaughterhouse to provide for his family, though he’s tempted to supplement his meager income via various schemes his neighbors and friends solicit Stan’s help with. Stan, however, is adamant that he and his family will survive–denying the creeping realities of their poverty however he can. Stan also denies the impact that his bloody job has on his overall well-being, often returning home in a fugue state that leaves him little room for emotional connections or growth with his neglected, nameless wife (Kaycee Moore) and family.
When I first reviewed Killer of Sheep for my Catching Up with the Classics series, one of my primary takeaways was that the film was “aimless and exhausting,” frustrated with the little connective tissue or sense of progress between the film’s segments. In revisiting the film roughly seven years later, I feel like I didn’t try hard enough to reckon with Burnett’s film on its own level, despite recognizing how the film deliberately and sensitively depicted the lives of its characters caught in an insurmountable machine of institutionalized poverty and capitalism. Each of the film’s sequences have a remarkable tenderness to them, refusing to frame the struggles of Stan and others as tragedy meant to be consumed by a more privileged audience. The lack of structure seems to deliberately play against such expectations of cause-and-effect beliefs on poverty and economic immobility — that in a world where such lives are often exploited for status-quo-stabilizing narratives, Charles Burnett gives his characters the freedom to exist on their own terms.
There’s still sharp insight found in how this time is spent, one of the few resources these characters have at their disposal. The re-purposing of neighborhood ruins, devastated in the infamous riots of months before, as an impromptu playground is analyzed by critic Danielle Amir Jackson in her accompanying essay as a reflection of how the adults’ hard-won, near mindless lives take root early on in childhood. “It is play tinged with the aroma of guerrilla warfare, a preparation for rebellion,” she writes. “Or for the daily battles of living in a community that is isolated, under-resourced, and under siege.” Yet while I’d originally viewed these sequences as the origins of the shambolic malaise that Stan (among many) suffer from in their never-ending quest to provide for their families, what was far more visible in this viewing was the sense of fearless joy still at their core. It was a sense of earnest living in spite of circumstance or tragedy, rejecting the instinct to weigh down or discount such joy or ambition with a sense of Sisyphean inevitability. While that may be a reality of life in this film, particularly during Stan’s slaughterhouse sequences, the adults’ moments of happiness or connection, as much as these playground ruins reveal, underscore that finding what there is to live for is just as important a reality to showcase and consider.
The restoration of the film’s final song, a track of Dinah Washington’s cover of “Unforgettable,” helps to crystallize this further. Removing the echoing reprisal of “This Bitter Earth,” previously played during a failed moment of emotional intimacy between a zombie-like Stan and his wife, there’s a sense of tentative hope to these still-bloody closing moments. There’s celebrations of joy and renewal–like a pregnant neighbor–that fuel Stan’s smiling return to the slaughterhouse, suggesting that even though this brutal, repetitive struggle is crucial to his existence, Stan may just yet be able to break the self-destructive impact his work has on him. The existence of this release at all is enough to fill one with such vital hope–that even after decades of circumstantial silence and neglect, the tenacity of Burnett and his creatives is now finally restored in the way Killer of Sheep was always meant to be seen–with story and soundtrack intact, in stunning A/V quality, and with a reverential package of Special Features.
Video/Audio
Criterion presents “Killer of Sheep” in its original 1.33:1 aspect ratio on both 2160p 4K UHD and 1080p discs. The transfer is sourced from a 4K restoration of a 16mm fine-grain master positive created from the original camera negative, accompanied by a new audio restoration and mix. This new restoration is a collaboration between the UCLA Film & Television Archive, Milestone Films, and the Criterion Collection. Of note, this version newly reinstates Charles Burnett’s original choice for the film’s closing soundtrack, Dinah Washington’s recording of “Unforgettable.” SDH subtitles are available for the feature, as well as Burnett’s short films.
Even in its original DVD release back in 2007, Killer of Sheep’s layered black-and-white cinematography won over audiences finally able to see the film after years of unavailability. Now fully restored in 4K UHD, Criterion showcases the film’s broad palette and playfulness with light and shadow. Scenes can be harshly lit and dread-inducing, such as Stan’s dance with his wife or a daughter playing with dolls in a closet, full with overexposed chaotic joy or intense heat during sequences of children playing at deserted train tracks, or a beautiful mix of the two extremes such as sheep being led from outside pens into the darkness of the slaughterhouse to come.
While the imagery can range from sharp to fuzzy in focus, these imperfections have more to do with the original quality of the available elements than any weaknesses inherent in this diligent, impactful restoration. The film’s Audio, presented here in a Monaural track, likewise varies across the film. However, the much-discussed soundtrack of the film, featuring tracks by Dinah Washington, Paul Robeson, and Earth, Wind & Fire, is prominently featured alongside the central dialogue, bringing a distinct, nuanced quality.
Special Features
- Audio Commentary featuring Charles Burnett and film scholar Richard Peña, ported over from Milestone’s 2007 DVD release of the film.
- Charles Burnett on Killer of Sheep: The writer-director of Killer of Sheep sits down for a new interview discussing his initial studies at UCLA, his involvement with the Black Rebellion contingent of student filmmakers, his mission to use Killer of Sheep as a way to counteract more widespread Hollywood narratives about Black life, and the film’s years-long unavailability due to music rights issues.
- Henry Gayle Sanders on Killer of Sheep: In a newly filmed interview, the lead actor of Killer of Sheep discusses how he came to Los Angeles as an author before pursuing his acting career, his relationship with Burnett, shooting anecdotes like the filming of the famous engine block carrying scene, and his later film appearances such as in Ava DuVernay’s Selma.
- Barry Jenkins on Killer of Sheep: The acclaimed director of Moonlight, If Beale Street Could Talk, and The Underground Railroad reflects on his relationship with Burnett’s film from his days as a beginning film student (wryly asking variations of, “How do you measure up to Killer of Sheep as a student thesis film?”) through later cinematic revisits as a filmmaker in his own right. He particularly praises how Burnett captures the dignity and rich inner lives of his subjects, adopting Burnett’s approaches in his own explorations of Black life across history.
- Charles Burnett Short Films: Criterion presents restorations of two surviving Burnett UCLA student films, Several Friends (1969)and The Horse (1973), the latter of which is preceded by an optional introduction by Burnett.
- LA Rebellion Oral History Project: A newly-produced documentary featuring a 2010 interview between Burnett and Jacqueline Stewart, in which they discuss the “LA Rebellion” collection of Black UCLA filmmaking students that Burnett was a part of, the challenges of Killer of Sheep’s production, and the movement’s goal of spotlighting authentic Black narratives with the resources at their disposal.
- A Walk with Charles Burnett: A 2019 56-minute documentary previously featured on Criterion’s release of Burnett’s To Sleep with Anger, featuring Burnett as he tours locations used in that film and Killer of Sheep alongside documentarian Robert Townsend. In between locations, Burnett reflects on his filmmaking career and his childhood growing up in the neighborhoods he’d later preserve in his films.
- Cast Reunion: An archival cast reunion from 2007 brings together Sanders, Charles Bracy, Kaycee Moore, and Nate Hardman at a Santa Monica coffee shop ahead of a restoration premiere at Los Angeles’ NuArt cinema.
- Trailer for Killer of Sheep’s 2025 restoration.
- Essay: Critic Danielle Amir Jackson examines Killer of Sheep through the lens of the overarching history of the Watts neighborhood in what would become greater Los Angeles, how Burnett’s childhood there informed the development of both Killer of Sheep and his career as a filmmaker, and the winding journey for Killer of Sheep to be seen as its director originally intended.
Killer of Sheep is now available on 4K UHD + Blu-ray and Blu-ray courtesy of The Criterion Collection.
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Two Cents Continues Our PRIDE Riot with Some Glam and Pompenstance
This week, we explore Velvet Goldmine, a fictionalized version of the 70s glam scene that was made popular by artists like Bowie, Iggy, Reed, Slade, and Gary Glitter
Two Cents is a Cinapse original column akin to a book club for films. The Cinapse team curates the series and contribute their “two cents” using a maximum of 200-400 words. Guest contributors and comments are encouraged, as are suggestions for future picks. Join us as we share our two cents on films we love, films we are curious about, and films we believe merit some discussion. Would you like to be a guest contributor or programmer for an upcoming Two Cents entry? Simply watch along with us and/or send your pitches or 200-400 word reviews to cinapse.twocents@gmail.com.
The Pick:
1998’s exploration of the glam rock scene sees filmmaker Todd Haynes riffing on the backstage legends of David Bowie, Lou Reed, Iggy Pop, and others using a non-linear style and a killer soundtrack. In the star studded affair, journalist Arthur Stuart (Christian Bale) looks back at the 70s glam rock scene exploring the disappearance of the scene’s central figure, Brian Slade (Jonathan Rhys Myers). Through the flashbacks and interviews, we learn all about the scene that was, while getting to experience the importance of the scene in helping Stuart come out as a gay man.
Featured Guests
Drew Tinnin is a Rotten Tomatoes approved critic, a member of the Austin Film Critics Association, and a Rondo Award nominated entertainment journalist. With nearly 15 years of experience, Drew has contributed to numerous print and digital publications, including Fangoria magazine, /Film, Dazed, and Dread Central.
Set inside a dreamlike alt-history that holds up a cocaine-streaked mirror of our own glam rock past where Bowie reigned supreme, Velvet Goldmine feels like it exists inside its own sparkling little snowglobe. Director Todd Haynes (I’m Not There, May December) travels from the nightclub energy of the 70s into the rolled up white jacket sleeves of the Reagan 80s to catch up with a crest-fallen rock star named Brian Slade aka Maxwell Demon (played by Jonanthan Rhys-Myers in his androgynous prime). The story, and the blistering soundtrack, dovetail beautifully to document the flamboyant rise of lad-rock that eventually gives way to the disenfranchised angst of UK Punk.
Kicking off with Brian Eno’s “Needle in the Camel’s Eye” as dozens of glitter kids run wild in the streets, Velvet Goldmine’s first needle drop signals that change is in the air. Glam rock disciples Shudder to Think carry the weight of the soundtrack, singing about the pitfalls of fleeting fame with a transcendent cover of Roxy Music’s “2HB.” The show-stopper, of course, is their recording of “The Ballad of Maxwell Demon” that sends Velvet Goldmine hurtling into space opera territory. Once Haynes’s cinematic ode to T. Rex ventures into the 1980s, Ewan McGregor pogos up and down on a grimy stage doing his best impression of Iggy Pop howling “TV Eye” by The Stooges.
Premiering just before Halloween in 1998, Velvet Goldmine boasts one of the best soundtracks of the 90s. Those tracks were a much needed reprieve from the nu-metal scene that was quickly taking over the Z generation. To this day, every song seems to whisper that it’s still perfectly fine to play dress up, even if the sun’s about to come up.
Faith Johnson is a former film work and lifetime film enthusiast who hopes to get through her Letterboxd watchlist sometime in the next century, give or take.
Cribbing heavily from Citizen Kane’s structure, Todd Haynes’ film Velvet Goldmine searches for the soul of an enigmatic figure, rock star Brian Slade (Jonathan Rhys Meyers). Ostensibly a newspaper puff piece assigned to Arthur Stuart (Christian Bale), it becomes a deeply personal journey for him as he revisits his own experiences as a former fan of Slade, through interviews with people like Slade’s ex-wife Mandy (Toni Collette) and his musical collaborator and former lover Curt Wild (Ewan McGregor).
The film’s opulent visuals (cinematography by Maryse Alberti, sets by Christopher Hobbs, and costumes which earned Sandy Powell an Oscar nomination that she lost to herself) do not obscure the thematic depth. It’s an odyssey of identity and self-discovery through the lens of 1970s glam rock and its progenitors like Oscar Wilde and Jean Genet. (While the title comes from a David Bowie song, none of his music is featured and the story was changed due to his objections to similarities to his career. Though Bowie is certainly one of the most talented and innovative artists of this era, the compelled shift in focus away from the figurehead seems in keeping with its theme.)
Velvet Goldmine was the first time I ever heard the word “bisexual” in a movie. I was a closeted teen in suburban Maryland when I first saw this in 2003, still trying to come to terms with my own identity. Arthur proudly shouting “That’s me, that’s me, Dad, that’s me!” while his working-class British parents watch a televised press conference of Brian Slade discussing his bisexuality mirrored what I yearned to do to the world.
What does it mean to be authentic? What does it mean to be understood? This sort of exploration tends to get messy, especially if you’re queer in today’s society. Much like real society, this movie offers no clear answers. Some characters come to terms with being a changed version of themselves as the years go by while others burrow deeper under layers of artifice. But life is not a single resolution, it’s a path. Velvet Goldmine showed me a path to exploring myself at a time when I needed it most, and it will certainly be the most impactful work of art on my whole life.
The Team
Julian Singleton
While I’d previously seen Velvet Goldmine as an impressionable guy in his twenties, it was a different and crushing experience entirely seeing this as an out bi polyam guy in his mid-thirties.
Todd Haynes’ defiantly flamboyant and brutally honest love letter/eulogy to 70s glam rock began as a loose David Bowie biopic in the vein of his infamous (and still buried) Karen Carpenter biopic Superstar. In losing the rights to do so, however, Haynes’ film becomes something so much more. In the tempestuous landscape of post-hypocritical-Hippie pop culture, the Glam scene gives so many lost and misunderstood spirits the visual and social language to unlock deeper parts of themselves. For Brian Slade (Jonathan Rhys Myers), surrendering to persona Maxwell Demon–and all the glittery, heteronormative-bucking fabulous furor within–grants him a riotous artistic freedom that gives fans like Arthur (Christian Bale) the courage to explore their own bisexuality and social nonconformity.
Feverishly blending highlights of Bowie, Marc Bolan, and more, Myers’ pop idol is an elusive, gorgeous force to be reckoned with, an alluring strength that reveals its own crippling insecurities and weaknesses as his sparkle fades with time. Goldmine itself, told through others’ perspectives, reveal how Slade’s seeming openness proved to be anything but. In adopting his persona as a way of pursuing deeper freedom, Slade constructed his own opulent prison–especially when caught between the self-destructive natures of his own idol/romantic partner Curt Wild (Ewan McGregor) and the building identity-stripping pressures of fame.
Slade’s attempt at escape via staged suicide torches his career and public goodwill–and, by strange cultural osmosis, Maxwell Demon’s death causes an entire generation to doubt the identities they finally seized for themselves. The result: the Reagan–I mean Reynolds years.
Haynes seizes upon the era’s deliberate artifice and camp, fusing it with the words of Oscar Wilde, the eye-popping sets of Christopher Hobbs, and the jaw-dropping costumes of Sandy Powell. While the setting and style may be gaudy as fuck, it all brims with a dazzling sincerity; it’s all fake, but that in no way invalidates how real and immediate these experiences were. In the context of this series, Velvet Goldmine feels like such a clarion call to return to an era of anarchic emotional honesty and shake off the bookending decades of rigid repression. Haynes urges us to embrace this freedom with the knowledge that part of the beauty of living our sexual, gendered, artistic truth has as much to do with accepting the consequences of that freedom as much as the freedom itself.
Also, this film runs rings around the Almost Famous test–I could listen to this soundtrack forever.
Justin Harlan
As a 17 year old punk rock kid, this movie hit me right away when I saw it upon its released on VHS and continues to rock 26 years later. While I’ve always considered myself straight and am not generally all that attracted to men, the idea of what we now called genderfluidness and pansexuality was never alarmign or disgusting to me, as it was many of the young men in the 90s that I grew up around, especially in the Evangelical youth group circles I ran in around this time. Of course, the punk scene that I was as much engrossed in as the church was likely part of my ability to maintain an openness to all types of ideas and diverse lifestyles – well, that and the radical love of Jesus that so many int he church don’t seem to understand or even want to understand… but I digress.
Films with great soundtracks are always top of the list for me. This was true in 1999 when I saw the film and it remains true now. Like Julian notes above, there’s a baseline for this in movies like Almost Famous, which I rewatch yearly to this day. What’s different in Velvet Goldmine, though, is that it is not only clearly a drama fueled by a great soundtrack – but, it is also a powerful story of fighting against normal society and doing what you love, even if it paints you as a weirdo. And, of course, I gravitate towards the Iggy Pop-modeled Curt Wild, as portrayed by the stellar Ewan McGregor.
This all said, I remain as enamored with this film at I was in 1999 – seeing its importance and its place in queer cinema far more now than I did back then. While Ed was too busy to join in this week, I chose it in part for him, so he better watch it soon… but even if he doesn’t, it is never a bad thing to have an excuse to revisit this gem.
Two Cents Celebrates the month of June with Pride/Riot
Join us all month long for a collection of titles that spotlight the LGBTQ+ community with a mix of heart, edge, and defiance.
June 23 – Stranger By The Lake– (Criterion Channel, Kanopy)
June 30 – BPM (Kanopy, Pluto)
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28 YEARS LATER: Better Luck Tomorrow
“You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger darling.”
28 Years Later is not much more than a placeholder film. Originally announced as part of a trilogy of sequels, there was real excitement for returning to the post-apocalyptic world Danny Boyle and Alex Garland created with 28 Days Later. That film introduced the Rage Virus, an infection that popularized the idea of fast zombies. Between 28 Days Later and the sequel 28 Weeks Later, the foundation for an utterly bleak and fascinating world was laid. The burgeoning series was promptly put on ice. Now, 18 years later, Boyle and Garland are back and they’ve brought some surprises to go with the zombie action.
Days and Weeks expanded the world of the films while tying the intensely personal stories of characters into the larger themes of the series. For Years, the series downshifts for a more intimate story set on the edge of the world. It follows the story of Spike (Alfie Williams) as he turns 12 and ventures beyond the walls of the community that has kept him safe his whole life. He lives on a small island, accessible from the mainland via a causeway at low tide. His dad, Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), takes him out for his maiden trip to the mainland, which is overrun with those infected with the Rage Virus. The goal is to get Spike his first kill. But he develops something beyond a killer instinct: hope.
Rumor has it somewhere on the island, quarantined and left to fend for itself by the rest of the world, is a doctor. Spike’s mom, Isla (Jodie Comer) is ailing and no one in their island village has the medical knowledge to proffer a diagnosis. While the situation with the Rage Virus and those sick with it is dire and appears to have no end in sight, getting Isla to this doctor, if the rumors are true, gives Spike a purpose beyond himself. The adults, including Jamie, are too jaded by the realities of their existence to even consider risking near-certain death to help Isla. But Spike is just naive enough to push his fears aside. So he sneaks Isla off the island and their adventure begins.
Garland’s script takes Spike and Isla on a videogame-esque journey through the forest, abandoned and dilapidated relics of the past (like trains and gas stations). Boyle’s direction leans into a videogame aesthetic, especially early on. There are shots of Spike and Jamie lining up their bow and arrows to take shots that could’ve come from a first person shooter to along with POV shots with the camera mounted on the rotting backs of the infected. The most ostentatious visual flourish has the camera spinning around Matrix-style to capture entry and exit wounds, although this gimmmick is abandoned as the movie goes on.
Spike and Isla’s journey works in fits and starts. The best moments allow Williams and Comer to dig into the emotional depth of their relationship and current situation. It’s impressive work by Williams, who essentially is carrying the movie. Comer gives a strong performance that is undercut by the writing and a relative lack of material to play with. She gets a few notes, and she makes the most of them. In my most cynical moments while watching the movie, I thought these scenes were perfunctory. As I’ve continued to think about the movie, I’ve come to appreciate the work they’re doing, even if I still don’t totally buy into what Boyle and Garland are selling.
That gets to my biggest issue with 28 Years Later. It feels less ambitious than its predecessors. I’ve been trying to suss out and separate my expectations from the movie Garland and Boyle have cooked up. Days and Weeks leaned into the relentless bleakness of the premise and the ways it permeated the infected and the humans combatting it, and expanding the scope of the story in the process. Years feels like a contraction that goes down some borderline gonzo paths. The village has been cut off from the rest of the world for so long that there is now a generation that has no knowledge of the things we take for granted on a daily basis. An amusing interlude between Spike and a Swedish soldier, Erik (Edwin Ryding) runs through a list of things Spike has never heard of. There is a de facto leader of the infected on the mainland, a guy called Samson (Chi Lewis-Parry) who is referred to as The Alpha. In a movie full of horrific violence, Samson inflicts Mortal Kombat-levels of brutality on whatever he gets his hands on. I won’t give away the movie’s most baffling and most intriguing sequence because it’s mostly giving us a taste of what’s to come with Nia DaCosta’s 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple six months from now. But it’s an absolute howler of a scene and if I had been more on board with the movie I would’ve been hooting and hollering like the rapid creatures onscreen.
And I haven’t even mentioned Ralph Fiennes, who is putting in some deliriously entertaining work. He’s the best part of the movie, I think, but the specifics of his role are best left for everyone to discover on their own.
So, what does it all add up to? 28 Years Later feels like its purpose is to set the table for what’s to come. On its own it’s a serviceable, if not gratingly silly adventure film. But, a zombie movie bookended with references to the Teletubbies should be more than just serviceable. The sporadic moments of inspired lunacy and sincere emotions only made my frustrations with the rest of the film more irksome. I hope The Bone Temple pays off all this setup. At least we won’t have to wait another 18 years to see where this story is headed.
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28 YEARS LATER – Worth the Wait? (Spoiler Free Review)
It’s been a minute, but it’s exciting to think that a new film from the director-writer team of Danny Boyle and Alex Garland is finally here. Since their last film collaboration, the incredible Sunshine in 2007, Garland has become a reputed director in his own right, known for cerebral films (Ex Machina, Annihilation, Men, Civil War) as well as creating the science-fiction series Devs.
28 Years Later, the first of a new planned trilogy exploring a post-apocalyptic UK nearly three decades after the events of 28 Days Later and 28 Weeks Later, has high expectations to clear – the prior films are extremely well loved and fans are eager to return to this world. In particular, the films remain somewhat uniquely singlular in their ability to ratchet tension using a combination of guerrilla camera work (evoking a “realistic” documentarian aesthetic), intense sound editing, and incredibly evocative music scores.
We have several other terrific reviews here at Cinapse (including a UK perspective) that are doing an incredible job of providing thoughtful insights and critical analyses of the film, so rather than echo those I’m going to provide a more casual, spoiler-free review just taking it in and offering my own thoughts without philosophizing.
28 Years Later is, like its predecessors, a relentless and somewhat grueling experience, with its mix of zombie terror and familial conflict. But unlike those films, it’s willing to get really weird – even silly. Starting with the simple retcon – no further explanation given – that mainland Europe somehow pushed back the plague shown at the end of 28 Weeks Later – even though an England quarantined for 7 months wasn’t able to. It’s kind of an absurd premise but you’ve gotta roll with it.
The film takes place in the northern UK. While the English mainland is overrun by the infected (look, let’s just agree to call them zombies), an island community at Lindisfarne still scrapes by, maintaining discipline over their short supplies and sectioning their populace into specific disciplines – farmers, hunters, foragers, and so on. It’s a hardscrabble life, but one that continues. For anyone under 30, like 12-year old Spike (Alfie Williams), who lives with his father (Aaron-Taylor Johnson) and bedridden mother (Jodie Comer), it’s the only life they’ve ever known.
Having reached an age of accountability, Spike is now taking his first trip with his father onto the mainland, to search for supplies and resources, and kill any zombies they happen across.
While overrun, the mainland still has some small pockets of humanity. When stories of a crazy doctor (Ralph Fiennes) reach Alfie’s ears, he immediately determines to try to get the doctor’s aid to help his ailing mother.
And while the film does have other supporting characters – including a Swedish soldier on assignment, who offers a juxtaposition of the modern outside world – it’s these four who are at its heart. Alfie Williams is a revelation. Really all the cast are stellar, but this kid is great – it’s not an easy thing for a young teen to play the lead in an extremely heavy and adult horror film, but he pulls it off amazingly.
I do want to point out that I think we’re seeing in recent years that Ralph Fiennes has entered the most interesting part of his career. While his early filmography tends toward elevated and serious fare, these days he doesn’t seem to be chasing accolades, but choosing roles in populist and genre films based entirely on how fun they are: The Menu, The Return, Conclave, The King’s Man, Lego Batman, and a smattering of Wes Anderson. He’s become one of my favorite and most exciting actors to watch.
Stylistically, the film stands a little apart from the prior 2 films. It does continue with an establish vibe, but also gets much wilder. Moments of violence are punctuated with a visceral “bullet time” like effect that accentuates the gore in a way we’ve not seen before. And Boyle frequently incorporates a surreal style involving interspersed vintage film clips and in-story dream sequences that add to the madness. And the zombies occur in a wilder variety and demonstrate an evolution in ways I won’t spoil – including a huge and intimidating “heavy” that the Cinapse crew has dubbed “BDZ”.
One thing that the film does have in common with the first two is that its self-contained. You could theoretically watch all three films separately or in any order without losing any important context or encountering any overlapping characters; narratively each film stands on its own. It seems this will change with the next film, which is poised to be a direct sequel for the first time in the franchise.
While some may be put off by the film’s risks and reaches, I found it all really fascinating. I wouldn’t rank it as high as the other 2 films, but I’m absolutely invested in staying with this franchise for the planned followups with the setup established herein.
A/V Out
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28 YEARS LATER. Coming of Age in a Cursed Land
A new trilogy from Danny Boyle and Alex Garland keeps focus on the course of humanity in the midst of horror
Back in 2002, director Danny Boyle (127 Hours, Trainspotting) and writer Alex Garland (Annihilation, Men, Civil War) shook up the zombie genre. While technically not ‘undead’, their Rage infected monsters set themselves apart from the stumbling forces that came before. Fast, violent, and visceral, realized by filmmaking of the same ilk. The subsequent legacy in horror is undeniable, even its own (sorely underrated) sequel 28 Weeks Later expanding on the approach. A generation later and the pair are back with a start to a new trilogy, one that again forges it’s own path into horror and the human condition.
28 years since the outbreak, the contagion is successfully confined to the UK. A strict quarantine is in effect, military patrols stalking the oceans. You set foot on the British Isles and you stay there. The mainland is a dangerous place, the remaining infected have adapted over the long term with some eking out an existence foraging on grubs, others becoming alphas, smarter and larger, often leading packs of infected to hunt their prey. A community persists with this on their doorstep at Lindisfarne, also known as Holy Island. A tidal island off the northeast coast of England. Defended by staves, barricades, and rudimentary projectile armaments, the real strength comes from its location, Access is limited to a narrow causeway that creates not only a bottleneck to defend, but a path to the mainland that is only accessible under low tide. The people who live here persists through agrarian tradition, communal duty, and a wary eye trained on the mainland.
Continuing their traditions is Spike (a breakout performance from Alfie Williams), who at 12 years old is about to make his first foray to the mainland to secure his first kill, as well as forage for supplies. Younger than the usual age for such a rite of initiation, his overzealous father Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) insists he is ready and accompanies him on the expedition, despite the protestations of the boy’s ailing mother Isla (Jodie Comer). A dark and dangerous exposure to the harsh realities of the mainland leave Spike shaken, a state compounded by the jarring impact of the raucous celebrations that herald his return. After witnessing his drunken father’s tryst with another woman, Spike’s loses hope that anyone cares for his mothers health like he does. His exposure to the mainland making him aware of a hermit surviving there. A man feared for his unusual behavior but long rumored to be a former doctor, which if true, could offer some hope to solving the cause of her declining health. Barely initiated and with a physically and mentally impacted mother under his wing, he sets them both across the causeway to seek aid.
The first real glimpse we had of the film came with a teaser trailer that utilized a 1915 rendition of Rudyard Kipling’s poem “Boots” as its soundtrack. Written in 1903, and informed by the sights and sounds of the Boer War. Recitation matches the cadence of marching infantry. It’s percussive and perturbing, echoing the escalating dread that comes with the trek toward conflict, or it’s approach. Leveraged into an early scene of the film, it’s intent and effect echoes the psychological toll of warfare and the necessary bunker mentality needed by the peoples of Holy Island. They lie in the shadow of a cursed land, sealed off from the world by patrols, the rationing of supplies makes it clear that the world has turned its back on this last vestige of the Brits with nary an air drop in sight. Forced as well as required isolationism. They still hang a portrait of the Queen, but notably fly the English flag, not the Union flag. Another indicator of both the regressive tilt of these people (Brits these days know all too well about standing separate from mainland Europe) and fragmentation of the natural order of things. It’s textured work, showcasing the post-apocalyptic work to ration, reuse, and rebuild a society, the strengths of collaboration and conformation, as well as the emergence of cultural elements both old and new.
The expedition to the mainland is a great way to indoctrinate us to this land where the rage infected roam within their own ecological niches. Boyle’s longtime collaborator cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle showing off a saturated and rich rendering of a green and unpleasant land full of natural beauty, yet coated in death and detritus. Rundown farmhouses, haunting woods, hanging corpses, and structures built of bones of the dead hint at folk horror. We even glimpse even some relics of the past, notably the Angel of the North and a sad glimpse of the much cherished Sycamore Gap tree, which was tragically cut down in 2023. In this timeline surviving thanks to the pandemic, in our own destroyed by the foolish acts of a human. There are sights of villages and houses reclaimed by the forest vegetation and a night sky clear of light pollution showcase how the land heals and life moves on. From a technical perspective, the standout in this film is the use of rigs using 20 iPhones, cobbled together to give wide arching shots that could be used to generating sweeping views of action. Akin to a “bullet time” effect (more “arrow time” really) it certainly adds drama and immersion, especially in the action portions of the film. However it is overused, and when combined with an overindulgence of sharp cuts, freeze frames, or splicing in discordant or thematically adjacent footage and imagery, it reaches the point of distraction. Technique all too over gets in the way of the rest of the production, which is incredibly effective at building a tangible sense of dread.
The film adopts an adolescent point of view and its success in pulling this off is down to its young lead. Williams is impressive, shouldering most of the film and while conveying the fear and awe of this child, channels an acting maturity well beyond his years. Taylor-Johnson and Comer are authentic in their roles, which just feel more conducive to propelling their son’s progression through the movie than fully developed roles in their own right. Edvin Ryding is vital as a young Swedish soldier the mother and son encounter. Stranded after a shipwreck he offers up a contrast of the outside that has continued apace, highlighting differences but also offering up a little levity. The undeniable standout is Ralph Fiennes as Dr. Ian Kelson, a man who has taken on a solemn duty to the victims of the pandemic, and persists in this hellscape by slathering himself with iodine and taking on the rage infected with blow-darts loaded with tranquilizers. It’s a role that could be very easily overplayed, but here is delivered with a depth and weight that is particularly poignant, as well as wonderfully off-kilter. More than just a hermit in the wilderness, he provides a counterpoint to Spike’s own father. Another figure to showcase a different path through the horrors of this world. Rumors are that the next film in the series 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple (already shot by Nia DaCosta, Little Woods, Candyman) will focus focus on this character. If true, then we’ll be in for something rather special.
28 Years Later is clearly tasked with kickstarting this new era, and has baggage as a result. Some elements aren’t as cohesive or tonally attuned as they could be. Others are superficially explored, clearly holding at arms length for exploration in a future installment, the changes within the infected population being the most notable example. The last moments of the film ending gives tonal whiplash, but damn if that wild shift doesn’t gee up excitement for DaCosta’s contribution. Creatively, the decision to forgo the wider spectacle of the virus spreading beyond the British Isles (hinted at in 28 Weeks Later) is sure to be polarizing. Instead of going bigger, Boyle and Garland tread a similar path to the first film, looking to focus on a more intimate exploration of human nature in the face of challenge and trauma. The zombie theme is just a genre device to hang these things off of. We still get gnarly kills, gore, frantic pursuits, blood spattered faces, and big swinging zombie dicks, but running through the film is a remarkable sense of compassion and consideration. Boyle turns in a coming of age road movie. A contemplation of humanity responding to the pervading constant that is death. 28 Years Later is one of those works that offers a surprising and effective use of genre filmmaking, marrying horror with a truly heartfelt sentiment.
28 Years Later hits theaters on June 20th
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28 YEARS LATER is a Compelling, Gory Feast That Leaves Us Hungry For More
Danny Boyle and Alex Garland’s long-awaited reunion is filled with powerful, polarizing creative energy that’s sometimes hindered by being a franchise reboot
Stills courtesy of Sony and Columbia Pictures. 28 years have passed since the Rage Virus infected Britain. With mainland Europe having successfully pushed back against global exposure, the British Isles have deteriorated under strict quarantine enforced by an international military coalition by land and sea. Life continues, however, in small, self-regulated pockets—most notably the thriving village on Holy Island/Lindisfarne off the coast of Northumberland. Naturally shielded by a rocky causeway that disappears with the morning and evening tides, those on Holy Island prosper under strict isolationist measures to safeguard their vibrant community.
With community comes contribution and ritual, such as young Spike’s (Alfie Williams) first day hunting for supplies on the mainland under the watchful eye of his father Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson). It’s a terrifying ordeal as Jamie teaches Spike what he can only learn from experience: not just to navigate the overgrown urban wilderness of England, but also to hide from and ultimately kill the roaming hordes of Infected still teeming everywhere. With his mother, Isla (Jodie Comer), suffering from an unknown illness and Jamie seeming resigned to her fate, Spike and Isla embark on a perilous, life-threatening journey to a rumored Doctor (Ralph Fiennes) who may hold the answers they desperately seek.
Twenty-three years after their genre-imploding original film 28 Days Later, Danny Boyle and Alex Garland finally reunite for the start of a new trilogy that many believed (including the creatives themselves) wouldn’t rise again. This resurrected sequel, however, demonstrates that the 28…Later franchise is still viscerally alive. 28 Years Later offers a rich and provocative new exploration of Boyle and Garland’s signature style of intimate apocalyptic chaos, made even more impactful (and polarizing) by how both filmmakers’ tastes and interests have evolved over the past two decades (not to mention a real-life global pandemic). Nevertheless, Boyle and Garland’s daring vision is sometimes hindered by their even more ambitious plan to deliver two additional films; they present a collection of captivating yet ultimately not fully realized ideas that struggle to resonate as an equally satisfying standalone experience. Still, 28 Years Later remains an enticing and dazzling first course, even if audiences may be craving a bit more meat on the bone by the end of this film.
Right out of the gate, Boyle and Garland are at home returning to this universe, opening with an intimate yet bloody massacre that upends one life before comfortably settling into how an entire community adapts and rebounds from the apocalypse. The world of Lindisfarne is impeccably realized, filled with George Miller-esque repurposing of found objects without any of the inherent nihilistic savagery one might assume is necessary for survival. This is a community that helps, rebuilds, and loves—where archery practice on rage zombies and manning a watchtower are simply parts of growing up and coming of age. While the community maintains strict rules against venturing out to search for those who don’t return, that doesn’t stop them from preparing a “welcome back” party during their immediate absence. One can’t thrive or hope for a better life under such immense dread; to paraphrase a banner on the island, “fail we might, continue we must.”
It’s an ethos that distinguishes this particular franchise from other zombie and apocalypse films. While the scope of these films can be massive within a given sequence, Boyle and Garland don’t concentrate on the spectacle of societal suffering; rather, they focus on the nitty-gritty of individual ways to just get by and survive another damn day. There are few grandiose illusions of bringing the world back from the brink or of radical personal reinvention on the level of The Road Warrior’s Lord Humungous. Instead, the beautifully bleak honesty of the 28…Later films lies in the reality that this is the world now, and the true challenge is how much of yourself you can preserve even as day-to-day life strips away another part of your personality. Even if you’re not yet afflicted by the Rage virus, how long can you stave off more insidious moral infections?
14-year-old Alfie Williams expertly bears this complex emotional burden, holding his own against seasoned genre veterans like Taylor-Johnson, Comer, and Fiennes. Spike’s soulful eyes, steeling with resolve throughout the film, reflect an innocence that thrives in this deeply disturbing world simply because he lacks a frame of reference for life being any other way. His fellow cast members are equally committed and get their gnarly moments to shine. Still, without revealing spoilers, they simply don’t receive the same platform as Williams to showcase an effective range for their characters. This confined approach to character is something both Boyle and Garland know well, seen in films like the patchwork narrative of Boyle’s Slumdog Millionaire and Garland’s sprawling ensemble cast in this year’s Warfare. However, while it can be refreshing to see these impressive modern talents strut their stuff in a pulse-pounding apocalypse thriller, it’s equally frustrating when their characters are kept at such an emotional distance.
Comer, in particular, feels underutilized, as her character’s illness causes Isla to function more like a prop for Spike than as a character in her own right, although Isla’s moments of lucidity make for Comer’s most arresting sequences. Despite his limited screen time, Fiennes is wonderfully bonkers as Dr. Kelson, an iodine-saturated medical madman who is far more sane than the Holy Islanders who maintain their judgmental distance. He not only provides some answers or closure for Spike and Isla but also imparts a sense of validation and absolution regarding their experiences–that even while adapting to the ravages of this world, one can still acknowledge that they shouldn’t have to endure such horrors in the first place. Edvin Ryding also deserves recognition as NATO Soldier Erik, who provides much-needed humor during Spike and Isla’s journey as a stranded outsider, illustrating how much the world has evolved without Britain over nearly three decades.
While fans of Boyle and Garland’s first outing will be more than rewarded by the goopy gore of this long-awaited follow-up, I cannot stress how exciting (and maddening) it is that this film is very much by the Danny Boyle and Alex Garland of today. Though there are sparse, cheeky nods to the films that came before, 28 Years Later is definitely not Star Wars: The Force Awakens–right from its bloody opening involving some very unfortunate kids, 28 Years Later isn’t here to deliver on expectations or, frankly, please a mass theatergoing audience. Amidst the spine-ripping carnage and bloated corpses are writing and directorial choices that range from inspiring to nearly infuriating, but all of which are distinctly ones that creatives like Boyle and Garland would be bold enough to make. Reuniting with DP Anthony Dod Mantle, 28 Years Later immerses audiences in blisteringly creative camerawork, evolving the gritty DV of 28 Days Later into sleek yet still digitally nightmarish iPhone cinematography. The machinations of Lindisfarne are intercut with footage from old Medieval epics and World War I marches, suggesting a fierce isolationist protectionism against the wide-eyed wonders of the unknown world beyond; a red-soaked night vision featuring the indiscernible glowing eyes of humans and Infected alike (Infect-o-Vision?) evokes the surreal terror of Jonathan Glazer’s The Fall; a bonkers bullet-time rig captures the split-second intricacies of a gory-as-hell moment. Some sequences, in particular, are truly stunning, such as cueing Wagner’s Vorspiel as Jamie and Spike flee down a flooded causeway from Infected amidst a galaxy-strewn starscape, evoking Terrence Malick or Lars Von Trier with far more blood and guts. And as much as I lament some characters’ limited presence, the build-up to a climactic sequence involving dazzling fiery will-o-the-wisps not only made me so damn pleased that Danny Boyle is back making films, but also made me mourn his six film-less years since 2019’s Yesterday.
At the same time, however, Boyle and Garland spend only so much time on a tantalizing idea before succumbing to frantic pressure to move forward. For one example, part of the terror of the Infected in 28 Years Later was their Romero-esque combination of familiarity and anonymity–that their rage became their singular defining characteristic, yet still carried enough slight personality to tragically reveal the humans who remain inside. Some recurring Infected, details of which I’ll keep mum, nearly have too much presence–like one particular character in 28 Weeks Later–without providing more detailed interrogation of these elements beyond what convenient antagonism they provide moment-to-moment in what ultimately unfolds as a forest-filled road movie.
At other moments, it feels like 28 Years Later is lucky to have such strong-willed and charismatic performers like Williams and Comer, as they must make up for the film’s frenetic pacing and the subsequent emotional shortfall of the film’s briefer, unresolved elements. The appearances of Erik, Dr. Kelson, and others are intended to suggest a wider world we’ll hopefully explore further as this trilogy continues–but ultimately detract from the standalone nature of the film that Boyle and Garland have expressed a desire to maintain, even as they lay the groundwork for future installments.
I’m confident that this director-writer team has enough creative energy to fuel this trilogy–but at times, it felt like 28 Years Later alternated between having either too many ideas to make particular moments impactful or not enough satisfying ones to sustain a single feature, let alone three. For all its propulsive energy and mostly successful attempts at emotional closure, Boyle and Garland are clear about closing out 28 Years Later as very much a “first film”–a risk that, coupled with the polarizing yet commendable choices throughout the film (up to the final scene), makes me worry if we’ll see this series’ final entry, even with its sequel, Nia DaCosta’s 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple, already in the can from a back-to-back production.
That said, I couldn’t be more thrilled to tentatively get The Bone Temple in January. It took way too long for us to get another Danny Boyle and Alex Garland collaboration, and even though this is a film that’s both the third in a franchise and the start of a trilogy, 28 Years Later remains a terrifyingly original piece of horror in its weakest moments as much as its overwhelmingly stronger ones. It’s laid an effective groundwork that, amid my reservations, desperately deserves to be seen on the big screen to its eagerly awaited conclusion.
28 Years Later hits theaters on June 20th courtesy of Sony and Columbia Pictures.
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Spinema Issue 76: Unboxing & Review of THE WAR OF THE ROHIRRIM Soundtrack on 4-LP Mutant Vinyl
Pictorial & thoughts on the vinyl soundtrack of the new film in the Lord of the Rings saga
The soundtrack album to The Lord of the Rings: The War of the Rohirrim is now available on a sprawling 4-LP vinyl (or 2- disc CD) from Mutant – a new company with curators and personnel formerly associated with the familiar Mondo brand.
War of the Rohirrim, an anime film directed by Kenji Kamiyama and set in Peter Jackson’s cinematic version of Middle Earth, is a tale set in the land of Rohan, one of the legends behind the ancient fortress of the Hornburg, which is also the setting of the major battle depicted in The Two Towers. And how that stronghold earned the name by which it’s better known: Helm’s Deep.
The soundtrack to the film is composed by Stephen Gallagher, whereas the Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit Trilogies were scored by Howard Shore. But Gallagher is no newcomer to the series. Although this is his debut as a composer in Middle Earth, he served as music editor on the Hobbit films.
This is a large album, and vinyl is inherently an expensive medium to produce and ship, but I was pleasantly surprised to see that Mutant has priced these very reasonably. In a landscape where collectible vinyl routinely commands $30-50 for a single record, the $60 price point for a sprawling 4-LP set in a fan-favorite franchise seems downright decent.
The package is a double-gatefold (“M-Pack”) set, beautiful and pretty sturdy but less protective than a rigid slipbox one might expect on a 4-LP album.
External Views
Internal Views
Shipping/Packaging Considerations
My copy came mailed with all 4 LPs packed in the centerfold of the package (which was itself securely packed in a sturdy cardboard mailer) rather than inserted into the sleeves. This is intended to prevent the spine from being crushed – which worked! – but also may create additional outward stress on the spine from the weight of four records, potentially leading to split seams.
Personally I think split seams are just a reality of the medium that one accepts as a collector of it.
Liner Notes
In lieu of a booklet (as included with the CD version of the soundtrack), the inside of the vinyl package is illustrated and packed with liner notes from both Gallagher and Kamiyama (the latter in both Japanese and English), as well as a forward by Philippa Boyens, Peter Jackson’s longtime creative collaborator and, along with Fran Walsh, one of the triumvirate of architects of the cinematic Middle Earth.
Vinyl
The LP coloration is described simply as “140GM White Vinyl” but my copy featured a more marbley appearance than that description implies, in a light grey.
Physical compression (overcrowding of grooves) is not an issue here. Spreading the music across 4 LPs gives plenty of breathing room, and a visual inspection reveals that each of the sides has some room to spare.
LP1
LP2
LP3
LP4
The Music
Stylistically, this score is in line with the sound of Middle Earth that we know; brassy, moody, and epic. But while perfectly fitting in the existing soundscape – no surprise given that Gallagher has been a music editor in this world – it’s more subdued, keeping up with the Lord of the Rings films in general style but without the same depth of melody or upfront character. When you hear one of Shore’s themes, you might very well conjure up an image of that piece transpiring on the screen. There’s less of this quality in Rohirrim, in which the score resides more in the background rather than as a dominant narrative force.
The score does quote at times from previously existing LOTR themes, and perhaps it’s unsurprising that these familiar melodies stand out as highlights.
That said, while I’m being critical, my takeaway is a positive one. Not only do I enjoy this album, I think I actually like it more as a dedicated listening experience than in its original form as accompaniment to the film.
In addition to the score, the soundtrack also includes a handful of songs from the film. In album terms, these ballads help to bring some aural variety. The standout is “The Rider”, with vocals by Paris Paloma, a gorgeous and haunting ballad which plays over the end credits, which may very well be the strongest track on the entire album. There are two versions of “Hama’s Song”, which sounds like a bard’s verse from the corner of a dark tavern – an abbreviated version as it appears in the film, sung by Yazdan Qafouri (who plays Hama), and a full album version as sung by Ben O’Leary.
Overall verdict?
A big, bold soundtrack which mixes in elements of the classic Lord of the Rings themes while also doing its own new thing. Admittedly not as great as the Howard Shore scores that it follows, but there are definitely some standout tracks here and it’s a beautiful package priced surprisingly affordably.
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JEANNETTE: Portrait of a Survivor
Maris Curran’s documentary allows us into the life of physical trainer and Pulse shooting survivor Jeannette Feliciano
Through slice-of-life footage, documentary Jeannette allows us to spend a period of time with Jeannette Feliciano, physical trainer and survivor of the shooting at the Pulse night club in Orlando. Filmmaker Maris Curran and her crew film in a verite style, shadowing Feliciano in her daily life as she leads boot camp workouts, trains for a bodybuilding competition and spends time with friends and family. Feliciano raises her son, living openly as a queer woman while sharing a home with with a conservative mother.Curran incorporates some voiceover from a few audio interviews with Feliciano, but no other sort of interview with the subject or anyone else. We see her determination and dedication in the gym, whether in her individual workouts or working with a client. She’s emotionally vulnerable in the morning boot camp she leads with close friend and fellow Pulse survivor “Eazzy.” We’re shown the discipline of her training for competition (as well as her ridiculously restrictive diet).
Jeannette depicts its subject as dimensional and multifaceted, from scenes of her doting on her son to helping her older sister in Puerto Rico with hurricane recovery after Maria. A scene of her struggling to retain her footing as she removes tree parts from her sister’s yard makes for a striking visual while symbolizing her own personal struggle. The sound design and editing at the open of the documentary, as Jeannette narrates the events of the attack that horrific night, complement the abstract visuals and concentrate the audience’s attention on her storytelling.
The downside to using very limited audio interviews is that even after spending the length of the film with the subject, some things are left unexplained. The audience is shown scenes of Jeannette at a gun range and training her son at home on gun use, moments that would benefit from further context or exploration. Perhaps it’s unfair to this documentary that I saw Uvalde Mom earlier this year and kept contrasting the two works in my head as I watched, although they differ stylistically. I couldn’t help being impressed by Jeannette the person, but Jeannette the film isn’t quite as compelling.
Jeannette is available on VOD starting June 17.
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MISHIMA: A LIFE IN FOUR CHAPTERS: Paul Schrader’s Mid-Century Red Pill Masterwork makes its way to 4K UHD Thanks to Criterion
Still banned in Japan, 4 decades later Mishima is as thought provoking and relevant as ever!
Recently Criterion released Paul Schrader’s best film in my opinion on 4K UHD, his fifth directorial outing 1985’s Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters. The film is a experimental biopic focusing on Japanese author, poet, playwright, actor, model, Shintoist and ultranationalist – Yukio Mishima (Ken Ogata). Like most of Schrader’s best protagonists was a fascinating self destructive extremist – who would meet his end committing seppuku after a failed coup d’état. While biopics are traditionally self-serving and more from the outsider’s perspective, Mishima uses a rather imaginative approach to the writer’s own works to delve into his innermost ID, in a film that to this day is still banned in Japan. This is primarily due to both Mishima’s widow, and threats from right-wing groups due to the film’s portrayal of Mishima’s homosexuality, that the author himself wrote about in his own semi-autobiographical tome Confessions of a Mask.
When asked about what Japan thought of Mishima immediately after his death, the famous quote was “ask again in 15 years.” Well it’s been 55 years and Japan still isn’t ready to deal with him.
The film’s story which is told in four chapters, each paired with a different book – starts on the morning of the failed coup as Mishima gathers his 4 most loyal true believers, to make their way to the headquarters of the Eastern Command of the Japanese Self-Defense Force. Once that storyline is set into motion the film jumps from present day, back to Mishima’s childhood, and then in Schrader’s most inspired move — uses the writer’s own works to help reinforce the experiences that got the award winning scribe to that point. These sequences with production design by Eiko Ishioka – who created some amazing poster artwork (see below), are depicted through stage plays transpiring in a surrealist candy colored alternate reality, a play within a play, within the film, essentially. These heavily contrast with the film’s World War 2 era flashbacks that are shot in gritty newsreel-ish black and white, and stick closer to reality.
Apocalypse Now poster art by Eiko Ishioka These colorful sequences are a chaotic peek into the writer’s mind as his characters romanticize possibility of death from above thanks to US bombings that would allow them to escape their day to day doldrums and contemplating suicide to stay beautiful forever. Schrader masterfully pulls key passages that perfectly illustrate how his vanity and extremist fixation on traditional values were more products of ego, guilt and delusions of grandeur, than the betterment of Japanese society. The director immediately hones in on how Mishima feigning tuberculosis to dodge deployment in WW2, which led him to a life of guilt and in his eyes dishonor to Japan. This was thanks to Japanese propaganda weaponizing the ancient Samurai honor code of Bushido on its people during WW2, making self sacrifice the only acceptable alternative to absolute victory.
Mishima was a product of that guilt, similar to Kōichi Shikishima in Godzilla Minus One, which tackles the guilt, grief and shame instilled in those left to rebuild. But instead of discovering a different path in life, he stayed the course, forming a militia that looked to renounce the ways of the west and return to a simpler time. A reason for this anti-western sentiment is hinted at when Mishima laments that only one of his books has been translated abroad, and only into six languages no less. No doubt he perceived this as a slight to his work; and also fueled his isolationist mid-century red pill ideology. There’s a lot of parallels here you can draw between Mishima and other extremist, fascist leaders and ideologies, but I think deep in his heart, he knew ultimately that his own country would eventually reject him. Rather than stop him, he would use it to fuel a bizarre form of martyrdom, which you can see fetishized in the writer’s own 30 Minute silent film he submitted to Cannes, Patriotism, that he wrote, directed and starred in – and was also released by Criterion!
The film, follows a soldier who gruesomely commits seppuku to avoid having to kill his fellow soldiers. The film fetishizes the act in a way that you would expect Schrader to have done given his love of violence, which he surprisingly avoids, which is in itself shocking because of how grotesque things got for Mishima and company after he plunged his sword into his abdomen. While Schrader wisely chose to tread lightly on that aspect of his ritualistic suicide, he doesn’t miss a step highlighting another Mishima text, where a character states that “after 40, you’re just watching your body decompose”, when romanticizing suicide to stay young forever. When Mishima attempted his coup, he was 45 years old and not only was he in peak physical condition, but he was also at the height of his fame as well.
Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters is easily Schrader’s best work. This is not just because the narrative is just meticulously assembled and executed on screen in its reality vs written work structure, but aided by a rather unnerving score by Phillip Glass. What I appreciated was instead of attempting to simplify him, Schrader takes us even further down the rabbit hole with him as he deconstructs his subject with the care and attention he deserves. But unlike most of Schrader’s other protagonists Mishima was a very real person, and you feel the specificity that is put into exploring every nuance of the man’s life on screen with some rather expertly interleaved flourishes and moments. He’s careful to strike a very clear balance of not only the genius, but the madness it manifested in its wake.
Keeping with Criterion UHD standard, one disc is just the film presented flawlessly in 4K, with the extras included on Blu-ray. Strangely enough Schrader is nowhere to be seen on this disc and I think it was a smart move by Criterion to give the director some distance from his controversial subject. Known for dropping some choice statements from time to time, I think keeping the director out of this conversation keeps him from saying something that might be interpreted as being too sympathetic or in admiration of his problematic subject’s political leanings, instead recordings with Mishima are wisely included. That said, Mishima is a fascinating subject that brought the best out in the director, who has made a career of peering into these darker corners of humanity. While Mishima was easily a genius, he was an extremely troubled one, that was eventually overcome by his own ego.
DIRECTOR-APPROVED 4K UHD + BLU-RAY SPECIAL EDITION FEATURES- 4K digital restoration of the director’s cut, supervised and approved by director Paul Schrader and cinematographer John Bailey, with 2.0 surround DTS-HD Master Audio soundtrack
- One 4K UHD disc of the film and one Blu-ray with the film and special features
- Two alternate English narrations, including one by actor Roy Scheider
- Audio commentary featuring Schrader and producer Alan Poul
- Program on the making of the film featuring Bailey, producers Tom Luddy and Mata Yamamoto, composer Philip Glass, and production designer Eiko Ishioka
- Program on Yukio Mishima featuring his biographer John Nathan and friend Donald Richie
- Audio interview with coscreenwriter Chieko Schrader
- Interview excerpt from 1966 featuring Mishima talking about writing
- The Strange Case of Yukio Mishima, a 1985 documentary about the author
- Trailer
- PLUS: An essay by critic Kevin Jackson, a piece on the film’s censorship in Japan, and photographs of Ishioka’s sets
