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Fantastic Fest 2021: BEYOND THE INFINITE TWO MINUTES is a Temporal Treat
An intricate one-take wonder, brimming with smarts and charm
There are times as a film critic, or even a film fan, that you hope people will take a suggestion to watch something, and just get to it. It sounds clichéd, but it’s true. That untainted discovery of a real gem that manages to absolutely delight you, in the absence of any expectations, is a rare thing these days. Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes does just that. A one-take wonder, centered around a time bending premise, that is just brimming with smarts and charm.
Kato (Kazunori Tosa) lives in a small apartment he keeps above his teahouse in Japan. One day, he hears a familiar voice coming from his computer screen, himself. This Kato claims to be speaking from the future, two minutes ahead to be precise. After a back and forth where Kato manages to convince himself he speaks the truth, present Kato shares his discovery with his friends ( and employees. Together they try to understand this phenomena, and eventually find ways to take advantage of their window into their not too distant future.
Shot on an iPhone, Beyond has a barebones feel. A devilishly smart conceit, with a lo-fi approach that will revitalize your faith in the time-travel genre and filmmaking in general. Comparisons will inevitably be with another Fantastic Fest favorite, One Cut of the Dead, a one-take horror movie that similarly delighted and surprised as it unfolded. Thankfully Beyond comes in at a brisk 70 minutes. Not a second is wasted though, as the film smartly outlines the rules about this hole in time. This tea shop crew adorably astonished at what they find, curiously testing theories, pranking each other, and seeing if it’s possible to push beyond the limitations of what they have stumbled into. All the while, the film starts to ponder some philosophical questions, fuel a long simmering romance, oh and draw a small crew of criminals into the mix. Beyond doesn’t seek to outsmart its audience, but instead to disarm and delight them.
Makoto Ueda‘s twisty-turny script is matched by Junta Yamaguchi’s whirling direction. It may look simple, but the timing, camera movement and blocking is impeccably staged. The film also appears to unfold in the form of one enthralling single take. Its as merry as it is meticulous thanks to the cast, one made up from the Europe Kikaku theatre group. Together they craft characters that run from the maudlin to the quirky, all reveling in the absurdity of this situation. Their work underlines what a labor of love this effort is. While it’s easy to get caught up in the intricacies and playfulness of the plot, the film never loses sight of a more reflective component. The pressure of prescience as well the importance of not getting caught up in the past, or what has yet to come. Farce turns to fable as Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes ultimately champions living in the moment. Just endearingly inventive and joyously entertaining from start to finish.
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Fantastic Fest 2021: SALOUM is a Slice of Genre-Bending Senegalese Mayhem
A sizzling revenge tale with several surprises up its sleeve
In the midst of a 2003 coup d’état in Guinea-Bissau, legendary mercenaries Chaka (Yann Gael), Rafa (Roger Sallah), and Minuit (Mentor Ba) kidnap a drug dealer and his cache of gold and take off from a gunfire-besieged runway for distant Dakar. This blockbuster-capping sequence lights the fuse for another film entirely–as their sabotaged plane quickly runs out of gas, forcing the crew and their prisoner to land in the Sine-Saloum Delta of Senegal. Chaka, the cool gloved gunslinger of the crew known as Bangui’s Hyenas, knows the area well from childhood. He points the group in the direction of a nearby holiday retreat compound–but waiting for our crew are the resort’s kindly staff, two oblivious tourists, a shifty-eyed cop, and Awa (Evelyne Ily Juhen), a Deaf woman who regards these newcomers with dagger-eyed suspicion. As much as Chaka, Rafa, and Minuit try to keep a low profile–it’s clear that demons inside and out have other plans for these mercenaries’ unexpected holiday.
Rivetingly directed by Jean Luc Herbulot, Saloum is already a cracklingly interesting game of cat and mouse set along the sun-baked African coastline before it invokes even darker genre spirits. Its 80-minute runtime moves at a breakneck pace, plunging the three leads into moments of ever-shifting chance and peril with nail-biting tension. The film’s beginning takes place post-coup, in the aftermath of the Hyenas’ latest brutal victory–creating a sense of what this trio is capable of at any moment. Their arrival at the compound feels like the uncovering of a long-buried landmine–one false step by anyone could be the trigger of a bloodbath. Even in its most innocuous moments for the film’s first half, Herbulot uses this dreadful anticipation as much as it’s worth, with every smiling gesture a sidestep or parry to avoid exposing the truth. The most compelling weapon in Saloum’s arsenal is its usage of localized sign language–when the Hyenas reveal to Awa they also sign over a group dinner, Awa reveals in turn that she knows exactly who the mercenaries are…but not only is the group oblivious to this fact, they also don’t understand sign language. An elegant spar of signs results between Awa and Chaka, their smiling faces masking their venomous exchange of threats and insults.
It’s one layer of a film that shapeshifts between genres with a constant wit and glee, drawing upon everything from spaghetti westerns to John Carpenter films (which itself runs the gamut between Assault on Precinct 13 to even Ghosts of Mars). As Herbulot and his talented cast and crew propel us from scene to scene, you never quite know what kind of film Saloum is going to be next. Infused through it all is a pulse-pounding sense of ancient revenge–not just Chaka’s or the other characters, but a much more ancient one fighting back against the colonialism that’s seeped into Senegal and Africa at large from both warring tribes and distant foreigners alike. As such, Saloum’s play with genres feels as vibrant and relevant as the timely topics it broaches–while also lending the film a wild universality that should push this film to be a breakout international hit.
Performances are enjoyable across the board–notably that of Juhen and the three Hyenas. Each of the mercenaries illustrates their own pragmatic approach to an increasingly terrifying situation–Chaka through no-holds-barred vengeance (a sequence with a poncho is peak Eastwood), Rafa through closed-minded self-preservation, and most enjoyably Minuit through something more ethereal–one who foregoes gunplay for more supernatural methods via gris-gris talismans and ancient magic. Gael, Sallah, and Ba each lend their characters a fierce individualism that is only bolstered by their presence as a group–with their reliance on one another in the direst of moments realized with kinetic intensity in the film’s latter Raid-tinged action sequences. The standout of the film, though, is Evelyne Ily Juhen’s Awa–she delivers a powerhouse of a silent performance, with each sharp sign of her dialogue rendered as if she were fighting off a crowd with Rafa’s butcher knives. In many ways, Awa is Saloum’s secret weapon–providing a welcome counterpoint to the mercenaries’ machismo in times of both tension and terror.
An unpredictable suspense film that blends the action of a heist film with the spooky scares of a home invasion horror flick, Saloum is a standout new genre-buster from Senegal tailor-made for thrill-seeking audiences at Fantastic Fest and abroad.
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Fantastic Fest 2021: BELLE is an Ambitious Social Media Spectacle
Mamoru Hosoda’s latest anime feature is a thoughtful exploration of the virtual masks we wear
Mamoru Hosoda’s films have a knack for exploring the fantastical worlds that exist in conjunction with our own, from the alternative mythological worlds of Japanese folklore in The Boy and the Beast to the stunning anthropomorphized social media of Summer Wars. Vibrantly underpinning these beautifully illustrated universes is a deeper, earnest exploration of inner worlds. Hosoda’s fascinated with how we connect to each other as human beings: how the various personas we adapt to get through our daily lives only stunt the growth of the people we have the potential to become. We could go back in time to fix our mistakes or explore the consequences of our actions (The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, Mirai) or carefully choose to be men over beasts (Wolf Children) but Hosoda unabashedly celebrates the inevitable conclusion for each of these fruitless pursuits.
We’re beautifully, majestically flawed human beings, and only in coming together do we become more than the sum of our parts. To err isn’t just to be human — it’s to become divine.
Hosoda’s latest feature Belle dives into the sprawling cyber world of U, a virtual system that has taken over how humans engage with the world around them. Where Summer Wars’ OZ platform was restricted to screen interaction, users of U can literally “start over” their lives in a Matrix-like setting that directly interfaces with their eyes and ears. Avatars are uniquely tailored to their creators’ biometrics, creating identical yet wildly stylized and augmented virtual doppelgängers based on their best qualities. Everyone in U can literally be their dream self, with all of the fantastical possibilities that holds. The greatest celebrity of this world is musician Bell, whose life-affirming, toe-tapping tracks take the world by storm with the aid of floating instant-translation subtitles and throngs of vocal fans in Japan and beyond. Bell’s true identity, like all of U’s users, is an encrypted secret: her real user, Suzu (“Bell” in Japanese), is an introverted schoolgirl who believes she can’t sing a note.
Billed as a modern take on Beauty and the Beast, Belle moves its original story’s focus beyond a search for good and beauty within the worst of us to the qualities we all seek to amplify or hide. Even beyond Suzu, who revels in both her virtual viral fame and real-life anonymity, everyone in Belle has something they seek to hide about themselves. Suzu becomes a pop icon; a middle-aged housewife troll-brigades for her causes using an infant avatar, believing herself immune to consequences; multiple students at Suzu’s school barely conceal nascent crushes on each other, not believing they’re good enough for their dream pairing. These flawed people couldn’t be more different from their U avatar counterparts, despite being based on their unique, unmodifiable biometrics. While the concept of the freedom of anonymity has been explored in tandem with the rise of Twitter and Facebook, Hosoda is fascinated with how the avatars we choose can also highlight the qualities we fail to see in ourselves.
This disparity, however, can prove as dangerously addictive as much as it is a public service. Constantly running from her meek, introverted life into a literal dream world where she manages to take down a rival pop star, Suzu is able to accomplish everything she dreams of before rejecting the idea she’s capable of such things in the real world. Instead, Suzu and her tech-savvy best friend carefully manage Bell’s online persona while laughing at which celebrity news programs speculate is secretly behind Bell’s every move. In the same breath, Suzu envies the popular girl at their school, shies away from talking to dreamy boy Shinobu, and hides under instruments in her after-school choir in order to sing semi-confidently. It’s fame seemingly without consequences…except at the cost of actually pursuing the dreams in the real world.
The dream world is exquisitely realized by Hosoda and his team at Studio Chizu, a vibrant kaleidoscope of pop culture, HUDs, kooky avatars, and glossy consumerism on endless transparent levels. Like the earthy vistas of The Boy and the Beast or even the last iteration of this virtual world in Summer Wars, audiences’ eyes might tear up on instinct; to take it all in at once is just too staggering a task to handle.
What might catch viewers off guard is how much time it takes Belle to get to its Bête. A mangled, toothy black mass hidden under a splotchy-bruised cloak, the Beast (or The Dragon) is a vicious creature who wreaks AI-freezing havoc wherever it goes. When it disrupts Bell’s biggest concert yet, a team of moderators led by blond-coiffed Justin is determined to use his anonymity-breaking unveiling powers to reveal the Beast’s true identity and bring him to justice. This subplot, undoubtedly owing the most to its original source material, is compelling in its razor-sharp jabs at cancel culture and misguided white-knighting. However, it can’t help but feel like too much of a diversion from the rigorously-developed themes of identity and fame that already make Belle a fascinating watch.
Hosoda manages to get these stories back on track, however, as Belle reveals more about the tragic backstory not just behind The Dragon, but Suzu herself. Scarred by her mother’s fatal sacrifice to save the life of another stranger’s child, Suzu has spent her life wracked with conflicting feelings of guilt and self-worth. Teased with tantalizing clues about The Dragon’s identity, Suzu realizes her virtual conflicts must be resolved in the real world, and she rallies her inner circle to help save the life of someone she only knows piecemeal using only the fragments of knowledge at her disposal. What’s more, Hosoda recognizes and values the real-life connection Suzu and other social media users create with similar strangers around the globe; that if the world were that much smaller, we’d be a real-life presence in their lives without question. Further questions abound from that insight: with the internet connecting us to more people than ever, what responsibility do we have to these strangers facing peril at such a remove to us? And if we choose to act, what is the value system behind such virtual altruism, as avatars allow us to mask our motivations at every turn?
The plot’s myriad (and sometimes overwhelming) plot strands manage to converge in a heart-wrenching, visually stunning manner in the vein of classic Hosoda, and not without a copious amount of the signature slice-of-life humor that makes his features so memorable. Even with a handful of people in our early press screening, a sequence where a schoolboy and his crush approach each other in an unbroken shot that evokes both Buster Keaton and The Hurt Locker made the theater echo with raucous laughter. As ambitious and beautiful as Belle’s more gargantuan sequences may be, it’s these moments of touching simplicity that might stick with you the most. Like the characters within them, it’s the balance and combination of these sequences that make Hosoda’s films add up to something extraordinary–and Belle is a wonderful new addition to a stellar filmography.
Belle had its Texas Premiere at Fantastic Fest on September 25th, with a theatrical release planned for 2021 courtesy of GKIDS.
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Fantastic Fest 2021: THE BLACK PHONE is Creepy, Claustrophobic, and Wickedly Cool
This Joe Hill adaptation from the team behind Sinister is a spooky and suspenseful riot
North Denver, 1978. A string of neighborhood teens have gone missing, giving rise to rumors of a devilish child abductor known as The Grabber. To Finney Shaw (Mason Thames) and his younger sister Gwen (Madeleine McGraw), the rumors are just that–tinged with odd whispered details of a black van, black balloons left behind at the scene of the victim’s last known whereabouts, and others…until Finney’s best friend Robin becomes the Grabber’s latest victim. Gwen has strange dreams that seem to point to the Grabber’s identity–but their abusive father (Jeremy Davies) beats such notions out of them, fearful Gwen will end up like their suicidal mother if she pursues her dreams further. Before too long, though, Finney learns the Grabber (Ethan Hawke) is all too real…ending up imprisoned in his concrete basement alone with the detritus of past victims. A disconnected black phone may be Finney’s last hope, as he receives instructions from the ghosts of the Grabber’s victims on how to escape his captor’s clutches.
Based off the 20-page short story by Joe Hill, The Black Phone reunites Sinister’s creative duo Scott Derrickson and C. Robert Cargill for a supernaturally-charged suspense thriller that’s equal parts terrifying and tender, transforming Finney’s abduction into a pulse-pounding coming of age story.
While The Black Phone deliberately keeps its two leads separated for much of the film’s runtime, Derrickson and Cargill structure their film to allow both Thames and McGraw to shine in riveting and suspenseful parallel storylines. While Hill’s original story opens with Finney’s abduction, the film spends quite a bit of time setting up Finney’s family dynamic, as well as the emotional impact these abductions have had on their small circle of friends. It’s clear early on that Finney and Gwen rely on each other to survive even without the threat of a child-killer looming over them. Davies’ father character is a walking time bomb, perpetually drunk after working shifts at the local plant, and barely suppressing his grief over their recently deceased mother.
Finney and Gwen don’t have time for grief. Here, they take on the roles vacated by both parents, cleaning up empty beer bottles amidst afternoon episodes of Davey and Goliath. Thames and McGraw are excellent throughout The Black Phone, creating a lived-in sibling bond that outwits and outlasts any threats both domestic and outside their home. Thames possesses the Spielbergian ingenuity of the best kid leads, determined to figure out any situation arising from conflicts other adults would expect him to be too young to understand, let alone to bravely face on his own. McGraw brought down the house at Fantastic Fest with her earnest, profanity-laden challenges to everyone in authority, from local detectives to Jesus himself. Even when abused by her father, Gwen never lets her rebellious streak be snuffed out. She eventually shouts what her father wants to hear, but her piercing stare reveals she couldn’t give a single damn what he thinks — and they both know it.
When Finney is abducted, Derrickson kinetically cross-cuts between the siblings’ storylines, navigating Finney’s piecemeal unearthing of the basement’s secrets while similar clues burrow their way into Gwen’s dreams. Often, Finney’s visions, relayed to him by dialed-in spirits, will bleed into similar visions experienced by Gwen, keeping the two linked even when the two are physically apart. It’s a wonderful expansion of the short story’s universe, keeping the film moving beyond its confined setting without sacrificing any of the intricately constructed tension and claustrophobia. And because the film rarely leaves the POV of these child actors (aside from two detectives and a brief but hilarious appearance by Sinister actor James Ransone), The Black Phone’s lean focus charges each scene with immediacy, emotional power, and pure terror.
Jesus, is this movie terrifying. Whether it’s the sudden appearance of the Grabber’s past victims, their otherworldly voices filtered by landline static, or how their dialogue will ambiently bounce around disparate theater speakers, Derrickson and Cargill perpetually keep The Black Phone’s audience in a constant state of unease and anxiety. The pair are masters at what’s directly shown versus what’s dreadfully implied — with the ruins of the basement serving as illustrations of past gruesome events while the ghosts narrate their final attempts at escape.
The supreme terror in this film, however, comes from Ethan Hawke’s unbelievably creepy performance. The Grabber is capital-E Evil, with an unrestrained malevolence injected into every cheerfully delivered line. His split mask, a future classic creation by the legendary Tom Savini, allows Hawke to drive his character into further unpredictable territory. The Grabber may make either his eyes or his mouth visible, but never is he fully revealed–keeping him perpetually unknowable and terrifying. Derrickson and Cargill likewise never delve into the backstory of the killer himself. We know only as much as Finney does, leaving much of his motivation to deliciously fester in the imaginations of the audience. While past roles like Tape have seen Hawke turn in understated villainous roles, and even Sinister saw the actor flirt with a hubris-fueled darkness, you’ve never seen Hawke this diabolical.
The killer’s unpredictability is also realized in much of The Black Phone’s impressively creative production design. The film does bring a beautiful amount of period accuracy to a horror film — its opening shot is literally a pop-top can — but what’s truly amazing his how Derrickson, Cargill, and Production Designer Patti Podesta turn every inch of Finney’s basement prison into a minefield of innocuous setups and cheer-inducing payoffs. It’s a great way to visually-realize the film’s journey from Finney’s darkest despair to his life-affirming drive to survive, as Finney digs, tears, buries, and climbs his way out of the jaws of death that have claimed so many before him.
Sinister may have set a terrifyingly high bar at Fantastic Fest 2012, but The Black Phone reunites its creative team for a film that skillfully employs old-school horror and popcorn excitement with sincerity and heart.
The Black Phone had its world premiere at Fantastic Fest on September 25th, 2021. It hits theaters courtesy of Universal Pictures on February 4, 2022.
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Fantastic Fest 2021: Jim Cummings & PJ McCabe’s THE BETA TEST: You Must Spring This Thirst Trap
Jim Cummings’ unhinged hot streak continues brilliantly
One wonders just how long Hollywood outsider Jim Cummings can keep his hot streak running.
From Thunder Road, to The Wolf Of Snow Hollow, to The Beta Test, Cummings writes, directs, and portrays a lead character who is absolutely on the verge of collapse, is perhaps one of the most exhausting lead characters in history (yes, in all 3 movies), and yet who ultimately becomes profoundly, uncomfortably vulnerable and generates a unique kind of cinematic empathy. As exhausting and ruinous as Cummings’ characters are, we can’t help but identify with them in some uncomfortable way we’d most likely care not to admit. And if this were all there was to Jim Cummings’ schtick, then perhaps there would be every reason to believe that his hot streak will be coming to a halt before too long. But what Cummings has now abundantly proven in his latest two features is that he can bring his incredibly unique characterization of broken humanity and place it into any number of genres and simply knock those genres out of the park.
Thunder Road introduced Cummings to the world as a father and a cop who simply has a unique and extremely public sort of breakdown. Wolf Of Snow Hollow brings a similar kind of character into a horror/murder mystery tale and nails everything about the genre. The Beta Test introduces a new co-writer/co-director/co-star in PJ McCabe and goes down a mystery/erotic thriller path to absolutely singular results. It’s odd, but even with his first two films being some of my favorites of their respective years, I still had some doubts as to the staying power of Jim Cummings. But here with The Beta Test, I’m comfortable believing that Cummings and his collaborators are here to stay, with endless creative energy and imagination left in the tank and endless fire in their bellies to skewer our way of life and affirm our mutually broken humanity.
There’s a confidence of vision in McCabe and Cummings’ latest film which is so brazen it literally seals their fates in terms of their futures in Hollywood. Cummings has long been outspoken about the dysfunctionality of Hollywood and the studio system and has thus far created his films totally outside of the studio system utilizing crowdfunding and social media. But The Beta Test pours some lighter fluid on the Hollywood sign and sets it ablaze as Cummings and McCabe play best friends Jordan and PJ who are slimy Hollywood agents at a fictional talent management agency called APE. One might almost call their scathing commentary on the brokenness and moral bankruptcy of the machine behind talent management on the nose if it weren’t so absolutely brazen and thorough and ultimately refreshing, because no one else would ever have the guts to take aim and fire so directly at the system that produces the very motion pictures we all love so much. And yet, it seems clear that Cummings and McCabe are perfectly capable of creating some of the most exciting motion pictures of the last several years without Hollywood’s help, so as they forge their own path, their righteous indignation towards a system that has allowed constant grifting, abusive relationships, power imbalance, and repeated sexual abuse of women and minors, will serve as a gift and not a curse.
But let’s talk about The Beta Test and how absolutely enthralling it is as its own piece of work. Cummings’ Jordan reminds me of Jude Law’s character in The Nest in that they’re both grifting their bosses, clients, and families into believing they’re more successful and fabulously wealthy than they really are. Jordan tells everyone about his Tesla, how he’s five years sober, and how every deal is just one “talk” away from closing. He’s also 6 weeks out from his wedding to his longsuffering fiancee Caroline (Virginia Newcomb, who is great in both this and The Death Of Dick Long) and has just received an intriguing purple envelope in the mail inviting him to a “no strings attached” sexual encounter…
Because Jordan is profoundly insecure and an absolute fuck-up, he takes the bait, has a frankly very hot sexual encounter, and is then promptly caught up in an identity theft situation that sends his already fake life spiraling out of control. Importantly, however, it isn’t just that Jordan is a fuck-up. Rather, The Best Test shows us that countless others have also fallen for this purple envelope scheme. And the film reminds us, with plenty of context, that it isn’t just Hollywood that is broken, it’s our whole national ethos. The pressure to “fake it ‘till you make it” is so prevalent in America that there are hundreds of thousands of Jordan’s burning the candle at both ends and quietly spiraling out of control. This fact allows us to both be disgusted by Jordan and also to identify with his plight.
Central to The Beta Test, beyond the character study of a broken human being, is this exercise in genre. The film is an effortlessly engaging mystery that keeps the audience guessing even as the solution to the problem is glaringly obvious: Jordan just needs to be honest with himself and his loved ones. The Beta Test, and the identity thieves all around us, know that we humans are so prone to hiding our demons at all cost that we’ll burn our entire lives down before we’ll simply be vulnerable. Jordan isn’t a hero by any stretch of the imagination. But it’s only when he begins to share some of his plight with PJ that the mystery begins to come into focus. And the key to the whole thing will come down to whether or not Jordan can stop lying incessantly to Caroline. But I won’t reveal where that all goes as you must see this for yourself.
What’s important is that The Beta Test succeeds in every possible regard. You’ve got unique, thrilling, and belly-laugh-inducing performances from Cummings, McCabe, and Newcomb. You’ve got angry, personal, pointed critique leveled directly at the power players in Hollywood who allow their abuse-laden system to keep festering. And you’ve got a thrilling rabbit hole mystery that never ceases to shock and surprise. All of it is actually elevated and made singular by Cummings’ exhausting work as a phony whose vulnerability is laid so achingly bare that you can’t help but cringe at the humanity of it all. There are very few voices that are able to say what Jim Cummings is saying through his work, and his is a voice that demands to be heard.
And I’m Out.
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Fantastic Fest 2021: PREMAN Has Something to Say With Its Indonesian Action
A non-traditional action film
Go ahead and get The Raid out of your head right now.
While it’s an Indonesian action film, Preman’s similarities to The Raid end right there. And there’s really nothing wrong with that. While I’ll admit that its genre is what got me to check the film out, I’m more than happy for Indonesian filmmakers like Preman writer/director Randolph Zaini to push beyond any boundaries western fans of The Raid might try to impose upon their work. And to mixed results, that feels like what Zaini had in mind.
The plot template feels right in line with countless international action showcases, with a father on the run from gangsters with his son in tow. Variations from that template this time out include our protagonist Sandi (Khiva Iskak) being deaf, and also not being a particularly great fighter or father. This is where it becomes clear that Preman will be a departure from the average action film. It’s a time honored tradition for audiences to root for their hero to kill all the bad guys and save the innocent child. Preman isn’t as interested in that as in exploring such heavy ideas as generational trauma, bullying, homophobia, and more. Sandi is a Preman, which the film defines for us as a particular kind of gangster that masks their violence under the guise of embracing some kind of political philosophy, but which is generally regarded by the average citizen as a nuisance (or worse). And, as such, Sandi isn’t exactly well regarded in the community. He’s also personally haunted by his own demons, in the form of nightmares personified by foxes portrayed as cartoonishly oversized mascot-costumed people. It gets a little bit weird, this one.
And so, while on its face Preman has the structure of a fairly traditional action film, Zaini clearly has more on his mind. This results in a film that’s less satisfying than the average action film, which I’ll admit is a struggle for me as an action fan. But far be it from me to fault a filmmaker who wants to explore the effects of toxic masculinity, bullying, and homophobia on their country’s culture.
Sandi isn’t without his charms as a protagonist trying desperately to save his son from gangsters who wish them dead after they witness said gang murder a community leader so they can take his land for a real estate developer. My favorite component of the film from an action perspective is Sandi’s signature weapon, which the filmmakers called a “monkey paw”. It’s this heavy ball on the end of a rope which Sandi uses to lay waste to his attackers. I’d never seen it before and Zaini explained to me in the film’s Q&A that it’s kind of a messy weapon used by drunken sailors in barroom brawls. So Sandi’s use of the monkey paw isn’t the same as a masterful Bruce Lee pulling out his signature nunchucks and displaying his supremacy. Rather, the monkey paw is considered a sloppy weapon to give you a slight advantage over your down and dirty competitors. I’d say it’s a pretty iconic weapon in the film, and this background helped me to better understand that Zaini and Iskak know their character quite well… and they know he isn’t a hero.
Sandi’s actions throughout the film result in a whole lot of negative consequences. Or, rather, his inactions. By not breaking with his corrupt gang, and standing up for what is right, some very traumatic and irreparable things happen. From an audience perspective, it makes it hard to root for Sandi. He’s not decisive. He’s not courageous. But he’s on the path to redemption and really it’s his son Pandu (Muzakki Ramdhan) who will do the saving as he models a more just lifestyle for his father to emulate.
Preman isn’t perfect, as its dramatic ambitions and its action film trappings don’t always seem to mesh in an airtight way. One almost gets the sense that for Indonesian filmmakers to be noticed internationally these days, it’s best to at least have some level of connection point to The Raid. And as I’ve already admitted, it’s the action that got me in the door. But Preman almost doesn’t really want to be an action movie. And even though it’s taking an opportunity to be critical of shortcomings in Indonesian inclusion, this westerner ended up needing some of the context provided in the post-film Q&A to really make sense of some of it. So while it’s just my perspective, I could see general audiences struggling to make some of the connections that Zaini intended.
But in the end there’s plenty to enjoy here, not least of which is a pretty iconic villain, The Barber, who will make you think differently about both scissors and the myth of Medusa. And that monkey paw really is a good bit of fun as our scrappy protagonist stays one step ahead of death until he finally gets his shit together. The further you throw away any expectations of The Raid, the better you’ll be setting yourself up to enjoy Preman.
And I’m Out.
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Fantastic Fest 2021: LAMB is a Patient and Primal Exploration of Parenthood
Noomi Rapace and Hilmir Snær Guðnason are spellbinding as farm bound parents who take a new creature into their care
Isolated in the Icelandic countryside on their sprawling estate, María (Noomi Rapace) and Ingvar (Hilmir Snær Guðnason) eke out their days tending to their livestock and crops. The outside world hints at monumental progress–time travel is now theoretically possible. Ingvar doesn’t see the point in seeing the future ahead, content with living in the everyday of their current experience. He hasn’t given a thought to the flip side of this possibility–to return to the past–but María’s quick answer reveals she has. What’s more, that it’s something she’s thought about for a long time while Ingvar seems to have buried the past outright. The tension exposed lingers across every scene in Valdimar Jóhannsson’s Lamb (Dýrið), like an imprint in a deathbed or a dust outline around a vacant picture frame. When the film finally arrives at its central conceit, the arrival of a cuddly new member of María and Ingvar’s family, Jóhannsson’s absurdity augments the aching sincerity behind this couple’s crushing loss, the emotional void filled by the role of parenthood, and what lengths we’ll go through to never feel that loss again.
Writer-director Jóhannsson maintains a strict grasp on the languid pace of Lamb throughout. With stunning tableaux of Icelandic mountain ranges and dew-strewn fields and a clinical view of the harsh yet necessary routines of farm life, much of Lamb feels like a Scandinavian successor to the films of Bela Tarr (who mentored Jóhannsson in film school, and executive produced Lamb). It’s in these meticulously captured sequences that the buried anguish of María and Ingvar comes to light–while tilling fields, repairing tractors, and birthing livestock are essential to their mental health as much as they are vital to keeping the lights running. Co-written by Jóhannsson and author Sjón (who also co-wrote Robert Eggers’ next feature, The Northman), I was caught off guard that the film was largely dialogue-free during the stretches where it’s solely María and Ingvar — but this decision speaks to not how this couple’s relationship has eroded but thrived beyond typical human recognition in their isolation. Having weathered literal and emotional storms together–Lamb realizes the need to express such feelings is so unnecessary.
Rapace and Guðnason are wholly committed to realizing this relationship onscreen, sharing a tenderness that blossoms as they take care of the new being under their charge. While similar creature features have actors who feel they need to overact to compensate for performing against a tennis ball, both actors radiate pure parental affection against what was revealed to be actual lambs, human babies, and eventually a skillfully designed combination of the two. As previously noted in one of the opening sequences, Rapace and Guðnason do diverge in how they choose to protect their adopted daughter–with Ingvar acting as the more conciliatory of the two to maintain a fragile peace, and Rapace quick to resort to whatever means necessary. As a result, the relationship between these leads feels dynamic and emotionally charged throughout Lamb, keeping the film moving at a measured pace even as further patience is required of the audience to piece together the film’s more understated and ambiguous moments.
The aforementioned VFX are truly a wonder to behold, used sparingly but without much obfuscation or trickery by the filmmakers. It’s crucial that for Lamb to work at all, the audience needs to be able to imprint on this creature as much as María and Ingvar do–not only to be convinced of the reality of Ada, but in the reality of what María and Ingvar do to defend their roles as her adopted parents. To keep it short–Ada is such an adorable creature, with her reflective lamb/human eyes filled with endless wonder and curiosity. Early on, she’s aware she doesn’t quite fit in–and is suspicious of any visitors that do arrive at the farm, notably Ingvar’s ex-rocker brother Pétur (Björn Hlynur Haraldsson). These hyper-aware emotions are an effective beacon of empathy for the audience–telegraphing how one wrong response could send this family’s lovingly crafted relationship tragically crashing down.
Which speaks to what I took away most from Lamb–how we develop that child-parent bond, and how María and Ingvar questionably exploit that attachment for their own self-therapeutic ends. It’s one of the few developments in Lamb that goes as far as to get an in-scene explanation, rooted in earlier heartbreak and loss. Much of their parenting, as is everyone’s, is done in the bubble of their farm, with María and Ingvar slowly learning to acknowledge their own past trauma and move on as they teach Ada about the beauty of the world. But how much of their attachment to Ada is for their own benefit, rather than raising this non-verbal lamb-child themselves? Throughout, the business of raising Ada feels increasingly akin to María and Ingvar’s deliberate dedication to their farm work, albeit with a more emotionally gratifying bent.
It’s a meditative conceit that provokes Jóhannsson’s audience throughout–even more so when some of its more fantastical elements go unexplained–whether it be an auspicious Christmas birth or more understated ties to Icelandic mythology. Lamb is a film that invites its audience to empathize with the broken people at its core as much as they do with the cuddly creation that’s the focus of its marketing–and to acknowledge the complex and conflicting emotions at the heart of a primal parental bond.
Lamb had its U.S. premiere at Fantastic Fest on September 25th. It hits theaters on October 8th courtesy of A24.
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Fantastic Fest 2021: MASTER OF THE FLYING GUILLOTINE, The RZA, & THESE FISTS BREAK BRICKS
A kung fu cinema experience
I moved to Austin in 2010 from Maryland and immediately jumped into the bustling film scene which had drawn me here. In casual conversation people will often ask about what made me relocate halfway across the country and I’ll frequently say: the film culture in Austin. I loved movies just as much in the suburbs of Washington DC as I do today, but I knew I had to not just keep reading about film festivals, film production, and breaking film news: I had to go and live it. Fantastic Fest, like all other film festivals and really any event-based organization, has struggled during COVID, going to an all virtual version in 2020 that wasn’t dubbed an “official” Fantastic Fest, and then here in 2021 having to majorly rework itself in response to the Delta variant just weeks before opening day. It’s been a rough ride for the organizers and promoters. But I dive into my own backstory and lay out the realistic context on the ground all to simply say this: Film festivals, and Fantastic Fest specifically, have an irreplicable ability to create true cinematic magic. And I’ll be forever grateful for all the forces in the world that combined to give me the chance to watch a 35mm print of Master Of The Flying Guillotine on the big screen whilst sitting mere feet away from The RZA as he provided live commentary for the film. (This was arranged by a company called 36 Cinema where RZA has partnered with Dan Halsted to present these kinds of ticketed screenings with live talent commentary in a mostly online format).
While my own kung fu bona fides are nowhere near what they could be and I’ll forever be a student, not a master, I came into the theater having seen this particular title more than once. I just wanted to focus on watching whatever action and kung fu cinema I could at the festival, and while I understood RZA would be providing a “live” commentary, I thought for sure that meant via Zoom. So it was a bit of pure magic when he showed up in the flesh to wax rhapsodic about kung fu cinema in general, and specifically this title. Jimmy Wang Yu’s Master Of The Flying Guillotine is frankly one of my favorite kung fu films because I feel it really stands out from a crowded field. A challenge I have with old school kung fu is that, while I enjoy it a lot, I regularly have trouble keeping them all separate from one another. Their stories often take a backseat to extraordinary physical brawls and battles. And while it’s great that the martial arts are the focus, I frequently find years later I can’t remember if I’ve even seen a particular title or not. Not so with this one. From the distinctive weapon, to being named after the film’s villain, to the showdown between an evil blind master and a one-armed hero… there’s just so much to love about this one. The music in particular has always been insanely badass, and it’s wild to have learned that Jimmy Wang Yu (who starred, wrote, and directed it) also just swiped music from some German band for the blind master’s theme and a Tangerine Dream track as well. I know rights clearances and sampling and all of that stuff can be dicey, but I love the music in this movie and, as the RZA said, “Cinema is hip hop”, and I’m glad this film exists as it does, among the very best kung fu films of all time.
Due to the capitalism engine that drives this country, behind the magic there’s always a little bit of something to sell. In this case, I don’t mind at all that a couple of these kung fu retrospective events such as this Guillotine screening and an upcoming Dynasty 3D screening were most likely organized in order to support the aforementioned 36 Cinema and also to sell a few brand new books. In this case one of Alamo Drafthouse’s companies, Mondo, is publishing a new book about the impact of kung fu cinema on American pop culture. It’s a large coffee table style book, printed in full color, called These Fists Break Bricks with a forward by RZA, but written by Grady Hendrix and Chris Poggiali. I’m unashamed to have purchased a copy myself, that’ll ultimately get signed by all 3 of the contributors. And while I’m not one for autographs and signed copies generally, I’ll almost certainly read the book cover to cover, and most importantly it’ll always be tied to this singular, magical experience that is only possible through me showing up to festivals, a killer team organizing these kinds of experiences, and the eternal need to support art by buying it.
And I’m Out.
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Fantastic Fest 2021: BABY ASSASSINS: Hard Hitting Action, One Note Comedy
An exercise in contradictory tones
Disaffected teenage girls Chisato (Akari Takaishi) and Mahiro (Saori Izawa) are roommates fresh out of high school navigating the frustrations of part time job interviews, demeaning service industry gigs, and the challenges that arise from being… secretly highly trained assassins? Yes, writer/director Yugo Sakamoto’s action comedy Baby Assassins is an exercise in contrasts, introducing us to the dour and depressed Mahiro and the chipper and boisterous Chisato as they learn to “adult” even as they take assignments from their shadowy employers. Hijinks ensue such as Chisato sleeping through her alarm so she’s running around the apartment grabbing a jacket, her keys, and her firearm so she won’t be late to her assassination appointment. The tone of this kind of comedy is pretty consistent throughout and it seems our actresses and Sakamoto have a pretty good feel for who these characters are. Baby Assassins builds a pretty distinct world.
It’s just that the comedy never quite rose beyond “amusing”, and the one note scenario seems to drag on for quite a while, even for a 95 minute feature film. As I wasn’t quite vibing with the film, I was getting close to dismissing it. I’m glad I pushed through, however, because Baby Assassins does build to a pretty grand finale, and does some minimal character exploration and growth.
Regarding that grand finale: Let’s talk about a man named Kensuke Sonomura. With over 75 credits to his name on IMDb as a stunt professional (a few of my personal highlights being action choreographer on Hydra and John Woo’s Manhunt), Sonomura is among the very best of the best when it comes to cinematic action. The 2021 film Hydra is so phenomenal, and so distinct, in fact, that I recognized the signature style found in that film here in Baby Assassins. I had to do a little internet digging but confirmed that indeed, Sonomura is the action director here… and it shows. While I’d argue that the recipe in Baby Assassins is just slightly off in favor of comedy over action, Mahiro’s absolutely stellar fight sequences will no doubt be among the very best of 2021/2022 (whenever this title releases in the United States). With a steady camera capturing all the gritty details, and a grappling style that’s powerfully cinematic, Sonomura’s action choreography matched with Saori Izawa and Akari Takaishi’s screen presences is what you’re paying for when you buy a ticket to Baby Assassins.
There’s definite comedic value in watching a couple of dramatic teen girls navigate the challenges of the roommate life while casually dispatching of rogue yakuza and such. But while there’s some thematic stuff going on, such as hinting at what kind of psychological damage is being done to these kids, and getting at the meaning of friendship between these two very different teen killers… even at 95 minutes Baby Assassins just barely justifies its length. But when toughing it out you’ll find just enough spark to the central relationship and a virtuoso action sequence or two to leave your jaw agape.
And I’m Out.
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Fantastic Fest 2021: THE EXECUTION: A Sweeping Russian Serial Killer Epic
A thrilling debut from director Lado Kvatanya
I think it’s safe to say at this point that “serial killer epics” are a firmly established subgenre. I’m talking about frequently period-set mystery/drama/thrillers that are grand in scope, and explore not only the cat and mouse chase of cops, killers, and victims, but also the culture around which these events take place. Just off the top of my head (I’m sure dozens of other examples might spring to your minds) you’ve got David Fincher’s Zodiac, Bong Joon Ho’s Memories Of Murder, and the Netflix series Mindhunters (which Fincher was also involved with). All of these properties take turns thrilling and frustrating their viewers and characters alike, frequently exposing the brokenness of humanity and the shortcomings of political and justice systems. The Execution is Russia’s latest entry into this subgenre and it easily goes toe to toe with those examples.
Hopping back and forth from events in and around 1981 to 1988 to 1991, The Execution follows Detectives Issa Valentinovich (Nikoloz Tavadze) and Ivan Sevastyanov (apologies, unable to locate the actor’s name) through a roller coaster of events surrounding the capture of a serial killer. Issa made his career as a younger man bringing a notorious serial killer to justice. Having seemingly done the same again in 1991 and being promoted in the process, a woman comes screaming out of the forest having escaped a murderer — throwing Issa’s previous arrest out the window. The screenplay from debut director Lado Kvatanya and co-writer Olga Gorodetskaya weaves wonderfully back and forth, doling out breadcrumbs masterfully to keep the audience guessing and engaged as an ever more complex picture is painted of the complex psychologies not only of the killers, but of the cops as well. According to Kvatanya, the writers were interested in exploring the collision between a conformist (Issa) and an idealist (Ivan) as they attempt to solve an almost impenetrable crime.
First and foremost, The Execution works because it’s a riveting thriller. As much as it’s possible to be “entertained” by such grim subject matter as a serial killer, The Execution is loaded with red herrings and shocking revelations, all aided by the time hopping screenplay that can at times be tough to follow, but which will all pay off in a hermetically sealed package. In the final act of the film a number of major twists and turns emerge which I won’t spoil for anyone, but which firmly place the film into a slightly more satisfying package than some of the other films I’ve categorized The Execution alongside.
But that’s where another level of The Execution’s excellence should be noted. Because while the film will ultimately shock and entertain the viewer with its twists, the first two thirds of the movie very clearly explore the extreme “Russian-ness” of the events occurring. Aesthetically, The Execution is brilliant. I don’t know what Russia actually feels like, having never been there myself, but The Execution transported me to smoke-filled, dimly lit institutional offices and isolated farms in the forest and the cinematography and set design all just clicks into place. In terms of story, Issa is pressured by the government to wrap up the case and name a killer to save face, and it becomes clear just how much the USSR government apparatus will have an impact on the case as Issa makes his career by naming a name, and Ivan spirals out of control with the need for the truth. It honestly never really occurred to me to consider the actual historical context of what was happening in Russia as these events were unfolding, but The Execution is subtle in this regard, allowing an attentive viewer to associate the dissolution of our main characters with the dissolution of the USSR itself without being on the nose.
One of the biggest surprises and best films I’ve seen thus far at Fantastic Fest 2021, The Execution is a thrilling debut from a first-time filmmaker. Audiences who’ve loved serial killer cinema in the past will most definitely want to take the time and check out The Execution, assuming it ever secures a North American release, which I hope it does!
