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Actresses Abroad [THE HAUNTING OF JULIA & HUSTLE]
![Actresses Abroad [THE HAUNTING OF JULIA & HUSTLE]](https://i0.wp.com/cinapse.co/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/hustle5.jpg?resize=700%2C400&ssl=1)
“Nice to be in demand.”
The average moviegoer’s attraction and allure towards the women they see on the screen is one that’s rooted in a great range of emotions, from trust to lust. In the minds of producers and studio executives, men should see a female movie star and instantly imagine themselves as the man in her life whereas women should look at the same star and wonder what it would be like to have them as their best friend.
For better or worse, this has been standard practice when it comes to testing the staying power of homegrown female movie stars. However, the rules have been somewhat different for actresses who cross over into filmmaking landscapes that are not their own. Foreign audiences have always loved American imports in the form of Hollywood starlets, who many see as vital in helping to sell the image of America overseas. The same can’t always be said for the reverse with only a handful of foreign actresses successfully making names for themselves (in movie star terms, anyhow) stateside. Much of this has to do with how each side treats actresses, and women, in general. While one side sees them as goddesses to be revered and admired, the other considers them commodities to be fawned over for a period and then torn down.
Two such prominent examples of actresses who found acclaim and prominence in both their native countries and abroad are Catherine Deneuve and Mia Farrow. The former quickly rose to become one of France’s most indelible screen beauties, while the latter was Hollywood royalty who wasted no time making a name for herself. Yet both looked to venture beyond the bounds of their native lands to explore projects and characters that took them to places neither had explored before.
Earlier this year, a pair of titles, The Haunting of Julia and Hustle, were released showing Deneuve and Farrow’s ability to capture and captivate the screen in ways neither of their home audiences had seen before.
The Haunting of Julia
Known as Full Circle upon initial release, 1977’s The Haunting of Julia stars Farrow as Julia Lofting, an American housewife living in London with her husband Magnus (Kier Dullea) following the death of their daughter Lily (Jill Bennett). While Magnus has dealt with his grief, Julia has had a harder time in the aftermath of Lily’s death, leading her to experience supernatural occurrences around the house. It soon becomes apparent to Julia that the ghost of another child is trying to contact her, one whom she is convinced can get her in touch with the daughter she lost.
Many who have seen director Richard Loncraine’s adaptation of this Peter Straub novel declared it to plodding and predictable, which partly resulted in the film not being given a proper US release until 1981. But if The Haunting of Julia is short an original plot or jump scares, it’s brimming over with setting, atmosphere, and a sense of an especially dark force that will almost certainly result in an equally dark fate for everyone involved. The film immediately takes its place as one of the great British horrors of the late ’70s, evoking the chilliness of the everyday outside world and the cold, encroaching horror plaguing its main character. At its heart though is a story about childhood mortality and every parent’s inability to accept such a concept. More than that, The Haunting of Julia uses its horror elements to show a parent’s guilt at feeling that they’ve failed at protecting the single most important person to ever come into their lives.
At the time of The Haunting of Julia, Farrow was already an international star having achieved popularity for her role on TV’s Peyton Place and had become one of the silver screen’s most acclaimed actresses with her iconic turn in Rosemary’s Baby. Taking on the lead in another horror movie was a risk, but it’s one that paid off with rewards that can clearly be seen on the screen. Julia is one of Farrow’s most underrated performances. The actress’s wide eyes, deep well of emotion, and ever-present vulnerability are not only what drives her characterization of Julia, but they’re also what largely drives the film as a whole. There aren’t many scenes of Farrow falling into scream queen mode; instead, she plays Julia as a truly haunted woman who battles not just a ghost, but also her fragile mind. It’s undeniably one of her most brilliant moments on the screen.
Hustle
In 1970s L.A. a title detective named Phil (Burt Reynolds) has been tasked with finding the killer of a teenage girl, who was known to have been seen with some of the city’s most notorious criminals. Despite the insistence that Phil let the case go, the grief he sees in the girl’s parents (Ben Johnson and Eileen Brennan) encourage him to press on. Eventually, the case starts to wreak havoc on his professional name, which is already on shaky ground thanks to his romantic relationship with a call girl named Nicole (Deneuve).
Finding anyone who has seen, let alone likes Hustle is a daunting task. The film was one of a handful that critic Leonard Maltin gave a “bomb” rating to and even star/producer Reynolds as well as director Robert Aldrich (yes, that Robert Aldrich) have each said they had problems with the way the movie turned out. Watching Hustle today, none of those misgivings seem to be justified. The film, while certainly not original, is a well-paced crime story set in an appropriately gloomy Los Angeles. As expected, the twists, turns, and revelations are there, but they take second place to the scenes featuring people delving into themselves and the L.A. world they inhabit. Disguising a character piece as a shoot-em-up crime thriller starring one of the decade’s biggest action stars was a hurdle that certainly didn’t go over well with audiences. But it’s the way Hustle manages the two sides that makes the film an interesting watch today.
By the time Hustle came around, Deneuve was in the kind of position most actresses would envy. She’d been one of the figures at the forefront of a cinematic movement (the French new wave), while her off-screen persona (as well as her various relationships) gave her an allure that not only made her the face of French cinema but also the muse of designer Yves Saint Laurent. Her performance in Hustle is an interesting one. As Nicole, Deneuve brings her usual grace and aforementioned allure to the character, but also gives hints to a past that’s left her wounded. Even though she’s her own boss, looks fabulous, and lives in an upscale home, there’s a small tarnish to her leftover from the past she’s overcome but is still slightly there. You see this in her scenes with Phil and the various moments they share, which are filled with a romance that the two are struggling to keep alive as the worlds each one belongs to threaten to keep them at a distance.
Both Deneuve and Farrow continued long and varied careers following their roles in Hustle and The Haunting of Julia, respectively. Farrow would soon begin her longtime ongoing collaboration with Woody Allen, which saw some of the best performances of her career, including The Purple Rose of Cairo and Alice. Although she slowed down in the late 90s/early 00s, projects like the updated version of The Omen and the Arthur and the Invisible series helped introduce Farrow to a new generation. Deneuve, meanwhile, has continued to gravitate towards projects that are daring in their boldness with The Hunger, Indochine (for which she was Oscar-nominated), Dancer in the Dark, and 8 Women being particular highlights.
Each actress also delved heavily into humanitarian causes, becoming activists for a variety of groups, including children in need, AIDS and cancer patients, and climate change. Although they’ve come a long way from the actresses they were when both films were made, the daringness and curiosity that has been the guiding force in the choices Farrow and Deneuve have made on and off the screen is also what has made them the global icons each deserves to be.
The Haunting of Julia is now available on Blu-Ray and DVD from Scream Factory. Hustle is now available on Blu-Ray and DVD from Kino Lorber.
Action, Alice, Arthur and the Invisibles, Ben Johnson, Blu Ray, Burt Reynolds, Catherine Deneuve, Crime, Drama, Eileen Brennan, Home Video, Horror, Hustle, Kier Dullea, Kino Lorber, Los Angeles, Mia Farrow, Movies, Peter Straub, Peyton Place, Robert Aldrich, Rosemarys Baby, Scream Factory, The Haunting of Julia, The Omen, The Purple Rose of Cairo, Thriller, Woody Allen -
Looking Back at Some of the Top Kino Lorber Releases of 2023
“If you can’t get affection at home, you may have to go shopping for it.”
Kino Lorber has once again proven themselves to be the top of the line when it comes to the boutique home video label game. The company’s continued aim of giving new life to a wide assortment of titles across a multitude of genres and eras has never known any bounds. With insightful commentary tracks, retrospective interviews, vintage clips, and stunning transfers for every title, Kino has been the saving grace for a countless number of forgotten films and the legions of fans who love them. In recent times, Kino has branched off into other areas, such as theatrical distribution (most notably bringing the anti-war Jane Fonda film FTA to the screen more than 50 years after President Nixon yanked it from theaters) and earlier this year announced their very own streaming platform, which shows their commitment to all kinds of cinephiles.
NEEDFUL THINGS, Ed Harris, 1993. ©Castle Rock Entertainment But the heart of Kino remains their loyalty to the home video collector. To celebrate another year filled with an array of wildly diverse movies, I thought I’d give a rundown of my top five Kino Lorber releases of 2023.
1. My Man Godfrey
This remake of the 1936 classic starring Carole Lombard and Dick Powell might have slipped through the cracks over the decades due to the original’s reputation as one of the best comedies ever made. It’s a shame since the story of a spoiled heiress who convinces her family to hire a quick-witted butler with a secret or two up his sleeve is more of a triumph than most would assume. June Allyson and David Niven are no match for the aforementioned stars, yet both bring such life and jovial energy to their roles, at times carrying the load when the page-by-page copy of the original’s script temporarily stalls. This version of My Man Godfrey can’t compete with its predecessor, but it wisely never tries; and with enough charm and tender moments to call its own, it doesn’t have to.
2. Juggernaut
Lumped in with the crop of disaster movies that were all the rage in the 1970s, Juggernaut stands alone. The movie tells the story of an ocean liner crossing the North Atlantic that is put on high alert when an anonymous call informs one of the ship’s bosses that a series of bombs placed onboard the vessel is set to be detonated unless demands are met. As is custom with these sorts of films, the cast is loaded with familiar faces including Omar Sharif, Anthony Hopkins, Shirley Knight, Richard Harris, and David Hemmings. What Juggernaut doesn’t have, however, are the requisite action set pieces featuring people flailing around and property being destroyed. In its place is a realistic look at the simmering tension real terror instills and the silent panic that takes over.
3. Needful Things
Fans of Stephen King have been waiting a long time for this oft-forgotten adaptation of one of his most sprawling tales to be given the proper Blu-ray treatment. The story deals with an intriguing shop owner (Max Von Sydow) who moves to a small Maine town to open an antique shop that has something for everyone at a very specific price. One of the better “the devil is among us” movies, Needful Things‘ post-production and release struggles were legendary with director Fraser C. Heston’s version being severely re-edited for release, only to be hastily reassembled into a 4-hour cut for the movie’s TV broadcast. Amid all the versions is a compelling story full of greed, desire, and the dark side of the human soul as only King could create.
4. Duet for One
Cannon Films made so many atrocious misfires during their stupefyingly long reign, that it’s easy to forget that they actually managed to produce a small handful of genuinely good films. One such example is this drama starring Julie Andrews as a renowned classical violinist, whose career comes to a screeching halt when she’s diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Director Andrei Konchalovsky is never successfully able to shed Duet for One‘s stage origins, but Andrews’ magnificent performance makes up for it. In place of the actress’ sunny persona is a turn full of anguish and heartbreak as she inhabits a woman who feels she is literally disappearing as her condition worsens. It’s a heart-wrenching turn that’s punctuated with an ending that goes for the tears and easily walks off with them.
5. Babes in Toyland
You would be forgiven for not knowing that this 1986 TV movie version of the classic fairy tale story ever existed. NBC bankrolled a remake of the name tale about a young girl (Drew Barrymore) who finds herself transported from present-day Cincinnati to the magical town of Toyland where she finds herself in an adventure trying to save a maiden (Jill Schoelen) from the clutches of an evil name inventor (Richard Mulligan). Most who know this story are familiar with the 1961 version starring Annette Funicello. But nothing can touch this Babes in Toyland in terms of its cast (Keanu Reeves, Eileen Brennan, and Pat Morita are also present) and camp value. Everything in the 80sBabes in Toyland is so wonderfully overblown, from the acting to the production design, giving off a dizzying feeling of whimsy overload that makes the whole experience feel like quite the trip.
All titles are available on Blu-ray and DVD from Kino Lorber.
Action, Annette Funicello, Anthony Hopkins, Babes in Toyland, Blu-ray, Cannon Films, Carole Lombard, David Hemmings, David Niven, Disaster movies, Drama, Drew Barrymore, Duet For One, Eileen Brennan, Home Video, Juggernaut, Julie Andrews, June Allyson, Keanu Reeves, Kino Lorber, Max Von Sydow, Movies, Multiple Sclerosis, My Man Godfrey, Omar Sharif, Pat Morita, Richard Harris, Richard Mulligan, Shirley Knight, Stephen King, Thriller, William Powell -
Savoring the Flavor of THE TASTE OF THINGS
“Happiness is continuing to desire what we already have.”
Any film shot in France is almost required to provide a countless assortment of shots meant to show off just how beautiful the country is. This is especially true when it comes to films taking place in the French countryside where serene shots of trees, rivers, and meadows are expected to serve as aids in telling whatever story the film is presenting. Since that part of the world offers such gorgeous landscapes, the kind that’s just begging to be captured on camera, it’s easy to see why we expect this from such films. The Taste of Things, however, is one of the few films not to concern itself with making the French countryside seem picturesque. It instead leaves all of its sumptuous visual elements to the food shown, which quickly becomes the primary reason for watching the film in the first place.
In 19th century France, an accomplished chef named Eugenie (Juliette Binoche) has worked for 20 years in the kitchen of a gourmet named Dodin (Benoit Magimel). During their time together, the pair has developed a secret romance that has been fueled by their shared love of cooking and food. While Eugenie has turned down all of Dodin’s previous marriage proposals, the gourmet has refused to give up his love for the most important woman in his life.
Despite Binoche’s presence, the food is the real star of The Taste of Things. The film opens with Eugenie preparing an elaborate multi-course lunch for Dodin and his friends that is so detailed and lovingly captured by director Anh Hung Tran, that it pretty much takes up most of the film’s first 20 minutes. The reason the preparation of all the food in the extended beginning is so mesmerizing is that it so delicately shows us what an art form and craft cooking is, especially in late 1800s France. Among the many dishes Eugenie conjures up are puff pastries, fish drenched in a whole bottle of wine, an array of roasts, different kinds of potatoes, baked Alaska, and a pot-au-feu (a famous French beef stew). The care and pride that Eugenie shows throughout all of these moments is simply beautiful. Her meticulous approach to every dish she prepares is performed similarly to someone in military service or religious order in terms of concentration and dedication. Whether it aimed to or not, the film is the best example of showing a chef of Eugenie’s skill feels like a calling. Those who are drawn to such a path end up willfully and happily giving their lives to it.
With all of the glorious food moments on display, it’s almost a shame when the love story has to come into play, shaking the audience awake from their culinary fantasies. But The Taste of Things is ultimately a love story, one that touches on class and choice. It’s clear how food has dictated both Eugenie and Dodin as individuals and as a couple. Eugenie is seen as a woman who doesn’t know who she is unless she’s cooking, while Dodin’s attraction to her lies in the talent she possesses and her ability to create. Eugenie does have a love for Dodin, but her true love for all her grown-up life has been her art. Food and love have been linked in cinema plenty of times, but never this strongly. What’s so captivating about this romance is the way Eugenie shows Dodin her utmost love and devotion through the way she cooks. It’s not a novel theme, but it seldom ever comes across as romantic and genuine as it does here. The turn of Dodin starting to cook for Eugenie after a non-life-threatening illness forces her to get some rest only heightens the romance. It’s so unbelievably touching to see what the act of cooking for Eugenie symbolizes for Dodin as he repays her for what she’s given him for their many years together.
It would be fair to say that the film’s romance could use a little more nuance at its center. However, the actors alone do so much to show us that these two people share a rich history and that theirs is a genuine love affair. Binoche has never been more sublime as she perfectly embodies the heart and mind of a woman from the 1800s and makes her a wonder for her time. Magimel is the perfect scene partner for Binoche and the level of vulnerability he gives to Dodin only helps in making us be overtaken by his devotion to the woman he’s loved for so long.
I had always considered the term “food porn” to be just a piece of slang that people generally used to describe a food-heavy movie or TV show that wowed its audience with its culinary elements. According to Wikipedia, however, food porn is: “a glamourized visual presentation of cooking or eating in advertisements, infomercials, blogs, cooking shows, and other visual media.” The scene with Eugenie pinpointing the ingredients after tasting a sauce intercut with the sauce being made is one example of the film’s many great cinematic uses of food and human intimacy. Meanwhile, watching the actors seamlessly construct the dishes gives off so much unexpected visual pleasure, that it’s impossible not to be taken by the process. These and other moments signify that The Taste of Things is more than just food porn. It is an inspiring cinematic experience that will touch all who see it, regardless if they are a chef, a foodie, a Francophile, or a romantic. It’s indeed a special kind of cinema.
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It’s Time to Bury the Ending of ALL OF US STRANGERS
Unraveling the complicated media relationship between mortality, morality, and men in love in the wake of Andrew Haigh’s conflicted adaptation
Film stills courtesy of Searchlight Pictures. Warning: Major spoilers for the ending of All of Us Strangers. It is highly recommended to not read the following until after watching the film for yourself.
For the majority of its runtime, I believed All of Us Strangers was doing something miraculous.
Andrew Haigh’s film follows Adam (Andrew Scott), a gay screenwriter eking out his 40s isolated in his desolate London high-rise. Despite Adam’s initial rejection, he sparks a connection with his sole neighbor Harry (Paul Mescal); together, they unveil shared struggles as gay men across the generation gap, from labeling dilemmas to social acceptance. Adam finally reveals his past as a closeted youth in 1980s Britain amid the AIDS crisis, where he was unable to come out to his parents before their tragic deaths. Though society has shifted towards gay acceptance, Adam’s youthful alienation endures, a haunting thread in his lonely life. However, Adam’s lessening of his emotional barriers with Harry seems to impact the boundaries between life and death–as Adam is unexpectedly reunited with his resurrected parents (Jamie Bell and Claire Foy) upon returning to his childhood home. Unbound by the demands of time and space, Adam openly discusses his gay identity and its ramifications with his parents–how much they may have already known, how much the world has changed since they died–ultimately helping Adam achieve closure to a grief that’s pervaded his entire life.
All of Us Strangers tenderly and sincerely addresses near-universal Queer experiences of rejection, repression, loss, and isolation. In transcending death, the film speaks to the myriad deaths Queer people face in their relationships–whether it be physical at the hands of disease or violence, or emotional in the form of rejection by those we love most. In finding a spiritual attempt at reconciliation, All of Us Strangers makes space for the possibility that we can heal from the pervasive trauma that can become ingrained with our identities.
Until that ending.
Despite his attempts to convince them to remain in his life, Adam acknowledges the emotional toll of maintaining a connection with his departed parents. Ultimately, Adam heartbreakingly guides his parents peacefully to the afterlife, finding closure and newfound hope for his relationship with Harry. However, upon his return to Harry’s apartment, Adam discovers a gruesome sight: Harry’s dead body. Strangers’ fluid approach to time and reality leaves the details of Harry’s passing deliberately vague. However, Harry’s decomposition along with a nearby liquor bottle and ketamine offered at the film’s beginning suggests Harry died shortly after Adam’s initial rejection, revealing a haunting truth–that Harry has been a ghost all along. Harry is racked with the existential crisis of remembering his death when Adam attempts to soothe him:
Harry: “I’m in there, aren’t I? …I don’t want you to see me like that.”
Adam: “You’re not in there. You’re not in there. You’re here. You’re right here. With me.”
The pair retire to Adam’s apartment, lying in bed as Adam reflects on how he spent his time with his parents before Harry urges Adam to not let his heart “get tangled up again.” Adam and Harry embrace in a moment seemingly frozen in time, a beacon of celestial hope in the universe, caught in a lovingly liminal space between life and death. The Frankie Goes to Hollywood song alluded to by Harry in that ill-fated first meeting overwhelms the picture and guides us to a close:
“I’ll protect you from the hooded claw/Keep the vampires from your door/When the chips are down I’ll be around/With my undying, death-defying love for you…”
All of Us Strangers crafts a romantically immortal conclusion for Adam and Harry that defies the boundaries of life and death despite the tragedies they endure. However, after Adam’s intense emotional journey, Adam’s gradual acceptance of parental loss gives way to his reassurances to Harry and a seemingly shared denial of his death. Adam’s sentiment, “You’re not in there, you’re right here with me,” feels like both comfort to Harry and a self-conviction for Adam. Just as he comes to terms with parental loss and embraces the potential of a meaningful Queer life, Adam’s confronted with the loss of Harry and everything it means to him. In a knee-jerk reaction to this fresh trauma, Adam denies it, swapping resolved trauma for further unresolved turmoil. Instead of finding solace, the conclusion of All of Us Strangers left me deeply horrified.
I’ve spent the last few weeks and additional viewings of Haigh’s film trying to reckon with how I feel about this ending and the sour taste it leaves in my mouth. Interviews by Haigh mention how younger viewers have disliked the film’s conclusion, despite how hopeful he intends the ending to be, acknowledging an intent to show how tragedy still happens even in a modern era of Queer joy.
“And there’s this strange thing about it. A lot of young people—and I say this from experience—should be happy being queer now. We live in a different world. But it’s still complicated, and tragedy still happens. I love the idea of “the power of queer joy,” but you have to look underneath, or it all falls apart. We have so much we’ve carried around with us, from people before us. We know what it felt like for us growing up, what it felt like for other people before us. That history is still present.”
Andrew Haigh with Isaac Feldberg, RogerEbert.comA standout feature of All of Us Strangers is its sincere attempt to bridge the Queer generation gap, particularly by addressing how older gay men like Adam and Haigh faced societal stigma in their youth, leading to deep-rooted traumas that continue to impact their capacity for meaningful intimacy. Through Adam and Harry’s relationship, Haigh successfully engages in an open conversation with younger generations, sharing the struggles endured to pave the way for a more inclusive world. However, it’s still perplexing that All of Us Strangers insists on ending in further tragedy, especially considering its extensive runtime dedicated to earnest confrontation and acceptance. Comparisons to the film’s source material, Taichi Yamada’s novel Strangers, illuminated how Haigh’s approach both deepened the complexity of the film and contributed to my distaste for its conclusion.
Strangers (Faber & Faber) / All of Us Strangers / The Discarnates (Shochiku) Haigh has acknowledged the film being a loose adaptation of Yamada’s novel, itself previously adapted into The Discarnates by Hausu director Nobuhiko Obayashi in 1988 (wild, I know). However, All of Us Strangers surprisingly aligns with the novel’s overall structure, featuring a lonely man in a tentative romance reunited with parents lost at an early age. The monumental difference lies in the central characters’ orientation and gender: Harry’s character in Yamada’s novel is a woman, and the novel features a straight romance. Haigh’s introduction of gay story beats vastly benefits the first two-thirds of the story, with this deepened context allowing for a deft exploration of near-universal Queer experiences. By tackling topics like being closeted, gay bashing, and the AIDS crisis, All of Us Strangers makes space for exploring how love and loss (while experiences shared by both gay and straight relationships) are further intertwined in gay romances with historical and cultural nuances that straight relationships vitally lack.
However, both the novel and film retain a key plot twist—the modern love interest has been a ghost all along–thus applying cultural baggage in ways I don’t believe Haigh fully intended. While Andrew Scott’s gay screenwriter cheekily notes the cliches of his current coming-out experience, it’s surprising that one of the oldest negative trends in Queer-centric media rears its head with complete sincerity in an otherwise insightful film–the “Bury Your Gays” trope.
Various societal factors impacted how gay relationships could be depicted in mainstream media–from indecency laws criminalizing homosexual activity to obscenity laws like the Hays Production Code in Hollywood. Depictions of romance that bucked heteronormativity faced either explicit legal pressure or more implicit societal pressure to portray punishment for these relationships in equal measure. In the case of the “Bury Your Gays” trope, one or both participants in a Queer relationship met sudden death–preventing such relationships from consummation or continuation, and by extension granting their approval within a predominantly heterosexual society. In some ways, such tragic ends also romanticized the perceived taboos of Queer love by conflating orientations with the fleeting nature of both life and romance. More modern societal factors have allowed the Bury Your Gays trope to become more socially codified in media representation–for example, the AIDS crisis is used in films like Bohemian Rhapsody as an ominous shorthand for the perilous consequences of breaking free of straight relationships to pursue a gay lifestyle.
Artists like Haigh, shaped by the oppressive climates towards the LGBTQ+ community of their youth, recognize the importance of Queer voices authentically depicting these turbulent times and their modern consequences. With its shift to a gay context, Haigh’s adaptation of Yamada’s novel addresses how societal attitudes have shaped and constrained generations of gay youth. Adam’s subsequent reunion and reconciliation with his parents provides a unique catharsis that surpasses what Yamada’s original work could offer to both an LGBTQ+ and mainstream audience.
However, the film’s pointed departure from Yamada’s emotional coda, emphasizing denial over growth, unintentionally complicates All of Us Strangers’ sincere attempts to grapple with Queer narratives and experiences. It’s not that star-crossed romance is an inevitability restricted to a specific orientation–Haigh acknowledges the unfortunate universality of tragedy in remaining true to Strangers’ originally heterosexual twist. However, preserving this ending inextricably links Adam and Harry’s relationship to the narrative that Queer romance is defined by an inevitable mortality despite the characters’ attempts to confront, accept, and move beyond such tragedy. The denial of growth becomes a point in and of itself; being able to move on shouldn’t be a trait reserved for “the straights.”
This isn’t a demand that Harry should have lived. Throughout the film, the signs of Harry’s dangerously casual substance abuse are marked by Haigh and Mescal, including the Ketamine usage that takes Adam by surprise in a beautifully rendered imagining of what their life could have been like together. While HIV and AIDS are no longer the death sentences they once were thanks to the advent of PREP and other medications, substance abuse and consequential deaths remain high in the LGBTQ+ community. Including these story elements in All of Us Strangers gives further tragic verisimilitude to Haigh’s depiction of the modern Queer community, and removing them whitewashes a reality that remains a present danger to men across all generations, including both Adam and Harry’s.
All of Us Strangers / Lean On Pete (2018, A24). Rather, I’m trying to express an extreme disappointment in Haigh for All of Us Strangers’ attempt to address and overcome the expectations, cliches, and realities of Queer storytelling in a heteronormative world and succeeding for the majority of its runtime, only to wallow in its most repulsive trope in the film’s final moments. Sure, Harry urges Adam to move on from him, and Adam acknowledges the toll his extended relationship with his deceased parents took on his life in the present. The extended beat of Yamada’s novel, in which its lead acknowledges the need to move on from all three losses, may also have been considered too explicit of a story beat when constructing this adaptation.
However, it’s not like handling such a sequence is unfamiliar territory for Haigh. In his criminally underseen Lean on Pete, Haigh deftly handles not just a character happily moving on from the trauma and tragedy that’s defined the film’s runtime, but also explicitly acknowledges how such trauma can only be managed over time rather than cured in a cathartic instant. There’s such an extensive history of Queer relationships denied the chance to thrive in fiction from both straight and gay voices, whether out of a twisted moral justification or a desire to reflect the current realities of our community. However, the risk is still the same when an ending like All of Us Strangers rears its head.
In romanticizing the most tragic turns of the novel’s ending without also depicting the emotional maturity of its final moments, Haigh squanders the goodwill the film builds up in its most tender moments; instead, we’re frozen in a cheap shot of tragic melodrama that reinforces the very expectations the film endeavors to overcome. Death is a reality for everyone, but it’s not our only reality–but ending All of Us Strangers where it does certainly helps such negative ideas live on in its audience long after the characters’ fictional demises.
What compounds this frustration to me is the reception All of Us Strangers has received since its debut. Critics have championed the heart and verisimilitude of the film, yet refrain from reckoning with this troubling conclusion. Alongside Passages and its problematic treatment of non-monogamy, it’s extremely disheartening to live in a world where the most attention-grabbing and praised Queer films are predicated on the belief that these romances, these searches for connection, are doomed to end in either emotional failure or a body count. While life and romance are fleeting for us all, why is it that some of the most visible and successful representations of Queer romances must constantly exist in the shadow of death?
There’s only so much I can say as a bi/pan critic with limited reach, but I feel like there’s a responsibility to question the cultural trends that both depict and influence the lives of both the Queer and straight audiences who watch these films. Death may historically be a part of the Queer experience in a far greater proportion to the history of straight romance, but as All of Us Strangers itself even suggests, clinging to our pasts rather than hoping and working for a better future dooms us to the certainty of tragedy.
All of Us Strangers is now playing in theaters courtesy of Searchlight Pictures.
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Clooney Misses THE BOYS IN THE BOAT
“Everyone tires and they just keep getting stronger.”
George Clooney’s ambitions as a director from project to project never cease to astound. Even if the films themselves don’t work (which is sadly largely the case), they’re interesting to watch nonetheless thanks to the filmmaker’s pull towards unconventional projects and his interpretation of them. As a director, Clooney is not afraid of silence, politics, or delving headfirst into a subject matter. This is true regardless of whether or not the subject fits the image of the kind of story the industry expects him to tell. The consequence of his fearlessness has resulted in one visually inspired and capably-made dud after another, from the misguided Suburbicon to the frozen slog that was The Midnight Sky. It’s a shame to report that The Boys in the Boat, his latest offering isn’t much better than those misfires. What’s worse, it’s hard to even care that much anymore.
In The Boys in the Boat, Clooney directs the true story of the eight crew members from Washington State’s rowing team. Through the perspective of rower Joe Rantz (Callum Turner) and head coach Al Ulbrickson (Joel Edgerton), the movie follows the team from their initial start as underdogs to representing America in the 1936 Olympics in Berlin.
If this was the year 2000, The Boys in the Boat would most definitely be a contender for the kinds of accolades it’s so clearly hoping to get. But filmmaking is in a different place today and the standards that came before just don’t cut it anymore. Clooney explores the standard tropes that accompany a story like this and does them well, but he doesn’t add anything in terms of his stamp to help make The Boys in the Boat feel like his movie. It’s the tropes that hamper whatever ambitions Clooney had with the film, of which there are plenty. Every point of conflict that threatens to thwart the team from competing is easily resolved, and the two key female characters are pure cardboard. The script should have either given them something interesting to do or left them out. As it stands, both female characters struggle to make an impression in a story neither belongs in.
The irony of The Boys in the Boat is that it’s a remarkable and inspiring story that’s being told in such an uninspiring way. You would think a sports story centered on someone who had no initial motivation for the sport becoming consumed by it would automatically lend itself to a thrilling movie experience. But every move and shot Clooney chooses is standard and unspectacular, at times making the film feel like it could have been found on cable back in the days of prestige made-for-TV movies. The surprising exception to this are the rowing sequences, which are legitimately invigorating. It’s here where Clooney excels by managing to place us right in the same boat as the team and has us invest ourselves in the race. But Clooney does himself no favors by only including two such thrilling sequences before going back to a collection of tired story beats. I do feel that there’s still an audience out there for this kind of movie, one that will lap up every beat and cue they’ve seen before and are happy to see again. But I’m not sure even they would want to give this a shot.
It’s great to see Turner in a leading role after standing out in supporting turns for so long. Even if the script doesn’t allow him much room to be anything other than sullen and withdrawn for most of his scenes, there’s enough of a presence in the actor that says he believes in his character. Edgerton, meanwhile, does some of his best work in some time by not playing into Al’s gruffness, choosing instead to focus on his pragmatism and belief in his team that remains unwavering. As for everyone else, despite being photographed well and genuinely acting as if they belong in the world Clooney is bringing to life, no other member of the cast can give life to their assigned stereotypes; I mean, characters.
Will The Boys in the Boat connect? It’s certainly possible. Despite what I’ve said, the film is a solid one, if only just. But solid is not good enough this time of the year. I’m starting to wonder if it’s that “solid” quality that’s become the norm for Clooney’s movies. 2008’s Leatherheads, 2011’s The Ides and March, and 2021’s The Tender Bar are all “solid” films. They tick every box and feature moments that do right by the characters and the audience, a feat that’s not always easy to achieve. But it’s hard to praise these films as anything more. The Boys in the Boat is a continuation of this type of moviemaking; it is an engaging story that’s been brought to the screen with a level of skill and care that has now become Clooney’s standard. It’s certainly not the best Clooney has done in the past, but it’s hard not to ask the question: Is it the best he can do now?
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THE COLOR PURPLE Finds Hope Where All Seems Hopeless
The Color Purple releases to theaters on December 25 from Warner Bros.
The Color Purple (2023) – Warner Bros One of the bigger challenges facing the new musical film version of The Color Purple, inspired by the Broadway stage presentation (an adaptation of Alice Walker’s acclaimed novel), is stepping out of the shadow of the respected and beloved 1985 film, which was directed by Steven Spielberg and featured an incredible cast that included Whoopie Goldberg, Danny Glover, Oprah Winfrey, and Margaret Avery.
To my shame I’ve never seen the original 1985 film, but there’s one benefit to that: it has allowed me to come into the new one without any prior baggage, just taking it in completely on its own terms without any comparative analysis.
And I loved it.
In Jim Crow-era rural Georgia, young Celie (Fantasia Barrino-Taylor) is the victim of an ongoing cycle of abuse: raped by her father, robbed of her babies, separated from her sister, and forced to marry “Mister” (Colman Domingo), a cruel farmer who actively despises her and treats her as little better than a slave to rear this children, keep house, and have sex with him at his pleasure.
The Color Purple (2023) – Warner Bros Celie settles into her hardscrabble life or poverty, cruelty, and abuse for many years, dutifully fulfilling her roles as wife and stepmother, and having little hope for her own future.
But she finds a second act with the help of unexpected friends: The first is her strong-willed daughter-in-law Sofia (Danielle Brooks), the wife of her now-grown stepson Harpo (Corey Hawkins). Sofia’s key trait is a fiery refusal to allow others to disrespect her – not even her husband.
The Color Purple (2023) – Warner Bros Celie also finds an even unlikelier friend and ally in her husband’s mistress Shug Avery (Taraji P. Henson), a local girl who moved away to the city and became a successful singer and recording artist, but returns home from time to time.
The Color Purple (2023) – Warner Bros The decades-spanning story has a lot to unpack, but perhaps what’s most remarkable to me (and this might be considered a mild spoiler) is that it’s not a vengeful story, though it has every right to be. Instead it emphasizes redemption and forgiveness, because that’s the kind of strong and wonderful person that Celie is.
The musical aspect of the film does come off as a little uneven to me. There are certainly some good songs – the rollicking “Hell No” is a particular standout – but so much of the film soldiers on as a traditional and serious narrative that when the musical numbers pop in, they’re a little jarring, in an “Oh right, this is a musical” kind of way. Still, the songs do serve a powerful purpose, allowing the characters to provide exposition, state their feelings, and express their most passionate inner thoughts in a way that wouldn’t work in a traditional narrative.
The Color Purple (2023) – Warner Bros Simply put, this is absolutely recommended viewing – emotionally resonant and strikingly lovely, finding and sharing hope in what seems like hopelessness.
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Chastain, Sarsgaard Unlock the Past in MEMORY
“Why did you follow me home from the party?”
Memory is a real New York movie. It’s real in the sense that it doesn’t opt for shooting around the typical landmarks that other titles have used to show their love for the city. Instead, the film takes place in various streets and locales that, despite not being recognizable to the average non-New Yorker, feel inherently and incredibly New York. Even in the rare instances when Memory decides to use a recognizable area, the focus of the scene remains on the people on the screen, showing the film to be one more story in the millions that can be found within the city. The lack of typical Big Apple scenery may be missed by some, but in its place comes a story full of the kind of hidden intimacy that most would be surprised by in a landscape such as New York.
Written and directed by Michel Franco, Memory stars Jessica Chastain as Sylvia, a longtime recovering alcoholic who leads a very closed-off existence that stems from the sexual abuse she suffered at a young age. Through happenstance, she meets Saul (Peter Sarsgaard), a man in his early 50s who is battling early-onset dementia. Eventually, Sylvia becomes his caregiver and the two form an unexpected bond that helps them deal with the outside world.
The most fascinating aspect of Franco’s film is the use of memory itself. We see it play out in two characters that are very broken in completely different ways. Sylvia is a broken woman endlessly trying to rebound, while Saul is trying not to break away altogether by holding onto as much of himself as possible. The way the film uses the device of memory in both its central characters in completely different ways is what ends up bringing them onto the same level of understanding. Sylvia has lived her life defined by the fact that she remembers the awful acts that were done to her. The imprint those memories have left on her has dictated the fractured existence she has led up until now. Meanwhile, the film uses memory about Saul by showing him struggling to hold onto the act of being able to simply remember. What Memory does best is link these two characters together through unexpected means and give them a kind of hope neither one expected to get at this particular stage of their lives.
Memory allows us to bear witness to the long-term ramifications of abuse through Sylvia and the long-awaited chance she gets to face the past. There’s great strength in the choices the character makes, all of which are filled with ownership and a rising above what came before rather than choosing to be held captive by it. Despite the forging ahead, there’s still a struggle inside holding her back. It’s a struggle that’s echoed in Saul, himself trying to be an active participant in his life, despite what his condition is doing to him. Franco surprises us with the way he shows both characters living with their situations every day. Sylvia flinches when a 15-year-old server tries to refill her water glass in one scene, while at a later moment sees Saul talking about his late wife’s favorite musical instrument before going silent mid-thought when he can’t remember anything else. Whether it’s the fight to embrace the outside world for her or stay an independent individual for him, the common ground both ultimately share is that neither one knows who they are without the memories they’ve each had.
Franco can take credit for two of the best performances of the year. The film has already garnered Sarsgaard the top prize at the Venice Film Festival and Chastain has netted herself a nomination at the Spirit Awards. Such praise is well-deserved due to the stirring levels of heartbreak and humanity the two give their respective characters. Their first initial big scene in the park is stunning because of the way both actors find new and exciting places to go while bouncing off of each other so effectively. They’re aided by some recognizable faces who are also doing incredible work, including Elsie Fisher, Merritt Weaver, Josh Charles, and Jessica Harper, as Sylvia and Saul’s various family members.
Since the poster alludes to this, I feel safe in revealing that eventually, a romance develops between Saul and Sylvia. Part of this romance does feel contrived even though everything leading up to it feels like a natural progression of their relationship. Still, because of their respective conditions, neither comes across as someone ready to be as intimate as these two eventually become. Regardless it’s easy to see why they both want to be physical with each other. Deep down they want to prove to themselves that they’re still capable of intimacy on that kind of physical level. When the script isn’t focused on the physical, it works. Memory works best overall when it focuses on two people, who despite past traumatic events, can see each other in a way no one else in their lives has been able to.
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FERRARI Starts and Stops Before Finally Taking Off
“Two objects cannot occupy the same point in space; the same moment in time.”
When Ford v Ferrari, I couldn’t have been more nonplussed. The embracing that the movie got from both industry voters and mainstream audiences remains stupefying to me to this day due to its lackluster story and uninspiring execution. However, I imagine no one could have been more ruffled by that year’s biggest “dad” movie than director Michael Mann, who had spent decades trying to get his own big-budget feature about the life and legacy of Enzo Ferrari off the ground. Ford v Ferrari‘s popcorn approach certainly must’ve greatly differed from all the iterations of Mann’s vision with the biggest difference being the angle in which the two approach exploring the legend of Ferrari. All these years later, the director’s take finally gets to see the light of day, quickly blowing the former movie out of the water, but still not feeling quite like film fans were expecting him to make.
Set in 1957, Ferrari stars Adam Driver as Enzo Ferrari, the head of the legendary empire who is trying to hold his company together amid bankruptcy. To convince the world that the brand still has fire, Enzo puts his cars to the test in a national race. Complicating matters even more is his relationship with longtime mistress Lina (Shailene Woodley) and his crumbling marriage to wife Laura (Penelope Cruz), who has major control of the company.
Given the central plot theme, some would go into Ferrari thinking they were getting a movie that’s primarily about racing and saving a business from ruin. Those people would be disappointed. The tension when it comes to the Ferrari business going under is handled with only a passing interest by everyone involved, save for a couple of explosive scenes featuring Laura and Enzo. Otherwise, most of the moments dealing with Enzo trying to save what he’s built are explored at such a base level, that you can’t help but feel Mann’s disinterest in that side of the story. It’s a disinterest that surprisingly also spills onto the racing portions of Ferrari. The practice races start as watchable without being overpowering, allowing those scenes to be about a variety of things. However, when the main race starts there’s a lack of energy that takes place which feels incredibly puzzling. Save for one jaw-dropping moment, there’s almost no ferocity to any of the racing portions of the movie, all of which are missing the kind of adrenaline you’d think would be a given for this story. A race of this kind of importance should mean more to us, but it doesn’t due to a false intensity that’s been forced into this side of the film.
Eventually, we come to realize that Ferrari is a movie about the people, not the cars, which is clear by the fact that Mann excels every time he has us spend genuine time with the figures on the screen. At the center of Ferrari is Enzo and Laura’s troubled marriage, which has all but diminished following the death of their son. A sequence that shows the couple attending an opera in which both are being flooded with memories of their son is perhaps one of the best character explorations Mann has ever made. Seeing this couple once in love (who still enjoy random bouts of passion) now living a compromised relationship that’s defined by past tragedies makes for some of the most interesting character dynamics Mann has captured on film in years. It’s fascinating to see these characters operate in Mann’s world, especially Laura, who isn’t painted as a glamorous cliché, but as an earthy force of nature and the true power of the Ferrari family. When she and Enzo are going back and forth about the business, we instantly recognize it as the root of their passion, both in a romantic sense and a volatile one. With their son gone, it’s all that’s left holding them together.
On the surface, Ferrari boasts some great casting and a trio of actors that can only make an audience excited. The results, however, are a mixed bag with each of the leads turning in a different kind of performance. Driver does the kind of dependable work you would expect him to do, but there’s a restrained quality that feels a bit odd. Maybe the actor was too afraid after the House of Gucci debacle to take his character here as far as he could. If his work is in the middle, Woodley’s is at the bottom due to the actress being unable to play either the period or the culture she’s from.
At the top is Cruz, who carries her performance beyond the obvious Oscar clip moments to create a full internally realized person whom she is able to carry all the way through. Ferrari becomes something different when she’s on screen; a searing portrait of a woman whose hold on a shaky empire has taken the place of the family she once had. Elsewhere, Patrick Dempsey (sporting hair so bleached, I don’t think it’s legal) and Jack O’Connell show up in curious supporting turns that are so brief, it’s a wonder how they got two such talented actors for the roles.
The most glaring flaw of Ferrari is that it feels like it never really gets started, probably because Mann doesn’t have much to add to the overall story he’s famously spent years trying to tell. The film is a well-made offering with a lush score, (mostly) solid acting, and a level of cinematography that captures the Italian countryside in a way few other films do. But none of this disguises the fact that the whole affair feels a bit passé, despite its fantastic angles, fades, and the powerhouse performance Cruz so generously gives it. But because Mann is Mann, the flaws fall by the wayside and Ferrari does eventually come together a somewhat rewarding experience that makes you realize what you’ve been watching actually worked more than it didn’t.
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In Andrew Haigh’s Poignant ALL OF US ARE STRANGERS, You Can Go Home Again
Loosely based on Taichi Yamada’s well-regarded 1987 novel, Strangers, writer-director Andrew Haigh’s (Lean on Pete, 45 Years, Weekend) adaptation, All of Us Strangers, locates the central character’s melancholic loneliness not in the present, where personal and professional disappointments are more likely the cause, but in the immutable past. For Adam (Andrew Scott), a forty-something, modestly successful, London-based screenwriter, the past refuses to remain the past. Adam carries a grief-stained childhood with him, sometimes as a burden, sometimes as a blessing, but it always remains unseen, hovering just out of frame and out of reach, perpetually reminding Adam of what he’s lost and can never recover or regain. The past, unresolved and unreconciled, casts a heavy pall over not just his personality, but on how he interacts with the world below and outside his one-bedroom condo-apartment.
That formative loss of his parents has left Adam in a kind of perpetual suspended animation, remaindered to the past, incapable of moving forward. Taking a key element – though very little else – from Yamada’s novel, Haigh mirrors Adam’s troubled psyche with a sparsely populated, almost empty outer world. The partner- and child-free Adam lives alone in a new high-rise apartment building. Still empty except for one or two others, including Harry (Paul Mescal), a newly arrived, deeply unhappy neighbor who, at a minimum, intrigues a lonely Adam. When Harry, bottle in hand, makes a drunken play for the older Adam, practically suggesting they spend the night together, in no small measure to assuage their shared loneliness, a reticent, hesitant Adam rejects his offer without completely forestalling a future clothes-optional encounter.
While far from unimportant (their fumbling, awkward, eventually tender sex scenes suggest otherwise), Adam’s tentative relationship with Harry isn’t the central relationship All of Us Strangers sensitively explores: It’s Adam’s relationship with his long-gone, long-dead parents (Jamie Bell and Claire Foy). Adam lost his parents in a tragic accident before graduating from the British equivalent of elementary school. Their sudden, totalizing, wrenching loss – and the stability, safety, and, security, not to mention the unconditional love they represented – not only changed Adam irrevocably but likely altered the direction of his life well into his adult years, making him resistant, if not outright incapable, of forming a long-lasting, intimate bond with a romantic partner.
With a quiet train ride to the countryside, All of Us Strangers leaves its mostly realistic, grounded setting behind. Either because he’s writing a screenplay set in 1987 (with period-specific, gay-centric musical cues), suffering from an attenuated case of artistic ennui, or experiencing something ineffable, Adam returns to his hometown for a daytime visit and – in a metaphysical, possibly meta-fictional leap that remains unexplained well beyond the end credits – Adam encounters his parents, not as they would appear in the present-day, but just as they did when he lost them. They, like Adam, are figuratively and literally stuck in the past.
Adam, however, doesn’t revert to his childhood self but instead remains the adult Adam interacting with his similarly aged parents. Unsurprisingly, seeing his parents again comes as a shock to Adam, but it’s a welcome one. In a series of encounters across several visits, Adam plays a form of catch-up with his parents, updating them on personal, cultural, and social events, including the tectonic political changes associated with LGBTQ+ rights. Sometimes the info-dump doesn’t go as well as initially expected or hoped (i.e., when his mother haltingly processes the news of Adam’s sexual orientation in real-time). A other times, they reflect something more universal, embracing the belief that parents, regardless of where (or when) they are, owe their children unconditional love.
Adam’s resurrected parents represent nothing less than fantasy/wish fulfillment. For all their happiness in being reunited with their long-lost son, they still unknowingly reflect the outdated, occasionally regressive values of their time, and yet, through their repeated encounters with the adult Adam, they grow and evolve too. It seems impossible if the most likely interpretation that they are, in fact (and fiction), ghosts and not projections from Adam’s mind holds true. (Haigh, however, also leaves open the possibility that both interpretations could be true simultaneously.)
Whatever the rationale for their return (therapeutic for them, Adam, or both), it’s Adam’s halting personal journey that matters most in Haigh’s deeply poignant adaptation. Adam’s journey inexorably leads him toward reconciliation and resolution he desperately needs. That personal journey also encompasses how Adam eventually chooses to handle an intimate, possibly long-term relationship with Harry. Haigh explores both relationships with subtlety, delicacy, and empathy, exquisitely matched by a talented cast that arguably delivers the best performances of their respective careers.
All of Us Strangers opens on Friday, December 22nd, in limited release. A wider release has been planned for January.
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A DISTURBANCE IN THE FORCE is an Entertaining and Insightful Documentary about a STAR WARS TV Special That’s Neither
Out now on VOD: A Disturbance in the Force: How the Star Wars Holiday Special Happened
The infamously awful Star Wars Holiday Special has become a fairly well known phenomenon thanks to the internet age of fandom which has made it easily available for anyone curious enough to check it out, and has even become something of a rite of passage for fans of the franchise. But for years, it was the stuff of legend, like Roger Corman’s Fantastic Four movie: something you might find hope to find through tape-swapping circles or at a shady booth at a comic or sci-fi convention. Many fans who weren’t born at the time of its single airing in 1978 simply didn’t even know it existed.
Here at Cinapse we’re no strangers to this curio and we’ve reviewed it in the past. In 2015, Frank Calvillo asked the question, “Who’s Really to Blame for The Star Wars Holiday Special?”. A couple years later I made our team watch it for a Two Cents review roundup – and still hold out hope that one day they’ll forgive me.
For anyone unfamiliar, the Holiday Special is a 1978 variety special which featured many of the film’s key cast members including Harrison Ford, Mark Hamill, Carrie Fisher, Anthony Daniels, and Peter Mayhew, as well as guest stars like Bea Arthur, Harvey Korman, and Art Carney. The variety format means there are a lot of different interludes, sketches, and musical numbers, but the main wraparound story centers on a “Life Day” celebration on the Wookiee home planet Kashyyyk, where the gang drops in on Chewbacca’s family – wife Malla, idiot son Lumpy, and insatiably horny granddad Itchy who enjoys donning a VR headset to (very vocally) watch softcore in the middle of the living room. Originally planned as an hourlong broadcast, it was stretched to two – and that’s no small part of why it’s so bad.
Frank isn’t the only person who has asked just how the Star Wars Holiday Special happened. That’s the driving question (and subtitle) behind the thoroughly enjoyable new documentary film A Disturbance in the Force.
This documentary isn’t a mere cash-in on the popularity of Star Wars, but a thoroughly researched and well-crafted treatment, with a lot of terrific new interviews in addition to archival materials. Many people involved in the special’s creation are tapped to talk about their experience. People like (among many others beyond my ability to recall or list) director Steve Binder, prolific writer Bruce Vilanch, Lucasfilm’s Craig Miller and Miki Herman, and even filmmaker Mick Garris, who I was surprised to learn was an early Star Wars Co. employee.
Modern filmmakers and comedians like Weird Al Yankovic, Kevin Smith, Bobcat Goldthwait, Patton Oswalt, and Paul Scheer offer up their memories and insights. In this respect I found Seth Green the most interesting – through his work on the Robot Chicken Star Wars parodies he had the opportunity to work with George Lucas and ask him frankly about his thoughts. The major Star Wars players aren’t on hand for new interviews, but the filmmakers have culled archives to pull clips and quotes from Bea Arthur, Harvey Korman, George Lucas, and the Star Wars cast.
Also covered is the film’s pop culture imprint, highlighting clips and references from The Goldbergs, The Mandalorian, The Big Bang Theory, Conan O’Brien, and Weird Al’s “White and Nerdy” music video.
The film also steps outside of the Holiday Special to highlight other weird and oft-forgotten Star Wars TV ephemera, including appearances on Donny and Marie and The Richard Pryor Show. A key point that’s identified it that the 70s were a wild time, and Star Wars wasn’t really Star Wars yet – The Empire Strikes Back was still to come, fans were hungry for any scraps they could get. These days we have a sense of the franchise’s identity, but in 1978 it was as yet just “a movie”, albeit one very much in the zeitgeist – and ripe for both promotion and parody. Donnie Osmond is a great interviewee, offering up a lot of memories on his Star Wars experience as well as insights about 70’s TV in general and the popularity of variety programming.
Suffice it to say, this is a tremendously entertaining AND enlightening documentary that’s unquestionably better than its subject.
—A/V Out
Buy or rent A Disturbance in the Force on Prime Video
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