Malignant, The Card Counter, and Movies Going All-In

Oscar Isaac in The Card Counter; Annabelle Wallis in Malignant

Last Sunday, the critic Walter Chaw tweeted that, because more than 90% of the new movies he watches are “pretty much the same”, he’s more likely to appreciate a film that “just cocks an arm and swings for all it’s worth”. I might quibble with the mathematical accuracy of his first statement, but despite the mixed metaphor, I’m inclined to agree with his second; even when they fail, ambitious movies tend to be more memorable than their cautious counterparts. Chaw presumably had a specific picture in mind, but this past weekend provided multiple titles that refused to play by multiplex rules. One is far better than the other, but both succeed in upending expectations and carving out their own atypical territory.

At the outset—and, in fact, for the majority of its running time—James Wan’s Malignant isn’t especially novel. Despite stemming from a nominally original screenplay by Akela Cooper, it’s another haunted-house chiller that would fit snugly inside the Conjuring cinematic universe that Wan created back in 2013. Its heroine, Madison (Annabelle Wallis, best known to me as Grace on Peaky Blinders), is plagued by visions of a malevolent spirit called Gabriel, one of those shadowy creatures who’s never quite in focus but who looks a bit like the skeleton-masked bank robbers from The Town, only blacker and nastier. In addition to somehow speaking through electronic devices like a demonic Siri, Gabriel seems to be a burgeoning serial killer, and Madison—in an arresting manipulation of the image—periodically finds her mind transported to the sites of his murders, forced to watch his grisly wet work like a helpless, paralyzed bystander. Read More

Original Screenplay Weekend! On Annette, Reminiscence, and the Night House

Rebecca Hall in The Night House; Rebecca Ferguson and Hugh Jackman in Reminiscence; Adam Driver in Annette

Some original screenplays are more original than others. Last week, for example, I reviewed Disney’s Free Guy, a jumbled, weirdly fascinating action comedy that prides itself on not being based on any existing intellectual property, then spins an entire film from references to (and rip-offs of) other intellectual properties. I was happy to see Free Guy perform well (it’s now spawning a sequel, naturally), if only because I want studios to keep making original movies. As if by magic, this past weekend featured the release of three such pictures, a veritable bonanza of novel #content. (Technically there were four, but I failed to make time for Martin Campbell’s The Protégé.) None is a perfect film—in fact, all three have considerable problems—but my disappointment is tempered by my enthusiasm for their very existence. I didn’t love any of these movies, but I did love that I was able to watch them.

Of the trio, The Night House is the most conventional, which isn’t to say it’s typical. Directed by David Bruckner from a script by Ben Collins and Luke Piotrowski, it’s a ruminative ghost story that’s less interested in freaking you out than pulling you in. Its heroine, a high school English teacher named Beth (a fantastic Rebecca Hall), isn’t just the frightened resident of a haunted house; she’s also a little bit scary herself. An early scene, in which she calmly shames a grade-grubbing parent into stunned silence, reveals her capacity for blunt anger, while a night out with colleagues quickly turns into an unhappy hour where busybodies tiptoe around a powder keg. Read More

Pig, Gunpowder Milkshake, and the Instant Legacy of John Wick

Karen Gillan in Gunpowder Milkshake; Nicolas Cage in Pig

John Wick is technically an original character, but the films featuring him aren’t really anything new. They’re just slickly repackaged creations that combine the archetypes of the classic Western—the retired warrior begrudgingly forced back into battle—with the balletic flair of John Woo’s gun-fu pictures. Still, their mythology is so wonderfully detailed, and Keanu Reeves’ central performance is so intensely charismatic, that the franchise has quickly morphed from pastiche into primary source. Now, when a genre exercise like Nobody hits theaters, it’s instantly billed as “Bob Odenkirk doing John Wick”.

Last week alone saw the release of two new movies that wear their Wick influences loudly: Gunpowder Milkshake, featuring Karen Gillan as an assassin on the run, and Pig, starring Nicolas Cage as a hermit who’s drawn back into a dangerous underworld. Neither is nearly as good as the best Wick flick (that remains Chapter Two, though Parabellum certainly has its moments), but they’re nonetheless interesting for how they both pay tribute to and differentiate themselves from the film that has suddenly become the standard-bearer for revenge cinema. Read More

Ranking Every Movie of 2020 (sort of)

Ellie Chu in The Half of It; Amarah-Jae St Aubyn in Lovers Rock; Emily Blunt in Wild Mountain Thyme; Rachel Brosnahan in I'm Your Woman; Carrie Coon in The Nest

The headline says it all. Every year, in addition to publishing our list of the best movies of the past 12 months, MovieManifesto unveils an exhausting ranking of every release of that year. Except the ranking isn’t really a ranking, because that invites widespread ridicule (or maybe just my own nightmares); instead, we separate everything into 10 distinct tiers. In addition, as part of our ongoing efforts to serve the public, we append certain data to each title: its director, its respective ratings on Rotten Tomatoes on Metacritic, and—most valuably—where it’s currently streaming. This is our gift to you. You’re welcome.

Obligatory disclaimer: The tiers aren’t infallible, if I re-ranked things a month from now they’d look considerably different, appreciation of art isn’t a fixed object but shifts over time, blah blah. The point is, don’t take these rankings too seriously; do use them as an opportunity to search for intriguing films from 2020 that you might have missed. Read More

Does The Father Play Fair with Dementia?

Anthony Hopkins in The Father

Movies lie. They lie not as a callous display of dishonesty, but as a matter of literal operation; deception is a necessary function of the medium. Actors pretend to play other people. Directors manipulate their environments. Set dressers and production designers falsify the scene just so. Special effects wizards show us things that don’t really exist. Every movie is a lie, even if the best ones search for the truth. It’s an art form based on artifice.

The Father, which is currently contending for six Oscars (including Best Picture), explores this inherent contradiction to peculiar and unnerving effect. It features an unreliable narrator, but instead of mining that trope for suspense, it wields it for the purpose of immersion. That’s because The Father, which was directed by Florian Zeller from a screenplay he wrote with Christopher Hampton (based on Zeller’s play), actively grapples with dementia in a way that’s especially unsettling. It uses familiar cinematic tricks, often better associated with genres like horror or thriller, to bring you inside the diseased mind of its protagonist. It lies to you because lies are all its hero knows. Read More