|
Review by Daniel Lima  In the 1990s, high-concept studio family films were all the rage. From expensive productions about dinosaur metropolises (of which there were somehow more than one) to humble tales of fathers putting their kids in blackface to fabricate an undiscovered African tribe, the decade was the golden age of weirdo movies that earnestly committed to their oddball premises, often to mixed but fascinating results. Though it may lack the polish of those films, Invaders from Proxima B feels very much in conversation with them, showing far more vision than the low-budget DTV dreck of today. Ward Roberts is the producer, director, writer, and — of course — the star of the film, playing both a loving family man who spends an unfathomable amount of time away from his wife and daughter and an alien creature on a mission to save the world. As the alien attempts to coerce the man into helping him, more people are drawn into the plot, and the hijinks and shenanigans quickly stack up in a comedy of errors. The first glimpse of life on Earth is a man stepping out of a van in the dead of night and walking quietly into a home, easing himself into place between a woman and child as they sleep under a “Welcome Home Dada!” banner in the living room in a single unbroken shot. There is no score communicating how the audience should feel; the lack of cuts maintains the stillness and serenity a scene like this calls for. There is deliberate attention paid to how the scene is framed and composed., emphasizing the coziness of the home and the closeness of the family. This is hardly the most complex example of visual storytelling, but it shows that this goes beyond a mere vanity project for Roberts. Where so much family fare today cuts corners on basic craft, there is a level of care here that gives time spent with the core trio — and even the alien — an emotional weight that grounds the film, even as it gets progressively sillier. Perhaps it’s more an indictment of contemporary filmmaking standards than an exemplary quality of Invaders, but the fact remains that the film looks as good as anything at this scale can look, and lacks the shagginess that often comes with such a meager production.  Where the film gets particularly ambitious is in its alien, portrayed here as an Oscar the Grouch-esque puppet with big bushy eyebrows and a Brooklyn accent (at least, I think it’s Brooklyn, do not correct me). Any use of puppetry or practical effects today is inherently captivating, providing a tactile feel that no level of CG can adequately replicate. Touches like the glowing residue he leaves behind, his impressively realized spacecraft, and even the crudely animated 2D effects give this a charm and energy that is incredibly compelling.
Of course, this is still obviously intended to be a showcase for Roberts’s skills as an actor, and he doesn’t disappoint. Through certain plot machinations, he is given ample opportunity to embody multiple characters and personalities, and he handles them all with a frankly surprising level of nuance. The rest of the ensemble is every bit as committed, regardless of how outlandish and outsized their roles are. This earnestness goes a long way in making the most cartoonish antics tolerable… which, unfortunately, gets to the heart of the movie’s one great flaw. Unfortunately, this is a family comedy that isn’t very funny. That isn’t too much of a problem at the start when the lowkey drama and the world-building around the alien take up a good amount of screen time. As the film goes on, those elements — the most interesting — begin to recede, and instead, new wacky characters take over the narrative in a most unwelcome way. They are, almost to a one, intensely aggravating, relying on being goofy rather than actually constructing jokes and gags. Add in some off-color jokes that seem at odds with the rest of the film, and by the time the credits roll, these characters have largely outstayed their welcome. Yet it’s hard to be too upset at Invaders from Proxima B. There is a genuine sense of passion and purpose here, which eludes films with budgets that astronomically dwarf it. Even at its worst, it maintains a focus and attention to craft that smooths over its roughest edges. Three decades ago, this could have been a studio project that overcame its most abrasive elements through the impressive production design that that level of funding allows for. As it stands, you could do far worse today. Invaders from Proxima B is now available on VOD. Rating: 3/5
0 Comments
Review by Daniel Lima  How much one gets out of In Our Day may depend as much on their relationship with the director’s body of work as their response to this film. Hong Sang-soo has been making films for the past three decades, and by all accounts, they have tackled many of the same themes in many of the same forms. As someone with only a cursory familiarity with his oeuvre, it’s not hard to see the appeal, but there’s only so much to be gleaned from what is presented here. Like most of his other works, the film follows artists: an older poet experiencing a late-career resurgence and a middle-aged actress who recently returned to Seoul after becoming disenchanted with her craft. The two narratives — though that is perhaps too lofty a phrase to describe them — never actually intersect, though there are common elements reflected in both. Through conversations with friends and admirers, the two reflect on art, life, and loss. Also, there is a cat. Formally, this is as bare bones and rudimentary as you can get. Shooting on what appears to be consumer-grade cameras, two locations for each story (one of which is just outside the door of each artist’s home), each scene just a single, continuous, locked-down shot, and heavily improvised dialogue. With no prior knowledge of the director, it’d be easy to mistake this for a student production; even having only seen his 2011 film The Day He Arrives, I was a bit taken aback by just how pared down this movie is.  While the conversations are meandering, with lots of repetitive small talk about the food they’re eating and games of Rock Paper Scissors, they both hit familiar beats. The poet has found some measure of success that had eluded him for so long, but he finds himself more preoccupied with everyday concerns. When pressed to offer some sage wisdom, he implores his audience to enjoy life’s simple pleasures. Similarly, while she struggles to offer a young fan any advice on breaking into the industry, the actress has a clear understanding of what convinced her to leave it behind, explaining the exact moment that she felt her art lost its luster. Both harbor regrets over misspent youths and pleasures that are now closed off to them, but they have an appreciation for the life they lead now.
The amateur quality of this film is impossible to ignore, particularly coming from a filmmaker who regularly shows up at big international film festivals and has been making movies since the 1990s. Though his work clearly resonates with many, and these themes are certainly self-reflective as he ages into his twilight years, there is something to be said about how much should be expected from an artist of his caliber. Considering how low rent this is, how vaguely these ideas are actually explored, and how often he explores them in this way, should it be judged more harshly? Should someone with his stature be expected to show more growth, to take more care, to offer… more? There is something to be said for that. However personal this film might be, when you’re three minutes into just watching people eat dinner, repeating that they like the food in every possible permutation the improving actors can think of, staying within that moment can be difficult. A sharp, focused script could have lent this a more hand-crafted quality, a sense of intention that would make spending time with these characters more resonant and meaningful, even if they’re still just eating and enjoying each other’s company. Yet, I can’t say that In Our Day is an unpleasant time. As tossed off as it may feel to some, there is something admirable about an experienced filmmaker who so commits to such an unobtrusive style, stripping away the craft to only the bare essentials and then going further still. It makes for a calming, serene experience, albeit one with a definite ceiling for how much it can actually achieve. Also, there is a cat. In Our Day hits theaters on May 17. Rating: 3/5 Review by Daniel Lima  The hazy, loose Los Angeles-set neo-noir has become its own distinct subgenre. Seminal films such as The Long Goodbye, The Big Lebowski, and Inherent Vice follow detectives who end up way over their heads, caught in a web of conspiracies and subterfuge that they unravel only by happenstance. Poolman, the directorial debut of actor Chris Pine, has the charm, the disconnected narrative, the performances, and the look of these films down pat. Paradoxically, however, it lacks the focus that makes the best of them so potent. Pine stars as — wouldn’t you know it — a poolman who lives and works at a roadside motel. After a routine visit to city hall, heckling local officials for not meeting the needs of their constituents, he is approached by a mysterious woman who asks for his help in uncovering a criminal plot involving some of the most powerful men in LA. Together with his closest friends, he attempts to expose the seedy underbelly of the highest echelon of the city… regardless of how utterly lost he actually is. To give the film some credit, it is clear this is a labor of love. Pine is as charming as he has ever been, and it’s clear he has great empathy for the now-familiar archetype of the principled yet underachieving lout, committed to the cause of righteousness even if he is neither the most competent nor exemplary model of a do-gooder. The rest of the ensemble relishes their role, with DaWanda Wise and Stephen Toblowsky especially being the clear standouts. Fostering a sense of community goes a long way in grounding a film like this, and the distinct characters that populate this world certainly help with that. For what it’s worth, it doesn’t have the amateurish, slapdash feel that many an actor’s vanity project has either. Produced by filmmaker Patty Jenkins and the experienced Stacey Sher, shot on celluloid by Jenkins’ frequent cinematographer, and having intricate sets and costumes that are varied and revealing, the care that went into creating this world is right on the screen. In Poolman, Los Angeles is exactly the vibrant, offbeat, singular place that its title character would take such interest in defending. It is unfortunate, then, that the movie makes absolutely no sense.  An ephemeral and esoteric narrative, or at least a prohibitively convoluted one, is part and parcel of this brand of sun-soaked noir. That said, they still have to maintain a perspective, impart some kind of artistic thesis, or, at the very least, establish stakes. At some point, there needs to be a sense of exactly how out of their depth the protagonist is, how far-reaching the power of their foes is, and how integral their nefarious schemes are to the society they corrupt.
That moment of elucidation never arrives here. Multiple viewings of Pine’s appeals to the city council do nothing to help clear up what exactly has him so aggrieved in the first place. As he investigates further, the names of people and places are rattled off so quickly, with no faces to attach them to, that it becomes impossible to keep track of who is who and what is what. When these unseen figures do finally show up, they are shuffled into and out of the narrative so quickly that it’s hard to make sense of their significance. All this means that what is actually happening is unfathomable long before the mystery gets underway. This means that this film lives and dies on how much the audience can enjoy hanging out with these characters. The problem there is that, while the performances are solid and the character’s personalities are well-defined, they don’t have good material to work with. For all the absurd humor and outsized acting, nothing here is particularly funny. For all the technical craftsmanship on display, both the flow of the story and the rhythm of individual scenes feel off, with too much dead air in both. A sharper script would have benefitted all the best elements of the movie greatly; without that, there’s nothing to tie it together into a cohesive whole. Yet it’s hard to be too hard on Poolman. At a time when even smaller films feel like they are playing things safe, attempting to meet audience expectations rather than set them, it is nice to see someone use their star power to push something so shaggy and odd to the finish line. Poolman is now playing in theaters Rating: 3/5 H2: THE OCCUPATION LAB -- Informative, Effective Doc on Israeli Occupation Limits Ambitions5/9/2024 Review by Daniel Lima  Documentary filmmaking may be the most dynamic and engaging way to succinctly impart information to an audience, but making that the primary artistic goal creates a ceiling that can be impossible to break through. H2: The Occupation Lab is a sterling example of this, as it seeks to educate viewers about the Palestinian city of Hebron, a portion of which is under the direct control of the Israeli government. Though it is undoubtedly an informative work, it lacks the perspective and drive that would make it stand out. An old city in the West Bank of significant religious importance to both Jews and Muslims, Hebron was forcibly occupied by Israel shortly after its creation. Tensions between the Palestinian residents and the Israeli settlers rose through the decades as the IDF exerted more and more direct control on behalf of the settlers. Today, H2 — the Israeli section of the city — is practically a ghost town, with the Muslim residents subject to raids, detainment, random acts of violence, and a lingering malevolent aura, a sense that they are not welcome in their own homes. The film is certainly effective in detailing how the situation deteriorated to its present state, offering a comprehensive overview of the city’s history. Beginning not with the establishment of the Israeli military government of Hebron but with the massacre of the Jewish population in 1927, the holistic portrait of conflict within the city manages to acknowledge sins committed by both factions without bothsiderist rhetoric that ignores power differentials. It is clear from how the movie is structured, bookending with images of empty streets and IDF soldiers harassing Palestinians, that the occupation is an evil for which there is no defense. It just doesn’t shy away from inconvenient truths.  Most of the film is a chronological rundown of H2, with archival footage and talking head interviews with people present at major events. Surprisingly, not all the interviews are with Arabs; plenty of former Israeli officials and soldiers offer their own accounts, albeit most with a sympathetic or regretful perspective toward the people they worked to oppress. While these segments intend to impart the history of the city, the footage and testimonials are often emotionally stirring and disturbing. Jewish settlers mock Palestinians in their homes; IDF soldiers gleefully talk about gunning down taxis; Arab residents are executed on public streets. Perhaps most chilling is the cumulative substance of the footage, as lively streets full of Palestinians from decades ago give way to a barren, empty ghost town.
However, the movie falls a bit short in articulating a thesis beyond merely retelling and detailing how things got so bad. As implied by the title, it is stated early on that the practices that Israel instituted throughout the occupied territories were first tested within H2 — a perfect staging ground as an Israeli stronghold with a Muslim majority. Since most of the movie is spent on history, however, no time is spent drawing more than a casual link between what goes on in Hebron and Palestine as a whole. Naturally, anyone with a passing familiarity with what has been happening in Gaza can recognize the similarities, but establishing a timeline and a causal relationship between H2 and the world at large would have given these images even more potency and urgency. Ultimately, H2: The Occupation Lab is still interesting, harrowing, and informative enough to warrant a watch despite a relative lack of artistic ambition. Its primary purpose is simply to make its audience more knowledgeable about the situation in Hebron and the whole of Palestine, and it does an admirable job at that. It just would be nice if it attempted to go further than that. H2: The Occupation Lab is available on VOD May 10. Rating: 3.5/5 Review by Daniel Lima  As much as I love science fiction, I can’t help but wonder to myself when the last truly visionary work in the genre was. That isn’t to say we are bereft of any good examples these days, but it feels like there has not been a work like Blade Runner or The Matrix — totemic works that introduced new ideas to the popular consciousness and changed the way we imagined the future — in quite some time. Mars Express is not another game-changer, indebted as it is to well-worn themes and tropes, but it is still a gorgeous package with an interesting world and an engrossing mystery. Set 100 years in the future, humanity has colonized Mars and is supported by a large population of robots — shackled AIs bound into servitude. A pair of private detectives, one human and one robot, go on a routine missing persons job and find themselves embroiled in a much larger conspiracy. Murder, a shady corporation, and a nascent liberation movement threaten to upend the society that has been built on the red planet. This is cyberpunk in a grounded, relatively hard sci-fi world, and it follows many of the conventions set by past works in the genre. Colonists live in huge domes with screens that mimic blue skies; activists jailbreak AI to unlock unrestricted sentience; digital backups for the recently deceased, given a second life in robotic bodies. Similarly, ideas about what it means to be human and the path humanity chooses to take as it pushes further into the universe are part and parcel of this particular subgenre. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but there’s not much novelty to this particular vision of the future.  Where the film does succeed is in bringing that vision to life. This is a low-budget animated film, mostly 2D (3D is used for the backgrounds, some characters, and environmental objects), so there is a stiffness to much of the movement, and many of the shorts feel static. The art design, however, goes a long way in giving Mars a distinct feel, clean and corporatized, with hints of older technologies still holding on as the bleeding edge is rolled out. Concepts like organic computers overtaking digital counterparts might not be fresh, but seeing these eerie bioengineered organisms floating in jars is still fascinating.
The way information about this world is doled is one of the greatest strengths of Mars Express. This colony has a long and storied history, with a clear set of pervading beliefs and attitudes. Those details are only ever learned in passing, through dialogue and character beats that don’t take the tenor of exposition. The robot detective has a tenuous relationship with humans that reflects his place in society; mentions of a past military incident involving robots explain the rise of bioware; shunned practices exploit the possibility of copying one’s mind into another body. Worldbuilding like this, seamless and natural, is what separates truly involving speculative fiction from careless dreck. Admittedly, these details are a bit more memorable than the actual story. The investigation does have propulsive energy, and the budgetary limitations of an animated film obviously forced the creative team to consider every single frame very carefully to its benefit. The characters are all well-defined, from the leads all the way down to those that only get a line or two. The ultimate conclusion is surprisingly thoughtful and decidedly not designed to sate a general audience, which makes it all the more affecting. Yet, when thinking about what makes the movie work, the scope and amount of detail spring to mind far quicker than the narrative details themselves. As impressive as Mars Express is, the one thing holding it back is how indebted it is to what came before. At a time when artificial intelligence is now a hot-button issue set to disrupt the current order of things — perhaps for the worst — it is a bit of a missed opportunity for a film like this to reflect past iterations of what the future may bring. That might not detract from what the film offers, but it limits its horizons. Mars Express is now in theaters. Rating: 4/5 Review by Daniel Lima  Another year, another installment of The Roundup. Beginning in 2017 with The Outlaws, the series sees the hulking Ma Dong-seok as a Seoul detective who is as quick to punch through red tape and police regulations as he is an army of criminal scum. The latest entry, The Roundup: Punishment, does little to change a formula already growing stale, but watching its star go to work is its own singular joy. Summarizing the plot feels like a fool's errand, not because it's overly complex but because it is so similar to the previous entries that a description feels unnecessary. A new criminal element pops up in Seoul, with some kind of overseas connection (these films are the xenophobic mirror to Hong Kong's In the Line of Duty series). Ma Dong-seok quickly becomes embroiled in taking down this syndicate, utilizing his extensive underworld connections and brash, bull-in-a-china-shop approach to policing to get results. As the dastardly villains do as they please, he closes in, usually butting heads with his chain of command along the way. Eventually, there is a climactic confrontation, and our rugged hero outboxes the psychopaths he's chasing. Lather, rinse, repeat. Obviously, the details change, but that basic structure seems set in stone. There are worse things for a crime-actioner to be than predictable, but four entries in the plot machinations of this online gambling conspiracy feel cursory, and the antagonists never feel threatening, mainly because of how inevitable their downfall will be. To make matters worse, their schemes and crimes remain largely disconnected from the efforts of the team of detectives to catch them, meaning it takes some time to develop a real personal stake for the cops to apprehend their quarry. Sometimes, it feels like you're watching a Godfrey Ho film, two totally different movies stitched together.  Normally, watching the cops go about their procedural business is fun in and of itself. Here, it feels similarly weightless and perfunctory. At first, it seems like there will be much made of the brutish lead detective's inability to punch out cybercrime, but some techs are added to the team to solve that, none of whom receive any substantial characterization. They also feel like far less of a team in this entry, with very little of the banter that filled the previous films. The one highlight is Park Ji-hwan's petty thief, a fixture in this series who always provides some flamboyant comic relief, and he's not even a cop (one of the few gags relies on that).
Despite all this, it's impossible to be hard on this movie when there is so much time spent watching Ma Dong-seok punch people. The man is a former boxer. He's big and brawny, and just about every movie he is in takes full advantage of those facts. This one, in particular, is liberally peppered with scuffles that see him throwing haymakers that send his adversaries literally flying through the air. The action design isn't particularly impressive, but the man's sharp movements, the reactions of the stuntmen taking the hits, and even the sound design go a long way in selling the power of his blows. It's truly the movie's highlight and one of the selling points of the entire franchise. That said, The Roundup: Punishment does feel like the series is starting to lose steam. Perhaps the creative team behind it is perfectly willing to apply this formula to foreign criminals from every country in the world, but a change would be welcome if only to ensure some kind of emotional investment in what actually happens. If nothing else, I'll always come back to watch this guy hit things. The Roundup: Punishment is now in theaters. Rating: 3/5 Review by Daniel Lima  “You can’t do comedy anymore because of woke” is a conviction that comedian Jerry Seinfeld has proclaimed for years now. In spite of his own squeaky-clean material, he firmly believes that comedy is an art and craft that should be separated from the world around it, offering no political perspective, social commentary, or even insight into the artist’s personality or worldview. It’s no surprise, then, that his feature directorial debut Unfrosted is so detached from reality that it’s impossible to see what exactly animated him to spearhead the project. What might be surprising is how poisonously, dangerously unfunny it is. The film is the newest entry in the current infernal trend of corporate IP cinema, movies about the invention of specific consumer products. The product in question here is the Pop-Tart, produced by Kellogg’s in the 1960s. Unlike previous examples that insist on the earth-shattering importance of a pair of basketball shoes or a children’s video game, Seinfeld recognizes that there is nothing special about a breakfast pastry. Instead, the film is a broad, absurdist take on this kind of film: colorful and ornate ‘60s sets and costumes, a vast array of goofy characters played by a murderer’s row of comedians and celebrities, and a dense aura of self-parody and irony. On paper, this is the best possible way to approach the material. Seinfeld’s observation brand of comedy has always been laser-focused on pointing out the absurdity of everyday mundanity (something he has only a tenuous grasp of, given his ultra-rich lifestyle), and a silly movie about a sugary breakfast food seems perfect fodder. There’s plenty of humor to be mined, either by parodying the self-serious version of this kind of film or simply using the skeleton of the familiar narrative structure to allow for every gag the artist can think of.  Unfortunately, it becomes immediately apparent that the seventy-year-old man who insists that comedy is an unchanging entity separate from worldly concerns has an incredibly limited imagination. The one-liners are all tired, hack material that recalls Seinfeld’s own stand-up, a relic even forty years ago: “Who’s On First?” style riffs, playground humor about the names of different cereals, and only the most basic pop culture references. The genuinely impressive production design is undermined by high key lighting that gives everything a cheap look, and the scant attempts at visual humor are just as lame and tired. Most egregious is the utter lack of comic rhythm and timing, either stifling the jokes or leaving them to die on the vine. All this is in service to the one big joke underpinning every moment of Unfrosted: “Isn’t it stupid to make a movie like this?” This kind of anti-comedy isn’t inherently bad, with both alt-comics and more mainstream comedians utilizing offbeat timing and hackneyed material to great ironic effect. Where Seinfeld goes wrong is he has nowhere to go except to point out how dumb the enterprise is. This isn’t an explicit parody of the current IP movie trend; there’s a lack of the cartoonishly broad ingenuity of Zucker-Abrahams-Zucker, and the specificity of a Coen Brothers farce is absent. The ensemble is good, but they can only do so much with finger-on-the-pulse jokes about JFK having extramarital affairs (with the exception of Hugh Grant, who shines). Ultimately, the only thing the film has to offer is the acknowledgment that it isn’t good. Which, paradoxically, reveals that Seinfeld truly thinks that this is enough to pass muster with a contemporary audience. The result is a work that is both absurdly self-assured and woefully undercooked.  As resistant as the man is to comedy that professes a set of beliefs or directly contends with the comic’s inner self, it’s the fleeting moments of Unfrosted where Seinfeld’s own reactionary impulses shine through that it shows any signs of life. Offhand jokes at the expense of the working class, unions, and socialism manage to sneak through his studiously calculated apolitical veneer in keeping with his frequent criticism of the American left and political correctness. This ambient ideology is never given any weight. Still, when a worker’s strike turns into a Jan. 6-style assault on Kellogg’s headquarters, it doesn’t take much to read between the lines: to Seinfeld, low-wage workers asking for a raise and right-wing extremists storming the Capital are equally silly. As disagreeable as this outlook might be, it does give the film a verve that it otherwise lacks.
Seinfeld's central misunderstanding of art is that it is not a mere mechanism. To him, comedy is a feat of engineering, taking the raw materials that the lives we lead afford us and molding them into something that provokes a certain response; any message or statement is simply a byproduct of that process. While craft is certainly important, art is, in fact, a form of self-expression and communication, and the ideal artist actually has something to say, either about the world or themselves. Cultivating a singular voice and perspective is what marks a true artist and, in the case of comedy, what separates the truly funny from the hacks. This is why Unfrosted is a failure. For all the work done to bring this vision to life, it is shockingly hollow and devoid of any sense of purpose. Even if it were a technically accomplished film that got all the fundamentals right, it would be every bit as soulless and out of touch as the man behind it. It just so happens that it’s also not funny. Unfrosted releases on Netflix May 3. Rating: 1.5/5 Review by Daniel Lima  In the West, the parameters of acceptable discourse on the subject of Israel and Palestine have been limited to simply acknowledging that there is a cycle of tumult and violence. The perception among the general public has been that interrogating why that is far too complicated, that assigning blame is a fruitless effort, and as a consequence, any solutions are far out of reach. After the past seven months of wanton destruction and killing by the Israeli government against the people of Palestine, that narrative is on the wane, and a situation that had been portrayed as prohibitively complex for decades has undergone a massive reevaluation. It is the perfect time for a film like Lyd, a work that draws a clear line between the sins of the past and our present reality and vociferously argues why contextualizing the present within that broader history is crucial in determining the future. Co-directed by American Sarah Ema Friedland and Palestinian Rami Younis, the film makes no qualms about its perspective: the colonization of the Levant in the aftermath of World War I by Western powers and the Israeli annexation of the city of Lyd represents an original sin that created deep wounds that have never and cannot ever heal so long as the subjugation of the Arab population remains the status quo. To that end, the film explores the city’s history via talking heads, narration, archival footage, and even animation, painting a portrait of a people under occupation and a world that could be different. The firsthand accounts of the Nakba, the 1948 ethnic cleansing of Palestinian families from land seized by Israel that saw thousands dead and hundreds of thousands expelled from their homes, are breathtaking. One man still living in the city recalls being forced as a child by the occupying forces to bury the bodies of those they killed, some so disfigured they had melted; a young man who has spent his entire life in a refugee camp mentions that his grandmother’s house is still standing and occupied by settlers, yet he is not even allowed to enter the city. Most chilling is a collection of testimonies from Israeli veterans, compiled by the IDF itself, where they remember what it was like shooting into building filled with men, women and children. One man, in particular, visibly disturbed, speaks of looking into the eyes of defenseless Palestinians and seeing himself as a murderer through them and how he was to them what generations of oppressors were to his people. Off-screen, someone derisively asks, “What, are you a pacifist now?” as if that is a bad thing. The man clams up. Taken with the contemporary Palestinian accounts, these interviews establish that the origins of this conflict are not ancient, not incomprehensible. They are the direct result of people and are still within living memory, so this conflict is not the hopeless quagmire we are so often told it is.  There are some attempts to show what life is like for Arab Israelis, the fallout of the Nakba that continues to rain down. While these slice-of-life scenes serve that purpose, displaying in stark relief what life under oppression is like, there is a certain artifice that is hard to shake. Some moments, like the camera gliding behind a man as he walks through the streets of his ad hoc community, feel perfectly lived in. Then there’s a shot-reverse shot scene of him ordering food at a restaurant, and suddenly, the film has adopted narrative cinematic language in a way that makes it feel inorganic. Nowhere is this more pronounced than in the classroom scene, where a group of children are asked about their identity. Their teacher is brought to tears by the ignorance they display about what it means to be Palestinian, and it is indeed shocking to hear their responses, but that shock can only go so far when the scene is so composed.
That being said, the documentary does have several more fanciful elements that work to varying degrees. The narration is given from the perspective of the city itself, a flourish that lends the film a certain texture but little else. More notable are the animated sequences, glimpses into an alternate world in which the Levant was never colonized by Europe. Admittedly, the rosy vision of a pluralistic society that knows only peace can be seen as a bit fanciful, particularly considering the film does reference religious tensions before the First World war. As is made clear by the finale, however, it is by imagining what could have been and what could be that calcified ideas of how the world is can be shattered. That is the power of Lyd: it shatters assumptions that many may have, until very recently, held unchallenged about the lives of Palestinians under Israeli occupation. The image it presents is filled with pain and suffering, of people forced to see what was taken from them as a daily form of torture, yet it does not simply revel in that suffering. Instead, it diagnoses the root cause, puts a face to the perpetrators, and, in doing so, allows the possibility for justice and a better tomorrow. Lyd arrives in theaters April 26. Rating: 4/5 Review by Daniel Lima  Those unfortunate souls suffering through the aggravating throes of insomnia need suffer no more; Dancing Village: The Curse Begins is here to cure you. An Indonesian horror prequel helmed by Kimo Stamboel (half of the Mo Brothers directing duo with Timo Tjahjanto), this follows in the ignoble tradition of both the director’s previous work and the original film by being ugly, slow, dull, and generally bereft of all the qualities one would want in a story. KKN, Curse of the Dancing Village was based on a Twitter thread that went viral in Indonesia — a story about a group of college kids doing community service in a remote village inhabited by a variety of strange spirits, most notably, a woman draped in ornate clothes who compels people to sin and to enter her nefarious court to entertain her forever. While that film was a huge commercial success within its home country, it failed to generate any tension, horror, atmosphere, or empathy for its characters. Not much is different here. Though set decades before the events of the first, it follows the same general template: a group of young people enters the village, a series of strange encounters occur, and two hours later, the movie ends. The group only includes four people rather than the six in the original, but they receive even less characterization. They are not entirely unaware of the threats that dwell within this distant outpost, yet they still foolishly blunder about from terror to terror without ever naturally reacting to the lunacy happening around them. The hamlet is almost identical to how it looks forty years later, squandering the opportunity to cast it in a new light. It’s almost surprising how little this film adds to the world.  One would hope a notable director would at least deliver on genre thrills. That would mean one has not seen any of Kimo Stamboel’s work; if DreadOut and his The Queen of Black Magic remake are any indication, he lacks the imagination and command of the craft to deliver a genuinely frightening or disturbing horror film (he also is the director of Sewu Dino, the second film in the series, but there are only so many hours in the day). With the exception of one moment of grisly practical effects work, every sequence meant to evoke terror instead inspires boredom: lots of screaming in reaction to a figure suddenly appearing — in full view, with no attempt at building suspense — and shot-reverse shots attempting to string out what was already a lame attempt at a scare. Add to this a bland visual language only occasionally spiced up with some color, and you end up with a horror film that lurches forward at an agonizing pace.
If there’s any defense to offer the film, it’s that there might be aspects that simply do not translate. In the first film, the antagonist is referred to as a djinn by a devout Muslim; no one calls her that here. Perhaps something is being explored in the relationship between Islam and Indonesian folk beliefs. Of course, they are still photographed in a way that robs them of any weight, and all the fantastic elements of this film were imported from the previous works. It is possible, however, that some of this material will go over the heads of international audiences. Absent that possible context, however, Dancing Village: The Curse Begins is almost wholly without merit. If one is not lulled to sleep from the sheer level of inactivity, this is bound to be an interminable chore of a watch. For those interested in contemporary Indonesian horror, I would respectfully recommend the Tjahjanto’s May the Devil Take You films, as it seems that half is where the talent of the Mo Brothers lies. Dancing Village: The Curse Begins hits theaters April 26. Rating: 1.5/5 Review by Daniel Lima  The first part of the latest adaptation of Alexandre Dumas's classic book The Three Musketeers was a surprising amount of fun, a lavish production filled with intrigue, romance, and action. That remains true in The Three Musketeers - Part 2: Milady, yet it feels like the spark has gone from the back end of this diptych. Where the previous film flies by, like the rousing adventure novel that inspired it, this ambles along without a clear sense of direction. As impressive as the production value is, it cannot cover for a lack of narrative momentum. Picking up right where the last one ended, the fresh-faced musketeer D'Artagnan wakes up imprisoned by an unknown adversary, having just witnessed his paramour being abducted by yet another unknown foe. From there springs yet another tale of convenient alliances, double-crosses, love, and brotherhood. Hopefully, you remember a good deal of what happened in part one; personally, the "previously on" segment at the start was insufficient, and it took a good amount of time before I was on the same page as the characters. The two halves were shot at the same time, so many of the observations about the first can be ported over to the second. The performances are all fine, with Eva Green being a particular standout here, lending her character a vulnerability previously unseen. The film's scale is impressive, though occasionally undercut by the drab palette and perfunctory compositions. The action is again a series of faked long takes, robbing the fights of any rhythm and doing no favors for the leads, none of whom seem particularly skilled at fight choreography.  That is not where this entry falters. Where there were multiple narrative threads in the previous film that depended on the direct actions of its protagonists pushing the story forward — romantic interests being pursued, conspiracies being untangled, bonds being forged — all the characters here are relegated to reacting to circumstances that arise arbitrarily. It's a change that leaves the protagonists idling about, confoundingly inert, and passive even when one would assume their goals are time-sensitive. Combined with a comparatively sprawling story, one that sees most of the ensemble uprooted from the Parisian splendor that was their home, the result is a lack of focus that makes it hard to remain engaged with what is happening.
While I am only vaguely acquainted with the source material, it does seem like the adaptation is unduly constrained by it. Changes to the narrative and characterization — particularly of Eva Green's character, who christens this installment — that are meant to modernize a two-hundred-year-old story ultimately must still conform to its beats, leading to a work at odds with itself. Moral ambiguity is certainly not a storytelling flaw, but the clouded portrait the script paints feels less like a conscious choice and more the result of contradictory motifs and themes. This culminates in a finale that feels mean-spirited, rushed, and incomplete, a far cry from the clean ending of the previous movie. It is a sour note for The Three Musketeers - Part 2: Milady to end on, but that isn't to say it's a wholly unpleasant experience. The attention paid to craft is true for the entire production, and though there is no clear sense of purpose to anything that occurs, it at least does so at a decent pace. As clumsy as this landing is, it still leaves me interested in actually picking up the book to see whether this speaks to a weakness in the foundation or in the building. The Three Musketeers - Part 2: Milady hits theaters on April 19. Rating: 3/5 |