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Paul Schrader is a filmmaker that understands, at an almost virtuousic level, how to communicate his ideas with both images and the words paired with them. The Card Counter, his long awaited follow up to 2018’s First Reformed, is a deeply tense and well refined film about how people go on with themselves after committing horrific acts. It also highlights the importance of connection between people and the danger of isolation in the wake of such events. With Oscar Isaac and Tiffany Haddish each giving performances that carry great emotional poignancy, Schrader’s film is a dramatic tour de force which will sit with audiences for a long time yet.

Isaac stars as William Tell, a former US Army interrogator who now makes a living as a professional gambler drifting from one casino to the next. At the outset of the film, he is drawn in by two people with very different intentions. First, he is offered the chance to make real money with the financial backing of a benefactor, represented by Haddish’s La Linda. The other is a young man, Cirk (played by Tye Sheridan) who seeks to enlist Tell in a revenge plot against the man who trained both his father and the gambler in torture, but who escaped prosecution for war crimes. The three characters go from table to table making money as Tell does his best to steer Cirk away from his violent intentions, all of which sets the stage for a climax that manages to shock as well as underscore the philosophical leanings of the script.

There are certain tropes that Schrader seems to depend on in this film and others, like First Reformed and his most well renowned script, Taxi Driver. Tell’s journal and narration is central to the storytelling, which makes the film less subtle than it could be. Though it does seem jarring in certain moments, overall the script is tight and creates a knife’s edge feeling of tension all throughout. The writer-director’s aesthetic composition is astounding in certain scenes, complimented by the stillness of Alexander Dynan’s cinematography. There is also a crane shot from a high angle that absolutely deserves to be remembered as one of the finer moments in film photography of the last few years. Between these elements and a unique combination of score and original songs by Robert Levon Breen and Giancarlo Vulcano, The Card Counter is a striking example of viscerally commanding cinema.

The acting is impeccable across the board. Oscar Isaac turns in a performance so steely and mesmerising that it’s almost an effort to focus your attention anywhere else. Tiffany Haddish excels in a dramatic role, having established herself in comedy up till now. Her natural delivery and flair suit the film exceedingly well. Sheridan is also quite good. His performance is a combination of wayward youth and sociopathic calm. Willem Dafoe also does well in the smaller part of the career military man and enhanced interrogation aficionado.

The Card Counter goes wide in moments, with the use of certain conventions and inconsistency in a tonal sense. These issues are minor, however, and Schrader’s film remains an incisive and brutal meditation on it’s chosen subject matter, with a fairly direct preoccupation with the notion of American Imperialism and Exceptionalism in the context of war. Wrapping itself up at the right length and with a moment that manages to devastate emotionally, the latest from this iconic director is a film that will be revered as yet another classic in his oeuvre.

4/5

Matthew Vaughn’s third entry in the Kingsman series is an ambitious and joyously silly work of historical fiction. Serving as a prequel to the first two films, The King’s Man pits Ralph Fiennes and his cohort of fledgling spies against the horrific backdrop of World War One. With a script that doesn’t relent in either it’s clever maneuvering or it’s witty dialogue, Vaughn has delivered a supremely enjoyable spectacle of an action film that only feels laborious in fleeting moments throughout it’s 130 minute runtime. 

After a prologue which establishes the protagonist’s preference for pacifism over violence, the action takes off just before the outset of WWI. Orlando, the Duke of Oxford, is doing his best to steer his son, Conrad, away from the dangers of the changing political landscape across Europe. Eventually, Orlando relents and involves the boy in his attempt to intervene indirectly with the war. Travelling  to Russia to neutralise Grigori Rasputin, who is using blackmail through his manipulation of the Romanov’s spiritual predilection, the mission only serves to further embolden Conrad, setting him and his father on a course to be more directly involved than either had intended. From here the film becomes a riveting saga of battlefield heroics and espionage, with an extensive cabal of provocateurs opposing the spy network from the shadows. 

Vaughn is a filmmaker with more than just a taste for bombastic flair and heightened action sequences. Within his spate of films as a writer-director, he has essentially crafted his own visual aesthetic which makes itself felt not just through the dynamic shooting of his fight choreography, but also at the level of editing and structure as a whole. The King’s Man feels like the work of a confident and well organised auteur having the time of his life. Vaughn stages action sequences that continue to dazzle and surprise throughout the film, although one or two may be overlong or somewhat unnecessary. This minor fault is excusable in his latest offering, for the sheer and exuberant ridiculousness of the proceedings. 

Though this alternate history of The Great War will not be to everyone’s liking, the strength of the film relies on it’s self awareness and structure within the script. Vaughn and Karl Gajdusek’s writing plays up the more overtly strange characteristics of certain historical personages, and also uses the classic spy trope of a dastardly but unseen major villain to great effect. The film is always verging on camp gone too far, but the performances by Fiennes, Djimon Hounsou, Rhys Ifans and Gemma Arterton each compliment the intended tone, while also bringing it back to a grounded reality often enough that the silliness doesn’t become overbearing. It’s a given in a film like this that one must surrender certain aspects of reality and suspend disbelief, but if you’re willing to go along with it, The King’s Man is exceptionally good fun. 

Whether the series has enough life and ingenuity to sustain another outing as good as this one remains to be seen. What is apparent from this film, however, is that Vaughn has certainly come into his own as a director who can not only provide thrills in action set pieces, but that he’s also capable of rewriting and subverting elements of history in a way that is both entertaining and grandiose. An improvement upon the second film and on par with the first, The King’s Man provides Summer blockbuster fun in a way that most others simply fail to do. 

4.5/5

In a film about the gulf between responsible adulthood and the obligation of love and compassion for family, Jane Campion creates a world out of symbolism and unconventional dialogue which lingers in the mind long after the story’s endpoint. Sweetie, the New Zealand director’s debut feature, is a wonderfully inventive story of two sisters who each struggle to achieve contentment in the real world. With cinematography by Sally Bongers which frames the action of each scene almost like a contemporary work of visual art, Campion’s film is a gem which allows for multiple readings, each set in the realm of dreamlike reality.

Kay is a factory worker in Sydney who believes her fate can be predicted by a local fortune teller. After hearing one such prophecy on the subject of her love life, Kay seduces Louis, a work colleague, and the two begin a domestic romance. Though things start well enough, the relationship is soon strained by Kay’s emotional instability and introversion, and then the arrival of her sister, Sweetie, who struggles with her mental health. Life becomes a constant tug of war between the sisters, eventually involving their parents in an effort to confront the reality of Sweetie’s unusual and troubling behaviour.

Told in part with narration by Kay, the story plays out in a sequence of slow, but very engaging scenes wherein the characters navigate everyday life, as well as their own inner motivations. Karen Colston radiates an eccentricity as Kay, making her a three dimensional stand out within the film. Geneviève Lemon as Sweetie is also a joy to watch, creating a picture of mental illness that brims with fidelity and never veers towards parody. Dorothy Barry and Jon Darling are each excellent in their roles as parents to the girls. Barry is wonderfully understated and believable as a mother beyond the point of understanding and Darling endears the audience to him as a pitiable father who can’t see the forest for the trees.

What stands out most in the film, aside from some very raw elements in the narrative, is the framing of each shot by Bongers. The placement of characters in various scenes evokes a feeling of tableau, lending a tragic air to the film beyond the level of it’s plot. The cinematographer also chooses certain angles to mirror a feeling of unease and tension throughout, but never manages to become overindulgent in the way her camera captures the action. Campion’s use of imagery and symbolism is also worth noting. It’s these two elements together which take the work a step further than the average depiction of youth, mental illness and family dynamics.

Sweetie is a film that draws the audience in with well drawn characters and a charm that disarms as readily as it stirs feelings of joy and compassion. Campion’s writing and direction (the former being a collaboration with Gerard Lee) is confident and distinctive, marking her as a director of compelling vision. Though it takes some time for the action to begin in earnest, what’s apparent from the start is a voice in film which stands apart from a great many who have come before.

4.5/5

The debut film by Joel and Ethan Coen, Blood Simple is a tense and thrilling story set amidst the seedy underworld of dive bars and killers for hire in Texas. Working from their own clever script, the Coens’ evoke a sense of eery macabre through the use of engaging cinematography and score. With performances that bring about empathy as well as contempt, Blood Simple is an accomplished exercise in genre filmmaking that remains compelling to the very end.

When Julian Marty discovers that one of his bartenders is sleeping with his wife, he hires a demented private investigator to murder the two of them in an act of twisted vengeance. Ray and Abby, the lovers, are then caught up in an intersecting web of violence and deceit which challenges not only their trust in one another, but also their capacity to survive against malevolent odds. Leaning heavily on the conventions of neo-noir, the film delivers a number of nail-biting sequences and turns in the narrative which amount finally to a climax that leaves no character untainted by violence.

The script is good for the most part, but the dialogue is a step behind the well conceived and executed plot. Though the characters stand out in certain moments, they could each do with a little more development. Despite this issue, all the cast perform admirably, especially Dan Hedaya as Julian and M. Emmet Walsh as Loren, the contract killer. Walsh’s characterisation is particularly well realised, making for a despicable and cunning villain.

The strength of the film is to be found mainly in various elements of it’s construction, like Carter Burwell’s sinister piano theme and Barry Sonnenfeld’s dynamic work with the camera. His tracking shots are particularly well placed, working seamlessly along with the editing (another duty shared by the Coen brothers under the pseudonym of Roderick Jaynes). Overall the film is a great triumph of stylistic verve in it’s capacity to present a gripping tale of vivid noir.

Blood Simple works best in the moments where it goes all out in placing the audience on the edge of their seats. While it is somewhat lacking in elements of dialogue that could have been better polished to develop it’s characters, the script still manages to propel itself in a steely fashion towards the showdown finale. Demonstrating their prowess and originality in the arena of feature filmmaking, the Coen’s debut is a dark cinematic work which leaves the viewer eager for more.

4/5

In a film that drips with an easy going style and scathing social commentary, Tom Cruise shines in an early performance that signposts his future as a bona-fide star. Paul Brickman’s Risky Business is a cautionary tale of youth and capitalism in which a young man makes a number of mistakes in quick succession, setting him up to either learn valuable lessons or to crumble in the ruins of his own potential. With a hit factory soundtrack, synth heavy score and a script that resonates as intelligent and fast paced, Brickman’s debut as a writer-director is an enjoyable romp of teenage thrills and excess.

Joel is a high school senior left home alone for a week in his safe and suburban Illinois home. Encouraged by his friends to make the most of his parent’s absence, he invites Lana, a call girl, over one night and goes on to deal with the myriad of problems that her entry into his world causes. Over the course of a week, he is forced to contend with the follies of his own irresponsibility, Lana’s dangerous pimp and, to cap it all off, his prospects for admission to the Ivy League college of his father’s dreams.

Cruise and Rebecca De Mornay in the leads are each impeccable as teenagers who find themselves out of their depth in very different walks of life. Joel’s fortunes go from up to down and back again so many times that Tom Cruise has to measure the height of each high and low, succeeding in making the character a wily mix of inexperience and stupidity. His performance also encapsulates a clever turn as an opportunist, which bolsters Brickman’s theme of capitalist ingenuity in the face of mounting adversity. De Mornay inhabits Lana as a girl wise beyond her years, but only ever one step away from a tragic outcome. Her maturely calculated performance and chemistry with Cruise make their encounters bubble with a believable tension and playfulness. Curtis Armstrong and Joe Pantoliano also deliver astoundingly well in roles that provide comedy and a sense of danger, respectively.

The cinematography by Bruce Surtees and Reynaldo Villalobos is fittingly seductive. Tracking shots invite the audience into the tangled web of Joel’s blunders, while stationary set ups deliver laughs at various points when either circumstance or tone warrant their inclusion. The electronic score by pop group Tangerine Dream is a subtle, though at times indulgent slip into the murky world of false security in suburbia.

Risky Business is a film that occasionally verges on the absurd, but manages always to maintain itself with a polished script and a number of winks to the audience. It’s this latter element which makes it such a clever and fun film to watch. It also makes a rather profound point and satire out of the subject of the capitalist enterprise, without subjecting it’s likeable characters to an uncompromisingly pessimistic end. By turns hilarious, thrilling and erotic, Brickman’s ode to teenage hubris is a fulfilling and commendable film.

5/5

The French Dispatch, Wes Anderson’s tenth feature, is a wonderfully inventive triptych focused on a fictional American magazine produced out of France. With a massive cast filled with regulars and newcomers to the writer-director’s stable, the film plays with various elements of style and formalism. The result is a relentless and often hilarious deep dive into both the realm of journalistic production and various historical contexts and events.

The film begins with a longtime American magazine editor’s death in France and the subsequent preparations for what will be the publication of the final issue. After this introductory sequence, Anderson splits his narrative between three separate stories, each represented as a work of journalism researched by and included in the magazine. Benicio Del Toro stars as an incarcerated artist whose work is discovered and represented by Adrien Brody as a deceptive and determined art dealer. Timmothée Chalamet plays the leader of student protestors in France during 1968, alongside Frances McDormand as a writer chronicling the negotiations between the young politicos and the authorities. Finally, Jeffrey Wright stars as a writer covering fine dining who is swept up in the investigation of a kidnapping involving the son of the local police chief.

Anderson’s writing is typically clever and well structured. The most interesting aspect of this script and it’s execution comes from the way he moves through each story in a way that mirrors the production of writing within the industry of news media. While his sets and the way each frame is designed as a grandiloquent tableau echo his previous films, in The French Dispatch Anderson jumps between multiple aspect ratios and also features different frames onscreen at once. These more experimental flourishes give the film a congruent sense of depicting a representation of journalistic endeavour and also distinguish it within Anderson’s filmography as a departure from his usual style.

All of the cast perform well, though a great many only have very minor cameos. Out of those with larger roles, Brody and Del Toro serve as excellent foils for each other in their segment. Chalamet and McDormand are also particularly good. Chalamet does well with the comedic aspect of his role, seeming like an outsized and exaggerated version of a student revolutionary with little understanding of the irony that stems from the gulf between his age and dramatic circumstance. Jeffrey Wright is understated and nuanced in his delivery of both dialogue and expression, giving his moments onscreen a slightly knowing and playful quality.

The most impressive aspect of Anderson’s latest is the way it all goes together so well. Each moment is handled singularly for it’s own sake, but also flows within the overall construction just like turning a page from one story to another in a magazine. This strength is sustained throughout and the cast all seem to compliment the tone of the film in their delivery of many hysterical lines and looks. The French Dispatch is very much like watching a craftsman at the height of his powers, while also managing to progress in a new and impressive direction.

5/5

Joel Coen’s first solo directorial effort is a harrowing and bleak adaptation of William Shakespeare’s Macbeth. In this rendition of The Scottish Play, Denzel Washington and Frances McDormand star as the ambitious and fiendish husband and wife, while an ensemble of talented character actors round out the cast. Shot in gorgeous black and white, The Tragedy of Macbeth is a stark retelling of the classic parable, featuring a script creatively adapted from the original text.

After a victorious campaign of war, Macbeth is the recipient of a prophecy which puts him on track to claim the Scottish throne. Passing the information on to his scheming wife, the Lord and Lady subsequently conspire to murder the King, Duncan, and to position themselves as the innocent beneficiaries of regicide. What follows is their descent into tyrranical paranoia and despondency, all of which set the stage for a climactic finale that will determine the rule of the Kingdom.

Working without his brother Ethan on a film for the first time, Joel Coen’s ambitious adaptation of the Shakespearean masterpiece is a marvel of dramatic acting and visual spectacle. Coen’s script is a work of somewhat original and innovative flair. Elevating the character of Ross to a politician of Machiavellian proportions, certain accepted interpretations of the text are revamped in order to present Macbeth’s court in this version as a place of diabolical intrigue. The pacing suffers briefly as the film approaches the action of it’s climax, but this isn’t enough to offset the beauty of Bruno Delbonnel’s cinematography and the bass heavy score of Carter Burwell (the Coen’s regular collaborator).

In the lead roles, Washington and McDormand are both commanding and malevolent. Though her Lady Macbeth benefits from an intensely subtle performance in the beginning, McDormand’s slip into madness seems somewhat muddled. It comes about at a moment when the plot is advanced a little too quickly for it all to flow together as well as it has up to that point. This misstep in editing has less of an effect on Washington as Macbeth. His performance as a conniving nobleman turned forceful dictator is everything it needs to be, with the complexity of both wit and brutality that encompasses the character.

The Tragedy of Macbeth is a triumph at the level of tone and Gothic aestheticism. While the performances of the two leads are towering, the film benefits as much from it’s strong ensemble cast, particularly Kathryn Hunter in her role as the Witches. As it hurtles towards it’s thrilling conclusion, the film boldly demonstrates Coen’s understanding of character and narrative, while also showcasing his ability to innovate within a story much older and more frequently told than any he’s tackled before.

4.5/5

Licorice Pizza, the latest offering from writer-director Paul Thomas Anderson, is a fun and very sweet romance set in the San Fernando Valley of LA in the early 1970’s. Starring Cooper Hoffman (son of the late Philip Seymour Hoffman) and Alana Haim in the lead roles, the film tracks the pitfalls and excitement of first love. Featuring a cast mainly populated by newcomers to a PTA film, Licorice Pizza is a breezy and seemingly effortless work of nostalgic fancy set against the Hollywood film scene of the era.

Gary Valentine is a precocious 15 year old film star who lives in LA and uses the money he makes to invest in various business ventures for himself and his family. When he meets Alana Kane at his high school photo day, he’s undaunted by their ten year age gap and immediately asks her out. They go on to develop a friendship which is equal parts crush and rivalry, enjoying each other’s company in a set of adventures that teach both of them the value of companionship and certain hard truths about the onslaught of adulthood.

The film benefits from what is now Anderson’s lengthy career, midway through it’s third decade. With an almost lazy, but still deeply enthusiastic level of confidence, the director manages to create characters, set pieces and exchanges of dialogue which not only smack of real world experience, but go further in producing something genuinely unique and out of the ordinary. The script is a miracle of well timed chaos, with each scene seeming like merely a snippet of a conversation that continues throughout the entire film and even branches into the imagined before and after. This isn’t to say that it feels in any way unpolished or like a work in progress. Indeed, the effect is that of an effortless balance between lively exuberance and tender understanding. Anderson demonstrates in this film (not for the first time) that he can execute moments that show the quiet and ordinary aspects of life, without the zeal and dramatic weight of more lofty circumstances and characters.

The cast of Licorice Pizza all perform exceptionally well. Aside from the leads and more seasoned actors, this fact is doubly impressive when you consider the amount of children with small roles throughout. Each young performer is allowed to shine briefly and, with credit also due to the direction and editing by Anderson’s more recent collaborator Andy Jurgensen, they all stand out as well executed moments of youthful confidence.

The highlights are undoubtedly the performances of both Hoffman and Haim. Each making their debut as actors, the two leads bring to the film a fresh faced sense of uncoached and deliberate force of character. Alana Haim is especially good in what is potentially the meatier role. Her portrayal of a young woman unsure of her skills or direction in life is an absolute joy to watch. Anderson provides for Alana an almost nail-bitingly climactic scene wherein the character demonstrates her unassailable capacity to deal with whatever life throws up. In the end (a rapturous and stunningly beautiful sequence), the audience has seen Alana Kane develop into a young woman capable of learning from her experience and taking herself where she wants to go in life.

With brief, but singularly brilliant cameo appearances from Sean Penn, Tom Waits and Bradley Cooper (not to mention the astoundingly good Harriet Sansom Harris), Licorice Pizza is a feel-great depiction of youth and innocence not so much lost as challenged. Anderson brings each element of his script together in a weightless and joyous spectacle of young love. The film gives the audience a chance to reimagine or encounter their past experiences as fondly as the director obviously does with his own. Knowing just when and how to end things, Paul Thomas Anderson proves again that his life and loves have taught him plenty about the act of storytelling in a vastly enjoyable film experience.

5/5

Ingmar Bergman’s The Magician is a suspenseful work of weighty themes and vividly realised characters. Shot by Gunnar Fischer (who also shot Wild Strawberries and The Seventh Seal), the film creates a dour and melancholic atmosphere with a dense plot and many of the director’s stock company of actors. Max Von Sydow and Gunnar Björnstrand play against one another in a taut psychological game, creating for the audience a spectacle that descends from cynical comedy into classic horror.

Set in the mid-19th century, the film begins with a troupe of mystics and performers traveling through a forest to their next destination. On the way they pick up a destitute man near his death and discuss their own seemingly dismal prospects. Arriving in the city, they are summoned to perform for the local authorities who believe they have reason to question the integrity of the troupe, led by the mute Albert Vogler. What ensues is an evening wherein almost all participants come to an outcome they hadn’t intended and, in doing so, peel away various pretentions and vanities inherent to human nature.

Though certain elements of the narrative could have been better executed for the sake of clarity, there is little doubt that Bergman is working at the height of his cinematic skill in this film. The Magician is shot in beautifullly stark black and white, with some sequences creating almost a ballet of light and shadow. Fischer’s cinematography gives the film an element of gothic grandeur in many of the interior scenes, not least the gripping climax to the main action of the plot. Von Sydow and Björnstrand are so deft in their roles that one is inclined to marvel at the fluidity of their rivalry. Åke Fridell is wonderfully charismatic as the smarmy spokesman of Vogler’s group and Ingrid Thulin delivers a performance so beautifully restrained that she commands attention with the simplest of expressions throughout.

Bergman’s films are classic in both their complex rhythms and relative simplicity, although The Magician is certainly one that is worth watching closely. The thin narrative is at times so densely plotted that it may require a second viewing to fully elucidate it’s vision, but the tension and attention to detail with which it is so lovingly rendered make it a joy to unwind. With both a despairing anti-hero and an arrogant nemesis to root for and against, respectively, The Magician is a cunning entry in the director’s remarkable oeuvre.

4/5

I Care A Lot is a satiric thriller revolving around the industry of aged care and legal guardianship. The film, written and directed by J. Blakeson, stars Rosamund Pike in a chilling depiction of a woman who actually cares very little and is casually flippant about the moral turpititude of what she does. Unfortunately, her commanding performance and the skill of the supporting cast (including Diane Weist and Peter Dinklage) are unable to make up for the film’s lack of humour, despite it’s sleek presentation.

Marla Grayson runs a company as a legal guardian, greasing various wheels in order to con the elderly and their families into funding her vaguely glamorous lifestyle. With her wards left to rot in the clutches of a complicit and clutching series of care facilities, Marla and her partner (in business and in life) go about selling off their assets and fending off any scrutiny from concerned relatives and the courts. One day, their target turns out to be someone with connections to a violent criminal underworld, and so begins a game of cat and mouse wherein the stakes are continually raised and Marla is forced to test her own resolve as someone who refuses to lose in any venture.

Blakeson’s film is sharp and clever, but it takes too long to really get going. After a lengthy opening, complete with gaudy narration from Marla justifying her vile system of abuse and graft, the audience is left without any chance to empathise or even slightly warm up to her character. Pike is good in the role, but both the writing and her venomous portrayal are too on the nose throughout to leave any room for nuance or doubt. The same goes for every other character in the film, each of whom betray characteristics that sign post them all as being unworthy of even our most misguided sympathies. While Weist, Dinklage and especially Chris Messina are convincing in their roles, the film suffers without any character to root for. This choice is quite challenging and even serves to cement a terribly unsubtle point within the film, but it also makes it somewhat flat and predictable throughout.

I Care A Lot isn’t a terrible film, but it isn’t particularly likeable either. Blakeson’s direction is certainly confident and even gripping at times, but he’s working with a club where what’s required is a scalpel. Pike and Dinklage match up well together as opposing forces, but the satire would be better served if it wasn’t written so blatantly across every frame from beginning to end. In saying that, there are laughs here and there and much to be admired in the deft execution of what is, unfortunately, an obvious and circuitous plot.

Leaning too hard on it’s message and stylistic approach rather than even a feigned interest in subtlety, I Care A Lot is a lukewarm and dazzling attempt to shock which only manages to irritate for the most part. Though it says plenty worth considering on the subject of human nature in the context of capitalism, the themes are undermined by the relentlessness of the overall tone. The effect, in the end, is enough to alienate not only the characters onscreen, but also the wider audience.

2.5/5