REVIEW: X

Year: 2022

Director: Ti West

Screenplay: Ti West

Starring: Mia Goth, Jenna Ortega, Martin Henderson, Brittany Snow, Owen Campbell, Stephen Ure, and Scott Mescudi.

Synopsis is here:

 

I’m not sure at what moment Ti West’s X got me once again frustrated at film awards. It was possibly around the point in which the film delivers a tender split-screen involving Britney Snow singing a cover of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac. It might be the moment when a character tugs at a light switch. The film suddenly cuts back to the aftermath of a violent attack. An almost innocuous moment that becomes the film's most effective jump scare. West has always been an exciting horror filmmaker. However, watching the filmmaker’s maturity grow as a craftsman within these small moments reminded me of how much film organisations do the dirty within areas of the genre. Do I expect Ti West to win an Oscar? Not at all. But watching West create such an entertaining provocation on a tighter budget and with less pretension than some of the more typical prestige movies Hollywood tries to inflict on us reminded me of just how much horror should get more kudos.

X riffs hard on Tobe Hooper’s gruelling 70s opus; The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974). Like its predecessor, this slasher tale of an amateur porno crew embarking on a doomed feature starts innocently enough. Aspiring Porn actress Maxine (Goth) and his producer boyfriend Wayne (Henderson), head up proceedings with fellow actors Bobby-Lynne (Snow) and Jackson Hole (Mescudi), Director RJ (Campbell) and girlfriend Lorraine (Ortega) in tow, as they gallivant off to a rural Texas homestead to film footage of their movie The Farmers Daughter. They arrive at their location, which is home to elderly couple Howard and Pearl (Ure and Goth again). The abrasive nature of the shotgun armed Howard does little to deter the gang from performing their visual carnality. However, the day’s antics stir something within Pearl. Which soon quickly morphs from sexual to murderous, with tragic consequences.

Ti West coming off the back of a few years of TV work has come back with a horror throwback that holds a compelling use of form. The filmmaker seems to be in his element. Playing with classic inspirations as he’s known to do.  The homages are evident. Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960) is noted in both the dialogue and visually.  Maxine’s opening moments of preparation pay subtle homage to the mirrored finale of Paul Thomas Anderson’s porn drama Boogie Nights (1997). Albeit without the large penile appendage. The religious fervour peppered on old televisions holds shades of Michael Parks’ crazed priest in Kevin Smith’s Red State (2011) as well as the likes of noted, real-life televangelist Billy Graham. Such moments appear in the film’s neatly detailed 70s aesthetic as lived in aspects. It never feels that the nods are cheap.

X spends a good deal of time allowing its characters to be people. Let’s be honest, this is a 90-minute slasher movie, so we’re on the lookout for grand opera. But what the film does have is characters with valid intentions. The film’s cast is headed up by Mia Goth, whose dual role as both adult movie starlet Maxine, and elderly host Pearl, highlights the young actress’ incredibly versatile range. Never one to shy away from the sexual (2013s Nymphomaniac), strange (2016s A Cure for Wellness), and horrific (2018s Suspiria remake) Goth is remarkable here. Playing both titillating temptress and spiteful, murderous OAP with more nuance than one would expect. 

From repressed sound girl Lorraine (Ortega) whose curiosity about the sexual exploits she’s being shown shifts almost 180 degrees, to the rudimentary yet liberating sexual politics of porn stars Bobby-Lynne and Maxine who are more than happy to toast to the perverts who are paying their bills. The film is just as wry with its topical conversations about sex as it is with its sympathetic commentary of its rueful antagonists. West’s maturity has the director blending in modern tropes of sex positivism along with its scattered movie references to a more seamless effect. The film's overarching theme, however, involves ageing and regret. Howard and Pearl rue the fact that the passage of time has removed their youthful vigour. While the porno scooby gang has only angered up the blood. If only they could see that such frustrated desire will occur to them too.

West has been around the block for so long that fans are wise to his trademark approach to horror. Slowly placing block upon block of slow-burning dread tentatively on each other before everything collapses into chaos. The deliberate manner is reminiscent of West’s Satanic panic feature The House of the Devil (2009). Much like House, X takes its time presenting its characters, giving them time to breathe before the mayhem starts. What stands out is just how well everything is staged. Much like Hereditary director Ari Aster, West isn’t afraid to make the whole thing look beautiful. Delivering picturesque wide and overhead shots so pretty, they make you forget about the unnerving isolation of the surroundings. Backlit closeups and grim set pieces are equally well envisioned. And there’s never a feeling that a scare has taken an easy way out.

 All the scuzzy feel of the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre can be felt in X. But with none of the cumbersome “gen-z” pandering made by the recent Texas Chainsaw Massacre sequel. X certainly enjoys touching on topical sexual politics of the present and playing Don’t Fear the Reaper in a slasher film is just one of the few obvious gestures that X decides to make. However, West directs X with the kind of care that is needed in the genre. Creating a horror film that folds in eroticism, voyeurism, and the ravages of time with a sensitivity that a lesser film would bypass.

There is always talk about whether the horror genre is in a period of boom or bust. With no awareness that for the most part, the genre is nearly always steady. However, what makes the horror of the current age interesting is its strength in variety. There’s a genuine feeling that the genre and its filmmakers aren’t resting their laurels on just one thing. There’s also a strong crop of filmmakers who have something to say about the world. Even when mining into nostalgia to do so. X displays West’s deft ability to take what’s come before him and invigorate it with modern freshness and energy from unexpected places. An effective shocker with something to say. X proudly makes its mark screaming at the top of its lungs. It deserves credit.

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Review: Inherent Vice

Year: 2014 (U.K Release 2015)
Director: Paul Thomas Anderson
Screenplay: Paul Thomas Anderson
Starring: Joaquin Phoenix, Josh Brolin, Owen Wilson, Katherine Waterston, Reese Witherspoon, Benicio del Toro, Jena Malone, Joanna Newsom, and Martin Short.

Synopsis is here:

I don’t know where to start or what to say. Inherent Vice; Paul Thomas Anderson’s seventh feature film, is scuzzy, meandering and near meaningless. It’s a shaggy dog story, which is even less accessible than Anderson’s previous film; The Master (2012), which had many screaming in maddening frustration. I say this as if I had an issue with the film. I write those words as if I had hated my time I spent with Doc Sportello and the gang of misfits we’re introduced to.

I didn’t hate Inherent Vice. If anything I may have already found my first favourite film of the year. By the time Vice had its final credit run up the screen. I had myself having to convince myself that I didn’t have the time to watch the film again. I went to the nearest retail store and brought the soundtrack instead, to tide me over until I have the space in my schedule to for some more cinema time, or even worse, wait until the Blu-ray. I just wanted to spend more time in this world, with these characters immediately. I loved the film that much.

If anyone was going to create a rambling, blissed filled homage to the noirs of old, it had to be Anderson. Inherent Vice maybe an adaptation of Thomas Pynchon’s equally as wandering novel, but it’s also another chance for Anderson to let his shoulders droop, reference his favourite influences and get a little loose after two of his most austere features to date.

It may be a cop out to say this, but Inherent Vice is a film about mood and character rather than story. It's a film dictated by its time and location as opposed to anything else. A world of mumble mouthed hippies, jive talkers and dopers, whose time is spent stumbling around looking for what they've lost. Plot flitters into view and yet remains out of reach. Red herrings swerve manically into view, taking time to roll up some grass and talk about nothing. This is a vacuum left by the death of the swinging sixties. The revolution lost by the dreamers and won by the squares. It’s a tad silly to try and pinpoint the logic of these people and the shaggy dog tangents they cook up. Spend enough time with these guys and you release: “What makes sense to these guys?”

“We blew it” was the hotly contested line of 1969’s Easy Rider. Often considered as a remark that hints at the end of the counterculture lifestyle enjoyed by Billy and Wyatt. Vice often feels like we’re watching the walking dead of that culture, looking to soak up any remnants that may exist. Doc (yet another superlative Joaquin Phoenix performance) appears to be taking case after case to fuel his drug habit more than anything else. Yet the real drive of the story is the disappearance of his girlfriend Stasta, who originally sets him on his merry way of missing real estate developer, shady crime syndicates and new age cultism. Each “case” shows at least one aspect of how the hippie culture slowly began to eat itself. As does the recurring talk of Charles Mansion, whose crimes linger in the air like a sour stench. Once Stasta disappears, we nearly only ever see her again in hazy flashback and drifting transitions, almost as if she was a dream and that as an actual entirety, never really existed.

Younger, alleged film writers like myself can only really dream of this era, but the way Anderson and cinematographer Robert Elswit capture the sun kissed beaches, creepy upscale asylums and run down brothels is so remarkably textured and authentic that it makes a strong impression. Yet despite its lazy, slightly woozy surroundings, a strong element of farce and slapstick often pervades and punctuates scenes. Much Like Elliott Gould in Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye (1973), Doc is a private eye whose street smarts give him high cultural currency, yet his cluelessness about just how the strings of his cases are being pulled, allowing a large amount of comedy at his expense. For a film which is often at times highly melancholic, in a genre that was always considered to be grim, it’s refreshing to see just how often Anderson (a big SNL fan) goes for hard laughs.  Gleefully aiming at the sheer preposterous of it all.

Despite the talk of the film’s murky and multiple plot lines, I found the main intentions of the film to be abundantly clear (in my eyes). Of course, while the actual message of the film lie within the eye of the beholder, I feel it’s safe to say Inherent Vice is a wistful film about loss. Every character is found wanting and chasing for something that either no longer open to them or disappearing in front of their eyes. Like all of Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest period of films, Inherent Vice has its director peering into both the deaths and beginnings of eras and revolutions and observing the fallout through their failed relationships. Vice is not only is the most nostalgic of Anderson’s recent endeavours, amusingly harking back to the heady days of Boogie Nights (1997). Looking at Vice with all its exasperated plot strands, paranoid theories and generally warming glances back at nostalgia, manages to help establish Anderson as one of the most entertaining chroniclers of modern American history currently working.

Review: American Hustle

Year: 2013 (2014 U.K release)

Director: David O. Russell

Screenplay: David O. Russell, Eric Singer

Starring: Christian Bale, Bradley Cooper, Jennifer Lawrence, Amy Adams, Jeremy Renner

Synopsis is here:

When I think of the con movie, I always expected it to be tight wound. American Hustle approaches things differently. It’s loose, slightly baggy and always seemingly wishing to go off a tangent. This is no Mamet. No House of Cards (1987) here. Even when I think of the recent adventures of Danny Ocean and his cohorts, there’s a feeling that they know everything will be fine. I mean seriously when do you ever feel that there’s any pressure being exerted in the Ocean films?  Then again the moment David O. Russell’s latest starts, the opening credits inform you that “some of this actually happened”.

This is O. Russell mucking around with the crime film in the similar way his he enjoyed playing around with the sandpits of the sports film and Rom-Com.  His film The Fighter (2010) dropped his man-child boxing lead character into a pit with a gaggle of Punch Drunk Love-style sisters (and one corrosive brother) to verbally smack each other around. Meanwhile; Silver Linings Playbook (2012) which Adam Batty elegantly informs us in his review, remixes the romantic comedy with a new age cynicism for a generation to respond to in kind. In Hustle; as opposed to cool, clean and calm confidence men we often think of, we’re placed into a realm of heightened desperation that leans towards the quirky tics that infected Nicolas Cage’s Roy in Matchstick Men (2003). There’s no comfort gained from looking across to your partner as you’re never sure if they were ever on the same page.

As Adam mentions in his commentary of Silver Linings, this is again dysfunction upon dysfunction.  Yet this time we have broken family units slapped alongside gender deconstruction as characters that should be femme fatale argue and fight over men who try awkwardly hunting for machismo, despite their own pathetic standings. That staple of male virility; hair, is mocked often as we watch Cooper’s Richie perm his, while Bale’s Irving is first introduced to us applying his wacky comb over to hid his clearly thinning patch. While the con goes on in the background, the film is more interested in how the character’s frailties and anxieties stand lumberingly in their own way.

What I enjoyed most about American Hustle, apart from its brassy cast, is that it’s lovingly in love with the con in its own particular way.  Its glossy cinematography often lavishes characters in warm slightly garish gold, highlighting the greed. The 70’s detail isn’t as carefully attained as some of the films it’s riffing on, mostly because this is a film which is based entirely on facades any way. There’s a boldness that suggest s that trying to work the con out (which so many of us do) isn’t worth it while there’s so much fun to be had.

The amount of dicking around does become a slight nuisance. The film notes the type of corruption that could explain the nastiness of the Watergate era, or the remnants of the hedge funds that screwed us in 2008, American Hustle doesn’t really have too much time to dwell on that. Like Adam’s eye catching cleavage, it wants to distracts us and keep us a mark for as long as possible. 

There’s the slight feeling that American Hustle point is pointless and the bagginess of the piece (along with the references to Goodfellas(1990), Casino (1995) and Boogie Nights (1997)) take us out of the film somewhat. Yet I can’t say I didn’t enjoy these guys in relaxation mode. Hustle may sometimes feel to some that it’s too much of a con, but the more I think if it was played straight, the more I’d say to myself: where’s the fun in that?

Review: Behind the Candelabra

Year: 2013

Director: Steven Soderbergh

Screenplay: Richard LaGravenese

Starring: Matt Damon, Micheal Douglas

Synopsis is here

Steven Soderbergh couldn't get Hollywood studios to fund his biopic about outlandish musical entertainer Liberace as they deemed it “too gay”. Despite the popularity and acclaim of films like Milk (2008) and Brokeback Mountain (2005), the conservative stigma that can follow what could be construed as a “minority” picture still lingers large on certain movies. Such issues come to no surprise. Just look at the problems I love you Phillip Morris (2009) had just getting released in the U.S.

Soderbergh’s REAL final U.K. theatrical release (I mistakenly stated Side Effects in a previous review) takes him back to the dazzling bright lights of Vegas to capture the chaotic relationship of Scott Thorson and Mr Showmanship himself.

I must admit I have an odd sense of frustration as to the Studios resistance to Candelabra. But I have to admit that much of it stems from what doesn't get blocked in any way. Consider the fact we've endured the dubious antics of The Wolfpack for two sequels, with their bickering bromance allowed the characters be as bigoted about sexuality as much as they please. Or remind ourselves of the constant barrage of weakly scripted rom-coms that have leads with little to no chemistry with each other. Behind the Candelabra is sharper, wittier and warmer than those films and yet the sexual orientation of the characters still caused enough drama to ensure that the film had a certain amount of production issues with the film not only have to look for funding but also “relegated” to television for its U.S release. No matter. These days, television is often where all the decent drama is at.

The silver screen however, allows us to see all the gaudy visuals in all their glory. I don’t want to upset the hardcore film fans as much as I usually do, but seeing Candelabra on digital projection was a delight. Lights and sequins sparkle and glare in the frame, while the amber glow that has cropped up in Soderbergh’s recent movies appears again, bathing characters in a shimmering artificial sunrise.  In this light, diamonds catch the light so bright that you could be blinded as badly as Liberace’s dog; Babyboy. Amusingly, it is Babyboy that is the catalyst which helps cause solidifies the connection between Damon’s Scott Thorson and Liberace (Douglas). It soon becomes a relationship which is starts out as caring but descends into one of dependency.

The film has a twinge of Sunset Boulevard (1950) about it, as Thorson absorbs himself deeper into Liberace’s peculiar universe. Medicine for blind dogs soon becomes a web of expensive gifts, plastic surgery and chauffeuring Liberace to his gigs. Liberace from the start; calls Thorson Babyboy. Wonder why that is.

The film takes on similar story beats to films like Boogie Nights (1997), The People Vs Larry Flint (1996) and Goodfellas (1990), showing the relationship at its peak at the 70’s before spiralling into chemically enhanced chaos. The film swings wildly from gleefully camp to startlingly toxic as Liberace digs his claws and ego further into Thorson’s personality. A plastic surgery assignment has Thorson losing his sense of identity as the Liberace continues to mould Scott in his own being. At least he doesn't look like Dr Jack Startz (A scene stealing Rob Lowe), who’s horrifically static, cleaved face gazes vacantly as he describes the procedures of surgery. Yet the emotionless visage of Startz hints at an unfortunate life Thorson may face.

Candelabra is a film of performances; with the whole cast delightfully showing off their talents. Damon balances naive and lost as easily now as he did in his younger days. Douglas is brilliantly nuanced as Liberace, with his downtime (due to cancer) allowing him to perfectly capture an absorbed and talented showman, lost in his own world. The supporting cast is a who’s who of solid character actors (the aforementioned Lowe, Dan Ackroyd, Scott Bakula) who take on the smaller roles with the same effectiveness as they would with their larger ones.

There’s a fabricated sense of family to proceedings, with characters being quick to love and quicker to drop. Parentage is a large aspect of the film with some of the films cruellest blows and emotional damage involving the mothers of both men. The way the maternal relationships between these characters play out, reveal much about why the couple treat each other the way they do. At one point Liberace’s mother wins big on one the slot machines own by her son. Nothing pays out, and Thorson has to go around anyone available to try and acquire some cash.   

Despite this, the main relationship that lies in the centre of the film manages to maintain a sweetness to it that slips in-between the cracks of the ego, drugs and tacky excess. There’s a connection between the two that they clearly didn't gain with anyone else. It is clear that the film is completely taken from Scott Thorson point of view but maintains a civility within such a turbulent relationship. Behind the Candelabra shares the same chintzy nature as Baz Luhrmann’s The Great Gatsby (2013). What makes Soderbergh’s effort stand out, is the balance of tenderness with the toxicity. 

Review: The Master

Year: 2012
Director: Paul Thomas Anderson
Screenplay: Paul Thomas Anderson
Starring: Philip Seymour Hoffman, Joaquin Phoenix, Amy Adams, Laura Dern

Synopsis is here:

To many, The Master is a difficult film to love or even like. The characters we meet are not ones we would want to be cornered by at a dinner party. We observe within the film, more than enough scenes of these people gatherings just to be sure. And yet, the film, even at its most obtuse and surreal, remains utterly compelling. If one thing is for sure, it shows again that Anderson is obsessed with trying to charm us with charlatans and fallen angels.

In The Master we are given Freddie Quell (A career best Phoenix), a man who would have been completely swallowed up by his surroundings, if not for his violent and drunken outbursts against them. The film's beginning, we find Freddie; simulate sex on a sand woman made on the beach. One could say he's literally fucking Mother Nature. Of course the question is why would you do that, if you weren't quite right?

Quell sticks out. Is he mentally ravaged by war? Has destroyed his faculties with those poisonous (made with paint thinner) brews of his? Did he spend too much time away from his sweetheart? We are never given solid grounding on his ailments and yet we are shown enough to show how damaged Quell has become since the war. A blanketed statement mentions early on that those returning from the war should be able to start small businesses and perform labour, in spite of what they may have seen. But what of those who have lost more than others? It's clear from Quell's posture alone that he is a misshapen man. The erratic episodes and outbursts we see only solidify our thoughts.

By chance, Quell meets the enigmatic Lancaster Todd, leader of "The Cause", a bizarre quasi religion based around a glut of peculiar principles and rituals that are never truly explained to us. Todd is a classic Anderson character; a father figure who promises atonement with words as sweet as syrup. No different from The Porn Mogul (Boogie Nights), or The Oil Man (There Will Be Blood), Todd is so wrapped up in his words, he believes he could sell brimstone to Satan. Todd decides to take Quell on board as a protégée, as clear testament, that the teachings and practices from his book can cure even the most distraught.

Hoffman plays Todd as smoke and mirrors personified. All darting eyes and false grins and much like Quell, he is quick to anger when tested. Although they meet by chance, there is a feeling of fatalism about the situation. We delve very little into his past and yet when he states that he's seen Freddie before, the empty spaces begin to fill in. It's interesting to observe how both Todd and his wife Peggy (an exemplary Amy Adams in full Lady Macbeth mode) look at alcohol. A small bathroom scene involving the Todds shows that despite the grand gestures, Lancaster is ruled by the same masters that rule many of us.

These are primal men ruled and controlled by their urges. While Todd tries to internalise and intellectualise his baser appetites, Quell spills his out on the floor like Freudian vomit. Together their fragments complete a damaged father-son relationship Anderson's films often feature. Quell seeks guidance, Todd wishes to be that superior leader that fathers may wishes to be, the raconteur at the family wedding, the all knowing and great auditor. And yet, the two of them being together, tugs at both of their frayed edges. Many scenes bind the stress in stifling close up. Mihai Malaimare's arresting cinematography and Jonny Greenwoods hypnotic score create a sense of unease that travels from scene to scene. Like a car crash, there's something so hauntingly beautiful about the ugliness of human behaviour is captured in the film, it's hard to turn away when the spinning tops clash.

Much has been said about the films references to Scientology, as well as how damning its statements are. While the film isn't a glistening expose of all things bad about the religion, I'm in no way shocked at the reaction of a certain practitioner of the faith. The Cause's processing appears very similar to auditing, while a tense sequence, involving Todd's son in law throwing Quell's personal problems (extracted from the process) back at him, illustrates the type of fears brought up by many when the mentioning of auditing arises. What makes these moments of the film so appealing to me is in how non-judgemental the film is towards the faith.  The film holds a mirror to the audiences’ thoughts of not only The Cause, but the self help/spiritual courses that The Cause picks from.

Does this all add up to a great film? To many, they will see nothing and the film is more basic that it leads on (certainly in its narrative form). The Master at times can appear as much of a muchness. Anderson's films of the past may have been more forceful in their eras and the film is so wrapped up with these people and their vulgarities, it feels sparse and at times distancing, while its main message doesn't feel as complex as suggested.

However in the opinion of this blogger, the film is a truly exciting work of craft. A character piece in which its mesmerizing visuals are punctuated by its blinding tension. The Master is a tale of damaged men searching for inner peace in all the wrong places. To wonder why it doesn't all "fit in" to a comfortable narrative space, almost mimics why the hunched and sick Quell does just "fit in" with all the rest of Middle America. The Master takes a while to state it's case, but Anderson's execution of material is absorbing throughout.