Review: La Bola Negra

Image courtesy of Netflix.

"To deny yourself is to deny yourself life," a character says late in "La Bola Negra (The Black Ball)," Javier Calvo and Javier Ambrossi's sweeping Spanish epic about love amid fascism, the preservation of art, and bringing to light the truth that has been buried by history. 

This quote is relevant to all three of the film's interconnected stories. In the first, set in 1932, a young man named Carlos (Milo Quifes) is sent by his father to join a prestigious social club that denies his entry - or blackballs him - because they suspect he is gay. This tale becomes the inspiration for Spanish poet and dramatist Federico Garcia Lorca's "La Bola Negra," an unfinished play that he started before he was murdered during the Spanish Civil War.

In the second story, a young trumpeter named Sebastian (singer-songwriter Guitarricadelafuente) becomes orphaned after his village is bombed and he is quickly enlisted by the fascists, sent to a remote village, and tasked with watching over a captured soldier, Rafael (Miguel Bernardeau). The two men become friends, but it's obvious they are attracted to each other, and Rafael ultimately enlists Sebastian with a task that involves saving a rare work of art.

In the third story, set in 2017, a writer named Alberto (Carlos Gonzalez) learns that his estranged grandfather has died and left him something in his will. Albert travels to the remote village where his grandfather lived and what he discovers connects all three of the film's stories together.

While Albert's story is the one that connects the plot lines, it is Sebastian's that is the engine that helps to drive the film's concept of how our actions, whether good or bad, can reverberate through time and affect others' lives.

Penelope Cruz pops up as a cabaret performer who makes an impact on Sebastian, while Glenn Close is an expert on Lorca whom Alberto seeks out. All four of the lead performers - in which I'm including Bernardeau - are stellar, but Guitarricadelafuente is especially good as the conflicted Sebastian, whose mother was killed by a bomb, leading him to Franco's army, but who develops a conscience and eventually deeper feelings while guarding Rafael.

This is a gorgeous film, from beautiful shots on a beach to evocative images such as Sebastian crawling over fallen statues in a bombed out church. There's also a poignant moment in a conversation between Lorca and Rafael late in the film that contains the quote about denying oneself as well as another about Spain having "too many love stories buried in its fields." This is a film filled with characters who are haunted by the past.

"La Bola Negra" is an ambitious and sprawling epic about the power of art amid political turbulence, the courage to confront the past and be true to oneself, and how the hand of the past can reach out to the present. The film has been getting a lot of hype - and it's well deserved.

Review: Fatherland

Image courtesy of MUBI.

To call Pawel Pawlikowski's "Fatherland' slight isn't a dig at the film, but rather an apt description of its brief 82-minute running time. But for a film with a simple premise in which not a whole lot - with the exception of one dramatic plot turn - happens, there's a lot going on here.

Pawlikowski's most recent three films have all been black-and-white dramas about the post-World War II era, including the Oscar-winning "Ida," the superb "Cold War," and now this latest picture. It is a film that is set several years after the end of World War II, but feels relevant to our moment in time.

In the picture, lauded author Thomas Mann (Hanns Zischler) is returning to his home country of Germany in 1949, after having fled to Los Angeles in 1933 as the Nazi Party ascended. He is accompanied by his patient and faithful daughter, Erika (Sandra Huller), who is clearly uncomfortable setting foot back in Germany, but whom we also learn has been denied green card status in the United States for her radical political beliefs.

The film opens with a phone conversation between Erika and her estranged brother, Klaus (August Diehl), who is living in Cannes, appears to be openly gay, and has published the novel "Mephisto," which chronicles the story of an actor who sells his soul for success to Nazism. Klaus and his father's relationship, based on his conversation with Erika, is clearly strained and it seems unlikely that he will join them for the tour of Germany. 

As Erika and her father travel from place to place, they are greeted by leaders and propagandists of the various cities where Thomas is speaking. Those who welcome them clearly want something from Erika's father, perhaps a sense of legitimacy - the tour involves the return of a great writer to a country that is in the process of rebuilding after the defeat of World War II and has now split into East and West Germany.

Although Nazism has been defeated, Erika and her father run into people whom they know were once sympathetic to the Nazi Party, including Erika's former husband, and Mann is questioned by the German press about what he thinks about being considered a traitor to the country by some of its residents. In other words, the recent past isn't too far in the past.

As Mann and Erika travel throughout the two parts of Germany, the writer is seemingly viewed by each side as a means of legitimizing their specific nationalistic interests. Meanwhile, a tragedy occurs that leads to a rift of sorts between the traveling companions as they debate the nature and cause of the tragedy, and Erika finds her father to be emotionally lacking on the subject.

"Fatherland" examines the role that an artist has among people who only use his work for their own purposes but are otherwise intellectually incurious. It's also a subtly powerful story about an artist using his work to form a shield around himself for protection from elements in his life that he doesn't want to face. The film seems simplistic in execution, but there's a lot going on under the surface. It's a brief but complex film that gets a lot of mileage out of a deceptively simple setup.

Review: Possible Love

Image courtesy of Netflix.

It's been eight years since his mesmerizing slow-burn masterpiece "Burning," but Lee Chang-dong's newest film - which takes some inspiration from Krzysztof Kieslowski's epic "Decalogue" - is another film that takes its time getting to where it's going but pays off for those with patience.

If "Burning" was somewhat of a mystery, then his latest involves the mysteries of the human heart and soul, while telling a story of the haves and have nots that feels remarkably of this moment. The film opens with the words "Thou shall not covet," and by the picture's end each of the film's four main characters have found something to about which to be envious.

The four characters comprise two couples - lower middle class Ho-seok (Sul Kyung-gu) and Mi-ok (Jeon Do-yeon) and upper class Sang-woo (Zo In-sung) and Ye-ji (Cho Yeo-jeong) - who meet at a funeral. The deceased is a man who worked with Ho-seok, a former factory worker who has become bitter and withdrawn after being laid off from his job and then violently beaten by police while striking.

Mi-ok is embarrassed by her husband's behavior in public. He often drinks and become angry easily. She loses her ring and Sang-woo, who is sitting in his car outside the funeral, helps her to find it. Ye-ji is a documentary filmmaker who is interested in making a movie about the strike and convinces Mi-ok to get involved in it. Ho-seok grudgingly agrees to take part in it, but nailing him down for a time proves to be a challenge.

The first part of the picture involves the burgeoning relationship between these couples - somewhat strained between Ho-seok and everyone else, but lively and friendly between the two women - and there are some flashbacks that are interspersed. One of them involves a young Ho-seok, a soldier at the time, and Mi-ok sitting underneath the moonlight, where he comments that no matter how rich or poor, the moon shines down on everyone the same.

This scene will play a pivotal role in the film's somewhat mysterious finale, but it also foreshadows what is to come when Ye-ji figures that the best way to get Ho-seok in front of a camera is by leaving him with nowhere to run. Therefore, she and Sang-woo - who is distracted by a business deal that he is waiting to come to fruition - invite the couple to their luxurious house in the countryside, where the second half of the film takes place. Here, Ye-ji plans to get Ho-seok to sit down for an interview.

It is at this countryside home that we realize how each character covets another in various ways - Ho-seok and Mi-ok yearn for the type of life that their wealthier counterparts have, while I can't comment on Sang-woo's jealousy without giving something away. Ye-ji's covetousness is, perhaps, the most interesting thematically - she wants the stories of those whom she interviews for her films, convincing her subjects to become emotional on camera, but also not seeing them as anything other than good material for her film.

From the flippant way that Sang-woo describes his fancy house and job to the way that Ye-ji harangues Ho-seok and Mi-ok about appearing in her movie - which are interspersed with the horrific treatment of the workers at Ho-seok's place of work - "Possible Love" is also a compelling examination of economic inequality.

The film takes a tense turn in its final scenes, which shouldn't come as a surprise for those who saw "Burning," which had a shocking finale. Then, it ends on a mysterious note involving the moon and a text that is seemingly never sent. 

As I have mentioned, the film is a slow burn that requires patience and doesn't spell anything out or give easy answers. Chang-dong makes films that are rich like great literature, thematically compelling, and powerful. This is a film that takes a little work from its audience. Those willing to put in the effort, however, will be rewarded. 

Review: Wild Horse Nine

Image courtesy of Searchlight Pictures.

With a few exceptions, Martin McDonagh’s films are often mordantly funny and soulful buddy movies about flawed men who like to blather as they face down the heavy burdens of life. His latest, “Wild Horse Nine,” is another ruminative – and often quite humorous – reflection on friendship, mortality, and regret.

The picture opens in 1973 in Santiago, Chile, where aging CIA operative Chris (John Malkovich) and his partner, Lee (Sam Rockwell), have just wrapped up their role in undermining newly-elected president Salvador Allende and paving the way for the coup by Augusto Pinochet Ugarte that fall.

Chris has cancer and memory lapses and, much to the dismay of his boss, MJ (Steve Buscemi), working on a memoir that the CIA brass is afraid could spill some unsavory secrets. During the opening scene, Chris is reflecting on some of his past operations – including in Dallas in 1963 – so he probably holds some cards. Adding to MJ’s dismay is that Chris has been having some loose-lips conversations with anyone who will listen about his and Lee’s role in Chile.

Lee had promised Chris that he would take him on a trip to Easter Island before he dies, so much of the film involves that journey, where the two men meet two left-wing Chilean college students – Monica (Mariana di Girolamo) and her friend, Alicia (Ailin Salas) – who are supportive of their new president. Lee is clearly making the trip as a final gift to his friend, but he's also keeping an eye on Chris at MJ's request.

Once there, Chris and Lee spend their time observing the Moai head statues and ruminating on their life choices. Lee has an unfaithful wife (a zany Parker Posey) who often confuses him with other men when he calls, while Chris has some regrets about the actions he has taken on the job and that he is estranged from his brother (Tom Waits) following a fight involving a potato.

As to be expected, zingers and kooky humor abound, from a discussion about the image that Chris would place on suitcase with a bomb to Chris’s knack for “escorting” moths out of his hotel room, rather than killing them, and his feeling guilty about setting them free when it’s raining outside.

Malkovich has long been a great actor, but this is one of his finest performances and it’s no surprise that he’s considered the frontrunner at the moment for the Oscar. He delivers most of the film’s best lines, most notably “You only have to taste American cheeses once to understand why we lost Vietnam.” Rockwell is also terrific here in a less-showy role, and some of his funniest moments are in his reactions to Malkovich’s oddball rantings. The supporting cast – Buscemi and di Girolamo, especially - is also very good.

The picture fits in well with McDonagh’s overall body of work, exploring mortality (“Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri”) and examining the friendships between men who spend much of their time bickering (“In Bruges” and “The Banshees of Inisherin”). Similar to his previous film (“Banshees,” which is still my favorite McDonagh film), “Wild Horse Nine” is set against the backdrop of political upheaval and uses that moment in time as a vehicle for reflection from his characters.

This is an often wildly funny – but also somber and thoughtful – movie about a pair of killers examining the lives they chose for themselves and the choices they have made, and whether there is a possibility of finding redemption.

Review: The Only Living Pickpocket In New York

Image courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics.

"The Only Living Pickpocket in New York" is a throwback to a particular type of character-driven New York City-based drama that was plentiful on screens in the 1970s, but what makes it unique is that it is also an outer boroughs movie, which is more of a rare thing.

John Turturro, in a rare lead role, plays Harry Lehman, an aging thief who despite his life of crime really isn't such a bad guy. He's a doting husband to his mute, disabled wife, with whom he lives in a Bronx apartment. He drops off his stolen goods to Ben (Steve Buscemi), an old pal who runs a pawn shop and they have pleasant conversations. 

On the subway, he runs into a detective (Giancarlo Esposito) who probably arrested him a few times in the old days, and they laugh at each other's jokes and discuss "Moby Dick." In other words, Harry is not a hardened criminal.

But one of his jobs lands him in over his head. He steals from the car of an arrogant and unpleasant young man (Will Price), not knowing he's the scion of a mafia family, and quickly finds himself in a pickle. Dylan (Price) tells Harry that he has to retrieve a USB that he ditched after stealing from the young man's car, and that he and his goons will wait at Harry's house with his wife until he returns.

Although not nearly as grim or intense, the film feels a bit like "Uncut Gems," in which a crook has a short window of time to set things right, and much of the picture finds Harry on the run throughout New York City trying to find the USB. There's a brief stop in Manhattan, but much of the picture plays out in Brooklyn, Queens, and the Bronx.

Turturro, always great, is especially good here as the weary thief whose journey through four of the five boroughs also acts as a reminder of his regrets (there's a visit with the daughter to whom he was barely a father). The supporting cast is also great, including Buscemi as the (mostly) loyal friend and Esposito as the cop who clearly has affection for the man whom he probably busted more than a few times back in the day. There's also a surprise cameo late in the film when Harry has to meet with the mafia family's leader.

This is a small gem of a movie and the type we don't see so often anymore. Much like the recent "Late Fame" with Willem Dafoe (also highly recommended), this is a smaller New York story that is character-centric and does a great job of capturing a certain way of life and milieu. There are a number of high-profile, critically acclaimed movies coming out soon, and I hope this one doesn't get lost in the shuffle.

Review: Fjord

Image courtesy of Neon.

Sure to spark some heated debate, Romanian director Cristian Mungiu's Palm d'Or winner "Fjord" is a tense and well-acted film that is impressively executed, which helps to distract from its slightly implausible story. 

The concept, which has led to some debate, is that a conservative Christian family from Romania has relocated to Norway, where at first they get along well with the locals, but ultimately find themselves in a bureaucratic nightmare after they are accused of abusing their children. 

The family soon begins to assume that they are being persecuted for their devout beliefs and, in the context of this film, they are probably right. The element that makes the film's plot slightly preposterous is that, in our modern world, christians are not being persecuted in progressive countries, whereas those whose ideas who diverge from the religious beliefs of right wingers are being politically punished.

But I believe that Mungiu - whose previous films have not displayed any sort of right-wing slant and whose best and most critically acclaimed film, "4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days," is about a woman trying to obtain an abortion in 1987 Romania, where such activities were illegal - has a point to make with "Fjord" and a question to pose: Would you fight for the rights of someone with whom you fundamentally disagree?

In the film, Mihai (a very good Sebastian Stan) and Lisbet (Renate Reinsve) are shocked to find that they are being accused of abusing their children - the couple has five, including a newborn - by Norway's Child Protection agency. The evidence is that their teenage daughter, Elia (Vanessa Ceban), has a few bruises, although a supportive classmate, Noora (Henrikke Lund Olsen), says these occurred at school. 

The authorities take the couple's five children and place them with foster families while an investigation takes place. No matter what Mihai and Lisbet say to explain their situation, it falls on deaf ears and they are given little recourse to respond to the allegations. The couple notes that they discipline their children with the occasional swat on the backside, but say that they do not hit or slap their children. The Child Protection investigators seem to be equally disturbed by the family's deep religious beliefs as they do the alleged physical punishments.

As I noted before, one might think the film was pushing right-wing propaganda about persecuted christians until a moment late in the picture when something occurs that actually makes the family harder to like: While being questioned, it is mentioned that Mihai has made comments about his belief in a "traditional family" and it is referenced that one of his children told another student in school that they believed they would go to hell for being a lesbian.

It is by making Mihai - and possibly his family - less sympathetic that it becomes clear that Mungiu is more interested in the concept of defending those with whom you might disagree than picking a side in the culture wars. The film, in essence, argues that no matter how outdated or uncharitable one's opinions might be, the state should not have the power to deprive one's freedom to hold those beliefs.

But it's all about nuance here, which is why the film works. Stan is very good as Mihai, who is clearly a man who has difficulty reigning in his anger, especially when it's in his best interest to do so, and Reinsve continues the incredible run she's had in the past few years as Lisbet, whose bewilderment and deep sadness at the family's situation is as deeply felt as Mihai's rage. 

While "4 Months" remains Mungiu's finest film - that picture also won top honors at the Cannes Film Festival - his latest is a thorny and complex drama that focuses on the concept that countries claiming to welcome immigrants often only want the right ones - something that has played out with horrific results in the United States - upon which the country can impose its own values. This is a challenging and well-made film.

Review: You Can See Everything

Image courtesy of A24.

We live in an age of unreality in which the nature of truth is being assaulted or called into question at any given moment, whether it's by the president of the United States or the cultural infiltration of social media, AI, reality TV, or online misinformation campaigns. Nathan Fielder and Lance Oppenheim tap into this in an engrossing and spellbinding way with their brilliant "You Can See Everything," which starts as a documentary that examines the difference between truth and performance before it becomes something else altogether.

The film follows the story of Elizabeth Holmes, the disgraced founder of Theranos who is serving 11 years in prison for defrauding investors and the public. The story has already been covered in the Hulu program "The Dropout" starring Amanda Seyfried, but Fielder and Oppenheim's film takes a wildly original take on the material.

Holmes' startup, which drew her international attention, claimed that it would disrupt the health lab industry by providing a self-test device that operated on a drop of blood. But as investors and investigative journalists began to hover, Holmes was ultimately found guilty of accepting hundreds of millions of dollars on a product that she was unable to deliver.

In "You Can See Everything," Fielder interviews her and her husband, Billy Evans, before eventually agreeing to move in with them and film them night and day. The film's first half takes place up to the date when Holmes is to report for prison. Its second half becomes a meta examination of the quest for truth - in which Seyfried, playing herself, becomes involved and reenacts scenes as Holmes since the subject herself is in prison - and includes a shocking series of interviews with Evans, in which he lays out all manner of revelations. I often found myself wondering why Holmes and Evans allowed themselves to be filmed while having these conversations.

At times, the picture feels like a tense heist film, especially during one sequence (which is reenacted with Seyfried) when Fielder visits Holmes in prison, knowing that Evans will show up momentarily, or a thriller (being alone with Evans clearly makes Fielder increasingly uncomfortable). And there are other moments when Fielder's deadpan approach yields hilarious results - most notably, his response when one of his subjects claims he "knows what he's thinking" and another when he learns that Holmes' father once worked for Enron.

There's a fascinating sequence during which Fielder shows Holmes and Evans a clip of the famous Abbott and Costello "Who's on First" gag, and then compares Holmes' manner of describing the charges on which she was convicted. There's a disconnect between what she thinks she tells people and what is actually being communicated - is her kingdom really not of this world or is she playing semantics games? The film circles back on this in a fascinating way toward the end during a conversation between Fielder and Seyfried.

It's difficult to discuss the film's second half without giving away too much, but suffice it to say that Fielder and Seyfried, who becomes a sidekick during the interviews with Evans, increasingly begin to question whether Holmes and Evans are cooking up a second phase for Theranos, despite Holmes being in prison, and then whether Evans himself is manipulating or controlling Holmes.

There is also a valid question by the film's end about the dangers of becoming too emotionally invested in one's documentary subject. Although Fielder presses Holmes with hard questions, there is a rapport between the two of them and it's not difficult to see why he might feel sympathy for her. Is it possible that she is a naive person who didn't understand how what she did could be conceived of as fraudulent - or is she a master manipulator? The film raises more questions than it is able to answer, which is what makes it so compelling, and Fielder includes some moments at the end - a shot of two people swimming in the ocean and a fireside chat with Seyfried - that only deepen the mystery.

It is, perhaps, impossible to do justice in writing to describe what "You Can See Everything" is about and how effective it is. It is a documentary, sort of, but also an examination of how challenging it is to tell the difference between the truth and performance in this day and age. There are moments that are jaw-dropping and unsettling and others that are absurdly funny. 

Fielder and Oppenheim likely consider themselves lucky to have captured such a goldmine of material on film, but what makes "You Can See Everything" so special is that it knows exactly what to do with this material, which questions to pose, what to (possibly) manipulate to make it even more intriguing, and what to leave ambiguous. This is one of the year's best films - and certainly its most unique.