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‘Head Full of Honey’ Has a Hole in its Head

Jeremiah

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If you go to the movies this weekend, be it the multiplex, or your local art house, and you happen to see they are playing Head Full of Honey– run. Run as far away as possible. Use those precious hours to read a book, talk with loved ones, explore, or heck just see another movie.

I speak to you as a man who regrets all his decisions that led him to this point. Normally I am a practitioner of the philosophy, “As artists are encouraged to be fearless in  their art so should we be fearless in our experiencing of it.” There are, I have discovered, exceptions and limits to this philosophy.

On the other hand, if you are the type of person who thinks they might enjoy a smarmy obnoxious comedy about an aging veterinarian with Alzheimer’s pompously named Amadeus (Nick Nolte) then do I have a movie for you. The plot, such as it is, concerns, Amadeus and the wacky antics he gets up to with his granddaughter Tilda (Sophia Lane Nolte), his son Nick (Matt Dillon) and his daughter-in-law Sarah (Emily Mortimer).

Head Full of Honey is a rarity in such that it is an American remake of a German film by the same director, Til Schweiger. I am no expert on German films. My knowledge consists of Wings of Desire, Run Lola Run, a handful of lesbian short films by Petra Clever, and varied other films I’m not recalling. However I have seen other movies before, and more importantly, I’ve talked with actual people before. While I acknowledge there might be a cultural divide, I think there’s a bigger issue at hand.

Schweiger is either an alien or a thief. The alien hypothesis comes from having sat through Head Full of Honey. I can safely say he has never met another human before in his life. Or if he has, he has observed nothing. Everything he understands about love, family, friendships, marriage, and basic human interaction seems to have been gleaned from other movies. But like a child assembling a model of a giraffe, he does not understand that Darth Vader’s head looks cool, but it does not belong in the spot underneath its tail.

The thief accusation comes from how it feels to sit and watch Head Full of Honey. The script was written by Schweiger, Jojo Moyes, and Lo Malinke. It is such a bland assortment of tropes and cliches it borders on psychotic. I could feel every minute being pulled out of my grasp as if the movie itself was literally sucking the life force from me.

So much of the drama would be solved if characters talked to each other instead of at each other. Instead, they speak and act as no human has ever done before. When Amadeus accidentally sets off the fireworks at a fourth of July gathering, thereby putting the guests and his family’s home in danger Dillon’s Nick stands idly by nursing a beer.

Granted he’s upset because his wife’s boss has shown up to the party. A boss she had an affair with. Nick has just punched him out in front of the entire party. Still, his house is being bombarded with explosives. Shouldn’t he care about the safety of his daughter, his wife, or I don’t know—his ailing father!?

For much of Head Full of Honey Nick refuses to admit anything is wrong with his grandfather. He attributes the odd behavior of Amadeus to his mourning his wife’s death. Except there’s being a little absent minded and then there’s opening the refrigerator and taking a whiz inside. Amadeus lumbers off leaving the door open. Nick calls out after him, “Hey Dad you want to close the bathroom door?”

Said scene happens just after Nick gets home to find out Amadeus had accidentally set the kitchen, and himself, on fire while trying to bake a pie for his dead wife. Incidentally, out on the porch is a table set for two with a picture of his dead wife in one of the chairs. Part of the sub-plot, and I use that word generously, is that Nick and Sarah’s marriage is on the rocks.

It seems Sarah had an affair with her boss and so Nick had an affair with his secretary. However, the only person who is ever humiliated, publicly shamed, and lectured about their infidelity is Mortimer’s Sarah. One could argue, quite successfully, that a better read of Head Full of Honey is not as the sweet touching family dramedy about the mystery of human relationships. But instead, it is about the unbearable emotional and psychological strain of being a woman.

Mortimer’s character is the only one to behave accordingly to the situations she’s put in. But because she is the only one to do so, she comes off as shrill, selfish, spoiled, mean, and overly emotional. She comes home to see Amadeus and her kitchen on fire. Understandably she is more than a little perturbed. She understands it is not Amadeus’ fault but she also understands that he needs care. Nick being the stand-up man that he is, points out that it is Sarah’s fault for not being there. 

The movie, the literal movie, is gaslighting one of its own characters and it’s meant to be funny. It is not. If anything Head Full of Honey puts into nightmarish clarity the definition of the emotional labor of women. When Tilda whisks Amadeus away on a road trip to Venice, Nick and Sarah report their disappearance to the police. The police seem unconcerned. “So the child is on the train with her grandfather? What is the matter with that?”

Sarah all but comes apart. It’s hard to blame her considering eleven-year-old girls are hardly ideal for caring for people in the throes of dementia. But it is only when Nick speaks that they actually bother to explain anything. Sarah is mocked, ridiculed, and condescended to by the authorities. But Matt gets calm answers and is viewed as polite because he isn’t showing any signs of emotion. One is how a person reacts in a situation like this while the other is the sign of a sociopath.

The movie’s hatred of women goes even further than the repeatedly and exhaustive humiliation of Sarah. Amadeus flirts unrepentantly. While sitting at lunch, he makes kissing noises and winks at a portrait of Sarah’s mother, Jacqueline Bisset. Every pretty face is remarked upon by Amadeus as he leers, ogles, and in some cases gropes them. The women, of course, are appreciative of this doddering old geezer giving them such wonderful compliments.

During the road trip, Tilda and Amadeus are on a train. Lost and confused Amadeus gets up to use the bathroom and wanders back into the wrong compartment. The bed he gets into is occupied by a middle-aged woman. Amadeus immediately begins to feel her up. She screams. Amadeus flies back in terror, and Tilda runs to the rescue. She explains he has Alzheimer’s. Both the conductor and the woman understand.

As they leave Amadeus compliments the conductor on his wife’s “lovely soft breasts”. He laughs. At no point during any of this does anybody ask if the woman who was just groped in her own compartment in the middle of the night by a man who looks like Nick Nolte is okay. She doesn’t matter.

I’m not going to talk about Tilda, because Sophia Lande Nolte, Nolte’s youngest daughter, is a child and nothing that is wrong with Head Full of Honey is her fault. She tries and is earnest and sweet. It is not her fault that Schweiger, Moyes, and Malinke have written an eleven-year-old girl as if she is six. She is supposed to be a precocious and alert little girl but she comes off as oblivious and mean-spirited. 

On the way to the train station, Tilda has Amadeus drive. Wacky antics ensue. As he drives down the wrong way of a one-way street, Schweiger cuts to her for reaction shots. Her reactions are more at home in a Little Rascals short than how an eleven-year-old girl would behave. She rolls her eyes, huffs, and after almost driving headlong into an oncoming car, merely shakes her head before resting it in her hands.

The tragedy in Head Full of Honey is seeing the waste of talents such as Nolte and Bissett. Bisset is reduced to a randy, turban wearing, mother-in-law stereotype who seems to barely like her daughter. She enables Nick’s coddling of Amadeus while berating Sarah for being so selfish. Sarah’s selfishness being unforgivable because she’s worried about the safety of her family.

Nolte is a staggering fierce talent who is given nothing to do or express. We see glimpses of the potential when he snaps and yells at another patient while he waits for his examination. It’s only a brief moment but when it happens we get a flash of the terrifying intensity Nolte is famous for. But he is also capable of much tenderness and sweetness as evident in such films as Lorenzo’s Oil and I’ll Do Anything

Schweiger gives Nolte nothing to work with. The rare moments of genuine sweetness that do exist, come from the little moments of Lane and Nolte dropping the pretenses of the script and behaving like a father and daughter. But these moments are fleeting and only serve at the hollowness and stupidity of the script.

To show how clever Amadeus is Schweiger and company construct a scene so irritating and dull-witted I flailed about and screamed silently while I sat in the back of the theater.  The doctor, played by Eric Stoltz, attempts to examine Amadeus. The conversation goes in fits and starts, partly due to Stoltz’s attempt to play the doctor with a Louisiana charm. The other part comes from Nolte’s attempt to play flustered which comes off as him morphing into a spittle fountain.

At one point Amadeus turns the tables. “What’s white and comes in a bottle?” Stoltz’s doctor is stumped but smiles. “Milk?” “What do cows drink?”  Stoltz leans back into his chair, smiles studies Amadeus, and answers-after much deliberation, “Milk.” You can guess where the scene goes from there. Behold the Socratic wisdom of Head Full of Honey.

The script, believe it or not, is only partially the problem. Yes, it is an insufferable, misogynistic, schmaltzy, inartful, excruciating, warped mirror portrayal of basic everyday human interaction. In addition to all that, Head Full of Honey is unbearable to look at.

Schweiger has no understanding of the basic language of cinema. Or maybe he does and in some last minute hail mary attempt to salvage this mess he took a cue from Russ Meyer. Meyer was a sexploitation director, famous for, among other things, his harsh and unforgiving editing styles. He once said he did so because he hated to see his actors blink and so he would cut away as soon as possible.

But if you watch a Meyer film this is only half-true. There are rhythms and purposes to his rapid cuts. Schweiger, on the other hand, seems to be laboring under the illusion the faster he cuts the quicker the movie will be over and we can all go home. To be fair, a fraction of this comes from trying to “cut around a performance”.

Lane Nolte is only a child and, I’m guessing, not a trained actress. Cutting around a performance essentially means the director and editor realized that to maximize the effect of a performance they would have to minimize the actor’s screen time. It’s all compounded by the fact that looking at her scenes it becomes obvious her scenes were shot separately. This puts an unfair burden on Lane Nolte as she is forced to act on her own with no one to act off of. 

The rest of it comes from an overzealous and blunt attempt to gin up a sense of zaniness. We can always tell when the Alzheimer’s “shenanigans” are about to start. The cuts in the scenes begin to become shorter and more rapid as they crescendo. But it never works, because there’s nothing funny about a man ridiculing his wife on the porch while his dad, clearly suffering from dementia, waves a moving truck into the wife’s car.

Leaving the theater I wasn’t angry. I was sad. Movies like Head Full of Honey anger because they feel as if the artists have not only picked our pockets but stolen something far more precious, our time. But the anger is tempered with an overwhelming loss of opportunity mixed with watching someone fail for over two hours.

I don’t enjoy beating up on movies. Though you may find it fun to read or talk about, I find it sad. Schweiger, his writers, and the actors involved didn’t set out to make a bad movie. Who knows what happened? I have no special insight into anything other than what I felt, thought, or witnessed.

On the train ride home I wondered about why bad movies, and in particular, reviews about bad movies are so popular. But then, much like Head Full of Honey, I became self-indulgent. Why is it easier for me to write a review about a movie I hated than a movie I loved? What inside me is so broken that I can more readily express and articulate my displeasure than I can express and articulate my love? Why do men hate women so much? Why do we respond so gleefully to hate? 

These are not the questions Head Full of Honey meant to ask. But these are the questions that were borne from my experience of watching the movie.

Movies are art and different art means different things to different people. Sometimes a movie you wouldn’t expect can lead you down a path of introspection and cultural interrogation; despite its obvious flaws. Head Full of Honey is easily one of the worst films of the year. But unlike other failed movies it succeeded in making me look at myself and the world around me with clearer eyes. Any movie that does that can’t be a complete failure.


Image courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures

Jeremiah lives in Los Angeles and divides his time between living in a movie theatre and writing mysteries. There might also be some ghostbusting being performed in his spare time.

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Jana
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Oh god, you poor soul. This movie was similary torn to shreds in its German version, never you fear. And Schweiger in general is more of a joke. There’s, like, two movies he’s in that are okay. And he has lines in only one of them. Over here, he’s usually busy writing, producing, directing, and starring in romantic comedies with his daughter. Uh. Not as the love interest, obviously. He’s Nick in the German version, his daugther plays Tilda. And his incessant need to keep making bad, bad movies for his daughter has become a bit of a meme at… Read more »

Film

‘Vox Lux’ Goes for Broke Almost to the Breaking Point

Jeremiah

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Warning: Vox Lux contains scenes depicting a school shooting that could trigger some viewers. It also has many scenes with rapidly flashing lights that may trigger those with photosenstivey disorder.

Vox Lux is a magnificently flawed film of abject fury and empathy. Not since this year’s earlier Sorry To Bother You have I witnessed a movie so consumed with passion and anger. I’m just not sure it’s any good.

It seems to be railing against our current obsession with what I guess you could call “distraction culture.” A culture aware of the horrors and atrocities going on around them but whose own futility at what can be done is usurped by its own need to feel joy. Vox Lux argues there are distractions and then there is ignoring things so you don’t have to think about them.

Yes, it’s healthy to practice self-care and not get too wrapped up in things beyond our control. But at what point is looking away to avoid being overcome by the horror of it all turn into ignoring everything else except for our own obsessive need for gratification. At least I think that’s the main thrust.

To say Vox Lux is about any one thing would be foolhardy. Gun violence, the dehumanization of celebrities, and how women are marketed less for talent and more for their bodies are all fair game. Truthfully I’m not sure exactly what it’s trying to say. It’s hard to tell. For as giddy as I was watching Vox Lux I was also frustrated because I couldn’t quite understand what the film was trying to do. It didn’t help that the ending can be perceived as either irritating or brilliant. The film walks the knife’s edge of artistic brilliance and pretentious nonsense.

Brady Corbet structures Vox Lux as a fable about a young girl named Celeste (Raffey Cassidy) who survives a school shooting. Narrated by Willem Dafoe, his voice lends an air of forthright impenetrable honesty as he regales about the girl’s life. Celeste survives with a permanent spinal injury. At the memorial for the other students, she and her older sister Ellie (Stacy Martin) play a song they wrote. The result is Lady Gaga/Beyonce inspired superstardom.

Vox Lux is one of those movies where I can tell you what happened but it doesn’t do it the justice of sitting there seeing it all unfold. Corbet makes every scene palpable, every frame pulsates with energy. The film feels alive and as such seems untamable as it explodes onto the screen before our eyes. Operatic and feverish, it never lets up no matter how much you may wish it to.

Celeste survives a school shooting, this is true. But Corbet makes us feel the horror and the tension of living through the school shooting. The ubiquitousness of gun violence both in our media and in our day to day lives has perhaps deadened the very real, violent, and disturbing reality of the actual experience. The driving anger of Vox Lux is in our inability to hold onto meaningful experiences and instead, dropping them and moving on to something else.

Natalie Portman plays a grown-up Celeste. A world-famous pop star, she is all but coming apart at the seams. In many ways, Vox Lux looks at how we enshrine celebrities and make them impossible beings. Portman’s Celeste is a pop star on the verge of a nervous breakdown. With her thick Staten Island accent and slicked back hair, Celeste powers through when she should clearly take a breath.

Celeste has a daughter of her own now, Albertine, also played by Cassidy. In an abrasive and uncomfortable scene, the adult Celeste attempts to have a heart to heart with her daughter. But Celeste is so closed off due to her stardom and drug abuse, she seems incapable of basic human connection. Her daughter asks her why she hates Ellie. Celeste responds with a rambling monologue about how nothing we do matters anymore because people just move on to the next thing. “I did a commercial a few years back. That stupid little thing where the rose opened up and I was little fairy inside with a soda can. I thought it’d ruin me. Know what happened? Nothing. Everybody forgot about it.”

It’s an old joke on the internet that the internet never forgets, but it’s only partially true. Yes, the internet is forever but our attention spans are not. Vox Lux isn’t pointing fingers so much as expressing a deep and volatile dissatisfaction with the way things seem to be heading. Art can offer answers but sometimes art can just be a cipher for our volatile and, sometimes, corrosive emotions.

At the same time during this same scene, the manager of the restaurant comes over and asks Celeste if he could take a picture with her. “I’m not going to post it. I just want it for me.” A celebrity’s time is rarely their own. Social media has made fans voracious in their need to be seen with people who “are just like them” but who never get to be treated like normal people.

Portman turns in what is her second best performance this year behind the earlier and still haunting and gorgeous Annihilation. But her work in Vox Lux is jaw-dropping for the kinetic energy she imbues in her Celeste. It is a fearless performance. Portman all but leaps from the screen and into the audience. Her Celeste is larger than life as she struts, dances, throws temper tantrums, all before turning to the screen and smiling. We root for Celeste while acknowledging what an absolute hell it must be living in her sphere.

After getting high, and having sex with Jude Law’s character known only as The Manager, the two stumble out of Celeste’s hotel room. I mention the scene only because Portman does one of the best pratfalls I’ve seen all year. I howled because Vox Lux is a movie that constantly pokes you, daring you to express either frustration or laughter. At the very least it wants you to feel something and tries in earnest to get, at the very least, a rise out of us.

The tightrope act the actors have to walk in the film is how nuanced they are. Law’s Manager character is as flawed and fleshed out as anyone in Mary Queen of Scots. He is at once kind and caring while also being manipulative and brusque. Notice the storm of conflicting emotions on Law’s face, and Portman’s for that matter, when she walks in on him holding Ellie in her arms. For all it’s bravado it’s the quiet moments between the screeching vibrato of its tone is where Vox Lux holds it’s most haunting and galvanizing power.

Much of the film’s power comes from the harsh and ingenious editing of Matthew Hannam. Just as you think we’ve got a bead on its rhythms it switches gears and out of our grasp. Aided by Lol Crowley, the cinematographer, the two create a living pulsating piece of artistry hellbent on making sure their screams into the abyss are heard. Crowley never puts the camera in a boring or wrong place. Even if the angle might be familiar the lens or lighting make it seem fresh and new. It allows us to decide for ourselves how we feel about certain moments and reactions.

I mentioned Portman’s pratfall earlier. While the theater was not packed, it was far from empty, but I was the only one laughing. I tell you this to illustrate how the film works differently for different people. A scene may be darkly comedic to me but to you or someone else, it may play as unbearably tragic.

During the last act of the film, we see Celeste perform her latest album, Vox Lux, to a teeming throng of adoring fans. Magically the concert footage feels like an actual pop concert. The vibrant and inventive energy the film has worked so hard to cultivate never evaporates. I sat in awe as they seamlessly blended realism with the dreamlike imagery of surrealism. Corbet, Crowley, and Hannam have sewn together disparate scenes that would in a lesser director’s hands seem like patchwork.

The ending, as previously stated, is abrupt; almost daringly so. A crucial piece of information is revealed just seconds before Corbet cuts to black. Because of how Vox Lux is presented, many moments seem weird or odd so after a while, we do not think much of them. But Corbet, mere seconds before the end drops a bombshell of a revelation that might be true or not. Dafoe’s narrator, whose voice exudes authority and honesty, delivers the line almost as an afterthought. I don’t know if it makes Vox Lux an inarguable masterpiece or if it pushes the film over the line from operatic to camp trash.

Most movies never know when to quit. Vox Lux quits arguably too soon. When I realized the credits were rolling, it took me a few seconds to realize it was over. Time flew by, though I’m not sure I would call the time spent watching Vox Lux fun. Engaging, certainly but calling it fun seems shallow somehow.

I like movies that are fun but sometimes I think we value the movies that are merely fun over the movies that are not. As if a movie not being fun is somehow an excuse not to engage with it. I’m not arguing that movies that are boring are good. I’m merely saying that, if we are to call movies art, then we should allow for a broader sense of what we demand from them.

Still, when the lights came on and I struggled to catch my breath, I knew some would find it too much. It is not a film for everyone, it never pretends to be. Its brashness and audacity have stayed with me and I get kind of giddy just thinking about it. Vox Lux is an act of untamed cinematic grandiosity that flails about with such brashness you might end up kind of annoyed. I loved every minute of it.


Image courtesy of Neon

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Mary Queen of Scots vs. the Patriarchy

Jeremiah

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I am normally not a fan of period pieces set in the Elizabethan era. I came up in the 90’s back when Hollywood was flushed with them. Despite this genre prejudice I found myself utterly absorbed by Josie Rourke’s Mary Queen of Scots. A smart, complex, enthralling tragedy so well paced and woven the Bard himself would be pleased.

Of the many feats Mary Queen of Scots somehow pulls off, is the slaying of the insistent but moronic myth that movies like these cannot be populated by queer people or people of color. They have always existed and are a part of history; regardless of what decades of whitewashed historical epics might have said. The inclusiveness of Rourke’s film is as refreshing as it is bold.

While Mary Queen of Scots may present itself as a costume drama about how Mary (Saoirse Ronan) tried and failed to unify Scotland and England, it is only partly about that. At its heart, it is a tragedy about two women Mary and Elizabeth (Margot Robbie) and how they are the head of their church and country but each sits at the heart of the patriarchy.

I’m not sure how historically accurate the script by Beau Willimon is but, in the end, it doesn’t matter. It feels real and when it comes to storytelling, that is the best we can hope for. Exiled to Scotland, the Catholic Mary Stuart attempts to bridge a peace with the Protestant Elizabeth I. Elizabeth refuses to marry or have children thus cementing her hold on the crown. Mary, on the other hand, is quite happy to marry and is, in fact, planning on having a child thus giving her a claim to the throne.

Don’t worry, Mary Queen of Scots is much more fascinating and moving than it sounds. For starters, Robbie’s Elizabeth is a woman on her own surrounded by men all but demanding she marry and sire an heir. Robbie is, per usual, magnetic.

Elizabeth confesses to her advisor William Cecil (Guy Pearce), “I am a man. If I were to marry, my husband would surely wish to be my king. I will not bow to any king. I am the queen. You are the closest thing to a wife I shall ever have.” The moment is a perfect marriage of the perfect words for the perfect actress.

Mary Queen of Scots is shockingly adept at showing how remarkably little power women in power have when their counsels and envoys are men. Schemes and double crosses are made both for power but also so to free the country from “the yoke of female rule”. Time and time again Mary Stuart and Elizabeth I remain always pitted against each other.

Mary wishes nothing but to be named merely the next in line for the crown. But Elizabeth’s men cannot tolerate a Catholic laying claim and Mary’s men cannot fathom bowing to a Protestant. Round and round it goes with treachery and betrayal littering the road. Willimon’s script has an aura of fate inscribed into its structure. Even as Mary is charmed by Lord Darnley (Jack Lowden) we know he will be her downfall. Not because she is weak but because it will allow, by technicality, for there to be a way to kick her off the throne.

Ronan’s Mary loves her country even though it seems not to return her love. Ronan does not have the fierceness that Robbie has and in fact, her Mary seems innocent and naive comparatively. But Ronan is sly in her performance. Much like Elizabeth, we underestimate her but we soon grow to root for her.

Lord Darnley’s inevitable betrayal is uncovered and Mary is counseled to execute him. “I will not behave as some woman Henry the VIII beheading my husbands just to secure my throne. I took a vow to honor and love him.” Though he may not live with her, or rule with her, she will not break a vow taken before God.

Mary and Elizabeth both show courage and principle in a world filled with men who have neither. At one point Elizabeth, suffering from the pox, ailing, but still full of fire and grace, wonders, why she shouldn’t just name Mary as successor. Her advisors point out her failings to which Elizabeth laughs. In one of the best scenes Elizabeth lays out all that has been done to Mary and yet she still stands.

Mary for her part is dealing with a recently quashed civil war, a renegade Cleric John Knox (David Tennant) and a gay husband who is being blackmailed by her most trusted advisors to take the crown and give it to her brother James (James McArdle). Unlike Elizabeth, she refuses to give up her femininity or her right to love and passion. Rourke never says which queen is right or wrong, only that each queen is ruling in the way she feels is best.

Willimon’s script lays out each character so fully that we understand where each character is coming from even after only just meeting them. We understand Tennant’s Knox when he argues with Mary about accepting the Catholics. Willimon’s deep and abiding empathy flows through the very text of Mary Queen of Scots and adds to the verisimilitude of the story.

Gemma Chan, who was so wonderful in this year’s earlier Crazy Rich Asians is magnificent as Elizabeth Hardwick. A role with barely any words, she plays a friend and confidante of Elizabeth’s. Chan’s glances tell us more than dialogue can as she becomes increasingly worried about her queen.

Rourke and Willimon surround both Queens with an inner circle of ladies, each an extension of how the queen is perceived. Elizabeth’s are comforting but often quiet and reserved. Mary’s are much more outgoing and effusive in their praise. Mary show’s an inclusive streak herself when she allows a bard who seems to enjoy wearing dresses into her fold. She treats him as she treats her other ladies, and they accept him as so.

Scotland is a countryside we’ve often seen in movies. John Mathieson, who shot Logan, shoots Mary Queen of Scots with a lush and deft eye for rolling hills and misty beaches. For all the beauty he and Rourke never let us forget the grimy reality of the times. Yes, there are castles, but they are made of stone, the chairs do not look comfortable and when it rains, there is little hope of getting dry.

Mary Queen of Scots is breathtaking in its intimacy and drawn out tension. It is Rourke’s directorial debut in film and it is an announcement of confidence and joy of a craft. She has created a world that feels lived in and whose drama and characters feel immediate and real.

Full of political intrigue, but never dull or pompous, this is a generous movie filled with many tiny moments and gestures on the sides of the frame. It takes a great talent to portray a tragic tale of love, sisterhood, betrayal, and envy in such a way we feel exuberant rather than exhausted. Rourke is such a talent.


Image courtesy of Universal Pictures

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Avengers: Endgame Revealed

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avengers endgame reveal

Just ignore the silly name. We all know Endgame is a bit stupid and maybe the internet can shame Marvel into changing it. Regardless of the name, we have our first look at Marvel’s epic conclusion to the story begun in Infinity War. The Avengers are back to undo the damage Thanos wrought upon the universe.

We don’t see anything unexpected here. Half of all life is gone, our heroes are sad, Tony Stark is lost in space on the verge of death (not really), and they have a plan to undo the Snap. Steve Rogers lost his beard, and I don’t mean whatever woman he currently “dates” to distract from his feelings for Tony. Hawkeye is back and Ant-Man shows up. Really the only thing missing is Captain Marvel. Come on, Marvel, we all know she will be there. You want Captain Marvel to make even more money than it already will? Let people not in the know aware of her role in the new Avengers movie.

In this humble writer’s opinion, Infinity War did a stunningly effective job with the ensemble superhero movie and set a huge bar for this latest entry to not only clear but even match at all. Can they possibly recapture that magic again? Who will live or die? What will the new Avengers team look like in the end? How will they undo Thanos’s villainy?

All I know is that Nebula better be a feature attraction here. Her relationships with both Thanos and Gamora demand it.

Avengers: Endgame will snap half the money out of existence this April.


Video and Images Courtesy of Marvel Studios

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