FILM REVIEW: Midsommar (2019)

Directed by Ari Aster

* * * *

NOTE: This review is written specifically in response to the Director’s Cut

On 3 July 2019, just over a year after he hit the scene with the incredible Hereditary, Ari Aster creeped audiences out yet again with Midsommar. He says he was happy with the theatrical version, but he was quick to announce his intentions of releasing an extended Director’s Cut, as there were allegedly tons of footage left on the cutting room floor. I was very confident of seeing a Director’s Cut being released, but I was really taken aback on just how soon: it is Labor Day Weekend 2019, and Aster has already delivered said Director’s Cut. I can tell that Aster is a man of action and a man who always has to keep busy.

A quick message to Aster: I’m absolutely grateful for your work and I look forward to seeing how you’re going to scare us next. That said, take some time off; a vision as remarkable as yours can’t be burnt out just yet, because Midsommar is no sophomore slump. Though I’m still personally trying to decode it, it’s still going to go down as one of 2019’s most memorable films. But you’ve probably heard a lot of this already; how’s the Director’s Cut? Well, while it doesn’t quite add anything particularly substantial, Midsommar’s power is kept completely intact.

Midsommar opens on a punishingly tragic note: Dani (Florence Pugh) has not only lost her sister to suicide, but the latter has taken their parents with her. As for her boyfriend, Christian (Jack Reynor), he’s on the verge of breaking up with Dani when the news hits – he chooses to keep the relationship going for Dani’s sake. Fast forward to the summer months; Christian and his colleagues are preparing for a trip to a remote village in Sweden to indulge their long-standing midsommar traditions and festivities – Christian invites Dani to join. Perhaps it’s exactly what this troubled couple needs, some time away from the real world, but their issues slowly surface. To top that off, the traditions and rituals of the villagers become more and more disturbing.

Recently, I found myself reading Mark Kermode’s review of Winter Sleep, in which he refers to the film’s visual style as “widescreen claustrophobia”. I couldn’t think of a better descriptor for Midsommar. The visuals and overall production design take precedence over anything else. Surrounding the viewer throughout the entire film are endless acres of lush green landscapes, fenced off only by thick tree lines, complimented by Pawel Pogorzelski’s masterfully spacious and symmetrical cinematography. The effect is simultaneously refreshing, awe-inspiring, and unsettling – regarding the latter, the visuals are sometimes too beautiful and welcoming, also giving off a feeling that escape is completely impossible. There are at least two Oscar nominations I hope Midsommar earns, one of which being Best Cinematography (there, there; I know this is a cliché statement).

And then there’s Aster’s direction, which is the other Oscar nomination I’m crossing my fingers for. He exhibits remarkable control throughout, always knowing exactly how long a scene should linger and when to hit the scene’s next beat. This is noteworthy enough on its own, but its even more commendable in Midsommar considering just how much is going on in every scene – the maypole dance sequence alone is a crowning achievement in movie direction.

Performances are also noteworthy, albeit not nearly on the same level as the direction and cinematography. While everybody trucks along just fine, at the center of the film are Pugh and Reynor, a couple whose relationship is on the verge of collapse (some interpret Midsommar as an allegory for a break-up). Both parties possess their share of toxic behavior, but also have understandable and sympathetic positions in the relationship, and Pugh and Reynor have a solid grasp of this – neither of them turn their characters into the purely innocent or the purely guilty. That said, I feel like neither of them transcend beyond what was needed of them. I digress, though, as they still get the job done just fine. Perhaps that’s attributed to the writing, which I feel may be Midsommar’s weakest point. I admit that I’m not to keen on making this criticism, as the script, like the two lead performances, give the film exactly what it needs. Still, I feel like just a little more fleshing out of the characters would have really benefited the final film, but in my second viewing of Midsommar, the film is not impacted negatively in any way.

Perhaps this is all a bunch of mumbo-jumbo you don’t care to hear. Midsommar’s already been out for just shy of two months at this point, so everything I’ve said has already been stated. What Red Eye is here for is the new Director’s Cut. It runs 25 minutes longer than the theatrical version, with two new scenes in particular standing out. The first added scene involves the newly arrived Americans observing a ritual completely alien to them (this is before anything weird begins to happen) – the scene helps to further bolster the uneasy alien feeling, but it’s not necessary.

The other added scene takes place right after the hauntingly beautiful cliff jump scene. It is nighttime, and Dani wanders into a ceremony involving a human sacrifice. The scene, while tense, is kind of redundant – the point this scene is making was already stated in the scene preceding it. Other than these two scenes, I think the rest of the added footage is small bits and pieces peppered in here and there.

In spite of my gripes, I’m still awarding Midsommar a 4/4, and this goes for both cuts. Though the Director’s Cut isn’t particularly necessary, it doesn’t detriment the film in any way. Whichever version you choose to watch ultimately depends on how much time you have to spare. I guarantee you that you can’t go wrong with either, because whichever way you go, it still stands on its own as a singularly eerie, beautiful, slow-burn epic of an experience that you’ll never forget.

FILM REVIEW: Apocalypse Now (1979)

Directed by Francis Ford Coppola

~ Greatest Favorite ~

In the cinema, there are times when the viewer will see the first five minutes of a movie, and from there, they just know they are in the hands of an exceptionally great film. It is a rare occurrence, and one where the viewer must keep their excitement in check; if the film does not live up to that promised greatness, the disappointment that would follow is soul-shattering. But then, even more rare, does the movie not only live up to its promise, but delivers on a level that could only be described as explosive, like a payload of napalm rapidly descending to melt and incinerate your senses, leaving its smell to linger long after impact.

If there is at least one movie in this world I can apply this thinking to, it is Apocalypse Now, Francis Ford Coppola’s trippy and chaotic Vietnam War epic. First released in 1979, it has since charged its way into cinematic influence and pop culture to the point of legend, not to mention landing a spot in my top 10 favorite movies of all time. Apocalypse Now has ravaged on for four decades now, and to celebrate its 40^th anniversary, Coppola has re-released his masterpiece in theaters with a brand-new version dubbed the Final Cut.

Desperate to get back into the jungles of Vietnam, Captain Willard (Martin Sheen) is on the verge of total mental breakdown when he is issued orders for his next mission: Colonel Kurtz (Marlon Brando). Once one of the most outstanding officers ever produced with a career that can only be described as perfect, he has slipped into insanity beyond recognition. Now, Kurtz has gone renegade, holing up in the deepest depths of the jungle with an army of Montagnard natives at his command. In turn, Willard is placed on a small patrol boat that will ferry him miles up a river that will take him straight to Kurtz’s compound. Upon arrival, Willard has only one task: terminate the Colonel.

There’s not much to say that hasn’t already been said about Apocalypse Now, so I want to keep this as brief as I can: I have seen Apocalypse Now dozens of times within the past 10+ years, and it still feels fresh to this very day. Coppola’s masterpiece is nothing short of a visceral spectacle. From the scenery to the sound, it is an awe-inspiring experience of moviegoing (see it in the theater, if you can). For me, personally, this is the kind of film that could go on for another 2-3 hours, and I would still be completely hypnotized by its spell – while scenery and sound play a big part in this, I credit this to Martin Sheen’s battle-weary voiceover that narrates throughout, topped off with Francis & Carmine Coppola’s horrifyingly psychedelic score, which I feel never gets nearly as much credit as it deserves.

I think what is even more amazing is how modern Apocalypse Now feels. As much as I hate to use a phrase as cliché as the following, Coppola was truly ahead of his time with Apocalypse Now, so much so that I’m sincerely convinced if a casual passerby walked into Apocalypse Now with no prior knowledge of the film, they would never know it was made in 1979.  I cannot think of another film from this time (or prior) that has held up quite like this has. I think this is double impressive considering Coppola’s use of psychologically psychedelic techniques (this was the ‘70s, after all), and not only is Coppola’s take on psychedelia so perfectly fitted for the film, he never overindulges in these tropes.

But you’ve heard all of this before – what does the Final Cut have to offer, in particular? Well, as you may have noticed, it’s roughly a half-hour longer than the 1979 theatrical version, and shorter than the 2001 Redux. The biggest difference I’ve noticed is the complete omission of the Playboy Bunny-fuel exchange, previously shown in the Redux. Granted, while I welcome this scene and its uneasy sexual madness that so suits the movie, I can admit that it’s not particularly necessary. What has been retained, however, is the French Plantation scene, which drags the pacing down just a hair as it did in the Redux (although it gets less grueling with each watch), but it is an extremely vital scene in its thematic application to the rest of the movie (a conversation for another time), so I’m ecstatic that Coppola left this one in. Other than those two big scenes, there’s a good handful of light trimming throughout, and the final result is 183 minutes. I can confidently tell you that the film does not feel like 3 hours whatsoever.

Coppola has gone on record to say that this Final Cut is his favorite version of Apocalypse Now. My heart will always lie with the Redux, but that’s just a point of personal preference – I would actually recommend the Final Cut, as it has everything Apocalypse Now needs. I don’t think it matters what version you watch, anyway – contrary to, say, Blade Runner and the five or six cuts that have followed its 1982 release to perfect it, Apocalypse Now was a masterpiece from the very beginning, and has only been tweaked here and there to further refine it. Apocalypse Now has been nothing short of an odyssey into mankind’s heart of darkness that’s been worth experiencing for 40 years, and I don’t see that odyssey ending anytime soon, if at all.

ADDED TO 'GREATEST FAVORITES': Dawn of the Dead (1978)

Directed by George A. Romero

Zombies. For being one of the most iconic monsters in all of movies, television, literature, and any and other forms of entertainment I didn’t mention, they’re really lucky to have been immortalized in pop culture the way they have. Taking aside whatever social satire or celebratory b-grade entertainment that may be applied to zombies, they’re really one of the most ridiculous and, frankly, goofy monsters, what with their unthreateningly slow shambling and dumbfounded moans for human flesh. I think they could only really be scary once, which is exactly what George A. Romero accomplished with Night of the Living Dead. While that was still a pretty intense movie, the setups for unintentional self-parody within the zombie genre were clear and present.

I find myself wondering if this kind of uncertainty tormented Romero, leaving him at odds with where to take the zombie film next. Ultimately, I don’t know. That said, what we ultimately got next was Dawn of the Dead, and what I do know is that we have been graced with one of the greatest sequels of all time. Though it lacks the claustrophobic urgency of its predecessor (something debatably impossible at this point), it makes up ten-fold in its balance of genuinely frightful thrills and an audacious brand of black comedy and outright fun.

Granted, as Dawn opens up, it is anything but fun (in one of my favorite movie openings ever). The viewer is thrown into a television studio, which is in the middle of complete chaos – people are stressed, arguing, and/or walking and abandoning their post. At the center of this studio is a talk show, attempting to make some kind of sense of recent events. An unidentified epidemic of sorts is reportedly sweeping the nation – “It gets up and kills! The people it kills get up and kill!” On the other side of the city, a housing project is stormed by a SWAT, and it is here that we see the epidemic in action: the living dead are, indeed, among us. At this point, they are out of control.

 What will become of the living? Maybe some will live, some will certainly die, but the heroes of our story are just coming into play – two journalists from the studio, and two SWAT officers from the project. Knowing they will die if they remain in the city, they hop into a helicopter and get the hell out of dodge. There is tension between them, yes, but their collective perseverance lands them at a shopping mall. Though intended as a temporary stop to catch their breath, they quickly realize the mall has more than enough resources to sustain them long-term, should they remain there. Next thing we know, they are hard at work sweeping the place clean of the undead problem. When they’re not working, they spend their days enjoying the frivolities of the mall, distracting themselves of the apocalyptic terror literally right outside.

I find myself comparing Dawn of the Dead to Terminator 2, as far as sequels are concerned. Aside from mutual greatness, both films expand their stories and raise the stakes while following the same narrative template of their respective predecessors, managing to continue the conversation rather than repeat it. In contrast, though, I am fascinated by how Dawn feels as big a sequel as it does without a robust budget of something like T2, having been shot on only $560K. There is a charm that rings throughout Dawn as a result of that low budget. Even when the budget shows in less-than-flattering ways, it’s still irresistibly charming (most notably being those iconic gray-blue zombies).

This is not Dawn’s sole factor as far as enjoyment is concerned. As I stated earlier, there is a lot of fun to be had with the zombie scenario. I think Romero realized this upon conceptualizing the film, and decided to take advantage of said fun, and it’s all based on the center of all the action: the mall. The idea alone of having an entire mall to oneself is such a wonderful idea that I can’t comprehend who can’t revel in it, no matter how anti-capitalist or anti-material one may claim to be. Then there’s the zombies themselves; there’s always a great chuckle to be had at their expense, whether they’re getting mowed down by trucks or getting smeared in the face by way of banana cream pie, all of this is complimented by a phenomenal score composed by the Goblins.

But there comes a time to shift tone back to the terror that boils at the scenario’s foundation, and Romero is precise to the point of perfection when juggling tones and feelings. With perhaps one or two exceptions (the pie scene being most notable), I can’t really think of any moment where the film is overindulgent. Dawn opens up tense in its chaotic TV studio, downright terrifying in the housing project sweep, less tense yet still alert in the countryside gas station, then things finally look up upon arrival at the mall. There’s excitement a tragedy to behold here, but just when the thrills begin to totally thin out, Dawn resets back to full-force terror during the climactic biker gang showdown. All of this is balanced out flawlessly. No matter what, though, that uncertainty of living through an apocalypse always hovers over, so there’s always that little bit of tension present.

With its moments of terror, though, Dawn gets downright nasty in its special effects. Sure, the blood is very obviously fake (though still kind of gross in its thickness), but seeing a man getting completely disemboweled or a woman getting a good couple of chunks o’ arm bitten out never ceases to make my stomach churn – even a brief moment of a man’s leg wound discharging blood after being disturbed is very sickening. All of this is courtesy of the exceptionally talented Tom Savini, who needs no introduction here. For the gorehounds reading this, Savini would double-down on effects in Romero’s follow-up Day of the Dead, which is so gnarly it is borderline unbearable in its gore.

At the end of the day, though, Dawn is a hopeful, if somewhat pessimistic, story of human perseverance amidst chaos, fully embodied by its four leads (David Emge, Ken Foree, Scott H. Reiniger, and Gaylen Ross). Granted, there’s nothing Oscar-worthy in these performances, nor are they the most well-developed and three-dimensional characters, but being confined with them for so long, we really begin to feel like we’re right there with them. We take great joy in seeing them come together in spite of their differences, seeing them revel in their triumph against the apocalyptic odds, and when tragedy strikes the gang, we feel that same sting they do.

Perhaps the final topic of conversation is the whole satire on consumerist culture present here. Frankly, while I’m welcoming of it, I don’t care that much at the end of the day. Firstly, everybody and their mother has already sounded off on this. More importantly, though, when social commentary overshadows quality, I become more irritably disinterested. I equate the issue of social commentary implementation to a dash of spice on a dish: it adds that little extra, yes, but the dish itself must be good to begin with. In the case of Dawn of the Dead, it’s masterfully delicious.

FILM REVIEW: The Farewell (2019)

Directed by Lulu Wang

* * * ½

Somewhere in the midpoint of The Farewell, the family is gathered around the dining room table, and behind Billi sits a piano, an instrument which she was once very fond of. She peels herself away from the hustle and bustle of family dialogue to play. After playing a couple of notes to find her footing, she plays a solo that seems to be at war with itself – it is fast and kinetic in energy with seemingly the entire range of the piano utilized, bringing about an overwhelming myriad of feelings. No matter how wild this solo gets, it never teeters over the top or loses control, but it always seems to be on the verge.

If I had to pick a favorite moment from Lulu Wang’s wonderful new film, I think this would be it – tonally, it is a film that seems to be on the verge of crossing every threshold of emotion, but always manages to keep itself in check, just like Billi’s solo. Ultimately, I can’t see myself placing The Farewell in my “Best of the Year” list, but there is no denying that it is still stands as an excellent film that will go down as one of the year’s best-written films, with its power further driven by two exceptional lead performances.

Bad news washes over the family: the matriarch, the elderly Nai Nai (Zhao Shuzhen) has been stricken with stage four lung cancer, and is only expected to live no more than three months. She does not know this, though, as the family has decided it is best that she remain in the dark about her condition, that way she can enjoy her short time remaining. A ploy has been organized to get the entire family together in their Chinese home one last time (in the guise of a wedding).

Taking this news hardest is Billi (Awkwafina), Nai Nai’s granddaughter. Billi is the most Americanized of the family, having emigrated to America with her parents at the age of six. Billi is a woman out of place with her surroundings – unable to quite fit in with her parents, and unable to find her place in American society (she opens her mail to find a rejection letter for Guggenheim Fellowship). The only person Billi seems to click with is her beloved grandmother, so much so that Billi is initially forbidden from the family gathering (they are worried she will spill the beans regarding Nai Nai’s condition). Nonetheless, against these wishes, she packs her bags and hops on a plane to China.

There is no other way to put it; The Farewell is about as bittersweet an experience as a film can get. An odd place to start, but I mean this in the best way possible, and it’s all on account of Wang’s direction and writing, which is damn near perfect. The impending doom of Nai Nai’s ultimate fate hangs over the film no matter what, but believe it or not, The Farewell is also a very funny movie. Not in a black comedy kind of way, but rather the wackiness of the family’s antics. Wang is precise throughout, knowing exactly when it’s time to laugh, when it’s time to ponder, when it’s time to cry, and so on. This is already a remarkable feat to begin with, but The Farewell jumps very rapidly between its countless moods, and not once does Wang lose her stability or her footing – she pulls it all off perfectly.

But The Farewell’s power would not be a fraction of what it is without its performances. Everybody involved is just fine, but Awkwafina and Shuzhen are phenomenal. Shuzhen is beyond lovable; always making jokes here and there, always down-to-earth, always carrying on with that kind of quirkiness that only grandmas are capable of. You observe as if she were your own. On the flipside is Awkwafina in what is allegedly her first leading dramatic role. I’m not too familiar with her work, but I hope for many more roles to come from her. She hits all the right notes as a young woman yet to find her place in the world, a stance I think all of us can empathize with. When these two women share the screen together, though, that’s when their magic really works. Near the film’s end, these two share a hug, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt a hug in a movie quite like that (not even Lost in Translation’s final embrace was on this level).

Along with everything else, The Farewell is a classic Eastern family drama akin to the likes of Edward Yang and Hou Hsiao-hsien, albeit more accessible and to-the-point that what you might expect – the clash of East & West culture becomes a prominent theme throughout, the internal struggle of carrying burdens for the sake of family vs. carrying on for oneself. The result is a film with many a topic of conversation to follow, but it’s not without its flaws – we only get hints of Billi’s struggles in American society as well as with her family before she sets off for China (a change in scenery that is rather abrupt when I think about it), and considering how important this internal struggle is to her journey throughout the film, I feel the first act should have been much more expanded upon. Maybe it’s not perfect, but I still had a wonderful time with The Farewell, and I think you will, too.

And just wait until you see the ending.