FILM REVIEW: The Lighthouse (2019)

Directed by Robert Eggers

* * * *

I saw The Lighthouse at my local mall, which has a long staircase leading up to the theater. Two hours later, I walked out of the theater after it was over, my mind steadily piecing itself back together. I was still in this dazed state when I approached the stairwell, demanding my descent to return home. I exaggerate not when I tell you that I stumbled those first few steps, nearly keeling over a few times. When I finished my descent (unharmed), it was then that I realized the excellence of The Lighthouse: it alone had taken a physical toll on me, and I cannot give a higher compliment.

From the dense fog of the sea arrives Ephraim (Robert Pattinson) and Thomas (Willem Dafoe), the next two wickies to tend to the lighthouse for the next four weeks. Ephraim is new to the job, a quiet man with a mysterious past, and he will be supervised by Thomas, the rambunctious veteran with a penchant for vulgarity, heavy drinking, and seaside superstition. He aggressively guards lamp duties, leaving the back-breaking manual labor to Ephraim. It’s grueling for Ephraim, but those four weeks go by with some tension, but was overall relatively painless, but things take a scary turn at the end of those four weeks: their replacements never show up. With no outside contact and a big storm brewing, the tightrope begins dangerously tightening on a mutually dependent yet strained relationship.

The Lighthouse is the second feature from Robert Eggers, and this is no sophomore slump. As evident in his previous feature, The Witch, Eggers clearly has a passion for the history of New England, which carries over to The Lighthouse. We are not given a specific year that the film takes place, but every aspect of the terrific production design tells us what time period this takes place in – without leaving the confines of the lighthouse, mind you.

The Lighthouse traps the viewer into its world. Its setting is so precisely imagined that it becomes nothing short of palpable, so much so that we can practically smell this place, let alone feel the grit and grime that encapsulates it, but a solitary setting with only two characters is a risky move for a filmmaker. Luckily, The Lighthouse is perfectly paced. Yes, the burn is slow – real slow – but just when the film begins losing your attention, it knows precisely when to make its next move and re-engage you.

Over time, we can even feel the walls closing in tighter and tighter, and that's due in great part to the film's narrow aspect ratio. The film appears disturbingly narrow up there on the movie screen, creating a boxy look. As ugly as it may be to endure the film, it is gorgeous to look at. With its photography and lighting, The Lighthouse creates a beautifully bleak palette of grey shades. While black & white has become a cliché in the independent film scene, this is undoubtedly one of the best-looking movies of the year.

But a key to The Lighthouse's madness is its sound design. Whether it be water dripping, a seagull chirping, or the lighthouse's ominous siren, film is never quiet as those very sounds drone on and on and on. Loud enough that they irk you, maybe even instigating an eye twitch here and there, but the sounds never call too much attention to themselves.

Much has been said about Dafoe and Pattinson, the very anchors of The Lighthouse. Believe the hype. While complimenting each other in their stark contrasts of personality (they know exactly how to push each other’s buttons), the two truly transform themselves into unhinged wickies of historical New England, adding to the film’s authenticity. Pattinson continues a promising ascension from his embarrassing start with Twilight to that of a prominent and respectable actor, but the stealing the spotlight is Dafoe, in perhaps his best performance since The Last Temptation of Christ. I was worried that the film might go too far with his crudeness, but Dafoe toes the line perfectly, always respecting exactly what kind of film this is.

The Lighthouse’s scenario with the personality of its characters make the film work well enough on a surface level, but there’s enough vagueness that it is indeed the kind of movie that rewards application of a deeper meaning to it. I admit that I’m still wrapping my head around the film, let alone figuring out what it meant to me, but it’s the kind of wonderful art movie that can be interpreted in countless different ways: existential pessimism? Political allegory? Two generations at war with each other? The possibilities are truly endless, and I expect a flood of analysis videos on YouTube upon the film’s home video release. Refreshingly, though, The Lighthouse is never on the nose or overbearing with whatever meaning may or may not live within – the fact that I’m still juggling what it may have all meant says a lot.

I cannot think of a more agonizing wait I’ve endured for a movie than The Lighthouse. The gritty black and white, the hauntingly beautiful photography, the solitary setting with a minimal cast, and the symbolic potential of a lighthouse gave promise for the exact kind of arthouse movie experience I long for, so much so that I became all the more paranoid that the movie would be ruined due to my own high expectations. Well, the wait is over, and The Lighthouse still came out swinging as a cinematic experience of the purest sense, utilizing every element the form has to offer. What we got from that is a true original that will go down as one of the year’s best and most memorable films.

FILM REVIEW: Joker (2019)

Directed by Todd Phillips

* * ½

Perhaps Joker will be the most polarizing movie of 2019, with reviews either being completely in its favor or against it – I’m not sure I’ve seen any middle-ground reviews yet. For me, it is neither masterfully good nor glaringly bad, and it’s especially frustrating in the case of Joker because there are a number of ideas that are brilliant if implemented well. When the film works, it is an atmospheric and truly captivating slow burn of one man’s boiling descent into madness in a world gone down the drain. When the film doesn’t work, though, it is misdirected and forced social commentary that is just a tad too proud of itself.

“Is it just me, or is it getting crazier out there?” asks the troubled Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix) to his psychiatrist, and indeed these are tough times Gotham City – the city is buried in filth as a result of an ongoing garbage strike as it approaches a tense mayoral election. During the day, Fleck commutes as a clown-for-hire, attempting everything in his power to bring laughter and joy to those around him, only to be shunned and heckled. At home, he cares for his ailing and unstable mother (Frances Conroy), taking solace in TV talk show hosted by comedian Murray Franklin (Robert De Niro). Fleck reaches his boiling point after a bad day when he is attacked by three yuppies on a subway – the result is three young men killed by a man in clown makeup. However, Fleck sparks an uprising amongst the economically downtrodden – the clowns – further fueling the ticking time bomb that is Gotham City. For Fleck, who is now a hero to some, this proves to be an opportunity to bring meaning and purpose into his tragic life.

Though I’m not a big comic book enthusiast, I’ve always been partial to the Batman franchise. With Joker, I feel like I got the best of both worlds. Allow me to expand: the film confidently walks the line between a self-contained psychological drama and a supervillain origin story. Joker never crosses this line, albeit with maybe one or two exceptions when the film ties into the rest of the Batman mythos, which I personally liked. Other than those select moments, Joker can be appreciated just as well as a portrayal of psychological breakdown and urban decay, reminiscent of the likes of Taxi Driver.

Joker is rich in atmosphere. With the sidewalks littered with garbage bags, the walls plastered with graffiti and worn & torn flyers, and the manhole covers emitting a steady flow of noxious steam, the smells and textures of Gotham City become palpable for the viewer. This rotting corpse of a city is further complimented by Hildur Guonadottir’s score. Though the dramatic underscoring at climactic moments is mood-killing, the music is otherwise reminiscent of the apocalyptic strings and death-march percussion of Godspeed You! Black Emperor, further adding to Gotham’s tragedy.

At the core of Joker is none other than Joaquin Phoenix, who has steadily emerged as one of the very best actors working today. Channeling sympathetic awkwardness, Phoenix carries the entire weight of the film and gives the role his all. Though Joker is undoubtedly going to be an iconic addition to his track record, I wouldn’t go so far to say this is one of his best roles. There are some overbearingly hammy moments, but I credit this less to Phoenix than the direction. There were some bad choices on the part of director Phillips, frequently overplaying Fleck’s uncontrollable laughter and strange dances, moments that could have worked if not done to death.

I wish my criticisms ended there, but we’re just getting started. Joker is simultaneously overwritten and underdeveloped. Though the main circumstance for Fleck’s ultimate descent is his own mental instability, there are a series of extenuating circumstances that amplify his outrage: his alienation from his workplace, his mother’s mental instability, his aspirations to be a stand-up comedian, his infatuation with a neighboring single mother, being humiliated on TV by Murray Franklin, and so on. This is already more than enough, but it’s even more irritating that none of these subplots are fully developed and are just kind of thrown into the mix, feeling more like padding than anything else.

Some elements of Joker I can only describe as irresponsible, it’s first offense being its attempts at comic relief. While Joker is more concerned with being a drama, it can’t resist pandering to audiences. Comic relief is one thing, but to not only be so tonally out-of-place with it, doing it so distastefully is unforgivable – keep an eye out for a scene involving two former coworkers visiting a completely unhinged Fleck late in the film. I was aghast in just how inappropriate this was.

And then there’s the climax, where Joker is not only laughably self-congratulating and forceful in its commentary (complete with a “We life in a society” speech) but the film begins to treat Fletch more as a hero rather than an unhinged loner. There’s nothing wrong with depicting bad people in a sympathetic light, but it is important to keep a healthy arm’s distance. Joker depicts the election subplot in an us vs. them light (the politicians aren’t exactly sweethearts in this film), and to see Fletch rise up as the face of resistance against these allegedly heartless politicians comes off as very irresponsible and, frankly, kind of disconcerting (the current political climate makes this ring a lot louder).

I’m torn between Joker. There were brilliant ideas and the execution was solid, but what I didn’t like glared so brightly I can’t completely approve of the overall movie, but there was very little I outright hated, so I don’t completely disapprove the film either. Regardless, in an era bloated with comic book films featuring clear-cut heroes & villains, to so closely examine, scrutinize, and understand the human being behind one of those villains is an audacious move. For that, I greatly respect Joker.

FILM REVIEW: It: Chapter Two (2019)

Directed by Andy Muschietti

* * *

I don’t find clowns scary. In turn, I can only be so scared by It, Stephen King’s iconic story whose very anchor takes the form of a clown. With the modern trends of mainstream horror, I choose to view It not so much as a horror movie, but as a cinematic haunted house – it’s that fun brand of spooky that jumps at you and startles you, but you end up strolling out of that haunted house with a fun time had, rather than being terrified. As cynical as that may sound, I emphasize that part about having fun – this was very much the case for 2017’s It, and here we are with It: Chapter Two, and I couldn’t find myself saying the same thing.

In 1989, a group of misfit children known as the Losers’ Club descended into the sewers of Derry to confront the ultimate evil, an entity dubbed ‘It’ which has taken the form of Pennywise the Clown (Bill Skarsgard), devouring the town’s children. Unsure if they defeated It, they made a pact to reunite if It returns. 27 years later, Pennywise has indeed resurfaced to terrorize Derry. When the news hits the Losers’ Club, it shakes them, but they band together to put this evil to rest once and for all. The only way to defeat It is to sacrifice an artifact from their childhood in what is called the Ritual of Chud. The Losers go on their separate ways to find their artifact, to rediscover their forgotten childhoods in the menacing townscape of Derry.

Like its predecessor, Chapter Two is distractingly overproduced. The camera never sits still, rocking and shaking during scary moments with those signature loud noises to startle you (this means you’re supposed to be scared). These methods are already annoying to begin with, but are even more so here because there are scenes that would be perfect otherwise, though there are some solid moments here (more on those later).

Bonding with the Losers’ Club was my favorite aspect of the predecessor (as well as the 1990 TV movie, for that matter), and I was really excited to see them as adults. As soon as the movie begins, though, it gets right to business. In turn, we never get much of a chance to get a true grasp of where our beloved protagonists are in life, to enjoy the fruits of their success – just a brief glance instead. With that, it was still great to see the adult versions of themselves, even though they still speak like the vulgar juveniles they were 27 years ago. This was distracting for me as well, as there are times where it’s as if they haven’t matured at all, still telling “Your Mom” jokes all the time, and trying way too hard with forced one-liners.

On a side note, like Chapter One, Mike is thrown almost completely to the wayside, his only major contribution being his explanation of the Ritual of Chud, a scene that is not well written and kind of laughable in its attempt at being trippy, as if the director’s chair was handed to Hunter S. Thompson for a moment.

Please don’t think I hated this movie. Quite the opposite. The casting choices are perfect. Everybody not only nails their role, but everybody bears almost identical appearance to their child counterparts. I had no trouble picking out who was who just from looking at them. I particularly enjoyed Jessica Chastain as Beverly, the sole female loser. When I heard that Bill Hader would play the talkative Richie, I was immediately sold on this movie.  And then there’s Bill Skarsgard as everybody’s favorite creepy clown, Pennywise. He tried a bit too hard for my taste in Chapter One. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but to my surprise, he really won me over in Chapter Two.

Chapter Two moves along at a solid pace, in spite of problematic tonal imbalance. Chapter Two frequently goes back and forth between the past and the present, and this is handled incredibly well, with seamless transitions between a 27-year gap. While the movie may not make the best technical choices, it still manages to always keep you interested in what’s going to happen next, which is vital here, as Chapter Two runs at just under 3 hours.

I may have criticized this movie’s ideas of how to be scary, but believe it or not, there are some scenes that are really bone chilling. Three sequences stand out for me, one being a brief but tense confrontation between Pennywise and a little girl under a set of bleachers, a scene that proves the slow-burn makes all the difference. Beverly’s visit to her childhood home and her interaction with its elderly inhabitant who isn’t quite right is also particularly creepy. Another solid moment is Bill’s (James McAvoy) descent into a disorienting maze of mirrors at a local carnival. Granted, these two scenes fall victim to the tropes previously mentioned, but a solid A for effort.

And then there’s the climax, the final confrontation in the sewers which is the film’s crowning achievement. Taking up the entire final hour of the movie, you feel like this is what the It saga has been building up to, and it delivers in an apogee of endless thrills. An excellent conclusion follows, putting this saga to rest with a heartfelt coda that puts wonderful closure to this nightmare of a story.

It’s up for debate whether King’s novel can be truly captured on film. I don’t have the answer for this, but I will say that to pull that off, it would require a mammoth of a runtime and unconventional filmmaking methods, neither of which tickle the box office’s fancy. Maybe we’ll get that movie someday, but for now we have these two movies: they may not be particularly scary (unless you’re scared of clowns), but they have just enough character and passion that it’ll satisfy and startle just fine for years to come.

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.