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.  

ADDED TO 'GREATEST FAVORITES': The Exorcist (1973)

Directed by William Friedkin

The mystical sound of the Adhan (a traditional Muslim prayer chant) opens The Exorcist from the very second the title is displayed on screen. It makes sense to hear this. After all, as the film begins, we are fading into the scorching sun and arid landscapes of Iraq, and perhaps this was Friedkin’s sole intent, but I can’t help sense a tone of dread in this chanting. It sounds more like a call to arms, not in the spirit of a Jihad, but to announce the presence of a very true evil among us. No matter what one’s faith, if present at all, one that everybody can agree that said evil must be stopped at all costs.

It is a call to arms that is, perhaps, first heard by Father Merrin (the great Max von Sydow). He is in Iraq on an excavation mission, where he is seemingly followed by the image of Pazuzu, and all of its unsettling inertia. Before we know it, we are in Georgetown with Chris (Ellen Burstyn) and her pre-teen daughter, Regan (Linda Blair). Regan seems typical for her age, sweet yet childishly mischievous. But her deviant antics become not only more frequent, but more outlandish, vulgar, and violent. Chris does everything to get Regan back to her normal self, consulting what seems like every doctor and psychologist in the city. No matter what treatment, though, whatever ailment Regan is undergoing won’t budge. Finally, a group of doctors suggest a last-resort treatment: an exorcism from the Catholic Church.

Enter Damien Karras (Jason Miller) a local Catholic priest, psychologist by trade. He wanders the world around him with indifference, simultaneously aware of his duties as a priest but also of his limitations as a man. By his own admittance, his faith is on its last legs, which are trembling in weakness – this is only made worse by the recent death of his mother. He is contacted by Chris to save her daughter, to which he is hesitant – to him, if somebody wants an exorcism, they’d need to go back in time to the 16^th Century. But interactions with Reagan convince him of demonic evil afoot.

For the longest time, my reaction to The Exorcist has always been disappointingly lukewarm. As the years have gone on, it was a film that I wanted to love, let alone like, more than I actually did. Then I noticed something: all these years, I had been watching the Extended Cut. As I did the research, nearly all my criticisms were to blame on the additions in this cut.

On that note, I would like to get my criticisms of the Extended Cut out of the way. The vast majority of the additional scenes, though interesting to watch for curiosity’s sake, add next to nothing. Friedkin had perhaps a little too much fun with those pop-ups of Pazuzu’s face, and the frequent appearances of such a terrifying image become laughable, with the exception of the appearance during Reagan’s hospital tests (the one scene that I wish would have stayed in the Theatrical Cut). On top of everything else, this particular cut is scarred by an ending that is tonally awkward and completely out of place (why would anybody think it’s a good idea to put an homage of Casablanca in a film like this?).

Very recently, I have decided to watch the original Theatrical Cut. Not only did I save myself 10 minutes, but I was also now able to see just what the hell everybody was talking about. From the slower than slow-burn tension in the first act, to the chaos of the second, capped off by the all-out warfare in the third, the experience of watching The Exorcist can only be described as painful.

I would give anything within reason to go back to 1973, where no filmmaker dared even think about showing what we saw in The Exorcist. To experience the shock of such horrifying deeds for the first time must have been extraordinary and singular for its time. What we see and hear is beyond revolting, but not once does it come off as distasteful or an act of arbitrary shock value (with the arguable exception of the infamous spider-walk, only in the Extended Cut). Rather, it further corners the viewer into a do-or-die confrontation with the devil itself, a concept that is otherwise dismissed as fantasy, which would be the case of The Exorcist if it were a lesser film.

To confront the devil is to face the concept that true evil is not only among us, but a force that cannot be fought on the physical realm of our reality. And in that reality, the modern age where the black and white of old has been shoved to the side by a seemingly infinite amount of grey shades, where technological and scientific advances have an explanation for everything, perhaps pure, inexplicable evil is a force that mankind will never be able to even comprehend. To fight an enemy without being unable to understand it, I think this is perhaps the most terrifying aspect of The Exorcist. No hyperbole; it brings be the greatest sense of relief that this is just a movie.

Friedkin creates a spiritual battlefield out of the world in The Exorcist. Something as miniscule as dogs fighting or two people arguing with each other implies a greater conflict boiling outside Chris and Regan’s home. Not only does this make The Exorcist all the more unsettling, but all the more impressive, considering the vast majority of the action is set within the confines of said house. I’ve noticed the best of horror tends to take place in some kind of enclosed setting, whether it be the Overlook Hotel, the Nostromo, or Outpost 31. Contrary to those films, though, the door to escape in The Exorcist is wide open, but how terrifying that the greater good of humanity depends on confronting the devil, in turn remaining in that house.

It would be a shame if such potential of a film like this were wasted due to incompetent performances, technicality and/or writing. Thank the heavens above that no such incompetence is to be found in The Exorcist. Performances are all exceptional. Burstyn is very believable as the action-oriented but ultimately desperate mother in peril. Blair’s fearless conviction as the possessed Regan is so convincing that one may wonder if there’s some malicious spark within her. Jason Miller beautifully embodies the faith-imperiled priest, coming out as the true star of the film. For Father Merrin, I couldn’t think of a more perfect fit than the great Max von Sydow. Finally, there’s Mercedes McCambridge’s voice work as the demon within Regan, which can only be described as chilling ("In here, with us" is one of the most terrifying lines in movie history). She's exactly what I expect a demon to sound like.

To this very day, the makeup on Blair is terrific, and still remains terrifying even after being shown, referenced, and parodied all over the place, though the makeup job on Sydow also deserves recognition (allegedly, he wears more makeup than Blair for the old-age look). Cinematography takes a mostly static and sometimes documentary-style look. Instead of this making The Exorcist visually boring, it simply makes the whole premise, one that is complete fantasy to most of us, all the more believable.

As far as horror films are concerned, my heart will always lie with The Shining as my favorite, and I don’t think anybody would argue that Kubrick’s masterpiece earns its ranks as a truly remarkable achievement in horror. But in the greater scheme of horror films, The Exorcist very potentially stands as the greatest of the genre. Like what 2001: A Space Odyssey did for science fiction, as well as The Godfather for crime and gangsters, The Exorcist took the horror genre, at the time shrouded in the ranks of B-grade entertainment, and showed what it was truly capable of, tapping into themes of faith and existentialism, good and evil. Of course, this is bolstered by great characters and masterful performances. To top it all off, it’s still scary as hell.

FILM REVIEW: The Dead Don't Die (2019)

Directed by Jim Jarmusch

* * ½

I have no doubt that The Dead Don’t Die will be an enjoyable movie for most, if not all, viewers. What will vary, however, is the level of enjoyment each audience member will get from it. It’s just made its way to theaters across the country, but reviews have popped up here and there from scattered festival screenings. The reviews up to this point have suggested something ultimately unfulfilling but fun while it lasts. As for me? At its worst, it is a marginally irksome mess of overbearing meta-humor and tonal imbalance. At its best, on the other hand; thanks to the usual cool Jarmusch dryness and an exceptional cast, it was indeed a fun ride.

Something strange is going on in small-town midwestern Americana, known here as Centerville. The sun should have been down long ago, but is still up; freshly-charged phones are dropping dead; animals collectively fleeing from their homes; and other such weirdness. It is soon reported that polar fracking has caused a catastrophic effect on the earth, throwing the planet off of its orbital axis. Well, soon enough, the weirdest of anomalies occurs: this strange phenomenon is raising the dead from the graves to feed on the flesh of the living! Now, in the confines of Centerville, it’s free-for-all for survival between the living dead and the many wacky locals, all set to the soundtrack of Sturgill Simpson’s “The Dead Don’t Die”.

Wait, did I say soon enough? Please excuse me, as it actually takes quite a bit of time for things to actually begin happening. To my great surprise, Jim Jarmusch proves to be quite formidable in the art of slow-burn horror. In spite of a chuckle here and there, I found myself legitimately scared of what was boiling around Centerville…while I mean this as a compliment, I also mean this equal part as criticism. The biggest problem in the film is its tonal imbalance. It clearly wants to be horror comedy. Fine by me, but there are tons of really bleak undertones with the fracking & planetary axis subjects that are brought up. Jarmusch seems to be channeling environmental concerns – completely warranted in the greater scheme of things, but they take a lot of the fun out of his new film.

Many reviews have pointed out and criticized the film’s allegedly frequent self-referential jokes. These were not nearly as prevalent as they’re built up to be – most of these are simply winks to the audience that are more subtle than they’re made out to be. However, blatant meta-humor is present, and is distractingly out of place when it happens. It feels more like Jarmusch exercising fan-service because he couldn’t think of anything better.

But The Dead Don’t Die is at least a fun watch while it’s happening, and said fun is all on account of the wonderful cast. The film treats its characters in a Robert Altman-esque fashion (though not as sprawling), so we only get portions of the characters at a time. Unfortunately, for as many idiosyncratic characters present here, there’s not grand-scale coming-together showdown against the hordes of the undead. It’s a missed opportunity. That said, though, each character and performance always manage to bring something to look forward to, despite Steve Buscemi’s character existing exclusively as an arbitrary jab at Trump supporters.

That said, I don’t think anybody would deny that the protagonists are Bill Murray, Adam Driver, and Chloe Sevigny, who make up the town’s entire police department. They make a wonderful team, even if Murray seems suspiciously bored from time to time. Tom Waits is also a pleasure to see as a reclusive mountain man. Who undoubtedly steals the show, though, is Tilda Swinton as the eccentric undertaker, a Scottish woman and expert in Japanese sword-fighting skills. If there is at least one reason to see The Dead Don’t Die, look no further than Swinton.

There’s no doubt in my mind that zombie movie fanatics are going to flock to The Dead Don’t Die, for the gore and monsters at the very least. How are they? Well, they’re fine, I suppose. Nothing particularly special. The makeup on the zombies feels like it’s trying too hard to make memorable-looking zombies; ironically, I doubt people are going to remember the look of the zombies, even though many of their scenes are very funny, the diner scene being particularly memorable in that regard. The gore isn’t too much to write home about either, but it gets the job done. There’s a half-hearted attempt at social commentary with zombies repeating phrases like “…wi-fi…” and “…Bluetooth…”. It all comes off as very cheap.

I’m curious as to what compelled Jarmusch to make The Dead Don’t Die. Though there’s still a market for zombie entertainment, evident in the ever-running series The Walking Dead, but zombie mania wasn’t nearly as big as it was 10 years ago. Perhaps the passing of George A. Romero in 2017 inspired Jarmusch, but I don’t sense enough heartful tribute. No matter; I suppose the best route to take is to accept it for what it is. There were problems throughout the film to warrant a glowingly positive review, but I can’t help but sit here fondly as a recall and write this review. It’s not an exceptionally good film by any means, but it’s still worth it for the dry fun factor.

FILM REVIEW: Paterson (2016)

Part of the Jim Jarmusch ‘All About the Masters’ Series

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When I exchange stories with friends, I have a tendency to throw in the most minimal and, frankly, meaningless details in my monologues. It’s not something I go out of my way to do; it just kind of happens – it’s something like muscle memory at this point. Perhaps it’s some subconscious need to paint as full a picture as possible. After all, the big picture may be what’s important, but that big picture wouldn’t exist if not for the little details. It is this love for those little details that makes Paterson the film that it is, and what Jarmusch has brought us is not only one of his very best films, but one of the best films of the decade.

Paterson follows a week in the life of Paterson (Adam Driver), a bus driver in the city of Paterson (the film acknowledges this irony). It’s not a particularly exciting or pivotal week in his life; just his day-to-day proceeds, whether he’s curiously eavesdropping on the conversations of bus passengers, sharing the excitement of his girlfriend’s (Golshifteh Farahani) passions and hobbies, having a beer at the bar down the block, or relaxing by the waterfall with his lunch. What is unique about Paterson, though, is his seemingly second-nature ability to incorporate every single little detail of his life into his writings – Paterson writes poetry in every spare waking moment of his life.

Laura, his girlfriend, is always encouraging Paterson to publish his poetry, but Paterson simply doesn’t find any need to. Not out of introversion or insecurity, but simply out of a sincere humility. To Paterson, to write poetry is like breathing or drinking water, and Adam Driver’s excellent performance makes it work. Jarmusch has some of the coolest casts in film history, but it wasn’t until this marathon of his work that I’ve begun to appreciate just how strategic he is in his casting choices.

It’s a compliment I’ve made time and time again; every performance in his work, even in his weakest films, is perfectly in tune with the tone and subject matter of the film, and Driver’s Paterson continues this beautiful trend. Without being too dismissive of the rest of Paterson’s cast; everybody else is just fine. Farahani is simply adorable as Paterson’s enthusiastic and passionate girlfriend (rest assured, though; she is no Manic Pixie Dream Girl); Barry Shabaka Henley adds a nice coolness as the bartender of a local pub; William Jackson Harper is equal parts comic and tragic as an incompetent lover, always bringing his relationship issues loudly public. Ultimately, though, this film belongs to Adam Driver.

It’s a thing of beauty watching Paterson utilizing the insignificance of everyday details and putting them in his poetry – it’s almost mesmerizing. I credit this to the exquisite imagery. There’s plenty of the usual Jarmusch wide angles, but what he exercises in Paterson is the perfect amount of light. I don’t think I’ve ever see Jarmusch implement light so much like he has in Paterson. Lots of fluorescent lights shining down, or colorful sunrises and sunsets. It adds to the inspiring effect that writing has, but it never goes overboard and becomes a cliché. He knows exactly when to play it up, when to play it down, and exactly how many notches to adjust.

Paterson just may very well be Jarmusch’s most heartfelt and sincere film to date. While he has never gone embarrassingly out of his way to be “cool”, there are certain ingredients to his movies that always make for that signature Jarmusch coolness, most notably the prominent appearances of underground rock icons and the discussion of music to follow. Though there’s a few conversations about famous poets and such here and there throughout Paterson, they are only gently peppered. It’s a welcome expansion of horizons for Jarmusch’s track record.

Prepare the tissue box as well. It’s not that Paterson is a sad film; it’s simply just one of those films that is just plain powerful, working on the most minimal and human of levels. When I first saw Paterson, I was enjoying what I was watching, but I wasn’t sure I was liking it, per se. Then comes the softest gut-punch you can think of: I dare not spoil events, but all I can say is that Paterson loses a particularly treasured possession. There is no breakdown or even hint of affect from Paterson. You can only read his face and all of its subtle gestures. Additionally; it’s typical for Jarmusch to show his protagonist crossing paths with a totally foreign character who appears to be riding some kind of parallel path. Paterson includes such a scene following Paterson’s loss, and he chats poetry with a Japanese tourist. One of the best lines in modern movies follows: “Sometimes an empty page presents more possibilities.”

I am almost tempted to put this in my Greatest Favorites, but we’re going to hold off for now (it’s only 3 years old at this point). I wouldn’t be surprised if I do, but in the meantime; Paterson is not just a wonderful movie, but a miracle of a film. It is a humble, timeless, and deeply moving celebration of the beauty of mundanity, something perhaps only Jarmusch can accomplish. All of this is further bolstered by what may very well be Adam Driver’s finest hour in his acting career. There’s so much to say, but I can’t quite find the words at this point. All I can really say is “thank you, Mr. Jarmusch.”