Tag Archives: Drama

First Man (2018): Gosling in Space

After the perfectly fine, but ludicrously well-received La La Land, there was surely a mountain of pressure on director Damien Chazelle to continue the hot streak with his next feature but First Man won’t quite hit the mark for those that loved his previous film. Ryan Gosling (Drive) plays Neil Armstrong as he works at NASA piloting test flights leading up to a planned voyage to the moon. He is shown in equal measure at work and at home with his wife Janet (Claire Foy; The Crown) and his two kids. Much of the film tries to humanize Armstrong. The film opens with a personal story that most will be unfamiliar with, but adds depth to his motivations. Chazelle emphasizes Armstrong’s mix of technical acumen, he had an engineering background, as well as his instincts as a pilot.

The film’s greatest asset is its set pieces. The various launches are shot with a uncontrollably shaking camera that effectively communicates the chaos and danger of prototype spacecraft. Chazelle builds anxiety into these events with sound design consisting of rumbling and clattering metals as well as environment cues. The sight of oscillating fluorescent lights as Armstrong makes his way to the launchpad wordlessly communicates the dangers of attempting space travel. It’s the placement of these set pieces that hurts the film. Rather than build up to the crescendo of the film lunar mission, the best set piece is also the first. It makes for a enticing opening, but when they following missions progressively lose steam, it reduces anticipation instead of building it.

Overall, the film is too subdued. It’s strange to call a movie about rockets blasting off into space quiet, but besides the set pieces, Chazelle’s direction is overly restrained. In the climactic moon landing scene, the film goes silent and what should be an awe-inspiring moment ends up feeling lackluster. The film tries to make use of Janet and their children increase the emotional stakes to Armstrong’s mission, but it is never able to fully develop the bonds between the adult cast. We see the father’s connection to his children, but neither his relationship with his wife nor the comradery between the astronauts is enough to create the desired effect.

Gosling’s stoic acting isn’t suited to Chazelle’s bifurcated goals.

Part of this has to do with Chazelle’s use of Ryan Gosling. Gosling’s main acting ability is holding blank facial expressions while implying a sea of emotions underneath. He uses that same technique here, but it’s hampered without the bonds to others and an only partially justified dedication to his pursuit. Chazelle focuses on the actual process of achieving lunar travel so much that Armstrong ends up as a supporting character in his own story. The historical detail and desire to depict the inner workings of NASA at the time are commendable, but it is at odds with the central story. In some ways, it seems like Chazelle was trying to make both an ensemble piece about a gargantuan task completed collectively by a talented team, like Spotlight, and Armstrong’s personal story. Unable to make this difficult balance succeed, the inner workings at NASA crowd out Armstrong’s emotional journey and leave Gosling underutilized in an otherwise well-staged film.

3/5 stars.

A Star is Born (2018): Bradley Can Sing. Gaga Can Act.

As far as actor-turned-directors go, Bradley Cooper (Silver Linings Playbook) has proven himself to be someone to watch. Despite being the 4th iteration of this story, the 40-years since the previous rendition prevent this version from feeling too familiar. Jack (Cooper) is a rock singer past his prime who hears Ally (Lady Gaga) perform at a local bar after one of his concerts. Struck by her voice, they spend the night drinking and wandering town together where he learns that she is also a songwriter. He convinces her to come to his next show and gets her to sing an original song onstage, launching her into the public eye. The story centers on their relationship and the strain caused by her rapid rise to fame and his alcoholism.

The first act is nearly flawless. Everything from their initial meeting to the first on-stage performance hits the desired notes. Cooper and Gaga have an easy, natural chemistry and their playful teasing is endearing. Seeing their interactions and witnessing Ally’s talent in her bar performance make their mutual attraction feel believable and their affections genuine.  Their romance does hinge on a particularly annoying plot device. Ally claims she is unable to succeed in the music industry because of her looks. There have undoubtedly been people told something similar to this, but, as is typical for a studio film, they don’t have the guts to follow through in the casting. Lady Gaga isn’t unattractive by any means. She isn’t even normal or just slightly good-looking, she is a blatantly attractive person. This makes every moment where she degrades herself hollow and even a bit irritating as it comes up later in the story. If her appearance is such a key part of the story, they should have cast someone who fit the description to at least some degree. Instead, a large part of Ally’s character is based on a flaw that we know to be untrue.

Lady Gaga’s voice is amazing and the film’s music takes full advantage of it.

It turns out that Bradley Cooper can sing. He’s not the best singer in the world but his low voice and scruffy beard are enough to become the aging performer. His music is somewhat like Lynyrd Skynyrd, straddling the line between country and rock, but it’s Lady Gaga who steals the limelight. As a professional singer with a killer voice, she is a joy to watch and listen to. Her vocal performance, when she goes from being hesitant to get onstage to blowing everyone away with the strength of her vocals, is rapturous and a highpoint of the film.

She, along with the supporting cast, deliver fine performances. Gaga never feels like a celebrity casting choice and inhabits Ally naturally. There are also small roles featuring Dave Chapelle (The Chapelle Show) as an old friend of Jack that now leads a normal life and Sam Elliott (The Hero) as Jack’s older brother and manager. Chappelle is drastically different from his typical comedic roles, but perfect as the person that can deliver tough love to the leading character and Elliott brings emotional intensity to the film while hinting at their difficult upbringing and the root of Jack’s drinking problem.

With all the great performances, the script is sadly focused on the least interesting one: Cooper’s. He is perfectly capable in the role, but it’s a well-worn archetype. Perhaps this is to expected with his writer/director/actor credit, but the film would have benefited from a more even emphasis on Ally. Cooper has made a strong directorial debut with smart casting decisions, an impeccable first act, and an effective ending, but is somewhat help back by the misplaced focus on his own character.

3/5 stars.

Blaze (2018): Beautiful Visuals and a Questionable Subject

Ethan Hawke (Before Midnight) gets behind the camera to direct a biopic on the life of country musician Blaze Foley. The film follows Foley, played by Ben Dickie, as he travels between gigs at local bars often ruining his own performances with his constant inebriation. Hawke chooses to use a non-linear structure and cuts between his performances, his time with his wife Sybil (Alia Shawkat; Arrested Development), and a radio interview with other prominent musicians. The nearest comparison would be the Coen Brothers’ Inside Llewyn Davis, but the narrative takes a much more insular look at Foley’s life and does so without the Coen’s trademark sarcasm.

Despite the limited budget, the film’s visuals are outstanding. Hawke and cinematographer Steven Cosens have created a series of gorgeous, nostalgic images evocative of country living. The bulk of Foley’s home life bears a distinct amber hue and even his meager accommodations are rendered in loving compositions with light feathering at the borders to create a wistful tone. The most arresting visual of the film is an ultra-slow-motion wedding scene that is also a great example of expressionist filmmaking. Hawke elongates this pivotal, joyous moment to capture their elation. As bubbles lazily float by and confetti slowly falls, the couple is locked in a seemingly endless embrace symbolic of their enduring love. The beautiful cinematography makes the film an engaging view, even when the narrative meanders and outstays its welcome.

The film’s visuals are its greatest asset.

Hawke has a clear love for Foley’s life and music, but the film Is ultimately unable to create the same affection in the audience. For those of us unfamiliar with Foley’s work, his portrayal can often be repulsive. His relationship with Sybil is sweet at times but is marred by his own selfishness. He is so focused on his own music that he ignores the sacrifices made by his loving wife who works to support him as he screws up his chances because of his drunkenness. Foley’s music is repeatedly referred to as revolutionary, but to the average ear it just sounds ordinary. Pleasant, but nothing to write home about. Foley also claims that he has morals and goals beyond music. He talks about the “pessimistic world” and wanting to be a legend, not a star, because “a legend means you stand for something” whereas stars only exist for themselves. The natural question becomes what does Foley stand for? For artistry in the face of commercialism? For heartfelt songwriting? These might be the intended answers but his self-destructive behavior makes them dubious claims. His disparaging of other musicians and the industry as a whole are more like self-righteous ramblings from an alcoholic wannabe. There have been many stories, both fictional and real, of struggling singers that never succeed because of their own substance abuse but the narrative does little to distinguish this particular story from the countless others. Hawke’s film, while impressively shot, never provides an answer to why Blaze Foley is worthy of our attention or what impact he left on his industry.

3/5 stars.

Madeline’s Madeline (2018): Performance Art Experiment

Performance art is not the common person’s entertainment and neither is this movie. Director Josephine Decker (Thou Wast Mild and Lovely) has created a 90 minute arthouse piece capable of being enjoyed by only a select few. The film follows a teenage girl, Madeline (Helena Howard), in New York City as she spends her days working in a theater group while being raised by her mother Regina (Miranda July; Me and You and Everyone We Know).

Decker is known for making experimental films and she continues that trend  here. The first 15 minutes of the film will be more than enough to alienate the majority of viewers. In the intro, she cuts between a theater group doing abstract warmup exercises and Madeline at home continuing those exercises and the result is completely disorienting. Decker shoots in tight closeups with extremely shallow depth of field. Objects and actors come into and out of focus and a blurry haze often covers the screen while strange vocals fill the soundtrack. The growls and heavy breathing of their warmups become the rhythmic score of the film. At this early stage, the characters and any sort of potential conflict between them have not been introduced yet so the sensory barrage quickly runs out of steam, shifting from jarring to frustrating as we wait for a reason to care about the carefully created cacophony onscreen.

Madeline’s fellow performers are more irritating with every scene.

There is a germ of interesting story here about mother/daughter dynamics in the presence of mental issues. Madeline is on a prescription to prevent unexplained “episodes” and her mother also shows signs of instability. Regina is at times overly emotional, being brought to tears over the slightest comment and elsewhere is furious beyond belief. A narrative about a mentally unstable single mother raising her similarly unstable daughter and how the daughter manages her illness using theater as her own personal therapy would have been fascinating, but it is unfortunately not Decker’s focus.

When some semblance of a plot is finally shown, it is pushed to the background. Decker seems most interested in creating an experiential film about theater. That might be appealing to those invested in and familiar with the art, but to outside observers the continued emphasis on their practicing is esoteric, embarrassing, and exhausting. The troupe repeatedly tries different exercises ranging from pretending to be an animal to acting out personal trauma, but not towards any concrete goal. Each additional scene of black-clad performers wears heavily on any remaining patience.

Madeline’s Madeline may not be an enjoyable film to watch, but it’s not quite a failure. Decker has a specific vision of the all-consuming nature of performance art and uses discordant sounds and visuals to create a feeling, rather than a narrative for the audience. She is fortunate to have Howard whose emotional changes are as visible as her physical contortions. At one point, a character quotes Carl Jung and says “In all chaos there is a cosmos, in all disorder a secret order.” Decker has created a chaotic collection of expressionist sounds and visuals about performance art that will strain even patient viewers. There may be a secret order to her film, but only for viewers willing to put up with it – and there won’t be many of those.

2/5 stars.

Pin Cushion (2018): The Price of Belonging

A close mother and daughter move into a new town together. The mother, Lyn (Joanna Scanlan; Getting On), is a hunchback who loves animals and kitschy knick-knacks. The teenage daughter, Iona (Lily Newmark; Solo), is a wide-eyed kid, excited to meet her new friends. Iona quickly finds a group of girls at school, but soon faces what being their friend requires. Lyn is unable to make any friends due to her appearance and instead lies about it to her daughter. Director Deborah Haywood closely examines how these two fit, or don’t fit, into society and how that changes them.

The harsh realism can make the film difficult to watch. Iona is a kind, innocent girl and watching her change to fit in with her supposed friends can be a brutal experience, especially when peer pressure is involved. She doesn’t have the social knowledge to understand the dynamics at play with the mean girls she befriends and Newmark shows both her rapidly changing persona and exposes the naivete underneath. Unware of what the girls are truly capable of, she gives in to their demands and suffers severe social and, later, psychological consequences.

Haywood uses Iona’s situation to put the difference between fitting in and belonging into stark relief. Belonging is being accepted for you who are while fitting in is changing yourself to become accepted and Iona is faced with the latter. Even as she is ostracized by her former friend group she still desperately attempts to regain their attention or, failing that, the attention of anyone else. Watching her willingly debase herself just to get a modicum of peer approval is heart-wrenching.

It’s infuriating to watch Iona’s innocence be manipulated by her classmates.

Haywood’s second topic of interest is otherness. Lyn is a hunchback and is immediately mistreated for it. She, like Iona, wants to befriend others and is overly lenient with a neighbor in the hopes that they will become close. Despite this, she is treated poorly by all. Even a community group dedicated to building friendships excludes her. She tries wearing makeup and being kind, but is still mistreated. In an especially effective scene, the leader of the community group tells Lyn that they decided it would be in her best interest to not attend their meetings. Lyn agrees and begins profusely apologizing as if she was at fault for even trying to join.  Her attempts to belong only serve to show how different everyone believes she is and each failure leads to deeper self-blame.

The bullying that Lyn and Iona face is similar, yet they are unable to support each other. Iona makes up a lie about her mother being an air hostess and Lyn degrades Iona for her actions at school. In their own attempts to belong, they reject each other. Not because of any dislike, but because in spending time together they are reminded of their own outsider status. This is the source of the crushing sadness that permeates the film. The idea that we will reject ourselves and the ones we love just to get approval from what society considers normal. In the final act, the film takes this to the extreme with a chain of events that is grim beyond all expectations. With unforgiving focus, Haywood shows the rippling damage inflicted in the quest for belonging.

4/5 stars.

Don’t Worry, He Won’t Get Far on Foot (2018): Effective, but Showy Acting

After a car accident leaves him paralyzed, John Callahan (Joaquin Phoenix; Her) descends further into depression and alcoholism. His one reprieve is drawing offensive, but funny comic panels despite his limited mobility. He attends Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and asks an easygoing member (Jonah Hill; Superbad) to be his sponsor. The film is based on the true story of Callahan’s life and anyone interested should check out his cartoons which may actually be more enjoyable than the effective, but flawed movie.

Joaquin Phoenix seems to pick his roles based on how much spotlight is placed on him, the more, the better, of course. He’s not unique among actors in this regard, but his thirst for the centerstage can be distracting. His performance is dedicated and he is believably self-destructive as a depressed alcoholic, but his mannerisms are too blatant. His contorted neck, the limited use of his arms, and his labored speech become an actor’s affectations rather than genuine character traits. Sharing the screen with Phoenix, Hill is also looking for some critical attention. As a sponsor he is supportive, but his soft voice and pseudo-spiritual didactics pull him into the cliché of the wealthy, west-coast hippie. Both Phoenix and Hill turn in praiseworthy work, but do so in a way that draws too much attention to itself and distracts from the story.

Director Gus Van Sant (Good Will Hunting) has only exacerbated this issue. He appears to have sat back and let the actors lead the film rather than control their performances. There is little in the way of moderation when it comes to delivery. Instead each main actor and almost every scene is performed as a direct appeal for an award nomination. Movies can feature Oscar-worthy scenes and roles, but when they’re comprised almost entirely from them it negates the effort. When everything is at the same, almost theatrical level of emotion, it causes habituation. If the acting is constantly turned up to 11, the intended highlights no longer stand out. Truly great performances show range, not just intensity. The film desperately needs some balance between actors and the intensity of the script in order to make the climaxes impactful.

The oversaturation of emotion is also present in the visual style of the film. The cinematography is deliberately lacking in detail with a soft, almost fuzzy image intended to recall the look of 16mm film. It features an autumnal palette and the big hair and clothes of the 70s. While it is competent in achieving the look of the period, its portrayal feels one-note. The ochre hues, like the acting, are overly intense and begging for you to notice them.

There are also unexpectedly problematic production aspects. Several camera movements are amateurish as the lens clumsily crosses behind the cast during important dialogue and there are peculiar editing decisions. Van Sant intermittently uses vertical wipes between scenes that clash with the overly emotional acting and the lack of flow between scenes is at times downright sloppy. The film delivers some strong moments, but is overwhelmed by self-consciously showy acting and questionable production decisions. It works better as material for an actor’s showreel than as a complete film.

3/5 stars.

First Reformed (2018): Crisis of Faith

After making movies starring Lindsay Lohan and Nicolas Cage, writer-director Paul Schrader (Affliction) has finally made something worthwhile again. Ethan Hawke (Before Midnight) plays Toller, a former military pastor now working at the eponymous small, but historic church after suffering a personal tragedy. His life centers around his work and the film opens with him embarking on a new experiment. He will write in a journal every day for a year, then burn the journal at the end. Toller is quickly established as a man suffering from unresolved emotional issues and his life becomes more complicated when Mary (Amanda Seyfried; Mean Girls), a patron, asks him to speak to her husband who has become distant and unhappy.

Schrader imbues the film’s severe tone into its visuals. Toller’s home is meager at best with minimum, unadorned furniture and no luxuries to speak of. The film is lit primarily by natural sources, presented in a 4:3 frame, and the action is set against an empty New England winter. These formal elements only serve to highlight the austere approach and Toller’s almost ascetic lifestyle.

For a small film with only a 105-minute runtime, Schrader manages to pack in several heavy themes. His topics range from depression to ecological preservation to capitalism in religion and, miraculously, the film never feels jumbled or didactic. Each of these themes is deeply intertwined with the others. They become natural discoveries as Toller descends further into the film’s central emotion: despair.

Hawke perfectly captures the unease of a man questioning the foundations of his beliefs.

You could call Toller’s problems a crisis of faith – as ironic as that may be. The film is filled with similar ironies. Toller counsels Mary husband despite the fact that he too is depressed. It’s the blind leading the blind and rather than alleviate her husband’s troubles, Toller finds himself absorbing his anxieties. He develops a protective relationship with Mary but continues in a vicious cycle of depression as the voiceover readings of his diary entries begin to sound like suicide notes from a tortured soul.

The modest life of Hawke’s character comes into sharp contrast against his boss, Pastor Jeffers, who manages the larger megachurch that owns First Reformed. He dresses sharply, has a gregarious personality, and doesn’t shy away from the financial realities of supporting a large congregation. As he accepts large donations from a chemicals company known for its environmental pollution, Toller becomes increasingly conflicted about his own duties as a man of God.

This is a film about the effects of living in a cold, unjust world. One with no answers and complicated morals. Toller’s attempt at a near-monastic way of life offers him no reprieve. His attempts to remain pure and true to what he believes is the will of God only leave him broken while those willing to compromise succeed. Schrader’s goal is not to depress or condemn, but rather to illuminate the hypocrisies we live in and the compromises we make to survive. In the film’s too-abrupt conclusion, he offers a possible coping method in this nihilistic world, yet even this is not a cure. First Reformed explores the misery that comes with being oversensitized to the world’s problems and the depths of dejection it may cause.

4/5 stars.

Annihilation (2018): Slow, High-concept Sci-fi

Writer-director Alex Garland (Ex Machina) has carved out a niche for himself. With his newest film, he reconfirms his interest in smart science fiction. Making drastic changes to the best-selling novel by Jeff VanderMeer, the film follows Lena (Natalie Portman; Black Swan), a biologist and military veteran, who is taken to a government facility hiding a secret. A crashed meteorite has created a transformation known as Area X, or as the Shimmer for its glowing borders, and no one has ever returned from inside. She, along with four other women, are assigned to enter the uncharted zone and find its source before Area X expands to the rest of the country.

Garland strikes a unique balance between heady sci-fi and monster movie. Like a Tarkovsky film, the pacing is generally slow. In most cases, unnecessarily slow. There are repeated flashbacks that drag on without adding depth to Lena’s backstory, but there is also a blend of horror and action. The women of expedition team wield assault rifles and know how to use them with the script providing ample opportunities to do so. As they explore the wilderness, Garland follows the trappings of horror with near-death encounters and increasing paranoia that create sustained tension. Someone reports that there are two main theories why teams never return: something beyond the Shimmer kills them or they go crazy and kill themselves. Garland never provides an answer with each subsequent event seemingly flipping the odds in the other direction and thereby leaving the audience in suspense.

The action and horror elements help break up the slow pacing.

There is constant fear of the unknown within Area X, but also an unexpected beauty. Garland makes the environment lethal with dangerous, malformed creatures lurking around every corner. His methods are effective because the setting isn’t entirely alien. The flora and fauna are perversions of a natural setting and everything glows with a pallid, ethereal luminescence. Things feel close enough to normal that the differences become stark and disturbing. Animals resemble their traditional forms but are distorted in size, shape, or features. Flowers and fungi-like growths bloom throughout the landscape, but their initial beauty is complicated. The unnaturally colorful plants undulate as if they are feeding off the wildlife, almost carnivorously, and add to the mistrust surrounding every new encounter.

In VanderMeer’s original book, the title referred to a specific event, but Garland has a much higher concept in mind. In a revealing conversation, a character corrects Lena about the differences between self-destruction and suicide and exposes the heart of the film. Whether it’s the wildlife of Area X, cancer, or relationships, Garland is interested in the transformative, damaging, and regenerative consequences of self-destructive actions, but he isn’t explicit with his conclusions. The film’s ending is abstract and ambiguous to the point that it will frustrate viewers who tolerated the film’s slow rhythm in hopes of an explanation. The sequence itself is well executed and creates a genuine sense of wonder, but it will be divisive. Films don’t need clear or easy interpretations, they’re often better in ambiguity, but Annihilation leaves ideas open for discussion without providing enough resolution to make the long journey there worthwhile. Garland renders a deadly, corrupted environment with noble, high concept goals, but the needlessly slow pacing requires more from the narrative than it can provide.

3/5 stars.

Becks (2018): Great Music, Awkward Filmmaking

Filling the void left until John Carney makes another movie, directors Elizabeth Rohrbaugh and Daniel Powell have created an indie music filled film that leans heavily into its romantic elements. After a rough breakup with her girlfriend and musical partner, Becks (Lena Hall) returns home to St. Louis (referred to as “the Lou”) to live with her mom. She reunites with her best friend from high school and starts playing at his bar and giving guitar lessons to earn some cash on the side. Her first student Elyse (Mena Suvari; American Beauty) becomes a closer-than-expected companion as Lena deals with the fallout from her remaining feelings about her ex and the delicate relationship she has with her deeply religious mother.

The success of the film relies on two elements: its music and the lead actress. Fortunately, these tend to be its strongest aspects. The music consists of soft, acoustic tunes soulfully sung by Hall. Hall is Tony Award winner and seasoned performer. Her voice is beautiful and each performance makes the most of the introspective lyrics. The singing is heartfelt and tinged with pain, but still inviting.

Hall as the lead makes Becks an endearing character. She may fall into several tropes about indie musicians and lesbians, but her energy and abrasiveness are incredibly likable. She drinks heavily and curses frequently, even as her mother protests, but there is a refreshing honesty to her behavior. While others in her town are concerned with propriety and appearances, her brazen language cuts through any artifice.

Becks’ barside performances are the highlight of the film.

The directors have done a great job of handling her orientation. This isn’t a persecution narrative, but she still has to deal with the judgement of people around her, including her mom. Becks points out that she needs to get back to New York City and out of the small-town life, but she handles herself well when faced with anything from unwanted setups at a barbeque to comments like “You’re the first one we’ve really ever hung out with”. She takes these things in stride as the film exposes these subtle interactions without letting them sidetrack the focus of the story.

Despite its strengths, the film’s writing and direction can undercut its impact. The film is, like its lead character, is messy. The great music and performance from Hall and intertwined with awkward filmmaking. Several conversations with the supporting cast are often inelegant with inconsistent pacing in the dialogue. It’s as if the actors are speaking at the speed of separate metronomes and that prevents exchanges from having a natural flow. This is especially true of the film’s comedic moments. The humor is intended to come from socially awkward situations and, on paper, they may have worked, but the film has more misses than hits. Hall’s sly comments are delivered too soon or too late to be effective and the timing issues can make the overall film feel amateurish. These problems don’t overwhelm the film’s strengths, but they do prevent it from earning a strong recommendation. Becks, like a talented aspiring musician, has plenty to like, but lacks the polish needed to become a larger success.

3/5 stars.

Holiday (Sundance 2018): Vacation’s All I Ever Wanted

A young woman dating a rich gangster, what could go wrong? First time director Isabella Eklöf brings us to the Turkish Rivera where Sascha (Victoria Carmen Sonne), her older boyfriend Michael (Lai Yde), and some of his associates spend their vacation. While Michael is attending to the criminal business that has afforded them their luxurious accommodations, Sascha befriends Thomas (Thijs Römer), a man sailing the Mediterranean by himself. Michael is quickly shown to be violent, abusive, and controlling. He has an explicit code of trust and mercilessly punishes those that breach it. When Sascha needs a break from Michael, she calls Thomas and begins courting him without ever revealing her relationship. This causes major problems when Michael spots her going to visit Thomas.

Eklöf favors clear, bold staging. Most of the film is composed of wide shots in deep focus with each moving character, whether main, supporting, or background, shown in crisp detail. She presents these scenes as if witnessing one story within a larger world. Sascha may be the protagonist, but we are unable to forget that she is just one among the many moving parts of Michael’s gang. Eklöf’s cinematography pulls heavily from the works of similarly unflinching director Ulrich Seidl (Paradise Trilogy). Like Seidl, she refuses to turn away from any of the film’s explicit violence. Her camera remains fixed, forcing the audience to witness whatever may be on screen and realize that it is not happening in isolation, that the world is still going on around it even as these vile acts occur.

Eklöf’s wide framing and restrained editing create an immersive, inescapable world.

There is a famous line from a Jean-Luc Godard movie that goes “Every cut is a lie” and Eklöf operates from the same school of thinking. She shoots conversations with both characters in frame to remove the need for crosscutting and creates moments of uneasy voyeurism. Suddenly, the film is no longer a directed experience. It is up to the audience to decide where to focus their gaze and, willingly or not, partake in the story. To put the effect in context, when I left the theater I saw a TV screen with a news channel playing and asked myself “Why isn’t this in Danish?”. Eklöf’s style forces viewers to merge into the world of the characters and the deliberate editing prevents us from clashing with the artifice of cinema.

As explicit as the actions on screen may be, Holiday’s true controversy from will come from its murky morality. When there are acts of abuse in film, the characters are immediately divided into victims (good) and abusers (bad), but Eklöf doesn’t conform to this standard. While Sascha remains a victim, her abuse propagates through her in unexpected ways and there is more to her than the seemingly childish behavior she initially displays. She is not the cowering captive we would presume and her abrupt actions lead us to question, even retract, the sympathy she has earned, despite her suffering. This is the rarely explored and deeply uncomfortable area Eklöf is interested in. She has created Holiday to show the corrupting nature of violence and the unwanted complications it brings to our simple conceptions of morality.

4/5 stars.