Release: Awaiting UK Distribution
Director: Alex Ross Perry
Starring: Elisabeth Moss, Katherine Waterson, Patrick Fugit
Perhaps inadvertently so, Alex Ross Perry has crafted the most unsettling horror movie of the year. His responsive effort to 2014’s excellent Listen Up Philip reunites the indie auteur with lead actress Elisabeth Moss, and together the twosome deliver something wholly unique and entirely unforgettable.
Queen of Earth opens with a truly tone-defining scene: a brutal close-up of Catherine (Moss) in a state of harrowing emotional torment. Her hair matted and sodden, her make-up-stained eyes like endless pits, her nose and cheeks a burning shade of crimson. It is perhaps the most inescapably direct introduction to a motion picture all year.
Her heartache comes from the abandonment of now-ex-boyfriend James (Kentucker Audley) – someone with whom she was far too dependant on; both emotionally and spiritually. Maintaining tradition, she heads to best friend Virginia’s (Waterson) remote and tranquil lake house for her annual vacation, but her visit this time is heavily steeped in sadness and remorse.
Across the week, her privacy is ‘invaded’ by local neighbour Rich (Fugit) who is striking up a relationship with the homeowner. It becomes quickly and awkwardly apparent that their personalities clash, and soon Catherine begins to resent the twosome for penalising her period of grief.
If this all sounds unfathomably depressing, well that’s because it is, but only speaking contextually. With Queen of Earth, Ross Perry confirms himself as one of the brightest bulbs in the American tanning bed; his lyrical, uncompromising vision is both knife-twisting in its bitterness and intelligence – a character study developed with equal parts acidity and excellence. Had the film gained UK distribution in 2015, this would likely feature atop of many ‘Best Of’ lists, and rightly so.
Beautifully precise editing unveils darker, denser shades to the friend’s chemistry. It comes to fruition that the year prior, Virginia was made to feel like the third-wheel when Catherine randomly brings James along on holiday; tainting their girl-time together and putting barriers on their connectivity. Fast forward twelve months and the roles have reversed, but whilst Virginia’s cocksure wit can cover her inner bruising, Catherine is struggling to gather the fragments of her life at the very best of times, let alone being confronted with Rich and his stern cynicism.
There are two scenes in particular that are a cut above the competition tenfold, and both are entirely static. Ross Perry’s deeply invasive camera hangs still like a cruel voyeur as his actors occupy the frame. The first features Moss and Waterson slumped in a hallway, reflecting in turn – and in detail – about past tribulations with their men. His ferociously charged screenplay fizzes and burns as it rolls off the tongue; it’s a wicked broth that begs for a further spoonful.
The second, is well, completely towering, and comes as the film draws to a close. One will not spoil but Catherine’s definition and diagnosis for depression is both painstakingly accurate and unrelenting brilliant. The monologue has the power to both draw a tear of sorrow and a sour cackle of glee – that is quite frankly brilliant filmmaking.
Moss is one of the finest actresses working right now and has that rare ability to convey fragility and power simultaneously. Being the great writer-director that he is, Ross Perry knows how to perfectly exploit this fact. After her exceptional work in The One I Love and of course Mad Men, it would be hard to think she could further, but alas.
Catherine is without doubt her greatest character performance to date. It’s so good that in a just world (of which this is not; just watch the film to further that point…), she’d be a big winner during awards season. Moss is both shattering and terrifying -the kind of person you really want to support, but are too scared to approach. Her delirious and delicious descent into madness borders on insufferable, and that’s perhaps the greatest praise one could offer.
Waterson and Fugit are equally excellent too; they serve as the perfect counterbalance to the psychologically untethered Catherine, which in turns, makes them more unpredictable. As Ross Perry refuses to coherently see the film through particular eyes, we must decipher what it ‘real’ and what is a bleak projection of a tarnished mind. We anchor ourselves to Virginia for the most part; whilst she’s rough around the edges and certainly damaged, she is approachable, yet her perceptions of Catherine’s madness are heavily bias – namely due to her vocal opinions of James and the couple’s bizarre behaviour.
Queen of Earth’s deepest authenticity lies in its conclusion. Like the honest, emotional turmoil of heartbreak, it offers no quick-fix or easy resolution, rather drip-feeds the psyche with progressive malice. It is a challenging watch, an exceptionally disarming one in fact, but it is also one of the most vividly perfect films all year.
The Little Stranger ★★★★
Adapted from the Booker prize nominated novel by Sarah Waters, the cinematic incarnation of The Little Stranger has much to live up to.
Released: 21st September 2018
Director: Lenny Abrahamson
Cast: Domhnall Gleeson, Ruth Wilson, Charlotte Rampling, Will Poulter, Liv Hill
Reviewed By: Sinead Beverland
Adapted from the Booker prize nominated novel by Sarah Waters, the cinematic incarnation of The Little Stranger has much to live up to. At the helm is Room Director Lenny Abrahamson, with an impressive cast including Domhnall Gleeson, Ruth Wilson and Charlotte Rampling.
Set shortly after the second world war, Doctor Faraday (Gleeson) introduces us to the faded grandeur of Hundreds Hall, a place he envied feverishly as a child. Having belonged to the Ayres family for several generations, the house is now inhabited by just Mrs Ayres (Rampling) and her two adult children, Roderick (Will Poulter) and Caroline (Wilson). When Faraday is called to the house to visit the unwell young housemaid Betty, he recollects his childhood adulation of the place. Remembering the presence of a young girl, he is told that this was Mrs Ayres first daughter, Susan, who had died as a child. It seems the spectre of Susan (affectionately known as Suki) still lays heavily over the house, as housemaid Betty tells Faraday she fears something ‘isn’t right’. As he becomes more entwined with the family and their home, strange events begin to raise concerns and individually threaten members of the family.
From the very outset, the film breeds an unsettling feeling, the house is imposing with long shots conveying the sense that the characters are being observed. The audience follows Faraday in to this fading world of status and money, sensing his childhood desire and starched formality. The family are equally intriguing and unnerving. Roderick, badly injured during the war, is now an invalid struggling to cope and disturbed by the sense that something in the house does not want him there. Matriarch Mrs Ayres seems to be doing her best to keep the past alive and daughter Caroline (the best of the bunch as attested to by a fellow doctor) seems strong yet vulnerable. When Faraday begins an intriguing friendship with Caroline, their relationship evolves to hinge the entire ethereal story together. With fantastic performances all round, the characters all emerge fully formed, conveying depth without the need for swathes of expository back story.
The terror of the film gradually reveals itself, impacting in set scenes that are truly disturbing and realistic. Director Abrahamson has a subtle touch (as seen in the Oscar Nominated Room) and these climactic scenes engulf you, whilst revealing the fate of certain characters. Abrahamson knows how to accentuate the fear for the audience and uses restraint to devastating effect. As the house leaks secrets and the memory of the deceased Susan comes to the forefront, the story is told with an intensity that uses strikingly rich music and extreme close ups to create a claustrophobic atmosphere. However, to reveal too much of the story here, would spoil the experience of discovering for yourself what is happening at Hundreds Hall.
The Little Stranger is a mature and nuanced film, layered in such a way that it address status and class alongside desire and emotion. The period setting is detailed and worn, bridging the gap between transitioning eras in Britain. This is no straightforward horror or ghost story and the film certainly feels to have done justice to its excellent source material. Rich in theme, characters and style, I would gladly take The Little Stranger home.
Released: 19th October 2018
Directed By: Matteo Garrone
Starring: Marcello Fonte
Reviewed By: Rhys Handley
Dogman is the anti-Paddington. Antithetical to the marmalade-loving bear’s enduring mantra – “if we are kind and polite, the world will be right” – dog groomer Marcello (Marcello Fonte) carves out a life in the dilapidated outskirts of Rome modestly tending to his estate’s canine residents and enjoying the respect of his neighbours.
But Marcello’s submissive, accommodating kindness is pushed closer and closer to its limit by the hulking Simone (a terrifying Edoardo Pesce, surely masked in near-mutant prosthetic), a brutish ex-boxer who stalks the estate terrorising the residents. Unable to say no to a friend, Marcello facilitates Simone’s egregious coke habit to little recompense.
When Simone’s scheme to rob a nearby jeweller’s implicates Marcello and he is apprehended by the police, the Dogman takes the fall himself and goes inside for a year for the sake of the bully who pretends to be his friend. When he comes out, something has changed.
Marcello, diminutive and always sporting a toothy grin, strikes an unimpressive, but likeable figure. He is perfectly happy with his lot as the film opens – a divorced father who takes pride in his work and loves trips to the beach with his daughter. While director Matteo Garrone makes a meal of the grim, filthy aesthetic of the film’s setting, he peppers in moments of levity and blissful tranquility to reinforce the humble satisfaction of Marcello’s daily life.
To see him repeatedly indulge the cruel, selfish whims of Simone quickly becomes a source of frustration, as the brute encourages vices in Marcello that seems entirely at odds with his persona. Marcello is swept away on break-ins and hedonistic strip club nights in jarring scenes more in keeping with Garrone’s work in the gangster canon such as 2008’s Gomorrah.
In these scenes, the toxicity fuelling Marcello reveals itself. Fonte delicately skews the kindly facade when Marcello enters Simone’s world. Behind his courteous smile is a sickening glimmer of delight – Marcello loves the thrill and decadence of life of crime. His latent desires mix with his better nature, to create something more insidious than Simone’s overt depravity.
Dogman stumbles in its closing chapter as Marcello is released from prison, returning to a community who despises him for violating their trust and chasing Simone’s false offers of brotherhood and fortune. Marcello reemerges not exactly changed, but more honest to himself about what he is. Garrone and his co-writers steer this portion of the story with a steady hand, but it is hard to shake comparisons to other established squares-gone-rogue like Walter White.
Marcello’s resolve and vengefulness is convincing thanks to Fonte, but its emergence is sudden and teeters dangerously close to cliche. His push and pull with Simone is rote, which makes its languid pace a little irritating – this has suddenly become a very different film, and it can’t carry the slower moments of contemplation as well as it could before Marcello was locked up.
An inevitable confrontation takes place, bursting with brutality and gore. But rather than a release of tension, it feels like a betrayal of the thoughtful, measured character piece Garrone set up. The violence overreaches for shock value where Garrone had before been satisfied with something more pensive and empathetic.
Luckily, he pulls back in the final moments of the film and dovetails elegantly by concluding what is essentially his thesis on ‘little guy’ psychology. He frames Marcello not as a good man pushed too far, but as someone whose better and worse natures are intrinsically tangled to create a monster very different to the bully who ultimately leads him to snap.
No matter how kind and polite the Dogman might try to be, he cannot deny the malice that festers in his heart – and Garrone artfully distills Marcello’s melancholic final moment of self-realisation in a resonant closing shot that gracefully irons out the kinks in this curious, inconsistent little film.
Director X’s flashy remake of the Blaxploitation classic is a thunderingly dull experience
Black Panther, A Wrinkle in Time, BlackKklansman – it’s proving an impressive year for top-tier studio-driven black cinema. The perfect year, as it happens, to release a remake of seventies Blaxploitation classic Super Fly. Or, at least, it would be, if the determining creative mantra behind this update weren’t presumably anything more than to make an episode of Power with all the stylistic glimmer of a P. Diddy video.
Superfly (neatly bringing the title right up to autocorrect standard by repositioning itself as a single word) sees Grown-ish star Trevor Jackson take on the iconic role of the hustling dealer trying to earn his way out of the game – albeit in a newly millennial take that supplants the character’s own drug use for what appear to be Sherlock-level powers of information gathering on anyone he might need to manipulate, charm, or blindside. He also sports the most incredible head of hair this side of Josh Brolin.
Alex Tse’s screenplay sees no gain in revisiting any of the subversive terrain that made Super Fly the enduring classic it became, his ambitions outright stopping at the point his writing could passably sell a made-for-cable urban crime series (such as – to pick a name out of a hat – Power?). Beyond that it falls to director Director X (of the Toronto Xs) and star Jackson to bring the proverbial funk, and – though X really knows how to sell a music video with all the tonal swagger of John Singleton’s Shaft remake (though, noticeably, none of its darkness or consideration) – Jackson simply isn’t a strong enough presence to sell the supposed gravitas of his lead. It’s a weakness no amount of style or gunfire can distract from, and it sinks Superfly dead.
There’s a top-shelf supporting cast in there, with the likes of Jason Mitchell, Michael K. Williams, and Rick Ross turning up for their two cents and subsequently failing in tandem to elevate this dross to become anything close to worthy of standing in its own brand’s shadow. Expectedly enough, it sports a kickass hip-hop soundtrack – with rapper (and the film’s producer) Future offering up a bevy of atmospherically charging beats to ensure you’re at least bored to music, though there is something faintly amusing (outside of context) about hearing an entire cast prattle on about wanting to wipe out “the Snow Patrol”, like they’re working for the NME in 2005.
Twenty years from now, film historians will likely regard Superfly in the same manner as we currently regard Gus van Sant’s 1998 remake of Psycho or Stallone’s 2000 remake of Get Carter – that it’s a pointless creation that completely missed the cultural point of its own iconic original – and they’ll be right to do so. Provided they remember that Superfly even existed in the first place – which they, and you, would be decidedly better off not.
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