#cinfulsinema

“It is fun to be queen sometimes.”

Yorgos Lanthimos is the very definition of chaotic good. His films are disturbing, shockingly violent, outrageously humorous and eerily allegorical to ongoing political and socioeconomic turmoil. His most recent film, The Favourite, is no exception.

The Favourite tells the tale of Queen Anne, the early 18th century monarch of England at a time ravaged by war, and her wavering relationships between Lady Sarah and Abigail as they fight to win over her affection and favor.

I remember reading a quote from someone that said Lanthimos’ films are very akin to a horrific car accident: “you can’t avert your eyes from it.” While The Favourite is surely no exception, it differs from the rest of Lanthimos’ filmography in that, while there is still a sense of outrageousness and frivolous absurdity, there is an obvious metaphor at the core of the story.

The film is about power, specificially amongst women during a period in history known for the achievements of men. Lady Sarah (Rachel Weisz) acts as the queen’s consultant and closest friend, a relationship that is put into trial when Abigail (Emma Stone), a young woman whose family has fallen on hard times, attempts to work her way up the political ladder. The entire duration of the film shows these women manipulating, deceiving, and brutally brawling with each other to win the affections of the queen but they both have different reasons for it. Abigail, who is rebuilding herself after being gambled away by her father, wants to be on top because she understands what it’s like to have nothing. Lady Sarah wants to maintain her loving relationship with the queen, but also wants to continue to play with the big dogs in the court.

The film cleverly outlines how out-of-the-loop the queen was in terms of the ongoing politics of the country. “The war is over. We won,” she contends to Lady Sarah after awarding her her own palace. “Oh, but it is not over. We must continue,” Sarah responds with a sense of determination. “Oh. Oh, I did not know that.” And the film follows through with this on just about every issue. It’s certainly not entirely the queen’s fault, however. She was ailing with physical and emotional pain, and was known to be despondent and unstable. Olivia Colman’s portrayal of the decrepitude queen is masterfully commanding and darkly comedic; she perfectly captures the spirit and troubled soul of Anne. The two contending women, Sarah and Abigail, are portrayed by their respective actresses in a hilarious and horrifying way. We lose ourselves in their battle of the wits and not once does the film ever stop to justify their actions as having the best intentions. Nor does it ever try to paint them in glorified canvas. These are simply terrible, power-hungry people who will stop at no means to obtain or maintain their statuses. This is achieved by the excellent screenplay.

Any film that uses the word “cuntstruck” is already a near-perfect extravagance in my book. This is perhaps the most finely-tuned script that Lanthimos has adapted into film; it is also the first that he did not have a hand in writing (Deborah Davis and Tony McNamara are to blame for this slanderous entertainment). But, I think his attention and pertinence to a story he did not write pays off incredibly well because the end result is a film so ravished by opulent savagery and decadent deliciousness that it is endlessly fun and shocking at every turn.

Another thing that I found interesting was the direction. Yorgo Lanthimos has never really experimented with the camera on his previous films; sure, he’s done a lot with negative space in his shots and the drab, neutral coloring of the cinematography has always worked in his favor. Here, he gives us a glimpse of a classical time through the eyes of the beholder. 

The use of fish-eye lenses in certain shots are jarring and grab your attention, and they do so to show us just how overtly glamorous everything is. The immensity of the palace is compressed into this tight, claustrophobic space within the lens as a sort-of metaphor for how the excessive extravagance substitutes the vacancies at the core of the royalty. Love is not truly felt, but the allure of power is.

The Favourite is easily Lanthimos’ best film to date. It is hilarious, gorgeous, and disturbingly exhilarating. Every turn is unknown and unpredictable in a way that only Lanthimos can fully capture. And, as much as I hate to bring the aura of this film into the 21st century, I found it eerily prescient to today’s politics, what with the leader of the country not really leading it. But, let’s not get too cynical.

The Favourite will surely be a favo(u)rite by many and rightfully so. I am absolutely cuntstruck.

(I’m sorry. I had to.)

I made the brilliant decision of watching Raw right after eating Panda Express and let me tell you, it intensified the brutality and viscera of the film. 

Raw is a French-language film that tells the story of Justine, a young vegetarian woman beginning her education at a veterinarian university, who begins to exhibit strange carnivorous behavior after being forced to eat raw meat during a hazing event. 

Two words kept on popping into my head during my viewing of this film: Holy. Shit.

The film has art house roots, but it brilliantly blends passionate filmmaking with a truly horrific and violent story. It’s this passionate filmmaking, hemmed by female director Julia Ducournau behind the camera, that makes Justine’s transformation from an innocent goal-oriented girl into a vicious and cannibalistic monster all the more gripping and ultimately distressing to watch. There’s a powerful scene where Justine is in bed going through raw meat withdrawals, and she begins thrashing about in her bedsheets and screaming at the intensity of her withdrawals, and it is absolutely gut-wrenching to witness. Even more so is how Ducournau utilizes the setting of a vet school to sort of tantalize Justine during her transformation. The fate of the animals is set but the fate of Justine is uncertain.

What’s most intense and interesting to watch is that Justine continually fights against this primal craving throughout the film’s entirety. When a particular victim is discovered, she blames herself for not resisting the urge but also blames the deceased victim, shouting over blood and tears “Why didn’t you fight back?” Her murderous episodes are on par with a night of heavy drinking: blackouts, no memories, dehydration and lethargy. Just the need to taste raw meat.

This is an excellent film. It’s beautifully directed, splendidly acted, and graphically entertaining. It fits comfortably within the horror genre, but I would also distinguish it by placing it under the “body-horror” subgenre. Yes, the film involves the literal mauling of innocent people, but hey, Justine undergoes some pretty horrific things with her body, too. 

The film also depicts how sideways fraternal hazing can go, slightly too hyperbolic in my opinion. I can’t imagine the level of hazing depicted in this movie actually happening, and maybe that’s the weakest part of the film. But nonetheless, college is scary, made all the more terrifying when you awaken a primal part of you that only promises devastation.

This is my first review for something non-related to horror, and it’s only fitting that it’s for one of the celebrated American dramas not only of the year, but since the early 20th century.

The 2018 remake of A Star Is Born is directed by Bradley Cooper, marking not only his directorial debut, but the first film to have him star in front of and behind the camera. Although I haven’t seen any of the preceding versions of this film, the central story remains the same: a washed-up singer/songwriter falls in love with an aspiring singer. Not much seems different from the concept of the other films, but the execution and commentaries on celebrity image and substance abuse are what cement this film as its own standalone force to be reckoned with.

A Star Is Born is a monumental showcase of musical and acting talent, and a devastating portrait at the cost of fame. Lady Gaga, who plays up-and-coming singer Ally, is exquisite. Her vocals fill the theater with their authenticity and emotional depth, and her acting is astounding. Bradley Cooper’s direction is just as carefully constructed as his acting, and he really delves into the psyche of Jackson Maine, a has-been whose substance abuse has taken numerous perilous tolls on his talent. The two are spellbinding together and share some of the most captivating and emotional scenes in the film. Everything feels so fresh and authentically 21st century, from the SNL performance to the splendor of the Grammys, that it’s easy to forget that this is an adapted story done twice already.

The music is also a fascinating aspect of the film. The concert scenes are mixed and edited so well that it sonically resembles the notion and excitement of actually being there, witnessing the screams of the fans over the booming notes of the songs. Of course, “Shallow” is a frontrunner for the original song that everyone will sing and cherish for years to come, but other cuts like “Maybe It’s Time,” “Music to My Eyes,” and “I’ll Never Love Again” are bound to become instant favorites and receive recognition during awards season.

That being said, I found that something odd happens during the second act. I felt like it lost what made it so exciting to watch during the first act, like its momentum had started to wind down and instead of interesting character development and progression of the music, we get slightly melodramatic snippets of a slowly fading relationship and unfully realized social commentary on the celebrity and how public perception should not dictate who you are. I wasn’t the hugest fan of this, and found myself losing interest throughout the rising action of the second act. However, once the third act comes barreling in, I was once again reminded of why I enjoyed this to begin with.

If you see this (and you should see this), get ready for a whirlwind of emotion that hits you during the climax and falling action of this film. I will say nothing about the haunting ending but this: if Lady Gaga doesn’t get an Academy Award nomination for her performance, I will have officially lost all hope in the Academy.

This is a magical love letter to the passions of music and film, and should not be missed.

We live in an era where it’s difficult to separate the artist from the art, especially when the artist has done some deplorable actions. Roman Polanski is no exception, but I would like to objectively praise this film without commenting on his actions because this is a hell of a film. Literally. 

Rosemary’s Baby follows the story of a young woman who, after moving into a beautiful apartment and getting pregnant, begins to suspect that her future child and the circumstances surrounding its conception are not of this world.

Rosemary and Guy Woodhouse are your average young couple; 20-somethings looking to start a life together in the city. He’s an aspiring actor. She’s a housewife. They’ve got a lovely new apartment and share the goal of parenting three children. Everything seems in order, and the beginning of the rest of their life is in full motion. The two are so preoccupied in their insular worlds, so driven by their mutual yearning to become parents, that when their elderly neighbors are introduced and continually direct the couple in their decisions, it becomes increasingly suspicious, even more so when Guy, who is initially reluctant to meet them for dinner one evening, begins to willingly visit them in his spare time. It’s almost too suspicious...

I guess the underlying theme in this film is to never, under any circumstances, trust thy neighbors because they could just happen to be Satanists who want to conjure the devil into an infant for their cultist rituals. So selfish and deplorable are the actions of these characters that Rosemary’s despair is made all the more helpless and uneased; almost everyone she knows turns against her in the most horrific way. The film takes its time, however, in establishing this information because we as viewers learn this alongside Rosemary. We share her initial doubts and her growing suspicions throughout the film, and we share her horror when she realizes that her seemingly innocent neighbors and their seemingly helpful deeds were all a plot for their nefarious intents, and it makes it all the more unsettling.

I sort of mentioned my parents being haunted in a previous review, but I didn’t explain how that shaped their religious beliefs. I grew up in a very religious household and I was raised to believe in God, and while I still do believe in a higher power, I’m not as religious as I was as a child. Nonetheless, this film shook me to my very core. It completely unearthed a part of me that no film has totally done before, and that is the child in me that still clings desperately onto religion as a safeguard. 

I cannot praise this film enough. As much as I don’t want to give due credit to one of the most atrocious beings in film history, I cannot deny Polanski’s breathtaking direction. Every shot is gorgeous and meticulous, and propels the story towards its dreadful climax. It’s how Polanski captures even the most redundant of details that elevates the drama of the film, and ultimately, the horror. The dream sequences, in which Rosemary (portrayed excellently by Mia Farrow) witnesses the Satanic cult preparing her for an encounter with the devil, are filmed so precisely that the viewer feels the terror exhibited in Farrow’s widening eyes. 

The ending is the most powerful display of heartbreak and emotion I’ve yet to see in a horror film. I don’t want to spoil any more than I already have, but I got chills. CHILLS.

What else can I say? This movie is practically perfect.

“The devil exists. God exists. And for us, as people, our very destiny hinges upon which one we elect to follow.” - Ed Warren

My parents were haunted. This was a supernatural occurrence that terrified them beyond every measure, and that still sends chills down their spines whenever they speak about it. However, I’d consider them lucky because they weren’t the ones that conjured any demonic entities; it was actually the tenants in the apartment space above theirs. They were sort of just at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Much like the Perron family.

The Conjuring follows an unsuspecting family of seven moving into an eerily secluded country house by a lake in the early 1970s where horrific things begin to shake their dynamic. The children, comprised entirely of girls ranging from young to adolescent, are preyed upon by spirits while their mother, played by Lili Taylor, slowly succumbs to the evil forces that linger in the house. After things violently escalate, the Perrons decide to turn to famous paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren for guidance. 

It’s safe to say this film accomplishes exactly what it set out to do: scare the living shit out of its viewers. Although I saw it at home (alone, I might add), it still terrified me nonetheless. James Wan’s direction amplifies the tension and builds the suspension to a boiling point, where the jump scare (made all the more effective by the exquisite sound design) comes into play. This is horror done right, and despite the film going along with most of the established conventions of the genre, it always feels fresh and paralyzingly petrifying. Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga, who play Ed and Lorraine Warren respectively, have excellent on-screen chemistry and their performances make way for some of the most shocking moments of the film. 

However, part of where the film lost me is its ending. I had a similar problem with the ending of Hereditary that I had with The Conjuring in that the ending feels rushed and inobservant, which is ironic given the careful detail going into both of those films. I guess the ending felt hollow and loose because there was talk of a sequel, but its final ten minutes could have felt more tightly constructed and, most importantly, horrifying. 

Despite this, I had a great time and will most likely be attending church at the end of this week.

“Memory’s not perfect. It’s not even that good. [...] Memory can change the shape of a room. It can change the color of a car and memories can be distorted. They’re just an interpretation. They’re not a record.” - Leonard Shelby, Memento (2000)

No matter how we interpret our memories, we know that they are an essential part of our lives. Hell, they pretty much are our lives. Every fleeting moment is documented and stored in the brain, and although the memory gradually deteriorates and fades over time, it is still there; every detail, every sense. The memory may not be exactly what happened, or it may not have happened at all, but it is nonetheless a gateway into the humanity of humankind. And Alfonso Cuarón’s Roma is a testament to memory.

Roma chronicles a year in the life of Cleo, a housekeeper who tends to the home of a middle-class family whilst handling her own personal life in 1970′s Mexico. 

Let me just start off by saying that no film this year has left me more speechless, more emotionally overwhelmed, more transfixed by its mesmerizing beauty and powerful imagery than Cuarón’s Roma. A film that is thoroughly permeated by passion, Roma is a soaring masterpiece of epic proportions that is rooted in the power of memory. Every shot, every take, every camera pan is so meticulously arranged and framed so that the full macrocosm of life can be seen through Cleo’s eyes. We watch as she washes dishes, cleans bedrooms, picks up the family dog’s offerings, goes out to the movies were her friends, lives her simple but humble life, all with such a tender examination of her character and personality that we begin to connect with Cleo, perhaps because we remember someone similar in our lives, whether living or since passed. Cleo’s interactions with the family she cares for are all fascinating to watch because they are exact scenes from a life. We see the good, the bad, the humorous, the painful, the poignant, and the heartbreaking, all within the realm of Cleo’s life. 

As the film progresses, Cuarón begins to install elements of planting-and-paying-off within his screenplay that only become apparent during the film’s monumental climax. I won’t go into too much detail, but I will mention that Cuarón excellently interwove Mexican history into the central story of the film; it’s done so in a way that does not display overt sentimentality but rather drives the narrative, and it is effortlessly compelling and immensely powerful. 

We see with our eyes and the film certainly is a visual feat. The cinematography, as can be seen via the film’s poster and trailer, is entirely in black and white. Given the dream-like remembrance that structures the emotional impact of the film, the monochromatic cinematography evokes the notion of witnessing the past unfurl before your eyes. Some shots look like photographs coming to life in the best imaginable way. And, as if as a visual homage to his previous works, Cuarón evokes imagery similar to some of his most famous works (i.e. a trip to the beach is reminiscent of Y Tu Mamá También’s final act; the imagery of a film seen by Cleo is evocative of 2013′s Gravity). It may seem like all of this is just a self-congratulatory hoax that is fueled by ego, but I assure you, Roma is simply an exceptional film created from the imagination of an exemplary filmmaker who is constantly outdoing himself. 

The sound design is noticeably exquisite, most notably in scenes that are set in the outdoors. From the crashing waves of the ocean to the minuscule chirping of insects, the sound is also integral to the story as it continues to enthrall and invite us into Cleo’s world as it stretches out before her. Every element of sensory information is impeccably designed and crafts the ultimate film experience. 

Although it’s coming to Netflix on December 14 (this Friday), I will urge everyone who is interested in this film to see it in a theater. Cuarón’s distribution partnership with Netflix was done so that the film could reach a larger audience, but the film is designed to be fully experienced within a theater. It’s just too damn good to watch on your phone. 

Now, as we delve into awards season, Roma will surely be on the lips of the Academy voters. The film has already received three Golden Globe nominations (none for Best Motion Picture - Drama, unfortunately) from the Hollywood Foreign Press Association and won big at the LA Film Critics Awards this past weekend. And although I still have a lot to catch up on for this year, I cannot see any other film having a profound impact on me as much as this. 

Well, it seems I’ve run out of synonyms for perfect, so I’ll just say it. Roma is absolutely perfect. It is cinema in its highest and purest form, a masterful culmination of memory and a testament to waking life. Who knew that, even if memory isn’t perfect, it can lead to perfect creations?

I hate working in the food industry. Maybe “hate” is too strong a word for me, but I don’t find myself springing with joy whenever I have to clock in. The hours aren’t great and the pay isn’t much, but hey, if it pays then who am I to complain?

Since my personal distaste for this industry has been established, let’s talk about Andrew Bujalski’s Support the Girls.

Support the Girls follows a day in the life of Lisa, general manager of a “sports bar with curves,” as she deals with the ins-and-outs of the restaurant along with her personal dilemmas. That’s it; just 80+ minutes of life.

Right off the bat, the film seemed so authentic and... different. It didn’t shy away from showing the industrialized nothingness of urbanized Texas where the film takes place. It doesn’t try to sugarcoat the drab and gray skies. It presents the birds flying in the sky as having more freedom than the city, and its inhabitants, itself. Bujalski shows us the dull and dry atmosphere of the world and takes us to the heart of the film, a small sports bar called Double Whammies, where it is anything but dull and dry. The restaurant is full of colorful characters, a majority of which are employees and faithful customers. 

The authenticity is matched in the performances and filmmaking. It’s as if Bujalski just let the actors do their thing, no script or prior engagement; the performances are that honest. You don’t feel like you’re watching an outlandish and over-the-top Regina Hall performance; you feel like you’re watching Lisa as she tries to diffuse situations and overcome obstacles throughout the day, one after the other, with an emotional impact that is subtle but wholeheartedly engaging to the audience. You don’t feel like you’re watching a staged pastiche of melodrama; you feel like you’re peering into the quotidian lives of people that could very well be your neighbor.  These are actual people, not just personages. It’s as if we’re dropped in the middle of an unfolding scenario and we just watch these people live their chaotic lives. 

One of the most compelling aspects of the film is the lens from which we view these characters: although they are within the confines of an objective and oftentimes offensive workplace, the film never objectifies them or shames them for their career choices and actions. Nor does it ever become a sympathetic, sensational centerpiece on how the other half lives. The film maintains a simple, unadulterated viewpoint that drives home its authenticity, and it paves the way for raw, natural drama. 

Given how microcosmic Support the Girls feels in scope and location, it is really a monumental film. It is thoughtful and quite heartwarming but it also has its moments of pensive workplace commentary that holds relevance in the #MeToo era. More important than that, the film is, well, funny. It’s marketed as a comedy and it delivers on the laughs, albeit not without heart. For all its themes, Support the Girls is tenfold in its excellence and should not be missed. 

Hey everyone!

I apologize for not having published any reviews as of lately. I’ve just been swamped with work and school, and I haven’t been able to make time to watch any films.

However, I plan on seeing First Man and the new remake of Halloween, as well as other classic films, so I promise I’ll be back on my feet to publish consistent material.