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2020 films academy award nominees reviews

another round

I’ve never seen a movie quite like Another Round. The premise of this Danish film is intriguing: a group of teachers hear a claim that humans’ natural blood alcohol level is .05% too low, so a slight state of inebriation would enable them to function better. The friends decide to conduct an experiment in order to determine the veracity of this claim, faithfully documenting their results to remind themselves that they’re doing this for the sake of science. We join them on this journey as they seek to reclaim the joy they’ve lost and find a new way to make meaning in their mundane days.

From almost the first moment he appears, the film’s excellent writing and directing clearly lets us know who Martin is. He and his wife hardly speak, his students essentially accuse him of being so boring that they can’t learn from him, and he refuses to join his friends for a drink at a birthday celebration. We get a glimpse of the man he used to be–a jazz ballet dancer who was passionate about learning and on the path to excel in his field–but see that he set aside those dreams for the sake of practicality. 

So the transformation of the first act is an exhilarating ride. Mads Mikkelsen portrays Martin with captivating, intense charisma as the quiet history teacher comes alive. He becomes an engaging leader who, with the boost of a slight buzz, masterfully helps his students see the connections between their own experiences and the events they are studying. He rebuilds his relationship with his wife and children, finding a joy their family had been missing for years. His friend, a music teacher, finds that being intoxicated enables him to point the youth chorale toward the sound they’ve been looking for. Their rehearsal is one of the most stunningly beautiful scenes of the film, as a group of awkward, uncertain teenagers unite to produce an ethereal harmony. Despite some minor missteps, it seems like these friends have unlocked the secret to a happy and fulfilling life.

Though Another Round is billed as a comedy, it straddles the line between humor and tragedy as things begin to fall apart for the friends at its center. They decide to push their experiment to the limit, imbibing more and more alcohol and going from buzzed to barely functioning, unable to fulfill their obligations at work and at home. Three of the group’s members come to a sharp awakening when they wake up bruised and dazed after a night of binge drinking. They’re able to pull back–to see how close they are to ruining their lives and to step away. Their friend Tommy, though, is no longer conducting a scientific experiment. He’s become an alcoholic and can’t escape his dependence, which ultimately leads to his death.

So the magic answer turns out to be a false hope, and these friends must return to a sober life a little sadder and a little wiser. Another Round lets us draw our own conclusions about their choices, never completely condemning the use of alcohol as a tool for overcoming anxiety or fear. But it shows us how quickly intoxication can go from invigorating to debilitating, how something that once helped you see the beauty in life can begin to blind you again. The film quietly encourages us to think about the crutches we rely on and to ask if they are enabling us to engage with life more fully or if they are standing in the way.

And what about Martin? Will he retreat back into his shell, especially as he has lost some of the relationships that were once keeping him afloat? The film’s magical conclusion gives us hope for him. The newly-graduated students from their school parade down the street, celebrating success on their exams, and Martin has a choice. He can look on and smile, passively watching their joy as he would have at the beginning of the film, or he can join them. And he chooses to dance.

Categories
reflections

an elegy for theaters

Once upon a time, before the word “pandemic” was associated with anything but a board game in my mind, I visited a movie theater several times every month. Friends and I enjoyed blockbusters together, and I went by myself to my favorite independent theaters to see obscure movies no one else wanted to watch. I didn’t trek to the theater for the big screen or the sound system or the comfortable recliners or the snacks. Sometimes I chose to see a movie in theaters because the dark room and the etiquette of avoiding phone usage helped me give my complete attention to films that deserved it. Occasionally I went because I wanted to be one of the first to see a film, to avoid spoilers or to improve my cinephile credentials by seeing an indie movie before it reached wide release.

But, more than anything, I went to the theater to watch movies with other people. Even when the couple next to me whispered explanations to each other of every plot development, or kids behind me interrupted a horror movie to ask me to pick up the phone they’d dropped under my seat, or someone chose to crunch on a bag of chips during a largely silent movie….even then I’d always choose to be part of a crowd when I see a new film. Because for every one of those annoyances there have been a dozen moments of magic.

Like when I went to see an early screening of Game Night in a packed theater and we laughed so loud we couldn’t hear half the dialogue…

…seeing Phantom Thread for the second time and hearing the people around me gasp as they understood what was going on in the movie’s final scenes…

…sitting in a huge theater watching Serenity with a crowd of Firefly fans and shooting cap guns at the villains every time they appeared on screen…

…watching Annihilation for the first time in utter horror, feeling the shared tension and awe of the people around me…

…ducking plastic spoons being thrown at the screen during a rowdy and delightful showing of The Room…

…applauding with the three other people in the theater when Donnie wins the final fight in Creed II….

…practically living at the theater during the glory days of MoviePass when I could see a movie every day for $10 a month…

…seeing Avengers: Endgame with a crowd of euphoric fans on opening night and being carried away by the cheers as Cap showed up to save the day…

…convincing my family to see a movie on Christmas day and discovering that the Les Miserables adaptation was as beautiful as we’d hoped…

…waiting in line at the mall with my college roommate to claim good seats for the first Hunger Games movie…

…crying till I could hardly see the screen when Only the Brave unexpectedly turned out to be devastatingly sad…

…or following fellow audience members out of a theater into the bright afternoon or cold evening, eavesdropping on their opinions about the film we just saw.

I miss these moments. I miss movie theaters, and the shared experience they enable. I’ve been to the theater twice since March 2020, both times to see Tenet. And while it was certainly a film worth seeing on the big screen, the joy of that communal experience was absent as we sat, masked, in a mostly empty room. I haven’t been back since. 

But oh, I’m so excited for the day when I can sit in a packed screening room and laugh, cry, gasp, and shudder along with my neighbors. When we’ll complain about the number of previews again and I’ll get there way too early and someone will spill their soda and it’ll be magic. When the people next to me, whose faces I may never see as we sit in the dark, become my traveling companions for two hours, and we get to visit new worlds and live new stories together once again.

Categories
reviews television

the great british bake off

I love pensive, moody films that explore the darker side of the human experience (see Nightcrawler, Prisoners, or You Were Never Really Here for captivating examples of this genre). But especially when the world around me is confusing and seemingly full of new worries every day, I find myself gravitating towards entertainment that offers an escape to a happier place. Perhaps the best example of this spirit is the delight that is The Great British Bake Off (The Great British Baking Show in the US). Capturing both skill and camaraderie in a way few other competition shows have, turning Bake Off on feels like stepping into a safer, brighter world, and it’s a haven I am so grateful for.

Even as the hosts and judges have changed over the years (Paul Hollywood and his iconic handshake of approval are the only holdouts from the original “cast”), the heart of this charming show has remained constant. No matter what the challenge or theme is, the contestants are in it together. You’ll never find the villain who swaggers through so many reality shows–as viewers, you might choose your favorite baker to root for, but no one is ever the enemy or the outsider. There is a genuine sadness when someone is sent home, and a true joy when someone’s skill is recognized with the “Star Baker” award. Those who complete their bake first are quick to offer a hand to their neighbors, wanting everyone to succeed rather than rooting for others’ downfall as a way to get ahead. In the last few seasons, they’ve ended the finale with montages that capture the lasting friendships that have been forged between the contestants, and the stories never fail to bring me to tears.

And, of course, the bakers who occupy the iconic white tent are incredibly talented, creating mesmerizing works of art from flour and sugar. Though they’re all amateurs, they are able to craft magical breads, cakes, and pastries I didn’t know were possible. From sculptures made out of gingerbread to sponge cakes of every conceivable flavor, the bakers exhibit extraordinary skill in every episode. I still remember some creations from seasons I watched years ago, marveling at the creativity, knowledge, and execution from the bakers. Though I’ll probably never bake anything anywhere near as intricate or challenging, it’s amazing and inspiring to watch people realize the creations they imagined.

In the midst of dozens of reality shows that seem to bring out the worst in their participants, Bake Off is an oasis. From the hosts’ cheesy jokes to the shots of sheep grazing in the British countryside between every challenge, it feels like we’re stepping into a gentler, kinder world. In this world, a second chance to prove yourself is not an impossibility. Praise is frequent, and the worst criticism you’ll hear is that your bake is “a bit claggy” or has “a soggy bottom.” People are quick to help each other and build each other up, and the friendships that are formed last long after the glow of victory has faded. This camaraderie sets Bake Off apart from other cooking shows, making it more than just chocolate and challenges, and keeps me coming back year after year.

Categories
academy award nominees all time favorites reviews

the social network

Every time I look at my shelf of DVDs, intending to watch an untouched Criterion Collection film I bought aspirationally, I have to stop myself from picking up The Social Network instead. If someone forces me to name a favorite movie, this is always one of the contenders in my mind. I’m still irrationally bitter that it lost the Best Picture award to The King’s Speech in 2011. I brought a copy all the way to South Africa so my sister could watch it with me. I love this film.

An essential part of The Social Network’s appeal for me is Aaron Sorkin’s writing. No matter how technical the subject matter, he crafts dialogue that is almost musical in its rhythm. The film’s opening conversation perfectly captures this flow, as Erica tries to carry on a normal discussion while being constantly interrupted by Mark’s three-thoughts-ahead statements. Sorkin matches quick, witty conversation with an idealistic view of the world–his stories are grounded by a clear sense of morality, with protagonists who are trying to do the right thing despite the obstacles they face. His writing makes me believe in a better world, in politicians and lawyers who choose truth and justice rather than personal gain.

David Fincher has quite a different view of the world, a much darker and bleaker perspective. He is often drawn to violence and chaos, filling the movies he directs with characters who are delusional or framing their husband or serial killers. The darkness here is much subtler than in films like Zodiac or Gone Girl, but it still lurks around every corner. Through his eyes, The Social Network is not simply a story about a man building a website or about legal battles in boardrooms. It’s a look at how power warps perspectives, how the pursuit of even a worthy goal can become all-consuming, and how genius comes at a cost.

As collaborators, then, Sorkin and Fincher come together to paint a nuanced, complex picture that manages to walk the thin line between propaganda and condemnation. The film lets us draw our own conclusions about Mark Zuckerberg and his company, but informs us with a series of revealing parallels. As it begins, the view cuts from students partying at exclusive clubs to Mark sitting alone, coding in his dorm room. We immediately understand that he wants to be admitted to those social circles and that his actions throughout the film will be driven, at least in part, by his desire to prove himself to these people. Later, we watch Mark and the Winklevoss twins taking two different paths as they each explore the creation of a new website. Mark sees himself as above the rules, and he is happy to offend people and ignore social norms in service of his ideas, unconcerned about the collateral damage. The Winklevoss brothers, in contrast, assume that the system around them will work in their favor as long as they behave like gentlemen–and find themselves coming up second both in business and in sport. The whole film is bookended by two differing declarations about who Mark is, leaving the viewer to determine which perspective is the most accurate.

And, at its heart, the film shows us Mark’s values through the lens of his contrasting friendships. Eduardo invests both time and money to support Mark’s project, even before he knows whether it will be successful. He sees the two of them as a team, working together to create something revolutionary. Mark, though, views Eduardo’s successes apart from Facebook as competition and disloyalty, building up a list of grievances he ultimately uses to cut his friend out of their shared venture. In exchange, he foolishly shifts his allegiance to Sean Parker, whose flashy success and irreverent attitude align with Mark’s view of himself. Despite his paranoia, his drug habit, and his self-destructive tendencies, Mark chooses Sean. Even worse, Mark acts as if he doesn’t care that this choice hurts his friend. In his mind, the success of Facebook is worth any sacrifice, so he leaves Eduardo behind and moves on.

It’s hard to remember that Facebook had only been a public site for four years when this film was being made. The Social Network is eerily prescient in many ways, capturing Mark Zuckerberg’s close control of his invention, the legal proceedings he would be embroiled in, and the way the site would so quickly become ubiquitous around the globe. Most significantly, though, I think it foreshadows the way Facebook would redefine friendship–how easily it would tempt us to substitute a series of shallow connections for true relationships. And it reminds us to look up and ask ourselves if a website can fill our emptiness. Can it make us feel like we belong? As the film closes on Mark refreshing the screen over and over, hoping that Erica will accept his friend request, it seems that the answer is no.

Categories
all time favorites cheesy but i love them reviews romantic comedies

the princess bride

I have trouble grasping the fact that there are people in the world who don’t love The Princess Bride. Even though I nearly have the ninety minutes memorized, I could watch the film any day and be delighted by the humor, the romance, the adventure, and the sheer joy overflowing from this treasure of a story.

At this point, it’s hard to tell whether The Princess Bride was written perfectly for my sense of humor or whether it’s been part of my life for so long that it has molded my taste. Either way, it’s one of the wittiest films I’ve ever seen. Dozens of lines from the film have become iconic for my generation–it’s almost impossible to make it through a wedding weekend without delivering the “mawwage” speech. The dialogue throughout the film is delightfully written and impeccably delivered, especially by Wallace Shawn and Billy Crystal. I know the punch line to every joke but still find them hilarious every time.

The Princess Bride is funny, but it’s also so much more. It’s a romance, with Westley and Buttercup’s love story at its heart. Unlike many modern romantic comedies, the film’s belief in the power and beauty of love is always earnest, never ironic. When Westley declares that even death cannot stop true love, only delay it for a while, we believe him. And as we watch him and Buttercup defeat every obstacle that stands between the two of them and happily ever after, we’re convinced that they’ve got it right. 

While the hopeless romantics among us (me) are enthralled by the love story, The Princess Bride is just as much a swashbuckling adventure as it is “a kissing book.” Inigo Montoya’s quest to avenge his father’s honor is thrilling, and his riveting duel with Westley is one of the best sword fights I’ve ever seen on screen: perfectly choreographed, perfectly scored, and perfectly filled with surprise reveals. Throw in pirates, shrieking eels, cliffs of insanity, giants, poison, fire swamps, and rodents of unusual size, and the story is bursting at the seams with excitement. Plus, the ideas behind some of the slightly-dated effects are genuinely scary. A machine that could suck away years of your life? Absolutely terrifying.

For me, at least, I think the movie owes much of its success to the frame narrative: a grandpa reading a story to his sick grandson. Even the most cynical, uninterested viewer finds their reluctant counterpart in the grumpy child, but they can’t help being entranced along with him. But, more importantly, this frame immediately lets us know what kind of story to expect. The film is a fairy tale, and it never pretends to be anything else. So we aren’t surprised by the elements of fantasy–we know what kind of world we’re entering as the story begins. And, though it may be cheesy and over-the-top at times, it’s a world I love visiting. It’s a world where the heroes overcome every obstacle. Where the villains are defeated. Where true love is not only a reality but an unstoppable force.