The Matrix Resurrections

This film was riding on the coat-tails of its nostalgia factor but unfortunately it came on after Spider-Man: No Way Home, which did a better job of fan-servicing and executing its moments. Other than the thrill of seeing Keanu Reeves and Carrie-Anne Moss reprised their iconic roles,  the choice to recast Agent Smith (Hugo Weaving) and Morpheus (Lawrence Fishburne) stood out and was a misstep, in particular given Spidey's successful inclusion of Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield. No fault of Jonathan Groff who exuded a cold, mercurial glean but lacked the wickedness and glee of Weaving, or Yahya Abdul Mateen II who appeared more like a playful, impish sidekick rather than the wise, matured mentor-turned-follower Fishburne.

It especially did not help that there were no spectacular set pieces,  no groundbreaking special effects or adrenaline-pumping action sequences. What it had instead was lots of self-referential meta commentary, call backs to the first trilogy and Keanu doing Keanu. 

However, the most egregious fault was that despite The Matrix Resurrections ostensibly being a love story between Neo and Trinity, their shared screen time was limited. The moments that they were on together, the chemistry between Reeves and Moss was undeniable and Lana Wachoskwi should really have leaned into that. Keeping them mostly apart diluted the emotional core of the film.

Although, thankfully, Wachowski had drastically cut down on the pseudo/pop philosophy. That mythology really bogged down the last two films. Although she spent way too much time hand-holding the audience with exposition-heavy scenes and tedious world-building that added nothing to the eventual storyline. 

It felt as if she had an idea for another trilogy but the powers-that-be were hedging their bets and she ended up needing to cram as much into one movie as possible without being able to tell a proper story.

The Wachowskis have big ideas and the television dramatised format really suits them a lot more. Speaking of which, it was refreshing to see their Sense8 actors - Max Riemelt, Brian J. Smith and Erendira Ibarra, back in action.

Although of the supporting cast playing humans, other than Jessica Henwick, the rest of them were unmemorable. Henwick served as the audience surrogate but her role was sometimes too on the nose. 

Then of the other actors playing machines/programs, Harris was a delightful new entrant and seemed to be having fun hamming it out. Although at times it was hard to tell if he was hamming it up a la Eddie Redmayne in the Wachowski's Jupiter Ascending, or if he was really taking his role too seriously. Then we have Priyanka Chopra Jonas who, though charismatic, was utterly unconvincing in her role. 

Cinematography were by Daniele Massaccesi and John Toll, and music were by Johnny Klimek and Tom Tykwer, and unfortunately both were unmemorable. There were some great shots of the machine-world and the climatic final battle had a cool score accompanying the action, but otherwise nothing else really stood out.

Ultimately, The Matrix Resurrections was a decent popcorn movie - entertaining, quite funny, quite exciting, but, again, just fell below the expectations of what one would expect from a Wachowski.

Spider-Man: No Way Home [IMAX]

 

What a show! What an utter fan-service! A tremendously entertaining and absolutely fun film that checked all the right boxes for fans. It was a rare occasion whereby the theatre I was in was filled with whoops, cheers and claps throughout the film. Literally. From the first Easter egg drop within the first ten minutes until the end of the post-credits stinger. This film, undoubtedly, did what no previous Phase 4 MCU films nor recent Star Wars film could, it energised the fans and made them excited for the future.

However, fan service can only carry you so far. The story itself was essentially silly and contrived and the film really needed all that fan servicing - in particular in the third act - to really sustain the nearly 2.5 hours run time. Nonetheless, director Jon Watts and writers Chris McKenna and Erik Sommers capably delivered a by-the-numbers, MCU/comics romp that had humour and drama, emotional weight and resonance, and pathos. The banter could have been better (ahhh..Joss Whedon is missed!) but at least our core trio of Tom Holland, Zendaya and Jacob Batalon had great chemistry together, and we were not over saddled with a romance story.

Surprisingly, and deservedly, we also had closures with regard to Sam Raimi's trilogy and Marc Webb's Amazing run. That was unexpected and nostalgic.

But in the end, the story itself was silly and contrived 

Most of the fights sequences were exciting but as per most superhero films, why do the big climatic ones almost always have to happen at night? This was actually one of the things that made Chloe Zhao's Eternals a standout. 

In the big end-battle sequence here, some of the action got a tad confusing although the highlight of it all (no spoilers) could have masked over that. But essentially, it was again, too much CGI and not as well lit as it could be to really follow the action. However, it was definitely fun.

Sometimes we forget that pre-MCU, Holland was a young actor on the cusps of greatness with Billy Elliot and The Impossible. Then he got sucked into the MCU and never really had much chance to deliver on his dramatic chops...until now. Cherry with the Russo brothers notwithstanding, Holland should really go back to his dramatic, indie roots. That said, his Peter Parker was earnest, honest and sincerely moral which really embodied his comic origins. Holland did good here.

Zendaya was definitely better here than she was in Dune and at least her chemistry with Holland was way more organic than what she had with Timothee Chalamet. Her character was more independent and had her own personality/urgency which was better than in the previous two instalments or as compared to Kirsten Dunst's and Emma Stone's characters in the past.

Batalon, again, was the comic relief side-kick. There seemed to be a suggestion for beefing up his role but I guess we will have to wait for the next trilogy to see if that was all foreshadowing or empty gas.

Benedict Cumberbatch was essentially just an extended cameo and power-ed down majorly to allow Spider-Man the spotlight. Doctor Strange is the Sorcerer Supreme, the film would be over in one act if he unleashed his full power (see: What If...?).

Marissa Tomei was surprisingly effective this time round. With a slightly beefier role that demanded more from her than just Peter's hot aunt. Her chemistry with Jon Favreau was also a highlight, albeit not as well explored as it could have been.

Don't think it will be much of a spoiler to add that Alfred Molina was deliciously hammy but his digital de-aging way too uncanny; Willem Dafoe was having a blast and it showed - possibly the best actor/villain of all the franchise; and James Franco was missed. 

Michael Giacchino's score for this Spidey franchise continued to be outstanding and Mauro Fiore's cinematography had some great moments.

Spider-Man: No Way Home continued Holland's streak as one of the most successful onscreen Spider-Man and kind of completes his high-school arc. The next trilogy, if it happens, should consider expanding yet also shrinking its scope on Peter's life either within the MCU or the SSU. 

Maybe Kevin Feige should consider making an MCU family drama next. Though that seemed to be what the Disney+ shows are aiming to do.

"But what is grief, if not love persevering?"

The French Dispatch

This film was as Wes Anderson as it got. All his distinctive style, intricate framing and composition, and quirks were on full display here. Unfortunately, in this case, it was style over substance. As gorgeously shot as the film was by Robert Yeoman, and as great as the score was by Alexandre Desplat, the anthology format just did not work for Anderson's vignettes of journalistic story-telling. The film lacked cohesion and was - for the most part - emotionally vacant; a series of Anderson's absurdist irreverence masquerading as human feelings and emotions. It would work well on paper as a collection of short stories/essays - think Haruki Murakami or David Sedaris - or even as an offbeat television mini-series in the vein of Room 104, but as a cinematic experience, its disjointedness, constant voice-over, and limited screen time for its actors, it ultimately depth and complexity, replacing human emotions and connections with superficial style and technical expertise.

However, there was still much to be admired in a new Wes Anderson film. He has one of the most distinctive visual style in modern American cinema now and his fans will have a field day dissecting the film frame-by-frame. It was meticulously shot and composed with each frame overfilling with Easter eggs, ennui and metaphors. This was a film maker that clearly knew how he wanted his films to look and feel and sound. 

It was just that I wished he could have reined it in somewhat.

The film started promising. An interesting concept and an idea with a great introduction starring a subdued Bill Murray that carried on to a quaint and funny prologue - travelogue - introducing the fictional city of Ennui-sur-Blase via Owen Wilson's deadpanned, acerbic narration.

Then we went into the first story proper, The Concrete Masterpiece, starring Benecio del Toro, Adrian Brody, Lea Seydoux and Tilda Swinton. Narrated by Swinton who was in essence acting alone and giving a long monologue. However, the editing meant that her role ultimately lacked impact. And her lack of screen time with other characters/actors was a wasted opportunity (recall: The Grand Budapest Hotel). Benicio del Toro was, on the other hand, a great addition to Anderson's roster of rotating ensemble. His face was made for an Anderson film - front and center, unique. Just like his co-star, repeat actor Brody, who has now found his rhythm in an Anderson film. The cadence of an Anderson dialogue, the maniacal energy paired with sudden periods of recessiveness, and eyes that just light up even a black and white screen. Seydoux was an excuse to use French and titillate. Her relationship with del Toro's character was part magical realism and part misogynistic fantasy-fulfilling that, again, looked good on paper - like a Murakami-dream girl - than on screen (this was no Drive My Car).

The second story was the biggest disappointment. Revisions to a Manifesto starred Frances McDormand, Timothee Chalamet and Lyna Khoudri. As meme-able as Chalamet's performance was, he is not really suited to play a Wes Anderson character. He was too pretty and his face undistinctive. Further, he lacked the maniacal energy to leap off the screen. Even actors who only appeared briefly a cameos like Christoph Waltz and Edward Norton (in the next story) made more of an impact in their brief seconds. Perhaps, Chalamet may be better off playing the straight man if Anderson was to reuse him. Then we have McDormand, another wasted talented actress, relegating to narrating, providing insights as snarks and snarks as observations. There was no chemistry between her and Chalamet, and her emotional void was mentioned but never explored. I would rather have the whole story about her and her failed dinner blind date with Waltz. Now, that would make an interesting article. Khoudri, played the Seydoux role here, and again, why did she have to have her breasts exposed? She was interesting at least but her role, again, was more an enigmatic love interest rather than a real person.

Finally we have the third story, The Private Dining Room of the Police Commissioner, which thankfully was the best of the lot. Anchored and narrated by Jeffrey Wright who was given so much more to do and react to/with/against than Swinton or McDormand. Further, his role was given the additional dimension of a (sympathetic) backstory. The use of animation - paired with one of Desplat's better scoring - coupled with over-the-top performances by Mathieu Almaric and Stephen Park, and standout cameos by Willem Dafoe, Edward Norton and Saoirse Ronan,  also made this instalment a highlight. Perhaps, the most distinguishing factor was the lack of a love interest. But then again was it because Wright's character was gay?

Yeoman's cinematography was gorgeous, though some of the black and white segments felt less distinctive which does lead one to wonder whether the film was initially shot in colour first. 

Desplat's score was a true standout and will likely score - hah! - him another Oscar nomination.

Speaking of which, I am not overtly optimistic about the film's Oscar chances. Other than Best Score, it seems a slightly longer shot for Best Original Screenplay and Best Cinematography. There might also be some hope for Best Costume Design and Best Hair and Makeup. 

The French Dispatch may not be Wes Anderson's best film, but his fans will surely embrace its whimsical nature and overlook the lack of compulsive and engrossing storytelling. Casual viewers may be initially charmed his style, but likely to soon grow bored of its superficiality.

Last Night in Soho

A typically stylish Edgar Wright film with all his sensibilities, quirks, needle drops and signature shots, but this time make it a Swinging 60s, noir-tinged, psychological horror thriller. Taking it as just that level, this film was an enjoyable ride - good scares, intriguing central mystery, albeit slightly predictable, and gorgeously shot, designed and produced. The film moved along at a clipped pace with efficient storytelling led by a fantastic Thomasin McKenzie and a strong, confident performance by Anya Taylor-Joy whose beauty and poise, for once, worked for her in this role. However, looking beyond those superficial thrills, Last Night in Soho lacked character depth and emotional resonance, and as a #MeToo tale, it lacked bite and urgency, paying only lip service to the #MeToo movement.

Wright films have always had a distinctive tone and voice which garnered him lots of fans but also tend to alienate some folks who find his shows just a bit too glib, too tongue-in-cheek and too stylised. Although, it is these same characteristics that draw in his fans. We see the script as witty and cheeky, dry and wry, with effective use of music to drive the scene, story and narrative - although sometime just a tad too on the nose, but Wright always seemed to be very well aware of that - and the style of film making almost always made his films fun to watch and excitingly different to experience.

McKenzie was brilliant. Ever since her breakout role in Leave No Trace, McKenzie had been a star-in-the-making and a young actress to watch out for. Jojo Rabbit further cemented her acting chops and this film just raise it up further. She has an endearing charisma coupled with an innocence that seemed natural but yet laced with a tinge of hardness and fearlessness. All of which were put into good use in this film as her character progressed from a naïve country girl to a haunted city gal.

Taylor-Joy, on the other hand, had always exuded beauty and allure. The Queen's Gambit had established her bona fides, but it seemed that she is running the risk of being typecast and this role, though playing to her strength, did little to help her expend her repertoire. Other than maybe she might do well in a musical next. Her role here was like a compressed version of Elizabeth Harmon - strong and confident, then depressed and self-loathing/doubting, and back to strength. But undoubtedly, Taylor-Joy has a magnetic presence that just draws your attention.

The last key player in this film was Chung Chung-hoon, the cinematographer. This whole film was sumptuous. One of Wright's most gorgeous film, reminiscent of noir-esque a Wong Kar Wai. No surprise then that Chung's filmography included Park Chan-Wook's Vengence Trilogy. The Handmaiden and Stoker. He is also the cinematographer for the upcoming Disney+ Obi-Wan Kenobi series which will be exciting.

Like Wright's previous films, music played an important role and he had curated an excellent soundtrack that really evoked the atmosphere and mood of the 60s. Composer Steven Price's score was also equally haunting and evocative. 

Also kudos to the Costume Design and Production Design team for a great job in recreating the 60s!

Last Night in Soho was a fun and entertaining little horror thriller bolstered by great performances and brilliant craftmenship, but thinking too hard into it revealed its flaws and superficiality.

L'événement (Happening) [SGIFF]

 

A spiritual cousin to Eliza Hittman's 2020 Never Rarely Sometimes Always but set in period, early 60s France, Audrey Divan's Golden Lion winner at this year's Venice International Film Festival's was a harrowing, and at times difficult, visceral and challenging, film to watch about a woman's right to her own body and reproductive health. Lead actress Anamaria Vartolomei was fantastic. Think Marion Cotillard meets Elizabeth Moss. She was intense and vulnerable, always seemed to be tittering on the brink of a breakdown but never really did just because of pure force of will.

Films like this and NRSA (which won the Silver Bear last year) are even more urgent now as we reflect on the current situation in the States with the new restrictive law in Texas and another challenge to Roe v Wade in the Supreme Court. It is purely disgusting that this is still even a thing now. It was no wonder Divan's sophomore work has been winning so much acclaim because it managed to elicit such strong responses from its audience. 

There was nothing new about the story and some would even say it was cliched - gifted young girl with the potential to excel in life especially during a time when women were just coming up, and also daring to explore her sexuality and sensuality, but suddenly laden - and punished - with an unwanted pregnancy that forced her to make difficult choices and presented her with obstacles to overcome. Will she in the end? 

Divan skillfully led us through this journey, effectively counting the weeks of pregnancy like a doomsday countdown as our protagonist's options dwindle and the end of her life as she knew it. Bearing in mind that single motherhood and adoption were still a far cry from acceptance back in the 60s. As time goes on, we increasingly felt her desperation as she gets more isolated - aiding and abetting an abortion was a crime then (sounds familiar now?) - and as she wind down a more self-destructive path.

However, Divan had not created a pushover, and this was a heroine that we were rooting for. And Vartolomei with her intelligent ferocity and emotional strength made her someone that we wanted more for. We feel her pain, her injustice and we want her to succeed.

Kudos to cinematographer Laurent Tangy for a camera work that made all that so visceral. This was especially so, together with Divan, in the film's most intimately, harrowing - almost body horror-esque - scenes. But because we were presented with a wholly female POV, the gaze was empathetic rather than speculative. 

This film was one of three films shortlisted by France for submission to the upcoming Oscars Best International Feature Film, ultimately losing out to Cannes' Palme d'Or winner Titane. Nonetheless, this film should be watched not only for its urgency and relevance, but also to appreciate Divan's film making and Vartolomei's star-making turn.

Petite Maman [SGIFF]

 

A lovely, touching and emotionally-dense film. Director and writer Celine Sciamma created a whole experience in just 72 minutes. A simple tale, succinct and precise with nary any fats, about family, being a child, being a mother/parent, growing up and friendship. It was also exquisitely and tenderly shot by Sciamma's Portrait of a Lady on Fire collaborator Claire Mathon and the rich autumnal shades, coupled with softly touched closed up of faces, gave an overall heartwarming and beautiful tone to the film.

Told mainly through the eyes of an eight-years old, Petite Maman maintained that point of view throughout. That matter-of-factness acceptance of the strange and fantastical, and the blunt opinions of how they feel and what should be the right thing to do. Sciamma's successfully put us in that position and allowed us to also feel like a child again. And you know she had succeeded when you too feel the children's simple joy and fun in making crepes and their awe and wonder in discovery and adventure.

Kudos to the young actresses, Josephine and Gabrielle Sanz, for encapsulating all that. Their innocence and their friendship (kinship) really anchored the film and allowed Sciamma to tell this story.

An unexpected follow-up to Portrait but yet maintained Scaimma's reputation as a film maker to watch out for.