Small Axe: Mangrove [Amazon]

 

A singularly powerful and utterly passionate film that was easily one of the best films of the 2020. If it was submitted for the Oscars, this film would have my vote for the Best Picture, Best Director and Best Cinematographer. Absolutely gut wrenching and infinitesimally hopeful, this was a timely story told by a director who understood the nuances and history of the movement. Steve McQueen's direction was powerful yet intimate, beautiful yet harrowing, lived-in and realistic without being histrionic or preachy. Aided by the gorgeous cinematography of Shabier Kirchner, the music of Mica Levi and the powerful performances of its actors, especially Letitia Wright, Malachi Kirby, Shaun Parkes, Rochenda Sandall, Mangrove - the first of five stories in the Small Axe anthology - was simply put, stunning. 

Comparison with Aaron Sorkin's The Trial of the Chicago Seven will be inevitable and although Sorkin's courtroom scenes were stronger, undoubtedly given Sorkin's gift of writing dialogue, McQueen's Mangrove Nine was the more powerful drama overall. It provided an inescapable sense of being in the moment and an immersive empathy that highlighted the plight of the oppressed and the disgusting bigotry faced. Institutional racism had never looked so bleak and honest and absolutely revolting. 

Co-written with Alastair Siddons, McQueen had created an unflinching look into a piece of history and the players involved that may not be as well known as the American counterparts. Frank Crichlow, Altheia Jones-LeCointe and Darcus Howe should be names as well as known as that of Martin Luther King Jr, Malcom X and Rosa Parks. 

Parkes led this astounding ensemble and his portrayal of Frank Crichlow was captivating. His evolution from restaurant owner to reluctant activist and finally to a leader of the movement was the backbone of the story, and Parkes held it all together. The unjustness he faced and the despair he experienced was as acutely felt by the audience as his victory and relief. Simply riveting.

Equally passionate was Wright. Her undiluted passion poured out of the screen and enveloped the audience. She was the heart of the film as Parkes was the soul. 

Kirchner's cinematography was outstanding. He captured the mood and the atmosphere throughout, may it be the jubilation of a street-side party, the confusion and madness of a protest gone violent, the stark glare of a Court stacked against the defendants, or the loneliness and hopelessness of solitary confinement. Although this paled to his even more immersive cinematography in the next chapter: Lover's Rock.

Mangrove was a must-watch. It was unflinching, powerful, passionate and unapologetic. It reminds us that the past should be a reminder for the present and a blueprint for a better future. Alas, sometimes, especially in 2020, it seemed so distant. But that it is why Small Axe is so relevant. 

The Midnight Sky [Netflix]

This film, and its star/director, George Clooney, has its heart in the right place but unfortunately the heart was neither pumping strongly enough nor fast enough as the story just clung desperately onto life support as it inched towards its inevitable conclusion. And in keeping with the analogy, there were some moments of spark and hope of life, like a brief burst of adrenaline, but it never did sustain and resuscitation proved futile. 

The Midnight Sky was just a series of space adventure/survivor thriller cliches. It was as if Clooney had a checklist and was just dutifully checking them off one at a time, but he did not even seem to bother about executing these cliches properly. 

There was nothing really original about the story or the concept, and so it was left to the director to try to invigorate the old with something new or infuse an original vision. Unfortunately, again, Clooney is not the director to do so. His pacing was laboriously - and unnecessarily - slow and his directing style was littered with cliches and eye-rolling predictability. Sure, there were some gorgeous shots courtesy of cinematographer Martin Ruhe, and one really exciting - adrenaline pumping - sequence, but that was about it. The emotional core was missing. 

Clooney could not decide if the emotional weight should be carried by his Earth-bound character or the space team, and so attention was divided 50-50 and both parties ended up being shallow and superficial. 

Clooney's vainglorious attempts to insert flashbacks to possibly flesh out his gnarly old man was clumsy and blatant, more or less backfiring on its purpose since neither young him or his love interest remotely even provided depth or insight into the old him. 

As for the space-crew, the interpersonal relationships did not have enough time to deepen. They may have been in space for two years but other than Felicity Jones and David Oyelowo who have a reason for closeness, the others were just broadly characterised with cringeworthy bantering and trope-y backstories. Kyle Chandler, Tiffany Boone and Demian Bichir tried their best, but alas, writer Mark L. Smith and Clooney did not. 

Alexandre Desplat's schizophrenic score did no favours too. There were beautiful moments but it lacked consistency throughout, sometimes veering on jarring and too in-your-face. For a film that emphasised so much on thoughtful silence, the music cues were unfortunate. 

After the success of Ma Rainey's and Mank, it looks like Netflix has hit a road bump.

The Prom [Netflix]

This was the definition of hate-watching. Not even the catchy tunes by Matthew Sklar (paired with the less catchy lyrics by Chad Beguelin) and the best efforts of Nicole Kidman (the best of the quartet but utterly wasted and mostly invisible) and Meryl Streep (great actress deliciously hamming it up and a decent singer but definitely not a belter), could save this bright and soul-less Glee-esque "very special episode" remake. But yet, the sweet, innocuous central YA romance and the desire to see bigotry gets its butt kicked, albeit way too unrealistically and ultimately unsatisfyingly, had us impatiently - and hopefully - drunkenly awaiting the end of its bloated and excessive 131 minutes runtime.

Ryan Murphy had no sense of direction (way too much unnecessary camera movements, edits and cuts, and for goodness sake, a whole Fosse-inspired number with no focus on hands, arms, legs or the whole body?!) nor any sensibility in appropriating a stage musical to the screen (just because the camera can move, unlike on a stage, does not mean it has to keep on moving!). 

However, the most egregiously of all, especially given who Murphy is and how he has positioned himself in Hollwood, why in holy Patti LuPone and Bernadette Peter's names did he cast James Corden in the role of Barry Glickman?! How infuriatingly insulting it must have been! What? Were Victor Garber or Nathan Lane or Billy Porter or Alan Cumming not available? It would not have been that bad if Corden did a decent job, but even if he could a tune, his performance was cringeworthy and inconsistent and stereotypical and just, simply put, bad.

What The Prom did well - credit where credit is due - was in the YA component of its LGBTQIA+ storyline, something Murphy had honed in his Glee days, and also in its discovery of newcomer Jo Ellen Pellman. Pellman has an earnest and sincere appeal that made rooting for her easy. It also helped that her singing voice is lovely. Then again, it was not hard to be on par with this group of non-Broadway singers bar Andrew Rannells (who really belted out in his solo, although hard not to imagine his casting was a sly nod to his Mormon days).

We also had the surprisingly touching and appropriate pairing of Streep and Michael-Keegan Key, a playing-against-type Kerry Washington who can hold a tune, and a lovely preview of Steven Spielberg's Anita in Ariana DeBose. 

Twice Oscar-nominated cinematographer Matthew Libatique lensed the film and although the garish, eclectic, colour-saturated palette was not unpleasing, this was definitely nowhere near what he is capable of. 

The Prom continues Murphy's trend of picking noteworthy projects but just totally missing the point of the subject matter and story, and just running it straight into the ground (or into the fiery pits of hell).

Let Them All Talk

An experimental film by Steven Soderbergh based off a skeletal screenplay by Deborah Eisenberg with dialogue mainly improvised by the actors that mostly worked due to the talent and chemistry of its main stars. The film kind of meandered along and you can really feel the whole two weeks that they were stuck on the Queen Mary 2 crossing the Atlantic event though the film only ran just under two hours. Thankfully, Meryl Streep, Dianne Wiest and Candice Bergen were consummate professionals and their scenes felt natural and reassuring. The subplot involving Gemma Chan and Lucas Hedges, although interesting, showed that these two good looking young people still needed a lot more time to hone their crafts when pitted against these elder stateswomen. They are good actors but their scenes felt less naturalistic and just slightly self-conscious.

The driving narrative of the film was rather straightforward and Eisenberg's short story-telling roots were clearly evident in the structure. If we had just stuck to that, the film could have been a lot more interesting. Streep, Wiest and Bergen had great chemistry and a whole lot of talent, and if we had just focused on them three, it would have made an interesting character study of the longstanding, and long-suffering, friendship of these three women.  But instead, Soderbergh dragged it out, and mixed it up with the Chan and Hedges B-plot, and a mystery writer C-plot. This also ended up such that the titular "talk" just felt flat and inconsequential despite the best efforts of the actresses.

Streep and Bergen both seemed really at ease with this style of film-making and they were both very interesting to observe. Wiest, on the other hand, seemed more measured and nuanced, and that could also be due to how she chose to portray her character. Chan and Hedges had their own chemistry going and it would be fun to see them in a rom-com one day.

Thomas Newman composed the score and it helped with a lot of the scene transitions, but otherwise it was not memorable. Soderbergh did his own cinematography under the pseudonym Peter Andrews and although competent, was not exactly complimentary. 

Let Them All Talk was an interesting experiment that if it had been made more traditionally could have pack an emotional punch especially with such distinguished ladies leading the charge. However, in this case it just bopped along like a barrel on the open ocean, placidly passing time.

Mank [Netflix]

 

A brilliant, brilliant, quintessentially David Fincher film. Superbly directed by Fincher with a tremendously clever and witty screenplay by Fincher Snr, Mank was utterly engrossing and fascinating. Anchored by an Oscar-worthy performance from Gary Oldman with a fantastic supporting cast, especially a revelatory Amanda Seyfried. Finally she has been given a role that will likely get her a Best Supporting Actress nomination. And let us not forget the outstanding production design, sound design/mixing, cinematography and music that echoed and reflected the glamour of 30s Hollywood. Mank will undoubtedly be nominated for an avalanche of Oscars. 

Mank was not only about the making of Citizen Kane, but it was also about the machinations of Hollywood. The hypocrisy and the duplicity that churned the machinery and powered the political will of the Hollywood elite. What a brilliant piece of ironic self-obsession Fincher has created.

Almost everything about this film was finely tailored to reflect the era in which it was set in. From Fincher's direction and multiple homage to Citizen Kane itself and the filming style of the 30s, to the purposeful use of mono audio and authentically degraded visual, and Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross period-appropriate - and fabulous - score. 

This was thoughtful and sincere film-making.

At 131 minutes, Fincher meticulously paced the film such that it never felt long. The interweaving of timelines - an echo of Citizen Kane itself - was never confusing. Instead, it held the attention of the audience as we followed through the narrative and was constantly delighted by what came next.

The cast definitely played a huge role in ensuring this film's success. And kudos to Fincher for eliciting on-point performances from everybody. 

Lily Collins proved she is much more than just Emily in Paris. Charles Dance commanded the screen, as always. Tom Pelphrey had an old-school, Cary Grant-esque charisma to him. Tuppence Middleton, playing against type, was convincing as Sara. Oh Poor Sara. Other standouts included Ferdinand Kingsley, Toby Leonard Moore, Arliss Howard, Tom Burke, Joseph Cross and Jamie McShane.

However, the brightest stars were Oldman and Seyfried.

Seyfried was magnetic. She inhabited Marion Davis and gave a fully lived-in performance. She exuded a fierce intelligence coupled with a disarming beauty. Her scenes, especially those with Oldman's Mankiewicz, were the highlights of the film. They had an effortless chemistry that did not involved sexuality or sensuality. As Poor Sara said, a "platonic affair". 

Oldman is surely going to get another Oscar nomination but looks like he might face a tough competition from Chadwick Boseman for Ma Rainey's and Anthony Hopkins for The Father. Nonetheless, Oldman, although quite a bit older than Mankiewicz, was entirely captivating. He was in almost every scene and almost always remained the center of attention. His meticulous performance brought on both unfeigned authenticity and genuine emotions may it be laughter, love or sentimentality. His chemistry with all his female co-stars, mainly Collins, Middleton, and most of all Seyfried, was a clear highlight in this fascinating examination of an alcoholic genius. 

Cinematographer Erik Messerschmidt did a remarkable job in recreating the sight and feel of the 30s. There were some truly beautiful shots of lights and shadows in the grainy reproduction of the era.

Reznor and Ross have outdid themselves. This was perhaps their best cinematic score since The Social Network. Entirely different from their other 2020 score for Soul, their sound here was an echo of the 30s. It carried the film and underscored the emotional complexity but was never manipulative or overbearing. It was evocative and expressive without being wild or ferocious.

Netflix again has a a clear winner here. It got to be an embarrassment of riches for them this year with both Mank and Ma Rainey's which will both surely dominate the Oscar race. Perhaps Mank and Fincher could do what Roma and Alfonso Cuarón could not.

Soul

 

This was easily a top-tier Pixar production and their best film since 2015's Inside Out. A clear four-quadrant crowd pleaser, Soul - co-directed and co-written by Pete Doctor and Mike Jones - was absolutely entertaining throughout it 106 minutes run time. Its conceit and themes of Nature vs Nuture, Passion and Purpose, living vs Living were simple enough for the children to grasp but yet complex enough for adults to ruminate about. As with most Pixar stories, the conclusion is always inevitable, but the joy - especially in their best films - was the journey in getting there. In this case, the journey was gorgeously animated (as one would expect from Pixar) and well written. It was littered with witticisms and one-liners and supported by an amazing voice cast like  Jamie Foxx, Tina Fey (gosh, she can have an annoying middle-aged, white woman voice! lol), Angela Basset (what a voice!), Phylicia Rashed, Richard Ayoade, Alice Braga, Rachel House, Graham Norton (effortlessly bringing the laughs) and Questlove.  And on top of all that, it was also beautifully scored by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, with jazz arrangements and songs by Jon Baptiste. It was outstanding.

There was a clear Three-Acts structure to the story, and admittedly the second act felt a tad too dragged out and much more child-friendly than the first and last acts. However, Doctor and Jones managed to imbue a certain sense of childlike curiosity and discovery that helped to bring the older audience to hopefully re-connect with their youth. There was a certain amount of joie de vivre in seeing our two leads navigate through this Second Act. It also helped that Foxx and Fey had great chemistry together. Their often rapid-fire repartee helped to easily establish their characters and the central conflict, and made them easy to root for to succeed in whatever they aimed to do.  

Then of course, like most classic Pixar Third Acts, the emotional manipulation gets maximised, but only in this case it never really hit the full blast previously seen in Toy Story, Wall-E, Inside Out or even Coco. The tear ducts were opened and the amygdala was primed, but the waterworks never flowed. There might have been some moisture but no outright tissue-dabbing, nose-sniffling waterworks.

Thankfully, we still had the laughs. A few good genuine LOL-moments but lots of light-hearted sniggering and chuckles.

Reznor and Ross' score was beautiful (although nothing compared to what they did in Mank). But Baptiste's jazz was exciting and the song over the end-credits, It's All Right, a duet between Baptiste and Celeste definitely has a chance for a Best Song Oscar nomination. 

Soul was simply a feel-good film for the whole family. It invited you into its world and at the end brightened up your day just a little more than before you entered. And perhaps - hopefully - manages to highlight to you a thing or two about living. 

Stay to the end for a short - unrelated - end-credits easter egg.

 

Ma Rainey's Black Bottom

 

A powerful film propelled by the electrifying and charismatic performances of its two leads, Viola Davis and Chadwick Boseman, and the whip-smart, crackling and piercing dialogue of August Wilson. Beautifully directed by George C. Wolfe and adapted by Ruben Santiago-Hudson, Ma Rainey's felt simultaneously like the play it was based on and also a cinematic meditation on the themes of Race, Religion and Art.  Davis was transformative and utterly mesmerising as the eponymous Ma Rainey, bringing along with her an indisputable charm, authority, world-weariness, glamour and sexiness. She effortlessly magnetises your gaze and attention whenever she was on the screen although, granted, the bulk of the screen time belonged to Boseman. And Boseman - stolen from us too soon - did not disappoint. He was a possessed soul, invigorating and alluring, commanding the screen as he let loose Wilson's indomitable words. His cockiness, vulnerability, pride, lust, despair and fear were all out there, palpable and relatable. Kudos too to the supporting cast who played the rest of the band members, Glynn Turman, Colman Domingo and Michael Potts. Their chemistry was excellent. But the film truly belonged to Davis and Boseman.

Wolfe direction was wonderful. He aptly translated the play to the screen. Scene changes felt natural and the staging cinematic. Yes, although sometimes it did feel like four guys in a room, but the cast's chemistry and Wolfe's constantly moving camera on one-take made it feel like you were in the room with them. An audience or a fly. Or possibly God? Looking in, a silent observer. Wolfe and cinematographer Tobias A. Schliessler filmed it all with a visceral sensation of the oppressing heat and the undeniable racism that permeated throughout the 1920s. The only misstep was perhaps that epilogue. We all knew the truth, so was it necessary to show it? That kind of diminished the power of the penultimate scene.

Davis was brilliant and a definite shoo-in for a Best Actress nomination. Although she will most likely be handicapped by the fact her Ma Rainey felt almost like a supporting character in a play/film that carried her name. Nonetheless, Davis was powerful. She had a presence and a strength that seeped through just like the sweat that coated Ma's gleaming body. She understood the truth of her power, a Black entertainer in a white world, and by golly she was bloody well going to use it to get everything she deserved. Davis, with just a look and a shift in her shoulders, embodied all that. A finely tuned, nuanced performance that again proved Davis is at the top of her game!

Boseman, on the other hand, had the much showier role and he went all in on it. This was no Black Panther but boy did Boseman slinked about like a panther. This was Boseman's finest performance and outshone everything else he had done. Perhaps his untimely death may have coloured the expectations, but I do not think so. Objectively, Boseman fueled his character with an undeniable live-wire energy that was infectious and passionate. He imbued humanity to a complex character that could have otherwise been two-dimensional and stereotypical. Now, if only we had more scenes of him and Davis locking horns!

Jazz musician Branford Marsalis scored the film and the jazzy blues provided the soul of the film. 

Netflix scored another hit with Ma Rainey. A sure-fire Oscar-nominated film that rivalled the previous Wilson adaptation Fences. Davis and Boseman deserved all the accolades they have, and will be, receiving.