Kaili Blues, which has made a quiet name for itself on the festival circuit, has described by fans and critics as dreamlike, and it truly is, in so many senses. For some, this dream is an incoherent poet, stumbling through the last few drops of whiskey in a flask. For others, it is an otherworldly calling, a dizzying sense of realisation—or what some might even call enlightenment. The line between the two is probably a fine one.

Set in the rural province of Guizhou, China, even the film’s foggy, mystical location exudes a surreal quality, as though we are floating from scene to scene, character to character. This experience is only heightened by director Gan Bi’s use of long, uncut takes, which frequently disorient our sense of time. Gan Bi himself explains his preference of long takes by describing them as “liberating” and “close to poetry.” Somewhere between the art of poetry and the motif of time is where Kaili Blues lies, driven not by a narrative but by a feeling. As much as we cannot tell where the film is going, we cannot tell if it is going anywhere at all, or if it even needs to be.

However, Kaili Blues is intermittently concerned with a more tangible journey, depicting the travels of Chen (Chen Yongzhong) from his hometown of Kaili to Zhenyuan in order to find his nephew Weiwei. Chen’s brother—Weiwei’s father—is the unreliable Crazy Face (Xie Lixun), whose character is best represented by the knowledge that he may have sold his son. On his journey, Chen stops through the town of Dangmai, where space, time and reason all become unfathomable, and the film relies solely on our emotional connection to each character as they transiently pass into and beyond the lens. It’s a bold move, but one that forces the audience to question our understanding of reality as the discernable opposite of fantasy, interweaving the two until their distinction is not only obscured, but rendered unimportant.

One of the most interesting ways Bi achieves this is through the inclusion of actual poetry, both his own and that from the Diamond Sutra, a text of ancient Buddhist teachings. Read by the protagonist as a voiceover during several shots, the poems center our experience of the film, allowing and encouraging us to speculate on various moments whilst ensuring we never stray too far into the ethereal. Indeed, these sharp, contextual poems feel somewhat necessary, as though without them we would be adrift in a sea of memories with no sense of direction.

This exploration of time and memory is also wonderfully portrayed through music—both in the film’s traditionally inspired soundtrack and within the story itself. Chen’s search for a group of men who play the Lusheng, a traditional Miao instrument, leads instead to a group of young men about to play a pop concert. It is a clear but unobnoxious signifier of the inevitable modernisation of rural China, demonstrating both visually and aurally the meeting point of two generations. Yet Bi’s construction of this encounter is critical of neither the modern nor the traditional, preferring to hang, motionless, in a chasm of time where both can exist harmoniously. This lack of any linear motion through time is almost entirely what the town of Dangmai seems to represent; it is a place where memories can happen tomorrow, and passing trains can turn clocks backwards.

Kaili Blues has thoroughly impressed many as a directorial debut, and it’s perhaps the promise of more to come from Gan Bi that truly grips our interest. One technical feat in the film has been rightly praised—a single shot that lasts over 40 minutes long, and must have required an incredible amount of choreography in order to seamlessly flow through so many scenes. It cycles through a wide variety of characters, each of whom plays a small but significant role in our gradual understanding of the film, if that ever happens. But just like a dream, understanding what has happened is a far less meaningful goal than embracing the experience: in this case, one of a delicate, pastoral trance.

Kaili Blues screens as part of New Directors/New Films in New York City. To learn more about the festival or buy tickets, visit www.newdirectors.org.

There are many stories a filmmaker could tell about the lives of Palestinians under occupation. Despite the news stories we may hear in the press, in the Western world we are so entirely disconnected from their life experiences that any insight is not only helpful but necessary. We need to hear their voices and, at the very least, witness their experiences, even if many of these are beyond our understanding. Speed Sisters provides such an educational insight without compromising its identity as a wholesome celebration of its subjects, a testament to both the subjects and to director/producer Amber Fares.

A Lebanese-Canadian woman who was raised in Northern Alberta, Fares travelled to the Middle East to better understand her heritage; it was this journey that led her to Palestine’s Speed Sisters, the first all-women race car driving team in the Middle East. We are introduced to five women, each with different backgrounds, different talents, and most importantly, different reasons for racing. One of the biggest strengths of this documentary is that it allows each of these women to accurately represent themselves—they are not forced into boxes or censored to fit the personality we might believe a female racer should have. They also have varying financial situations, which only serves to emphasise their single common trait: a dedication to racing. This is reinforced by the decision to include scenes from the women’s daily lives and interviews with their families. One of the most promising racers, Marah, is made all the more sympathetic through childhood stories and words of support by Khaled, her father and biggest fan.

Naturally, as explained by their manager Maysoon, the running of a female racing team in a country under occupation is not without its difficulties. While many of the local men state they are now used to seeing the women race, on the track there are still some clear prejudices to be tolerated; Maysoon herself admits to frequently diminishing her authority in order to make other men feel in charge. Because of a lack of provided training grounds, the team must train next to an Israeli detention site, which comes with its own hazards. This is all without even mentioning the multiple Israeli checkpoints the drivers must frequently pass through, and only a few of them have passes to do so. None of these women are willing to let this hold them back, however, and find their own ways to pursue their dreams. Mona, who races mostly for the fun of it, doesn’t want to let her personal life fall by the wayside. Noor, the wild drifter with the personality (and hair) to match, learns new techniques and pushes herself at every race. But Betty, who is determined to be the fastest woman on the track while maintaining her femininity off it, turns out to be Marah’s biggest competition within the group.

Speed Sisters is everything we would enjoy in a fast-paced racing film, along with the edge of a realistic political commentary and the introspection of a personal adventure. Perhaps its biggest aid in succeeding with such a high standard is its pacing—both Fares and editor Rabab Haj Yahya know exactly when to switch between fast-paced races, establishing shots of Palestinian life, and sit down interviews, never allowing one aspect to dominate too much screen time. Paired with a largely Middle Eastern soundtrack including Palestinian hip-hop and other tracks from the region’s indie music scenes, we are easily drawn into a world of which, in reality, we know nothing of. Yet Fares applies a simple but true formula to this film: when a narrative is so specific it cannot be anything but authentic, it becomes universal.

It would be difficult to improve upon the director’s own words when it comes to this documentary. It provides such a fascinating perspective, and each driver brings her own honest approach to both the track and to life. “Each one in her own way took me on a ride through Palestine that I will never forget,” Fares says. “They taught me to push boundaries, while still respecting your community. They taught me about resistance, about not giving up and what it means to stay true to your dreams despite endless obstacles.” This is exactly what Speed Sisters is about.

Teenagers can be incredibly frustrating, but maybe much of this frustration comes from knowing that we were once the same. Perhaps this is why Everlasting—a story centered around two teenagers—can be both relatable and compelling. It manages this in spite of our personal grievances and despite our insistence that we know better. There are certainly shortcomings to be found, but Everlasting is in itself a tale about remembering—and valuing—the positive over the negative, and perhaps it’s not a stretch for the film to ask the same of its critics.

At the very beginning, we are told by Matt (Adam David) that his girlfriend Jessie (Valentina de Angelis) has been murdered. The plot is straightforward enough from here, with a search for answers being the main driving force for our young protagonist. As Matt begins by providing their background story, we learn that he and Jessie are troubled high school students with only one source of true happiness: their love for each other. They spend their aesthetically gothic days fantasizing about death and throwing caution to the wind, and it’s only too obvious they believe themselves invincible, as teenagers often do. Jessie in particular is shown to be overly attracted to a darker lifestyle, intensely absorbed in the escape it offers her. When she decides to follow her dreams of becoming a model, Matt has no choice but to be supportive, reluctant as he is to lose her. The two drive to opportunity-laden L.A. from their hometown of Denver, with Matt using their trip as an opportunity to create a project for his film class. But after Jessie’s death, this project takes on a drastically different shape, thus becoming the story of Matt’s journey to find her killer. Told in a non-linear cumulation of his footage from both trips as well as moments of third party voyeurism, Everlasting works towards a resolution whilst keeping a strong footing on the subject of love.

Though the story may not be groundbreaking—and is undoubtedly a commentary on how such events happen all too often in real life—Everlasting manages to carve a space for itself by taking a more human approach than most. Matt states that he does not want Jessie to become just another name in a list, and the film tries its absolute hardest to ensure this doesn’t happen. Instead, Matt (as our main storyteller) painstakingly attempts to provide a complete picture of Jessie as he knew and loved her; while this does serve to create an emotional attachment for the audience, it also inadvertently highlights a lack of substance to Jessie’s character. We are provided with fleeting reasons for her often concerning behaviour and personality, such as being raised by a single mother whose own behaviour is far from perfect, but without delving into this relationship further it is hard to ascertain exactly why Jessie is so attracted to the darkness of life. As such, her “tortured soul” identity ends up feeling somewhat superficial. Matt, on the other hand, is clearly given more thought and nuance, and becomes much more cemented in our minds as a sympathetic figure.

Interestingly, many of the less central characters grab the audience’s attention and hold elements of intrigue, and this is largely due to sincere acting by more than a few cast members. Elizabeth Röhm must be mentioned for her heartbreakingly wonderful portrayal of Jessie’s flawed mother, and Pat Healy demonstrates once again that he knows all too well how to make an audience distinctly uncomfortable. As Jessie and Matt, both de Angelis and David provide solid turns in their roles, but at times present themselves underprepared to be the objects of such focus as the film provides. Director Anthony Stabley’s conviction to keep humanity at the center of Everlasting requires the beautiful, close shots of the equally attractive actors at work, but evidently proves challenging for both. However, any moments that may seem strained can be overlooked thanks to the stunning cinematography, which works not only to be visually pleasing, but more importantly, to thoroughly deliver an environment of everything the film is selling: youth, beauty and love.

The film has done particularly well within the horror community—having even won the Jury Award at the Nevermore festival recently—but it would be disingenuous to actually call it horror. At most, it’s drama with an edge. This isn’t to detract from its quality, but more to suggest that it perhaps has a more fitting place outside of the genre it is marketed toward, particularly given the rather specific (and misleading) horror-centered focus of its trailer. And so, while Everlasting may at times be as naive as its two protagonists, it also manages to be just as intriguing.

Very often, a film that has social critique at its core will target its message directly, providing both a clear stance and unforgiving criticism. The Second Mother chooses, for better or worse, to instead use a very light touch, frequently skirting around the class issues it raises in favour of a more humanistic approach, focusing on the development and progression of its characters and their lives. The result is a charming tale that manages to be quite refreshing, but then conversely lacks enough conviction in its own characters to let them reach a more honest and daring conclusion.

The Brazilian film, originally titled Que Horas Ela Volta? (When Will She Return?), centers around Val, a middle-aged woman who has been working as housekeeper for a wealthy family in São Paulo for over 10 years. Having practically raised her employer Barbara’s son, Fabinho, she has become incredibly close to him, and he evidently feels as much her son as she feels his second mother. Val is also blissfully unaware of the disdain Barbara has for her, content with knowing her place in the house and Barbara’s superficial friendliness. The only real aspect of her life for which Val feels any sorrow is the fact that in order to earn money, she has had to leave behind a child of her own—a daughter whom she has entrusted into the care of her former partner’s new family.

Val clearly loves her daughter Jéssica, and the guilt over not being able to raise her is constantly evident in her actions, meaning when she receives an unexpected call from Jéssica asking if she can stay with Val for a short time, she doesn’t have to think twice. Jéssica is hoping to attend a university in São Paulo to study architecture and needs a place to stay while she takes the entrance exams—the same exams Fabinho will also be taking. Jéssica’s arrival is the turning point in Val’s life but not at all in the way she expects. Jéssica has no respect for the unspoken boundaries Val lives by in her employer’s house, instead preferring to be treated as an equal. She has no tolerance for either the way in which her mother is treated, nor the way in which her mother accepts her situation quietly. Fabinho, and Barbara’s husband Carlos in particular find themselves quickly drawn to Jéssica’s artistic and rebellious nature while Barbara feels personally offended by the lack of humility she perceives Jéssica to have.

It’s a simple premise, but the film’s refusal to shy away from the awkwardness of any situation makes it not only honest but also often genuinely funny. Scenes that are so bare and basic would typically seem insignificant, but The Second Mother has such an atmosphere of raw honesty penetrating each moment that they seem instead to be rather radical. Paired with the frequent use of long takes, director Anna Muylaert creates a household that feels both thoroughly organic and hilariously trivial. This is where the film’s true strength lies—despite being set in a very specific household in Brazil, it speaks to a whole world of working class women. It lives so earnestly in each of its inconsequential events that we can’t help being drawn into them, feeling the daily proceedings of the characters as if they were our own.

But there is no doubt that the film has its own misgivings, the most disappointing of which is its hesitancy to create true conflict, choosing to avoid any real discord. A misguided attempt to avoid drama, it instead leads to a feeling of dissatisfaction, making the ending—pleasant as it is—seem much more contrived and much less meaningful. Perhaps Muylaert made an artistic decision to steer clear of flagrant class critique, which is indeed effective in a film such as this, but by building the characters towards a confrontation and then refusing to resolve it, she leaves the audience frustrated and sceptical. Indeed, with a genuine resolution of the characters’ relationships, the beauty and mirth of the ending would have seemed much more deserved.

Actors Regina Casé as Val and Camila Márdila as Jéssica are particularly noteworthy, bringing a level of integrity to their characters that is rarely seen; it is hard to imagine the film having nearly the same level of emotional payout or impact without the unspoken way in which these two so unnoticeably fit the skins of their characters. The Second Mother thus manages to lift itself beyond its uncertainty and maintain an honest relationship with the audience. Nevertheless, it could have lifted itself into an entirely different tier with a more daring perspective on its subject.

The story of Pulitzer Prize-winning poet C.K. Williams, The Color of Time is told through a series of flashbacks, voiced over at times by the poet’s own works read aloud by James Franco, who also stars in the film. Walking us through various elements of Williams’ life in no particular order, the film attempts to slowly unravel his existence into a series of experiences that not only inspired his poetry, but combined to make his work a visceral reflection of life as he knew it. Yet problematically, the film fails to do so in a way that delves into who Williams was as an individual, instead allowing his story to blend into the commonly held, stereotypical understanding of troubled young men becoming troubled old poets.

Written and directed by twelve students from Franco’s class at NYU, The Color of Time is a film for students; its heavily filtered aesthetic and non-linear structure will appeal far more to the artistic undergraduate than the average cinema-goer. This is not merely the result of a film that is too intellectual or abstract to appeal to a mainstream audience, but rather a fundamental flaw in the established style that has been liberally applied to the entire piece. While on the one hand it is commendable that a film created by twelve individuals is so cohesive, on the other it could certainly be argued that this is simply a uniformity born of a lack of originality. Indeed, the film is clearly inspired by the picturesque beauty of Terrence Malick films, down to the sepia-toned fields of long grass. In allowing the film to be thus influenced to the point of detraction from its core subject, the filmmakers make sure that though it may be a beautiful imitation, it will never stand out. Rather than remaining honest to the needs of the story, the different aspects of Williams’ life have been manipulated to fit a stereotypical understanding of how such biopics tend to go.

Jessica Chastain also stars in the film, but appears to essentially be reprising her role from The Tree of Life; she performs admirably, but even this does not distract from the knowledge that we have seen this character before. There is only one point at which the film seems to truly break out of its self-imposed shell, and this comes through the portrayal of a drug-induced stupor that Franco, as a young Williams, finds himself in. It is, ironically, a breath of fresh air – a reminder that the film does in fact have some creative minds behind it. Yet just as we come to hope that the film might continue to break away in such a fashion, it snaps back to what the filmmakers have no doubt decided is the “tried and true” method.

The biggest problem with all of this, however, is not simply audience exasperation, but in fact the disservice it does to Williams’ poetry. Poetry as an art demands a personal reaction: an interpretation through which it can become a powerful force in our own lives. Few would expect that film could be the medium to reduce it to little more than a series of platitudes set to melancholic piano music. Perhaps the poignancy lies only in the poetry, and not in the film—an implication only made further apparent by the lingering feeling that The Color of Time should have been far more thought-provoking than it was. Though Franco seems to have attracted other stars to the project, including Mila Kunis as his wife, and Zach Braff, they are all evidently underused, functioning as fleeting moments in Williams’ life and with no real identities of their own.

Biopics, regardless of how artistic or loosely interpreted they are, are stories about people—namely, real people. The Color of Time is not a story about people, but a story about what we expect certain people to have been. Masquerading under the honesty of Williams’ poetry, it is a confirmation of our assumptions, and a pretense of profundity. By rejecting creativity in its vision, it becomes, at its core, a superficial film that–though visually appealing—does neither itself nor its subject justice.

I don’t subscribe to the notion that a film must have a destination – that it must arrive at a conclusion – but I do believe that some form of progress is necessary. Leaving a film with its characters in the same position as they were at the beginning is only interesting if either their or our perspective has changed. A Five Star Life begins with the promise of such progression, but never fulfils this promise, instead settling for an ambiguous ending that seems to lack the courage to make a decision almost as much as its protagonist.

There’s admittedly something intriguing involved in taking a life that would traditionally be seen as desirable and exposing its imperfections – after all, this concept is essentially what so much of celebrity culture revolves around. Irene (Margherita Buy) may not be a celebrity, but she certainly has an enviable life, with a job that requires her to travel the world and stay in the most prestigious five star hotels as a mystery guest, evaluating whether these hotels truly live up to their reputations. The catch to living in such luxury, however, is that it prevents her from being able to have any true connections with people. She manages to occasionally see her sister’s family, and her closest friend is ex-lover Andrea (Stefano Accorsi), but a real relationship or family of her own is out of the question.

Irene is accustomed to this life, happy to continue through the world with no real attachments, but we soon begin to realise that her attachment is to this very instability – she needs to be perpetually moving from one place to another, and working as a tourist allows her to avoid any need for commitment. This realization hits us long before it does Irene, who apparently doesn’t think to examine her life too closely until she meets Kate Sherman (Lesley Manville), a feminist whose insights into the male gaze and its repercussions on women in pornography have led to her speaking on the subject in Berlin. Kate’s insights don’t stop there, however, and she is quick to perceive that the luxury that Irene so desperately clings to is not real life, but simply a façade. Indeed, Kate is undoubtedly the most interesting character in the film, and yet her role is disappointingly small, leaving us a little bereft at her departure, purely for worry little else will hold our attention.

What largely factors into our apathy throughout A Five Star Life (whose Italian title “Viaggio Sola” means “I travel alone”) is the film is so determined to avoid melodrama, lightly brushing over scenes that needed much more weight to get access to our emotions, that it comes across as bland. Paired with a gentle pastel filter that moderates the image regardless of which country Irene is in, the film ends up feeling a touch monotonous in not only its plot but also its aesthetic. Nevertheless, this very determination does also mean that director Maria Sole Tognazzi thoroughly avoids the realm of clichés, allowing the humanity behind each of her characters to be the only driving force. The only problem, therefore, is when the characters aren’t as much a force as they are furniture, as is the case with Andrea, whose existence in Irene’s life provides amusement and a slight change of pace, but does little to actually influence her, despite a regrettable night that occurs between them.

Arguably one of the most intelligent aspects of the film is Irene’s off-screen narration, which is surprising given that such narration often indicates a lack of intelligence in the script. Rather, her well-timed questions that begin by easing us into the inner workings of her job soon become much more influential, truly giving us pause for thought and helping us understand her personality whilst maintaining her ignorance toward her own character. This is undeniably assisted by a wonderful performance from Margherita Buy, who manages to inject a subtle charisma into every action, ultimately making it a shame that the plot of A Five Star Life does not allow us to be as emotionally absorbed as we would like.

Plays at Laemmle’s Royal Theatre in West L.A., Laemmle’s Playhouse 7 in Pasadena, and Laemmle’s Town Center 5 in Encino

A Five Star Life trailer

A lighthearted romantic comedy with few surprises, Forev is the sort of film that does little more than induce a smile. The film opens with Sophie (Noël Wells of recent SNL fame) drunkenly stumbling into her neighbor Pete’s (Matt Mider) apartment with a man she’s just picked up. In this moment, we see more of her and Pete’s characters through their non-verbal communication than through dialogue, establishing her naïve, scatterbrained personality and his plain awkwardness. The problem is that this isn’t due to fantastic acting, but because we’ve seen these characters before – over and over to be honest. Indie rom-coms are up to their ears in quirky, artistically inclined women and sensitive, socially inept men. Nevertheless, the exchange is certainly amusing to witness, and in many ways relatable, despite its oddities.

After realizing just how unworthy her temporary hookup was, and after a discouraging audition for a hot dog commercial the next day, Sophie finds herself in Pete’s apartment yet again, seeking comfort from his carpet. The neighbors become friends and Sophie decides to accompany Pete on a six-hour journey to Phoenix to pick up Pete’s sister Jess (Amanda Bauer) from college. Make no mistake: both Wells and Mider are incredibly talented actors, and as the film progresses, their chemistry is clear, and it’s not hard to believe the two have known each other for some time. Eventually  Sophie admits to having a crush on Pete, and the two somehow arrive at the conclusion that they should get married, their discussion of it making the idea seem somewhat plausible. Naturally, Jess does not feel the same way upon learning about her brother’s engagement, particularly given that she has just been dumped by her long-term boyfriend.

And so, with a main cast of just three people, Forev attempts to handle the subject of marriage with a slight hand, never venturing into territory that might be controversial. Indeed, the film never aims to achieve anything beyond the surface, content with providing entertainment that even in its darkest moments is still cheerful. When the car breaks down on their journey home and the three are stranded at a motel overnight, they decide to get drunk to help Jess through her emotional turmoil. With the way they all act within the bar, however, it’s not surprising that Sophie and Pete wake up the next morning to find Jess missing, and are thrown into their first problem together. Under the stress of searching for Jess, the anxieties of the two become magnified, and they begin to realize that their impulsive decision may not have been for the best.

The film focuses heavily on the emotions of its characters, with each character making decisions based purely on emotion. The problem with this being that the characters’ emotions are entirely predictable and very few of their actions come as a surprise. Additionally, though the actions the characters take might be believable, the things they say often aren’t; speaking in a dialect purely reserved for the “quirky indie character”, it’s often as though they are all trying to channel their inner Zooey Deschanel. Paired with an ending that somewhat belies its organic atmosphere, the film struggles to be honest to itself, instead settling for being charming (although this trade-off isn’t entirely amiss, it’s rather underwhelming).

If you watch a lot of independent film, chances are you’ve already seen everything Forev has to offer. That’s not to say the film is bad – in fact, if anything it’s an indication to the quality of the film, given the real gems coming from indie cinema these days. What it does say, however, is that writer/directors Molly Green and James Leffler rely a little too strongly on established patterns to tell their story, thus suppressing their own creativity. The talent is clearly there – it just suffers from a case of being too conventionally unconventional.

It’s a new year, and that means new films, right? 2013 gave us some truly wonderful films, but amongst catching up on those that we missed and all the Oscar buzz, we’re also thinking about what’s on offer this year. Narrowing these films down to just a few was an incredibly difficult task, as not only are there so many films set to come out, but some are so clouded in mystery that you just don’t know where to start. Nevertheless, we have selected 10 films that we’re looking forward to the most in 2014, and they come from just about every genre. Let us know if there are any you think we missed, but as far as just these 10 are concerned, the anticipation is killing us.

10 Most Anticipated Films of 2014

Gone Girl

David Fincher makes the movies I love to see. The man seems to have a knack with twisty tales, whether they be completely crazy endings (like Se7en or Fight Club) or characters you love to hate (like The Social Network or Netflix’s House of Cards). Having read the novel, I know Gone Girl has both. And with a great cast that includes power-hitter Ben Affleck playing Nick Dunne, the husband who is unexpectedly thrown into the national spotlight when his wife goes missing, my expectations are pretty high for the film adaptation. Casting for the lead part of Amy, the housewife-gone-missing, took some time to be solidified, with several major actresses in consideration. But Rosamund Pike was finally chosen, which has me quite curious. Pike has played some really soft roles in the past and, without giving any of the story away, Amy is the sort of character that could either show off Pike’s versatility or ruin the whole thing. The book is known for it’s major plot twists and I for one can’t wait to see Fincher put his own mark on the visuality of the story. Slated for an October release, it should be exactly the sort of chilly Fall tale we’ll be craving. [Ananda]

The Grand Budapest Hotel

Wes Anderson is famous for his distinctive visual and narrative style in such films as Moonrise Kingdom, Fantastic Mr. Fox, and The Darjeeling Limited, and will be releasing his latest quirky comedy The Grand Budapest Hotel in March of this year. The film follows the adventures of an infamous concierge at a well-known and well-frequented European hotel. Their experiences are shared with an all-star cast, most of which have worked with Anderson in the past; Jude Law, Bill Murray, Tilda Swinton, Willem Dafoe, Owen Wilson, and Adrien Brody. The Grand Budapest Hotel looks to be quite the dramatic comedy with the charm and flare we all know Wes Anderson films to behold. [Amy]

While We’re Young

Last Year my faith was restored in Noah Baumbach as a filmmaker to be vigilant of again after supplying his delightful indie comedy Frances Ha, a film that landed the #2 spot on our Best Films of 2013. Reuniting with the director again for the first time since 2010’s Greenberg is Ben Stiller, playing the part of a middle-aged filmmaker whose marriage gets more tranquil after making friends with a young free-spirited couple. Joining Stiller as part of the cast are Amanda Seyfried, Naomi Watts, Adam Driver, and Brady Corbet. It will be interesting to see if While We’re Young plays out to be more like his earlier work (The Squid and the Whale), or more like his re in nt work (France Ha). Though a happy medium between the two could be in order. Either way, we are glad to see the uptick in frequency which Baumbach is making films as of late, he even has another film in post-production at the moment. [Dustin]

Nymphomaniac

At this point it’s hard to find someone who doesn’t know about Nymphomaniac. Split into 2 films, and running for 4.5 hours total, Nymphomaniac is Lars Von Trier’s newest film. It tells the story of Joe (Charlotte Gainsbourg), the titular sex addict who explains her life story to a stranger (Stellan Skarsgard) after he saves her life. The eclectic cast includes Shia LaBeouf, Uma Thurman, Christian Slater, Willem Dafoe, Udo Kier and Jamie Bell, just to name a few, and it`s already been widely reported how porn actors were used as doubles for the film`s hardcore sex scenes. The film`s marketing, including ‘appetizer’ teaser clips and a provocative series of character posters, have helped make Nymphomaniac the arthouse event of 2014. The film will be out in theatres and on VOD in March, but Lars Von Trier purists might have to wait even longer. The theatrical version wasn’t put together by Von Trier, and he’s already preparing a 5.5 hour director’s cut that will presumably come out later this year (Volume 1 of the “uncut” version is set to premiere at Berlin, and it won’t be a surprise if Volume 2 pops up at Cannes). [CJ]

Knight of Cups

Just as Flaubert and Joyce understood the need for literary revolution in the face of an unstable society, so did certain filmmakers understand cinematic development as part of a larger social reality: Griffith, Welles, and Hitchcock to name a few, and now, Terrence Malick. Some people are just game-changers, and there is no denying that Malick has changed the world of cinema irrevocably. I could wax lyrical for hours about his conceptualisation of film – his work is nothing short of a feast for the eyes and indeed the very soul – but truly, all you need to do to understand is watch some of his work. His recent association with Brad Pitt and Sean Penn in The Tree of Life brought mainstream audiences just a little closer to Malick’s world, so it’s incredibly exciting to think of what he could have in mind to really show audiences what he is capable of. Knight of Cups is in post-production and has been for a while now; while we’re still not entirely certain it will come out this year, we can but hope. With names like Christian Bale, Natalie Portman and Teresa Palmer on the bill, there’s no doubt Malick has something breathtaking in store for us – I’m certainly going to keep my eyes peeled for this one. [Pavi]

Interstellar

It’s time to let him off the leash again. Christopher Nolan has proven he can sell a movie ticket or two with his Dark Knight trilogy, which has earned him the freedom (granted by big studios like Paramount) to make movies and tell stories on his terms. Based on the theories of relativity physicist Kip Thorne, Interstellar looks to excite the senses and tickle the imagination in the same way Inception did. The film follows a group of scientists who, with their home planet drying up, travel to different dimensions in search of a place to grow crops so that their people can endure. Boasting a killer ensemble cast featuring Michael Caine (surprise, surprise), Anne Hathaway, Casey Afleck, Matthew McConaughy, Ellen Burstyn, Wes Bentley, Jessica Chastain, David Oyelowo, John Lithgow, Bill Irwin, and Mackenzie Foy, Interstellar is sure to get sci-fi geeks all hot and bothered leading up to its November release. Plus, Nolan strapped an IMAX camera to the nose of a freaking learjet. Hold on to your butts! [Bernard]

Journey to the West

Back in September at the Venice Film Festival Tsai Ming-Liang publicly stated that he hoped Stray Dogs would be his last film. The news was disappointing, especially since Stray Dogs was his best film in years (it went on to win the Grand Jury Prize at Venice). It came as a surprise, then, that the Berlin Film Festival announced a new Tsai Ming-Liang film would be premiering in February. There isn’t much information out there on Journey to the West, but from what we know it’s going to be a loose adaptation of the classic Chinese tale. Knowing Tsai’s style, this will probably be a very loose adaptation, but regardless it’s exciting to see him continue to work. Tsai is one of the most distinct filmmakers working today, and while his style may not appeal to everyone (the last two shots of Stray Dogs combined come close to breaking the 30 minute mark) it’s undeniable that no one out there is making films in the same way. [CJ]

Jupiter Ascending

While Cloud Atlas was not the return of the Wachowskis I had hoped for, I’m giving them the benefit of the doubt that it’s because they were working with someone else’s writing, and an incredibly complex novel at that. This time Andy and Lana are back to writing a story of their own, and hopefully tapping into the vein that brought us the complex and sci-fi world of The Matrix. Granted, it has Channing Tatum, and he’s wearing eyeliner. But if there’s anything the trailer proves, it will definitely be up to par with the visual grandeur that we’ve come to expect from the Wachowskis. Similar to The Matrix, Jupiter Ascending is the tale of a girl with a genetic destiny, Jupiter Jones (Mila Kunis). Destined to overthrow the Queen of the Universe, Jupiter is rescued from her life of toilet cleaning by Tatum’s genetically engineered hunter. She discovers the vastness of the universe she lives in and that she has an important place in it. Who doesn’t love a good tale of comeuppance, on an intergalactic scale? Even if it’s got a bit of cheese, it comes out in July when we’ll all be glad for an excuse to escape to the theater, and I for one will gladly splurge to see the Wachowskis first 3D endeavor. [Ananda]

The Double

Richard Ayoade began his career as a comedy actor starring in relatively popular television shows such as The IT Crowd and he Mighty Boosh, before making his incredible feature directorial debut with Submarine. The Double is Ayoade’s sophomore film that stars Jesse Eisenberg as a man who goes crazy after running into this doppleganger. The film already premiered last fall at the Toronto International Film Festival and received a lot of praise for its trippy mind games and quirky comedy–which is exactly the kind of films we kind to enjoy here at Way Too Indie. Make sure that The Double is on your list of films to catch in 2014. [Dustin]

Inherent Vice

Set in 1970s Los Angeles, Paul Thomas Anderson’s Inherent Vice follows the fuck-ups and follies of druggy detective Larry “Doc” Sportello (Joaquin Phoenix), who’s surprised to find that the kidnapped girl of a case he’s investigating is his ex-girlfriend. What’s most exciting to me about the project (aside from the obvious fact that ol’ PT never fails) is that Anderson is reuniting with director of photography Robert Elswit, who helped him make There Will Be Blood look so damn pretty. As per usual for Anderson, everything will be filmed in 35mm film stock. The cast is stacked, with Phoenix being joined by Josh Brolin, Martin Short, Benicio Del Toro, Jena Malone, Reese Witherspoon, Owen Wilson, Kevin J. O’Connor, Maya Rudolph, and more. [Bernard]

A gossamer drama that’s grounded in reality while it floats in a fragile fissure, Delicate Gravity is a short film that is simple, yet deeply affecting. Philippe Andre’s tale centers around Paul (Yvan Attal), a lonely, weary man, who seems to have reached the lowest point in his life, and how it takes a turn when he receives a voicemail message from a stranger. Claire (Anne Parillaud), the woman on the other end of the line, was not only under the impression she was leaving the message to her lover, but also sounds worryingly distressed. And so, as Paul sets out to find this mysterious woman to let her know her message wasn’t received, we begin to learn more about these two characters, and as their despair becomes our own, so does their hope.

Delicate Gravity is a unique insight into the lives of two lost individuals, and a clever production that continues to draw us in even in its final moments. I spoke to Philippe Andre, who directed the short film as well as co-wrote it with American writer Daniel Hainey, via Skype to find out more about his charming creation.

This sort of thing happens often – we’re forever getting missed calls or messages from someone who has dialled the wrong number. But few really think much further on it, or have the intention of contacting or meeting the person on the other end of the line, so what made you want to portray that?
Well, first of all, this story kind of happened to me – not exactly the same story – but once, I found a message on my machine from a woman who was leaving a message to her lover, by mistake. It wasn’t the same dramatic message but she was sure she was talking to somebody else. So, starting from there I said “Why not develop that into something a bit more dramatic – what if this woman needed help, or what if it was more of a question of life and death?” and I started to develop that as a story – to tell a kind of love story, or impossible love story, in a way.

Are you trying to tell people anything with this love story?
No, I think I just wanted to show a very small moment, if you know what I mean, something that could happen in life…

To anybody?
Yeah, and everybody can find something in that. What I wanted to show was more about showing a woman through a man’s eyes – to make the portrait of a woman, but it’s absolutely as seen by this guy. I was trying to show that this woman – a woman – can make a choice like this, to spend a night with a man while still being in love with another man, which is something men don’t understand. (laughs)

One of the biggest things that struck me was how when we first meet Claire’s character, she seems pretty old and tired, and then as soon as she picks up the phone from her lover she instantly looked younger, fresher, happier – almost as though she’d gone back in time. Was that a very deliberate thing on your part?
Yes, I’m very happy you can feel that when watching the film because it was very much on purpose. She’s a great performer so it was fantastic to work with her – it was great that she was able to deliver that kind of performance which was definitely on purpose. We had to believe in it, and from the beginning I wanted to create this distance with her, between Paul and her – she’s a kind of iconic character.

And it’s pretty ironic when she asks Paul if her message sounds pathetic given his introduction where he’s leaving his ex-wife so many messages.
Yes, I think it’s important that she’s the kind of person who would be embarrassed to have been heard like that, vulnerable, whereas it doesn’t embarrass him at all.

The film’s gathering a lot of talk on an international level – how do you think it will resonate in other countries and cultures?
Honestly, I don’t know. We’ve had a very good response so far with awards and festivals. I think, strangely enough, even though it looks very French, the more specific it is, the more universal it can become, because it’s an honest simple love story in a way. Whatever your culture or country is, I’m sure people can find something in it because it’s so, so specific. I didn’t try to be general, I wanted this story to be very specific about these two people and this little moment in their life and I think telling their story as specifically as possible can make it resonate as wide as possible.

Do you think there’s a particular kind of person or audience that will relate to the film more and that you want to relate to the film more?
No, I don’t have any goals, I’m not targeting anyone. Honestly, we’ve had some private screenings here and there is a very wide range of people in the room you know, younger kids, women, men, and people were responding pretty well to it. I was surprised – I had the feeling it would appeal more to kind of older people, but teenagers were responding very well to the story. I don’t know why.

How long have you been working on this project?
I wrote it over 3 years ago, and I was trying to find the money all over the place. I eventually found the money in France and we started a year and a half ago. I was very lucky to find these actors who loved the script and wanted to be involved. Yvan is a very big actor in France – he was the first to read it – and when he read the script he loved it and was happy to go for it. So we were looking for an actress together, so we showed the script to Anne who loved it too. I’ve been very lucky – as soon as we started to go look for a producer it went very fast. But yeah I wrote the script 3 years ago with an American writer I was working with; we co-write together and I’m actually writing a movie now with him, a feature length with the same kind of impossible love story or “love lost” idea.

You didn’t find the actors until long after you’d written the script – did they bring anything to the script that was different to how you imagined your characters?
They brought a lot. I mean Yvan, who was the first to be brought into the project, asked me if I should not start from further down – to have the character a bit more by himself, a bit more lonely in the beginning than how it was in the original script, so I rewrote the opening scene in this little restaurant to make him seem more lonely. We wanted to have this character who was a bit weird and charming at the same time. So he was a big help for me, by pushing me to go further. And of course, he is such a great actor, and his way of working was very different to the way I worked with Anne. Anne loved the script as it was, and broached me a lot about the way to make the character like you described earlier – a bit more distant at first and then the further you go, the more you understand her and the more you share with her. And even working on the set with them was very different, because for preparation I did a lot of reading and almost rehearsing with Yvan. With Anne I did nothing – I just went on set and directed, without having even done any readings. It was good because I worked with Yvan a lot more than Anne, so I was very close to him, giving him direction as if he was the lead character. He is the man I tell the story through, so I have to know him very well, but for Anne’s character, I have to observe her and be a bit more distant from her. Anne didn’t want too much information, and Yvan wanted a lot of backstory on every single scene, so it was a funny way to work, but it was a very good experience for me.

How was the shooting process for you?
It was great fun to shoot! We shot in Paris last year in November/December, and we shot over 4 days and 1 night, so it was a quick shoot. But it was great – it was all about the performance so we honestly enjoyed that.

The soundtrack is so moving; how involved in that process were you?
I was really very involved in the music, because I have a musical background – I wanted to become a conductor. So I’ve made a conservatory of music, and some programmes of big musicians, and now the music is a part of the way I write and the way I direct. I always have a kind of colour of music in my head as I progress. I wanted this piece to be classic storytelling but not to be a classic movie – I wanted it to have a modern feeling – so it was very important to me to find a piece of music with a kind of modern texture and modern tone. For that reason, I have
The XX and the Chromatics who are very modern bands, and we have this texture of electronic music in way, but at the same time I have Johann Johannsson, who is a composer who’s a lot more classical. The way we merged all this music together, sometimes with the sound design, was for me the way to make the piece more modern, because this story could have been told in the 50’s or 60’s but I really wanted the story to be set nowadays.

As you mentioned, we see everything from Paul’s perspective – are you trying to create sympathy or are you trying to tell us that he’s at ease with what’s happened? Do you think the audience is going to feel sorry for him?
I think, yes, I want that, first of all because we start off with a character who is a bit depressed, a bit down. He calls his ex-wife and he leaves messages and messages even though he has nothing to tell her, but he has nothing to do, so he calls his ex-wife! But at the end we think he’s getting better; I think he has learnt a lot from Anne and she has learnt from him so basically it’s about these two people who need something; they were needing each other and have found themselves. It’s this encounter – this meeting during one night – and because of it I think he gets better for sure.

Yeah, it’s as though this encounter doesn’t need to last long for them to both take something away from it.
Not at all, and actually they can’t, you know, because as soon as she receives the phone call from the man she has been waiting for, we understand that she’s very much in love with him, and she has almost forgotten Paul is in the room. I think it’s a charming moment though; we begin to understand her in a way. And I think Paul was doing so badly at the beginning that when at the end he’s walking away with that little smile we think “Wow, this guy, he’s doing better in a way,” so I think we like to believe in that.

Kat Coiro’s tender romantic drama And While We Were Here takes us into the romantic, yet foreign, background of Italy to emphasise a situation that’s all too familiar – a marriage in trouble. The film was originally screened in black and white on the festival circuit, but was converted to color for general release. This was a wise decision for two reasons: firstly, it avoids alienating certain audiences, given the current mindset most people have about black and white films; and secondly, the settings are just too beautiful to take away their color and vibrancy. Though this does lead to more focus on the scenery than the development of the characters, the film is nevertheless a unique tale of a woman discovering herself when it seems too late.

Married couple Jane (Kate Bosworth) and Leonard (Iddo Goldberg) are in Naples for two weeks while Leonard is playing the viola in an orchestra, it quickly becomes clear that he has stronger feelings for his instrument than he does for her. There are no disagreements between the two, simply a lackluster attitude toward the other. While this inspires some sympathy, (particularly for Jane, since Leonard seems to be about as interesting as… well, a violist) it isn’t much, since we never knew them when they were happy; this lack of contrast makes it hard for us to feel a sense of loss at the disintegration of their marriage.

On the other hand, it does mean that when Jane meets 19 year old Caleb (Jamie Blackley) we’re as relieved as she is to finally see some sparks. While their chance encounter quickly evolves into a whirlwind affair caught up in the romance of the city around them, the relationship between Jane and Leonard becomes even more strained, despite Leonard’s obliviousness to the entire situation, eventually building up to Jane’s climactic decision – and, refreshingly, it’s not what you’d expect.

This is where the film’s strength lies – in its lack of predictability and its unique take on marriage – because it understands (in a way few romantic films do these days) that it cannot possibly speak for all relationships, and instead chooses to focus on the individuality of one. This individuality is especially clear in Blackley’s character; the carefree teen with a love of beauty isn’t just a stereotype, but is also intelligent, ambitious, and mature. Particularly as he’s mature enough that the age difference seems negligible, it’s not hard for us to be seduced by what he represents just as much as Jane is. Rather, Leonard’s reliability functions as a flaw when shown in such proximity to Caleb’s spontaneity.

The film’s soundtrack is punctuated by Jane listening to tapes of her grandmother’s recollection of living through two world wars as she wanders through the streets of Italy. While this provides an interesting narrative, and is often poignant when it seems her grandmother’s words apply to her own life, it also seems a little too convenient; it often turns moments that could have been subtly intriguing into something of a conspicuous agenda. Kate Bosworth’s reactions to these realisations, however, inject some vital legitimacy to the plot, as she does a fantastic job of building our involvement with Jane’s emotions. In contrast to those instances in which we’re hoping for a character to take a certain course of action, we’re instead as unsure of what we want as she is of her own desires.

And While We Were Here, with its simple premise, predictable conflicts and unexpected resolutions, is both every romantic film you’ve seen and every romantic film you haven’t seen. What originally seems a slightly pointless venture soon shapes into an organic experience that stirs our own thoughts on life, death and love. Indeed, it picks up on tensions present so pervasively through film and society that it’s hard to feel as though it’s not an argument you’re having for the twentieth time. What makes this film worth watching is that for the first time, the argument doesn’t end the same way.

And While We Were Here trailer:

Dan Mazer isnt exactly new to the film industry, having worked extensively with Sacha Baron Cohen in the past helping to write comedies such as Borat and Bruno. I Give It a Year is, however, his directorial debut, and what an interesting premise it has—where most films end when the two main characters tie the knot, this one starts with the wedding, and then goes on to take a look at married life. The problem is, I Give It a YearRose Byrne), an attractive but uptight workaholic, and Josh (Rafe Spall), a goofy laid-back writer. It seems in this case that opposites did indeed attract, but at the end of the day the differences between them are more important than they anticipated, with Josh’s dopey attitude quickly getting under Nat’s skin and her demanding temperament doing the same for him. It doesn’t help that better prospects seem to lurk in the wings for both of them, with Nat’s suave new American client Guy (Simon Baker) taking a keen interest in her, and the reappearance of Josh’s old (again American) flame, cute charity worker Chloe (Anna Faris). The story’s told from 9 months in, when the couple are seeing a marriage counselor to deal with their problems, so from early on it’s not hard to guess what kind of direction the film is going to take.

For a film that advertises itself as an anti-rom-com, it is unfortunately just as susceptible to the cliches and stereotypes we’d expect from the rom-com genre, albeit with characters that are not nearly as likeable. Nat comes across as irritating more than anything, making it largely unbelievable when Guy is so taken with her, and even though the film seems to side with Josh, even he is so goofy that it goes past the point of adorable. In contrast, their prospective lovers are both appealing, with Baker and Faris being pretty talented and charming, but their characters are too two dimensional for us to really feel much attachment to them – perhaps with greater development of these two, the chemistry between the four characters (which is currently close to nonexistent) could have been more engaging.

There are some genuine laughs found in I Give It a Year, playing up the comedy that exists in the absurd and extorting the amusement that comes with watching embarrassing and awkward scenes play out. However, the humor quickly disappears when each joke is drawn out for too long, and the embarrassment begins to only make us cringe, rather than laugh. One scene in which Chloe finds herself accidentally involved in a threesome begins as fairly funny, particularly with Faris’ cute disposition seeming too innocent for such situations, but even Faris can’t keep it entertaining when it is so overly lengthened.

Stephen Merchant’s appearance as Josh’s best man Danny is particularly a disappointment, given his penchant for hilarity, but we get the overwhelming feeling that he’s simply thrown in to deliver some politically incorrect lines to shock us; what these lines really serve to do is make us feel uncomfortable. This is perhaps due to the fact that much of the dialogue—whether from Danny or from other characters—isn’t realistic enough for us to believe that people would actually say these things. From Olivia Colman’s role as the marriage counselor, who seems to have nothing but disdain for marriage, to Minnie Driver’s part as Nat’s sister Naomi whose own marriage is something of a shambles, their frequent comments on how the couple should just give up may be mildly amusing, but aren’t very likely or even feasible.

While it’s good to see a film that accepts the reality that sometimes marriages don’t work, it’s subsequent lack of a plausible plot or likeable main characters make it somewhat frustrating. With its nice but predictable ending, I Give It a Year is one of those films where if you’ve seen the trailer you’ve basically seen the best it has to offer.

I Give It a Year trailer

When Bryan Tucker filmed his wife Angela’s journey of searching for her birth family, he didn’t think he’d later be making it into a documentary for public viewing. But, as he has mentioned in many interviews, he soon realised that he had the unique opportunity to portray a side of adoption that we don’t usually see. Closure does just that, giving us an insight into the world of closed adoptions, and the problems that often arise as a result of them. While Angela admits that she hasn’t yet gotten closure in relation to her family, the film shows her receiving many of the answers to her questions, and will particularly resonate with adoptive children and families.

Angela was given up for adoption by her mother as soon as she was born, and went into foster care with a couple who spent hours caring for her special needs; born with very tight limbs, doctors suspected she had cerebral palsy and may never walk. A year later she was adopted by the Burt family and thrived under their care to the point where not only did she walk and run, but she also developed her talent at basketball. This very talent helped her meet her husband Bryan, and the two are happily married. Nevertheless, growing up, Angela had questions about her birth family and where she came from – a desire to know her roots. As Bryan and her family support and encourage Angela in her search, we follow her to Chattanooga, Tennessee, where her birth certificate says she was born.

The ride is something of an emotional rollercoaster for us: our spirits lift as we see her meet her birth father, “Sandy” Bell, a well loved man in the area who has always wanted a child but never knew he had one, and we’re crushed when her birth mother Deborah initially denies knowing who Angela is. But Angela has the tenacity and determination to keep learning about her relatives, and so gets in touch with more of them, slowly discovering a family that never knew she existed. These events don’t make this documentary, however, and alone would not have half the effect that they do – the interspersed interviews with Angela and her family are to thank for this. They capture many heartfelt moments of honesty, especially through featuring some difficult admissions – in particular, it’s not easy at first for Angela’s adoptive family to understand her need for this search. One family member asks if her adoptive parents are “not enough” and Teresa (Angela’s adoptive mother) admits to a fear of being replaced.

Tucker’s composition may rely on sundry fragments pieced together, but these interviews are where he does the story justice; by involving us in every stage of the process, we realise alongside her adoptive family that this is just something Angela has to do, and it doesn’t mean she loves them any less. One of the biggest lessons Closure teaches us may indeed be that adopted children often want to find their birth parents regardless of how much they love their adoptive parents. Interestingly, Angela mentions in an interview that she wishes to challenge the “cover” many people use of saying they want to find their birth parents for their medical history – she believes that people need to learn and accept that in the world of adoption there often isn’t a specific, logical reason for these searches. These emotions that are brought to the surface are the kind of thing that those of us who are not involved in adoption don’t – and perhaps won’t ever – fully understand, but will certainly strike a chord with those that are.

Nevertheless, Closure is a poignant documentary that will be interesting for all to see, regardless of whether or not they are involved with adoption – it clears many myths, it challenges our preconceptions, and most significantly, documents a touching story that is as relatable as though we were personally involved. While it may not be the most riveting tale on screen that deals with adoption (Despicable Me might have the corner there), it is hard even for us outsiders not to feel like we’ve gotten to know Angela and her family and to share at least partially in their sorrows and triumphs.

You might have seen movies about teenage pregnancy before, but you’ve never seen them done like this. In a refreshing take on the topic, Rebecca Thomas’ debut Electrick Children gives us a story of immaculate conception that is easy to love and wonderfully unique. Though it begins in a religious community, whether the pregnancy in question truly was immaculate conception or not is inconsequential; in a world of heightened possibility, we’re asked to suspend our disbelief in a far more uplifting manner than usual.

The film begins in a conservative Mormon colony in Utah, where 15 year old Rachel (Julia Garner) is interviewed about her faith by her pastor and father (Billy Zane). Rachel, who has never seen a tape recorder before, sneaks into the basement that night and finds herself listening to a blue tape, with a cover of The Nerves’ hit song “Hanging on the Telephone” recorded on it. The next thing we know, Rachel’s pregnant, and convinced that it was immaculate conception – that the holy spirit came to her through the man’s voice on the tape. Her mother, who caught Rachel and her brother Mr. Will (Liam Aiken) grappling over the tape on the floor that night, is not convinced, instead believing that Mr. Will forced himself on his sister. Mr. Will is exiled from the community, and an arranged marriage is organised for Rachel; but the young girl with a rebellious streak is convinced of her innocence and drives off in the night in hopes of finding the man on the tape, not realising that Mr. Will is asleep in the back of the truck.

And so, with her wide, curious eyes, we come to meet Las Vegas as though for the first time. A land of promise and electric paradise, it’s everything Rachel needs and more as she encounters a young group of skating stoner musicians, believing one of them to be the man on the tape. The contrast between her hometown in Utah, shot in nostalgic desaturated colour, and Vegas, with its neon lights and enchanting atmosphere, only serves to highlight the beauty of both, rather than display one as better than the other—and this consistent refusal to take the easy route of cutting down fundamentalist faith is what makes Thomas stand out even more as a director. There are plenty of comedic moments, as one would expect when two young traditionalist children are suddenly faced with the wasted youth of Sin City, but this humour never comes at the expense of Mormon culture.

As the story progresses, things do seem to be rather convenient, with one particular revelation seeming a little too felicitous for us to openly accept it, as the characters do. Though all of the characters are believable, they exist somewhere out of our reach, in a world of fantasy and exhilaration. Nevertheless, Rachel’s naivete is surprisingly believable, thanks both to her unwavering faith and to Julia Garner’s amazing performance. Garner is always naive without being stupid, and her big eyes and innocent face are more than perfect for the endless curiosity she portrays. The supporting cast are also fantastic, with a convincing Aiken as a boy newly discovering the pleasures of the world, and Rory Culkin’s surprisingly endearing performance as a forlorn runaway. With the intimate development of these characters and such genuinely unexpected turns throughout, it’s not hard for us to forgive any failures to fully reach its potential.

There have been many comparisons of this film to the 2011 drama Martha Marcy May Marlene, but though both films deal with fundamentalist religious communities in a way, the similarities end there. Electrick Children is far less condemning of such societies, instead rising above judgement to provide us with a film that is simply a tale of adolescent discovery wrapped in the warm glow of innocence. It lifts us up beyond issues of virtue and honour, into a sun-kissed kingdom so genuine it’s hard for us to be cynical. The story of a child growing up, it allows us to leave behind our own adulthood and the pessimism that comes with it, if only for a moment. Rachel tells us, “In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God.” But if I had to sum up this film in one word, that word would not be God, but beauty.

Electrick Children trailer:

It’s a concept we’re all familiar with: a soldier comes home from war and finds it difficult to readjust to normal life. So what is it that makes Return something we’ve never seen on screens before? In her debut feature film, Liza Johnson interestingly subverts the typically expected gender roles of this genre, giving us a strong female lead in Kelli (Linda Cardellini). With so many soldiers being women these days, it seems about time.

Clearly displaying that she appreciates just how much this topic has been dealt with, Johnson makes a point of avoiding many of the cliches we’re used to. There are no flashbacks to the war, no moments of hysterical crying or yelling – and in perhaps the bravest move of the film, no drama. Kelli is rather against talking about her time in the Middle East, a trait that we come to see as fairly unhealthy. Her girlfriends are full of questions, eager for her to open up in the belief that it will be a cathartic experience for her, but Kelli refuses to be the victim. “There were a lot of people who had it a lot worse than me,” she repeats, as though it’s something she has programmed into herself in order to get by. But when she casually says “I wasn’t raped, assaulted, or bullied, like a lot of women; I had it good,” one of the most poignant lines of the film comes almost in the form of a throwaway. Her matter-of-fact tone and the sheer lack of gravitas it’s given mean it rings with truth – this isn’t something she says for the attention, but something that is so genuine it’s barely worth mentioning. Here, in the understated simplicity and the chilling honesty, lies the beauty of Johnson’s film.

Everything about Cardellini’s performance screams muted power, and it’s done with great effect, conveying all of her emotions through a filter: a chronic detachment to the world around her. But her supporting cast are frustratingly underused, particularly Michael Shannon in the role of her husband Mike. While it’s nice to not simply see an age old story from a different perspective, the focus on Kelli becomes a little dull, making it harder to feel an emotional connection to any of the other characters. We can sympathize when Kelli seems to go through the motions of daily life in a robotic manner, but even her husband seems really quite humdrum. He’s neither great nor awful at anything, but instead entirely average. Her friends seem shallow and obsessed with trivialities to the point of irritation. Her job, and the characters that come along with it, are also tedious – but would stapling various pieces of metal to each other have been interesting before the war? It’s not really a surprise that she’s bored when she comes back; she should have been bored before she left.

It doesn’t help that Johnson’s fallback events are alcohol issues, marriage troubles and custody battles. Among well written lines, such quintessential events in a returning soldier’s life make the script seem disjointed and lacking in depth; they take something vital away from the truly moving moments, such as when Kelli spontaneously sleeps on the floor of her children’s room. There are so many of these silent, tender scenes that convey Kelli’s internal struggle far more effectively than something as predictable as her getting a DUI, but Johnson tries to force a basic progressive plot on what is otherwise an interesting dilemma. Her saving grace is the unexpected yet surprisingly believable twist in the second half, making it so much clearer to see just how hopeless Kelli’s situation is. I won’t reveal too much about it, but it’s an interesting way to bring home the despair felt by this woman – it removes the distance of her reality by making her seem more vulnerable.

Kelli is transformed by her time away – that much is clear. But we as an audience never see what life was like before she left, instead having to guess at it from her current interactions. This, paired with the two-dimensional nature of the other characters, makes it difficult to feel emotionally involved in the film; we’re often left wanting to feel more but just unable to. Return may have its flaws, but it is nevertheless a refreshing take on a sensitive topic. The problem is that no matter how powerful Cardellini’s performance is, a silent sufferer taking so much of the screen-time just doesn’t do enough to pull on our heartstrings.