Although 2016 is not even halfway done, one of the year’s most affecting powerhouse performances has been making a quiet rumble in limited markets after hitting last year’s festival circuit. There are many confounding elements to unpack in Jia Zhangke’s Mountains May Depart, whether it be its framing methods or its extended prologue, but Zhao Tao’s masterful performance is what makes the film a momentous achievement for Zhangke’s career. Starting last year at Cannes, audiences have been immediately enthralled by the youthful and perky dance instructor who lights up the first sequence of Mountains May Depart. Where other actors would reduce Shen Tao, the character who happens to be named after the actress, to a charming simplicity, Zhao makes her character her own and embraces a whole range of characterizations and flaws that a woman would encounter in 25 tumultuous years of life.

Shen’s evolution through the film is visible through the three distinct acts that encompass Mountains May Depart. Her character grows in the short time spans that are presented as obstacles are thrown in front of her, but her maturation is increasingly visible in 1999, 2014 and 2025. Many characters affect Shen’s life through the years, but she commands the story and the screen. Despite Mountains May Depart’s point-of-view being omniscient, it lives through the eyes of Shen, and the film excels when the focus is on her. Zhao molds Shen into a fully fleshed out human with complex traits that follow her whole life while displaying a childlike wonderment, maternal jealousy, and sweet sentimentally in each respective time period.

In the first act, Zhao portrays Shen with an ingenuity and innocence. She is introduced with Liangzhi, portrayed by Jing Dong Liang, but she quickly hops over to Jinsheng, portrayed by Yi Zhang. Shen balances the two men in her life selfishly, picking between which one has more to offer her. Yet, because Zhao is such a master actress, Shen never comes off as unpleasant or less than endearing. In fact, this selfishness, which is present throughout the film, only paints her as more relatable and grounded.

Zhao plays Shen with a lot of reservation in the first act, whether it be about choosing a man or the way she takes in her surroundings. This reservation results in a quiet performance, full of nuances and gestures. Even as the two men have conversations, it is hard for one to take their eyes off of Shen—her eyes twinkle, her mouth twitches, her face engages. The performance is even realized in the tiniest moments, like when Shen softly hears a Cantonese song and is deeply affected by it. In many ways, Zhao diminishes Shen’s age. She represents youthfulness and abandonment, willing to live her own life no matter what comes her way.

In the second act, Shen is noticeably older and more demure, but her life is even more uncertain. Shen’s life takes a left turn between the two time periods, leaving her matured in both life experience and presence. At the opening of the second act, Zhao is often found with a soft smile that alludes to a deeper feeling of discontent.

It is the relationship with her son Dollar which really drives home the duality of Zhao’s performance. Zhao is given a chance to be more emotive in the second act since her sans souci attitude is replaced with grief. As the act progresses, Zhao opens herself up to hit the highs and lows of an emotionally susceptible woman, stuck between motherhood and daughterhood. Until Dollar becomes more involved in the story, Zhao always plays Shen as someone comfortable in her own skin, but she struggles as someone else takes a stronger grasp on her life. Zhao juggles a complicated combination of being a tyrannical matriarch and a tender mother. In the end, her care for Dollar is well portrayed, but it is as complex as her character.

In its third act, Mountains May Depart breaks away from Shen and Zhao to focus on Dollar and his father Liangzhi’s life in Australia in 2015. The last forty minutes are almost universally deemed the most turbulent part of the film due to the Zhangke and the actor’s unfamiliarity with the English language. More bothersome though is the absence of Shen, who didn’t experience the redemption her character deserved. Shen returns in the epilogue, which pays homage to the most tender moments of the film. Zhao illuminates the epilogue with a graciousness and subtlety, and Shen comes off naturally more aged, capable and refined, despite Zhao staying the same. The last scene doesn’t say much, but ties the film together with nostalgia and hope, and leaves room for the viewers to contemplate the timeless iridescences of Zhao’s performance.

Mountains May Depart is now out in limited theatrical release from Kino Lorber in the US and Films We Like in Canada. For a slightly different take, click here to read Michael Nazarewycz’s review of the film.

When examining two artists’ work, writers rarely consider jumping across the media barrier to study themes and trends in art as a whole. Artistry isn’t limited to one form of multimedia, and auteurism can be examined between novelists, filmmakers, musicians, and/or playwrights. After listening to Kanye West’s The Life of Pablo and watching Terrence Malick’s Knight of Cups, I couldn’t help noticing similarities in the static energy of both projects, whose many moving parts turned into commotion. Although Malick and West’s creative processes are worlds apart, their evolution as artists can be seen as parallel as they explore spirituality, perfection and challenge the notions of art itself in their polarizing careers. But when comparing their recent output, it seems that they have taken one step beyond the apex of their highest artistic potential. The Life of Pablo and Knight of Cups are problematic works due to how involved they are in their own space, whether it be Malick’s cold, dreamy world or West’s personal heaven—empty of consequences. Both projects present a false sense of grandeur that falls apart on the principle of a weak foundation.

The titles of both The Life of Pablo and Knight of Cups allude to conceptually grand pieces doused in imagery and inspiration. After many assumed that West’s album was alluding to Pablo Picasso or Pablo Escobar, it was a bit of a surprise when West hinted that the titular Pablo may be St. Paul the Apostle. Yet, despite what the album promises, The Life of Pablo gives very little insight into the life of any Pablo, whether it be Picasso, Escobar, the Apostle or an alter-ego of West. In fact, the album meanders from track to track in a shallow and sometimes chaotic way. My first concern when listening to the much tighter 10-track album that premiered at Madison Square Garden was that Pablo wasn’t conceptually innovative unlike Yeezus or My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. That concern is even more grounded in the final album, which includes a lot of songs that feel like bonus tracks.

Knight of Cups central idea is much clearer, but not necessarily better in execution. Malick uses tarot card readings to characterize and split his film into chapters. The Knight of Cups tarot card comes from the “Minor Arcana” deck; when the card is upright it represents opportunities, changes, and new romances, but when the card is turned downward it represents recklessness and a person who has trouble distinguishing right from wrong. Knight of Cups follows Rick as he attempts to flip his attributes while meeting other individuals who represent different cards from the deck. Each of the first seven chapters, all named after a card in the Major Arcana deck, show Rick meandering between romantic flings and family members before finding his inner peace. His turmoil is cleared in the eighth chapter, called “Freedom.” Here, the tarot card concept comes to an abrupt halt—“Freedom” isn’t even a tarot card, yet many of the unused cards could’ve represented the same ideas of Malick’s final chapter. Ultimately, Malick captures the ideas of the cards as superficially as West creates a “Life” for any of his titular “Pablos.” Both works are sprawling and sometimes random, but they’re missing a central, cohesive idea. Though the works never hit a conceptual grandeur, they aren’t thoughtless and have some conceptual ingenuity.

When Knight of Cups and The Life of Pablo reach their thematic potential, they often focus on the same things: spirituality and a quest for perfection or redemption. These are some of the same themes that Malick and Kanye have tackled throughout their careers.

Malick’s work has always been upheld with inspiration from spirituality and religion. The Tree of Life is the epitome of his theological questioning, but To The Wonder and Knight of Cups also examine religion in their exploration of men lost in the worlds they inhabit. Knight of Cups’ spirituality and mystery doesn’t always lend itself to Christianity, but its opening lines come from The Pilgrim’s Progress, a Christian allegory written in 1678 by John Bunyan.

West isn’t unfamiliar to large productions sampling from a multitude of sources; speeches, sermons, and classic songs show up in some form or another throughout The Life of Pablo, along with dozens of other samples. The Life is Pablo’s opening track is “Ultralight Beam,” the most holistic and singular song of the album, which borrows from an Instagram post of a little girl saying, “We don’t want no devils in the house, God.” These words, which open the album, are unexpected from a rap album or a Kanye West album, but they mark a message that is revisited multiple times on The Life of Pablo. “Ultralight Beam” continues in a spiritual direction and, at times, nearly breaks into full gospel, whether it’s because of lyrical content or an actual gospel choir.

In relation to spirituality, West and Malick also explore a divinity in their own characters or personas. In the rap community, West is sometimes viewed as a god. This maybe indicates why The Life of Pablo features an enormous amount of other performers—work from his “disciples.” And while West has stated he’s a Christian, it’s a statement that comes with controversy after tracks like “Jesus Walks” and his album Yeezus, where West often paints himself as a false profit.

On the other hand, Malick takes no claim to be a god among men, but a theme throughout his work is a quest for perfection. This could manifest in striving for a perfect marriage in To The Wonder; a perfect walk with God in The Tree of Life; or Rick’s journey for divinity in Hollywood while finding redemption in Knight of Cups. At Malick’s best, his characters are human and their wonderings are relatable, but this theme of perfection actually provides ammunition to his detractors. Christian Bale wandering through Los Angeles meeting with countless women is, understandably, seen as pretentious and not insightful to the real everyman. Ben Affleck searching for true love through Rachel McAdams or Olga Kurylenko amid airy whispers in To The Wonder comes off as equally shallow and disengaged.

The Life of Pablo and Knight of Cups are hugely spiritual works, albeit in hugely different ways. West’s inward spiritual examination is more on the nose and ironic than Malick’s, yet it is clear that West and Malick take inspiration from a theistic entity—presumably a Christian one—that drives them into exploring divinity or the futility of perfection, respectively. As strong as these ideas were in previous Malick and West joints, it is hard for me to perceive their recent outputs as anything but slight.

Once upon a time, I wasn’t just a casual fan of West and Malick’s work, but their latest offerings have left me questioning their visions and career trajectories. My biggest complaints about their latest work actually relate back to the way the artists react with their audiences when they aren’t behind a camera or a microphone.

Malick’s dissociation from the public eye is evident in his most detached work yet. With Knight of Cups, Malick has lost the touch and understanding of the human condition that actually drove his earlier works. Instead of capturing a relatable story with real characters, Knight of Cups meanders and searches, but the exploration is never more than a surface deep perspective of an uninteresting man.

On the other hand, The Life of Pablo is an album of the moment that’s caught up in the zeitgeist. This is as much of reflection of West’s inward interests as it is a reflection of his every (unfiltered) thought. At times, The Life of Pablo becomes a misaligned musical rant that throws too many half-fleshed out ideas in the form of samples and guests instead of coherence and quality. The album, at its worst, could be compared to West’s twitter persona—scatterbrained, both musically and lyrically.

The Life of Pablo and Knight of Cups both reach moments of grandeur, but these moments only point to a greatness that is usually absent throughout the rest of their works. My initial response to The Life of Pablo was mixed, and as I continue to listen to the album I find it more problematic (but that still hasn’t stopped me from listening). Inversely, my only viewing of Knight of Cups was a chore that left me bored and irritated, but I find myself thinking about it more often than I anticipated.

At the heart of both works is a problem with auteurism. I have previously mentioned that both pieces serve as the strongest sense of vision from the artist, but this vision doesn’t translate into a language most audiences can understand or necessarily want to hear. Yet, on the other side of the spectrum, auteurism bolsters the careers of West and Malick, driving the creativity in both of their recent outputs. The Life of Pablo and Knight of Cups don’t work due to a lack of effort; Malick and West’s visions get lost on a large portion of their intended audience because they are too consumed in their own art.

From the National Board of Review to the recent handing out of the Golden Globes, the 2016 Oscar season has been nothing short of unpredictable. Yet, when the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences announced their nominations in the early morning of Thursday, January 14th, there were few shocks or notable omissions, except for the exclusion of critical darling Carol and its director Todd Haynes.

When the announcements started, the legion of Carol fans were given the chance to rest easy as it scored all of its expected nominations: cinematography, costumes, screenplay, score, best supporting actress and best actress. Yet, when surprise nominee Lenny Abrahamson was announced in Best Director and Carol was nowhere to be seen in Best Picture, it looked like a typical case of Oscar voters favoring the middlebrow over the high brow.

Not too long ago, pundits and insiders thought that Carol could surprise and win Best Picture after critical praise and an extensive stint on the festival circuit. Despite missing an important Producer’s Guild nomination, Carol was overperforming at many Oscar precursors, scoring a slew of nominations at the Golden Globes, BAFTAs and BFCA Awards. Going into the morning of the 14th, it finally looked like one of America’s greatest auteurs working today could get support from The Academy, but why did the nominations come up short?

In a year with many female-driven projects as possible contenders, most were predicting at least one of these films to miss out on Oscar morning. Historically, The Academy, which features an alarming number of older, white men, have favored male-led films. In fact, of last year’s eight Best Picture nominees, every single film focused on the life of a male. So, for many, having films like Mad Max: Fury Road, Brooklyn, Room, and Carol in contention indicated a step forward for the Oscars. Yet, aside from Carol, all of these films embrace the plight of the male condition. Even though Mad Max: Fury Road is unflinchingly feminist in its commentary, the audience split was still heavily skewed in favor of the male. Brooklyn devolves into a typical love-triangle story with its leading men representing a woman torn between her family home in Ireland and new home in America. And even though Room tackles a woman’s struggle with media perception, it’s the son of Brie Larson’s character that ends up rescuing her from depression.

Carol never shies away from being a film about women and their strength in a time of repression. Carol and Therese are perceived as classy, intelligent and demure, whereas their male suitors are presented as bullish oafs. Before romance even begins to bud between Therese and Carol, the Todd Haynes film is already at a disadvantage in The Academy by displaying women as interesting and independent, especially at the expense of their men.

As diminutive as classifying Carol as a lesbian romance may be, at the heart of the film is the blossoming love between Carol and Therese. It’s easy to point to the 2006 Oscar ceremony, where Crash won Best Picture over projected favorite Brokeback Mountain, to create a narrative for The Academy’s aversion for homosexual films and performances, but in the past decade a handful of men portraying gay figures have been nominated or awarded. On the other hand, actresses portraying lesbians have had a much harder time breaking through, and it is especially hard when the characters are “just” lesbians rather than transgender, bisexual or queer. The films these women star in often have an even harder time scoring picture nominations.

In recent years, the only film driven by a lesbian couple to be nominated for Best Picture is The Kids Are All Right, a dramedy with a meaty supporting role by a well-respected male actor. In fact, The Kids Are All Right isn’t like Carol at all—it is a conservative film The Academy could have an easier time embracing. Its relative lightness paints a lesbian partnership as something less serious than a straight relationship, whereas Carol illustrates the heavy struggles of lesbians in the middle of the 20th century with dire conviction. By principle, The Kids Are All Right diminishes the family that the lesbian couple has made by putting a man in the middle of it—something The Academy members can get behind.

But the single biggest travesty of this year’s Oscar season might be Todd Haynes missing a Best Director nomination. Haynes has always been treasured by crowds of more refined taste, evident by his many directing mentions from critics’ groups in New York City and Los Angeles, but Carol had him primed for an academic breakout. Haynes’ work in Carol is marked with his usual excellence, manifested in every performance and the fully realized 1950s time period. In recent years, the directing branch has made left-field or highbrow choices compared to the Directors Guild or other committees; meditative and “artsy” films such as Amour and The Tree of Life have garnered nominations for auteurs Michael Haneke and Terrence Malick, respectively. Yet Todd Haynes, who has been making acclaimed films for more than two decades, missed a nomination for his most accessible film to date. Despite his huge influence in the important New Queer Cinema movement, he won’t be joining the ranks of the few openly gay directors to receive an Oscar nomination.

Perhaps Carol’s Oscar problems aren’t exclusive to its production in front of the camera. For the first time since 2008, The Weinstein Company missed out on a Best Picture nod after having two of the biggest front runners at the start of the season. The Weinstein Company has had a tumultuous year after laying off a few dozen staff members, along with box office flops like Burnt. TWC toned down its usual campaigning techniques and perhaps, due to this, not enough Academy members were properly convinced. But Carol has been campaigning for itself ever since its Cannes premiere. It deserved to be a film that could rest easily on its accolades and prestige.

Ultimately, Carol has ended up being The Academy’s biggest Best Picture oversight of the 21st century. Even though The Dark Knight‘s snub in 2009 signaled a need for an expanded picture category to give more genre films a chance, its support was exclusively guilds based, and the lack of picture or director nominations were all but determined after it missed those at BAFTA and the Golden Globes. Carol‘s snub is much more indicative of Hollywood and the AMPAS’ greatest aversions, whether that be the highbrow cinema, gay filmmakers, or women’s sexuality.

2015 confirmed that the years of movie stars carrying huge box office weight are behind us more than ever. Stars and starlets who heralded huge hits in the past were in some of the biggest flops of 2015; Bill Murray with Rock the Kasbah, Sandra Bullock with Our Brand is Crisis, Hugh Jackman with Pan and Chappie, and Bradley Cooper with Aloha and Burnt. Yet Hollywood works in circles, so someone is bound to rise from the ashes to become a true “movie star”.

In 2014, Chris Pratt became the talk of the town after a giant year with Guardians of the Galaxy and The Lego Movie. He even had a pretty good 2015 starring in Jurassic World. Yet, Pratt doesn’t have all of the characteristics of the Golden Age of Hollywood’s leading men and women. His expressive charisma and good looks don’t completely compensate for his limited range. It’s hard for him to carry a film without strong assistance from a supporting cast, which was noticeable in Guardians of the Galaxy but was more obvious after playing second fiddle to Bryce Dallas Howard in Jurassic World.

Jurassic World movie stars Chris Pratt and Bryce Dallas Howard

Furthermore, Pratt’s mark has never actually been tested; nothing has been sold on his image alone. The Marvel, Jurassic Park, and even Lego brands all have a built-in fan base that assures their films from being box office failures. In fact, many of Marvel’s biggest actors have proven to disappoint outside of the franchise: Chris Evans hasn’t led a non-Marvel film to a gross over $60 million; Robert Downey Jr.’s biggest hits have all been franchise films; Chris Hemsworth has had many leading endeavors tank. Marvel hasn’t historically made any bonafide box office stars; why would Chris Pratt be different?

But another talent has been awoken and he has been thrown into the center of the public’s eye: Oscar Isaac. In Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Isaac’s Poe Dameron isn’t as utilized as heavily as Finn and Rey, but the part does draw resemblance to the introduction of Harrison Ford’s Han Solo in A New Hope. The two are both cocky, sharp-witted pilots who play the magnetic, charming sidekick. What Isaac has in The Force Awakens that Ford didn’t in A New Hope is experience and a tangible acting prowess.

Oscar Isaac as Poe Dameron in Star Wars: The Force Awakens

While A New Hope was essentially Ford’s acting debut, Isaac already has many acting roles under his belt showing his versatility and range. His first leading performance as Llewyn Davis in the Coen Brothers’ Inside Llewyn Davis earned him critical praise and more than a dozen Best Actor mentions. In 2014, he received accolades for his leading performance in A Most Violent Year. And his most impressive box office turn was from this year, Ex Machina, which boasts many critical mentions and award traction.

These indies are obviously in the little leagues when it comes to box office and public visibility, but with The Force Awakens, Oscar Isaac will now become a household name. On top of red carpet events and press conferences, Isaac has been making the rounds on talk shows displaying his confidence and personality. His real life persona is a dashing combination of Pratt’s goofiness and Tom Cruise’s charm, but his talent and scope arguably exceeds them both. Add in his musical talent, and Isaac becomes a double threat that is easy for the public to latch on to.

A pondering Oscar Isaac in Ex Machina

Even though Poe Dameron seems underutilized in The Force Awakens, it’s worth noting that Han Solo’s presence is much more noteworthy in the next two installments of The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi. With all signs pointing to a derivative series and some characters out of the way, Isaac’s Poe could have much more to do in the next episode. Furthermore, The Force Awakens is only the beginning of Isaac’s blockbuster reign; he is playing the titular villain in the upcoming X-Men film.

With a strong platter of future releases, Oscar Isaac has the potential to latch on to Hollywood and leave a lasting impact. The Star Wars series has started and killed many acting careers, especially Hayden Christensen and Mark Hamill who struggled to brand themselves outside of the series. But Isaac isn’t like these two; he has already proven himself to be strong enough in his past endeavors to outlast the curse. After his franchise contracts run up, he will be one of the most in-demand actors in Hollywood. His possibilities will be endless.