Spectre, Sam Mendes‘ latest riff on the classic James Bond formula, comes with all the trimmings fans have come to expect from the undying international superspy series: Daniel Craig‘s 007 kicks henchman ass, kisses gorgeous women, sips on his famous martinis, stares death square in the face more than once, and causes some serious property damage as he visits some of the most ridiculously picturesque places on earth in search of a European big bad hellbent on world domination. It’s the same old schtick, but it’s a schtick millions have come to embrace as a moviegoing staple, one we can count on to deliver insanely expensive-looking action and a fair amount of clean-cut operatic drama. It’s a good Bond film, though there’s nothing remarkable enough about it that it’ll be a standout in the series.

As he’s liable to do, Christoph Waltz plays the film’s central villain, Oberhauser, a worldwide crime boss and tech terrorist who plans to hold humanity in his clutches via some kind of big brother surveillance system. Bond’s path to finding Oberhauser starts in Mexico City, where he causes an explosive international incident involving a helicopter spinning out of control above the city’s annual Dia de los Muertos celebration. It’s an eye-popping opener with clever staging (Bond’s life is saved by a couch) and a sky-high fight scene that’s sure to have those afraid of heights hanging onto their armrests for dear life.

Following his mid-air dance of death, Bond’s journey takes him to Rome, then back home to London, then to Austria, then to Tangier, and back to London again. Mendes doesn’t stray from the series’ touristic traditions one bit, throwing up jaw-dropping locales onto the screen rapid-fire. From the snowy peaks of Austria to the serene desert sprawl of Tangier, mother earth looks her beauty-pageant best, and she’s rocking some shiny jewelry to boot: the baddies’ fortresses look like marvels of modern architecture and the stunning cars Bond rockets around in will make you drool. Bond movies have become increasingly obsessed with suit-modeling and vista-ogling in recent years, but that’s not a bad thing. At least not yet.

Bond’s allies aren’t in short supply in his latest romp: M (Ralph Fiennes), Moneypenny (Naomie Harris), and gadget maven Q (Ben Wishaw) have all got 007’s back, though the bad guys’ eyes-everywhere tech prevents them from aiding Bond remotely. Spending the most time with him is newbie Madeleine Swann (Lea Seydoux), the latest addition to his ever-growing list of doomed lovers. She’s the daughter of an old villain who operated under the Oberhauser umbrella, and she insists she’s got no interest in bedding James like the rest of his international floozies. But who’s she fooling? After a romantic train ride and a close-quarters fistfight with one of Oberhauser goons (Guardians of the Galaxy‘s Dave Bautista), the sexual tension becomes too strong for even the strong-willed Madeleine to resist.

Craig’s got his Bond routine down to a science by now, hunting down his villainous prey with that same signature cold-eyed scowl he uses to make women melt. He’s a very good James Bond, but what slows him down in Spectre is his romance with Seydoux’s Madeleine, which unfolds in such a cursory fashion it’s laughable. She confesses her love for him after spending only a few days together, and even an actor of Seydoux’s talent can’t make such an unlikely leap in affection feel natural. If this is the girl Bond’s meant to consider leaving the spy life for, the writers (Neal Purvis, John Logan, Robert Wade, Jez Butterworth) don’t do enough to convince us of it.

Thankfully, the rushed romance one of only two of the film’s major downers (the other is the movie’s theme song, by Sam Smith, which is insufferable). The action set pieces are all show-stoppers, though the thrills of the opening helicopter scene are never outdone. A close-quarters fight scene between Craig, Bautista and Seydoux is a lot of fun and reminds us that Mendes doesn’t need pricey visual effects to keep us on the edge of our seats (the scene’s absence of music is a great touch that makes the brawl doubly tense). The movie isn’t exactly action-packed, though, as the explosions and car chases are used to punctuate the long stretches of character development/plot progression. Skyfall had a more striking and cohesive visual style than Spectre does (shadows and blackness are the recurring themes, but none of the inky images stick), but Mendes’ craftsmanship is never less than elegant and fully composed.

There’s a twist to Waltz’s character that I won’t spoil here, but what I will say is that he disappoints, again, by playing a villain exactly the way we all expect him to. The man’s capable of great things, but we’ve seen him play this smirking, unfazed, cold-blooded a million times before, and it’s a letdown every time he decides to stay in the pocket and not add any new dimensions to his act. Harris and Wishaw make a better effort, and it’ll be nice to continue watching them support Bond in future entries.

If Skyfall was the pinnacle of Craig’s run as Bond, Spectre signals a slight downturn and a need for the series to break new ground and redefine who James Bond is for the next generation. Mendes has made a fine movie that pays homage to Bond lore in surprising and delightful ways (there’s something off about that Oberhauser…) but it feels like the timing’s right for a change of the guard. Craig is perhaps the quintessential alpha-male Bond, always in control of his situation and surroundings; maybe it’s time for a double-0 who gets a bit more shaken and stirred in the face of danger.

It’s a great relief that Suffragette isn’t a showy, glamorized, romantic period piece meant to wow us with its pretty locales and intricate costume design. The British suffragettes of the early 20th century deserve a more honest, grounded depiction than that, and that’s what director Sarah Gavron and writer Abi Morgan deliver. Their version of the suffragette movement is violent, thrilling and dirty. These women put everything on the line in the name of justice and equality, shattering windows and blowing up mailboxes at the risk of losing their jobs and families. Women may have won the right to vote here and in Britain a long time ago, but the tragedy is that many of the injustices the suffragettes rallied against in the past still stand strong today.

We see the movement through the eyes of Maud (Carey Mulligan), a working woman with a husband, Sonny (Ben Wishaw), and a son, George (Adam Michael Dodd). Maud’s not taken from the history books—she’s a composite of Morgan and Gavron’s research on suffragettes of the time, particularly those in the middle class. At the story’s outset she exists outside the suffragette circle, accepting of her lot working at a musty laundry where she’s sexually abused by her boss. Her inner activist is ignited when she sees suffragettes carrying out minor acts of vandalism all around East London in their fight for equal voting rights.

Almost by accident, Maud is recruited by her co-worker Violet (Anne-Marie Duff) and is further inspired by Edith Ellyn (Helena Bonham Carter), a suffragist leader who holds secret meetings in the pharmacy she runs. Leading the larger suffragist charge as figurehead is Emmeline Pankhurst (Meryl Streep), who gives Maud a jumpstart of empowerment and inspiration (we see her only briefly, but Streep knows how to make her minutes count). The women may not have a voice in parliament, but they’ve got bravery and conviction to spare.

As she gets caught up in suffragist activities, Maud begins to realize the true scale of her sacrifice for the movement. She’s thrown in jail (where she’s force-fed—a gruesome scene) and villainized by most of her community, and Sonny hasn’t the patience or understanding to tolerate her new life’s mission. He kicks her out of their tiny flat and forbids her from seeing George, leaving her fellow female foot soldiers as her only allies.

Mulligan has a gift that allows her to embody strength and delicateness at the same time, and few roles would be better served by her talents than that of Maud. Heartrending are the scenes in which Maud sneaks George away from school to spend a few precious hours of quality time; you can see joy and anguish in equal parts on Mulligan’s face as Maud savors her time with her son. Also great are Mulligan’s scenes with Brendan Gleeson, who plays a detectie heading up a suffragette surveillance operation. He’s the only almost-sympathetic figure on the oppressor’s side of the story (he empathizes with the suffragettes but ultimately does nothing to help them), though the film never ham-fistedly villainizes the men in the story. Other filmmakers might have made the story about some sort of ethical awakening on the men’s side, but Gavron and Morgan are more tasteful than that; their story is about the women’s fight for justice, period.

There’s no effort to show off the film’s elaborate production design in a Hollywood-y way by Gavron, and that’s one of the film’s strengths. Every bit of East London we see looks detailed and painstakingly designed, but the characters are always the focus, which results in a more immersive period experience. This is the first movie ever to be allowed to film at the UK’s Houses of Parliament, and the filmmakers don’t squandor the opportunity by giving the location center stage. It’s the sign of a film made with dignity and care.

The thing working against Suffragette is that it’s not quite as rousing as you’d think it would be. It’s admirable in the way it respects the dark days these heroes endured to pave the way for future generations, but there’s something about the tone and pace of the movie that lacks an overarching sense of force and activist aggression, something a movie so unenamored with style could have done better with. On the other hand, I’ll take a melancholic but respectful historical drama over a glitzy, Oscar-bait-y one any day.

Two heavy Oscar hopefuls opened the Mill Valley Film Festival last night as Tom Hooper‘s The Danish Girl and Tom McCarthy‘s Spotlight played to packed movie houses surrounded by towering redwoods in downtown Mill Valley and in San Rafael just a few minutes up the road. Both directors were in attendance to introduce their respective films and participate in Q&As before the crowds hurried to the open-air Opening Night party to pass around their thoughts on the films.

Teamwork Makes the Dream Work

The cast of Spotlight is arguably the best ensemble you’ll see in a movie all year. If the Oscars gave out Best Ensemble statues they’d have it in the bag, hands down. Starring Michael Keaton, Rachel McAdams, Mark Ruffalo, Stanley Tucci, and Liev Schreiber (whose top-notch performance will likely go unappreciated in the coming months), the film feels dynamic and alive and spontaneous despite its true-story roots. It recounts the breaking of the Catholic church child molestation cover-up by the Boston Globe’s “Spotlight” news team, an investigation that shook Boston to its core. While reviews coming out of TIFF have gotten movie lovers across the country itching in anticipation to see Tom McCarthy’s latest, I feel compelled to offer a word of warning: This is an excellent movie that’s also decidedly humble; don’t expect any loud, earth-shattering performances or slow-motion, tearful eruptions meant to entice members of the Academy. Spotlight stays right in the pocket, which is exactly where it should be.

Butterflies Are Free To Fly

One of the big shockers from the Oscars last year was Eddie Redmayne‘s Best Actor win, as many expected Michael Keaton to go home with the prize (including Keaton himself). Well, the young British charmer is in the race again with The Danish Girl, the Tom Hooper-helmed historical drama about trans icon Lili Elbe (Redmayne) and her wife, Gerda Wegener (Alicia Vikander). Lili’s rebirth as a woman in the 1920s (she was formerly known as Einar Wegener, a successful painter) is a staggeringly beautiful story in real life, but Hooper’s picture is too glossy and overly poetic to be truly inspiring. Redmayne exudes femininity and is as good on-screen as ever, and Vikander is his equal, but the dialogue is so maudlin that many moments, especially later in the film, feel hollow and disingenuous. The actors are knockouts across the board, though. Matthias Schoenaerts, Amber Heard, and Ben Wishaw round out a wonderful supporting cast, though the film never provides a solid enough platform for them to look and sound their best.

Weekends have only existed since 1908. Nirvana is as old now as The Beatles were in the ’90s. Betty White is older than sliced bread! These are pretty mind-boggling things to think about; time can be tricky like that. Matt Wolf’s Teenage, based on a book by Jon Savage, revolves around the origins of the titular phenomenon that in fact traces back only to the beginning of the 20th century. It’s a fact that’s hard to grasp in the overwhelmingly youth-driven culture of today. Using an innovative manipulation and melding of vintage film clips and photos, disguised reenactments, and narration provided by the likes of Jena Malone and Ben Wishaw, Wolf chronicles the emergence of teenage culture and attitude subjectively, intimately, through the eyes of the youth themselves.

The premise is that due to older people using youngsters to literally fight their wars for them, squandering the lives of their children to shape the world to their liking, the teens developed a feverishly rebellious and infectious mindset, a hunger to carve out their own version of the world to play and dance in, reclaiming their stolen youth. The film jumps between the teenage movements of three countries–America, England, and Germany–chronologically documenting the gaggle of subcultures and significant events that eventually evolved into the multi-billion dollar industry that’s conquered the globe.

Detailing various youth groups like the flappers, Hitler Youth, victory virls, and jitterbugs, the film is quite comprehensive in its mapping of the teenage origin story. It can be a bit dizzying, frankly, to keep track of which country’s youth we’re being shown at any given time, due to the fact that the film bounces between the three countries seemingly willy-nilly. There are four narrators to keep track of: a Hitler Youth (Julia Hummer), an English boy (Wishaw), an African-American boy scout (Jessie Usher), and an American girl (Malone). The actors read excerpts from the real diaries, giving the film a distinctly personal sense of proximity that few historical docs come even close to touching.

The film touches on interesting inter-cultural dynamics like kids in England and Germany being infatuated with American music, smuggling records into secret parties and obsessing over them ravenously. “Why do you like jazz music?” a British mother asks her son. “Because it’s American!” he answers defiantly.

It’s tragic that so many youngsters were forced to work countless hours in factories for almost nothing, only to be sent off to be killed in World War I for their troubles. Wolf makes crystal clear the injustices imposed by the older generation that compelled their children to impulsively, eruptively band together and give them the proverbial middle finger.

The film does a good job of deceiving us, making the vintage footage look indiscernible from the modern reenactments. The downside of this is that, because there is so much ground to cover in terms of information (we’re talking a span of 40 years, here), the smooth, organic flow of the film makes everything feel a bit too ephemeral, never taking the time to stop and really delve into the massive issues at hand–like teens’ gigantic effect on consumerism–in-depth. The film is deeply atmospheric, an admirable feat considering it consists of mostly washed-out photos and footage, but its subjective format only allows it to nibble at the historical meat of the story. Teenage casts an intoxicating spell, but in the haze of war and underground dance parties, it doesn’t have the time to help us understand what the hell it all means.

Teenage trailer

A Field in England

Ben Wheatley’s fever dream of a film, A Field in England, will have you scraping your brain off of the floor by the time the end credits save you from the madness. Set during the English civil war, we follow four blokes as they flee the field of war and turn from soldiers to wanderers, trekking through the titular field in search of an alehouse. They inexplicably unearth an Irish alchemist (or something like that), and the dark man proceeds to abuse the sorry souls (and us) into a state of helpless insanity. Wheatley utilizes a barrage of strobing diabolical imagery, grimy black and white photography, and disorienting narrative leaps to jostle loose your grip on reality, and the effect is astonishing. As an experience, it’s truly something else. Something that must be seen to be believed. [Bernard]

Proxy

Proxy opens with a scene so disturbing it’ll be too repulsive and morally disagreeable for most (walk-outs are almost guaranteed). In the scene, our main character, Esther, walking home from a prenatal doctor’s appointment, goes from pregnant to not pregnant in the worst way possible. Let’s leave it at that. It’s an upfront declaration of the film’s wickedness, and should vex the weak of stomach and delight those with a taste for the twisted, gruesome, and psychotic. The vile tone never lets up, as the film explores the darkest corners of mental illness in graphic, sadistic fashion. Director Zack Parker’s images, despite their repulsiveness, look slick and often poetic, and his cast (including indie favorite Joe Swanberg) is solid. [Bernard]

Teenage

Teenage is an earnest examination of the teenager’s role in culture. It may not provide many new insights, but it does use an impressive array of archival footage to convey the shifting ideals and subcultures of the early 20th century. Though the film’s attempts at character-driven diversions feel a bit muddled, director Matt Wolf overall does an effective job of showing the similarities of teens through the years. Featuring narration by actors including Jena Malone and Ben Whishaw and a vibrant score by Bradford Cox (Deerhunter), Teenage feels like an elegant though somewhat on-the-nose love letter to rebellion and identity. [Colleen]

How to Be a Man

Mark (Gavin McInness) is a retired comedian faced with terminal breast cancer (hmm…) who wants to make a series of man-advice videos for his unborn son. He finds a young man (Liam Aiken) to film it for him and, predictably, they form a quick father-son bond. How to Be a Man is an Apatow-ish,  toilet-humor fueled, raunch-comedy that manages to be pretty funny despite its derivative makeup. McInness is a gifted funny man, and director Chad Harbold gives him space to strut his stuff. (A public sexual instruction scene is given ample screen time, and McInness shines.) Aiken almost gets lost completely in McInness’ shadow, however. The film isn’t as edgy as it thinks it is, but neither are most films of its ilk. A solid effort. [Bernard]