The last day of a festival is always bitter, rarely sweet. No matter how exhausted your bones are, or how badly your spine begs for a chiropractor, if the festival was a success you could do it all again for another two weeks. It’s with this dread, and a double shot of espresso to keep the focus, that I entered my last screening; Olivier Assayas’ Clouds Of Sils Maria. The final film shown in competition with a superstar cast of Juliette Binoche, Kristen Stewart, and Chloe Moretz; three women representing three different generations in a story about coming to terms with the past, age, and the consequences of time. Sounds kind of lovely, doesn’t it? Not sure what happened then, because Assayas found a way to drop the ball on this one and produced a lazy, uninspired, and forlorn piece of work.

Maria Enders (Binoche) is a famous stage and film actress who is offered a role for a play she has a deep and personal connection to. The play is about a young seductress called Sigrid who manipulates the older Hanna into a lesbian relationship only to leave her brokenhearted and forgotten by the end. 20 years ago, Maria played Sigrid and immersed herself into the role so much that it mirrored her own personality. Now, after the death of the playwright who wrote the piece, Maria reluctantly accepts the much weaker role of Hanna, but has trouble coming to terms with the way the character is written as it fills her with past memories and present insecurities about her own relevance. With the help of her assistant Valentine (Stewart), she begins to rehearse the role and has slight trepidation and pretentious misgivings with the idea of working with Jo-Anne (Moretz), the 19-year-old Hollywood superstar who has a Lindsay Lohan temperament.

There is so much there to grab on to, it’s a shame Assays butterfingers practically every element of the story. The main conflict, Maria’s relationship with the role, is written with such melodrama that it forces a rather minor performance by one of cinema’s all time greats, Binoche. Her work in English has always been slightly inferior to her French roles, but it just never seems like she gets under the skin of her character and leaves a trail of overacted scenes. Stewart has never been better, and yet she’s still stuck in a stifled shell; even when she’s at her most animated. While Moretz brings in the laughs and proves to be the aspirin for the headache induced by the scenes she’s not in. She, too, has never been better but unfortunately we get much more stifled Stewart than catty Moretz.

The biggest obstacles, however, lie in the execution of the story not the actors who do their very best with what they have. Assayas is squarely to blame for the poorly written dialogue which sounds like it was copy-pasted from some Bold and the Beautiful episode and for montage sequences which make absolutely no contextual sense, only serving to push us away and check our watches. The name of the play is tied into the phenomenon evoked by clouds and wind in the mountains of Sils Maria, where Maria rehearses her part. While the imagery is captivating, and the idea even more so, the meaning behind it is lost in a haze of poorly edited and awkwardly placed images desperate to attach themselves symbolically to characters who are too poorly written to be attached to anything. Not even with the help of 3D glasses would you find three dimensions anywhere in this film.

So, my Cannes festival ends on something of a sour note screening-wise (though, a soon-to-be-published article will show you the high it actually ended on) because Olivier Assayas, usually so on point, missed all his targets with Clouds Of Sils Maria. Fans of Stewart will declare her Best Supporting Actress material mostly because this is her greatest role yet, Moretz surprises in a funny parody of Hollywood celebrities, and Binoche makes you miss Julianne Moore’s batshit crazy and entertaining woman with similar issues in David Cronenberg’s Maps to the Stars. Watch this only if you’re a diehard fan of someone involved, or if you’re interested in seeing what a comic book movie directed by Assayas would look like (a highlight among the weariness.) Otherwise, this thematically redundant and soapy opera full of flat notes is not worth your time.

Originally published on May 24th, 2014 during the Cannes Film Festival.

In recent years, the production company Borderline Films have quickly established a new crop of indie talent. Two of the company’s founding members, Sean Durkin and Antonio Campos, have respectively made Martha Marcy May Marlene and Simon Killer, two truly distinctive Indies to come out of America this decade. And while director Mona Fastvold is Norwegian, her film The Sleepwalker feels directly inspired by Borderline, or just Martha Marcy May Marlene. The Sleepwalker has plenty of traits in common with Durkin’s film: a similar plot, precise cinematography, the Haneke-inspired chilly remove, and that feeling of something oh so wrong lurking underneath the surface. The connection becomes explicit through the involvement of regular Borderline collaborator Brady Corbet, who co-wrote the screenplay with Fastvold. Unfortunately The Sleepwalker is nothing more than a tone-deaf attempt at the kind of psychological drama its predecessors did so well.

The story centers around two estranged sisters, Kaia (Gitte Witt) and Christine (Stephanie Ellis). Kaia and her boyfriend Andrew (Christopher Abbott) are renovating Kaia’s childhood home when they get a late night call from Christine. She’s unexpectedly shows up in town, hoping to stay for the night. Kaia picks her sister up, and it’s obvious the two haven’t heard from each other in a while; Kaia’s surprised to learn Christine is engaged and pregnant, and Kaia mentions that she won’t forgive her sister for what happened between them. The next day Christine’s fiancé Ira (Corbet) shows up, prompting Kaia to offer them to stay the night.

That invitation soon expands from one night to several, and with each night tensions rise considerably. An awkward dinner conversation reveals Kaia and Christine had a troubled upbringing with their deceased father, a successful architect responsible for designing the home they’re all staying in. Fastvold and Corbet’s screenplay never explains what exactly happened between the two sisters and their dad. An accident involving a fire is about as far as the film gets to explicitly revealing anything, leaving viewers to make their own conclusions based on the sometimes cryptic dialogue. Conflicting accounts from Kaia and Christine on their father also help muddy the waters.

This kind of psychological drama is all too familiar. Implications of physical and sexual abuse inevitably come up, and hints of a sexual attraction between Ira and Kaia tries to generate some underlying tension to the proceedings. Fastvold’s idea of creating mystery amounts to watching characters behave in bizarre or erratic ways, leaving room to theorize what past traumas could cause someone to act in such a way. In the right hands this kind of guessing game can work, like in Durkin’s film. The Sleepwalker fails at this for two reasons; its central mystery isn’t that compelling, and the four central characters are too broadly drawn to want to invest anything into them.

Surprisingly, for a film centered on its two female characters, it’s the men who turn out to be more compelling. Abbott, whose full beard and fake accent go directly against type from his role on HBO’s Girls, makes his character an intimidating force. He can barely hide his anger at Ira & Christine’s presence, as well as Ira’s apparent wealth (unfortunately this is the beginning and end of the film exploring class tensions between the two couples), making his presence add a slight amount of unease to some scenes. And Corbet provides one of the only truly intriguing parts of the film with his role. He comes across as an outsider trying to get a feel for the situation, making his motivations hard to pin down. Both actors add nuance to their parts that simply aren’t there on the page. Fastvold, on the other hand, certainly knows how to get the most of out the house’s isolated location (Zack Galler’s cinematography has plenty of style to spare), but ultimately creates a film that fails to engage.

In Simon Killer, director Antonio Campos plays provocateur, giving us a protagonist who becomes so unlikable, so repulsive, you’re sure to leave the theater full of hatred and contempt for him. Campos’ film is thoroughly distressing, an exercise in discomfort that will be difficult to embrace for most, much like his first film, Afterschool. However, dismissing it as a purely unpleasant experience would be to overlook an expertly crafted film—it’s deeply sensuous, with intoxicating imagery and a seductive musical score. I was enthralled with it from beginning to end, but if you find Simon too ugly a person to watch, just remember—Simon Killer’s beauty lies in its form.

Simon (Brady Corbet) is a recent college grad from New York who, reeling from a recent breakup, has fled to Paris in search of—what else—love and sex. Bewildered by his new surroundings, he shuffles aimlessly around the city until he happens upon a kind-hearted prostitute named Victoria (Mati Diop) who he convinces to take him in, feed and clothe him (through some devious manipulation). Simon eventually hatches a foolish, half-baked extortion scheme that results in Victoria getting badly beaten (though this doesn’t stop him from cheating on her with another girl). A frightening, vicious side of Simon gradually emerges as his frustrations grow. His lies accumulate, his mind comes undone, and we steadily approach the grim implication of the film’s title.

As Simon’s actions become increasingly alarming, you can almost hear Campos whispering in your ear—“What if Simon did this? How about this?” He takes your patience for Simon—stretches it—and stretches it—and stretches it—until it inevitably snaps. When it snaps depends upon your tolerance for wickedness in people. I turned on Simon when he threw Victoria’s love in the garbage by sleeping around behind her back. However, you might turn on him in the opening scene, in which he refers to his ex-lover as a whore. Everyone’s breaking point will vary, which is Simon Killer‘s most intriguing quality. No matter where you draw the line morally, Simon steps over it and keeps walking—and walking—until you’ve got nothing left for him but disdain.

Corbet’s natural gifts are fully unleashed here—Campos gives him a lot of space to work his magic, and it’s clear that the two share the same sensibilities. The film hinges on Corbet’s performance, and the one he delivers is stirring, nuanced, and often shocking. He has nervous tics that are steadily amplified throughout the film until Simon resembles something like an abused, rabid animal. The most unforgettable of his idiosyncrasies are the long, guttural moans and groans he releases when he becomes upset, angry or nervous. They’re spine-tingling—half childlike, half bestial—and get louder and more primal as his emotions swell. Diop is effortlessly alluring and balances hard-nosed street-savvy with maternal sensitivity. She does a solid job of earning our sympathy and has natural chemistry with Corbet.

While Simon Killer’s ponderous pace can be trying at times, what helps the experience is Campos’ masterful technique. He moves his camera with finesse and deliberation—you can sense how much meticulous thought went into every shot, though the scenes still feel organic and un-staged. Campos twice returns to a still-life shot of a table in Victoria’s apartment which is at first clean. Later in the film, it’s littered with cocaine bags, half-eaten food, and used wine glasses. Campos focuses on the clutter for long takes while the characters chatter off screen. The film is full of inventive shots like this, with each of them more interesting than the last.

Campos and cinematographer Joe Anderson shoot Paris like’70s New York—there’s nothing saccharine or romantic about it. The camera is aimed low, never concerned with showcasing the picturesque scenery—its only focus is Simon and his actions. Interiors are lit with thick waves of color that saturate the screen like ink blotches. In a remarkable extended shot halfway through the film, Simon is gleefully dancing in a nightclub as the psychedelic, undulating lights he’s bathing in seem to lull him into a rapturous trance. There is a carnality to Simon Killer that’s truly unique.

The film’s soundtrack and score are used aggressively, to great effect. The music always reflects what’s going on in Simon’s head, and is sometimes literally the music he’s listening to—when he takes his headphones off, our music cuts out. When the camera follows Simon as he prowls the Parisian streets, a pounding tribal beat fills the speakers to convey his predatory mindset. When he dances lovingly with Victoria in her apartment (a welcome respite from the film’s thick tension), we hear the film’s soothing title song. The musical choices are all very functional in fleshing Simon out as a character. The percussive musical score and cool indie-pop soundtrack are as conflicting as his mental state, which is appropriate.

Simon Killer is a raw, primal film that will leave you emotionally and psychologically stripped. Though a feeling of unease and dissonance pervades it, its cinematic elements are immaculate. It’s not a perfect film—as a character study, it’s somewhat shallow—but at the end of the day, it will stick with you (in the ickiest way) for a good long while, and achieves this through pure, masterful cinema.

Remember to check out our two-part extended interview with director Antonio Campos. (Part 1 | Part 2)

Our favorite film from SF Indiefest this year, Simon Killer, finally has a trailer available to watch. The trailer gives you a taste of the discomfort as well as the hypnotic visuals that are found in Antonio Campos’ latest film. Simon Killer stars Brady Corbet (Melancholia, Martha Marcy May Marlene) as he travels to Paris after a recent breakup. Things begin to take a turn after he meets a prostitute named Victoria (Mati Diop) as they form a relationship that leads to a dangerous plan to extort Victoria’s clients.

Watch the official trailer for Simon Killer:

Michael Haneke’s Funny Games is a shot by shot and line by line remake of his own 1997 film of the same title only with a different cast and with English dialog instead of German. Even the set of the house had the exact same proportions as the original house did. You might ask why a director would choose to remake his own film? If I had to guess it would be that many Americans skipped the original version because we shamefully tend to avoid subtitles. It is a mentally exhausting art house thriller about strangers abusing a family but after watching it you feel like you are the one being abused.

Funny Games begins with a family taking a trip to their vacation home on Long Island. As George (Tim Roth) and Ann (Naomi Watts) and their son Georgie (Devon Gearhart) approached the house they stop by the neighbors place to see if they will lend a hand to launch their boat. They noticed that the neighbors were acting a bit out of the ordinary as they hesitated to help. Also the husband and wife did not recognize the other men dressed in white that accompanied the neighbors but it was only enough to notice and not be alarmed.

The neighbor comes over as promised but brings along a gentleman named Paul (Michael Pitt) who he claims is the son of a business associate of the neighbor. George still found the behavior of the neighbor to be a little off. As Ann is preparing dinner for the family the two men dressed in white show up at the door. Paul introduces himself as well as his friend Peter (Brady Corbet) even he keeps addressing him as Tom and eventually fatty.

Although the two men are very polite you get the sense that something is very off about them. This begins to show when they ask to test out one of George’s golf clubs. Ann is very put off by them and asks them to leave. That is when the games begin but none of them are funny.

Paul and Peter being to terrorize the family with ridiculous games such as making a bet with them that they will all be dead by morning as long as the family bets they will be alive. It is during this bet that something profound happens. Paul turns to the camera and begins to talk to us to see which side of the bet we are on. It is important because it blatantly tells the audience that this film is playing games with them as well.

Without giving away any more spoilers, I will try to be vague as possible on this topic. There is a scene near the end of the film that is very controversial that will have you either cheering or booing. By the end of the film you realize that the film tries to find out the difference between reality and non-reality.

Michael Haneke was quoted saying “Anyone who leaves the cinema doesn’t need the film, and anybody who stays does.” on his original version of Funny Games. The opening credits makes it clear that what you think you are in store for is not what you will find when the classical music is abruptly interrupted by loud death metal music. After finishing the film I can understand what Haneke was trying to say, it is definitely not for everyone. Drawing some comparisons to Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange is easy to do based on the perverse violence that resides in both.

The performances from the whole cast were astounding. Naomi Watts is particularly good as the frantic wife whose family is being terrorized. Tim Roth compliments Watts well and lets her do most of the heavy lifting. One interesting note is that Roth said that his role abused him enough that he will never watch the film. Michael Pitt is downright creepy and unsettling as the main villain.

Funny Games is as unique as it is distributing, both which the film strived for and succeed in. I appreciated the film more than I enjoyed it. However, I am not sure if the film was even meant to be enjoyed but rather experienced instead. From the opening to closing credits the film plays games with you and eventually you realize that the actual villain is the director and you are the victim. You will not find one shred of comfort in Funny Games but that is the point.