In his latest movie, Knight of Cups, Terrence Malick asks us to join him, for the third time in a row, on a journey through the meandering thoughts of people lost in life, confessing their innermost moral quandaries to the cosmos as they stumble and crawl across god’s green earth and bask in heavenly sunlight. This time, the setting is Los Angeles, photographed in all its concrete, Art-Deco grandeur by trusted Malick collaborator (and Oscar darling) Emmanuel Lubezki. We follow and listen in on the thoughts of fading movie star Rick (Christian Bale) and, occasionally, his famous friends, as Malick lays out another unbearably thin narrative that’s as deviously frustrating as a 500-piece puzzle with 450 pieces missing. The eminently respected auteur clearly has a firm grip on the art of filmmaking—at his best, he’s one of the greats—but with his work becoming increasingly nebulous and less inviting to audiences, it’s come to the point where patience for his vagaries grows dangerously thin.

In an almost wordless onscreen performance (we hear his voice, but mostly in the form of narration), Bale drifts down the streets of L.A., occasionally jumping in thought to memories from Las Vegas, Century City and Santa Monica. Rick is in a perpetual state of punch-drunk spiritual crisis, surrounded by gorgeous women who glom onto his status, wealth and handsome looks until his emotional ineptness becomes too much to bear, at which point they make way for the next batch of girls to grab at his pants.

Rick’s fleeting romantic partners are played by a dizzying crowd of famous faces: Cate Blanchett, Natalie Portman, Imogen Poots, Teresa Palmer, Freida Pinto, Isabel Lucas and more can now add a Malick film to their resume. The roles are thin—Blanchett plays his ex-wife, Portman plays a fling—but isn’t every role thin in a Malick movie these days? Antonio Banderas makes an appearance a Hollywood playboy who throws a swanky house party littered with real-life celebrities playing themselves (“Look! It’s Joe Manganiello! Nick Kroll! Danny Strong! Wait…Danny Strong? Huh?”). Banderas takes over narration duties for a bit, spouting twisted, misogynist philosophy. “Women are like flavors,” he says in his sumptuous Spanish accent. “Sometimes you want raspberry, but then you get tired of it and you want strawberry.”

Malick does a good job of laying out the monstrous, indulgent allure of showbiz that pulled Rick in and broke him down into the wandering, pulp of a man he is. He’s become a phony, just like all the other soul-sapped leeches overpopulating the trashy town that bred them (to be clear, Angelenos, I mean Tinseltown, or the idea of it, not L.A.). Similarly swallowed by the city is Rick’s brother (Wes Bently), a non-famous drifter whose short temper is inherited from his and Rick’s late father. The particulars of the family drama (and, in fact, most of the particulars of Ricks life) are left for us to imagine on our own, but the quality of Bale and Bentley’s performances helps to form some semblance of an emotional arc.

Some (this writer included) would consider it a duty of a true movie lover to meet the filmmaker halfway when a film’s concepts or ideas are challenging or obscure. But with Malick’s recent work, it feels like he’s not meeting us halfway. We can only give so much of ourselves over to him before his movies start to feel like tedious chores. What’s so tragic about this is that, on a cinematic level, he’s phenomenal: he and Lubezki’s imagery is sweeping, evocative and immaculately conceived. Some moments—like a ground-level shot of Bale taking a knee on the concrete as an earthquake shakes the buildings and people around him—are so exquisite you could cry. But without a deeper sense of cohesion, these cinematic feats start to feel hollow as they pile on top of each other for two hours straight. As with Malick’s last movie, To The Wonder, Knight of Cups topples over, leaving us to sift through a mess of pretty pictures in a desperate search of some morsel of meaning. Like his characters, maybe it’s time for us to wake the hell up.

I saw an interview with Bear Grylls recently where the adventurer praised The Revenant’s realism, saying it accurately depicts a grim struggle for survival in an inhospitable landscape. He liked it so much that he went straight to a travel agent afterwards, booking a nice winter break for himself and the family in the frozen wilderness of Canada where The Revenant was shot.

Everyone seems to have an opinion on the movie, including ridiculous ones like a histrionic piece in The Guardian calling The Revenant “pain porn” and drawing a comparison to ISIS. All news is good news for “Team Revenant” in the run-up to the Oscars, and all those column inches about bear rape and liver eating will surely keep it fresh in everyone’s minds right up to the ceremony.

I don’t really understand why some people are getting so hot under the collar about the film. While the content is gruesome and often brutal, the stylistic choices made by Alejandro Iñárritu keeps the action at a removed distance, even when the camera is shoved up someone’s nose. We’re never given the opportunity to get to know the characters, so we just sit there, observing Hugh Glass’ ordeal with cool detachment, waiting for him to get his revenge so we can all go home. Mel Gibson got the job done about an hour less in Payback, and it was a bit more fun.

DiCaprio and Co. keep talking about what an arduous location shoot it was, which leads me to my main beef with the movie: Iñárritu puts his cast and crew through hell for the sake of authenticity, but makes so many flashy choices that keep drawing our attention to the artifice of the piece. Here are five of them.

1. Long, Long, Long, Masturbatory Takes

Iñárritu and Lubezki are up to their Birdman tricks again, filming long sequences of The Revenant in elaborate takes. The film’s opening set piece is immense, a stupendous tracking shot through the mayhem of an Indian raid on Leo’s fur trapper camp. It’s a little too perfect, as the camera glides clinically through the bloodbath, taking the time to pan and tilt at just the right moment to capture people getting their heads caved in.

Some call this immersive; I call it showboating. It’s like watching a demo reel for a hyper-realistic first-person shooter, and the technique calls attention to the whereabouts of the camera rather than making it disappear. The trouble with long takes is that it goes against the usual visual rhythm we expect in a film, so when the cut doesn’t come, it makes us more conscious of the director’s decision not to cut. Because of this, I’m spending more time admiring the craft than getting involved in the action.

By comparison, look at George Miller’s virtually invisible direction in Mad Max: Fury Road. There are no such flourishes from him. Miller’s only interested in orchestrating his team in service of the story, and that is far more immersive. Iñárritu’s choice of long takes serves his ego rather than the story.

2. Stuff-on-Lens Syndrome

Another thing some people find “immersive” that I find a bit too video game-like is stuff getting splattered all over the lens. It worked in Saving Private Ryan because it felt like some ultra-intrepid film crew was documenting the battle. It doesn’t make sense in The Revenant. Cameras didn’t exist back then, so what is getting spattered with blood, water and misted up by Leo’s breath? The viewer’s eyeballs? It just brings attention to the fourth wall, and once you do that, it makes the viewer conscious of that transparent barrier between them and the action.

3. Ridiculous Dream Sequences

You know when someone at work starts telling you about a dream they had last night, and you take it as an opportunity to think about something else? Dream sequences in movies almost always have that effect on me. Because they’re dreams, the director can throw any old nonsense in there, or use it to fill in some back story that decent writing could have covered in dialogue. We didn’t need a dream sequence in Jaws to show Quint’s harrowing experience on the USS Indianapolis.

The Revenant gives us some very repetitive dream sequences to show us what happened to Leo’s dead wife. It’s pretty hackneyed, and it gets comical when she starts floating around above him like a possessed Sigourney Weaver in Ghostbusters.

4. Tom Hardy’s Accent

Hardy’s talent as an actor is undeniable, but he’s a very odd duck. In interviews, he looks like he’d rather be wringing the life out of the interviewer with his bare hands than answering their banal questions. And Hardy goes through accents like Inspector Clouseau goes through costumes and silly wigs. The Peter Sellers comparison is apt because one has to wonder—does Tom Hardy need to hide behind these crazy voices the same way Sellers needed to with his characters?

Hardy picked up a Supporting Actor nomination for this year’s Oscars, and he certainly immerses himself in the role of Leo’s nemesis John Fitzgerald. As a Brit, he could have chosen any kind of American accent. Instead, he chose the most outlandish, impenetrable accent he could muster, basing it on Tom Berenger in Platoon. It struck me as such an ostentatious acting choice that every time he spoke it took me out of the movie—like Iñárritu’s directorial choices, the accent feels too much like self-indulgence.

5. “What the hell are you looking at?”

Having spent a couple of hours getting splashed, splattered and breathed on, the fourth wall is finally shattered when Leo peers right down the lens at us in The Revenant’s final frames.

It’s reminiscent of 12 Years a Slave‘s most sanctimonious moment when Solomon Northrup casts a challenging gaze into the camera. That movie spends about an hour showing us that slavery is a bad thing, then Brad Pitt shows up to tell Michael Fassbender that slavery is a bad thing. Then Northrup looks straight out of the movie at us, as if to say, “Shame on you, don’t you know slavery is a bad thing?” Well, no shit, it’s only been abolished for a hundred and fifty years or so.

At the end of The Revenant, Leo fixes us with a similar meaningful gaze, although his message seems to be more universal.”Mankind…bunch of assholes, huh?”

In Alejandro González Iñárritu‘s The Revenant, Leonardo DiCaprio plays survivalist legend Hugh Glass, a frontiersman betrayed by both his land and fellow man, left ripped and ravaged without anything left to live for. Inch by inch we watch Glass crawl and tumble across miles and miles of picturesque Great Plains scenery, and little by little it becomes clear that, despite the film’s impossibly grandiose, elaborate, labored production, its story is relatively uncomplicated. Sitting firmly in the annals of American Myth, Glass’ journey is about little more than the unexpected fruits of grit and resilience, a classic survivalist tale through and through.

It’s an interesting thing marrying such a straightforward narrative (based loosely on Michael Punke‘s 2002 novel The Revenant: A Novel of Revenge) with Iñárritu’s overblown sense of spectacle and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki‘s floating, balletic long-takes. The combination works, but on a level that likely isn’t as high-minded or deeply spiritual as the filmmakers intended. The sights are soar, the sounds swirl, but what keeps things grounded and compelling are the hardworking actors and the simple satisfaction of watching a man on a mission, fighting tooth and nail to reach his target.

The target is a cantankerous, slippery brute called Fitzgerald (Tom Hardy) who earns Glass’ ire thoroughly. The rivals are a part of an expedition for the Rocky Mountain Fur Company, scouring the land for pelts to trade. While gathered on the Missouri river, the group is attacked by the Arikara tribe in a dizzying, dazzling bombardment of grotesque tomahawk and arrow kills punctuated by blood-curdling screams of agony all around. The men barely make it out alive, their numbers severed. When a grizzly bear mauling leaves Glass fatally wounded, the captain of the hunting party (Domhnall Gleeson) deems it too dicey to transport him via stretcher across the rocky terrain, leaving him under the care of Fitzgerald and a boy scout-ish tagalong (Will Poulter). They’re offered extra pay to stay behind and give their dying comrade a proper burial upon his all but inevitable death, and while Fitzgerald hasn’t got an ounce of compassion in him, he needs the cash considering they were forced to abandon their precious pelts in the escape from the Arikara. Once the rest of the party leaves, however, he plots a scheme more befitting of his nefarious attitude.

Glass was a real man, though what we see in The Revenant has gone through three filters of fictionalization—the history books, Punke and Iñárritu. After the Fitzgerald betrayal, the film follows Glass as he uses his frontier skills to nurse himself back to health while he tracks down the man who left him for dead. It’s a big, heaping plate of revenge and outdoors survival that’s meaty enough on its own, though Iñárritu and Lubezki add unneeded garnishes (shallow spirituality and white-guilt symbolism) that almost spoil the meal.

DiCaprio’s performance is tremendous in that he uses every inch of his body to tell Glass’ story. It’s a mostly non-verbal role that sees him expressing a wide range of emotion with his eyes (in the chunk of the story where Glass is incapacitated) and with his entire body as he slowly rehabilitates and traverses the unforgiving terrain. Overwhelmingly, this is a story of despair and tragedy, but we do get to see love in Glass’ eyes early on. In flashback, we see his Pawnee wife and their teenage son (Forrest Goodluck), who he raised to be a tracker like himself. Their fates, of course, aren’t sunny because…Iñárritu. DiCaprio. Tragedy is their jam, man.

Iñárritu and Lubezki teeter on the line between visual splendor and artistic arrogance so precariously that it adds to the excitement of their films in an almost meta way. Sometimes the imagery is ingenious; when Glass is all but crippled, Lubezki presents the surrounding landscape as not beautiful, but paralyzingly frightening in its endlessness. But then a bird flies out of a dying woman’s chest and you can’t help but laugh at how silly it looks. The ambition is bloated and these guys are totally caught up in their artsy maestro bullshit, but even the weakest shots in this movie (most of them involving iffy CG elements) have enough flair to them that you can hardly turn your attention from the screen.

Subtlety and thematic complexity aren’t Iñárritu’s strengths, so when The Revenant lets go of its “big ideas” and focuses on Glass’ manhunt, things get really good. Hardy plays a terrific scumbag, so when Glass finally get his hands on Fitzgerald, it’s both gratifying and insanely intense. Admittedly, the pleasures found in the excessively gory final showdown are decidedly testosterone-driven, but if you approach the movie as a primal tale of bloody revenge (á la Kill Bill and Mad Max: Fury Road, for example), there’s no reason to apologize for reveling in all the limb-hacking and eye-gouging.

If there’s one thing about The Revenant that irked me, it’s Iñárritu and co-writer Mark L. Smith‘s decision to push the story as a revisionist western in which the sins of the Native American genocide are examined through the eyes of a bunch of white guys. It’s an insult to both the Native American perspective, which is almost always grossly underrepresented in these kinds of stories, and to the real Glass, whose extraordinary ordeal is more than worthy enough of a movie on its own without faux-mystical themes muddying everything up.

Less than a year removed from his Best Director and Best Picture Academy Award wins for Birdman, director Alejandro G. Iñarritu has refueled his addicition to risky filmmaking through another ambitious collaboration with cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki. The Revenant, shot over the course of a few months in the largely untouched wilderness surrounding Calgary, was filmed entirely using natural lighting at the expense of the production’s flexibility. This expectedly facilitates some stunning long take camerawork from Lubezki, though much of the trailer more closely resembled the cinematographer’s chaotic work on Children of Men and not his more recent contributions to Birdman.

Starring Leonardo DiCaprio as a trapper in the 1820s who is mauled by a bear, DiCaprio’s Hugh Glass survives his injuries, the harsh winter, and a hostile environment in order to take revenge against his traitorous partner (Tom Hardy). Domnhall Gleeson and Will Poulter star as well. The Revenant is not expected to début until December 25th (in limited release), so you will have to wait nearly half a year for the context of this exhiliarting and epic footage.

Watch the new trailer for The Revenant below:

As more audiences get to experience the bold technical achievements of Alejandro G. Iñárritu’s latest endeavor Birdman (read our review), a Vimeo user name Gwen Stacy has released some intriguing behind-the-scenes footage of the film’s cast and crew assembling their new film. The footage, which includes actors Michael Keaton, Zach Galifianakis, Amy Ryan, and Edward Norton as well as Iñárritu & the film’s cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki, gives viewers an interesting glimpse at the production process on Birdman both in rehearsal and in production.

Aside from the chance to witness the much-discussed steadicam long shots in action, much of this footage includes Iñárritu mapping out shots with the Oscar-winning Lubezki, including a section on the street where the movie’s dynamic Birdman action sequence (from the trailers) takes place. Watch the clip below for Michael Keaton trying on the Birdman suit, Lubezki using an iPhone to shoot a moment from early in the film, and two Mexican filmmakers speaking excitedly in accented English.

Alfonso Cuaron’s Science Fiction film Children of Men is devastatingly beautiful. The film is full of ugly greys and a tone that suggests nothing other than failure and yet, it’s the most hopeful film I have ever seen. There are so many things that make the film special but above all the film is a technical marvel. Cuaron should have easily won Best Director the year it was up for Academy Awards but alas, the film only pulled in nominations for Screenplay, Editing and Cinematography. All of which the film lost.

We are plunged into the middle of chaos at the beginning of the film. When the film begins we find out the youngest person on Earth, an Argentine named Diego, has died at the age of 18. 18? How is this possible? Soon we find out that humans have lost the ability to reproduce. We are dying out. As soon as this distinct possibility catches hold of the minds of the world, civilizations everywhere crumble. Governments collapse as there is no hope left in the world. The only bright spot on the globe is Great Britain. I use the term bright lightly as Britain itself is a cesspool.

We are introduced to Theo (Clive Owen) within a minute of the film starting. We follow him for nearly every second of the film. He is our guide to this disgusting world we now inhabit. He works for the government and spends a lot of his time hanging out with his old friend Jasper, played by Michael Caine. Caine’s performance is sensational. Jasper spends pretty much all of his days watching over his wife who is now a mute.

A few days after the news of “Baby” Diego’s death, Theo runs into his ex-wife Julian. She’s played by Julianne Moore. She now runs with a small terrorist group known as The Fishes. Theo’s past with his ex is a troubled one. They seemed to have split after the grieving over the death of their young child got the best of both of them. I guess it’s hard to say he runs into her when in actuality The Fishes kidnap Theo in broad daylight. The Fishes then demand that Theo escorts a mysterious girl out of London.

The girl is an immigrant to Britain. Normally this isn’t a big issue, but with the world in a complete state of disarray, Britain has outlawed anyone from entering the country. Theo hitches a ride with Julian and her cohorts as they take this immigrant (her name is Kee) out of the city to refuge at a cottage in the English country side. What Theo discovers next is the biggest revelation anyone could have made in 20 years. Kee is pregnant.

The rest of Children of Men has Theo taking control of Kee’s destiny into his hands as he guides her to the The Human Project. This project (that may or may not exist) consists of a group of scientists dedicated to finding out why humans cannot conceive anymore and trying to possibly find a cure.

As I mentioned earlier, the filmmaking choices in Children of Men are some of the best any director has made in recent years. Everything on a technical level is brilliant. Most movies would’ve had a narration or an opening crawl explaining the film’s situation. Cuaron instead chooses to explore the plot of the film with information about the collapse of the world being provided in the background. Newspaper clippings, newscasts, protesting marches through the city and massive digital billboards show the audience what kind of world we live in. He trusts his audience to go along with this. All of this works with ease as we unknowingly go along with tons of information being thrown at us.

In terms of the film’s special effects, Cuaron makes the right choice not to distract from the film. Instead he uses them to enhance the world the film occupies. Some shots of London are given a dystopian uplift as tons of huge LCD screens adorn the buildings of the English metropolis. These screens show everything from ads about how to turn in an immigrant to world news. The visual effects also help out with Emmanuel Lubezki’s stunning Cinematography.

Lubezki’s camera work is some of the best this decade, if not the best. In fact, it’s a crime he lost the Oscar for it. Cuaron’s direction and Lubezki’s camera team to put you as close to the action as possible. Using hand held camera work we are thrown alongside Theo as if we were helping him.

Cuaron made a decision to film as much as the film as possible in long takes. This heightens the realism of the film. There are a lot of long takes in the film and if that isn’t enough to keep the actors on their toes, then a couple of exquisitely fine set pieces will. There are two scenes in the film that are downright insane in terms of their difficulty to film.

The first scene involves Theo, Julian, Kee and two members of The Fishes as they are driving through a road in the forest as they are viciously attacked by a marauding gang. The camera is situated in the middle of the car during the attack and basically turns in a 360 degree angle for over 4 minutes showing the carnage being inflicted on the group. The camera work combined with the visual effects creates a realistic nightmare for us as we are situated right in the middle of all the action.

The second shot of brilliance comes at the end of the film and has to be one of the greatest shots ever put forth on the silver screen. Lasting over 6 minutes the camera follows Theo through a hellish warzone as he seeks out to protect Kee from those who mean to do her harm. Following him through bullets, explosions, blown out cars and eventually a dilapidated building; the camera never loses him. Granted the shot is aided by visual effects it’s nonetheless audacious filmmaking.

The production design of the film is top notch. Every scene feels completely authentic to the film’s setting. I can’t imagine the planning of the film or even the shooting of it. The streets of London, even if it’s the last civilized city left, are a complete mess. Trash permeates the streets of the city and makes the city look like a decaying cavity that is Britain’s society.

What makes Children of Men so special is its endearing heart that pushes its characters hope through the most terrible odds. The film is the most violent Valentine ever filmed about the endurance of the human spirit. In a world of absolutely no hope, a man is given the most arduous task of his life. Everything is stacked against him. What do you even do with the only child born in 20 years? Do you trust a group who wants to use the baby as a symbol for a society to overthrow its government? Or do you take it to a one that may not even exist? Children of Men throws Theo head first into these tribulations.

What I love about the film is how it presents hope. Hope is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to describe. Hope is a thing not guaranteed. I first saw the film during a time in my life where I was pretty down and out. When I finished it, I wasn’t given the answers I needed, but instead I was filled with the confidence I needed to make changes.

That’s what makes the film so special. It doesn’t tell you everything but it does supply the idea that anything, no matter how difficult, can be accomplished. The film plays by these rules too. The film ends on a note that doesn’t show you what ends up happening as a result of this pregnant woman. It ends at a pretty abrupt moment. But the point I think most people miss is that this is Theo’s story. Not the pregnant woman’s. When he leaves the story, the film is done. But the idea that something good will come about from all of the hard work is what I think the film is about.

Alfonso Cuaron is a Mexican director of vast talent. He has shown great promise in the past with such films as Y tu Mama Tambien and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (easily the best of the series), but Children of Men is Alfonso on another level. His previous films only hinted at what he accomplishes here. There is no stopping him either. The film he is involved with now (Gravity), looks to see him taking his filmmaking to the next step.

Despite its ugliness and crassness, Children of Men is a film of great beauty. Yes, it is very violent and full of brutality. The film, however, shows great moments of tenderness throughout; enough at least to keep our hearts cheering for a happy outcome to all the suffering endured by Theo and Kee. Never has the human spirit suffered a more perilous task in a film. Come for the brilliant filmmaking, stay for the sounds of children’s laughter as the credits run over your screen. Children of Men is one hell of a film.