If you took the guerilla-style shooting from Escape From Tomorrow and the faux-documentary approach from Computer Chess, you might have something close to what Matt Johnson creates in Operation Avalanche, a captivating film about faking the Apollo 11 mission. Shot illegally (though staying within Fair Rights), Johnson manages to film in NASA headquarters by pretending to be making a documentary. What better place to film a conspiracy film about the moon landing than NASA itself? It’s a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream.

There’s a meta element to Operation Avalanche because the characters in the story employ the same tactic as the real filmmakers. Set during the space race in the ‘60s, America was worried about the possibility of a Russian spy stealing their secrets to get to the moon first. Enter Operation Zipper, a small film crew assigned to pose as clueless documentarians to find the spy. They go around conducting interviews with NASA employees and tap the phone lines of the higher-ups, eventually learning that NASA is 5 years behind schedule because they haven’t figured out how to actually land their moon lander.

Once word spreads that the space program may be jeopardizing John F. Kennedy’s target date the commander wants to shut down Operation Zipper, but the filmmaking team comes up with a plan to save their jobs and fix NASA’s problem: dubbed Operation Avalanche, the team offers to fake the moon landing using the same special effects used in movies. Their first task is to visit the set of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey; since Kubrick’s film involves landing on the moon, why not use his techniques to create their illusion?

Operation Avalanche wonderfully blurs the line between reality and fiction by splicing together new footage with archival footage, creating a similar effect famously used in Forrest Gump. Here, they insert themselves asking for an autograph with the real Stanley Kubrick that looks so authentic it’s scary. Even though the film was shot digitally, cinematographers Andrew Appelle and Jared Raab accurately replicate the visual look and feel of the era. One trick used to create that effect was grading the film, converting it to a 16mm print, and then converting it back to digital. They also film one of the best car chases scenes you’ll see in any film, independent or otherwise.

Most found footage and/or covertly shot films tend to rely on the gimmick of the filming technique, so their narrative takes a back seat. But with Operation Avalanche, the meta format fits effortlessly with the story. It’s an inventive film that works not just because Johnson managed to sneak into NASA and film, but because he crafts an enthralling story to go along with it. Operation Avalanche is an energetic film, filled with innovative tricks and provocative ideas to please anyone looking for an amusing ride, especially those obsessed with conspiracies.

Much like the heist at the centre of the film, Victoria is a bit of a risky, high-wire act in and of itself. The film premiered at the Berlin Film Festival earlier this year, where its audacious gimmick earned the film’s cinematographer an award: the entire 140-minute film plays out in one take, with no cuts or digital trickery involved. This inevitably lumps Victoria into a group of recent films that utilize digital filmmaking to push duration and shot length to new extremes (one of the first examples of this, and probably the most notable one, was Alexander Sokurov’s Russian Ark). But once again, like with Birdman and this year’s The Tribe, the praise lavished upon director Sebastian Schipper is less about the quality of his film than the quantity of work put into it. As a piece of stunt directing, Victoria is easy to admire; as a film it’s an overlong drag, with its one take gimmick serving as a distraction from its inept story.

Opening on the titular character (Laia Costa) partying it up in a nightclub, she eventually leaves to go open up the café she works at. On her way, she bumps into Sonne (Frederick Lau) and his three friends, who drunkenly ask her to hang out with them after failing to steal a car in front of her. She (inexplicably) accepts their offer, and as they walk through the streets of Berlin, she tells Frederick about herself: She’s an immigrant from Spain, having just arrived in the city several weeks ago without any friends. For some reason, Schipper and co-writers Olivia Neergaard-Holm & Eike Frederik Schulz think that being an immigrant in a new city means losing one’s ability to think; after watching Sonne steal from a corner store, and then learning his hot-tempered friend Boxer (Franz Rogowski) just got out of jail, Victoria happily follows them to hang out on a rooftop for drinks. By this point, logic has all but vanished, and Victoria’s actions are more like transparent moves by the filmmakers to sustain a narrative than realistic bad choices of an actual human being.

The only excuse given for Victoria’s dismissal of the figurative danger signs flashing over these four men is her attraction to Sonne, which gets little development before Schipper drops it to get the real story going. After one of Sonne’s friends passes out from drinking too much, he asks Victoria to help drive him and his friends to some sort of meetup. She (once again, inexplicably) agrees to drive and winds up aiding in a bank robbery when a crime lord orders Boxer to steal a bunch of money to pay off his debts. And so these four idiots drive off, hoping to score some cash from their barely thought out scheme. Will their robbery turn out unsuccessful? Follow up: Does a bear shit in the woods?

There’s no denying that Victoria is one dumb movie, but its stupidity is far more tolerable than the likes of Birdman or The Tribe, which use their penchant for long takes to give themselves the appearance of being serious art. Victoria doesn’t really aspire to be anything more than a self-contained genre piece, and that makes its silliness both easy to swallow and easy to make fun of at the same time. Yes, these characters are so incompetent it’s easy to think they were home schooled by their own pets, but this makes it perversely enjoyable to watch their plans (rightfully) fall apart.

But maybe it’s a little unfair to pick apart the screenplay since little effort went into it (due to the nature of the production, dialogue had to be largely improvised—making the screenplay only a few pages). There should be a special mention for cinematographer Sturla Brandth Grøvlen, since he pulls off a superhuman feat (indeed, in the end credits his name gets acknowledged before anyone else’s). It’s easy to marvel at what he pulled off, but it also goes to show why the one-take gimmick is difficult to sustain. By unfolding in real time, the ability for elliptical editing goes away, meaning that a large chunk of Victoria is made up of interludes, with characters traveling from point A to point B. All the time spent walking to another location, or waiting around in one area for the next story beat to come along, exposes the weak structure and mechanics of the whole operation. Nils Frahm’s score provides some nice music during these “down” moments, but it’s hard to shake the feeling of being stuck in some sort of cinematic waiting room.

Still, as always, the technical fortitude on display from pulling off a successful feature-length take makes Victoria not without merit. And Laia Costa does a great job too, fighting off her poor characterization with a charisma that helps when she goes into full-on survival mode post-heist. Her presence certainly helps when Victoria seemingly doesn’t know what to do with itself. There’s something funny about the single take—a choice usually meant to make it easier to immerse oneself into a film—as it actually shows off the artifice of this film. Which isn’t surprising given how thinly drawn out Victoria feels. There’s little else appealing here aside from this singular gimmick, and once people stop being impressed by that, it’s not likely to stay memorable. One-take wonder indeed.

Originally published as part of our coverage for the 2015 Toronto International Film Festival.

James Franco continues his efforts of adapting classic literature into films, first with William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying and now Cormac McCarthy’s Child of God. This is not a surprising choice considering Franco has a PhD in English literature and seems to get a kick out of adapting “unfilmable” novels. Those familiar with McCarthy’s unapologetic story know what they’re getting into. But for others this graphic tale about a necrophile cave dweller who descends further and further into madness will be an eye-opener.

Child of God sets the cruel tone from the beginning when a belligerent outsider named Lester Ballard (Scott Haze) wails obscenities towards potential land buyers at an auction, claiming the land belongs to his family. The camera ferociously moves to catch up with the slouching outcast, imitating the blaring commotion caused by Lester. His speech is barely comprehensible, not because of a thick Tennessee accent, but because of his primal-like vocabulary and delivery.

At the heart of this disturbing story is Lester’s severe isolation and sexual perversity. With his property now gone, Lester wanders off into the deep-South wilderness, becoming more unhinged with each step he takes from society. His cruel crimes escalate from being accused of rape, to necrophilia, to eventually becoming a serial killer.

Child of God is an exhausting watch for a couple of reasons. First and foremost, the perverse themes and graphic imagery are not exactly easy to digest. No pun intended, but in one scene the main character takes a shit and wipes his ass with a stick, leaving nothing to the imagination. In another he masturbates outside of a vehicle while watching a couple having sex in it. Another reason the film will test your patience is that too often scenes have Lester screaming on a hill or struggling to move a lifeless body, occupying the screen for way longer than needed. There are probably more grunts and screams in the film than real words. Yes, that might fit the bill for a character who is more animal-like than human, but it doesn’t make it any less tiresome.

Without question the best part of the film is Scott Haze’s unflinching performance. His dedication to the role is on display in every frame. It’s safe to say that any role that requires on-camera defecation in the forest and having intercourse with a dead woman is a challenge. Haze tackles the brutal assignment with relative ease, earning the right for his name to appear on upcoming “Actors to Watch” lists.

Just like McCarthy’s novel, the film is structured into three segments, each shown on title cards along with excerpts from the book. Unfortunately, these choppy poetic proses–though beautifully written–don’t have the same impact when extracted and displayed onscreen. Another failed stylistic choice by Franco were the repeated fade-to-black transitions between scenes. They constantly serve as a reminder of how not to end a chapter in film.

All in all, the graphic themes and imagery found in Child of God are better left on paper than captured on camera. One must credit Franco’s ambitions to adapt these hard-to-film pieces of literature, though Child of God proves that literal adaptations are not his strongest suit. Instead of straight interpretations perhaps Franco should use his creative talent to re-imagine concepts or conceive new ones. I have little doubt that Franco is a talented filmmaker, I just wish he’d keep classic literature on his bookshelf.