Editor KC Wingert reviews Michael Caton-Jones’ female-led film at BFI LFF 2019. 

The Scottish comedy Our Ladies made its world premiere on Friday, 4^th October, as part of the BFI London Film Festival. Given the popularity and critical success of the Alan Warner novel on which Our Ladies is based—which also spawned a West End musical adaptation from Lee Hall (Rocketman, Billy Elliot)—the film bills itself as a hilariously entertaining romp, documenting a day in the lives of five schoolgirls from the Scottish Highlands. Set in the mid-‘90s, Our Ladies could be an ode to navigating raging hormones and desperate crushes similar to Ten Things I Hate About You or a touching coming-of-age story á la Lady Bird. Unfortunately, Our Ladies is not on par with these nostalgic genre classics, missing a few of the key features that make its mid-‘90s teen comedy companions so great.

Orla, Fionnula, Kylah, Rachell, and Amanda are the self-proclaimed “partiers” of their Catholic school’s choir. They’re all completely obsessed with sex, gossiping about who’s shagged whom the entire bus ride down to a choir competition in Edinburgh. The girls make plans to spend the day drinking, shopping, and finding men to sleep with before their big performance that evening. However, as tensions among them unexpectedly begin to rise, they split off from each other, embarking on their own Edinburgh adventures.

Not all of these girls are as experienced as their open attitudes towards sex imply. Orla (Tallulah Greive), for instance, begins the film praying to a portrait of Jesus hung in her room that she might have sex that evening because, unlike Jesus’ mother, she “doesn’t want to be a virgin her whole life.” Fionnula (Abigail Lawrie), on the other hand, has slept with plenty of guys, but what she’d really like is to sleep with a girl—one of the few secrets she keeps from her friends. With womanhood fast approaching, the girls are forced to think hard about their futures perhaps for the first time, and the conclusions to which they begin to come make them realise they may have less in common with each other than they thought. For some of them, the thought of being a teen mum and staying in their small Highland town forever is the dream—while others in the group look upon that attitude with derision.

Though these characters’ separate journeys are entertaining to watch and elicit several genuine laughs, they get in the way of a cohesive plot. In fact, a lot of the characters’ actions feel less like they have narrative purpose and more like they’ve been shoved in as a punchline. The narrative structure of Our Ladies feels awkward and ham-fisted right down to the corny, character-by-character epilogues.

(Can I please take a brief moment to say how much I hate epilogues in fiction films? If this character’s future isn’t important enough to merit a sequel, it’s not important enough to show an inspirational music-backed freezeframe of that fictional character’s face with some text telling us where they fictionally moved after leaving their fictional hometown and what kind of fictional job they have, in this work of FICTION).

Our Ladies’ queer subplot ends on a triumphant note that feels wholly unearned, and the entire main conflict of the film is ameliorated with a hackneyed kumbaya moment after which everyone just carries on as usual. There’s even a random, inexplicable musical number written in, which feels out of place in a film that otherwise seems to be making an attempt at gritty realism. The final act simply devolves into a bunch of jokey bits that are meant to be funny but because of the subject matter—underage girls getting involved with older men—are actually just very uncomfortable to watch.

A good coming-of-age film should be one that almost anyone can see a little bit of themselves in. Unfortunately, Our Ladies doles out characters that are unlikable and unrealistic. It deals with the hormonally-charged boy-craziness of a group of teenage girls in a way that doesn’t highlight the hilarity and awkwardness of exploring one’s sexuality in the way so many great teen comedies do. Rather, it feels exploitative; the cast of young girls is depictd as gladly flirting with unbelievably creepy older men, having sex while completely wasted and then casually laughing it off later, and reacting nonchalantly when a man exposes himself to them and proposes an orgy.

Perhaps this exploration of teenage girls’ sexualities misses the mark because, despite the fact that the main cast is entirely female, neither the writer nor the director of this film a woman. In fact, Our Ladies’ unequivocally odd choice of writer/director is Michael Caton-Jones – otherwise best known for directing the 2002 feature Basic Instinct 2, which Wikipedia describes as an “erotic crime thriller” and Rotten Tomatoes describes as “bad.”

Our Ladies comes to us at a time when ‘90s nostalgia is in high demand and women’s stories are being celebrated in film more often than ever. The film has an incredibly talented young cast and a promising pitch, but potential alone cannot make a film good. Our Ladies lacks authenticity in its hollow attempt at sex-positivity, and because it deals with the stories of teenage girls, that failure comes across as not only sexist but also as downright creepy. I’m not going to say conclusively that men can’t tell girls’ coming-of-age stories—Bo Burnham proves they can with his 2018 feature Eighth Grade, for instance. However, Caton-Jones (who, again, DIRECTED BASIC INSTINCT 2) demonstrates that he does not possess the insight into the mind of a teenage girl necessary to tell this story well.

Our Ladies has not been issued a UK release date yet.

Editor KC Wingert reviews Chinonye Chukwu’s powerful debut.

With her sophomore feature Clemency, writer-director Chinonye Chukwu made history as the first black woman to win the Grand Jury prize at Sundance—and in its turn at the London Film Festival, the film proves to overseas viewers to be more than worthy of its acclaim. A stunning exploration of the American death penalty, Clemency is easily one of the most beautifully-told stories and most socially important films of the last decade.

Alfre Woodard leads the cast as Bernadine Williams, a career-driven prison warden who has overseen 12 executions over the course of her tenure. A harrowing opening sequence portraying the execution of convict Victor Jimenez illustrates for viewers the emotional toll that witnessing a man’s death can have on a person. The tension of the scene is palpable, and we see the effects of this in Bernadine’s personal life. She struggles to sleep at night and drinks heavily to cope. Her marriage to her husband Jonathan (Wendell Pierce) struggles as Bernadine reckons with the horrors to which she bears witness; her husband cannot understand the way her job affects her. While teacher Jonathan educates the next generation and gives them hope of a bright future, Bernadine is complicit in stealing the future away from countless men. She is not a sadist, but she is forced by the nature of her profession to carry out sadistic practices—and in the interest of appearing professional as a black woman in a position of power, she must do so unsentimentally. But her robotic demeanor is not necessarily a reflection of her true feelings toward the practice of execution, and viewers follow Bernadine as she struggles to mask her own humanity with professionalism.

Though the film explores Bernadine’s character most thoroughly, viewers are also given detailed glimpses of the emotional states of everyone involved in these executions, from the prison officers, to the prison chaplain, to the men on death row themselves. Aldis Hodge gives an incredibly moving performance as Anthony Woods, a prisoner awaiting execution who may be innocent of the murder of which he was convicted fourteen years ago. We see him slip between moments of desolation and glimmers of hope as he navigates the existential dread of being sentenced to death for a crime he maintains he did not commit and as he awaits any news on the painstakingly bureaucratic decision on his appeal, which determines whether he lives or dies. Hodge’s performance is complicated, heartbreaking, and totally affective. When Anthony feels hope, we feel hope; when he despairs, so do we.

Similarly, Richard Schiff gives a nuanced performance as Anthony’s lawyer Marty, a man whose career has been dedicated to appealing the death penalty and to fighting for clemency on behalf of his clients. Marty, having worked on such cases for 30 years, is downtrodden, resigned, and ready to retire. A man who was once passionate about the cause, Marty is tasked with finding hope and keeping spirits high for Anthony despite the almost futile odds of winning. In a visit to his client, he looks thoughtfully on as demonstrators outside the prison shout their support for Anthony, not as a man who is inspired by their words, but as a man who fears their protestations may be in vain. In a glum conversation with Bernadette, Marty poignantly explains the overwhelming stakes of being a death row inmate’s lawyer:  “When I win, my client gets to not die.”

This film is disturbing and horrifying, to be sure, but in the way that 12 Years A Slave is. The doleful tone of Clemency is real—it reflects the experiences of people whose lives are affected by the inhumanity of the death penalty. It does not rely on gore and jump scares to disturb its viewers; rather, it forces viewers to confront the undignified reality of state-sanctioned murder. It is one thing to acknowledge the horrors of the world, to want to learn from tragedy and strive for betterness. But it is another thing entirely—a wholly more affective experience—to witness these horrors brought to life before your eyes. For this reason, Clemency should be required viewing for Americans at least, and for anyone who thinks they have an opinion on the death penalty.

Find Clemency in theatres this December and check out the trailer below:

KC Wingert reviews the buzzed-about dark comedy at LFF 2019. 

With her debut feature Lucky Grandma, a film about an elderly Chinese-American woman with a rebellious streak, writer-director Sasie Sealy contributes equal parts humour and suspense to this year’s London Film Festival. Tsai Chin plays the titular role of Grandma Wong, a gruff, chain-smoking loner whose expressionless indifference and grumpy demeanour has led me to dub her the Clint Eastwood of Grandmas. Grandma Wong lives alone in the small, outdated Chinatown apartment she and her late husband once shared. Though her daily schedule is monotonous—practising tai chi, lighting incense for her in-home Buddhist altar, evading her adult son’s requests that she move in with him and his family—Grandma Wong receives a reinvigorating jolt of excitement while visiting a fortune teller, a sequence which visually references the opening tarot scene of Agnès Varda’s Cleo from 5 to 7. The fortune teller presents to Grandma Wong a series of cards written in Chinese script and tells the old woman that she will have an incredible amount of luck on October 28^th (admittedly a very different fate than the one predicted for Cleo).

With fortune on her side, Grandma Wong empties her bank account on the 28^th and hops on a Chinatown bus headed straight to the casino. At first, it seems like the stars really have aligned for her; she beats incredible odds and wins at craps and roulette so many times that her tokens double, then triple, and then quadruple. Her lucky streak comes to an end eventually, though, and she returns to the Chinatown bus downtrodden, having lost all her savings in one bet.

Grandma Wong’s good luck seems to take a different form, however, when money literally falls into her lap on the bus ride home. The man in the seat next to her suddenly dies of a heart attack while everyone else on the bus is asleep. When the bus hits a bump and a duffel bag filled with money falls from the luggage carriers overhead, Grandma Wong realises that her deceased seatmate is in fact a gang member transporting money for the Red Dragon gang. Already panicked about her casino losses, Grandma Wong absconds with the money, inadvertently placing herself at the centre of a violent gang conflict over the cash.

The strength of this film is not necessarily the narrative, which at times feels muddled and confusing amidst its portrayal of New York gang politics and reaches a hasty conclusion in its third act. Rather, Lucky Grandma’s greatest asset is its characters, all fully realized through the little details which make up each person’s unique and entertaining personality. Grandma Wong’s lanky grandson David, for example, may play a relatively small role in the film. However, in the approximately 10 total minutes of screen time he has, viewers learn that he is a one half of a dance duo, making goofy, low-quality hip-hop music videos in his grandmother’s apartment with his chubby, twerk-happy friend Nomi. This small, endearing personality detail raises the emotional stakes later in the film when the Red Dragons demand Grandma Wong pay a ransom to spare David’s life. The same goes for the character Big Pong (Hsiao-Yuan Ha), the man Grandma Wong hires as a bodyguard after dopey Red Dragon gangsters Pock-Mark (Woody Fu) and Little Handsome (Michael Tow) show up at her apartment. Big Pong first appears to be quiet and intimidating, but viewers will find a tender sweetness in his character when he talks about being a vegetarian, describes the girl he loves who still lives in China, and scolds Grandma Wong’s grumpy neighbour for disrespecting an elder.

The main figures in any film are only as strong as the actors who play them, and the cast of Lucky Grandma brings these characters to life with quirk and charm. As the socially isolated Grandma Wong, Tsai Chin is often the only actor onscreen. The character requires an actor who can subtly convey large emotions with her facial expressions and body language, and Tsai Chin is more than fit for the challenge. She brings laughs just by widening her eyes, furrowing her brow, or turning her head—no dialogue required. As gangster hitman Little Handsome, actor Michael Tow somehow manages to be simultaneously terrifying and hilarious, sending chills down one’s spine with his threatening stare one moment and highlighting his character’s sheer absurdity with a goofy smile in the next. The talent in this cast alone could dispel any excuses Hollywood may make for whitewashing Asian or Asian-American roles (I’m looking at you, Scarlett Johansson).

Though it is not a life-changing or particularly profound film, Lucky Grandma is sure to make viewers chuckle heartily, scoot to the edge of their seats in suspense, and stare in wonderment at each creatively-framed shot. The plot leaves room for confusion and questions, but the dramatic achievements of the cast alone are enough to make this film a success among audiences. The film deftly combines humorous and whimsical moments with darker undertones. Considering the film centres on the identity crisis of an elderly Chinese-American woman—a demographic I can safely say is sorely underrepresented in American film—Lucky Grandma is a breath of fresh air and a new perspective in the comedy genre.

Lucky Grandma is still showing in select cinemas. Check out what influenced the film below:

Editor KC Wingert reviews our first film from BFI LFF 2019.

Warning: this review contains spoilers. 

Making its UK premiere at LFF, The Peanut Butter Falcon is a delightful dramedy from collaborators Tyler Nilsen and Michael Schwartz, whose writing recalls the humor and delight of American novelist Mark Twain and whose comical directorial style rivals the Coen Brothers for their quirky contribution to modern American folklore.

The first feature-length narrative from the filmmaking duo, The Peanut Butter Falcon tells the story of Zak (Zack Gottsagen), a young man with Down’s syndrome placed in  a nursing home after his family forfeits him to the state. Despite friendships with the elderly residents of his home and a close relationship to his direct caretaker Eleanor (Dakota Johnson), Zak feels imprisoned. He wants to explore the world before he gets too old, and his only respite from his monotonous life is his fantasy of becoming a professional wrestler under the tutelage of his hero Saltwater Redneck (Thomas Haden Church). He cleverly configures numerous madcap escape schemes with the help of his older roommate Carl (Bruce Dern), which provide many laugh-out-loud moments within the first 20 minutes. But The Peanut Butter Falcon is not all silliness—rather, it becomes a more tender film when, in one of his late-night escape attempts, an underwear-clad Zak stows away on a boat stolen by the churlish Tyler (Shia LaBeouf) as he skips town.

Stuck with a differently-abled stranger wearing nothing but his underwear, Tyler is at first disgruntled. LaBeouf masterfully plays this character as a surly loner whose gruff exterior slowly chips away as he befriends and aides Zak on a journey to the Saltwater Redneck’s wrestling school. Tyler, a sort of frontiersman/survivalist who seems to know how to navigate the rugged Outer Banks but can’t seem to stay out of trouble, is on the run from two fishermen from whom he stole crab traps and whose equipment he burned in retaliation for jumping him.

Tyler, we find out, has lost his brother—and blames himself for the tragic death. But as he grows closer to fellow misfit Zak, he finds fraternity in his relationship to his lovably idiosyncratic companion. Watching LaBeouf and Gottsagen onscreen together is an absolute delight; their palpable chemistry creates an incredible friendship onscreen. It is satisfying to see the goofy LaBeouf act without condescension alongside a young man with Down’s syndrome, especially in a story that is less about “overcoming” a disability and more about embracing the challenges and joys of understanding and loving someone with Down’s. As for Gottsagen, his empowering performance highlights the humour and skill so many people with Down’s syndrome possess while reminding viewers that having a disability does not always mean a person is helpless.

Overall, The Peanut Butter Falcon easily interweaves humour with heartbreak, moments of joy with pangs of dolour. It feels much like the tall tales of Twain’s Americana, with magical moments punctuating the narrative into a romantic frontier myth akin to those which make up much of American folklore. Themes of self-realisation and cleansing give the characters of The Peanut Butter Falcon beautiful, heartwarming redemption arcs which will leave viewers euphoric. Ending on a slightly uncertain (but happy!) note, this expertly-crafted story from Nilsen and Schwartz reminds viewers that one’s story isn’t over ‘til it’s over, and that there is always room in life for rebirth, restoration, and growth.

The Peanut Butter Falcon will be screening at the BFI London Film Festival on 3 October, 4 October, and 11 October 2019. Tickets are available to purchase on the LFF website. Check out the trailer below:

Editor KC Wingert tackles Bo Burnham’s directorial debut to celebrate it’s US anniversary. 

Embarrassing crushes, burgeoning sexuality, bullying, and mall hangs: Eighth Grade covers all the universal experiences that come with being a middle-schooler. But writer and director Bo Burnham’s first feature-length film offers viewers an in-depth exploration of the complicated nature of being a middle-schooler specifically in today’s hyperconnected society.

“Being in eighth grade is weird, and being alive right now is weird,” comedian Burnham explained to the audience at a screening, held in the auditorium of Joseph le Conte Middle School in Hollywood last July. The audience, an eclectic mix of creators, industry tastemakers, and actual eighth graders, murmured in agreement. In an age where social media rules and every kid has an iPhone, it has become harder for older generations to relate to the issues kids today face. Eighth Grade calls on older viewers to look on younger generations with compassion as they grapple with both the painful awkwardness of growing up and the additional toxicity that social media can add to their lives. At the same time, the film offers a hopeful message to its younger viewers along the lines of, “You’re going to be okay.”

Eighth Grade is the story of Kayla’s (Elsie Fisher) last week of middle school. Deemed “Most Quiet” in her school’s superlative vote, Kayla actually has a lot to say, and she documents most of it on her YouTube channel. She offers advice to her viewers through daily segments on topics like “How to Be Confident” and “How to Put Yourself Out There.” She tries really hard to apply her advice to her own life, too, by posting sticky notes with encouraging messages near her mirror and making lists of goals (“Be more confident”) and how to meet them (“Don’t slouch”). In her videos, she spends a lot of time talking about how she used to lack confidence, but now she’s doing great. However, this is not entirely truthful: although she definitely puts herself out there a lot by trying to befriend the cool girls and talk to cute boys, doing these things doesn’t always wield the results Kayla wants. Downtrodden, she blames herself and continues on her perpetual journey toward self-improvement.

This is where the pernicious influence of social media plays in: Kayla spends a lot of her free time scrolling through her Instagram feed and posting pictures of her heavily made-up face to Snapchat with captions like, “I woke up like this.” The omnipresence of social media in her and her classmates’ lives pressures Kayla to perform happiness. All of this is a ruse to impress the cool kids at her school, like the deliciously bitchy Kennedy (Catherine Oliviere), a rich girl who hates Kayla for seemingly no reason, and the tooootal heartthrob Aiden (Luke Prael), Kayla’s bad-boy crush who only perks up when she lies to him about taking naughty pictures.

Kayla looks at the images of her classmates on social media and compares them to her real-life, awkward self, prompting her to strive for self-improvement at all costs. If she were to look around her, though, Kayla would see that all of her peers are just as weird and awkward as she thinks she is. Unflattering close-ups of kids popping rubber bands onto their braces, flipping their eyelids inside-out, and pushing chewed-up bubble gum through their lips are peppered throughout the film.

By focusing so much on impressing the people who don’t like her, Kayla isolates herself from the people who truly love her and want to spend time with her. Finally, after a series of missteps including a harrowing conversation with a high school boy who pressures her to do something she doesn’t want to do, Kayla decides to open up to her father and let him in on her struggle. “It’s so easy to love you,” Kayla’s father, played by Josh Hamilton, assures his daughter in the most inspirational Dad Monologue to grace the big screen since Call Me By Your Name.

Eighth Grade joins other recent dramas with young protagonists like The Florida Project (dir. Sean Baker) and Spanish film Summer 1993 (dir. Carla Simón) in successfully portraying pain through the eyes of a child. Under Burnham’s masterful direction, 15-year-old Elsie Fisher’s powerful portrayal of the character, with her stumbling speech and nervous quietness, perfectly captures the essence of an anxiety-ridden teenage girl. Directing children is an admirable feat, and Burnham has done so with aplomb by choosing to highlight the fun quirks of the children he cast in his breakout film. The hilariously eccentric character Gabe, for example, could not have been brought to fruition had Burnham not taken care to embrace and highlight actor Jake Ryan’s real-life idiosyncratic personality on film.

Overall, Bo Burnham’s feature directing debut is an outstanding success featuring all the hilarity and heartbreak of being an average, everyday, middle-school girl. With stellar performances, gut-wrenching emotion, and an ultimate message of optimism, Eighth Grade is a film that people of all ages can enjoy.

Eighth Grade is now available on DVD and online. Check out the trailer below: 

Editor KC Wingert examines the female superhero in Marvel’s latest addition to their cinematic mythos.

I have to admit that I’m nothing more than a casual superhero movie fan. I’ve seen some, but not all, of the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s seemingly unending filmography – and most of the time I don’t know what’s going on because I skipped Thor 18 or Iron Man 26 or whatever number they’re on. I don’t hate superhero movies, but do find myself feeling frustrated when I see a franchise churn out several films a year, some of which are disappointing at best (ahem, Ant Man), knowing that no matter what quality is achieved, loyal fans will continue to show up and spend their money on this cultural phenomenon.

I am especially jaded when it comes to female superheroes in these films. Hollywood’s brand of feminism is disheartening; they just can’t seem to get it right. Too often, the so-called “strong, female lead” is a mere token; her existence in a film is largely based on her sexual difference. She is the only woman in a group of men, whom she surprises with her incredible ability to kick ass and maintain visual desirability while doing it. She is intimidating, cold, and mysterious in a sexy way. She is not represented as a particularly complex or conflicted person until a male love interest comes along to “soften” her. (In case you’re wondering, yes, I am talking about Wonder Woman).

I am tired of watching films with corny, girl power-y lines that will inevitably end up emblazoned on a t-shirt sold by some twee Etsy shop that throws in a “Notorious RBG” pin in with every order over £10. I am tired of films that wrap up the battle women have been fighting for hundreds of years neatly, with a big pink bow—a sign that all is well, sexism and gendered violence are over, and we can go back to being pretty now. I am tired of seeing female protagonists with one body type, one skin tone, one sexual preference, and one purpose—either to mother or to seduce the men around her. I am tired of watching women who cope well, who don’t cry, who don’t show any fear or hesitation. I am tired of looking at women who are only there to be looked at.

It’s safe to say I’m a hard sell when it comes to blockbusters starring women—not because I don’t want women to star in big-budget films, but because I feel like they never quite capture what it is to be a woman, really. And with all that said, I must make another really big admission:  I absolutely loved Captain Marvel.

In Marvel’s first title film for a female superhero, Brie Larson stars as Vers, a Kree Starforce member of the planet Hala. Vers has the remarkable ability to produce photon blasts with her hands—a unique power she has not yet mastered and which she cannot even remember receiving. Her memory before becoming a member of the Starforce is completely blank, except for the bits and pieces of her past life that flash by in recurring dreams.

In a Starforce mission gone wrong, Vers is kidnapped by a group of enemy Skrulls, the alien shapeshifters attempting to infiltrate other planets by disguising themselves as their inhabitants. She manages to get away in an escape pod, which crash lands in sunny Los Angeles, California. It is here that Vers remembers more about her past—and discovers that she was a U.S. Air Force pilot thought to have been dead for six years after crashing her aircraft during a top-secret equipment test in 1989.

While on Earth, Vers makes the acquaintance of Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson), a favourite for any returning Marvel fan. This is Fury in the early days of his career at SHIELD—before the eye patch, attitude, and seemingly unchecked power. (We find out, in fact, how Fury loses his eye—and it’s not as badass as you’d think). Together, Larson and Jackson have great onscreen chemistry; it’s an absolute delight to watch this odd couple escape the Skrulls and travel to find Maria Rambeau (Lashana Lynch), one of Vers’ friends from her human life. There are no faux-empowering moments between them—no “not bad for a girl” moments or “that’s my kind of woman” remarks. Fury and Vers are on a mission, and Fury doesn’t question Vers’ ability once. Unlike in many other films with a female protagonist, Vers is not someone Fury feels protective over in a paternalistic sense. Her value is not something that he expects her to prove before she can fight alongside him; in fact, in moments when they are not working together as equals, Fury looks to Vers as a leader.

Being the first woman to play a title character in a Marvel film is a high-stakes job, seeing as being the first female anything typically carries the pressure of making the entire gender look good—but it’s a job to which Brie Larson is suited, dare I say, marvellously. Larson is one of those actresses who brings a down-to-earth, relatable tone to whatever character she plays. She’s the girl who sat in front of you in biology, or the girl who played goalie on your field hockey team. She’s the girl who wasn’t loud and didn’t seek popularity, yet she seemed to be friends with everyone just the same. She is, at the same time, exceptional and ordinary. As Captain Marvel, a sort of accidental superhero, she expertly manages the bizarre duality of being both a totally average woman and an intergalactic warrior. It is this aspect of Larson’s performance which is most empowering; she tells us that any ordinary woman with a strong will can be a hero in her own right.

Another strength of Captain Marvel is that directors Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck have recreated one of the most exciting elements of the massively successful Black Panther:  they have put a black woman in a central and catalytic role in the narrative. The friendship between Maria Rambeau and Vers—whose name, we find out, was originally Carol Danvers—is a wonderful show of solidarity between two women who were once up against sexism in the U.S. Air Force and encouraged each other, instead of competing against each other, to fly in the only missions women were allowed to pilot at the time.

Before Carol’s “death,” these women took care of each other and had each other’s backs, both professionally and personally, to the point where Rambeau’s daughter Monica (Akira Akbar) refers to Danvers as “Auntie Carol”. For that reason, it only makes sense that Vers should now trust Rambeau to help her save the world, as all Marvel heroes must inevitably do—and help she does.

Rambeau is absolutely essential to the plot of the film. She helps Vers remember her life as Carol and unlock her true potential as Captain Marvel. She even outdoes Nick Fury himself in terms of helpfulness to the cause, by expertly piloting a spaceship she’s never flown before and fearlessly fighting the enemy. Next to Rambeau, the typically intimidating character Fury is practically only there for comic relief and to tie into the rest of the MCU. As a mother, a pilot, and a black woman, Rambeau is a complex and interesting hero herself, not a character boxed into the “sassy black friend” stereotype.

A film set in the mid-Nineties, Captain Marvel makes several cheeky jabs at the dismally slow-moving technology and now-defunct businesses of yesteryear (rest in peace, Blockbuster); this setting, of course, calls for a soundtrack that feels like a love letter to the female musicians of the mid-decade. (It’s worth noting, too, that Captain Marvel is the first Marvel film to be scored by a woman). From TLC to Salt ‘N’ Pepa, Elastica to Des’ree, Captain Marvel didn’t miss any of the hits or one-hit wonders that completely encapsulate the fun, laid-back vibe of its era. The film is heavily influenced by nineties grunge rock, too, in soundtrack and production design alike. Dressed in loose jeans and a flannel shirt, Captain Marvel at one point cruises down a highway on a motorcycle while Garbage’s femme grunge classic “Only Happy When it Rains” plays. Courtney and Kurt are included, of course, and No Doubt’s upbeat anthem “Just a Girl” sets the pace for one of the most crucial fight scenes in the film. The rebellious, riot grrrl-influenced soundtrack evokes a point in time when resisting the norm still felt productive and rebellion made a difference. The soundtrack isn’t just wistful reminiscence on days gone by, either; it serves a thematic purpose. These feminist grunge rockers rejected the testosterone-fueled rock scene of the early Nineties and challenged the status quo in a way that had a real affect on American culture. Captain Marvel provides a welcome escape back to a time when women’s resistance in the U.S. didn’t feel completely ineffective in the way that it sometimes does now.

Captain Marvel may not be the first female-led superhero movie, but it is, in this writer’s opinion, the most successful one. An entertaining adventure sprinkled with ironic humour, this is the film women who just want to be entertained without feeling objectified have been waiting for. For being in a film largely centred around fighting a hostile alien race, Brie Larson’s Captain Marvel is a surprisingly down-to-earth character whose wit adds richness to action-packed adventure, and whose confidence is empowering. Hopefully, Hollywood execs looking to add some feminism to their roster will see this film and understand:  Captain Marvel is how it’s done.

Captain Marvel is in theatres now. Check out the trailer below:

Editor KC Wingert reviews Jon S. Baird’s homage to the Hollywood comedy duo. 

One of my favourite childhood pastimes was going to my grandfather’s house and watching old Laurel and Hardy films on VHS. I’d sit on the floor with my Gramps, almost 70 years my senior, both of us belly-laughing at the top comedic duo of the Golden Age’s unique brand of humour. I practically worshipped Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy—their slapstick act and cartoonish physicality were so entertaining that, 60 years after their heyday in Hollywood, a ‘90s baby like me preferred to watch their films over Saturday morning kids’ programming. Much to my chagrin, the average movie fanatic today might not be as familiar with Laurel and Hardy as they are with Charlie Chaplin or Buster Keaton, their comedy contemporaries. (Fun fact: Stan Laurel and Charlie Chaplin toured together with Fred Karno’s vaudeville company before they started working in film and were roommates for much of the tour). Hope is not lost, however, for fangirls like me; with the recent release of Stan & Ollie, starring Steve Coogan and John C. Reilly, the duo is once again being recognised for their timeless genius. The Jon S. Baird-directed biopic not only captures the comedic brilliance of Laurel and Hardy, but also tells a feelgood story of love and affection between two old friends.

Stan & Ollie finds Stan Laurel (Coogan) and Oliver Hardy (Reilly) about 20 years after their run as the top comedic duo in Hollywood, reunited for a live theatre tour of the British Isles. Broke and unable to find work in film anymore, the pair hopes the tour will regain them enough career momentum to convince a major London producer to work with them on their film adaptation of the Robin Hood story. Their live performances garner great audience reactions and, after several successful press ops played in character, Stan and Ollie’s careers start to gain traction again. When their wives Ida (Nina Arianda) and Lucille (Shirley Henderson) visit them, however, old rifts begin to widen between the men.

The injection of serious conflict in the otherwise cheeky rapport between Stan and Ollie begs the question of whether their relationship is a true friendship or simply a long-lasting business partnership. The concerns their wives have for their well-being, both emotional and physical, complicate the story well. Disagreements between the duo are gut-wrenching to watch, yet, in homage to the spirit of the real Laurel and Hardy, writer Jeff Pope punctuates these emotional moments with genuinely hilarious jokes. Moreover, Ida and Lucille become a sort of comedic duo themselves with their catty quarrels and equally strong personalities—expertly portrayed by Arianda and Henderson, who nearly steal the show. Pope manages to bring humour and lightheartedness to moments of sobering conflict and emotional depth, ultimately leaving viewers chuckling just a few moments after dabbing their eyes from tears.

Outside of the delightfully told story, Steve Coogan and John C. Reilly’s performances are the ultimate strength of this film. Each actor absolutely masters the idiosyncrasies of Laurel and Hardy, from their distinctive voices to their characteristic facial expressions. Laurel and Hardy are known for their impeccable comedic timing and perfectly refined slapstick act; Coogan and Reilly clearly put in the rehearsal hours to mimic some of the duo’s most famous performances. Coogan’s perfectly measured brow-wiggling and Reilly’s harrumphing, along with extremely convincing prosthetic makeup, allow the pair to perfectly embody their subjects, to the point where an audience might genuinely forget that it is in fact watching the actors behind Alan Partridge and Dewey Cox.

Ultimately, Stan & Ollie is a masterful biopic not only because of its incredibly realistic portrayal of an iconic Hollywood duo, but also because it exemplifies the transgenerational appeal of the comedy of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy. This pair brought joy and laughter to so many people during their careers, and Jon S. Baird’s latest film is proof that the brilliance of Laurel and Hardy stands the test of time. Audiences of all ages will delight in this thoughtful and heartwarming comedy—“a fine mess,” indeed.

Stan & Ollie is currently out in cinemas right now. Check out its trailer below:

Editor KC Wingert critiques Disney’s video-game based animated sequel and its relationship to today’s consumerist media landscape.

Ralph Breaks the Internet, the follow-up to Disney’s 2012 animated feature Wreck-It Ralph, finds Ralph (John C. Reilly) and Vanellope (Sarah Silverman) six years later. Now best friends, the two spend their days hopping from game to game in their small arcade, but Vanellope secretly longs for something more. Ralph, in an attempt to bring some excitement to the arcade for Vanellope’s sake, accidentally sets off a chain of events that breaks the Sugar Rush game’s steering wheel, shuts down the game console, and displaces all of its characters. In order to replace the broken wheel and save Sugar Rush from permanent retirement, Ralph and Vanellope must venture into the unknown world of the internet to buy the only Sugar Rush steering wheel available in the world, which happens to be listed on ebay.

This film uniquely imagines the internet as a real, physical place where humanoid avatars represent all internet users’ data footprints; where juggernaut brands like Google and Pinterest occupy giant skyscaper-esque structures; and where pop-up ads pester people on the sidewalk like annoying street hawkers. Many of the film’s jokes are references to memes—even the film’s title refers to Kim Kardashian’s now legendary half-nude PAPER Magazine cover—that will feel outdated to someone watching in ten years. With jokes dependent on content from a rapidly changing media sphere dominating the film’s humor, writers Phil Johnston and Pamela Ribon have essentially cemented their screenplay’s eventual obsolescence. Even the bonus scenes at the end of the film are references to memes and the film’s own marketing campaign. These extratextual references may prove delightful to children eager to be in on the joke, but they only serve as marketing for various websites and apps and feel unnecessary to the story.

Clearly the intention behind this film was not to create the lasting power of a positive message, as one usually expects out of a children’s film, but rather its purpose was to create another franchise designed to milk as much money out of loyal fans as possible. The only ultimately positive messages that could be eked out of this nearly 2-hour ode to the coterie of companies that profit from invading people’s privacy are: 1) don’t read the comments on the internet, because people can be mean, and 2) don’t try to prevent your friends from following their dreams.

Moreover, Ralph Breaks the Internet acts as a tool to promote brand familiarity in children, with happy-go-lucky shout-outs to Google, Instagram, Amazon, and other internet behemoths which we now know to be engaging in less-than-ethical moneymaking practices. With a children’s film about the internet, directors Phil Johnston and Rick Moore could have created a teaching tool for parents to broach the subjects of data harvesting, identity protection, cyberbullying, and other issues their kids might encounter online. However, Disney, a media conglomerate in and of itself, seems to view Ralph Breaks the Internet as an opportunity to tout its own influence over today’s media landscape.

A large segment of the film is dedicated to Vanellope’s newfound friendship with the Disney Princesses, whose cheeky introduction in the movie’s trailer went viral among delighted feminists and Disney-philes alike. The princesses, after hearing that Vanellope is also royal, try to find out what type of princess she is by interrogating with a line of questioning—“Were you poisoned? Cursed? Kidnapped or enslaved?”—to which Vanellope responds, “Are you guys okay? Should I call the police?” When Vanellope says that people assume her problems were solved when a man showed up in her life, they exclaim, “She is a princess!” But this humorously metatextual, feminist moment shouldn’t fool anyone hoping to find radical themes within the rest of the film. This portion of the movie also includes cameos from other Disney films—from Winnie the Pooh to Zootopia—as well as from Disney-owned subsidiaries like the Marvel universe and Star Wars. In this critic’s opinion, this clearly shows how the film serves as a tool for Disney to essentially trumpet its own media empire within one of its films, with thinly-veiled product placement. Ralph Breaks the Internet therefore becomes no more than a Disney marketing campaign that will inevitably pay for itself.

Ultimately, Ralph Breaks the Internet is a blatant initiative to sell, sell, sell to those among us who aren’t able to make informed decisions about their consumption: children. The film is a 2-hour long advertisement that would leave any children’s media literacy educator aghast. While the film’s story, visuals, and performances were well-executed, it is fundamentally a tool for indoctrinating children into complacency in a media landscape that serves massive companies, not individuals.

Ralph Breaks The Internet is currently out in cinemas everywhere, check out its trailer below:

Editor KC Wingert reviews Jason Reitman’s political and timely biopic on the 1987 Gary Hart scandal. 

Director Jason Reitman has a penchant for stories about people whose morality sits firmly in a grey area. Avoiding concrete heroes and villains in his films, the Juno and Up In the Air director typically focuses on stories of ordinary people, and he does so with aplomb. However, his latest film focuses on the moral ambiguity surrounding a figure who errs more toward the extraordinary than the ordinary. With a surprising foray into the political drama genre, Jason Reitman’s The Front Runner is based on the true story of the 1988 U.S. Democratic primary hopeful whose political career was ruined forever following a massive sex scandal.

This film’s frenetic energy and quick pace paint a portrait of the exciting, albeit hectic, world of the team behind the ’88 primary campaign — and of the journalists reporting on it. Its visual style is characterised by a liberal use of sweeping, meandering long takes that hardly linger on any singular character long enough for them to speak more than one line. These quick glimpses of conversation between the staffers and journalists — a group comprised of familiar faces like J.K. Simmons as campaign manager Bill Dixon — emphasize the relative importance (or lack thereof) that these individuals hold when compared to the race’s front runner himself.

Hugh Jackman plays Gary Hart, a charming senator from Colorado whose fresh, liberal platform and comparative youth make him a candidate that the nation’s young voters can get behind. By most accounts, Hart is poised to win the Democratic primary and eventually become the next President of the United States. However, when caught having an extramarital affair, Hart finds himself caught in a media firestorm that he can’t seem to brush aside, despite all efforts to refocus the press back towards his political platform. With a stoic and largely unemotional performance, Jackman successfully paints Hart as a distracted, private man focused more on his career than on his personal life. But viewers should take care not to overlook the performers behind two figures so often silenced in any public figure’s sex scandal: the Other Woman, and the Woman Scorned.

Sara Paxton plays Donna Rice, the so-called bimbo who first attracts Hart’s attention at a yacht party off the shores of Miami. The juicy details of her affair with the candidate hit the newsstands, and her life is turned upside down. With an emotional performance, Paxton presents Rice as an ordinary woman: educated, successful, and now, permanently scarred and humiliated by the hate and abuse she receives at a national level after making the mistake of sleeping with a married man. On the other side of the coin, Vera Farmiga plays Lee Hart as a powerful figure who will not be humiliated— not by her husband, and not by the reporters covering his infidelity. Stony-faced and enduring, Farmiga’s Lee is formidable but never hysterical, a loyal wife who in return demands accountability and respect from her husband. Together, Farmiga and Paxton’s masterfully complicated depictions of Lee Hart and Donna Rice humanise the two figures in this scandal who perhaps suffered the most – more, even, than the candidate forced to quit politics forever.

In the wake of the scandal, the frustrated Gary Hart draws comparisons to the likes of popular liberal politician and notorious womaniser John F. Kennedy himself. Hart’s downfall begs the question: if his politics are good, should the gritty details of a public servant’s personal life even matter? Should the type of “gotcha” journalism typical of celebrity tabloids be applied to political news coverage, too? The Front Runner poses questions whose answers are not so simple – not in the 1980s, and especially not today. With a former celebrity personality currently occupying the White House despite countless political and personal controversies, director Reitman’s latest film is timelier than ever.

The Front Runner will be released in the UK on January 11th, 2019. Check out its trailer below: 

It’s festival season! The FilmSoc blog is covering the 62nd BFI London Film Festival (10th – 21st October), diving into the myriad of films and events on offer to deliver reviews.

KC Wingert reviews Peter Strickland’s newest horror. 

Director Peter Strickland’s latest feature In Fabric follows a cursed dress as it passes to various unsuspecting owners, terrorizing them day and night and ultimately destroying their lives. If you’re thinking that this sounds like the kitschiest horror film plot in existence, you’re right – and that’s exactly the point. Set in the 1970s, In Fabric embraces the natural kitsch of the era’s horror with its retro cinematography, and with a synth-y score similar to the one employed in David Robert Mitchell’s 2015 horror masterpiece It Follows.

Viewers first meet Sheila (Marianne Jean-Baptiste), a quiet but likeable bank teller who spends her free time either scouring lonely hearts ads in the newspaper, or cooking for her adult son (Jaygann Ayeh) and his openly hostile and apparently nymphomaniacal girlfriend (Gwendoline Christie). In preparation for a first date with a man she met through the paper, Sheila visits a local department store which, unbeknownst to her, seems to be run by a hilariously creepy old man and his horrifying cult of evil, sentient sex mannequins. One of the saleswomen/evil mannequins encourages Sheila to try on a beautiful, one-of-a-kind red dress. It fits her perfectly. Convinced by the sales-mannequin that this dress is the solution to her problems, Sheila buys it, thus ensuring her own eventual demise – this overt critique of consumerism dominates the first half of the film.

Next, the dress finds itself in the hands of Reg (Leo Bill), a pathetically passive washing machine repairman, and his fiancée Babs. This is where the plot starts to lose itself. If viewers thought they understood the rules of this filmic world after the first half of In Fabric, they were firmly disproven in the second half, where the film’s avant-garde, disorienting style takes precedent over any semblance of a cohesive storyline. At his stag party, Reg’s “friends” bully him into getting too drunk and wearing the red dress at a crowded dance club, which an unhappy Reg does practically without protest. This seems like an opportune moment for Strickland to examine the concept of masculinity in crisis and its relationship to consumerism, but instead, viewers get a lot of confusing sequences. For example, Reg for some reason suddenly demonstrates an ability to hypnotize people with his descriptions of what is wrong with their washing machine. Just like that, the film loses any of the traction or narrative tension initially built up by Sheila’s story and leaves its audience baffled. The campy absurdity of the first half of the film quickly becomes tiresome in the second half as viewers’ natural desire for a comprehensible storyline and logical filmic world goes unmet.

Peter Strickland’s vision is fun to watch and is aesthetically exciting, but viewers expecting some kind of enthralling story or provocative allegory found in any horror classic will ultimately be disappointed by In Fabric. While the heavily stylized cinematographic style and retro score are incredibly well-done, the film’s lack of closure (or even just a clear idea of what happens) will have moviegoers leaving the theater with one thought: “Well, that was weird.”

In Fabric will premiere at the BFI London Film Festival on October 18th. It will be coming soon to Curzon cinemas. Check out a clip below: