The FilmSoc Blog team got together to predict some of the wins for this year’s Oscars, while championing our own personal favourites and calling out injustices for snubs. Do you agree with our choices?

Illustration by Verity Slade for The Washington Post

Blog Consensus: Best Picture

What Will Win: Roma 

What Should win: Roma

Runner up: The Favourite

Our team at the FilmSoc Blog took a poll and the results for both were overwhelmingly Alfonso Cuarón’s Roma, and interestingly even more of us believed that Roma will win as compared to should win. It will be well deserved – Roma has been gathering praise and accolades since its release on the festival circuits, and infused with Cuarón’s passion in this quiet, melancholic portrait of both the character of Cleo (first-time actress Yalitza Aparicio in a revelating performance) and Mexico City, there is no argument in whether it should win. However: no foreign language film has ever won Best Picture, and the Academy is not exactly known to be enthusiastic for them either. Nonetheless, it seems that Netflix this year not only has its eyes on the big prize, and will be taking it in a historical win, too.

Raphael’s Prediction for Best Director

Who Will Win: Alfonso Cuarón or Spike Lee

Who Should Win: Alfonso Cuarón or Paweł Pawlikowski

The ‘Best Director’ category of this year’s Oscars is both surprisingly diverse and uniform. With the nominations of Alfonso Cuarón, Paweł Pawlikowski, and Yorgos Lanthimos, there is a historically high proportion of non-American directors featured, at the paradoxical expense of deserving female filmmakers such as Lynne Ramsay for You Were Never Really Here or Chloé Zhao for The Rider. Adam McKay and Spike Lee make up the rest of the contenders. The BlacKkKlansman director earned his first nomination in this category 29 years after Do the Right Thing; he is the only black filmmaker to be nominated this year, considering the notable omission of Barry Jenkins for his Moonlight follow-up, If Beale Street Could Talk. Cuarón and Lee, in that order, appear to be the strongest candidates for the win, but personally, I am torn between the Roma and Cold War directors, whose black-and-white magnum opuses have stolen my heart. 

Sabastian’s Prediction for Best Actor 

Who Will Win: Christian Bale or Rami Malek

Who Should Win: Christian Bale or Willem Dafoe

This year sees some of the most prolific figures in both music and artistic history portrayed, from Vincent Van Gogh to Freddie Mercury. It’s undeniable that both Dafoe and Malek embody these roles remarkably well, with both performances carrying their respective films. In At Eternity’s Gate, Dafoe seems to strike a remarkable balance between acknowledging the status and history of Van Gogh whilst creating an original human character. In Vice, we see Christian Bale in yet another remarkably transformative role, this time as the villainous Dick Cheney; amidst the fat and the loathsome personality, one loses any sight of Bale the actor. It must be said that Bradley Cooper’s efforts in A Star Is Born, his directorial debut, are also impressive – the star physically hurt himself to lower the baritone of his vocals and lend authenticity to the role. Although it seems obvious that it’s Malek versus Bale, I would absolutely adore to see Dafoe recognised after coming so close with 2017’s The Florida Project. 

Sabastian’s Prediction for Best Actress

Who Will Win: Yalitza Aparicio or Lady Gaga

Who Should Win: Olivia Colman or Yalitza Aparicio

This year hosts a very interesting range of nominees, from Lady Gaga for (A Star Is Born) to Melissa McCarthy (Can You Ever Forgive Me?) – both contenders who honestly surprised me with their performances in such serious roles. Olivia Colman, nominated in this for her role in The Favourite, would be a shoe-in for Best Supporting were she nominated, and Emma Stone and Rachel Weisz both equally deserve Best Actress undoubtedly, though they were nominated for Best Supporting. What I will say about Colman is that she is lovely, hilarious, and heartbreaking from one beat to the next as Queen Anne. She is able to encapsulate devastating grief and a lapse in sanity immediately after light and playful banter with ease. She’s finally being given the full attention she’s deserved for a long time. If not Colman, then Aparicio deserves this win for her role in Roma; the teacher-turned-acting powerhouse is one of the shining examples of an untapped wealth of talent coming from Mexico.

Sabastian’s Prediction for Best Supporting Actress

Who Will Win: Regina King or Rachel Weisz/Emma Stone

Who Should Win: Rachel Weisz

Starting with the obvious, Amy Adams does not deserve an Oscar for her role Lynne Cheney in Vice; she deserved it for 2016’s Arrival, but sadly that time has passed. Regina King obviously deserves recognition for her portrayal of Sharon, a reserved yet powerful mother-turned-diplomatic negotiator in the complexity that is If Beale Street Could Talk. However, every fibre of my being wishes to see one of the The Favourite duo recognised for their absolutely outstanding performances. Friends, rivals, jealous lovers, enemies – the layers both actresses bring to their roles while maintaining a comedic levity is commendable and breathtaking as you watch this dysfunctional triangular relationship decay into a simultaneously childish and serious dynamic.

Alex’s Prediction for Best Animated Feature 

What Will Win: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

No longer will we have to debate which is the best Spider-Man movie, since Spider-Verse excels in leaps and bounds. Laugh-out-loud funny, important in its messages, and simply gorgeous aesthetically, this one definitely deserves the win.

What Should Win: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

See above.

Hassan’s Prediction for Best Original Screenplay 

What Should Win: Roma – Alfonso Cuarón or First Reformed – Paul Schrader

What Will Win: Roma or First Reformed

Cuarón’s intelligent screenplay reveals just enough necessary information in an intimate and personal manner. Set in the socio-politically turbulent years of the early ’70s in the Colonia Roma district of Mexico City, it would be easy for Cuarón to didactically showcase the context of his film through basic news headlines and obvious dialogue. Instead, hints of revolution and police brutality are relegated to off-comments during a family dinner at the very beginning of the film, before being interrupted by mention of the family dog, Borras, and his roaming shenanigans. Indeed, ‘Borras’, the dog’s name, is one of the most frequently spoken words in the opening five or ten minutes, demonstrating emphasis on Roma’s domesticated setting. Cuarón’s screenplay declares that, first and foremost, this is a personal film set in a middle-class household, drawing attention to the emotions of the family, their maid Cleo, and the peripheral figures that shape their experiences. The script allows the lens to do the talking, instructing wide pans that reveal the lively character of the neighbourhood. Moments of brilliant intensity and disturbing imagery are dotted around the film, highlighting the brutal realities that Cleo contends with while she maintains her stoic, selfless approach for the sake of the children she cares for.

On the other hand, despite First Reformed being concerned with the worries of a religious pastor, Ethan Hawke suggested that as soon as he read Paul Schrader’s screenplay, he could tell it was by the writer of Taxi Driver, just a bit more ‘grown up’. Schrader himself agrees, saying the character of ‘the drifter, the loader, the lightsleeper, and the man in his room’ is one and the same, only this time he’s spiritual. The fight between religion, climate change, and how history will remember us for our sins takes centre stage, and while the performances are stellar, it is the confrontational nature of Schrader’s words that lends the troubled narrative path of Hawke’s pastor, Ernst Toller, a moving brutality.

Xinyi’s Prediction for Best Cinematography

What Will Win: Roma – Alfonso Cuarón

Roma’s combination of sweeping, grand shots of Mexico City with intimate closeups of the inner workings of Cleo’s life, all shot in black and white, has earned it numerous wins in the cinematography category so far – and rightfully so. Tackling black and white is a traditional yet tricky job, and Roma succeeds in moving away from gimmickry by utilising light and shadows fully to construct an almost angelic yet melancholic world. The opening and closing shots of the airplane reflected on the floor water; the overwhelming magnitude of the student protests; and, of course, the heartbreaking scene on the beach permanently imprint themselves in the mind. There is a reason why it has been recommended to see Netflix’s Roma in the theatres and not on the laptop – the vastness and the emotions encompassed by the camera are deserved to be marveled at on the big screen and pack their punches harder if viewed with maximum sensory focus. Cuarón juggles the role of Director of Photography himself and delivers – a feat that the Academy will recognise.

What Should Win: Roma / If Beale Street Could Talk – James Laxton

Roma absolutely deserves to win Best Cinematography. However, there is one film of 2018 with such vivid camerawork that rivals, a film that was unbelievably snubbed and not nominated: Barry Jenkins’ If Beale Street Could Talk. Shot by James Laxton, its cinematography is so full of character and personality that you could recognise that it is a Barry Jenkins film even when going in blind. Jenkins’ frequent collaborator and go-to DP Laxton continues from the visual aesthetics and intimate softness of Moonlight, but this time with a beautiful overabundance of colour; yellow never looked so good on camera. It’s atrocious that the Academy failed to recognise Beale Street’s cinematographic feat. If entered into the game, it would be much harder to choose between Roma and Beale Street. 

Lydia’s Prediction for Best Editing

What Will Win: Vice – Hank Corwin

Roger Ebert once said that to accurately predict an Oscar win, just replace the word ‘best’ with ‘most’ – and Vice is certainly filled to the brim with exciting, interesting editing, both moment-to-moment and structurally. Anyone who has seen Corwin’s work on Adam McKay’s previous film The Big Shortknows this. Out of the nominated films, it’s fairly easy to pick out Vice as the winner amongst a selection of films with mostly natural, competent editing. (The exception of course being Bohemian Rhapsody, whose atrociously jarring editing is truly a testament the Academy’s seeming lack of ability to distinguish between ‘best’ and ‘most’)

What Should Win: If Beale Street Could Talk – Joi McMillan, Nat Sanders

Okay, yes, this may be cheating slightly in that Beale Street is not nominated for Best Editing. The way in which certain shots, particularly those of faces, linger on screen for longer than audiences are accustomed to beautifully complements James Laxton’s stunning cinematography (who has, again, also been somewhat shockingly snubbed for his work on Beale Street) to create a visual experience which is immersive and not easily forgotten.

Alex’s Prediction for Best Original Score 

What Will Win: Black Panther – Ludwig Göransson

And honestly, I’d be happy with this win. Blending African music with American hip-hop, Göransson’s score underlines the looming presence of Killmonger’s character and the emotionality of the film’s themes, all while managing to keep a hold of that classic superhero orchestral sound. This is one of the most original and interesting scores we’ve had in years.

What Should Win: Isle of Dogs – Alexandre Desplat

Although controversial, Desplat’s score celebrates Japanese music and culture – I mean, that Taiko drumming is phenomenal (though actually written by Kaoru Watanabe). You only need to listen to ‘End Titles’ to know that the music of this film is playful, unusual, and fantastic, but I guess Desplat winning two years in a row would just be a little greedy.

Alex’s Prediction for Best Original Song

What Will Win: “Shallow” (From A Star is Born) – Lady Gaga

Does this need an explanation? No, I think not.

What Should Win: “Sunflower” (From Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse) – Post Malone, Swae Lee

This gem of a song was not even nominated, despite it being one of the chillest and most re-playable songs to be featured on the big screen. It is dreamy and sweet, not to mention as catchy as a spider’s web. (Too cheesy a metaphor?)

The 91st Academy Awards will be held on Sunday, 24th February. It will air live in the UK through Sky and NOW TV on Monday morning at 01:00am. 

Click here for more Awards Season coverage by the FilmSoc Blog.

Emma and Maria discuss the popularity of streaming services such as Netflix and Hulu, and their impact on the future of film and the movie-going experience.

Illustration by Leo Espinosa for the New Yorker

PREVIOUSLY: ‘The House That Jack Built’ – Exploring the Violence of Male Directors

Tanya, Raphael, and Lydia discuss Lars Von Trier’s The House That Jack Built, the implications of violence against women on the screen, and how controversial directors such as Tarantino, Polanski, Singer and Allen function in the #MeToo era.

Illustration by Angelica Alzona for Jezebel.

PREVIOUSLY: Cold War + Other 2018 Foreign Film Favourites

Pawel and Maeve discuss one of their favourite foreign films from 2018 – Paweł Pawlikowski’s Cold War – and other great foreign language films dominating awards season this year.

Illustration by Tony Stella / Alphaville Design

PREVIOUSLY: The Crimes of Grindelwald – An Extended Discussion

Louis and Abby got together and discussed everything around the newly released and highly anticipated Crimes of Grindelwald – their excitements, disappointments, confusions, and where the series should go from here.

Warning: Major Spoilers 

Illustration by Arch Apolar

PREVIOUSLY: Ghosts, Zombies and Hannibal Lecter – A Halloween Special

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.

Editor-In-Chief Xinyi Wang reviews Lee Chang-dong’s mesmerising slow-burn thriller. 

There is a disconcerting quietness that casts an uncomfortable shadow over Burning. Its colour palette is cold, its characters detached. For a film associated with fire, its only instance of true warmth came from a ray of sunlight, reflected by Seoul Tower and beamed at a specific angle, allowed to softly seep through the windows into a room. Haemi states that it happens only rarely, and that you have to be lucky to catch it. That ray of sunlight disappeared after ten seconds.

Director Lee Chang-dong instead visually dedicates the titular description with the burning of cigarettes. We watch one cigarette after the other slowly dissimulating into ashes, dragged forcefully, as if rushing to finish. A desperate act by our protagonists, Jongsu (Yoo Ah-in) and Haemi (Jeon Jong-seo, a delight in her debut role) to keep some fire in their hearts, it is a warmth that is harsh. A warmth that is lonely.

Its premise is simple: Jongsu, upon coincidence, reunites with Haemi, someone from his childhood that he barely knew. The two soon become involved, but the dynamic shifts after Haemi meets Ben (Steven Yuen) on her trip to Africa. Burning takes a turn after Ben reveals to Jongsu his peculiar hobby – burning greenhouses. The film is about Jongsu as much as it is about Haemi, and as much as it is about Ben; a three-hander told through the perspective of one. It does have more or less a similar premise to the short story it’s based on, Haruki Murakami’s ‘Burning Barns’, except dragged out as a feature length film, and riddled with complications. However, there are certain choices made that require further examination.

For a film loosely adapting Murakami, Burning manages to insert more Murakami tropes than the original contained. The Manic-Pixie Dream Girl, a frequent cliché found and criticised in the women Murakami pens, makes a reappearance in the film, but was in fact not an element in the original short story. The lost and lonely young writer reappears as well, where the “lost and lonely” part is directly added on in the adaptation. In fact, Burning scored in seven boxes on the harmless Murakami Bingo, and that is not even counting what originally existed in the book. It is hard to tell if Lee is simply paying homage to Murakami, or attempting to reimagine the 18-page ‘Barn Burning’ as a full length Murakami novel.

As such, these elements become a double-edged sword. On one hand, for example, the addition of a cat that properly plays a role in the plot is a charming decision that gave heart to the film. The Murakami formula works, and certain details might play as innocuous Easter Eggs for fans. On the other hand, Burning as pastiche runs dangerously close to parody – there is no need for the Manic-Pixie cliché to accompany the critique of how violence against women goes unnoticed, especially when directed at solitary, self-destructive women. Even more, Haemi was reconstructed as an almost by-the-books Dream Girl – special quirks include pantomime, sexual freedom, ability to doze off anywhere, spontaneous travelling, and more – which feels like a gaping flaw and disappointment in an otherwise chilling thriller, and perhaps an unconsciously misogynistic choice in an otherwise gripping critique of a patriarchal world. It can be argued that her characterisation shows her complexity, but it is undebatable that Burning takes Jongsu’s perspective, which of Haemi is a victimised sexual-romantic fantasy that remains so throughout the film. Meanwhile, the choice to reset the protagonist as a lost, quiet, disconnected young novelist (opposed to a well-off writer in his thirties) is fine, but seems to be such a go-to characterisation, and such a typical Murakami protagonist, that I wish for more in a ‘loose adaption’.

Aside from this, Burning is a triumph in slow-burn filmmaking. Hints to answers are given, but Lee manages to retain a successful ambiguity and an alluring strangeness. Its slow pacing keeps one on the edge of their seat, especially in the second half, where Jongsu becomes growingly obsessed with Ben and his greenhouse-burning hobby. The camera takes its time, breathes, and remains on our characters and their environment, refraining from melodrama – which would be an easy option given the material. Two scenes in particular – one of Haemi dancing, and the finale – are shot with delicacy, capturing the beauty of destruction and a dreamy wonder that is breathtakingly simple at the same time.

Despite my complaints of Jongsu and Haemi’s characterisations, I do appreciate how well their disgruntledness and loneliness capture a side commentary on youth unemployment and its dissociative culture. Even better is Lee’s subtle approach to the subject. Two sides of the same coin, Yoo Ah-in and Jeon Jong-seo reveal their own distinct isolation and pain, the latter stealing the show with all of the character’s quirks and eccentricity (The Manic-Pixie is up to criticism, but it does intrinsically bring out some scene-stealing acting.) They are drawn to each other because they are both lost and forgotten by the world, but due to their weakness of character that attraction is ultimately disrupted by the presence of someone who engulfs and feeds on their infatuation with destruction – the character that, pun-intended, burns into memory.

Steven Yeun’s breakout performance as Ben is by far the highlight of the film, and personally a revelation of his talents. There is always something off about Ben – he is an enigma, suspicious and perhaps sociopathic, and thus the audience is encouraged, with Jongsu, to develop an obsession over him. Yeun carries the role with grace, complexity, and a polite smile, and it is refreshing and empowering to see an Asian-American actor stretch his acting muscles outside the restrictiveness of Hollywood. Gone is the heroic Glenn from the Walking Dead – in his place stands a strange man who enjoys burning greenhouses. Yeun’s range can definitely be observed here, and his intensity bounces off the increasingly frenetic Yoo Ah-in as the film takes a turn to the intense.

Burning burns like winds in the winter, scathing the skin with an expertly-told chilling story and insight. Flaws in characterisation aside, the film is utterly visually stunning and emotionally well balanced, bringing alive not only the three characters, but also the world around them. Lee takes his time to tell the tale, resulting in a fascinating crescendo that ends with powerful ambiguity.

Cigarettes are dragged and put out, but the question of greenhouses lingers on.

8/10

Burning (버닝) will be generally released in the UK on February 1st, 2019. In the meantime, check out its trailer:

In our Halloween special, Alex and Joe sat down and chatted all things spooky and horror – from Tim Burton to Hereditary, the duo debate and celebrate scary film.

Illustration by Byron Eggenschwiler for The New Yorker

PREVIOUSLY: To All The Rom Coms I’ve Loved Before

Maria and Emma sat down this week and talked all about romcoms – its resurgence in 2018, tropes and clichés, representations of race and class, and more.

Illustration by Wren McDonald for The New Yorker

PREVIOUSLY: 2018 Summer Movie Round Up – Infinity War, The Incredibles, & More

Welcome back to a new year of FilmSoc podcasts! Abby and Sabastian got together to have a chat on this past summer’s hottest movies, including Infinity War, Ant-Man and the Wasp, The Incredibles, Solo, and more.

Spoilers ahead for all films!

Illustration by Kristian Hammerstad for The New Yorker

PREVIOUSLY: News & ‘You Were Never Really Here’

Editor In Chief Xinyi Wang looks back at Wes Anderson’s iconic aesthetic in his much loved 2014 adventure comedy. 

It is a justified statement, to believe that Wes Anderson is most famous for his signature composition style and visual character. From pastel colours to centre framing, his strict use of symmetry and sharp but quirky designs throughout his filmography have quickly branded itself to be the ‘Wes Anderson Aesthetic’. The Grand Budapest Hotel, an effortless delight of a film, perhaps, is the ‘Anderson Aesthetic’ at its peak. Anderson, working with frequent collaborator and partner-in-crime Robert Yeoman, offer a myriad of perfectly composed symmetries in each and every shot whilst playing with not only a set palette of pastel pinks, purples, reds, blues, and browns but also three different aspect ratios – a single viewing is enough to permanently press its visual presentation into memory.

When almost every shot is so intricately designed, it is surely hard to identify a single perfect shot from the film. So instead, we attempt to limit that down to ten. Disclaimer: This is done in no respective order, and no disrespect to any shot that did not make the list.

1. The First Establishing Shot of The Hotel

The most iconic establishing shot of the film, its picturesque pinkness immediately makes a strong impression. This is the hotel in question. It’s a product of its time (especially presented in 4:3 Academy Ratio), it is majestic and luxurious, and as we wait for the tram to ascend up to the hotel, Anderson sets the scene, allowing his audience to absorb and appreciate its striking design.

 

2. Zero and the Writer at the Dining Hall

The only 2.35:1 wide angle shot of the list, this shot is particularly wonderful for its quietness and emptiness. The hotel has deteriorated over time, Anderson reminds us, and that its grandness is only history. Upon closer inspection, it exudes loneliness – not all tables are occupied, and those that are only has one diner each. A soft spotlight descends on Old Zero and the Young Writer centre-bottom, composed of course, in Anderson’s strict style of symmetry.

 

3. Escalator Shot #1 of Many

Awkward escalator shots such as this are sprinkled across the film. Saturated in red, our characters are crammed into the shot, amplified by the academy ratio that precisely fits the size of the lift. Zero is especially crammed in the back in this particular shot, giving the entire scene a claustrophobic undertone.

 

4. Gustave and Zero: An Introduction

We meet our characters: M. Gustave and Zero. Its composition is wonderful – a fish-eye close-up of M. Gustave, Zero slightly blurred but nonetheless still visible in detail, and the sign ‘GRAND BUDAPEST’ looming above. A shot with physical depth that introduces and encapsulates what the film is about, our main characters make their first proper interaction.

 

5. Bird’s Eye View: Concierge

There are many bird’s eye shots in The Grand Budapest Hotel, but this one metaphorically and literally takes the cake. Anderson’s use of symmetry and geometry turns the hotel concierge into, basically, a cake, with circles and circles of layered patterns that is reminiscent of the Indian Mandala pattern. The shot certainly does not last very long, but it is representative of the amount of detailing that went into the composition of each frame and is effective in communicating the busyness of the hotel in its prime.

 

6. Gustave in Prison

Once again, Anderson’s use of symmetry is marvellous. We have our subject, Gustave H., front and centre of the frame, and the background behind him is lined up with people separated by uniform. It echoes a previous shot of Gustave giving a speech to the hotel staff during dinner, and plot-wise it serves the same purpose. However, in addition, this call-back induces humour – it is already ridiculous (and in character) that Gustave insists on giving his speech, but the tidiness of everything and how inmates and officers both seem to be like his staff tops it all off.

 

7. Agatha

This one will always be an all-time favourite of mine. Saoirse Ronan’s Agatha, now properly introduced, stares into the camera in a close-up as the background shifts out of focus and spins. It captures Zero in love. It captures Agatha in love. Simplistic, romantic, intimate and beautiful, it also stands out for being so visually different from the rest of the film for its use of warm lighting, shadows, and soft lines, referencing itself as a special one. And it is.

 

8. Bird’s Eye View: Tool Hiding

Another bird’s eye shot, this one is all fun in its sweet, pastel goodness. It is the signature Anderson aesthetic, finding its quirkiness and humour in hiding small tools in pastry with perfect composition and pastel tones. Not much needs to be said.

 

9. Cable Cars

One of the few stop-motion sequences of the film, two cable cars overlap in the centre of the frame. Shots like this are aplenty in Isle of Dogs, but it does stand out in its predecessor. It is a clean shot, but hints danger – our characters are after all, on the run, suspended mid-air, carried by nothing but a tin can that is carried by nothing but a line. A moment of suspense, we watch as the second car approaches. Snow falls.

 

10. Bird’s Eye View: Mendl’s

There is another shot from the same scene, and the decision between which one is better was a hard one to make. Honestly, if I didn’t care about being repetitive, both would make the cut (honorary mention to this shot as well). This one’s just slightly a bit more perfect. The third bird’s eye shot of our selection, the negative space of pink surrounds our characters as Agatha and Zero look up from the car, staring straight into the camera. Within the small positive space that they have, they are engulfed by a sea of pastel pink Mendl’s boxes, the pink and blue complementing each other in this aesthetically pleasing shot. It is a moment of resolution, a moment of fresh air. And similarly, this minimalist shot is satisfying in itself.

The Grand Budapest Hotel is FilmSoc’s first screening of the year. It will be screened on Monday October 8th, at 6pm. View details here and check out the trailer below:

Editor Xin Yi Wang reviews Alexander Payne’s recent venture into sci-fi comedy.

The concept of Downsizing is intriguing. An original premise about shrinking communities in order to reduce environmental waste and depletion, it seemed as if we had a film on our hands that could have been sharp sci-fi satire with a breath of fresh air. The concept unfortunately does not translate well into words, nor does it successfully achieve what it set out to do. What audiences have ended up with is a fun but jumbled piece with no idea if it’s supposed to be 1) an environmental parable, 2) a critique on society, or 3) a character piece. Sure, a film can be all three, but Alexander Payne (Nebraska, The Descendants) has failed to balance them out, going into one direction before jarringly switching to another. Its runtime of two hours and fifteen minutes does not do it any justice either.

Payne sets the scene by establishing the technology slowly making its way from conception, to implementation, to its encounter with Paul Safranek (Matt Damon) and wife Audrey (Kristen Wiig). Taking a chance to start a new life while saving the environment, they agree to undergo the new shrinking technology and move to the popular ‘downsized’ community Leisureland, only for Audrey to opt out last-minute. Paul is left alone, befriends with his eccentric neighbour Dušan (Christoph Waltz), and meets Ngoc Lan Tran (Hong Chau), a Vietnamese activist shrunk against her will.

The film spends way too much time on set-up, and Wiig’s character ultimately does not serve enough purpose to justify her character’s inclusion at all. Why? For a quick plot twist? To develop Damon’s character and be the cause of his downsizing regret? Surely there are more and better ways to do that without wasting an entire character. Wiig is essentially a glorified cameo, never to be seen again after we follow Paul into Leisureland – Leisureland, where Downsizing really begins. Actually, no – Downsizing really begins after Ngoc Lan is introduced (almost halfway in), which really highlights how much unnecessary set up has really been put into the film.

Even so, the character of Ngoc Lan is a problem. On one hand, she represents a layered and nuanced Vietnamese refugee, her experiences contrasting the upper-middle class, majorly white community of Leisureland. A character forced into downsizing, her existence proves a counterargument to the claimed purpose of this technology and the perception of Leisureland by Paul. There is no dispute that against the likes of Damon and Waltz, newcomer Chau absolutely steals the show and easily upstages the both of them with an excellent performance. With only six entries in her filmography – and Downsizing her second feature film after a small supporting role in Inherent Vice (2014) – she is a revelation, showcasing strength and determination in both the character and her confident performance. It’s really a shame she’s not the protagonist of the film. She ought to be.

On the other hand, however, Ngoc Lan’s exaggerated accent and broken English are at times used for laughs and cringe humour, treading the fine line between an authentic refugee character and a racial caricature. It’s not about how an accent exists – as a refugee from Vietnam, not having perfect English fits her identity and acts as an example of the difficulties refugees face when trying to assimilate into a country and language that is foreign to them. Yes, accents become associated to prejudicial racial assumptions, but this is subverted by Chau and the strength of writing in the character, who becomes more or less the actual hero of the film. The danger arises when the broken English is used for punchlines, such as the line “Was it a love-fuck?” during an emotional moment. As a comedy, humour is played frequently and well, but was this really necessary, or was it an over-exaggeration of the reality faced by immigrants and refugees over language barriers? Of course, it doesn’t take away from Chau’s performance as it is more of a script problem, but it is a problem within the film that should be addressed.

As the film progresses, Payne seemed to realise that Ngoc Lan is far more interesting than Paul, and Downsizing shifts from what was building up to be a character piece focused on Paul (and his regret about downsizing, his disillusionment with his life, the new perspectives from Ngoc Lan) to her. Which could have been great, considering she is the driving force of the film – particularly compared to Paul’s mundaneness – except that Payne, having wasted all his time building up to Paul’s struggles, first meanders into Ngoc Lan, then seems to realise he’s unsure about that and goes back to Paul. It becomes confusing – either start with Paul, commit to Paul, and end with Paul, or start with Ngoc Lan and end with Ngoc Lan.

The product’s lacking confidence here is given an even weirder aspect in the final act, when the environmental parable returns. It drives into bizarre territory, suddenly going for a grand narrative instead of character focus(es), shifting in tone as the film remembers that it’s supposed to also be an environmental satire. Here, concepts of the end of the world and starting new human colonies from scratch arise out of nowhere, while giving no reason why our characters are involved in this. Instead of the subtle criticism in the first two acts, Payne doses the final act with an overload of satire on society. Is it earned? Where is the coherence?

Not to say the film has no merits. It is overall good fun and an enjoyable ride for the most part, with laugh-out-loud moments mixed well with more tender and serious scenes. Humour is its strong suit, from Damon carrying a huge or “normal-sized” flower as a party gift to the very nature of downsizing itself, and the second act is solid. Damon is fine as the middle-class everyman, bringing in the usual charisma you would expect from Matt Damon. Waltz is also memorable, and together with Chau plays the foil to Damon’s everyman in a different way – he does take the back seat by the end of the film, but nothing unexpected.

At the most basic level, Downsizing is decent. It’s a shame that it held so much promise with its premise and cast, only to struggle with what it’s trying to achieve and failing to mix concepts together. I would have preferred to see Black Mirror tackle the technology and deliver on a tight-knit satire in under an hour instead.

6/10

Downsizing came out on January 24th in the UK and is now showing in cinemas. Trailer below:

Xin Yi Wang runs through a few films from the London East Asian Film Festival, which ran from the 19th to the 29th of October.

Names such as Akira Kurosawa, Wong Kar-wai and Ang Lee might ring a few bells for cinema fans, but the truth is East Asian cinema is a vast industry unknown to most Western audiences. Of course, the lack of accessibility is a factor – Asian releases aren’t come by as easily as those from Hollywood, and language is another barrier that might diminish interest. For the second year running, the London East Asian Film Festival (LEAFF) has been a welcome presence both for education and as a method for the Western world to access the gigantic archive of East Asian cinema, screening new releases from contemporary filmmakers and retrospective films.

LEAFF was a diverse array of experiences – I’ve seen quiet auteur films right before huge multi-language blockbusters, and productions scaling from minuscule to grand. In addition to screening films, LEAFF hosted plenty of Q&As, allowing for interactions both immersive and educational. The experience opened up my knowledge, and is an exciting and engaging new film festival in London to watch out for.

Phillips-Lee Best Film Award Winner: Soul Mate

Special Jury Mentions: Dancing with Jikji and Loser’s Adventure

Major films and highlights I unfortunately missed out on so won’t be able to discuss: Anarchist from the Colony, Dancing with Jikji, Loser’s Adventure, Have A Nice Day, Walking Past the Future, One Day, The Receptionist, The Table.

Historic Trauma

Two massive productions from South Korea were screened at the Festival, both dealing with pain and trauma in Korean history. The Fortress (Grade: 7/10) opened LEAFF with its cold and violent winter. This historical epic is set in 1636, when the invading Qing Dynasty tried to coerce the Joseon into surrendering and dropping their allegiance to the Chinese Ming Dynasty. Director Hwang Dong-hyuk traps the audience with his isolated characters behind the walls of the titular fortress – and between sweeping atmospheric landscape shots and intense battle sequences, its proportions are well balanced. Watching with some knowledge of historical context, there is a larger sense of impending doom that builds up well as one anticipates the ultimate fall-out.

Its main two characters – Choi Myung-kil (Lee Byung-hun) and Kim Sang-hun (Kim Yoon-seok) shine in stand-out performances, and it’s a shame Hwang incorporates unnecessary characters to create a typical soap opera effect rather than stripping the film down to two characters of conflicting ideology. There’s much ground to explore here, as both are justified perspectives that represents the nuances of political dilemma during wartime. Though Hwang should have devoted more attention to this as the central focus of the film, the conflict as it stands still resulted in a brilliant scene of debate.

While the Fortress traps its audience, Battleship Island (Grade: 7/10) suffocates. Looking to another moment of painful national history, this time we find ourselves on Hashima Island during World War II with father and daughter (among other characters – both these films contain an ensemble cast to reflect their scope), where under Japanese occupation Koreans are treated as subhuman slaves mining coal and performing other labours. Ryoo Seung-wan makes a deep impression with his direction – with hundreds of extras in many scenes all at once, it feels like watching an experienced orchestra conductor, staging and balancing several different instruments to chilling effect. The cinematography by Lee Mo-gae is equally astounding, squeezing and smothering its audience in a thrilling presentation.

Battleship Island is a predictable blockbuster that promises thrill and emotional tugs. Though there is nothing truly subtle about this film, especially with its nationalistic stance and anti-Imperial Japanese sediment, it is highly entertaining and engaging. Its lead actors, the charismatic Hwang Jung-min as Bandmaster Lee Kang-ok and Train to Busan’s Kim Su-an as his daughter Lee So-hee are wonderful as the heart of the film. Supporting actors are also brilliant, though I would argue that Song Joong-ki’s character and story are introduced too late within the film and feel too much like an afterthought for an important character.

Ryoo, however, needs to watch his use of tone. The first half is a bizarre mix of serious torture over satirical music that comes across like a weird Coen Brothers imitation, and deeply jars with the second half, a serious war film. Battleship Island is a long and flawed feature, but it definitely stood out during the festival.

Hong Kong: Now and Then

This strand of the festival accompanies the twentieth anniversary of Hong Kong’s return to China, choosing four films from Hong Kong’s large catalogue. Three of them were from the world of cops and triads, the fourth a soft melodrama about a deep friendship. Other than Triad Election (2006), I managed to catch all the films under this strand. As I am from Hong Kong, it was personally not much of an education compared to other films watched during LEAFF, but the choice of these four films to represent Hong Kong was certainly interesting.

Triad Election and Infernal Affairs (Grade: 8/10) represent the “then” – Hong Kong is famous for its own genre of gangster films, and Infernal Affairs is undoubtedly one of the most famous examples of that genre to Western cinemagoers. Just four years after its 2002 release, Scorsese remade it into The Departed, very similar to the original. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to Infernal Affairs that I watched its Hollywood remake first, as I not only had a very strong idea of its plot and character complexities, but resorted to making constant comparisons between the two films. In my reading, a focus on critical comparison took over – what was changed? What were the different choices made in shooting a same scene?

The original is undoubtedly a marvel. Directors Andrew Lau and Alan Mak’s handle of suspense and thrill stands the test of time, keeping Infernal Affairs constantly fresh and engaging. It has a strong sense of place and culture, utilising Hong Kong’s gritty urban jungle and over-crowdedness to be a player in our protagonists’ psyches, and we find ourselves constantly on rooftops for a breath of fresh air. Though – and I am making a comparison with its remake here – certain scenes fly into a more “cheesy” territory that might not have aged well, its characters and psychological intensity truly cement the film in its status.

Tony Leung is completely mesmerizing in his role as Chan Wing-yan, living on the edge of a breakdown and constantly risking to dangerously tip over. Even so, he maintains a charisma that makes him stand out, allowing the audience to empathise and root for him as our hero. Andy Lau as Lau Kin-ming is on par with Leung. While Leung is more hot-blooded, Lau reacts with quiet intensity, anxiety lingering in his stoic expressions. Two sides of a coin, their identities and lives interlink, sometimes even crossing over to their own, real identities. Not only are they under constant pressures as undercover individuals, their identities and sense of self are constantly in crisis – could you still consider Chan a policeman, and Lau a gangster?

Representing the “Now”, the second Andy Lau flick of the strand is screened. The weakest of the films, Shockwave (Grade: 4/10) is a modern-day popcorn movie that feels more like an unsubtle propaganda film than anything else. It is open in the way it plays with emotions and predictable in its plot, and overall is a typical blockbuster – not really fresh in any sense. A plus side is Jiang Wu giving a loud and dramatic performance as the villain; he mixes up the film with energy and should be commended for his intimidating presence. Phillip Keung’s performance as Chief Inspector Kong, conversely, goes over the top – the character is quite unnecessary to begin with, and the performance frequently dips into “too much” territory.

Credit where it’s due for an adrenaline-fueled thrilling ride and an education on different types of bombs – but other than that it’s more disturbing in its unabashed praise of the police force, very weak characters, and the use of Mandarin as the language spoken in a film set and representing Hong Kong (in a film that goes out its way introducing landmarks of the city, the total absence of spoken Cantonese makes it a very uncomfortable watch). If anything, it is representative of the influence of Mainland China in Hong Kong Cinema since the late 2000s, and the need to go around censorship for box office returns while appeasing the Chinese government makes it certainly a problematic piece post-Occupy Central.

Maybe in order to examine Hong Kong cinema “now”, one does have to factor in Mainland influences. The only thing that made Soul Mate (Grade: 7.5/10) qualify to be in this strand is its director Derek Tsang, who is from Hong Kong. The winner of the Phillips-Lee Award in competition at LEAFF, it is a beautiful film about a friendship since childhood, and both an exploration in coming-of-age and a take on deep female relationships not commonly portrayed to such depth in Chinese cinema. A soft melodrama, Tsang tugs emotional strings extremely frequently, complicating character relationships in the likes of soap operas but nonetheless leaving you with a strong impression of characters Qiyue (Sandra Ma) and Ansheng (Zhou Dongyu).

It does fall into cliché grounds though – I rolled my eyes when I realised the central factor that threatens their friendship is a man. Even worse, this man isn’t as well rounded as the female protagonists, making both his character and the story arc of the love triangle boring. It is a shame, as Ma and Zhou are both excellent in their portrayals of emotion, heartbreak, support and happiness. Ansheng’s energy, personality and struggles behind her free-willed stubbornness are vivid in a tour-de-force from Zhou, and Qiyue, Ansheng’s foil, balances her wildness with restriction and nuance in Ma’s heartbreaking performance. Tsang constantly steers the film into a fresh, new take, then immediately backs into clichés of the established Chinese romance genre. Ultimately, the film is an impressive feat.

Death, Mourning, and Grief

The two other films I caught can be linked through their themes of death and grief. Blank 13 (Grade: 8.5/10) was a festival highlight – a quiet and small production from director Takumi Saito, it dives into the complexities of people, grief, and family. Set during the funeral of a deadbeat father, Saito intercuts between the now and then as son Koji (Issei Takahashi) reminiscences the past. The title sequence is placed in the middle of the film, dividing Blank 13 into two while indicating of a tonal shift. The first part is heavy, relying on Koji’s memories while showcasing his father’s abandonment of his family, and more traditional, while the second half shows another side of his father through a collection of odd acquaintances at the funeral.

People are complex – the father might have been terrible to his family, but he was kind to strangers and friends. Two sons grasp the concept differently, with Koji being more forgiving, while it is too much for his brother. Their mother (Misuzu Kanno), who the director claims the story is truly about, is an intensely inward character whose presence is barely seen but always felt. It is rooted in realism, containing real human emotions, struggles, and finding humour in awkward circumstances. Ending on an emotional high note, Saito has created a touching success that stays with you long after.

As part of the retrospective strand of Japanese Cinema, I saw Naomi Kawase’s The Mourning Forest (Grade: 6.5/10), winner of 2007 Cannes Grand Prix. Focusing on the relationship between a nurse Machiko (Machiko Ono) and an old man Shigeki (Shigeki Uda) suffering from dementia at a nursing home, Kawase reveals how two individuals in grief find comfort transcending age and gender, and their relationship blossoms into something intricately built and precious.

Machiko mourns for her child while Shigeki mourns for his wife, and though Machiko never explicitly mentions her pain they reach a mutual understanding. The pace however, is at times excruciatingly slow, and can get very disengaging as Machiko and Shigeki hike in the woods. It is a hard film to watch with certain confusing scenes, but is nevertheless beautiful in its own exploration of grief.

Closing Gala: Outrage Coda

The Closing Gala of LEAFF, Outrage Coda (Grade: 7/10) is, well, outrageous in its ride. The finale of Takeshi Kitano’s Outrage yakuza trilogy, the abundance of characters and spiderweb of relationships absolutely confused me at first as I have not watched the first two films. Even so, by the end of the film I had a clear idea of its mafia world and complications, so that is a feat by Kitano. Filled with betrayals, violence and yakuza politics, its fans are in for a treat as we follow Otomo’s spree to avenge his friend after he was crossed.

Working as both director and actor, Kitano is at the centre of it all, and his Otomo is fascinating to watch. Mainly suffering in quiet rage, Otomo unleashes hell on the Japanese yakuza, completely intimidating yet brilliant to root for at the same time. Its lack of female characters is noted – this is an extremely masculine film, not surprising at all as it plays traditionally in the gangster genre, which by itself is a masculine playground. The pacing only gets more and more intense, completing the trilogy with absolute exhilaration from start to finish, closing the festival with a boiling finale.

The London East Asia Film Festival was established in 2015 as a non-profit arts organisation to champion the growing collaboration and diversity in East Asian filmmaking.

Check out the LEAFF website here: https://www.leaff.org.uk/

Xin Yi Wang reviews Sean Baker’s pastel-toned drama.

Laughter and screams in an intense game of catch, or quietly sitting on the pavement side by side enjoying ice cream cones with big smiles. These childhood memories capture a precious state of joyfulness that is seemingly lost to us once we grow older. Sean Baker’s The Florida Project is a beautiful portrayal of innocent times, bursting with energy that encapsulates a universal sense of childhood. A fresh, intricate piece driven by its strong characters, it is warming and heartbreaking without pulling any cliché strings.

We follow six-year-old Moonee (Brooklynn Prince) as she turns the community of Kissimmee, Florida (a city next to Orlando) into her personal playground. Living with her mother Halley (Bria Vinaite) in an extended-stay motel aptly named Magical Kingdom, Moonee’s up to small and big mischiefs with her friends over the summer, often to the headache of motel manager Bobby (Willem Dafoe).

Baker, known for his previous feature Tangerine (2015), which he shot on an iPhone 5S, returns to the traditional camera in not only the role of director, but as the writer, editor and producer. In a wonderful feat, Baker reimagines the small, run-down city bursting with colours and saturation. The purples of Magical Kingdom in particular turn the motel into a fairy-tale haven, expanding the magic of Disneyland without the extravaganza of the theme park.

One can see how the tourist attractions of Orlando influence its neighbours, as Kissimmee boasts its Orange World (The World’s Largest Orange Store, a real place) or huge gift shops with giant wizard heads. It is strangely surreal to see how elements of fairy-tale theme parks take over entire urban and suburban areas, especially juxtaposed with the reality of poverty that our characters experience. It is a hub of diversity, of all cultures and ways of life, all cast under the fantastical shadow of Disneyworld and Universal Studios. It is a perfect backdrop and low-key social commentary for a character piece centred on a child and her single mother.

Outrageous but contained within the realistic attitude of owning the world, our small protagonist draws from an infinite pool of daring and boldness. In her first major role and her second ever picture, Brooklynn Prince as Moonee is a revelation. Child acting doesn’t get better than this – she is an unbelievable whirlwind, ecstatic, brave, innocent, stubborn, fearing, and fearless. Moonee is a problem child, yes, but she is also so much more, deserving of protection and happiness, a realistic child who is reflective of who we were once. She will break your heart and reduce you to tears.

Bria Vinaite is the second revelation of the film, an unmissable breakout in her debut screen performance. Halley is a product of poverty and a lack of guidance, but she is also a full-fleshed person who Vinaite commands with confidence. Her aggression and carefreeness are spectacular and perplexing, and as Halley grows more and more unhinged Vinaite becomes exponentially more mesmerizing to watch.

The absolute heart of the film is none other than the completely raw and realistic bond and chemistry between Vinaite and Prince. Mother and daughter cling onto each other for survival, the source of each other’s happiness and purpose. It’s them against the world – the film is about Halley as much as it is about Moonee, and the explosion of charisma and personality ensues.

The balance between serious, mature themes and the innocent of childhood is masterfully designed by Baker. Though similar to Room (2015) in allowing us to mainly see the world through the eyes of the child, Baker interjects this with perspectives of adults – to good measure. He doesn’t shy away from the dangers outside fantasy, subtly setting scenes that remind us that despite Moonee’s fearlessness, she is no different than other children. As Halley grows desperate to make ends meet, the fantasy is slowly eroded by reality, but while the film builds up to darker undertones it does not abandon its original magical quality, nor give in to any conventions of melodrama.

More importantly, The Florida Project does not pass entitled judgment on our characters. Though we know Moonee is a bad influence to her friends and her mother’s lifestyle is not well-suited for child-raising, we accept this as our reality. Their subtle homelessness and nomadic lifestyle is handled very well, never defining our characters though it is the driving force behind Halley’s motivations. This neutrality is best kept by Dafoe’s Bobby, who – though he has to deal with all the different mishaps of the film – remains a guardian and protector trying his best to provide for them. Dafoe’s nuanced performance is definitely a fresh turn from the only veteran actor of the cast, taking a leave from his more sinister roles to effectively counterbalance Prince and Vinaite’s fires.

This sets the final act as a hard ethical choice. As events spiral out of control, what would be objectively better for Moonee’s wellbeing? In a manner comparable to the final thematic question of Gone Baby Gone (2007), the audience is faced with implications in the future of Moonee’s life with no easy solution. Baker makes no promises and answers nothing – ending the film with a sequence as ambiguous as it is abrupt, giving the audience the power of final choice. It is entirely up to interpretation, despite the fact that any solid conclusion would be uncomfortable to come to.

The acting is superb, especially given the majority of the cast involved are newcomers to film. The children are completely naturalistic, and aside from Prince, Valeria Cotto (who plays her friend Jancey) is also outstanding. Mela Murder, playing Ashley, is highly memorable, and Caleb Landry Jones as Bobby’s son is a welcome presence.

Though The Florida Project does not set out to articulate any sense of nostalgia, one can be immediately transported back to happier childhood days characterised by quick-but-deep, innocent friendships and life without care. Threading between fantasy and reality, it resonates deeply, transforming what might have been a bleak, dramatized story about a family living under poverty to a heartfelt sense of wonder and genuine engagement. It is definitely not to be missed.

9/10

The Florida Project had its UK premiere at London Film Festival on the 13th of October. It is out now in cinemas. Check out the trailer below: 

It’s festival season! The FilmSoc blog is covering the BFI’s 61st London Film Festival (4-15 October), diving into the myriad of films and events on offer to deliver reviews.

Xin Yi Wang on Yorgos Lanthimos’ latest chilling feature.

WARNING: This review may contain spoilers.

“You have beautiful hands.”

King Agamemnon kills a deer. He does not realise the deer he’s hunted down was sacred to the goddess Artemis, who rages against the king for his actions. In her fury, Artemis forces Agamemnon to sacrifice his eldest daughter, Iphigena, as punishment – a life for a life. So Iphigena dies, sacrificed for her father’s mistake.

The killing of the deer in Yorgos Lanthimos’ newest feature is both cause and effect. Surgeon Dr Steven Murphy (Colin Farrell) once carried out a failed operation that resulted in the death of a man, sparking grave consequences as he suffered the wrath of the man’s son, Martin (Barry Keoghan), who believed Murphy should claim responsibility. The sacred deer is killed and the price to be paid is to sacrifice another. In its death, the other deer becomes sacred as well, claimed by God.

Lanthimos carries his distinct style from The Lobster into The Killing of a Sacred Deer, continuing his signature deadpan black comedy in an even more extreme situation. Absurdist to the core, he introduces another dystopian world, surrounded and watched by its omnipresent Big Brother antagonist. His characters speak so matter-of-factly it’s off-putting, and as the film progresses the sharp language creates a range of effects, from ridiculous humour to downright discomfort. Clearly a master of his craft, Lanthimos confidently pushes more boundaries to a definite success.

The world inhabited by our characters is clean. The streets are clean, the language is clean, the hospitals are clean, and Murphy’s hands are clean. The interior and exterior of hospitals create a constant eerie atmosphere, looming in the background while our characters interact. The only people we really meet are our main family and Martin’s family – the other characters are all part of the medical world, not escaping the motif of cleanliness. There are barely any extras roaming down the streets either – this is thoroughly an empty and sparse landscape. Thimios Bakatakis’s photography is absolutely breath-taking, creating a subtle anxiety while intricate composition and swift camera movement visualises Lanthimos’s bleak and almost alien landscape.

In an absolutely chilling (and definitive breakthrough) performance by Barry Keoghan, he transforms from a peculiar boy to a manipulative higher power, forcing the audience to feel the presence of Martin at all times. Between this and Dunkirk, Keoghan has had a hell of a year, and rightfully so. Channelling genuine creepiness and pity, he constantly lurks and watches our main family. In great utilisation of Lanthimos’s deadpan style, his calmness is brutal and consistent – to the point he is never agitated even in situations where he seemed to be in a disadvantage. He cannot be harmed. Though we do not know how, he paralyses Murphy’s family, threatening them with death if Murphy does not comply with terms. He is God in the film. Lanthimos is not subtle about that.

So an ultimatum is received: Murphy must choose to kill one of his family members, or they all die. Which child would you pick to kill? Is this a choice parents could make? Lanthimos quietly subverts the “greatness” of parental love and the bonds of family, questioning in all his cynicism about the relationship between a parent and a child. To kill a member of the family to protect the rest– is this the greatest act of love, or the worst crime to be committed? Though his wife Anna (Nicole Kidman) is also threatened, she never seems to be a choice. We do not see Anna starting paralysis, and it is left ambiguous whether if she is also truly threatened. As a whole, Murphy was always going to choose between his two children.

Deer are innocent, but man is not. Why should children pay for the sins of their father? Why must the innocent suffer for the actions of the guilty? In both the original myth and the film, the father’s life is undoubtedly safe: that Murphy might kill himself seems to be out of the question. One of his children claims, “Father, you gave me my life, only you can take it away.” Though they are crazed words, the idea of parents having power over their children’s lives is a universal theme.

Children are forever subjugated to their fathers, but even kings must subjugate to God. This repressive hierarchy is a reality in culture and society. Sacrificing a child for God is not an unheard myth, and from the Binding of Isaac to the myth of Iphigena, fathers must fear God first before loving their children. One must not fight against this subjugation, and the one character who never accepts the fate of death is therefore our final sacrificial deer by “chance”.

It’s deeply uncomfortable how utterly powerless our characters are before Martin and death, just as man will always be feeble and weak against any higher power. In the final shot, they all look back at Martin, each with different emotions – hatred, judgment, shame, or even more. But they can only look: they cannot do anything to him. The audience holds its breath until the screen fades to back, and a collective silence falls.

Colin Farrell delivers another transformative performance in his second collaboration with Lanthimos, perfect with deadpan delivery. The actor-director combo complements each other so well it feels fully naturalistic, rising as one of the most exciting duos. Nicole Kidman is equally intense and a tour-de-force, her icy and cold eyes striking and powerful. Also another second collaboration in the film for Farrell and Kidman after The Beguiled, their chemistry is unquestionable. The children, Kim and Bob, played by Raffey Cassidy and Sunny Suljic respectively, are exceptionally fantastic as well – crawling on the floor with paralysed legs has never felt so absurd. Alicia Silverstone also stands out in a minor role.

With a track list consisting exclusively of classical music – including the likes of Bach and Schubert – the music is used in such a forceful way: it is at times grandeur and operatic, and at times screeching and screaming. It jumps on you as an accomplice to the film, always grabbing your attention, a highlight on its own.

This is not a film that lets you forget any of its imagery. It etches in your memory with all of its intensity, violence and pessimism.

Gracefully built up from the beginning, The Killing of a Sacred Deer slowly accumulates to one of the most intense shots in recent memory.

It is pure madness, and it will drag you down into a complete psychological horrorshow.

9/10

The Killing of a Sacred Deer had its UK premiere on October 12th at London Film Festival. It will be out in UK cinemas on November 3rd. Trailer below.

It’s festival season! The FilmSoc blog is covering the BFI’s 61st London Film Festival (4-15 October), diving into the myriad of films and events on offer to deliver reviews.

Xin Yi Wang reviews Andy Serkis’s feature directorial debut and LFF opening film.

Jonathan Cavendish wanted to produce a movie and tell the story of his parents – his father’s battle with illness and his mother’s unconditional love and support. He became friends with William Nicholson, who wrote it into a script, and the script landed into the hands of Andy Serkis, then working on his planned debut feature, Jungle Book (2018).

Breathe does not pretend to be anything than what it is, and all the criticisms we might expect are true. It is a biographical picture, it is a personal picture for its producer, it tries to raise awareness of the illness polio, and as such it hits the predictable emotional and inspirational notes. It carries conventions of cliché and cheesiness, and sticks the landing without much breakthrough. What is surprising, though, is how much heart it contains in its two-hour run-time – leaving the viewer to walk away having warmed and with a sense of optimism.

Mostly operating within of the realm of fantasy, Breathe seems a departure for Serkis from his other works. Even so, he brings a familiar sense of magic into the grounded-in-reality, ordinary lives of Robin (Andrew Garfield) and Diana Cavendish (Claire Foy). The strong love and bond shared between our central couple is fairytale-like – especially in contrast to The Theory of Everything, another biopic easily recalled for comparison, as both contain a central couple with a husband battling a failing muscle illness and a wife in the position of support (to summarise crudely). Where The Theory of Everything is definitely the superior film and beautifully dives into the reality of a marriage falling apart, Breathe focuses on a passionate and stubborn love, pure yet containing all the intricacies of a real partnership, and does not contain the melancholy one might expect.

In a true “smiling through adversary”-meets-“keep calm and carry on” British-ness, one scene stands out as a real high point. The family decides to go on a holiday in Spain, and ends up singing and dancing around a campfire. The kindness of strangers, the strength of humanity and joy of life shine through, and the smiles are contagious. We follow this family as they go through one adversary after the other, and you can’t help but marvel at the bond they share and their positive attitude in life.

The film has a goal set out to inspire, and it is these little scenes and character moments that really achieve this, more than – for example – the main speech made by Garfield’s Robin about battling the disease. This scene brings Breathe into a very familiar cliché area, but as it is a biopic and follows true events, one can only sit back and accept its presence in the film, and watch Garfield being showered by applause.

The main issue with Breathe is its tone. Serkis seems to set out for a more comedic and light-hearted tone, but fails to balance it with the more emotional moments in the first act. What we’re ended up with is a constant shift between tones: one moment Robin is suicidal and straining his relationship with Diana, and the next Robin jokingly bets the length of his life with a friend for five pounds. The sudden transition into battling illness stands out like a sore thumb between the innocent courtship of our protagonists and Robin’s return home, which is a huge shame as it is the pivotal moment. The second act manages to find its footing and the third act reaches a much better balance, but from the trip to Germany onwards it feels like Serkis does not know what he wants the film to be. What starts out as a biopic of Cavendish’s life seemed to turn into the origin story of wheelchairs for victims of polio, then again swiftly shifts back into the personal life of Robin Cavendish. Another shame of this sudden change in focus is that it pushes Foy’s Diana and her excellent performance more to the sidelines for a good twenty minutes, reducing her character’s role at the same time.

Despite this, Garfield and Foy’s chemistry is strong, naturalistic, and easily the film’s biggest highlight. Their love is constantly challenged, but from the characters’ youth to their old age both actors maintain a perfect chemistry that superbly portrays the partnership Robin and Diana find in each other. Constantly breaking into a big smile, Garfield shows his versatility in both tragedy and comedy while balancing the physical control he needed for the role. It is a very physical performance, and though he tends to overact a bit in the more emotional scenes, he has been commended by Cavendish for his likeliness with his father. Foy embraces her role with every bit of wit and charm, maintaining a comfortable presence full of charisma and is simply perfect. Truly the heart of the film, she acts as the cornerstone between the protagonists, and her undying strength and love is another point of inspiration.

The supporting actors are also good fun – Hugh Bonneville and Stephen Mangan were pleasant in more minor roles, and Tom Hollander plays twins (as Serkis couldn’t resist using some motion capture) who provide nice comic relief.

There is no denying that Breathe is beautifully made and manage to pay a fair tribute to Robin and Diana Cavendish. There are few surprises in this film, which recycles plenty of material and concepts we’ve seen before. Ultimately, it is passable, and would be a joy to watch at home during a cosy night.

6.8/10

Breathe had its UK premiere at London Film Festival on the 4th of October. It will be out for UK general release on the 27th. Trailer below.

Xin Yi Wang runs through the anticipated highlight films from the 12th edition of the London-based Korean Film Festival.

In recent years, Korean Cinema has experienced a flourish in ground-breaking filmmaking and exciting features. Here are a few selections from the London Korean Film Festival’s 2017 program.

A Cycle of Romance

Both opening and closing films are studies of romance, whether that concerns the love between a man and his mistress, or a long term relationship where early sparks are replaced by realism and the ordinary. Hong Sangsoo’s third feature of the year is The Day After, starring current muse Kim Min-hee (The Handmaiden) and Kwon Hae-Hyo. An entry in competition at Cannes, The Day After is quintessentially Hong, complete with bottles of Soju and a simple story. Shot in monochrome, it did not make waves at Cannes, but is unmissable for any Hong enthusiasts. A conversation will be held on the 26th of October.

Though The Day After deals with the complexities of fidelity, Kim Dae-hwan’s The First Lap is insightful in the realism of a romance. There are no grand gestures or dramatic love triangles after years of marriage, only the mundaneness of life; you fight over petty things and make up hours later. The film follows couple Ji-young (Kim Sae-byeok) and Su-hyeon (Cho Hyun-chul) in a quiet but heartfelt journey as we take a peek into their marriage, and closes London Korean Film Festive 2017 with a genuine piece of filmmaking.

The Film Noir Collection

With more than fifty years of film noir history contained within the fourteen films selected by the festival, we delve into the world of Korean film noir in all its violence, thrill and suspense. Turbulent political history, social upheavals and a developing urban life of Korea in the 20th century provide a grandeur stage for crime and mystery, pushing film noir as an ever-evolving genre to dive into the underbelly of Korean society.

Both The Villainess (2017) and The Merciless (2017) were part of the selection at Cannes this year and will kick off the Film Noir Collection at LKFF. Both receiving standing ovation at Cannes, they are part of Korea’s best films of the year. The Villainess was praised for its kinetic thrill and crafted choreography, and The Merciless resembles the work of Tarantino in its unpredictability.

The Collection kicks off with Lee Man-hui’s little known but highly appreciated Black Hair (1964) and a newly-restored version of murder mystery The Last Witness (1980). It also focuses on the 1990s, a period when Korean film noirs flourished, with the four selections of Dead End (1993, short), The Rules of the Game (1994), Green Fish (1997) and Nowhere to Hide (1999). Green Fish is the directing debut of Korea’s highly respected director Lee Chang-dong, and Nowhere to Hide exhibits experimental editing techniques from the time. A Bittersweet Life (2005) will also be screened – a great opportunity for those to revisit or be introduced to the iconic Korean gangster film.

Cinema Now: A Look into Current Korean Cinema

Featuring new and mainstay filmmakers in Korean Cinema, this strand contains both the European Premiere of Lee Dong-eun’s debut feature, In Between Seasons (2016) and Master (2016). Screened at the Busan International Film Festival, In Between Seasons is about a mother caring for her hospitalised son, discovering his secrets in a tale of acceptance and love. Though beautifully shot, it is also criticised for its pacing. Master, a blockbuster and box office smash hit in Korea, stars prominent A-List actors about fraud investigation, and promises entertainment and thrill.

Women’s Voice: A Feminine Perspective

Four dramas and one documentary are at the centre of the exploration of feminine perspectives at the festival. The highlight is Candle Wave Feminists (2017), an extremely current documentary made as part of an activist project that shines the light on feminist protests in Korea, and their defiance against the misogyny present in Korean society. Directed by Kangyu Garam, this documentary short will have a free screening at the British Museum followed by a Q&A.

London Korean Film Festival has further strands including Indie Firepower, curated by Tony Rayns with a focus on Jung Yoon-suk’s work; and Classics Revisited, curated by Dr Mark Morris on a retrospective of director Bae Chang-ho in the 1980s. Documentaries, short films, artistic videos and animation will be featured as part of the line-up.

Screenings will be held from 26th October – 19th November at various cinemas around London, including Picturehouse Central, Regent Street Cinema, SOAS, Birkbeck’s Institute of Moving Image, National Film & Television School, and the British Museum.

Visit London Korean Film Festival’s website for more information and the complete programme line-up.

It’s festival season! The FilmSoc blog is covering the BFI’s 61st London Film Festival (4-15 October), diving into the myriad of films and events on offer to deliver reviews.

Xin Yi Wang examines Cory Finley’s film debut.

Thoroughbreds lives and breathes suspense.

A success as a highly stylish film noir, Thoroughbreds never slows down on thrill as it runs its course. Watching it feels like standing on a ledge metres above the ground; the problem is, I don’t know why I was on a ledge. Playwright Cory Finley’s debut in cinema centres on duo Amanda (Olivia Cooke) and Lily (Anya Taylor-Joy), focusing on the dark interiors of two teenage girls in sunny Connecticut suburbia but forgetting to add much to its own interior. An example of style over substance, its percussion-based score pounds the ears, screaming on full blast: “This film is suspenseful and grim!”, but its bizarre plot, awkward pace and overdone tone just dofesn’t carry enough depth to justify itself. Hence, a state of confusion.

Estranged childhood friends reunite when Amanda’s mother recruits Lily to tutor her daughter. Though Amanda’s sociopathic behaviour clashes with Lily’s lady-like demeanour, the girls bond. Lily expresses her dislike of her stepfather Mark (Paul Sparks), and a sarcastic comment about murder quickly morphs into a real plan. Somewhere along the way, they rope in small-time drug dealer Tim, played by the electrifying late Anton Yelchin.

The film wastes no effort in trying to convince or justify why Lily wants her stepfather dead. He is painted with broad strokes as a cartoonish asshole to her and her mother, but Finley doesn’t spend enough time with the character, and only establishes that he’s horrible and Lily hates him. Sure, his rowing and fitness routine is annoying; sure, he has aggression issues; sure, he is over-controlling. He comes off more as annoying than someone who would warrant a homicidal plan, and as the audience we are expected to accept that two teenage girls are plotting to kill a grown man just because.

This makes it hard to empathise with Lily, as part of her death plan is rooted in teenage selfishness and a general stuck-up rich-girl attitude. Finley might be making a point about adolescence superficiality, but that feels like over-reading the text. Despite my problems with motivation, Anya Taylor-Joy plays Lily’s strings with such sharpness and underlying conflict, portraying Lily to her full potential in an otherwise strong character. Before one can realise, Taylor-Joy transforms the formal and awkward Lily in a mesmerising performance, walking on the thin thread of a break down.

Thoroughbreds’ strength lies in its main characters and their dynamic. Olivia Cooke is unforgettable as Amanda, delivering lines with deadpan precision and a brilliant command of black comedy, illustrating Amanda as one for the books. Her aloofness and the chemistry between Cooke and Taylor-Joy easily convince the companionship the girls quickly found in each other – simple conversational scenes are thoroughly entertaining as are intense sequences gripping. Unlike Lily’s motivations, Amanda’s work fine: her primary aim is to support and aid Lily, finding a purpose in caring for her only friend. Yelchin, in a smaller role, provides much hilarity and charisma in a situation of plain strange bizarreness. Stealing scenes whenever he appears on screen, he adds a distinct energy into the film as Tim unwillingly joins the duo in their misadventures.

In a film with such strong characters, it’s a shame they’re undercut by Finley’s emphasis on creating suspense and fear. He prioritises how the characters attempt murder instead of why. It’s obvious the characters might have depth to them, yet Thoroughbreds refuses to dig a little deeper. For example, the film’s repeated fixation on horses and horse imagery goes nowhere except as a set-up to Amanda’s sociopathy and a shared childhood memory, making this seemingly important motif quite pointless.

The score stands out too much – loud and purposefully ominous, it can be played over any footage to make it seem uncomfortable and unnerving. Finley’s main technique in creating suspense is over-reliant on sound and pushes it way too close, spoiling the subtleties present in his characters. In comparison to recent releases such as Dunkirk and mother!, films which similarly use sound design in the creation of suspense and horror – to their success – Thoroughbreds overdoes it. You end up constantly hoping the soundtrack will stop making you feel anxious over a straightforward scene. Thoroughbreds‘ sharp editing is effective but carries the same problems as the score.

Nonetheless, Thoroughbreds is a mark of ambitious filmmaking that attempts to utilise what the medium of cinema can offer. It’s a pity it did not make the best of its potential.

6/10

Thoroughbreds premiered on October 9th in the UK, at the London Film Festival. Watch director Cory Finley discuss the film in the Sundance clip below:

It’s festival season! The FilmSoc blog is covering the BFI’s 61st London Film Festival (4-15 October), diving into the myriad of films and events on offer to deliver reviews.

Xin Yi Wang reviews Léa Mysius’s vivid cinematic bildungsroman in anticipation of tomorrow’s UK premiere. 

Enriched with colours and saturation, Ava is as kinetic and full of energy as its images. An intensely strong directional debut from Léa Mysius, the film opens to big thematic questions about coming of age, female sexuality, and disability, but casting such a big net means it has problems creating resolution. Provocative and unsettling, the film comes with a simple premise: during a summer holiday, thirteen-year-old Ava (Noée Abita) discovers she has a disease that will slowly rob her of her sight. Along the way, she meets Juan (Juan Cano), who she becomes infatuated with.

What marks the loss of innocence? Does sex indicate maturity? It is often used in literature and art to indicate a coming of age, a rite of passage that somehow transitions a child into a young adult. Ava explores this territory in such a daring way it might be controversial to some, as our protagonist toys with her newfound sexual desires and attraction to an older man in complete frankness. The amount of nudity is perhaps meant to be uncomfortable – Abita was seventeen during filming, which is technically legal under French law, but the character is thirteen and one cannot help but feel they’re watching something close to child pornography.

Maybe that’s the point. Ava, despite her newfound sexuality and psychological complexity, is nonetheless still a child. The discomfort of teen nudity forces you to constantly regard her as a child. Her innocence shines through as she laughs and dances to a song. When forced to be a waitress, Ava blends in better with the group of children she’s serving. It is worth mentioning that, despite the seeming sexual maturity she has, Ava’s most mature action is a certain phone-call made in secret midway through the film.

In a particular sequence, she runs around topless with Juan, dressed like a tribal couple, and terrorizes beach visitors waving guns around while the soundtrack tries to convince audience that “she ain’t a child no more.” However, the costume and act of terrorising feels so much like a child’s play, down to the cutely painted stripes on the dog, that you confidently disagree with the lyrics. (It is interesting to note that these lyrics were the only English words present in the film, and perhaps achieve a different effect when playing to its French audience or other non-English-speaking cultures.) It suggests the truth to be opposite of Ava’s own mentality, that though there is a relationship between coming-of-age and sexuality, sex is definitely not a clear indication of adulthood.

Meanwhile, Mysius uses the disease of blindness to an effective but imbalanced degree. It works as the driving force and premise behind Ava’s struggles, fleshing her out as a character and not just another angsty teenage girl, but as the film progresses it takes a backseat where it should have been more forefront. In the first half, her battle with blindness is much clearer, and Mysius offers stand-out surreal sequences of nightmares and hypnotic imagery. The shift to focus more on Ava’s relationship with Juan reduces Ava to a more traditional coming-of-age film of the kind we’ve seen before. Though her struggles with blindness are not forgotten or cast aside, they play back into the third act – frustratingly, considering the potential – in a more minimal way than the set-up would suggest.

In general, the third act shows a drop in quality. The ending is suspiciously optimistic and prompts many questions about Ava’s fate. It works, but the film tries to tackle too much (including a forgettable point about fascism), and thus cannot offer a complete resolution, going into a direction that becomes literally greyer and duller than its vibrant beginnings.

Despite these issues, the film stands firm. The theme of blindness is complemented with a subtle staging of light and shadows, weaving into Ava’s experimentations and coming to terms with her sight and an impending darkness, along with motifs of blackness surrounding her. The heat of the summer and beach translate into striking shades of yellow, contrasting with the ever-blue sky that becomes melancholic once you realise that Ava is going to lose all these colours in her life. The cinematography is one to remember, and the film’s soundtrack works beautifully in to create an uneasy atmosphere throughout.

Noée Abita, a newcomer just like her director, is a delight. Standing out with a performance that etches into memory as she commands the film and character, she recalls Natalie Portman in Leon: The Professional. Abita portrays adolescence as truthfully as she could, melting into a performance that showcases an understanding of rebellion, selfishness and a strong yearning of adulthood. Her single mother Maud, played by Laure Calamy, is another highlight of the film; her great chemistry with Abita showcases a raw bond between a mother and her rebellious daughter, and you wish to see more of her. Juan Cano works well, but unfortunately is the weakest of the main cast.

As a first feature, Ava is undoubtedly memorable, but though it completes a few fantastic flips it only somewhat sticks the landing.

8/10

Ava has its UK premiere on October 5th at London Film Festival. Watch the trailer below:

Xin Yi Wang reviews Garth Davis’ directorial debut – now nominated for 6 Oscars, including Best Picture.

Lion, an its core, is a beautifully made, unabashed tearjerker focusing on the struggles of identity, family and home. Though at points emotionally manipulative, it is ultimately well-made, and offers soul and empathy to its audiences with compelling characters and well acted performances. Based on the true story of Saroo Brierley (Sunny Pawar and Dev Patel) and adapted from his memoir A Long Way Home, Lion is director Garth Davis’ debut feature film, though this does not show.

Davis has split the film into two parts – the late 1980s and late 2000s/early 2010s – and we follow the unfolding events chronologically. The first part focuses on Saroo at five years old, from his heartwarming interactions with his family – elder brother Guddu (Abhisek Bharate), mother Kamla (Priyanka Bose) and younger sister Shekila (Khushi Solanki) – through the events that lead Saroo to be separated from his brother after falling asleep on a decommissioned train. We find him alone trying to navigate the city of Calcutta, more than 1,000 miles from his hometown Khandwa and speaking Bengali as opposed to Saroo’s Hindi. He searches for his brother and mother, and we experience with him the journey that ends in his adoption by Australians Sue (Nicole Kidman) and John Brierley (David Wenham).

The first half is assembled brilliantly through acting and cinematography, hinting at terror in the unknown streets and filling us with fear for Saroo’s safety. Shots of the vastness of the city contrast with the small figure of Saroo to really engage a sense of stress and nervousness, allowing us to marvel at the landscapes and world without forgetting the loneliness and fear in Saroo. Though we know he’ll eventually find safety through adoption, emotions run high in this act, with strings of tension balanced against the warmth of his familial bonds and those who help him along the way. First-time actor Pawar brings an amazing stand-out performance as young Saroo, showing the right degree of innocence, fear, joy and the desperation of a child just looking to be with his mother and brother again.

In the second half of the film, twenty years after his adoption, we meet Saroo again in the shape of Dev Patel. Triggered by a childhood favourite snack, he grows determined to find his hometown and biological family through the use of the then-new technology Google Earth. He is also plagued by the guilt and conflict, hiding his search from his adoptive family; his struggles are only known by his girlfriend Lucy (Rooney Mara).

The shift in tone between the first act and the second act is obvious, and though it ends in a satisfying conclusion for the more than twenty-year-long search, the two parts of the film at times feel like different movies. But what can we really expect? From the difference in language between the two parts (Act 1 is almost completely in Hindi and Bengali, while Act 2 uses English) to the focus of the plot (a young boy alone and lost in a foreign city versus a man looking for his roots through technology), there is little doubt the two halves will not feel the same in tone. Despite this, they remain two sides of the same coin, not just thanks to the story tying the two together, but also through Saroo’s lingering longing for home.

Flashbacks are frequent, alluding to parts of Saroo’s childhood, and while most of them are important, certain flashbacks do get a little frustrating as the audience has seen them before. They also handicap certain emotive scenes which could be better played out entirely through Patel’s performance, trusting and relying on Patel to convey Saroo’s emotions instead of editing to a repetitive flashback of a scene we can recall ourselves. Another slight complaint about the second half would be on its pacing: sometimes we just watch Saroo scroll through Google Earth with nothing much going on.

Even so, it maintains a natural progression, and still holds the strings to our emotions, bringing conflict between Saroo and his adoptive family – in particular with his adoptive brother Mantosh (Divian Ladwa) – and highlighting brilliant performances. Patel gives a career-best performance, allowing the audience to understand and empathise with his struggles, while at the same time displaying the charisma and charm Saroo possesses. Nicole Kidman shines as Sue, bringing to life a loving mother with layers of fragility, gentleness and understanding, who just wants the best for her sons. The purpose of Rooney Mara’s character is largely to support and carve different layers to Patel’s Saroo, but she does a great job despite having little to work with.

The score by Dustin O’Halloran stands out on its own, accompanying and enhancing emotive moments, and helping to tie the film together. Beautifully composed, it echoes and invites empathy towards the characters and their struggles. I do have to say, however, that I was not a big fan of Sia’s end credits song Never Give Up, which felt a bit too jarringly different from the tone of the entire film, and overall didn’t fit.

Though containing less tension and less engaging than the first half, Lion’s second act gracefully crescendos into an explosive, tear-jerking conclusion, giving the audience a well-deserved cathartic moment. Its emphasis on home and identity wraps the film up nicely, offering not only a simple biopic but one with heart. After wiping off tears, one could walk out the cinema feeling much better and inspired.

8/10

Lion is out in UK cinemas now. See the trailer below:

Following our Trip To The Oscars screening event, Xin Yi Wang reviews Damien Chazelle’s Oscar frontrunner.

What’s in a name? “La La Land” is a title with many meanings. It represents the film’s nature as a musical, it is a nickname for the city La La Land is set in – an endearing term for Los Angeles (L.A.), with its culture of showbusiness and performance – and it reflects the fairytale quality aspiring artists and actors instil in the city. LA is a playground where dreamers go in hopes of having their wishes fulfilled: a magical land where dreams come true. This is also a perfect summary of the premise of La La Land. The film has frequently been referred to as a love letter to Los Angeles, but it is much more than that. It is a love letter to dreamers, to jazz, to musicals, to Hollywood, and to the magic of movies.

The thesis of La La Land is presented with an ensemble opening number in a freeway traffic gridlock. Beautifully crafted as the introduction to the film, it sets up the tone and themes of the film while its dancers and singers ponder about fulfilling their dreams. Impressively presented in one long take (the scene was actually shot in three, and seamlessly edited together), the beauty of the colours and choreography infuses the film with an energy that will remain consistently.

Damien Chazelle’s second feature film puts two dreamers front and centre. Mia (Emma Stone) is an aspiring actress who goes for audition after audition while working as a barista on the Warner Brothers Studio lot, while Sebastian (Ryan Gosling) is a pianist and a committed jazz enthusiast who dreams of opening his own jazz club and helping to resurrect the style’s popularity. They meet, fall in love, and fuel each other’s passions, embarking together on a journey to fulfil their separate dreams.

La La Land marks Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling’s third film together as an onscreen couple. Their chemistry oozes off the screen, making them the only – and obvious – choice to play the characters of Mia and Sebastian. On their own, each triumphs in creating empathy and understanding for their character, allowing their respective ambitions and passions to be felt by the audience clearly. Together, they play off to each other’s strengths, showcasing the charisma from both actors. Stone portrays a full range of emotions to wonderful effect, from pure joy to soul shattering sadness; Mia constantly grabs hold of a hopeful and optimistic mindset in order to pull herself up after every down, her ambition crystal clear in her eyes. This comes to culmination near the end of the film when, in Mia’s final audition scene, the colourful background fades away and Stone dominates for a riveting, climactic moment. Sebastian, meanwhile, is portrayed with a strong stubbornness slowly softened by Mia, and his struggles and love for jazz are conveyed perfectly by Gosling. When on screen together they elevate the film to a whole new standard, yet at the same time ground it: an anchor that holds and takes you through a tale of love, dreams, heartache and passion. Their commitment shines through, whether it be learning to play the piano or learning the choreography of tap dancing, which neither lead had much experience in prior to the film. Though they’ve received slight criticism on their non-professional singing voices, it serves a purpose of helping to craft Mia and Sebastian as ordinary people and add a touch of realism to the film – a theme that is essential in what La La Land is truly trying to convey.

As a film about dreamers, its apparent optimism might be too much for the realists, but La La Land diverts those cliches and expectations. Behind its radiant colours and feel-good premise, the real world lurks. It catches up to the characters in the second half of the film, where Mia and Sebastian are forced to face reality through the question of what sacrifices their ambition will drive them to make. Chazelle has once again refused to create a simple fairytale of achieving one’s dreams. His directional debut, Whiplash (2014), explores the limits to sacrificing for ambition, and La La Land continues this exploration, if in a less extreme way.

This is not always obvious, because the film’s questions are obscured by its vibrant, old-fashioned charm. From the opening “Presented in CinemaScope” to the ending “Made in Hollywood, U.S.A.”, La La Land’s nostalgic factor is overwhelming. Though it is set in the current day – a fact its audience is reminded of every time the characters use a smartphone – it is easy to believe that we have been transported to the golden age of Hollywood where elaborate costumes and beautiful sets dominate the industry. Its references to retro Hollywood films are aplenty – Singin’ in the Rain and Rebel Without A Cause are two obvious films La La Land pays homage to, and the film remains unapologetic about its reverence for classic cinema. Chazelle proves he is self-aware by directly addressing this in the film, with Mia asking (in reference to a script she’s written), “What if they don’t like it? Do you feel like it’s too nostalgic?” Seb replies concisely, “Fuck ‘em.” This boldness heightens the escapism and joy that La La Land provides to its audiences, dazzling them with its radiant colours and set pieces, especially refreshing when compared to the visually duller and darker blockbusters of 2016. It’s hard to take your eyes off the screen.

The cinematography of La La Land is fantastic, riddled with impressive long takes through intense choreographed numbers, but is not lacking in short cuts to balance them out, helping to maintain the energy of the film. Linus Sandgren (Promised Land, American Hustle) does an unforgettable job, each shot capturing the emotions felt, conveying both huge, spectacular, wow-ing moments and small, intimate scenes. His wide angle shots of Los Angeles are beautiful to say the least, presenting the romantic fantasyland our characters live in and capturing the essence of the city seen through their eyes. (Seb: “Why do you say ‘romantic’ like it’s a bad word?”)

The score and soundtrack are beautifully crafted. Pieces range from the big ensemble numbers of Another Day of Sun and Someone in the Crowd to small, character-revealing City of Stars. Justin Hurwitz creates a soundtrack that no doubt will become classic, effective in all ways and hitting all the right notes. Mia and Sebastian’s Theme is heartbreakingly beautiful, A Lovely Night would make you want to tap dance on the streets, and Audition (The Fools Who Dream) carries the right amount of emotional gravitas. Mandy Moore’s choreography is extremely impressive right from the beginning, allowing La La Land to stand with other musical giants on its own right.

In the end, La La Land is a beautiful reminder of why we love films so much, the emotions movies make us feel, and the escapism we can depend on movies. One could just be completely mesmerised by the presentation of every single detail on screen. The passion of Chazelle, Stone, and Gosling is felt in every frame, and La La Land will remain absolutely brilliant no matter the number of viewings.

9/10

La La Land is out now in UK cinemas. See the final trailer below: