Matty

With numerous omissions, silences and hints, You Were Never Really Here is a very distinctive revenge flick that explains some things only after the fact (when snippets of flashbacks are put into a broader context) and others not at all. (The narrative, with dynamic cuts in the middle of the action, is highly compressed partly due to the need to shorten it – the budget was slashed significantly in the course of filming.) Ramsay does not in any way romanticise her taciturn tough guy with his numerous wounds on both his body and soul. For her, Joe is a wounded animal (which is aided by the respect-inspiring Joaquin Phoenix, who delivers another full-throttle performance following his turn in The Master) whose actions are unpredictable from one moment to the next. Together with compassion, he inspires fear and you definitely don’t feel very safe during the hour and a half that you spend in his company. The violence, which comes suddenly and is framed without dark humour or ironic exaggeration, is truly painful and unpleasant here, not only because the protagonist’s weapon of choice is a hammer. As the aggression shifts from the level of mere association (bloody handkerchiefs, crushing a piece of candy between his fingers) to something very concrete and very brutal (though the director continues to work brilliantly with evocative sounds and the off-screen space, leaving a lot to the imagination), the sense of danger becomes unbearably acute. The action scenes best demonstrate how the director methodically denies us the genre pleasure of the protagonist’s cleanly done work. We see one of the key bits of action only in static black-and-white shots from a security camera, the nondiegetic music and voices emanating from the television distract us from the brutal fight, and the “grand” climax is highly unsatisfying in terms of (not) fulfilling the conventions of the action genre. So much suffering and despair line the path to redemption that every partial success brings forth bitterness and deepening frustration instead of catharsis. It is simply impossible to enjoy the film, which makes it irritating and fascinating at the same time. Lynne Ramsay has made a stylistically diverse “feel bad” genre deconstruction (like in The American and Point Blank, meanings are communicated through style rather than through the words and actions of the characters), switching abruptly between raw realism, dream sequences and hypnotic intermezzos in which Jonny Greenwood’s aggressive music becomes the focal point. After the film had ended, I wasn’t entirely sure about what happened to whom in the story, what was a bad dream and what was an even worse reality. Like at the end of Good Time, however, I knew I wasn’t going to see anything comparably deviant in the cinema. But I wouldn't be surprised if this admirable exercise in narrative brevity is simply an underdeveloped genre experiment by a director who wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted to make. Perhaps she didn’t know (and the last act was really made up as she went along), but for me, this was one of the most intense cinematic experiences of the year. 85%.

Depicting three phases of one relationship in an account of the life of contemporary cosmopolitan youth, Alguma Coisa Assim is a fresh and brisk drama that, with its non-traditional collage-like structure (combining events from three different years) and unforced work with parallels, shows how different situations are repeated in two people’s life together and, at the same time, change over time as both partners get to know each other better and have differing expectations of each other. It is a pity that the film is diminished by ornaments and techniques intended to make it special (slow motion, 360-degree camera rotation, machine-like symmetrical compositions), which draw attention away from the informal acting performances and the dialogue that equally takes into account the perspective of both the man and the woman and addresses, through individual stories, the more general problems of human sexuality (to which the professional focus of the partner involved in the research of infertility treatments is also tailored). The fact that the film was actually shot in three different time periods (2006, 2013, 2016) with the same actors portraying the characters is worthy of attention and, as in Boyhood and the Doinel tetralogy, gives it a para-documentary dimension and the transformation of the characters is thus more believable. Despite a certain unevenness, Alguma Coisa Assim is, on the whole, a narratively original work and in addressing the problems that people deal with in relationships over time, it is a relatively accurate millennial relationship film. 75%

Someone finally understood the kind of role that viewers would like to see James Franco play. Unfortunately, it involves the only moment when the film allows itself to be concise. Like Prometheus, Alien: Covenant is torn between an effort to provide first-rate fan service through a return to the horror roots of the first Alien (which is referenced through conspicuous allusions) and the ambition to be epic (with captivating shots like those found in Ford’s westerns) and deep-thinking sci-fi along the lines of Stanley Kubrick (to which it comes closest with its minimalist prologue). Following the formula of a mediocre 1980s (i.e. pre-Scream) slasher flick, with characters making the most basic mistakes (climbing and looking where they shouldn’t, often alone rather than in a group, having sex with each other), it is thus impeded by discussions on chance, fate and creation (Mother and various fathers play a role here), which suffer from the same lack of development as the colonisation storyline. The new Alien is paradoxically a good film until an alien appears in it. It works relatively well until the landing on the alien planet, as it offers a number of possibilities for the direction that the narrative could take and for a long time it isn’t clear which one the filmmakers will take. For example, the conflicts between faith and science, between the captain and Daniels (instead of cross around her neck, she wears a bolt, which comes in handy later) start out promisingly, whereas we see an android playing the flute and reciting Shelley in the second half, which, although fascinating thanks to Fassbender, is a somewhat different theme and a slightly different film. Scott is suddenly much more fascinated by the artificial beings and aliens than by the humans with whom we have spent nearly an hour of the film (however, the pairing-off of the characters doesn’t much help the viewer’s emotional involvement, because for a long time it isn’t clear who is sleeping with whom), and he starts to address all of the complex questions of existence by biting off hands and tearing off heads. This smart-looking film thus becomes a goofy (but entertaining) action-horror B-movie with some rather disgusting gore effects, which I didn't entirely care for, especially thanks to the likeable Katherine Waterston (though an android remains the only well-developed character). Though the new Alien is inventively constructed, looks great and offers one very well-made action scene (with an axe), it comes across as half-baked in most respects, as if there wasn’t time and space to flesh out many of the ideas (I consider the inorganically incorporated flashback, which could have been replaced by dialogue, to be not only an example of tremendous screenwriting laziness, but also a sign that the whole thing could have worked better if the film had paid more heed to the point of view of the reminiscing character). 55%

All the Money in the World is an inspiringly problematic film. It starts out like Le Dolce Vita and ends like Citizen Kane, but I can’t compare anything that happens in between with anything else. Though it contains a number of scenes that are reminiscent of a procedural thriller with detailed mapping of a certain working process as a classic dramatic structure that should draw viewers in and keep them in suspense with well-though-out dosing of information, the film is rather unsatisfying due to its muddled (especially with the constant jumping between various places, times and characters in the first half) and, at the same, very straightforward narrative, disjointed rhythm and cyclical yet somewhat monotonous structure with repetitive situations. ___ Paul's abduction is mainly a pretence for creating situations in which something that you normally wouldn’t buy with money (trust, attention, maternal love) is monetised, and for discussions about greed and a person’s worth. The tone and urgency of these scenes, which usually attempt to dialectically take into account the perspectives of both parties, change as the stakes rise and the probability of the son returning to his mother decreases. The theme of capitalism’s impact on interpersonal relationships is developed throughout the film, conceived here on a purely transactional level (it pays to invest in someone, but not in someone else). It isn’t so much about the relationships themselves or the development of the characters, most of whom (with the exception of the mother) are merely caricatures. At the same time, however, it’s not true that it isn’t about them at all, which would have paradoxically benefitted the film. ___ All the Money in the World is a dramatically strangely unbalanced work that with its structure draws our attention more to its creators’ arguments than to the characters and their suffering. I’m not sure if that was the intention, but I enjoyed the film as a cynical, non-moralising disputation on the power of money. 65%

Two-star trash with one five-star action scene. For an action/spy movie that is supposed to be action-packed and overflowing with information while constantly arousing our curiosity, Atomic Blonde is unusually lame. The fault lies in the film’s uneven rhythm, which is due to the large number of slowed-down scenes that do nothing to advance or enhance the plot, as the characters carry on shallow dialogue about truth, lies and politics, and shots in which Charlize Theron poses in a hotel room lit with blue and red neon (fans of Refn’s films will get their money’s worth). The female protagonist resembles a nicely dressed mannequin or robot that carries out issued instructions (and in the end, it doesn’t really matter who issues them) and occasionally restores her strength in an ice-water bath or with the aid of a shot of vodka (her version of “Martini, shaken, not stirred” is therefore “Stolichnaya on the rocks”). OK, so she’s a cold-as-ice killing machine, but couldn’t that have been conveyed more subtly? The few indications of her humanity and that she has any individuality at all ring hollow (her relationship with Delphine, the slain lover whose photo she burns at the beginning, probably just so the director could kick of the film with Bowie’s “Putting out the Fire”). The narrative is also slowed down by the unnecessary framing with an interrogation in London, visually reminiscent of the interrogation scene from Basic Instinct (there is no crossing of legs, however), which does not build any suspense, arouse curiosity or raise new questions. Toby Jones and John Goodman merely represent the viewers who are slower to understand and sometimes need a break and a summary of what we’ve heard so far. Furthermore, despite the retrospective narrative in the Berlin scenes, the film does not adhere to Lorraine’s perspective. We are also rather senselessly informed of Percival’s activities, so we know his true intentions before the other characters do and the film thus no longer manages to surprise us in this respect. The film’s best action scene is paradoxically the most stylistically restrained one, which doesn’t try to be cool by using slow motion or ’80s songs that work always and everywhere. Only during a several-minute, multi-level brawl on a staircase does the film finally become, at least for a moment, the uncompromising, brutal, badass action flick that the trailer promised. The quality of the stunts, choreography, camerawork and use of the mise-en-scéne (when things go south, even an electric stove comes in handy) makes Atomic Blonde an above-average bit of filmmaking. It is so much above-average that you probably won’t give much thought to the rawer, less stylised approach to the action (compared to the rest of the film) or the meagre contribution of a given sequence to the narrative. David Leitch thus has some great material if he ever needs to convince anyone that he knows how to direct an excellent action scene, but the whole narrative structure around it is so worn-out, dumb, sloppily put together and unbalanced that I would recommend showing up at the cinema about half an hour before the end of the movie. 50%

Visages, villages is a celebration of the French countryside, teamwork and street art. With her fifty-years-younger and thirty-centimetres-taller colleague, Agnès Varda visits places that tell stimulating stories (about people, unemployment, the transformation of the landscape and the demise of the countryside) and allows them to speak by means of large-format photographs. The people they encounter are both the objects and co-creators of their works. They are not primarily interested in isolation, devastation and industrialisation, but rather in the joy of life and the possibility of creative comprehension of reality. They do not want to criticise and do not seek systemic solutions to problems; as conceptual artists, they “only” change the optics through which we view the world around us. Although they are separated by two generations, both of them have their own unrelenting enthusiasm and desire to discover and create. They always respond to the particular environment and intersperse the stories of others with their own (an eye examination, a running gag with sunglasses, excerpts from Varda’s earlier films), which appealingly lends an improvisational and unpredictable character to the film, which could have turned out to be a monotonous series of site-specific stopovers. The film culminates with a “meeting” with Godard that takes the trajectory of the narrative in a completely unexpected direction, which, however, Varda is able to use to the film’s benefit. Her reaction is another expression of the central theme of the documentary – how we see things (people, walls, buildings, ports) is more important than what they actually are. Agnès Varda’s perspective is empathetic, playful and joyful and without a hint of falseness, which makes Visages, villages one of the best feel-good films of recent years. 90%

Despite Baby Driver’s occasional stumble and inconsistent perspective, I consider making an action film in which almost everything happens to the rhythm of the music that the protagonist is listening to or based on the current mood or occasion to be a great way to revive the musical genre (and, at the same time, to subversively foist it off on viewers who otherwise ignore musicals and for whom the year’s best film so far this year is Fast & Furious 8). We can reproach Wright for not being stylistically distinctive (he previously edited The World’s End), for not being capable of working with female characters, and, unlike his great filmmaking role-model Quentin Tarantino, for remaining, even in his forties, an immature nerd with a weakness for autotelic fetishisation of movie references (the road passing by like in Lost Highway, damaged sunglasses like those worn by Warren Beatty in Bonnie and Clyde) and repeatedly telling the same story about protagonists who have to grow up but can continue to have fun in essentially the same way, inhabiting their escapist worlds while being tremendously cool. Or we can simply enjoy an original summer blockbuster with a great soundtrack and some incredibly high-octane action scenes. Since I have no plans to grow up yet, at least in relation to pop culture, I choose the second option. 85%

American Made is a very straightforward crime comedy without any major stumbling blocks and it makes no effort to face us with any difficult moral dilemmas. It conspicuously imitates the style of Scorsese’s films (pop songs, a narrator intervening in the story and determining what we see and how we see it, attention-grabbing camerawork and editing) and cashes in on the popularity of the TV series Narcos, so it comes across as unoriginal and predictable, but thanks to the smooth (albeit slightly mechanical) narrative and Cruise’s charisma, it is entertaining from start to finish. The position of the main protagonist is unusual (for a Hollywood movie), as he lets himself be dragged along by circumstances and merely accepts outside offers and follows orders dictated to him through almost the entire film. He can demonstrate his ingenuity only in the way he carries out deliveries of certain goods, not in what he actually does. It would almost be possible to interpret him as the embodiment of American pragmatism, the ability to adapt to the given situation and make the most of it for himself, but we know too much about him (compared to the other characters, who are really only types) to perceive him in such an impersonal way, and relatively strong emphasis is placed on the family storyline (which, however, the film handles much more carelessly than The Wolf of Wall Street, for example – you will probably care as little about the protagonist’s wife and children as you did for Barry). Of the films that “comfort” us with the fact that people may be bad, but their governments are worse (War Dogs, American Hustle), this one gets bonus points in my eyes for taking the procedural side of things into greater consideration and for not pretending to be anything better. It’s simply light summer macho entertainment that does everything possible to keep the viewer from getting bored for even a second and, unlike Atomic Blonde and The Hitman’s Bodyguard, it does that very well. 70%

When the muscular men aren’t diving into the water in slow motion and the beautiful women aren’t emerging from the water in slow motion (the film never rises above the level of how male and female bodies are depicted in subverting gender stereotypes), two or more characters stand/sit on the beach and, in unimaginatively shot scenes, spend a tiresomely long time dragging out an adolescent joke about, for example, the age of Efron’s character (“Where did you come from, One Direction?”) or a sidekick’s inability to form an articulate thought when coming face to face with a person of the opposite sex. As a star vehicle for Dwayne Johnson, this two-hour celebration of virility and heroism based more on physical strength than on intellect works particularly well when it exaggerates the protagonist’s perfection to the edge of deliberate parody. Unfortunately, it does so by repeatedly using the same template, with a laziness that is characteristic of how the whole film is written (piling up supposedly humorous asides instead of developing the joke) and directed (poor timing of the bumbling action scenes). In the second half, which is mostly focused on a rather insipid crime plot (serving mainly as an excuse for The Rock to punch someone in the mouth), the film is not only short on humour (rather, it is unironically affected), but it also runs out of ideas, loses pace and doesn’t have a proper build-up. Among other things, this is due to the fact that the main star disappears from the film for quite a long time, thus taking away the only reason to suffer through this comedy targeted mainly at boys under the age 15 (and apparently written by people of the same age and gender). 40%

Eliza Hittman continues in her exploration of the awakening of teenage sexuality, with which she began in her debut, It Felt Like Love (2013), shot from the perspective of an adolescent girl. Beach Rats has a more conventional structure and, if you have seen a few festival dramas thematicising homosexuality among youths, you will in all probability figure out the direction that the narrative is going to take. Also, the characters fit too easily into boxes known from American indie dramas. The film is most effective when it speaks of male bodies and faces (in which it closely resembles the work of Claire Denis), lyrically and naturalistically shot in 16 mm by French cinematographer Hélène Louvart (see, for example, Alice Rohrwacher’s The Wonders). The film is more captivating and inspiring as a study of male bodies in motion than as another intimate coming-out drama about repressed sexual desire. 70%