WHO’S IN THE HISTORY OF CONCRETE?

John Wilson

WHO’S BEHIND THE CAMERA?

John Wilson (director, producer), Nellie Kluz (cinematographer), Cori Wapnowska (editor)

WHAT’S IT ABOUT?

Filmmaker John Wilson makes a Hallmark movie out of a banal subject matter…

WHAT ARE MY THOUGHTS ON THE HISTORY OF CONCRETE?

There’s a classic Simpsons episode where Bart and his fellow classmates are being forced to watch a banal educational video about zinc and its various uses in our lives, from powering car batteries to providing handguns with firing pins. The joke is obviously aimed at how a subject as catastrophically uninteresting as zinc can be so easily transformed into a cheesy piece of filmic material (largely for educational purposes), but for his documentary feature The History of Concrete, filmmaker John Wilson is not exactly treating his titular focus like a joke.

Make no mistake, there are plenty of times when Wilson – best known for his satirical HBO docuseries How To with John Wilson – is certainly making fun of the mundanity surrounding how industrialised the use of concrete has become, as well as how the material has been used to make some truly horrendous-looking pavements, buildings and infrastructure. But the filmmaker, making his feature debut here, also proves to have a more observational eye than many might give him credit for, as he uses the subject as a launching pad for a funny, moving and genuinely interesting commentary on the cracked state of modern-day America.

Throughout the film, largely comprised of B-roll footage that Wilson captured during an extended period of downtime between production on his show, Wilson explains how a profound feeling of boredom compelled him to attend a seminar on how to make a cookie-cutter Hallmark Christmas movie. This gets him to thinking: if he can apply a similar formular to a genuine idea he has of making a film about – you guessed it – concrete, then perhaps it will be much easier to sell to financiers. So, he sets out to document the world that concrete literally helped build, capturing everything from the lives of people who clean gum off the streets of New York to attending Las Vegas conventions where a bricklaying competition is treated with as much seriousness as a football game. But along the way, Wilson encounters a wide variety of people who lead interesting lives of their own, some of which have practically nothing to do with concrete, and in the process, he discovers that there is indeed plenty of spark to be found in a world that is as far removed from a Hallmark movie as possible.

Even though Wilson himself hardly ever appears in front of the camera, his deadpan nasally voice is a constant presence as his second-person narration – effectively placing the viewer as the de facto protagonist in this cement-dry world – goes into heavy and often droll detail about concrete and its place in our society. At first, you’re not sure whether Wilson is simply trolling the audience by taking such a matter-of-fact approach to something that few people are truly invested in and treating it almost like this faux-nature documentary, albeit one with the least natural resource at its centre. But rather quickly, you see how his efforts are actually more genuine and commentarial than they seem, as he shows exactly how concrete has been used throughout modern history to shape a world that is about as artificial and strangely bland as the material itself.

For instance, Wilson takes the viewer at one point to Ohio, home to both the oldest concrete street in the country and possibly the world, as well as the smallest street which is barely the length and size of a regular car. In many respects, the imagery on both of those things is rather chucklesome, since Wilson presents them in such a way where they are allowed to be naturally funny without fully mocking the sincerity behind it all. Yet, there is a stark layer underneath it all as we learn that concrete, while initially an effective solution to numerous problems like uneven pathways or leaking cracks, begins to crack and disintegrate after a few decades, which can cause entire infrastructures to crumble down if not treated with significant care (an ominous shot lingers on the underbelly of a concrete motorway as we drive along a strip of road directly underneath it).

One can theorise how Wilson’s droll and simultaneously concerning approach could be seen as a symbolic representation of how fragile the country has become in recent years, and there are several points within The History of Concrete that enable such a theory. Having been to the United States quite a few times in my life, I have witnessed first-hand how rocky and downright ugly the brutalist-inspired pavements and buildings can be, especially in more metropolitan areas like New York and Los Angeles where you’d think at least a bit more money would go into making the streets much smoother than they actually are. Seeing them be captured by Wilson without any rose-tinted lenses is surprisingly powerful, as the filmmaker presents an America that doesn’t seem to take good care of itself, relying on materials that may end up doing a lot more long-term damage to both the environment and the various communities forced to endure such unacceptable conditions.

The film can sometimes meander and drift a bit too far off course, particularly when it simply begins randomly cutting to and from sections that barely have much connective tissue with one another, but The History of Concrete is fascinating for its earnestness and its unexpected emotional weight. Late in the film, we begin following a pretty chilled-out guy who takes joy in the small things such as performing in his band, and even when he faces serious tragedy he maintains composure enough to still find some hope in this world, which brings Wilson’s film to a profound point where, despite starting off with a subject as tedious as zinc (according to Bart Simpson, anyway), you feel as though you’ve experienced a world that is starting to show its cracks but still contains some beauty beneath the surface.

SO, TO SUM UP…

The History of Concrete sees filmmaker John Wilson take the initially uninteresting titular subject matter and transform it into a funny, moving, occasionally meandering and surprisingly engaging commentary on the crumbling current state of America.

⭐⭐⭐½

WHO’S IN HA-CHAN, SHAKE YOUR BOOTY!?

Rinko Kikuchi, Alberto Guerra, Alejandro Edda, You, Yoh Yoshida, Damián Alcázar, Keren Louis, Charley Flyte

WHO’S BEHIND THE CAMERA?

Josef Kubota Wladyka (director, writer, producer), Nicholas Huynh (writer), Mao Nagakura and Kimberly Parker Zox (producers), Nathan Halpern (composer), Daniel Satinoff (cinematographer), Benjamin Rodriguez Jr. (editor)

WHAT’S IT ABOUT?

A widowed ballroom dancer (Kikuchi) falls for her new instructor…

WHAT ARE MY THOUGHTS ON HA-CHAN, SHAKE YOUR BOOTY!?

An “almost-musical” is how I would best describe a movie like Ha-Chan, Shake Your Booty!, because while nobody bursts into song during filmmaker Josef Kubota Wladyka’s third feature, there sure is a lot of dancing as well as a few flights of fantasy that frequently occupy those big and glamorous musical numbers in classic Hollywood pictures. All that’s missing is the harmonious vocalisation, at which point you’d have yourself a full-on musical instead of an almost-musical like this.

Even so, the film is packed with enough melodical charm to satisfy anyone’s musical cravings. Funny, endearing, sometimes unhinged and constantly lively, Wladyka’s crowd-pleasing dramady plays around with familiar themes and morphs them into an energetic celebration of life and love, all with the rhythm of a ballroom dancer.

That is exactly the profession of Haru (Rinko Kikuchi), a Japanese woman living in Tokyo with her Mexican husband Luis (Alejandro Edda) as they compete in local ballroom competitions together. Unfortunately, that comes to an end when Luis suddenly dies from a heart attack, leaving Haru to retreat into reclusion until she is eventually coaxed back to the dance studio by her sister Yuki (Yoh Yoshida) and cousin Hiromi (You). There, she becomes instantly enamoured with Fedir (Alberto Guerra), her new dance instructor who’s proudly in an open marriage with fellow dancer Mila (Keren Louis), and soon Haru finds herself in a whirlwind passionate romance while also trying to navigate the grief she still harbours for Luis.

It’s a basic premise that is certainly familiar but is made to feel a bit newer by Wladyka and Nicholas Huynh’s script which cleverly avoids some of the usual pitfalls within a movie like this. For instance, it swerves past the conventions of a typical dance movie with the ballroom stuff certainly playing a major part but never becoming the central focus (there’s no final dance competition or big community centre-saving dance gig to work towards). Meanwhile, the well-worn themes of grief are allowed to get a bit more surreal than usual, with Luis haunting Haru’s thoughts throughout the rest of the movie in a giant black bird costume (which, if you were to place it alongside Frank the rabbit from Donnie Darko, would make for the creepiest Easter party ever).

The script also intersects numerous fantasy sequences wherein Haru imagines herself amidst heavily choreographed dance numbers, often set to covers of Ronnie Spector and a Japanese theatrical rendition of Dirty Dancing, and it’s here where Wladyka’s direction truly shines. The filmmaker shows exceptional confidence in staging these big balletic scenes with colourful cinematography and sharp editing that bring out the charming, idiosyncratic whimsy that the protagonist is herself imagining in real time. Even as Haru’s journey takes one or two detours into obsessive and borderline criminal territory, Wladyka keeps the frantic and charismatic pace going with enough breathing space to let the relationships between certain characters blossom. It moves at such a delightful rhythm that you’re left really wanting this filmmaker to make a proper musical in the future, rather than settle for almost-musicals like this.

There are some fun instances of cultural intersectionality that further make this premise feel fresher than other, more conventional offerings. The film is set entirely in Japan, with characters speaking a mix of Japanese, English and Spanish, and the ballroom dances are an even mix of Latin music and Japanese customs, all with frequent references to American properties like Dancing with the Stars and Dirty Dancing (you can even spot a Japanese poster for Punch-Drunk Love in the background of Haru’s home, which if nothing else shows that this character has good taste when it comes to Paul Thomas Anderson movies). It’s all held together by a magnetic lead turn from Rinko Kikuchi, who dons a curly perm haircut and a vibrant wardrobe of dance dresses – and for one extended set of events, some heavy Day of the Dead makeup – for a physically and emotionally demanding role that the actor easily sinks her teeth into, or more accurately slips her feet into as she also shows a unique talent for ballroom dancing of her very own.

However, for all its charm and wondrous energy, Ha-Chan, Shake Your Booty! is slightly tripped up by a third act where it almost threatens to become a different movie, one that may have you questioning the sanity of certain figures that were already on the verge of mental breakdown. It still does well to avoid certain conventions and keeps the drama focused on the character’s grief rather than letting other elements take over, but it does reach a point where you’re wondering why some people are acting in particular ways when they’ve not shown such characteristics up to this moment. Even if it is out of extreme emotion, such as love or jealousy, there are certain boundaries which characters cross which may have you rooting for the supposed antagonists in the situation, because they’re at least being rational about everything.

That aside, this is a very easy movie to like, as it contains some neatly stylish filmmaking, winning performances, and dance moves that may make you want to tap your own feet as you watch along. Again, if you look at Ha-Chan, Shake Your Booty! as Wladyka’s test reel to convince producers that he has what it takes to make an actual song-and-dance musical in the future, then it’d be impossible for him not to pass with flying colours.

SO, TO SUM UP…

Ha-Chan, Shake Your Booty! is a winning crowd-pleaser that sees filmmaker Josef Kubota Wladykae imbue some stylish and lively attributes to a familiar story of grief that is anchored by a delightful Rinko Kikuchi.

⭐⭐⭐⭐

WHO’S IN THE IDIOT(S)?

Aimee Lou Wood, Johnny Flynn, Vicky Krieps, Christian Friedel, Raphael Roger Levy, Barbara Marten, Rainer Bock

WHO’S BEHIND THE CAMERA?

Michał Englert (director, writer, cinematographer), Małgorzata Szumowska (director, writer), Lota Dascioraite, Ilya Stewart and Vladimir Zemtsov (producers), Jarosław Kamiński and Hansjörg Weißbrich (editors)

WHAT’S IT ABOUT?

Russian novelist Fydor Dostoyevsky (Flynn) and his wife Anna Dostoyevsky (Wood) travel to Western Europe…

WHAT ARE MY THOUGHTS ON THE IDIOT(S)?

While the title of Polish filmmakers Michał Englert and Małgorzata Szumowska’s The Idiot(s) is clearly an amusing bit of wordplay relating to Fyodor Dostoevsky’s acclaimed novel The Idiot, their film ends up sharing some thematic and stylish DNA with another movie containing that very title. I am talking, of course, about Lars von Trier’s controversial Dogme 95 feature The Idiots, in which a group of people get together and engage in some extremely uncouth public behaviour that seeks to make everyone around them, including the viewer, feel extremely uncomfortable.

Naturally, not as many outrageous things happen in The Idiot(s) – and it’s important that those brackets are there, if only to distinguish itself from both von Trier’s movie and Dostoevsky’s novel. However, it does still feature people going out and making absolute fools of themselves, not so much for slapstick (though that is certainly the case in some parts) but more because it is the strange tone that Englert and Szumowska have adopted for a film that covers a significant and often challenging chapter in Dostoevsky’s life.

But that kind of warped, anything-goes tone ends up distorting the overall intent of the movie, to where by the end you’re not sure what it was trying to accomplish or even achieve.

The film is set in early 20th century Germany, where Fyodor Dostoevsky (Johnny Flynn) and his wife Anna (Aimee Lou Wood) have arrived in search of inspiration for his next book, tentatively titled The Idiot. A proud Russian, not to mention fiercely critical of the Western world and its many vices, Fyodor sets out to find that much-needed spark, only for several things to get in his way such as writer’s block or, more significantly, his growing addiction to gambling what little money the couple have been able to spare. Anna, meanwhile, is left to pick up the majority of her husband’s mess, even conspiring with Russian expat Ivan Turgeniev (Christian Friedel) to help send pages of Fyodor’s manuscript – some of them penned by Anna herself in an effort to speed the process along – to his publisher so that they can receive that all-important advance.

It’s relevant to note that Englert and Szumowska were once a married couple themselves (nowadays they are simply mere creative partners), because the topsy-turvy relationship that Fyodor and Anna share in this movie feels like one that could only be realised by people who have themselves been in and out of married life. The filmmakers present these wild and highly exaggerated versions of Fyodor and Anna Dostoevsky with a barmy outrageousness which nobody but them truly understands, both of them fully fascinated with each other’s individual eccentricities but also more than willing to put up with their most self-destructive vices, especially Anna with her husband’s increasingly devastating gambling problem. In a way, it almost feels like a former couples’ therapeutic exercise for the writers-directors as they cherry-pick the kookiest but also the most toxic parts of one another and translate that into a (presumably) largely fictionalised story involving two of the least likely soulmates in literary history.

Englert and Szumowska also possess a peculiar view of this historic world where, much like in Lars von Trier’s The Idiots, people like Fyodor and Anna can go about causing all sorts of mayhem without being reprimanded in some consequential way. The couple cause scenes in fancy restaurant establishments, openly lust after other women, race up and down the streets of Baden-Baden in alcohol-infused stupors, suffer epileptic fits in churches, and even engage in a bit of bedroom BDSM, all while those around them can simply look upon them with disturbed yet vaguely curious eyes. It gets to a point where things become disarmingly anachronistic, as a-ha’s “Take on Me” becomes a recurring motif throughout with characters even start singing it in the middle of scenes.

The problem with it all, though, is that the filmmakers don’t always let the viewer in on this couple’s shared universe, or at least enough to truly understand them. Throughout all of their wacky shenanigans, there’s rarely a moment where we actually get the chance to know either Fyodor or Anna as characters, including why they are so willing to put up with one another despite the continued betrayal and antagonism, which makes it seem like a somewhat shallow and outdated “stand by your man” principle that undermines much of Anna’s own personal achievements, including some that are mentioned in the closing text which would have maybe made for a more interesting movie. The central performances by Flynn and Wood are thankfully strong enough to carry the film, with the actors’ screwball dynamic providing a formidable source of amusement, and allowing more of an insight to their characters’ rollercoaster relationship more than the actual script does.

As much as Englert and Szumowska’s off-kilter chaos can initially seem fascinating and at times even a bit punk rock, especially for the time period they’re in, it reaches a point where our protagonists – especially the whimpering man-child that is Fyodor – should really be self-aware enough to at least consider cleaning up their repetitive act, and it is precisely the fact that they almost never do that causes frustration to quickly settle in. This becomes particularly apparent when the idiosyncratic tone gives way to something far more devastating, as if it suddenly goes from being von Trier’s The Idiots to something like Hamnet with equally upsetting subject matter, yet certain characters still pursue such outlandish goals as if they were still in a (now slightly morose) kooky comedy.

It is that frustration and lack of insight that sends The Idiot(s) into an unfortunate pit of missed potential, as there is too much of one thing and not enough of another for this particular story to work as a satisfying theatrical story of eccentric love.

SO, TO SUM UP…

The Idiot(s) is a frustrating affair that dabbles in endless idiosyncrasy for an admittedly unique take on the lives of Fyodor and Anna Dostoevsky, but it offers no real insight into these people or why they are so willing to put up with each other’s most destructive vices.

⭐⭐½

WHO’S IN LEMONADE?

Lewis Brophy, Barry Keoghan, Carla Tous, Connie Doona, Graham Earley, Eileen Walsh, Imelda May

WHO’S BEHIND THE CAMERA?

Kim Bartley (director, writer), Farah Abushwesha and Rachel Lysaght (producers), Galia Arad, Ioana Selaru and Sion Trefor (composers), Colm Hogan (cinematographer), Paul Mullen (editor)

WHAT’S IT ABOUT?

A former foster kid (Brophy) reunites with his former social worker (Keoghan)…

WHAT ARE MY THOUGHTS ON LEMONADE?

For a number of years, my parents were part of the Supported Lodgings programme designed to house former foster children after they legally become adults. They ended up housing quite a few young people in their time, including one or two asylum seekers, who all went on to gain the required confidence to lead fully independent lives of their own, thanks in part to the support that my parents were able to give each and every one of them.

This personal anecdote is relevant to my overall opinion on writer-director Kim Bartley’s Lemonade, not just because of its own themes regarding sociopolitical issues like foster care but also because, in this well-meaning but somewhat cloying Irish melodrama, the whole Supported Lodgings programme is effectively sidestepped when it would have likely solved a lot of the core dilemmas of this film. But if that were to happen, it’s unlikely there would even be a movie to talk about, because Lemonade is unfortunately so reliant on heavy convenience surrounding events which could only happen in this kind of film that its earnestness ends up being diluted to something much less sincere.

The film begins with teenager Danny (Lewis Brophy) preparing to move out of the residential home he’s been placed in for the last few years, since he’s about to turn 18 and therefore no longer a ward of the state. He’s swiftly relocated into a dingy flat, assigned a menial job at a local meat factory (which surprisingly isn’t too far off from his original desire to work with animals), hoping to arrange a meet with his younger brother from whom he’s been prevented from seeing due to past behavioural issues, and manages to strike up a bit of a romance with Spanish girl Mila (Carla Tous) who’s temporarily staying with her mother across the road. Naturally, though, a number of situations arise that threaten his sudden independence, from being involved in a legal situation involving a stolen car that could see him sentenced as an adult, to navigating a subculture where fellow foster kids are being groomed to be drug traffickers, to an unexpected reunion with his former support worker Josh (Barry Keoghan) who’s just returned to the fold after an extended period dealing with some personal family matters, something that Danny hasn’t quite forgiven him.

The thing about Lemonade is that it is all just a little too twee, with Bartley’s script aiming for something a bit more uplifting than the average hard-hitting social drama but at the cost of narrative credibility. To give you an idea of what kind of film you’re in store for, the very first scene sees our young protagonist literally saving the cat; there’s a subplot involving a supporting character’s difficulties with caring for a reckless family member; a time-sensitive meeting is arranged that can only be possible if one character shows up on time (guess what happens?); the main character strikes up a friendship with a homeless woman and their awesomely named pet bunny Rabbit De Niro who ends up helping him in his most desperate hour of need; and then later on it spells out the meaning behind its own title via another character’s handily placed tattoo. It’s not exactly subtle but therein lies the flaw as Lemonade is operating almost entirely on movie logic, featuring dramatic events that are only made possible because of particular machinations that the script has willed into place, few of which come naturally in a film that should by definition be natural by nature.

It honestly doesn’t feel as though Bartley is telling a story with genuine authenticity, because it’s hard to imagine the events of this movie happening in real life, unfolding in such a precise and convenient manner with one convenience after another. While it is certainly possible to make a film with such harrowing sociopolitical subject matter but also a genuinely uplifting tone – just look at Daisy-May Hudson’s outstanding feature Lollipop – here there is too much of a focus on the conventional crowd-pleasing beats and a heavy emphasis on the devastation surrounding it all that, after a short while, it no longer rings as true as it wants to. It’s frustrating, because there are moments in Bartley’s film where it does manage to hit you hard in the feelings, but that’s because it wants you to feel that way, and as such those feelings don’t often come as naturally as they perhaps should in a film that should by definition be designed to be a legitimately emotional experience.

The core reason why this film does manage to leave some kind of impact, however small it may be, is because the acting in this movie really helps to sell the sentimentality. Lewis Brophy is very good in this, as the young actor displays a resounding maturity that makes his character easy to root for, while Keoghan – also an executive producer on this film, through his new production company Wolfcub Productions – has a warm presence throughout as someone who is written to perhaps be a bit too perfect but is given a soul by one of the actor’s most tender roles to date. They alone are worth watching this movie, because if nothing else it’s a fine showcase for two of Ireland’s most fascinating fresh-faced talents.

But sadly, their efforts are not enough to save Lemonade from its own sense of genericism and emotional manipulation, because while the intentions behind the film are sound, there’s just that overwhelming inauthenticity to it that leaves you feeling less than you perhaps ought to with something like this.

SO, TO SUM UP…

Lemonade is a well-meaning and strongly acted sociopolitical drama that is heavily undone by a generic and overly cloying script that relies heavily on convenient, trope-heavy plotting which ends up robbing the film of much of its intended sincerity.

⭐⭐½

WHO’S IN THE FOX?

Jai Courtney, Emily Browning, Olivia Colman, Damon Herriman, Sam Neill, Claudia Doumit, Zlatko Burić, Miranda Otto, Frankie J. Holden, Heather Mitchell, Kim Gyngell

WHO’S BEHIND THE CAMERA?

Dario Russo (director, writer, composer, editor), Kristina Ceyton, Carly Maple and Samantha Jennings (producers), Matthew Chuang (cinematographer)

WHAT’S IT ABOUT?

A foxhunter (Courtney) encounters a talking fox (Colman) who has an unusual proposition…

WHAT ARE MY THOUGHTS ON THE FOX?

Olivia Colman really does improve everything she’s in, doesn’t she? She’s already a great actor, and most of the stuff she appears in matches her natural lovability and on-screen magnetism, but whenever she shows up in the briefest or most outlandish of roles – say, as the voice of an animatronic fox in filmmaker Dario Russo’s aptly named The Fox – it’s honesty quite magical to behold, since an already entertaining film is made even more so by the mere presence of her warm English vocals.

Such is the case with The Fox, an amusingly absurdist black comedy that mixes the sinister male entitlement of Obsession with an episode of The Animals of Farthing Wood (one that surprisingly does not contain the darkest material on that show), for a wild and often unpredictable parable about the unhealthy status of modern-day relationships.

Taking place in a small Australian town, Russo’s film opens with Nick (Jai Courtney), a rugged hunter, suddenly proposing to his girlfriend Kori (Emily Browning) during an unceremonious shepherd’s pie meal at the local pub. Kori accepts the ring largely to please the well-wishing onlookers, but it’s clear that she has absolutely no intention of staying with Nick, especially since she’s engaging in an affair with married vet Derek (Damon Herriman). Shortly after Nick and Derek’s wife Diana (Claudia Domit) find out about the affair, much to his denial, Nick encounters the aforementioned Colman-voiced fox who instructs him to take Kori to a certain pit deep in the woods and then push her into it, from which the fox states that she will emerge as a different, much more obedient and loyal partner. Sure enough, he follows through on the fox’s strange request, which leads to some very unexpected developments throughout the community.

With such a bizarre premise comes an even stranger execution, as Russo creates a world that barely bats an eyelid to the weird things happening within it, including the fact that animals such as this fox and a chicken-starved magpie (voiced by the late, great Sam Neill) are capable of intelligible speech yet no humans ever even do a double-take to absorb who they’re talking with. It makes the central concept not just funnier but also more sinister, since the mere sight of these human characters conversing with, and then later committing sinister acts upon the advice of, these non-verbal creatures – brought to life by some impressive animatronics that make the fox and its contemporaries feel more real – drives home the film’s humorous commentary on how wild our views on the natural order have become. Nick’s growing possession of Kori and desire to force her into a gender stereotype she’d rather not adopt makes him as much a predator as the fox, whereas her apathy towards her new fiancé as well as the scummy Derek and, indeed, many other members of this prying community could be seen as its own act of defiance from someone not willing to become their prey – until, of course, they’re literally pushed into it.

Although Obsession is ultimately the better film that tackles the misogyny of modern-day men through genre filmmaking, The Fox still has fun with its own approach to the topic and subsequently ends up being just as fun. Russo leans much more into dark satirical comedy here, with idiosyncratic dialogue and feral performances which earn strong laughs from how straight-faced they’re delivered, while his direction lets certain surprising revelations unfold without feeling forced or unnecessary. There is one that is fairly easy to predict early on, but then it will throw you off completely with a few other twists that actually do catch you off guard, and not only do they somewhat make sense in this intentionally nonsensical story but the implications behind them also match the wider themes perfectly, especially when it comes to how comically imbalanced gender roles still are.

You’re always along for the ride because Russo has also crafted an enjoyable story with characters who you don’t necessarily like but are still interested enough in to see how exactly their arcs intersect. For as much of a scumbag as Nick proves himself to be, at least about as much as the similarly entitled protagonist in Obsession, he nonetheless has moments where his blithering idiocy is amusing to watch, and Courtney’s nerved comedic performance is the key to this character being more tolerable than he has any right to be. Similarly committed performances by Browning, who bares all (in both senses) in an increasingly feral turn that you can’t take your eyes off, and Herriman, Domit, Triangle of Sadness’s Zlatko Burić and a slightly underused Miranda Otto also help underline the absurdity surrounding them. And of course, Colman’s vocals make everything better, especially with one line delivery in a shot and situation that is so bust-a-gut funny I can envision it being on a very crude t-shirt at some point.

As you can probably tell, I had a very good time with The Fox, with the enjoyable comedic voice of Russo shining all through a strange little fable that only really begins running out of room towards the end, with a couple of resolutions that feel a little bit anticlimactic for what it was setting up. Nonetheless, this is entertaining stuff that works for those seeking an eccentric, unpredictable and rather smart satire featuring lots of animatronic, weirdly horny foxes. It’s just a happy bonus that Olivia Colman voices one of them.

SO, TO SUM UP…

The Fox is an amusingly feral dark comedy that tackles themes of gender politics and male entitlement in fun and sometimes unpredictable fashion, with the delightful addition of Olivia Colman as the titular predator.

⭐⭐⭐⭐

WHO’S IN THE BELOVED?

Javier Bardem, Victoria Luengo, Melina Matthews, Marina Foïs, Malena Villa, Mourad Ouani, Pepa Gracia, Raúl Prieto, Pablo Gómez-Pando, Raúl Arévalo, Núria Prims, Laura Birn

WHO’S BEHIND THE CAMERA?

Rodrigo Sorogoyen (director, writer), Isabel Peña (writer), Nacho Lavilla and Eduardo Villanueva (producers), Olivier Arson (composer), Alejandro de Pablo (cinematographer), Alberto del Campo (editor)

WHAT’S IT ABOUT?

A filmmaker (Bardem) recruits his estranged daughter (Luengo) to play a role in his latest movie…

WHAT ARE MY THOUGHTS ON THE BELOVED?

A movie about a hot-headed filmmaker trying to reconnect with their estranged offspring by offering them a part in their latest film, only for their ego and temperament to get in the way of any actual connection. The real question is, am I describing Rodrigo Sorogoyen’s The Beloved or Joachim Trier’s Sentimental Value? Either way, you’re getting a distinctly European drama about the perils of being a creative as well as a parent, with both engrossing you in their very different yet eerily similar set-ups.

The thing is, between the two I would opt for Sentimental Value without question, because while The Beloved is far from a bad movie, it is a much colder affair than Trier’s Oscar-winning drama, not to mention more of a slow-burn that can at times try the patience of the viewer.

It opens very promisingly, with an extended two-hander scene shot almost entirely in close-up between Javier Bardem – as Spanish auteur filmmaker Esteban Martínez – and Victoria Luengo – as his adult daughter Emilia, an actor and part-time waiter – as they meet in a restaurant to discuss an interesting proposition: Esteban is about to start production on his latest movie, a period piece set in the Spain-owned region of the Sahara Desert, and wants to cast Emilia as the female lead. Unlike in Sentimental Value, however, the daughter ends up accepting the role, and soon she finds herself on set in Fuerteventura (doubling for the Sahara) where she witnesses first-hand her father’s ruthlessness as a perfectionist filmmaker which factors into her own perception of him not just as a father, but a moral and considerate person.

The scenes on this chaotic movie set, where Bardem’s tyrannical yet still undeniably human auteur Esteban is as much of a domineering threat as J.K. Simmons in Whiplash, are intensely framed by Sorogoyen who captures the burning ferocity of the situation while allowing us to see the emotional turmoil he leaves in his wake. One extended set-piece – in that it literally takes place on a set – is an increasingly uncomfortable experience as the domineering Esteban rags on his actors, his crew, and even the child performers in the scene when they fail to meet his expectations on what should be a straightforward scene. One could view it as Esteban putting into practise an extreme yet effective method to wring as much emotion out of his actors as possible, but Sorogoyen clearly positions him as the irrational one in this scene which causes the viewer, in addition to Emilia, to find him as repulsive as any other workplace bully. Although, let’s be honest with ourselves: this guy is hardly the worst director to work with in the film industry.

But while Sorogoyen does well to turn up the pressure in these scenes as he did with his previous feature The Beasts, this is also when The Beloved starts to settle into a lethargic and sometimes quite testing pace. There are times when you’ll really start to feel the runtime as you endure long, drawn-out scenes of people waiting around on film sets, awkwardly meeting the director’s all-new family, and the director himself recording some audio commentary for a film that put him on the map years ago. In a sense, Sorogoyen seems to want the viewer to feel the uneventful nature of a standard movie set, but that doesn’t always make for compelling drama, especially when the most interesting stuff seems to be happening off-screen with characters that you don’t really get a chance to know all that well. There’s also a distinct lack of emotional connection to smoothen the uneventfulness, with even the central connection between Bardem and Luengo as the respective father and daughter not progressing a whole lot after a certain point, despite both actors putting in some great work that is slightly undermined by the lacking material.

To be very clear, since it sounds like I’m really harping on this movie, I do not think The Beloved is a bad movie. It’s well-acted, quite tense in parts, and offers a cold, hard look at the filmmaking process and how it feeds off of people’s deeper moral instincts. However, I don’t think it’s necessarily a great movie either, for it can be a bit cold and detached, not to mention too much of a slow-burn for it to fully resonate. My advice would be to stick with Sentimental Value, which at least has a more identifiable emotional core.

SO, TO SUM UP…

The Beloved is a well-acted and thematically interesting look at how the artistic process can erode our inner morality, but it is ultimately too much of a slow-burn and rather cold-hearted in nature for it to land as much as it wants to.

⭐⭐⭐

WHO’S IN ELSINORE?

Andrew Scott, Olivia Colman, Billie Piper, Sadie Soverall, Johnny Flynn, Luke Thompson, Monica Dolan, Juliet Stevenson, Joe Locke, Matthew Beard, David Dawson, Louis Healy, Dickie Beau, Kadiff Kirwan, Peter Mullan, Georgia Glen, Danny Webb, Jamie Bogyo, Alyth Ross, David Rintoul, Malcolm Jeffries, John Hollingworth, Rishi Rian

WHO’S BEHIND THE CAMERA?

Simon Stone (director), Stephen Beresford (writer), Carolyn Marks Blackwood, Mickey Liddell, Stefano Massenzi, Andrea Occhipinti, Andrew Scott, Pete Shilaimon and Gabrielle Tana (producers), Stefan Gregory (composer), Mike Eley (cinematographer), Valerio Bonelli (editor)

WHAT’S IT ABOUT?

In 1989, AIDS-stricken actor Ian Charleson (Scott) takes on the demanding role of Hamlet…

WHAT ARE MY THOUGHTS ON ELSINORE?

Prince Hamlet is the role of roles for actors. Conveying the wide and varied range of emotions that William Shakespeare’s character goes through across five acts is a feat that performers can only dream of, and over the years many have given the role their own unique spin, including (but far from limited to) Laurence Olivier, Ian McKellen, Kenneth Branagh, David Tennant, Riz Ahmed and, most fittingly in this case, Andrew Scott. The latter actor, who played the part in a 2017 stage production directed by Robert Icke, seems almost too perfectly suited for the role, as his longing and sorrowful gaze – previously put to great use in films like All of Us Strangers and Blue Moon – forms a fitful companion to the melancholic ponderings of the tragic Prince of Denmark.

But in Elsinore, from director Simon Stone and screenwriter Stephen Beresford, Scott isn’t exactly playing Hamlet, but he’s playing someone else playing Hamlet. More specifically, to quote Tropic Thunder, he’s the dude playing the dude disguised as another dude. The middle dude in question is Ian Charleson, the actor best known for appearing in Chariots of Fire and Gandhi whose brief but noteworthy turn as Hamlet during a National Theatre production in 1989 became not just a critically acclaimed hit but also a triumphant feat in the midst of the then-ongoing HIV/AIDS crisis, for unbeknownst to the general public he was actively succumbing to the disease himself.

Tragedy inevitably befalls both the bereaved Shakespearian Prince and the weakening actor playing him, and as both Scott puts in a performance unlike any other he’s ever given that forcefully propels this wondrous little crowd-pleaser to tremendous heights.

As stated, the film takes place in the late 80s as Scott’s Charleson prepares to take on the role of Hamlet for acclaimed theatre director Richard Eyre (Johnny Flynn), after an unusual – but very real; seriously, look it up – instance where original actor Daniel Day-Lewis abruptly leaves the National Theatre stage mid-performance. For Charleson, it’s the role he’s been waiting his entire career to play, especially after years of film roles where he’s been forced to suppress his homosexuality in order to be seen as a leading man, and naturally he’s elevated for the opportunity. However, around the same time, he begins developing lesions all over his body – a severe sign that his HIV diagnosis has evolved into full-blown AIDS – and is advised by physician Margaret Johnson (Olivia Colman) that to take on a physically and emotionally demanding role as Hamlet would very likely lead to an increasingly weakened immune system, and quite possible an early death.

It is precisely the fact that Charleson, even with the full knowledge of his declining health, chooses to continue playing the role that makes Elsinore such a powerful film to watch. Charleson’s story is presented by director Stone and writer Beresford (who previously worked with Scott on Pride) as a firm example of how someone’s passion, in this case for the performing arts, is so unwavering and lacking compromise that it ends up consuming their entire being, even when facing down death’s door. You feel his passion throughout as Stone and Beresford present him as a character who certainly isn’t naïve – he knows full well the devastation that his disease has caused, with fellow friends and partners like filmmaker Derek Jarman (David Dawson) all slowly succumbing to various AIDS-related illnesses – yet still actively pursues his dreams in spite of his condition, all while trying to retain his personal magnetism as he embraces this literal once-in-a-lifetime opportunity with all the energy that he has left.

Of course, so much of that comes from Scott himself, whose absolutely magnificent performance is far from showy and much more understated than a role such as this would perhaps be handled in lesser hands. The actor brings a lot of naturalism to Ian Charleson, which makes his overwhelming devastation comes across much more powerfully, since you always feel that you are watching a person rather than a performance, and a rather likeable person at that, whether he’s rehearsing his lines with fellow cast and crew or, in one sequence that’s bound to become a favourite among audiences, a choreographed dance set to a disco rendition of Ethel Merman’s “There’s No Business Like Show Business”. The whole time, Scott reels you in with his magnetic dramatic abilities which can cause one to laugh and cry with impeccable ease, in what is sure to be one of the actor’s most beloved turns when all is said and done.

He’s also supported by a great ensemble supporting cast, some of whom admittedly get more screen time than others, but are all gifted some wonderful roles by the filmmakers. Highlights include Colman who, as always, livens up the screen as the po-faced physician who herself became a landmark figure in the HIV/AIDS crisis; Billie Piper as Charleson’s casting director and bestie; Monica Dolan who gets a few standout lines as the National’s stage door manager Linda Tolhurst; and Peter Mullan who, in such little screentime, shares decades of regret as Charleson’s father.

Inevitably, some will write off Elsinore as manipulative Oscar-bait, but to do so would be to seriously undermine its genuine impact. This is a film that certainly feels designed to hit the viewer right in the feels, though here it is justified because they still manage to tell a deeply emotional story that warrants such a vibrant reaction, and tell it with heart, dramatic maturity, and even a surprising dollop of humour that does its late subject matter plenty of justice. Just as Hamlet is the actor’s role of roles, Elsinore proves that Ian Charleson and his uncompromising passion is a brilliant part in and of itself.

SO, TO SUM UP…

Elsinore is a deeply emotional crowd-pleaser that charts Ian Charleson’s infectious passion as he pursues the role of a lifetime, which Andrew Scott brings to life in the performance of several lifetimes.

⭐⭐⭐⭐½

WHO’S IN LA BOLA NEGRA?

Guitarricadelafuente, Carlos González, Milo Quifes, Miguel Bernardeau, Lola Dueñas, Penélope Cruz, Glenn Close, Antonio de la Torre, Natalia de Molina, Albert Pla, Yenesi Suárez, Lorenzo Zurzolo, Daniel Ibáñez, Julio Torres, Mona Martínez, Nuria Mencía, Hugo Welzel, María Morales, Alberto Cortés, Antonio Dechent

WHO’S BEHIND THE CAMERA?

Javier Ambrossi and Javier Calvo (directors, writers, producers), Jorge Pezzi (producer), Raül Fernandez Miró (composer), Gris Jordana (cinematographer), Alberto Gutiérrez (editor)

WHAT’S IT ABOUT?

Three gay men across time find themselves unexpectedly connected with one another…

WHAT ARE MY THOUGHTS ON LA BOLA NEGRA?

Many people greatly suffered during the Spanish Civil War, but the cultural world took an enormous hit when Federico García Lorca – the openly gay and socialist poet/playwright – was assassinated by Nationalist forces early on in the conflict. Fortunately, he left behind a series of works that have become revered throughout the artistic community, including plays like Blood Wedding and Yerma as well as countless collections of poems, but also some incomplete material that many scholars have spent decades theorising how his unfinished stories may have indeed ended.

One of those incomplete works is La Bola Negra (or The Black Ball, if you’re the one person who prefers the English title), a play that Lorca wrote only the first few pages of just months before his murder and has since been debated to death by creatives and academics alike about what the writer was planning to do later on in the story. But while we’ll probably never know for sure, filmmaking duo Javier Ambrossi and Javier Calvo – known collectively as “Los Javis” – have come up with their own eye-catching take in the form of a gorgeous historical epic that pays immense tribute to Lorca’s ahead-of-his-time work and the unwavering humanity of the young men who ended up preserving his legacy.

The film is split into three seemingly separate strands, each set in a different time period. The first takes place in 1932, when affluent young Carlos (Milo Quifes) attempts to gain membership of an elite social club, only to find himself literally blackballed (as in, they use white and black balls to vote either for or against his admission) due to heavy rumours regarding his sexuality. The second, a few years later in 1937, follows young trumpeter Sebastián (Guitarricadelafuente) joining the Nationalist army after surviving their attack on his home village, and who ends up guarding and developing strong feelings for Republican POW Rafael Rodríguez Rapún (Miguel Bernardeau), whom Lorca historians will know to have been a very close companion to the playwright himself. Finally, decades later in 2017, young historian Alberto (Carlos González) learns that he has inherited something very special from his recently passed grandfather whom he never knew, and it is that special something which ends up tying all three storylines together in unexpected and history-defying ways.

From the very first scene, which lulls you into a false sense of security before blowing up any and all expectations, Los Javis lock you in with a style and sense of emotion all their own. The filmmakers constantly flirt with magical realism, particularly within the 1932 segment where scenes will suddenly become heavily choreographed interpretive dance sessions or even dive into surreal territory with particular personifications (without spoilers, there’s a very good reason as to why specifically this section is like this), while embracing the confined spectacle of the latter segments as they dig deep into the protagonists’ tender souls as they face repression and self-uncertainty, albeit under wildly different historical contexts, amidst some heavy historical events. It’s rare to see filmmakers like Los Javis take such an ambitious leap with their craft yet still keep the attention squarely on the story and characters rather than their own style, indicating that their passion for the material is not just genuine but efficient.

While it isn’t about Lorca himself (he appears in a couple of brief monochrome flashbacks, and that’s it), La Bola Negra is much more of Lorca, and Los Javis do extremely well to replicate much of the writer’s unique storytelling and dialogue for a multi-layered script that carries many of his recurring themes in an even load, from love and desire to marginalised identities and more. But rather than simply doing a pastiche of it all, the filmmakers use the opportunity to show them in greater detail than Lorca himself could have imagined back in his day. Scenes in the 1937 segment, for example, showcase rampant homoeroticism as soldiers swim and bathe naked on nearby beaches, all within an ironic heterosexual context, while a key sequence involving a cameoing Penélope Cruz embraces the extravagant flamboyance of queer-friendly entertainment for, again, a largely straight crowd. They’re presented with stunning flair, thanks to vibrant cinematography and finely tuned editing that makes it all fly by across its lengthy runtime, ensuring that the themes which Lorca originally wrote about are as passionate as they were when he crafted them.

It grips you with plenty of compelling characters and heavy, often very emotional drama to a point where it can potentially overwhelm the viewer, but Los Javis know just how to utilise those tools at the most appropriate time. By spacing out these segments across each other, the filmmakers take you on a multi-layered journey where you’re invested in each separate strand, thanks also in part to some excellent performances across the board, with major standouts being Guitarricadelafuente, the Spanish musician making one hell of an acting debut here, and the ever-great Glenn Close in a small but important role during the 2017 section.

But of course, the real star is the burning passion that Los Javis have for Lorca’s work, an adoration that will no doubt rub off on viewers who, thanks to the majestic epic that is La Bola Negra, may be inspired to seek out the various works that were left in the wake of the artist’s murder. If that indeed ends up being the case, then it’ll be yet another shining example of how the generational talent continues to laugh in the face of his own demise.

SO, TO SUM UP…

La Bola Negra is a fantastic historical epic that explores and embraces the complex emotional themes of Federico García Lorca in a multi-layered narrative that filmmaking duo Los Javis present with burning passion, luscious visual style, and heavy emotion which makes for one hell of a viewing experience.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐