A Star is Born

Hollywood has always been tirelessly obsessed with telling stories about itself and this particular one just beckons to be told and retold, time and again. This fourth rendition of A Star is Born, brings us the respective directorial and acting debut from Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga.

As perhaps the biggest intrigue of the film, Gaga’s first official outing on the big screen fares way better than most might imagine, owing to her natural charisma as a performer and a phenomenal musical talent. As expected, the film does feature some vivacious and thrilling musical numbers, resembling the energy of a live stadium.

Undeniably, Cooper and Gaga have palpable on-screen chemistry together. Disappointingly though, the film pretty much just coasts on this easy rapport to convince us that this is a be-all and end-all love story. The emotional disconnect becomes more apparent as the film progresses, when the focus of the story shifts from the discovery of Ally as an up-and-coming star to Jack’s inner demons. The story offers many opportunities to deal with the dark side of the music industry that Ally faces but were brushed over to make way for Jack’s character arch. The development of Ally is then stalled and molded around her association with Jack but never through her own identity as an artist or person. She barely shows any sense of agency towards her own career which is antithetical to the film’s message about the authenticity of an artist. The lopsided perspective of this romance and the film’s abandonment of Ally as a character are frustrating to say the least. So by the time we get to the closing number of the film, which is supposed to be the emotional crescendo of their relationship (and the entire film), the drama sadly dissolves into overripe melodrama.

A Star is Born is a proficiently made film which many will enjoy. But its inability to practice what it preaches and its treatment to its pivotal female character, considering that this is the fourth remake of the story, makes the film fall victim to its own hype.

(Originally posted on 22 Oct 2018 @projectunwrapped)

First Man

La La Land alumnus Ryan Gosling teams up with director Damien Chazelle once again, this time, for a journey to the moon.

The cinematography in First Man is absolutely top-notch which makes the film pleasurable to watch all around. Audience will no doubt be pleased with this clear, relentless thoughtfulness that is consistently shown in Chazelle’s films.

In First Man, Chazelle chapters the years in Armstrong’s life circling his giant leap to the moon. There are family and marital drama in the midst of the space missions to flesh out Armstrong’s motivation and sacrifices. But even with the aggrandization of a magnificent score, it just wasn’t enough to keep the tension afloat. When the film goes through its story beats, déja vu is unavoidable by avid fans of the space genre. The characters are all there, the ambitious but tortured spaceman, the worried wife, the tight-lipped NASA employees. The leads, Gosling and Foy did the best with how little they were given. All that aside, the curiosity to witness Chazelle’s unfaltering execution of this time-tested story is somewhat enough to make this experience worthwhile.

With each feature-length addition to his résumé, Chazelle shows that he is clearly unafraid to tread into unexplored territory, demonstrating his razor-sharp vision each and every time. The technical achievement of First Man should make Chazelle proud in that respect. But as someone who has once been thoroughly impressed by Chazelle’s talent as a storyteller, one can only wish that First Man contains a stronger story.

(Originally posted on 17 Oct 2018 @projectunwrapped)

Peter Rabbit

Following the success of the Paddington films, the latest British children’s literature character to get the live-action/CGI hybrid treatment is Peter Rabbit.

It’s almost impossible to talk about about this movie without using the word “cute”. But, yes, this was indeed very, very cute. The character designs and CGI work in Peter Rabbit are really well-done, capturing the likeness of the animals without bordering on creepiness. The film is supported by a cast of actors with great comedic timing which supplies the film with plenty of delightfulness.

What prevents it from achieving the greatness of Paddington though is that it simply lacks the ambition to be anything more than a good “kids movie”. The message about responsibility is delivered in a pretty clean-cut way but any moral depth is deemed too sentimental here. What you will find though is elaborate sequences of hijinks, sarcastic quips and slapstick humour. Still, it’s hard to fault the film for something it wasn’t designed to be.

Peter Rabbit will probably not go down in history as one of the best family films but it is a bright and vivacious adventure that many will be happy to go on.

(Originally posted on 2 Apr 2018 @projectunwrapped)

Unsane

Steven Soderbergh’s Unsane, tells the story of a woman who is wrongly admitted into in a mental institution, and discovers that she is trapped in the same facility as her stalker.

Shot entirely on iPhone, simplicity is key in Soderbergh’s psychological thriller. The iPhone cinematography really works in the film’s favour and accentuates it with a layer of intimate and high-strung tension. The harsh and grainy visuals lend the film a low-budget aesthetics and make the horror feels particularly grounded. Through the voyeuristic and shadowy gaze of the camera, Soderbergh turns the location of horror into a labyrinth of frustration and paranoia. The film also touches on themes about the corruption of American corporations, but the true genius of the film lies in its take on the complex psyche — the violence, invasiveness and manipulation — of assault. Claire Foy’s central performance in the film grippingly conveys the many levels of trauma, anger, self-doubt and despair of assault victims. The inevitable confrontation between Foy’s Sawyer and her stalker will induce unease in the most satisfying manners.

(Originally posted on 1 Apr 2018 @projectunwrapped)

Ready Player One

“Does it look like I’m trying too hard?”
“Yes, listen to yourself.”

Perspective is everything and Ready Player One is just a sad sight. If you’re wondering what trying too hard looks like, Spielberg’s long-awaited return to the sci-fi genre, Ready Player One, is the cinematic equivalent of exactly that. Ready Player One is a celebration of pop culture and human imagination that lacks any imagination in itself.

It would almost be funny, if it wasn’t so infuriating, that Steven Spielberg managed to combine possibly every annoying thing about male-centric nerd culture into two and a half hours of lifeless dialogue and mind-numbing action sequences. The narrative unfolds in the blandest fashion possible — white nerdy male hero saves the world and gets the girl.

The sense of adventure we have come to expect from Spielberg movies is nowhere to be found. The world-building is so carelessly done that it’s hard to buy into any of the drama due to lack of tension between the real world and the Oasis. Spielberg never told us whether activities in the Oasis have any impacts on the real world. When the point of view switches back to the real world and you see people on the streets wobbling back and forth with their headsets on, you’ll realize how pointless it all is. It’s the absurdity of every online argument ever, epitomized. And if he can’t tell us why the Oasis is so important to the real world, why not destroy it altogether?

The writers made sure to cram in easter eggs of almost all of 80s pop culture, but they have little to do with the context. It feels more like a parade of knowledge, bloated with self-aggrandisement, rather than an expression of genuine passion. The film’s strange notion that somehow we are supposed to take the hero’s extensive pop culture knowledge as a emblem of honour is just laughable.

If Ready Player One is intended to be a cautionary tale, then it certainly did its job. Because if that’s a glimpse into the future ahead of us, it’s a future I want no part of. I get it, seeing your favourite robots and monsters fight each other on the big screen is cool, but to call that a good story? No, thank you.

(Originally posted on 1 Apr 2018 @projectunwrapped)

Goodbye Christopher Robin

Before Winnie the Pooh became a Disney favourite, there was A. A. Milne. Inspired by the relationship with his own son, the author created the beloved children’s books series, Winnie the Pooh, whilst dealing with PTSD from World War I.

In this adaptation of Milne’s life, Director Simon Curtis combines contrasting themes about war, family and childhood fame together, and it all sounds reasonably interesting. However, the disjointed points of view show that the film clearly has a difficult time meshing these elements together into the same narrative flow. The characters’ demeanors and moods shift so abruptly, it’s as if we’re introduced to an entirely different being each turn. When it comes to moments of excessive sentimentality, it’s intentions are more obvious than anything else but the overall indecisiveness of the film makes even those moments seem forced and artificial.

There may be a good story somewhere on the page but the end product is unremarkable at best, it makes you wonder why they bothered with this in the first place. It’s just one of those movies that i will gladly forget.

(Originally posted on 25 Mar 2018 @projectunwrapped)

Game Night

The crime comedy Game Night, starring Rachel McAdams and Jason Bateman, follows the story of a group of board games enthusiasts who find themselves trapped in a murder mystery game gone wrong.

The film itself is a literal mixbag and full of wild cards. The directors borrow much influences from the comedy, rom-com, crime and horror genres. Throw in a couple of pop culture and film references, the film successfully channels the broad appeal of most contemporary comedies. The establishing shots are thoughtfully crafted through the use of miniatures to mimic the look of board game pieces.

Like any comedy, the jokes are hit-and-miss but when necessary it can still ride on the charm of its lead, Rachel McAdams. Jesse Plemons, who plays the newly divorced next door neighbour, is a definite standout in the cast of supporting characters with his deadpan delivery. As for the story, there are enough twists and turns to throw unsuspecting audience off. But by the time it reaches the third act, it becomes quite noticeable that the runtime is only prolonged by retracing the same steps and beats they have already hit before.

Though hardly a game changer for the genre, the goofiness of Game Night is nonetheless hard to resist and a blast to laugh with.

(Originally posted on 19 Mar 2018 @projectunwrapped)

Lady Bird

“Hey Mom, did you feel emotional the first time that you drove in Sacramento?”

It’s incredibly difficult to capture life.

There is no sensationalized drama in Lady Bird, but the searing pain of disconnection hits so dangerously close to home I feel like I’m watching a stream of memory. Gerwig who both wrote and directed the film is so observant and eloquent about the nuances in mother-daughter relationships. It’s personal without being self-absorbed, honest without being judgemental, sentimental without being contrived.

Lady Bird captures perfectly the many heartbreaking contradictions, whimsy melancholy, and awkwardness, in the life of a girl on the cusp of womanhood. We want a better future but we are not skillful enough to achieve it. We reject our identities even though we don’t know who else to be. We feel connected to home but we also long for a future elsewhere. We get excited about new beginnings, yet all we want to do is look back. We want to be anywhere but here, be anything but this. And we know we are supposed to feel grateful for our parents but it’s impossible to not feel frustrated with their antics. We treat one another with unnecessary cruelty even when what we feel is the complete opposite. Our affection are expressed in the form of stubbornness, impatience, gruelling demands and brutal silence.

The prospects of seeing your life mimicked on screen, hearing arguments you’ve rehearsed in your brain, or words that have scarred you, can be both exhilarating and daunting. For anyone who feels like they are always on the run, Lady Bird will feel like a memory and a mirror at the same time. I’ve never had pink hair. I’ve never been to Sacramento. I’ve never even driven. But, when I see Christine drives through Sacramento, I think about my life, my regrets, those chances I didn’t take, those times I said words I didn’t mean, those mistakes I made that were easily avoidable. It makes me think of all the bends and corners in my neighbourhood that I know by heart. For that, I feel alive.

(Originally posted on 26 Feb 2018 @projectunwrapped)

Call Me by Your Name

Call Me by Your Name works adequately to make you ponder on the relationship between physicality and intimacy, but the effect is ultimately underwhelming because of how disconnected it all feels.

In terms of the visuals, Guadagnino takes full advantage of the natural beauty already embedded in the film’s locations. But, the way that it is captured through the cinematography never clicks with the story beyond being a pretty backdrop.

There is a lot more in this film that feels misdirected. It’s odd that so much of the narrative is centred on the passion between the two protagonists, yet so little of it is felt. The main problem comes from the screenplay, as it never elevates to the level that leads us to believe that they have ever moved past the initial stages of infatuation. It feels like there are scenes that are missing where we would be given more insights into how they connect with each other. Instead, the two hour runtime is filled up by shots that are mostly empty and awkward. Perhaps Guadagnino is trying to break down the narrative into pieces instead of painting the big picture for us, but it is so fractured, it feels so unnecessarily effortful that we have to cling to the smallest scraps to be on board with it. When the titular line, “call my by your name”, is uttered, the impact is all but lost. What follows is a sense of disappointment that the moment that is essentially the emotional climax of their relationship, came so inorganically.

What adds to the apprehension is the age-inappropriate miscast of Armie Hammer who looks and acts nothing like a college student in his early twenties. When you see a tearful Elio at the end, you will sympathise with him. But, it’s not because he lost a great love, it’s because he was taken advantage of, by someone who is clearly much more, mentally and sexually, mature than he is.

There is not a lot of mainstream LGBTQ+ representation in films and certainly fewer that has garnered awards attention like Call Me by Your Name has. Often, we are told to settle for “quantity” over “quality” when we should strive for both. Sadly, Call Me by Your Name is the former rather than the latter.

(Originally posted on 23 Feb 2018 @projectunwrapped)

Black Panther

As the studios’ first official foray into the world of Wakanda, Black Panther assembles top talents across the board to bring it to fruition.

Make no mistake, Black Panther is T’Challa’s story. But, the light and heart of the film are the women of Wakanda. As someone who has always been more than frustrated with the limited, and often atrocious, representation of women in the MCU, it’s refreshing to see how comfortable Black Panther is to let its cast of female characters shine. The film showcases the different kinds of strength and beauty women possess, in manners we have never seen in other Marvel films before. Each of them is a fully realized character who has her own personality, motivation and ambitions. As individuals, the arguments and ideologies they represent bring real conflicts to the story. Together, they all tie beautifully into T’Challa’s journey to become the King he needs to be.

In the span of 10 years, Marvel has proven itself to be a force of its own in producing movies that are “fun” but given their success there is no reason they shouldn’t aspire to be more. Black Panther is “fun” but more importantly, it has something profound to say about the world we live in today. The film thoughtfully laces issues of historical and modern racism and racial tension into the narrative. Audience will without a doubt recognize some of the rhetoric that are ubiquitous in politics and our own social circles. The superhero fable offers its own graceful solution as to how we can move forward and the answer is always, to connect. “The wise build bridges...while the foolish build barriers”, as one character remarks.

When we talk about films that are “timely”, “important”, the words “it’s time” would inevitably come up in the conversation. For Marvel, a studios that has enjoyed a decade of success, it has been that time for many years. Black Panther feels like an important piece of puzzle in the Marvel mythology that’s been missing for too long.

(Originally posted on 20 Feb 2018 @projectunwrapped)

Phantom Thread

Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest, Phantom Thread, is a slow-burning, twisted love story between a creator and his muse.

At times melodramatic and at times sarcastically funny, the psychological unfolding of their tumultuous relationship is absolutely fascinating to watch. Daniel Day-Lewis plays Reynolds Woodcock, a top-tier, self-absorbed, petulant dressmaker. Known for his meticulous ways of preparing for his roles, Day-Lewis is the perfect choice to play this eccentric and fastidious genius.

In the house of Woodcock, Reynolds is surrounded by an assembly of wealthy female clientele, his team of seamstress and his icy yet domineering sister, Cyril. His muses stay at his house like mannequins waiting to be perfected, until they cease to be of use to him and are rendered disposable one after another. We see this pattern repeats itself in Reynolds’ relationship with Alma (Vicky Krieps). But, Anderson takes this trope further and subverts the usual dynamics of the old genius and his young muse. The arrival of Alma instigates a transfer of matronly power. Unlike the other mannequins who quietly accept their fate, Alma feels the need to assert her place. She soon takes over Cyril’s role as the surrogate mother figure and dominatrix of the house. Though Reynolds soon falls back into his disdainful demeanor, Alma, armed with her fierceness, is determined to make this relationship work on her own terms. The repetitive game of seduction, domination and submission between Reynolds and Alma gradually evolves into a whirling mass of codependency.

Mirroring the personality of the dressmaker himself, the film is repressed and moody, saved for several outbursts. Anderson layers the film with an elegant ambience. The quietness is alluring and captivating. But, the distance, created by Woodcock’s superciliousness also makes it emotionally cold and detached. Nevertheless, it doesn’t make the film any less engaging because when Anderson sets his heart to do something, he fully commits to it from start to finish. When the tension is finally built to the inevitable revelation towards the end, the sheer intensity will send chills down your spine.

(Originally posted on 13 Feb 2018 @projectunwrapped)

The Florida Project

In the hidden shadows of Walt Disney World Florida, lies The Magic Castle — a 38 dollars a night motel. Its residents are single mothers, foul-mouthed kids, and families struggling to make ends meet. The Florida Project tells the tale of those living under the shadow of the castle’s grandiose towers, the perfect embodiment of fantasy and privilege. In this clouded corner of the world, there are those who live in a constant state of homelessness, who lead a life without the comfort of stability. Director Sean Baker balances a paradoxical atmosphere of disenchantment and magic perfectly in The Florida Project.

In Baker’s magic castle, the hardships of adult life are the fuzzy backdrop whereas the children’s imagination is as clear as day under the Florida sun. The magic in The Florida Project owes much to Baker’s refusal to victimise its subjects and his ability to be empathetic without being overly sentimental. While adults hardships provide a blank canvas, the children’s uncensored curiosity and wonderment are the vibrant splashes of paint splattered all over, providing the film with a perfect flow of vitality.

Soaked in sunlight and coated in candy colour, the film captures the ebb and flow of impoverished lives through the eyes of children. The purple hues and creamy pops of colour sing beautifully. Baker’s distinctive visual style lends the film a dreamy quality. The cinematography is so stunning you want to savor every moment of this visual richness.

Baker casts the final spell in The Florida Project with a possibly imagined ending where two children finally make it to the promised land. It’s a bittersweet ending whether you choose to believe in it or not. There are still many unanswered questions as Baker’s slice of life film comes to an end. With this finale, Baker suggests that the only way to have a happy ending, to believe in magic, is to embrace the innocent joy of a child. Yet, we can only turn to our childhood for escapism for so long, the painful reality of those living at the Magic Castle is still very much real to the adult within us.

(Originally posted on 11 Feb 2018 @projectunwrapped)

The Post

Streep. Hanks. Spielberg. Industry powerhouses join forces to deliver this topical, timely story on the freedom of press.

Journalism is a topic that never seems to tire itself in films. The concept of The Post is reminiscent of 2015’s Spotlight which touches on the personal toll of being a member of the press. However, Spielberg’s The Post focuses more on the politics and integrity of the reporting business.

Spielberg’s intention with The Post is clear, and he conveys his intention quite effectively at that. It’s made for today’s audience, addressing current crises in the global newscycle. The sense of urgency driving the production of this film is present throughout the film in a favourable way, even when it’s not spelled out completely. However, the film as a whole left something to be desired. The exposition is rather slow. The story starts to get interesting when the group of news reporters lead by the paper’s editor, Hanks’ Bradlee, are doing actual reporting work. Meanwhile, the ensemble of reporters, lawyers and business owners crams into Bradlee’s living room to debate on the future of the paper. At the centre of the conflicts is Streep’s Katharine Graham, the newspaper’s owner and publisher, who is torn by the duality of her duties. The will-she-won’t-she plot line, as Graham is deciding whether to publish the story or not, is enough build tension, thanks to the actress’ layered performance.

Spielberg and the cast set a steady course for The Post to fulfill its goals and it operates comfortably within its own conventions.

(Originally posted on 5 Feb 2018 @projectunwrapped)

The Shape of Water

Heralded as a visionary, Guillermo del Toro brings his fascination with otherworldly creatures, paired with his unceasing imagination and artistry altogether into a story that feels familiar and strange at the same time.

In frames of understated blues and greens, this idiosyncratic world is inhabited by a monster and a princess, imperiled by political threats and discrimination. The poetic bookend encapsulates a storybook-like quality in a tale that inherits and defy many classic fairytale traditions. Like water, passion comes in many forms. Del Toro’s romantic sensibilities imbue the film with an elegant stillness that crystallizes a kind of tender passion. It’s a calm undercurrent that provides soothing relief from the shackles of prejudice. Deeply in touch with our vulnerability, del Toro clearly sees a peculiar beauty in what we perceive as weakness and a delicate strength that lies within. In a world where “humans” are plagued by mistrust and brutality, it is the “monsters” who can see the beauty in creations, who can extend sympathy, who can feel love. These are the emotional realities, so powerful, that can transcend the mechanical conventions of our material surroundings, our words and our fragility.

Hidden among the magical fantasies is del Toro’s playful commentary on film as a craft and as a business. In a film filled with respectful nods to those before its time, it’s hard to imagine that the talent behind it isn’t driven by a genuine passion for cinema.

It’s a fairytale, and like most fairytales, it’s not without its problematic elements but del Toro’s craftsmanship and his love for the cinema make suspending our disbelief that much more pleasurable.

“It was fairly obvious that the cinema should be my chosen means of expression. I made myself understood in a language that bypassed words, which I lacked; music, which I have never mastered; and painting, which left me unmoved. Suddenly, I had the possibility of corresponding with the world around me in a language that is literally spoken from soul to soul, in terms that avoid control by the intellect in a manner almost voluptuous.” - Ingmar Bergman
(Originally posted on 2 Feb 2018 @projectunwrapped)

Molly’s Game

Screenwriting auteur Aaron Sorkin makes his directorial debut and opts for a safe bet with Molly’s Game.

The story structure is as familiar as any other based-on-a-true-story films. The rise and fall of a underground poker mogul, interspersed with past and present events, finished with a obligatory inspirational closing sequence. That’s not to say there’s anything wrong with that. What is truly holding back the film is the overall writing and style. The exposition-heavy voiceover are mostly just chunky explanation of what is already shown on screen. There is nothing really discernible in terms of the visual style. Sorkin delivers some of his famed, rapid-fire dialogue but the ones that really hit are few and far between. The lengthy dialogue often does a disservice in conveying the character’s motivations which makes it hard to fully engage with the story. The film is of course salvaged by controlled and steady delivery from Jessica Chastain who is as always a trustworthy performer.

It’s functional enough to entertain you for a spare afternoon but there’s not much else to say about it.

(Originally posted on 31 Jan 2018 @projectunwrapped)

I, Tonya

There are films that are good and there are films that are special. Every once in a while, you come across a film that feels personal, and a sense of protectiveness surges within you. It radiates warmth and comfort. You want to bask yourself in all of it.

After my third viewing of I, Tonya, I hesitated to write my thoughts on it, not only because of the complex nature of the film, but also because the immense joy and excitement this film inspires in me permeate me to the point where none of my words seems to be coming out right. All of a sudden my words are either too much or too little. They become inadequate, unworthy. Even the idea of judging the film based solely on technical merits seems shallow. But above all, I don’t want my words to taint the film or anyone’s experience with it. It deserves to stand on its own.

One thing I will say though is that I, Tonya feels deeply humane. We are funny, tragic, despicable, full of contradictions, chaotic, broken beyond repair. And because of our own brokenness, we hurt others because hurt is all we have left to give. We have come to accept that violence is normal because it is present in all that we have experienced. The thing is we are all too caught up in our own bullshit, the truths we create and convince ourselves and others to believe but there is just nothing easy about the truth, it’s almost always ugly. Some of us just have to deal with more of this ugliness and some less.

Anyway, these are just all the ways I cannot say how much I love this. Ultimately, you have to feel it to know it. For now, I will happily, unreservedly surrender to every single one of these wild and unruly feelings over and over again. This will stay with me for a long time. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

(Originally posted on 23 Jan 2018 @projectunwrapped)

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

While Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri poses as a radical political commentary, the disguise all but crumbles into a cluster of confusion when the film offers nothing worthwhile to say.

In continuation of Hollywood’s tradition of quickly rewarding those who do the bare minimum, Three Billboards is receiving critical acclaim for its “brave” attempt to bring many hot button issues to the surface, and it is also exactly in this attempt that the film flounders. The political commentary in the film takes on several contradictory identities and the film refuses to commit to any one of them. In the end, the only solution the film can provide for every question it raises is an abrupt ending that feels more unfinished than ambiguous. There is also nothing noble and praiseworthy about lumping every single important issue and every political stance under the sky together knowing full well that the film cannot do all these issues justice in just two hours. Ultimately, the “attempt” is tainted by an obvious lack of genuine interest in faithfully capturing the magnitude of the issues at hand.

The most troubling thing, though, is that the filmmakers expect audience to sympathise with a character so despicable simply because of his sudden change of heart without wanting to actually deal with the consequences his moral crimes. Instead, they tiptoe around the issue by appealing to our compassion but such compassion is terribly misplaced considering that it is never directed to those who had been wronged by this character. To think that forgiveness can be automatically given the moment when the offender demands it is obtuse.

Three Billboards is, perhaps ironically, a rear view mirror for Hollywood to examine their form of activism — name dropping socio-political causes without any follow-up actions. Questions, like the ones raised in Three Billboards, do not just vaporize into thin air after they are vocalized, it is only the beginning.

“This didn't put an end to shit, you fucking retard; this is just the fucking start. Why don't you put that on your Good Morning Missouri fucking wake up broadcast, bitch?”

(Originally posted on 14 Jan 2018 @projectunwrapped)

Darkest Hour

Covering the early days of World War 2 and Operation Dynamo, Director Joe Wright’s Darkest Hour, albeit not by design, works well as a companion piece to Nolan’s Dunkirk. Whereas Dunkirk thrillingly depicts the rescue operation on the battlefront, Darkest Hour shifts the focus to the political tug-of-war involving none other than Winston Churchill.

Darkest Hour deviates little from the traditional framework of similar stories but makes up for its predictability by a stellar performance from Gary Oldman as Churchill. With a script penned by The Theory of Everything screenwriter Anthony McCarten, Darkest Hour illustrates the pitfalls and triumphs of a public figure in a similar fashion by interlocking the solemn and pivotal moments in their careers and the quieter moments in their personal lives. Oldman’s transformative portrayal of Churchill is without a doubt the most noteworthy ingredient in the film. He practically disappears into Churchill’s mannerism and oratory with the complement of extensive makeup. Comedic moments amidst the intense political drama also worked to make Churchill, who is preceded by an intimidating reputation, a more endearing protagonist. The rendering of historical events into broad stroke drama in Darkest Hour is suitably well-paced and mostly historically accurate but falters in its attempt to provide any illuminating insight into the complexities of Churchill’s decisions.

Darkest Hour is a pretty by-the-book historical and political drama. Though there are few out-of-the-box innovations, the unfolding of the drama and Oldman’s performance is still able to sustain audience’s attention.

(Originally posted on 10 Jan 2018 @projectunwrapped)

Coco

It’s a classic coming-of-age story with the young protagonist learning lessons about his own identity, ambitions and family. The reversals along the way all culminate in an ending that you could probably see coming if you are familiar with Pixar’s previous works. The thematic concepts in Coco are mostly taken from the studios’ tried and true formula, but it is still a story told with substantial wit and heart. Pixar is no stranger to blending the more sophisticated themes with the more kid-friendly ones, which grants their films with an intergenerational appeal that most of their peers have yet to achieve. In Coco, the Pixar team takes the usual grievances of death and loss, and turn it into a warm and arresting celebration of life.

In many Pixar films, the strong sense of place is just as crucial as the story itself. The vitality of these locations transports us into unfathomed worlds that ignite our adventurous spirits. Befitting this tradition, Coco wears its heart on its sleeves visually and spiritually. In this telling, the land of the dead is captivating and filled with personality, painted by a palette of effervescent neon and autumnal colors. Filling up the screen in Coco are the luscious sea of bright petals and skyscrapers of vibrant lights, all connected with criss-crossing bridges and aerial trams up above. The sublime cinematography is an absolutely magnificent thing to look at.

All techniques aside, the most heartening thing about Coco is that it is a film derived lovingly from a deep sense of respect for Mexican culture, and only from this respect can a beautiful tribute like Coco flourish. Pixar’s latest will surely be joining the ranks of the studios’ many creative offerings, as a product of originality and flair that once solidified the studios’ prominence in animated storytelling.

(Originally posted on 2 Jan 2018 @projectunwrapped)