REVIEW: "The Whale" (2022)

2022 saw a resurgence of many famous stars who've been off the radar for years. Heartthrob Channing Tatum made an impressive directorial debut (with co-writer Reid Carolin) for the military road drama Dog, and made an impeccable duo alongside Sandra Bullock for the adventure comedy The Lost City. Former Goonie Ke Yun Quay fought and held his own alongside Michelle Yeoh in Everything Everywhere All At Once. Even Lindsay Lohan began popping up on Netflix in a trending holiday rom-com. But the biggest comeback story of the year undoubtedly belongs to Brendan Fraser, for his bravura performance in Darren Aronofsky's hard-hitting, psychological drama, The Whale. 

Those of us who grew up in the 1990s and early-2000s have fond memories of this beloved actor. Whether he's playing an unfrozen Neanderthal (1992's Encino Man), a Tarzan parody (1997's George of the Jungle), or a daring explorer battling undead monsters (1999's The Mummy), it's fair to say that Fraser has been a significant part of our childhoods. He even managed to hold his own in more serious roles opposite such esteemed thespians as Ian McKellan (1998's Gods and Monsters) and Michael Caine (2002's The Quiet American). At the moment, Fraser has been receiving the best accolades of his career for his role as a severely overweight, gay English teacher in the big-screen adaptation of Samuel Hunter's stage play of the same name. 

The story follows the titular Charlie, as he struggles to maintain his failing health and reconnect with his estranged teenage daughter with the time he has left. But the film is so much more layered than that simple premise; ditto the story's singular apartment setting. Using a 1.33:1 aspect ratio, The Whale (a reference to Herman Melville's classic novel, Moby Dick) is a thoroughly gripping, heartbreaking, and claustrophobic experience that chronicles Charlie's daily routine (how he walks around, how he showers, how he cooks), as well as his selfish choices and complicated relationships, including his daughter (a riveting, angst-driven Sadie Sink), his best friend and nurse (a compelling Hong Chau), his estranged wife (Samantha Morton, in an intense sequence), and a local missionary (Ty Simpkins). Fraser has described this role as the most compassionate he's ever played, and it's easy to see why. Thanks to impressive makeup effects, a moving score, powerful direction, immersive cinematography and production design, and a phenomenal, central performance, viewers are equally engrossed and distressed by Charlie's arc. 

But be forewarned. While we already knew this would be a heavy psychological drama (no pun intended), the results are far more challenging, emotional, and depressing. The film has been criticized for "fat-shaming"; to be fair, Fraser and the filmmakers partnered with the Obesity Coalition in order to accurately and honestly portray an overweight person. But the film's biggest concerns have less to do with those elements. 

For one thing, an opening sequence finds Charlie masturbating to a gay sex online video. Discussions around Charlie's sexuality, and the subplot that he left his wife and child for somebody else years ago, reoccur later on, and it's a topic that is always met with damaging consequences--emotionally, mentally, physically, and spiritually. 

There are also discussions of faith, religion, and Christianity, with characters who reject it based on their own heartbreaking experiences, and instead indulge in the flesh or their own form of recklessness. (To its credit, the film doesn't portray these characters as conventional negative stereotypes, but as genuine, complicated individuals who have specific reasons for their own worldviews, and strong examples of showing compassion towards such people.) It's fitting that one of the central key verses, which best sums up the film's plot, comes from Romans 8:12-13 in the New Testament. The passage reads, "Therefore, brothers, we have an obligation, but it is not to the flesh, to live according to it. For if you live according to the flesh, you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live. . . ." And then there's the issue of whether certain people are worthy of salvation, forgiveness, or help in general, focusing on pain more than hope.

In the end, while we feel sorry for Charlie and root for him to make better choices, we need to think twice about the effects that his choices have caused him and others, and what he's forgotten matters most--his own family. It may not be one of Fraser's fondest roles per se, but it surely is one of his most harrowing and unforgettable. 

REVIEW: "Avatar: The Way of Water" (2022)

There are three things that are certain when it comes to filmmaker James Cameron. 1) He knows how to make an effective blockbuster movie. 2) He constantly pushes technology (including 3D) forward, but never lets it get in the way of engrossing storytelling. And 3) he likes to go big. Really big. 

From Aliens (1986) to The Abyss (1989) and Titanic (1997), the visionary director has strived for thrilling cinematic experiences with deeply emotional stories that certainly deliver on those levels. On the other hand, the biggest disadvantage of his 2009 box-office juggernaut that was Avatar (which remains the highest-grossing film in history, unadjusted for inflation) was that it lacked originality. Its central story of a wounded American soldier (Sam Worthington) who experiences a distant planet called Pandora--full of indigenous blue-skinned natives and fantastical creatures--and falls for a fierce warrior (Zoe Saldana) has been seen in film and other media many times before. The result was a conventional story--with a pantheistic worldview--in an otherwise visually-groundbreaking experience that resurrected the former gimmick of 3D viewing and pushed immersive filmmaking in a new direction. 

The long-awaited follow-up, Avatar: The Way of Water, marks Cameron's first official sequel since 1991's Terminator 2: Judgment Day. In fact, Cameron has been spending the last decade building the technology needed for this film and three other planned sequels for the next six years. But the real question is if it's more original than its predecessor. The simple answer is, yes and no. 

A familiar face?

First, the No. One thing that plagues many film franchises is the use of recycled elements from the first installment (i.e., booby traps from Home Alone, over-the-top action from Die Hard, smashing metal from Transformers, and the same villain from Back to the Future and The Matrix). The Way of Water falls short by reusing the antagonistic Colonel Quarich (Stephen Lang), but this time in an artificial alien body. The concept of seeing from a different perspective is intriguing, but it's not enough to overcome the same arc (not to mention a typical revenge story) from the first Avatar. An additional subplot referring to a dying earth, and looking for new homes, is equally contrived. (Interstellar, anybody?)

As for the Yes, where The Way of Water really makes waves is in the subplot involving the children of leads Jake and Nytiri (including the scene-stealing Kiri, played by Sigourney Weaver). The same goes for the new locations and islands discovered on Pandora, specifically the oceans as well as the natives and creatures that occupy them. Cutting-edge motion capture was actually filmed underwater, and the results are spectacular and breathtaking; ditto Simon Franglen's electrifying score, a remarkable extension of the late James Horner's compositions from the first film. Themes of the relationships between parents and children--whether biological, surrogate, adopted, or mixed--are equally thought-provoking.  

Again, this is only the first of four sequels Cameron and company have been developing and producing for over the last decade. It's anyone's guess how the events of this second film will effect the course of the rest of the series. Original or not, we can certainly expect them to be effective, engrossing, and big--and then some. Hang on and look out. 

REVIEW COLLECTION: The Films of Terrence Malick, 2nd Edition

WRITER'S NOTE: The following is a collection of reviews posted on my Instagram accounts @be.kerian (in 2021) and @film_freeq (in fall 2022). They’ve been organized by their initial (theatrical) release dates, and have been slightly edited. This profile covers the career of one of our most radical and poetic filmmakers. (The 1st Edition can be read here.) 

Badlands (1973)

The debut feature film of legendary and enigmatic auteur Terrence Malick, Badlands is an intriguing but provocative take on the Charles Starkweather killing spree of the late 1950s. Four things caught my attention on first viewing: the stunning cinematography (set in Texas, impressionistic and almost folk-like), George Tipton's offbeat score, and the performances of a young Martin Sheen (emulating James Dean) and Sissy Spacek (three years before she immortalized Stephen King's Carrie) as a young couple on the run from authorities across the American landscape. The use of Spacek's engrossing voiceover narration and Billy Weber's stream-of-conscious editing juxtaposed with a shocking true story is strange and haunting, considering the complex thematic undertones of nature, humanity and adolescence involved. 

TRIVIAL FACT: Malick (known to have a very private life) makes an extremely rare appearance, as a yellow hat-wearing architect. 

Days of Heaven (1978)

Compared with Badlands, I found Malick's 1978 sophomoric follow-up to be a more challenging piece to wrap my head around. Sure, it features standout and breakthrough performances from Richard Gere and late playwright Sam Shepard (plus intriguing narration from a young Linda Manz), as well as striking cinematography by Nestor Almendros, Haskell Wexler, and John Bailey (the eponymous house was a real practical set), and a haunting score by the legendary Ennio Morricone (incorporating the "Aquarium" movement from Camille Saint-Saens' "Carnival of the Animals"). On the other hand, its unconventional narrative and impressionistic tone (with a story set against turn-of-the-century labor, a central love triangle, spiritual elements like a plague of locusts, and a tragic American idyll) requires more than one viewing, not to mention deep philosophical conversations (generally the case with Malick). I can only imagine what those conversations in the editing room were like. Days of Heaven is, perhaps, the one film from the 1970s (other than Stanley Kubrick's 1975 period drama Barry Lyndon) to use such distinct naturalism. 

The Thin Red Line (1998)

After being out of the Hollywood scene for two decades, Malick made a surprise return to the director's chair with this stirring and challenging adaptation of James Jones' 1962 novel centered on the WWII battle for Guadalcanal. Boasting an incredible ensemble cast (with standout performances from Jim Caviezel, Sean Penn, Nick Nolte, and Elias Koteas--voice over narration comes from various characters throughout the story as well), this is one of the most unique war films I've ever seen. Considering it was released the same year as Steven Spielberg's Saving Private Ryan, Malick's film is more impressionistic and philosophical by comparison, with themes of life, death, violence and war, nature, and eternity; not to mention stunning, poetic imagery (with support from Hans Zimmer's haunting and ethereal score).

TRIVIAL FACT: Several A-list actors and up-and-coming stars auditioned for the film and even initially had supporting roles (from Martin Sheen to Billy Bob Thorton, Lukas Haas, and Mickey Rourke), but their respective scenes were left on the cutting room floor. Only a few of these scenes can be found on the Criterion bluray and DVD editions. 

The New World (2005)

Malick's singular take on the Virginia Company's voyage to America and their settlement in Jamestown in the early-1600s may be one of the acclaimed director's most overlooked films. Centered primarily on the relationship between Captain John Smith (a superbly-restrained Colin Farrell) and Powatan tribe daughter Pocahontas (a revelatory debut from Q'orianka Kilcher), as well as the latter's subsequent journey to England, the film is thoroughly meditative in its ever-changing period setting, with themes of love, war, nature, spirituality, and colonization. It slows down in its second act (especially in the extended cut), while the apparent and significant age difference in the central romance will be off-putting for more discerning viewers. Those elements notwithstanding, the experience is uncompromising, complete with a stellar supporting cast (Christopher Plummer, Christian Bale, August Schellenberg, Wes Studi), Emmanuel Lubezki's stunning cinematography, and Jack Fisk's genuine production design.

TRIVIAL FACT #1: For the Criterion edition, three versions of this film exist: an extended cut (170 min, with specific chapter titles), the first cut (150 min.), and the theatrical cut (135 min.). If I had to go with one version--and since I've recently been invested in "director's cuts" and artistic integrity vs. studio interference--it would pick the second option.

TRIVIAL FACT #2: This is the first of Malick's films to include opening credits since 1978's Days of Heaven, complete with background illustrations. 

The Tree of Life (2011)

Terrence Malick has made some very unconventional films in his fifty-plus years as a writer-director. But perhaps no project in his filmography is more ambitious or challenging as his 2011 Palme D'Or-winning drama The Tree of Life. Juxtaposing the creation of the universe (a visually stunning sequence, to be sure) and a family in 1950s Texas, the centerpiece of The Tree of Life poetically and provocatively embodies nature and grace, love and hate, innocence and rebellion, physical life and the afterlife. The experience may be experimental--and will easily try the patience of more traditional viewers--but it's also thoroughly meditative, sensory, and personal/subjective. The use of practical, groundbreaking special effects in the aforementioned sequence (with consultation from effects veteran Douglas Trumbell), along with Emmanuel Lubezki's captivating cinematography and Jessica Chastain's breakout performance as the family matriarch, have helped make this one of the most acclaimed (and divisive) films of the 21st Century.

TRIVIAL FACT #1: Like The New World, the Criterion edition of The Tree of Life contains both the theatrical cut and an extended version (featuring fifty minutes of new footage), as well as an intriguing supplemental feature where music critic Alex Ross discusses Malick's unconventional use of classical music in his films.

TRIVIAL FACT #2: If there are at least two images from this film that stand out, they include Chastain gently catching a butterfly and Pitt holding out his baby boy's feet. 

To the Wonder (2012) 

The first in a trilogy of experimental, stream-of-consciousness features, written and directed by Terrence Malick, To the Wonder also marked a turning point in the filmmaker's career. (His films were previously released many years apart.) Released one year after the Palme d'Or-winning The Tree of Life, this unscripted romantic drama is a sensual, meditative, and poetic film about love, marriage, betrayal, heartbreak, and faith or the lack of it. 

At its center is a romance between American actor Ben Affleck and Ukrainian actress Olga Kurylenko (in a spellbinding performance), and briefly with Canadian actress Rachel McAdams. And while there's no plot per se, themes of living in a different part of the world and the pain of being away from home are clear and bold. The same goes for subplots involving land development, housing, and gentrification. The film even benefits from being a multicultural experience, especially without the technical use of subtitles. (Spanish actor Javier Bardem plays a priest.) 

In those respects, there's a lot to admire about To the Wonder, in spite of its abstract nature. The film has beautiful scenery courtesy cinematographer Emmanuel Lubeski (with farming scenes that recall Days of Heaven), as well as profound Biblical references ("All things work together for good"). But the way it alternates between earthly love and divine love is complicated and problematic. There's a lengthy (and titillating) scene of sexuality/nudity, elements of cohabitation, and secret lives of characters that have damaging effects. Halfway through, the film seems to meander more often, while the main characters (Affleck, in particular, becomes uninteresting) are apparently at a crossroads, resulting in a challenging experience that isn't for everybody. 

TRIVIAL FACT: This was the last film to receive a published (and rave) review by critic Roger Ebert, two days after his death in 2013. 

Knight of Cups (2015) 

The second of three pictures filmed simultaneously (and without a shooting script) by Malick and company in the early-2010s, Knight of Cups stars Christian Bale as a Hollywood screenwriter who indulges in worldly pleasures, including relationships with different women. Essentially a sporadic and episodic experience about the wayward son wandering in the wilderness (as well as John Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress), there's a lot of spiritual and visual poetry about the relationships between fathers and sons, as well as worldly love vs. familial or eternal love. It also makes intriguing use of Wojciech Kilar's "Exodus" throughout the soundtrack. But since the film also frequently revels in graphic sexual content (a few scenes take place in a strip club, while one of Bale's romances includes a married woman), the experience is also maddening and morally damaging. The theme of gaining the whole world yet forfeiting your soul is an important one. We just don't need to see it so excessively or carelessly. 

Voyage of Time: An IMAX Documentary (2016) 

Released exclusively in IMAX theaters in 2016 (and narrated by Brad Pitt), this 46-minute documentary was a four-decade journey for writer-director Terrence Malick. Assembling a top-notch crew of special effects artists and cinematographers to depict the scientific history of the universe and the planet Earth, the poetic and operatic Voyage of Time feels like an extension of 2011's The Tree of Life. Nevertheless, it's a singular, stunning, and uncompromising vision. 

TRIVIAL FACT: A 90-minute feature-length version (narrated by Cate Blanchett and titled, Voyage of Time: Life's Journey) also exists, but is only available on Region B disc's in Europe. (The IMAX edition can be viewed on the streaming platform MUBI.) I wouldn't be surprised if the Criterion Collection decided to release both versions somewhere down the road (which they should). 

Song to Song (2017) 

Malick's third consecutive and experimental film (released within a five-year span, alongside To the Wonder and Knight of Cups) turns its attention to the music scene in Austin, Texas, as several different couples (including musicians) navigate obsession, seduction, and betrayal. Filmed on location and featuring a stellar group of actors like Ryan Gosling, Rooney Mara, Michael Fassbender, and Natalie Portman, Song to Song focuses on challenging themes of sex, wealth, fame, hypocrisy, and misguided pursuits of love, success, and freedom. In a nutshell, this existential film seems to be about characters who give themselves away--or, free-fall--while going back and forth from one relationship to the next, like an eclectic playlist of contemporary and classical tracks, and manipulating and damaging their identities in the process. As one character describes, "Maybe what stirs your blood is having wild people around you." 

Just as he did with Knight of Cups, Malick incorporates deeply biblical elements, such as mercy and forgiveness, as various characters wrestle with guilt, regret, complicated family relationships, and forgetting or remembering who they are. At the same time, the film has deeply problematic sexual content, with characters living hedonistic, unfiltered lifestyles and even engaging in same-sex erotica--a primary reason I can't endorse this film. Ultimately, Song to Song rises above the surface, but it spends way too much time in the deep end before it really comes up. 

TRIVIAL FACT: Malick made a very rare public appearance, alongside Fassbender and filmmaker Richard Linklater, at a post-screening discussion when the film premiered at the South By Southwest Film Festival in Texas in 2017. 

A Hidden Life (2019) 

After making a trilogy of back-to-back experimental dramas, Terrence Malick returned to a more narrative form with this quiet, remarkable, and unsung true story of Austrian officer Franz Jägerstätter, who refused to fight for the Nazis in World War II, and at the risk of his own life and family. A Hidden Life is a slow-moving-yet-profound story of resilience, integrity, deep faith, and love and devotion, in an ever-changing and oppressive world. Drawing from Jägerstätter's original letters to his wife, Fani, and their three children, this beautifully-shot film--clocking in at 174 minutes--is also longer than it needs to be (I almost walked out of a screening I attended when it was first released in 2019); ditto some distracting camera lenses. Even so, this may be the best film of its kind since Carl Theodor Dreyer's The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928). 

REVIEW: "Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio" (2022)

Everyone should be familiar with the story and character of Pinocchio. Like Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes and Edgar Rice Burroughs' Tarzan, Carlo Collodi's classic tale of the wooden puppet brought to life has been adapted and interpreted many times, with the most famous example being Walt Disney's hand-drawn animated version from 1940. Earlier this fall, a live-action/animated take (courtesy director Robert Zemeckis) was released on the streaming platform Disney+. But while that film was heavily criticized for being shallow and carbon copy, the stop-motion musical version from Guillermo del Toro is a genuine work of art--and a real labor of love. 

A co-production of Netflix and the Jim Henson Company, shot over a period of 1,000-plus days, Pinocchio has been a life-long passion project for the visionary filmmaker. It's easy to see why. Set in 1930s Italy during the reign of Mussolini, del Toro's take (co-directed by Mark Gustafson, and written by del Toro, Patrick McHale, Gris Grimly, and Matthew Robbins) is an emotionally-invested story of fathers and sons, filled with love, loss, and life. Furthermore, it subverts story conventions by emphasizing not only what it means to be human, but also how challenging it is. For one thing, this take on Geppeto has darker layers, as he succumbs to alcoholism and creates the titular wooden boy, not out of hope but rather deep-seated grief, after the tragic loss of his boy. 

With that in mind, although this film is rated PG and boasts painstaking-but-amazing animation and craft that rivals the best live-action pictures (it's worth seeing on the big screen, if you can), not to mention a roster of A-list voice talent (Cate Blanchett voices a circus monkey, while Ewan McGregor steals the show as the clever and wise Sebastian J. Cricket), it's not really for children. Themes of death, eternity, and immortality are much deeper than you may expect. The images of Christ on the Cross (and discussions around them) are powerful, but there's also a suggestion that there's nothing more after life on earth. Too much for younger kids to handle, and something for parents and adults to be aware of. Even so, this timeless and challenging story of innocence to experience does have its heart in the right place. Easily one of del Toro's greatest films, and easily in my top 5 for 2022. And that's no lie.