UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE

Directing: B
Acting: B
Writing: B-
Cinematography: B+
Editing: B+

An odd and unusual thing occurred when I went to SIFF Film Forum to see Universal Language tonight. When I arrived, about 15 minutes before showtime, there was a surprisingly large group of people already waiting—I would guess at least 30—outside the theater, which was not yet open. I, like probably many others, assumed maybe they did not open until shortly before the one showtime they had tonight, and waited patiently, even though we could see two or three people skulking around the dimly lit lobby through the glass walls. The minutes passed, and the crowd grew larger. Who knew this many people were eager to see this obscure Canadian-Iranian film, six days into its run at SIFF’s smallest theater?

Shortly after 7:00, the listed showtime, a young woman finally opened the door to announce they were still waiting for someone to arrive who could run the projector. She thanked us for our patience, said they hoped to let us in within five or ten minutes, and declared she also had a ticket and was excited to see this movie. Within minutes after that, finally, we were all let inside, and filtered into the theater as quickly as possible. There were no concessions for sale, but this crowd didn’t seem to care. The house was nearly sold out (in a theater capacity of 90), and within moments of the film starting, the audience was eating up this film—generously laughing at the most subtle of humor, a crowd typical of SIFF Cinema, eager to bridge gaps across cultures through cinema. Just like the characters in this movie.

What is my take, then? Honestly, I’m relatively ambivalent—I found Universal Language’s self-consciously absurdist charms to be effective, but often had no idea what the hell was really going on. I still can’t decide if that even matters. I’m not as eager as the rest of that crowd clearly was wholeheartedly to embrace this film regardless of how much sense it made, and yet, I found it a fun experience, in a rather bemusing way. I was impressed by how successfully it conveyed an often surrealist sensibility, without the use of camera tricks or special effects. This movie was clearly made on a shoestring budget, and still it looks great, thanks in large part to cinematographer Isabelle Stachtchenko.

Much of Universal Language went over my head, but I got this much: it straddles the line between absurdism and realism, and its odd sensibility and tone belie great narrative depths. There is a peculiar fusion of both culture and language, between Tehran, Iran and Winnipeg, Manitoba (in spite of a running joke with multiple characters mistaking it for a city in Alberta). Director and co-writer Matthew Rankin is himself a native Winnipegger, who plays a character in the film named Matthew, a government employee in Montreal who sheds his identity and hops on a bus to Winnipeg. On this bus he is joined by the “French immersion class” teacher (Mani Soleymanlou) who is never seen again after the bus breaks down outside Winnipeg, one of the narrative threads that kind of threw me for a loop—especially given that the film opens on that class.

But, there are two other interwoven storylines, and one of them involves a couple of girls from that class, who discover money frozen in ice and then go on a quest through the city to find the tools to chip it out of there. In this location, I was under the impression that we were all still in Montreal, but their quest later has them in Winnipeg, as though the two cities are easily traversed back and forth—even though it is specifically noted on the aforementioned bus that they have to ride all the way through Ontario between the two. But, maybe I missed something. I may have missed several things.

Finally, we meet Massoud (Pirouz Nemati), employee of the “Winnipeg Earmuff Authority” who freelances as a tour guide through amusingly absurd and innocuous “points of interest” in Winnipeg. This includes a briefcase abandoned on a park bench in 1978, and a stop at the memorial site for 19th-century Manitoban resistance fighter Louis Riel, where the tour group is asked to observe “thirty minutes of silence” in his honor. Eventually we learn that Matthew has returned to Winnipeg to reconnect with his ailing mother with whom he long ago lost touch, and who in her failing memory of old age has long been mistaking Massoud for her son, after a few years of him shoveling show for her. Ultimately this provides opportunity for connection through shared elements of identity, although for me this metaphor lacked clarity.

Still, between Matthew, Massoud, the girls, and even a couple of other students from the French immersion class, in the final act these seemingly disparate storylines connect in startlingly satisfying ways, puzzle pieces that suddenly fit together almost as if by accident. All the while, we are taken through a fictional version of Winnipeg where it has such a large population of Iranian immigrants that every sign is written in Persian, right down to those on a version of Tim Horton’s that is a teahouse that also sells doughnuts. Indeed, the vast majority of the dialogue in Universal Language is Persian, with merely a sprinkling of lines in French.

This blend of East and West is very much borne of the collaborators on this film, with Matthew Rankin co-writing the script with Iranian-Canadian friends Ila Firouzabadi and Pirouz Nemati (Nemati being, again, who plays Massoud, and Firouzabadi appears in a cameo as the bus driver, who argues with an old lady passenger who complains about having to sit next to a live turkey—who, the driver points out, had its own paid ticket).

Universal Language has a clear love of Persian culture, at the same time it has some fun with the notion of Winnipeg as a dull city with nothing worth attracting tourists (something I am certain is not true). It has a “Grey District” and a “Beige District.” Ironically, it is shot beautifully, with stark, almost Brutalist simplicity, often framing characters against a backdrop of grey concrete and white snow. I don’t know what it is about Winnipeg that apparently inspires wildly absurdist films; I couldn’t help but also think of the 2003 film The Saddest Music in the World, set in a Depression-era Winnipeg in which Isabella Rossellini gets two glass prosthetic legs filled with beer. The director of that film, Guy Maddin, also a native of Winnipeg, later directed the very strange 2007 film, a sort of local history through a dreamlike lens, My Winnipeg. Rankin seems very much to be following in Maddin’s footsteps, just with a much more multicultural bent.

If there is anything Universal Language decidedly is not, it’s American—it’s very Persian and very Canadian, with no American sensibility whatsoever. These days, that comes as a relief: a celebration of diversity through quietly fantastical cultural fusion. I didn’t always know what to make of Universal Language, but I enjoyed the journey through its tightly structured if untethered narrative.

Matthew Rankin and Pirouz Nemati embrace their differences.

Overall: B

PADDINGTON IN PERU

Directing: B
Acting: B
Writing: B-
Cinematography: B
Editing: B
Special Effects: A-

With two preceding films that have long been beloved and arguably became instant classics in their time, Paddington in Peru has a lot to live up to. I’ll get right to the point there: it doesn’t quite make it.

Paddington in Peru is fine. But, you want these movies to be better than fine. I suppose I should confess I really missed the boat—two boats, actually—with both Paddington and Paddington 2. Having been released in 2014 and 2017, respectively, I had already been reviewing movies for years by the time they came out, but I did not see either of them in theaters, I guess because I thought they looked too corny and cutesy. Little did I know! I finally watched them both in 2018 and was utterly—and predictably—charmed by them, although I seem to be in the minority position that the first is actually the better of the two. I have now seen them both three times, the third time in anticipation of Paddington in Peru—this practice often being a mistake. Indeed, I don’t recommend it. If it’s been a while since you saw either of the previous two films, do not rewatch them shortly before seeing this new one. You might actually enjoy it more.

And don’t get me wrong, I still enjoyed Paddington in Peru, in a whimsically nostalgic way that director Dougal Wilson clearly intended. This is Wilson’s debut feature film, after a long career directing music videos and film shorts, and the absence of Paul King, who directed the previous two films, is keenly felt. Granted, King went on to direct Wonka, which was definitively worse than this movie, so I’m not sure where that leaves us. In Wilson’s hands, while changing the setting away from London to Paddington’s country of origin is quite compelling, much of the film just feels like a franchise running out of steam.

This time out, we get new characters played by both Antonio Banderas and Olivia Colman, both apparently jumping at the chance to be in a Paddington movie in spite of their characters being undercooked. Banderas makes the best of a character haunted by generations of ancestors looking for treasure in Peru, a boat captain named Huner Cabot, but as written, he never fully clicks into the story. Colman certainly fares better as the “Reverend Mother” who turns out to be a villain a step slightly back in the direction of Nicole Kidman from the first film. This is not really a spoiler, as Colman only stops short of literally winking at the camera, in a way that’s one of the most endearing elements of the film. She lets the word “suspicious” slip out in amusingly suspicious ways.

The entire Brown family is also back, cast with mostly the same actors, which is comforting—once again we get Hugh Bonneville as Henry; and Madeleine Harris and Samuel Joslin as the kids, Judy and Jonathan, now seven years older than they were in Paddington 2. Julie Walters also returns as Mrs. Bird, but for reasons apparently unknown, Emily Mortimer replaces Salley Hawkins as May Brown. It’s an okay replacement, I guess, as I didn’t even realize the actor had been replaced until I looked at IMDb. In any case, it’s nice to see the whole family again, but as they all take a family trip to Peru with Paddington to help him find his Aunt Lucy who has gone missing from the Home for Retired Bears, they seldom serve any purpose besides fitting into slots of obligation.

In the early scenes, when Paddington gets photos taken for his passport now that he’s become a British citizen, it’s easy to be charmed. When the Browns travel to Peru, the momentum peters out a bit, the deceptively hilarious whimsey of the previous films largely absent. Boat captain Hunter Cabot shows up with his concerned daughter Gina (Carla Tous), and the vibe is a bit incongruous. Olivia Colman’s Reverend Mother isn’t a perfect character either, but Colman is clearly having such a great time, I couldn’t help but have fun watching her.

Of course things do come full circle in a way with Paddington in Peru, the third film set in the country he came from, and the action picks up in the last act in a fairly satisfying way. The story closes in a way that really tugs on our nostalgia strings, and I was not immune to it. In spite of the story sagging a bit prior to that, I got a little teary eyed. This movie works as a coda of sorts to the Paddington franchise, even if it’s undeniably inferior to what came before it—an all-too common turn in the third part of a film series.

I will say this: Paddington in Peru looks spectacular. The visual effects are top notch, especially in the Peru sequences, where the detail in the rendering of Paddington bear is incredible. I won’t say it makes up for a relatively mediocre plot, but this movie is visually dazzling, and that’s still something. And of course, Paddington himself—especially as voiced by the delightful Ben Wishaw—is as lovable as ever. This one may not be an instant classic, but it still invites us back into a world we know and love, still a warm and cozy place to visit.

Not as great as we wanted, but we can make the most of it: maybe use Paddington’s approach to all things when watching this movie.

LOVE HURTS

Directing: C-
Acting: C-
Writing: F
Cinematography: C+
Editing: C+

Ke Huy Quan deserves a successful, fun, smart action movie that proves he’s bankable beyond the stunning alignment of stars that was Everything Everywhere All at Once. We’re now three years beyond that film, and Quan has been cast in the starring role of the action comedy Love Hurts, which is . . . not that movie.

It’s difficult to express precisely how bad this movie is. To be fair, there was some talent that went into it—Quan himself is in it, after all, and he’s the one person in it giving a passable performance. But oh my god, the script! Something truly unexpected comes to mind: the old Christian quote about how Jesus answered when asked how much he loves us: “This much, he answered: then he stretched out his arms and died.” Time to flip the script, so to speak: that’s how much I hated the writing in this movie. I should really be admitted into a hospital.

Love Hurts was written by a team of three writers, whom I will do the courtesy of not naming here. The possibility that any of them might be proud of this work makes me despair for humanity. I could have written a better script in a single evening with one hand tied behind my back. While on a triple dose of Ambien.

It’s almost worse that the premise could have actually worked. Marvin Gable (Quan) is a real estate agent who has reinvented himself after a life of crime working with his brother, Alvin (Daniel Wu), who has sent several of his goons after Marv after hearing that Rose (Ariana DeBose), who was supposed to have been killed for stealing from Alvin, is actually alive and has returned. Hardly original, true—but it doesn’t have to be. All that’s needed is some chemistry, charisma, and wit, and you have the makings of passable entertainment. But Quan has no chemistry with DeBose; all of the supporting actors have zero charisma; and the story is completely witless. I suppose I should be fair. I did laugh a couple of times when it was unintentionally funny.

Did I mention that Alvin’s nickname is “Knuckles”? Or that Sean Astin shows up, quite randomly, as Marv’s boss with a cowboy hat and an exaggerated Southern accent?

Everything that happens in Love Hurts is unbearably rote and obvious. Every character exists as nothing more than an exposition factory. Given the streamer’s executive notes to creators that characters should repeatedly say aloud what they are doing, this should have been released on Netflix. I’d say that why anyone would waste their time seeing this movie in the theater escapes me, except that’s precisely what I just did. There were four other people in the theater. All those empty seats were the sensible choice. The rest of us need a wellness check.

I knew this movie was headed nowhere good as soon as it began, with excessive voiceover narration, declaring Valentine’s Day a day full of delightful surprises. Marv gets on the phone with depressive his assistant, Ashley (Lio Tipton), who is getting ready for the office Valentine’s Day party. What office ever throws a party for Valentine’s Day?

Three of Knuckles’s henchmen get what pass for subplots in this movie. One, “The Raven,” becomes a love interest for Ashley when she discovers his book of poetry. Then there are Otis and King, played by André Eriksen and Marshawn Lynch respectively, who spend a lot of time shooting guns at people but not hitting their targets, with one exception that is played for one of the many laughs that fall flat. I don’t fault anyone for being a fan of Marshawn Lynch, he seems like a delightful enough guy, but that does not make him a good actor. His relatively unnatural line readings could perhaps be forgiven if not for nearly every other performance being phoned in. Seahawks fans might get a minor kick out of hearing Lynch literally say “Beast mode!” when he tackles someone during a fight, but to me it felt like an Easter egg in the wrong basket. Anyway, King keeps giving Otis advice on how to mend his relationship with his wife and, you don’t care, do you? God knows I didn’t.

If Love Hurts has any redeeming quality, it’s the fight choreography—this is the only time the movie stops being oppressively stupid and becomes genuinely fun. But these moments are fleeting, largely because we don’t get nearly enough of them. While they are happening, the fight choreography flits between clever and corny, but appears to have been done practically, if sometimes obscured by frenetic cinematography. But it’s as though these martial arts exist in a different movie. If only they did.

Ke Huy Quan, to his credit, is the best thing in this movie, which isn’t saying much for a film that so brazenly sets the bar low. The bar is in the basement. It’s in the Earth’s core. But Quan is game and appears to be having fun. Still, I have to wonder about his judgment. The fact that all of these actors read this script and thought it was worth shooting makes me wonder about their reading comprehension.

Maybe this was a test, for all of us. Where is the reward? I sat through an 83-minute movie that felt like an eternity and all I got was this ridiculous review.

Yes, that is correct. This movie misses the mark.

Overall: D+

I'M STILL HERE

Directing: A
Acting: A
Writing: A-
Cinematography: B
Editing: A-

The more I think about I’m Still Here, the more impressed I become with it—and not just because Fernanda Torres, as the central character, Eunice Paiva, is easily the best thing about it. That’s the most obvious thing to be impressed by, actually. I found myself saying, a bit prematurely, that this movie was good but didn’t blow me away. But “blowing me away” is not what director Walter Salles is going for. He’s going for something far more subtle, something that succeeds in impressing those who pay attention to detail.

This is based on the true story of a wife and mother, and her five children, and their resilience in the face of a brutal dictatorship—specifically the military dictatorship in Brazil between the 1960s and the 1980s. And the word “brutal” is not used lightly here. It’s easily to imagine graphic violence when thinking of such things, but one of the many takeaways from I’m Still Here is that there are many forms of brutality. Some of them hide in plain sight, while society goes on as though everything is normal. Families still go to the beach, barely noticing military trucks driving by.

There’s a memorable quality to the editing in this film, as Salles initially immerses us in the Paiva family’s daily life, showing us a casually comfortable, happy marriage, and five kids clearly being given a great childhood. All of this changes in a matter of hours, when unfamiliar men show up at their door, and declare that “Congressman” Rubens Paiva (Selton Mello) must be taken in for questioning. Rubens has not been a Congressman for several years, and has even recently returned from exile after being ousted from his position, but the reference is pointed.

This is the last time anyone in that family sees Rubens, and I’m Still Here is the story of how the family left behind coped with this injustice. This includes both Eunice and one of her older daughters shortly thereafter being detained as well, questioned, pressured to identify other people in a binder of mugshots. Eunice is held for 12 days, the entire time having no idea what they’ve done with her daughter—who is sent home after only a day, but Eunice doesn’t know that. Meanwhile, she can overhear the torture of other detainees in other rooms.

There is a key moment in the sequence of scenes at the place Eunice has been taken, a young man, a guard, who escorts her from her cell to questioning and back. Just before her release, the young man says to her, “I want you to know, I don’t approve.” And that means what, exactly? This young man represents something far too few people think about: that terrible regimes thrive on the willing cooperation of people who “don’t approve.”

This whole experience, as well as years of experience thereafter, changes Eunice. She does everything she can to get the government to admit her husband was arrested, and accepts him as dead within a couple of years. She becomes a lawyer and an advocate. And most critically, she still insists on raising a happy family. When a local reporter comes to get a family photo and says the publisher asked for them to look more serious, Eunice refuses. All the kids giggle, she encourages it, and insists that they all smile for the photo. Eunice is an inspiring woman for many reasons, not least of which is her refusal to let anyone steal her joy—even as she still works tirelessly for justice.

I’m Still Here makes two unusually large time-jumps, first 25 years from 1971 to 1996; then another 18 years to 2014. Both of them function as epilogues of a sort, first when Eunice finally gets some closure, if not quite justice—the regime change is to her advantage, although it’s also noted how even when regimes change, the perpetrators of the worst crimes are far too often never held to account. The final sequence, in which little occurs beyond a portrait of how the extended family has grown to that point, Eunice is played not by Fernanda Torres, but by Torres’s real-life mother, Fernanda Montenegro—an accomplished actress in her own right, and who starred in Walter Salles’s previous film from 1998, Central Station.

With I’m Still Here, Salles has created something so straightforward that it doesn’t seem all that profound while watching it. But there is something ingenious about its construction, a subversive thread that is a indicator of the sinister nature of dictatorship, especially when daily life seems basically unchanged for anyone besides those directly affected. This is a film that could not possibly be more timely.

Don’t let the bastards get you down.

COMPANION

Directing: B
Acting: B
Writing: B
Cinematography: B
Editing: B

Companion is nothing if not consistent. Everything about it comes together at the same frequency, which I suppose might be best characterized as adequate fun. It’s better than average, but I’d hardly call it exceptional. It’s a science fiction thriller with nothing original to say but with a satisfying economy of storytelling. Writer-director Drew Hancock can be credited with at least that much.

If you want to keep your film budget capped at $10 million, just set the story in a secluded mansion in the woods, limiting the primary characters to five. There’s a few interactions with extraneous minor characters, but in this entire film, we only ever see ten people onscreen. A good majority of the 97-minute runtime is focused on the five people staying for the weekend in the house: the rich Russian who owns the place, Sergey (Rupert Friend, really laying on the Russian accent thick); his young trophy wife, Kat (Megan Sure); and the two couples visiting: Josh and Iris (Jack Quaid and Sophie Thatcher), and Eli and Patrick (Harvey Guillén and Lukas Gage). Side note: Guillén and Gage are both gay, and both have been cast in multiple roles as gay characters, which is a nice bit of consistent representation.

As for the story in Companion, here lies a dilemma. This is the kind of movie that is very difficult to market in a way that both gets people to buy tickets and avoids revealing too much. Ditto writing a review about it. I go to the movies multiple times a week, which means I sat through the initial cut of Companion’s trailer, with its caginess and vague hints at what’s going on in the story, countless times—never feeling especially compelled to go see it. Then a second cut of the trailer was released, and suddenly I thought: oh, I do want to see that. And yet, the details revealed in the new trailer certainly robbed me of some of the joy I’d have gotten had I come into it knowing far less.

It does make me wonder if I’d have been more immediately impressed with Companion had I known less about it going in. This film is written and cut in such a way that, for the first quarter or so of its runtime, all you know is this small group of people has come to spend a weekend together—and, for some reason, Josh’s friends all regard Iris with an odd reticence and borderline suspicion. Something’s up, but we’re not meant to know what, until the inevitable turn that reveals what’s really going on—and then the story can unfold from there.

The script is arguably fairly predictable either way, but it is especially so when you go in knowing what the basic premise is. I’m not certain I would have thought this movie was better had I not known, but I almost certainly would have had more fun. And I did find this movie pretty fun regardless.

With all that in mind, I am taking great pains not to reveal much about this movie at all, even though there’s a lot more I could say about it if I did. I will say that the casting is interesting, for different reasons all around, but especially Sophie Thatcher, an undeniably beautiful young woman with minor physical imperfections that get underscored by the nature of the character she’s playing. Also, Companion has a moment or two of suspense but is never particularly scary, but has a couple moments of graphic violence. And the sparing use of such moments does increase their inpact.

So here’s what it all comes down to: Companion is a fun diversion, if not one you absolutely need to see in theaters. I would recommend watching it on whatever streamer it later winds up on, though (it’s a Warner Bros. Pictures film, so, probably on Max). Just make a note of this title, don’t learn anything more about the story, and watch it blind when you get the chance. You’ll have a good time.

It’s unexceptional but fun!

Overall: B

THE SEED OF THE SACRED FIG

Directing: A-
Acting: A-
Writing: A-
Cinematography: A
Editing: A-

It has been widely reported that The Seed of the Sacred Fig was made in secret, and that is the first thing we see in the film, white text on a black background: This film was made in secret. There is a second line on that title card, though, something that will stick with me for a while: When there is no way, a way must be made.

A way was certainly made by writer-director Mohammad Rasoulof, who made this film in Tehran, shortly before he was sentenced to eight years in prison, flogging, a fine, and confiscation of his property. He had already faced legal troubles from the Iranian regime for previous films, dating back to 2010. He has since fled the country, a painstaking journey that took 28 days but allowed him to be present at the Cannes Film Festival in May 2024. As far as I can gather from extremely limited information online, Rasoulof’s wife (Rozita Hendijanian) and child are still in Iran.

People love to use the word “brave” to describe all manner of involvement in art, and particularly in film. Anyone be hard pressed to outmatch Rasoulof when it comes not just to his dedication to art and craft, but the use of art to speak truth to power—something we rarely see employed to the same degree in America, though we may see more of it here soon. It’s unlikely Rasoulof used The Seed of the Sacred Fig as any kind of allegory for where the U.S. is headed, but it’s difficult not to make the comparisons as American audiences. This kind of fascism is very much the direction in which we are headed, which is also stepping in the direction of theocracy.

Iran, of course, is already there, and Rasoulof pulls of an astonishing accomplishment with The Seed of the Sacred Fig. Just knowing the entire film was made in secret puts everything we see onscreen in a different light, as none of it looks like a film made with any such constraints. This includes several scenes of characters driving through Tehran streets, and I kept wondering how he could have mounted cameras on the vehicles without looking conspicuous.

There are so many things I love about this film, I’m not even sure where to begin. Perhaps with the title itself, which, after the initial title card, the film offers a brief explanation: the “sacred fig” is a species that wraps itself around another tree and gradually strangles it to death, until it can stand on its own. This is a symbol of the story to follow, which centers around a family of four: regime-loyal parents Iman and Najmeh (Missagh Zareh and Soheila Golestani, respectively) and their much more progressive and idealistic teenage daughters, Rezvan and Sana (Mahsa Rostami and Setareh Maleki, respectively).

This film is unusually long, at two hours and 47 minutes, but a lot goes down, it is never slow, and almost none of it feels like wasted time. The run time allows for an illustration of how ideologies can gradually either strengthen or unravel, depending on the person and the circumstance. Iman has been working as a government “investigator,” then given a promotion, in a new job where he is asked to approve sentencing with no time to actually review the cases. He starts with some level of indignity but ultimately an inability to shed his dedication to this government; Najmeh can only tell him it’s his job so it’s what he has to do. They spend a lot of time giving what appear to outsiders to be clear oppressors the benefit of the doubt. Rezvan and Sana respond to increasingly violent government crackdowns on student protests with the healthy skepticism of their youth.

It’s when Rezvan’s friend from school gets mixed up in a violent clash with police at a school demonstration, and she is brought to this family’s home to dress her wounds, that things get thorny. Najmeh does this only begrudgingly, having already spent a great deal of time admonishing her daughters to be extremely careful about their associations and their public behavior as a reflection of their father in his new position. This friend, Sadaf (Niousha Akhshi), maintains her innocence, that she just happens to have been outside her dorm when the police attacked, and so Rezvan maintains the same, to the last. Rasoulof never makes explicitly clear whether Sadaf and Resvan really are “innocent,” perhaps because it doesn’t matter.

The Seed of the Sacred Fig is set during the 2022 protests in Iran, and Rasoulof’s editor, Andrew Bird, who did his work after the footage was smuggled out of Iran to Hamburg, pointedly cuts in real footage of some very distressing violence in the government crackdown. Much of it just feels chaotic and without direction; several show some pretty shocking images. The characters in the film are divided in a way presumably many families in Iran were: parents taking television news at their word; younger people watching clips online posted by protesters.

The plot takes a very specific turn, quite a while into the film, when Iman’s gun goes missing. This is a pistol lent to him by a colleague as self-defense against oppositional forces already known to find and publish the home addresses of judges and associates hauntingly down clearly unjust convictions and sentences. The disappearance of this gun sows distrust between all four members of this family, and serves as a kind of central mystery to the story: what happened to this gun? Which one of them took it? For some time, I was convinced Iman, over-stressed by his job, just left it somewhere he forgot. Of course, things get much more complicated than that.

All of this political unrest serves as the backdrop for this conflict, which becomes the—pardon the pun—trigger point for what might finally, truly tear them apart. Iman can’t imagine any of the three of them taking his gun from him, but is effectively forced to regard all three of them as suspects in the matter. And when the inevitable happens and they have to flee their home due to their address getting shared online, conflicts come to a head between the four of them in a secluded house far outside the city.

This was the one stretch of The Seed of the Sacred Fig where I disengaged slightly, as the narrative shifts to something closer to a conventional thriller than the dense story and plotting that led up to it. In the end, the conflict shifts to the patriarch against all the women, which also feels (rightfully) pointed. I do love that Rasoulof has made a film where all of empathies, and nearly all of its depicted perspectives, lie with the three women central to the story.

Then, the “climactic” sequence involves an extended foot chase through some desert ruins, which went on long enough for me so start wondering what exactly we’re doing here. This was the only point in the film where I felt some cutting for time would have been fine, even as I can acknowledge that Rasoulof might very well have had specific intention with how he dwells on wife and mother, daughters and sisters all running in panicked, labyrinthine circles around the man trying to dictate their lives. I felt slightly ambivalent about the very end, but not enough to move how deeply impressed I am by this film overall.

We should all be spending more time hearing the voices of women like these.

Overall: A-

DOG MAN

Directing: B
Acting: B
Writing: B
Cinematography: B
Editing: B-
Animation: B

Dog Man is a cute, sweet, sporadically very funny movie, based on a series of graphic novels of the same name by Dav Pilkey, which were themselves a spinoff of Pilkey’s original Captain Underpants illustrated novel series. Dog Man is also overstuffed with antic plotting, and feels a bit overlong even at an 89-minute runtime. Surely young kids will love it; they don’t care about nuances of criticism. As for how the adults will like it when they take children to see it? Well, they won’t likely hate it, at least.

On the topic of animated feature films that manage to reach both children and adults at their own levels simultaneously, Dog Man is impressive in how often it manages this, even without particularly sophisticated or subversively “adult” humor. This movie is wholesome top to bottom, and is only rated PG, I would assume, because of the cartoon violence in it. The protagonist is a loyal dog’s head transplanted onto the body of his beloved police officer master, after all, and director and co-writer Peter Hastings (collaborating with Pilkey on the script) somewhat pointedly skirts past the darker implications there. This means Officer Knight is effectively dead, right? Someone tell all the children in the screenings so they understand! Actually, I’d have more respect for this film if it found some way to say Officer Knight—or his head, anyway—had gone to live on a farm.

Indeed, there is a vibe of some missed opportunity with Dog Man, a film that is filled with self-awareness and packed with jokes and sight gags—I enjoyed the gag where two characters argued on opposite sides of a split screen and one of them literally grabbed the line splitting the image. It’s that kind of subtly meta stuff that really works in this movie. Unfortunately, while many of the jokes land, plenty of them don’t, and the latter happen when the story sags under the weight of its own bloat.

I keep thinking of the halcyon days of the 75-minute animated feature film, something that was far more common roughly thirty years ago and earlier. This is much more appropriate to the attention span of young child audiences, and many animated features in the past decade—specifically those meant for kids—have leaned closer to an hour and 45 minutes. Given the desire for theaters to maximize showtimes and therefore ticket sales, I’m at a loss as to what the endgame is there, unless the skill of the storytelling justifies the length, which is rare. And getting to Dog Man, this is a film that would land far more effectively for adults and children alike with a runtime closer to 75 minutes, but for some reason filmmakers seem to think they need to “flesh out” these stories.

But Dog Man is exceedingly simple: once Dog and Man combine, they become a “Supa Cop,” easily capturing OK City’s biggest villain, Petey the (of course) evil cat—voiced pretty entertainingly by Pete Davidson. He plots to take over the world and rid it of all “do-gooders,” going so far as to clone himself, not realizing the clone will appear as a kitten who won’t grow up for 18 years. “Li’l Petey” (voiced adorably by Lucas Hopkins Calderon) comes out of the clone machine—easily ordered by mail by Petey—with an innocence that, naturally, brings everyone together in the end. Spoilers!

Anyway, Petey is just as good at escaping prison—in an admittedly delightful montage—as Dog Man is at catching him, so this just becomes a cycle until Petey ups the ante with all manner of wild inventions, including my favorite: a robot he calls “80-Hexatron Droidformigon,” or “80-HD.” The robot becomes a quasi-character in its own right, although the rest of the cast is much more amusing, including Lil Red Howery as Dog Man’s bumbling police Chief; Cheri Oteri as OK City’s comically corrupt Mayor; Isla Fisher as ambitious TV reporter Sarah Hatoff; Stephen Root as Petey’s deadbeat dad; and Ricky Gervais as the movie’s most baffling character, an evil fish villain named Flippy. (Look for the obvious Aliens reference when Flippy goes after Li’l Petey and Petey shouts, “Get away from him you fish!”)

Flippy makes a nice segue into what doesn’t work all that well in Dog Man. Flippy serves as a villain to unite all the others against, but the plot mechanics are unnecessarily convoluted, and the “climactic” sequence this ushers in is less exciting than it is baffling. Literal buildings are brought to life as sort of building-monsters that wreak havoc, almost Gozilla-style. Dog Man winds up operating a giant “Mecha Mail Man” to battle them with. It’s all very: what? Although it still gets a few funny gags, none of it really works as well as the rest of the movie does.

Ultimately, Dog Man falls into the same trap nearly every other superhero movie does, predictably ending in a massive, ridiculously high-stakes battle blowout. Who the hell created the rule that every superhero movie has to end this way? Peter Hastings does smuggle in a subtle (and very brief) commentary on this very trope, but while also fully participating in it. I’d have much preferred a resolution only between Dog Man, Petey and Li’l Petey without any involvement with a supervillain fish and monster buildings. And haven’t we had enough of Ricky Gervais anyway? There’s a man who started off strong and then long outlasted his welcome.

To be fair, as “superhero movies” go, Dog Man is unlike any other. It just would have been far more successful, even on its own terms, with some script polishing and tightening of the editing. It wasn’t what I wanted nor what it could have been, but to its credit, I still had a good time. And none of my criticisms will mean anything whatsoever to a seven-year-old who will certainly have a blast watching it.

Just do your job Dog Man!

Overall: B

NICKEL BOYS

Directing: B+
Acting: B+
Writing: B-
Cinematography: A-
Editing: B-

America—or, I guess I should say, White America—has a stunning capacity for sticking our heads in the sand, for ignoring our own perpetrated horrors in our history. We aren’t told about things like what happened at the Florida School for Boys, the school that inspired “Nickel Academy” in RaMell Ross’s unforgettable new film Nickel Boys. The school in the film is thinly veiled in fictionalization, but the horrors that occurred there are not. The staff at the Florida School for Boys in Okeechobee, Florida, opened in 1955 and finally forced to close in 2011, really did abuse, torture, and in many cases even murder the Black students at that school, with dozens of unmarked graves discovered and excavated only into the 2010s.

Nickel Boys exists to force us to confront these horrors, and there should be no mistake: this is a difficult watch, of Schindler’s List proportions. I still have a deep appreciation for having seen it, even though it left me feeling even more dispirited about America than I already was. Much like two different Presidential elections in the past decade, it’s just another layer peeled off revealing who we really are as a nation. Any argument that “it was a different time” holds no water here—this is not a story set in colonial times, or during the Civil War. People are still living today with vivid memories of this stuff, and any idea that the permissive social structures that allowed this to happen no longer exist is preposterous.

The story presented here uses the Civil Rights Movement of the early sixties as a backdrop, largely as a way to underscore how the two teenagers whose points of view we see are beaten down in even worse ways than they could have imagined: inspiration and hope for change was in the air, only to be gleefully and cruelly crushed by local authorities. Elwood (Ethan Herisse) is an incredibly bright and promising student, on his way to a new school recommended by his high school teacher when the car he got into hitchhiking is pulled over. The car is apparently stolen, and in spite of Elwood’s clear innocence in the matter, he is arrested and sent to Nickel Academy, where he is expected to stay until he graduates. He doesn’t even learn until much later that when his guardian grandmother (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor) first tried to come and visit him, the staff lied and said he was sick and could not take any visitors.

Early on at the school, Elwood makes a friend, Turner (Brandon Wilson), and Nickel Boys switches back and forth between their perspectives. And I do mean this literally, as in, with the cinematography, used as first-person perspective, the camera showing us exactly what is seen through the eyes of each character. The entire film is shot this way, and is what makes it truly stand apart on an artistic level—it really is a film experience unlike any other, and a stylistic choice, it turns out, I have very mixed feelings about.

Until Elwood meets Turner, the camera perspective is always that of Elwood’s. In the scene where they meet, at the school cafeteria, the perspective suddenly shifts from Elwood to Turner, and we see the entire exchange repeat from his perspective. Showing the same scene from both perspectives only happens a couple of times in the film, which otherwise just keeps moving the story forward each time the perspective shifts. This is how we finally start seeing both of the boys actually in front of the camera. A few times, we see very cleverly shot scenes where we see reflections in windows or mirrors, of course with no view of the camera (I found myself wondering if that was somehow done practically with camera angles or if some kind of special effect was used; either way it’s impressive). In one scene we see the two of them looking up at themselves together in mirrors mounted on a ceiling above them. Elwood spends an awkwardly long time looking straight up, even once they start walking along.

Nickel Boys is one of the most critically acclaimed films of the year, and based on what I knew about it beforehand, I went in both expecting and wanting to really love it. What I did not expect was the extent to which its story gets obscured by its artistic abstractions, which permeate every scene, from beginning to end. The story this film is telling is essential, but I found its manner of telling to be frequently disorienting. Even with its first-person camera points of view, the editing and cinematography are so florid, sometimes even dreamlike, it was easy to get lost. Certain technical choices often took me out of the movie, such as how the perspectives of Elwood and Turner as teenagers were literally of their own sight, but when the narrative sporadically flashed forward to one of them as an adult, RaMell Ross and his cinematographer Jomo Fray pull the camera out and behind his head: those scenes all play out with us just behind the man’s head.

To be certain, the performances are great across the board, with one possibly key exception: when we are inside either Elwood’s or Turner’s heads, and we hear them speak, there’s a naturalism missing from their delivery, that is very much there when we see them perform onscreen. It seems obvious that Nickel Boys is a wildly impressive achievement on a technical level, with intricately planned blocking and choreography to make the scenes work, especially with everyone onscreen playing to a camera rather than to a fellow actor. I’m just not fully convinced this stylistic choice was the best way to tell such a story—or, one wonders, any story. In this case, there is actually a narrative twist at the end, and largely because of the ample technical and artistic abstractions, it took me longer than it should have to register what had really happened.

When it comes to the aforementioned horrors, it may do well to note that we see very little of it onscreen. What we see more of is the terror the kids feel at the expectations of these horrors, as in a pivotal scene where kids wait outside a closed door listening to the savage beatings of corporal punishment and knowing they await the same fate—a fate that has one of our two protagonists later waking up in the infirmary. A lot of abuse and torture goes well beyond the physical, however, and Nickel Boys also makes that clear. In the end, in the flash-forward scenes, we discover that the school was far worse than we even realized, or even those students realized. It’s these sorts of details that make it no less difficult a film to sit through.

I wonder if the uniquely unparalleled cinematography here is meant as a sort of buffer, an artistic space meant to cushion the act of facing horrifying realities. How well Nickel Boys works on an artistic level feels far more up for debate to me than apparently a lot of other people, who simply regard it as an absolute triumph. For me, though, the first-person visuals combined with its nonlinear editing often put the narrative a bit too far out of reach. The story itself, on the other hand, could not be more essential or relevant, although the impact is likely much greater in the Colson Whitehead novel on which it is based.

Elwood and Turner confront the viewers by facing themselves.

Overall: B

SEPTEMBER 5

Directing: B+
Acting: B+
Writing: B+
Cinematography: B+
Editing: A-

A comparison between September 5 and Civil War might not be immediately expected, except that these two movies have a very key thing in common: they are both about journalistic ethics. The key difference is that September 5 does it right, or at least focuses on it when it makes sense contextually to do so. Of course, there is also the fact that September 5 is actually based on a real event.

And that leads us into another question: whose perspective is the most worthy when telling a particular story? September 5 is about how the ABC sports news crew took ownership of the story when 12 people were taken hostage in a terrorist incident at the 1972 Olympic Games in Munich. President of ABC Sports Roone Arledge (Peter Sarsgaard) tells his crew that they need to come up with information about the hostages in order to make people care about them, but this movie about him never gives us more than a cursory glance at any of their backgrounds either.

This is arguably the point, from the point of view of director and co-writer Tim Fehlbaum. September 5 is also about how the media coverage of this incident changed broadcast news going forward. There’s a subtle implication that the news coverage itself actually made the incident worse. Maybe it was just that they were all treading new territory here when it came to news coverage, but in retrospect, it seems astonishing that it never occurred to them that the terrorists might have TVs turned on in the hotel rooms where they were keeping the hostages, seeing the very information they were broadcasting.

And then there is the idea of sharing news that may not be accurate due to a time constraint—or, in this case, the desire to have the scoop—without first getting two verified sources. This might secretly be the entire point of September 5, how news coverage has evolved since then, to become something fewer people than ever feel they can truly trust as accurate. Watching September 5, I thought a lot about how these news executives’ motives were based on exclusivity and ratings rather than the actual safety of anyone involved. Fehlbaum does not lean into this very heavily, but the thread is definitely there.

September 5 is expertly edited in a way that keeps you on the edge of your seat from start to finish, especially as soon as people suddenly hear gunfire in the distance. It’s fascinating, in a fairly depressing way, to consider the historical context of when this hostage crisis occurred: in 1972, it had only been 27 years since the end of World War II—plenty of people were still alive with vivid memories of the Holocaust, which happened in the very country where this incident took place. Unfortunately, in 2025 there are far too few people still around to heed the lessons of the second World War, but in 1972 it still felt to many like a very fresh wound.

Perhaps the most interesting character in September 5 is Marianne Gebhardt (Leonie Beseech), a woman employed by ABC Sports as a German translator. There’s an exchange early in the film when a Frenchman who is part of the ABC Sports crew challenges her, asking if her parents are still around, and alluding to their complicity. “I’m not them,” Marianne retorts, and she proceeds to be an indispensable resource as the only person at ABC Sports who can listen to German police scanners or German news reports or even call local connections in Germany and tell all these Americans more concerned with covering the story what the hell is going on.

It’s impossible also not to think of the excellent 2005 Steven Spielberg film Munich, about the same incident but focusing on the moral implications of how Israel responded to it. Both that film and September 5 have a renewed relevance considering Israel’s current actions in Gaza, itself a disproportionate response to a much more recent terrorist attack. I’d rather like to see a telling of this story, say, from the hostages’ point of view. We keep getting different angles on this incident but none of them from the point of view of the victims.

That’s not to say the point of view in September 5 has no value—only that, perhaps, it obscures the incident’s most relevant perspectives. I’m unsure as to whether this was the primary intent, but for me, September 5 is an indictment of American exceptionalism and capitalism. A fair amount of time is given in this film to negotiations with CBS for live air time, and how a clever solution (by title writer Gladys Deist, played by Georgnia Rich) is in order to give in to CBS’s demand for airing their live feed, they put the ABC logo in the upper right-hand corner. Eleven people’s lives are at stake in this moment, and their primary concern is which network gets the credit for its coverage.

There’s a point at which Roone says to head of the control room Geoffrey Mason (John Magaro), “It may not feel like it, but you did a hell of a job today.” Mason replies, “It was a catastrophe.” This is actual history so it’s not a spoiler to say that all of the hostages were killed, so naturally by the time that happens the entire ABC Sports crew are devastated—especially after a regrettable reporting decision that I won’t spoil here.

The Munich massacre was a dark, watershed moment in world history, something ABC Sports had a minor hand in, simultaneously deliberate and unwitting. I feel uncertain as to how important that particular group’s story was to tell, but if nothing else, this film tells it incredibly well.

Okay let’s all discuss the best way to tell this story.

Overall: B+

PRESENCE

Directing: B
Acting: B
Writing: B
Cinematography: B+
Editing: B+

The simple innovation Steven Soderbergh makes with Presence is relatively easy to pick up on from the film’s trailer if you are paying attention: the story is told from the point of view of the ghost. As such, the cinematography embodies the film’s most key character—and, it should be noted, from beginning to end. There’s a clever trick to this, what is arguably a gimmick but in Soderbergh’s hands is done surprisingly well. Just by the way the camera moves, from one room of the house it’s haunting to another, up close or pulling away from the house’s family of inhabitants, or even the way it frequently hides in a closet, we always get a sense of what the ghost is feeling. It’s vulnerable, it’s confused, it has a sense of purpose.

This visual styling is by far the most remarkable thing about Presence, and the strongest argument for it being worth seeing. I do have one little quibble about it, though. Most of the time, the camera glides here and there, room to room around the house, checking out the middle-aged couple and their two teenage children. When the camera goes down the stairs, however, it doesn’t quite glide seamlessly, and although it’s subtle, you can feel the cameraman stepping down the stairs. There’s no question this film was made on a modest budget (Soderbergh made it for $2 million), but this very minor glitch took me out of the movie slightly. Either that or Soderbergh wanted us to actually feel like an ethereal presence was stepping down stairs, which makes even less sense.

Soderbergh was also the cinematographer for this film, and also the editor—more effective cost-saving measures, surely—and the editing has its own bit of quirk. Presence clocks in at a lean 85 minutes, which works well for it given how many long takes there are, the camera (the ghost) followng members of this family around the house, doing mundane things. But eventually, we start to piece together parts of a family subplot, which Soderbergh never dives deep into but reveals just enough to be compelling. Rebekah (Lucy Liu), the mother who is doting on her son, the eldest, and strangley cold with her daughter, is in some kind of growing legal trouble. We see her on stressful phone calls, or deleting bunches of emails from her laptop (protip: that doesn’t hide them from the authorities), all while her husband, Chris (Chris Sullivan), barely notices. He notices enough, though, to make a clandestine call to a friend for “hypothetical” legal advice for a “friend” whose spouse may be in trouble.

Tyler (Eddy Maday), the older teenage son, is a pretty standard, straight-guy teenage prick, bragging about pranks on school mates which turn out to be far from harmless, and Rebekah easily forgiving him. Tyler has no compassion for his younger teenage sister, Chloe (Callina Liang), who is still grieving the loss of two different friends to apparent overdoses. Chloe is gradually revealed to be the most central character besides the ghost, being able to sense its presence in a way the others can’t. Presence has a fair amount in common with the 1982 horror film Poltergeist, just with the point of view inverted, and with far less histrionics. It even features a woman who gets called in to employ her powers as a medium of sorts, although that word is never used. This woman (Natalie Woolams-Torres) even manages to provide some explanation to the family, and thus some exposition for the viewers.

Chloe is convinced at first that the ghost is her best friend who died, Nadia. Little clues get revealed over time that complicate this idea. Tyler brings a friend around, Ryan (West Mulholland), who only the ghost sees—and therefore we see—is up to no good, slipping drugs into drinks. To Soderbergh’s immense credit as a very economical writer, this does not quite go in the direction we expect it to, even at multiple turns. Still, this is where we run into my biggest narrative sticking point: we are shown very early on, the ghost literally picking up and moving some of Chloe’s things from her bed to her desk. It’s arguably the corniest moment in Presence, and really its biggest mistake, as it establishes clear capability on the part of the ghost—which it does not bother to use again later when it would be most useful. When Chloe’s safety is later threatened and the ghost fears for her, all I could think was: why doesn’t it just do the same thing it did before and just scare the shit out of everybody?

I suppose it could be argued that in that moment the ghost was panicking—except it had already shaken the room once before, effectively protecting Chloe. There is a subtle implication of the ghost’s surprising identity at the very end which makes even less sense to me, unless you look back at the film beforehand and assume there is some kind of time loop going on. The woman who can sense an otherworldly presence does say at one point that time does not work the same way for this entity, so perhaps that was meant as a clue. But the more I try to go down that road, the more confused I get.

It might be useful to watch it again, except Presence is clearly most effective upon first viewing, and not thrilling enough to warrant repeat viewing. It’s a fascinatingly unique approach, to be sure, and if nothing else I’m glad to have seen it. If you don’t dig too deep in its narrative implications, it’s just a haunted house movie that uses longstanding horror tropes in new and interesting ways.

What happens when you cross a time loop with a plot hole?

Overall: B