Movie Reviews
‘It’s Not Me’ Review: Leos Carax’s Cinema Collage Mixes Movies, History and Real Life into a Personal Manifesto
After Jean-Luc Godard, Leos Carax is probably the French filmmaker most associated with the term enfant terrible. In some ways, he’s been even more terrible than Godard ever was, adopting a pseudonym (he was born Alex Dupont) as a teenager and bursting onto the scene at age 24 with Boy Meets Girl — Godard made Breathless when he was 30 — which immediately turned him into a major young auteur to be reckoned with.
He followed that up with the powerful, AIDS-inspired Mauvais Sang, and then made The Lovers on the Bridge, a film infamous for being a French Heaven’s Gate that went way over budget and flopped (it’s still a fantastic movie). After that Carax disappeared for a while, then reemerged to make a few shorts, compose pop songs and shoot a new feature every decade, the last one being the Adam Driver-Marion Cotillard starrer, Annette.
It’s Not Me
The Bottom Line A short and dense film autobiography suited for the auteur’s fans.
Venue: Cannes Film Festival (Cannes Première)
Cast: Denis Lavant, Nastya Golubeva Carax, Anna-Isabel Siefken, Bianca Maddaluno, Kateryna Yuspina, Loreta Juodkaite, Peter Anevskii
Director, screenwriter, editor: Leos Carax
40 minutes
His latest work, the medium-length, autobiographical collage It’s Not Me (C’est pas moi), is both that of an enfant terrible and a true-blooded Godard disciple. It mimics, or pays homage to, the late Franco-Swiss director’s montage films like Histoire(s) du cinéma and The Image Book, using the same colorful on-screen titles that JLG once used to comment on footage both old and new.
That footage was assembled by Carax for an exhibition meant to happen at the Pompidou Center a few years ago, but still yet to take place. (Back in 2006, Godard was asked to do his own show at the same museum, then abandoned it due to “artistic, financial and technical difficulties,” only to replace it several months later with what was best described as a “non-exhibition.“)
In preparation for the show, the organizers ask Carax a simple question: Who are you? The answer, according to It’s Not Me, it that he’s everything from silent movies to Hollywood Golden Age classics to scenes from his own work. He’s also the music of Nina Simone and David Bowie and The Fall, as well as Ravel and Beethoven. He’s Monsieur Merde (Mister Shit), a raving alter-ego played by Denis Lavant, who’s starred in nearly all of his films. And he’s above all a person who defines himself through the cinema, whether it’s the movies he loves or those he’s made throughout his turbulent career.
People unfamiliar with Carax’s oeuvre will likely be lost here, while fans and cinephiles will find a hearty meal to feast on. It’s Not Me is chock-full of references and influences, from F.W. Murnau to Jean Vigo to Godard himself, whose trembling voice is heard on a voice message he once left the director.
There are also scenes featuring Carax’s real family, including his daughter, the actress Nastya Golubeva Carax, whom we see skipping along the Seine in old cell phone footage, then marvelously playing piano in a scene illuminated by candles. The auteur himself appears a few times as well: at the very start, where he’s lying on something like his deathbed, and later walking through the Buttes-Chaumont park accompanied by Monsieur Merde, who gleefully runs down a hill and defecates in a bush.
The film jumps around so quickly that it’s sometimes hard to follow the director’s lead. At other moments Carax more succinctly expresses his views, such as in a rapid-fire montage of world leaders that groups together Putin, Trump, Kim Jong-il and Benjamin Netanyahu. Another scene provides a brief history of Roman Polanski’s tumultuous and controversial life, in what seems like a plea for his defense.
While Carax’s movies have never been overtly political or historical, this one makes several references to Hitler and the Nazis. In one sequence, the director cuts in footage of Isadore Greenbaum, the Jewish plumber who tried to interrupt a pro-Nazi rally held at Madison Square Garden in 1939. In a later scene staged by Carax — and shot by cinematographer Caroline Champetier, the DP of Holy Motors — a mother sits beside her children in bed, eerily reading a bedtime story that describes the Final Solution.
Again, it’s a hearty meal, and also a condensed one at only 40 minutes. The auteur seems to be squeezing everything he can into a personal manifesto in which cinema, history and real life become interchangeable, and in which he tries to situate his work within film’s larger trajectory. The most telling evidence of this is a sequence which cuts from Eadweard Muybridge’s pioneering photos of a horse in movement to a tracking shot of Lavant gloriously running and dancing down a Paris street in Mauvais Sang.
At such moments, it’s clear that Carax has not only reserved his own place in cinema’s trajectory, but that his films remain instantly recognizable through their romantic exuberance and visual splendor, their dark humor and existential gloom. These traits may not describe who Carax is or wants to be — if one is to believe that his latest movie is not, in fact, him (c’est pas moi). But they’re what we know and love about a great filmmaker, and still very much an enfant terrible at age 63, who’s always put the whole of himself into his work.
Movie Reviews
Movie Review: Paul Feig’s ‘The Housemaid’ is a twisty horror-thriller with nudity and empowerment – Sentinel Colorado
Santa left us a present this holiday season and it is exactly what we didn’t know we needed: A twisty, psychological horror-thriller with nudity that’s all wrapped up in an empowerment message.
“The Housemaid” is Paul Feig’s delicious, satirical look at the secret depravity of the ultra-rich, but it’s so well constructed that’s it’s not clear who’s naughty or nice. Halfway through, the movie zigs and everything you expected zags.
It’s almost impossible to thread the line between self-winking campy — “That’s a lot of bacon. Are you trying to kill us?” — and carving someone’s stomach with a broken piece of fine china, yet Feig and screenwriter Rebecca Sonnenshine do.
Sydney Sweeney stars as a down-on-her luck Millie Calloway, a gal with a troubled past living out of her car who answers an ad for a live-in housekeeper in a tony suburb of New York City. Her resume is fraudulent, as are her references.
Somehow, the madam of the mansion, Nina Winchester played with frosty excellence by Amanda Seyfried in pearls and creamy knits, takes a shine to this young soul. “I have a really good feeling about this, Millie,” she says in that perky, slightly crazed clipped way that Seyfried always slays with. “This is going to be fun, Millie.”
Maybe not for Millie, but definitely for us. The young housekeeper gets her own room in the attic — weird that it closes with a deadbolt from the outside, but no matter — and we’re off. Mille gets a smartphone with the family’s credit card preloaded and a key for that deadbolt. “What kind of monsters are we?” asks Nina. Indeed.
The next day, the house is a mess when the housekeeper comes down and Seyfried is in a wide-eyed, crashing-plates, full-on psychotic rage. The sweet, supportive woman we met the day before is gone. But her hunky husband (Brandon Sklenar) is helpful and apologetic. And smoldering. Uh-oh. Did we mention he’s hunky?
If at first we understand that the housekeeper is being a little manipulative — lying to get the job, for instance, or wearing glasses to seem more serious — we soon realize that all kinds of gaslighting games are being played behind these gates, and they’re much more impactful.
Based on Freida McFadden’s novel, “The Housemaid” rides waves of manipulation and then turns the tables on what we think we’ve just seen, looking at male-female power structures and how privilege can trap people without it.
The film is as good looking as the actors, with nifty touches like having the main house spare, well-lit and bright, while the husband’s private screening room in the basement is done in a hellish red. There are little jokes throughout, like the husband and the housemaid bonding over old episodes of “Family Feud,” with the name saying it all.
Feig and his team also have fun with horror movie conventions, like having a silent, foreboding groundskeeper, adding a creepy dollhouse and placing lightning and thunder during a pivotal scene. They surround the mansion with fussy, aristocratic PTA moms who have tea parties and say things like “You know what yoga means to me.”
Feig’s fascinating combination of gore, torture and hot sex ends happily, capped off with Taylor Swift’s perfectly conjured “I Did Something Bad” playing over the end credits. Not at all: This naughty movie is definitely on the nice list.
“The Housemaid,” a Lionsgate release that’s in theaters Friday, is rated R by the Motion Picture Association for strong bloody violence, gore, language, sexuality/nudity and drug use. Running time: 131 minutes. Three and a half stars out of four.
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Movie Reviews
‘The Spongebob Movie: Search for Squarepants’ Review: Adventure Romp Soaks up a Good Time for SpongeBob Fans of All Ages
I’m convinced that each SpongeBob movie released on the big screen serves as a testament to the current state of the series. The 2004 film was a send-off for the early series run. Sponge Out of Water symbolized the Paul Tibbitt era, and Sponge on the Run served as a major transitional period between soft reboot and spin-off setup. The team responsible for Search for SquarePants, which consists of current showrunners Marc Ceccarelli and Vince Waller, as well as the seasoned Kaz, is showcasing their comedic and absurdist abilities. The sole purpose of the film is to elicit laughter with its distinctively silly and irreverent, whimsical humor. More so than its predecessor, it creates a mindless romp. Granted, there are far too many butt-related jokes, to a weird degree.
Truthfully, I am apprehensive about the insistence of each SpongeBob movie being CG-animated. However, Drymon, who directed the final Hotel Transylvania film, Transformania, brings the series’ quirky, outrageous 2D-influenced poses and expressive style into a 3D space. Its CG execution, done by Texas-based Reel FX (Book of Life, Rumble, Scoob), is far superior to Mikros Animation’s Sponge on the Run, which, despite its polish, has experimental frame rate issues with the comic timing and is influenced by The Spider-Verse. FX encapsulates the same fast, frenetic pace in its absurdist humor, which enables a significant number of the jokes to be effective and feel like classic SpongeBob.
With lovely touches like gorgeous 2D artwork in flashback scenes and mosaic backgrounds during multiple action shots, Drymon and co expand the cinematic scope, enhancing its theatrical space. Taking on a darker, if not more obscene, tone in the main underworld setting, the film’s purple- and green-infused visual palette adds a unique shine that sets it apart from other Sponge-features. Its strong visual aesthetic preserves the SpongeBob identity while capturing the spirit of swashbuckling and satisfying a Pirates of the Caribbean void in the heart.
The film’s slapstick energy is evident throughout, as it’s purposefully played as a romp. The animators’ hilarious antics, which make the most of each set piece to a comical degree, feel like the ideal old-fashioned love letter to the new adults who grew up with SpongeBob and are now introducing it to their kids. This is a perfect bridge. There’s a “Twelfth Street Rag” needle drop in a standout montage sequence that will have older viewers astral projecting with joy.
Search for SquarePants retreads water but with a charming swashbuckling freshness.
Movie Reviews
Movie Review: ‘The SpongeBob Movie: Search for SquarePants’ – Catholic Review
NEW YORK (OSV News) – Cartoon characters can devolve into dullards over time. But some are more enduringly appealing than others, as the adventure “The SpongeBob Movie: Search for SquarePants” (Paramount) proves.
Yellow, absorbent and porous on the outside, unflaggingly upbeat SpongeBob (voice of Tom Kenny) is childlike and anxious to please within. He also displays the kind of eagerness for grown-up experiences that is often found in real-life youngsters but that gets him into trouble in this fourth big-screen outing for his character.
Initially, his yearning for maturity takes a relatively harmless form. Having learned that he is now exactly 36 clams tall, the requisite height to ride the immense roller coaster at Captain Booty Beard’s Fun Park, he determines to do so.
Predictably, perhaps, he finds the ride too scary for him. This prompts Mr. Krabs (voice of Clancy Brown), the owner of the Krusty Krab — the fast-food restaurant where SpongeBob works as a cook — to inform his chef that he is still an immature bubble-blowing boy who needs to be tested as a swashbuckling adventurer.
The opportunity for such a trial soon arises with the appearance of the ghostly green Flying Dutchman (voice of Mark Hamill), a pirate whose elaborately spooky lair, the Underworld, is adjacent to SpongeBob’s friendly neighborhood, Bikini Bottom. Subject to a curse, the Dutchman longs to lift it and return to human status.
To do so, he needs to find someone both innocent and gullible to whom he can transfer the spell. SpongeBob, of course, fits the bill.
So the buccaneer lures SpongeBob, accompanied by his naive starfish pal Patrick (voice of Bill Fagerbakke), into a series of challenges designed to prove that the lad has what it takes. Mr. Krabs, the restaurateur’s ill-tempered other employee, Squidward (voice of Rodger Bumpass), and SpongeBob’s pet snail, Gary, all follow in pursuit.
Along the way, SpongeBob and Patrick’s ingenuity and love of carefree play usually succeed in thwarting the Dutchman’s plans.
As with most episodes of the TV series, which premiered on Nickelodeon in 1999, there are sight gags intended either for adults or savvy older children. This time out, though, director Derek Drymon and screenwriters Pam Brady and Matt Lieberman produce mostly misfires.
These include an elaborate gag about Davy Jones’ legendary locker — which, after much buildup, turns out to be an ordinary gym locker. Additionally, in moments of high stress, SpongeBob expels what he calls “my lucky brick.” As euphemistic poop gags go, it’s more peculiar than naughty.
True to form, SpongeBob emerges from his latest escapades smarter, wiser, pleased with his newly acquired skills and with increased loyalty to his friends. So, although the script’s humor may often fall short, the franchise’s beguiling charm remains.
The film contains characters in cartoonish peril and occasional scatological humor. The OSV News classification is A-I – general patronage. The Motion Picture Association rating is PG — parental guidance suggested. Some material may not be suitable for children.
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