Both everything and nothing happens in “Filipiñana,” the cutting, confident, and ultimately formally captivating feature debut from writer-director Rafael Manuel. The everything in question is the way structures of power are both maintained and reintrenched at a golf and country club outside Manila, Philippines, that serves as a synecdoche for the country itself. The nothing is the way everyone else just keeps going through the motions despite the continual sense that something is profoundly out of balance. 

One feeds the other as collective inaction allows for the inertia of a quietly sinister status quo to continue unrestrained in each beautiful yet haunting visual the film brings to life. This ensures that when action against this status quo is taken, no matter how small it may be, the ripple effects shake you out of the reverie in which it seems most of the other characters remain trapped.

Playing out almost as one grim extended fever dream over the course of a single stiflingly hot day, the film accompanies the 17-year-old girl Isabel (Jorrybell Agoto) on a seemingly insignificant journey to return a golf club. She’s meant to give it to the president of the club where she works, but her journey takes on a far more slippery significance just as she realizes she can’t continue down the same path she has been on until now. 

There are some other characters making their way through the purgatory-esque golf course, such as a rich industrialist and his niece, who is returning from America, as well as Isabel’s fellow workers who serve as effective contrasts to the absurdly wealthy club members. They all embody the contradictions and cruelties of their little world, with the visiting young expat proving to be most critical to revealing how easily supposed values can be compromised on. However, the film primarily hinges on the actions of Isabel as she begins to subtly disrupt the natural order of the club.

She’s a character of few words whose actions are no less critical as she increasingly takes more and more quietly radical action. She seems driven by an unspoken yet powerful desire for something more for herself than merely setting up the tees for wealthy men. There is a grounding, deeply emotional care to how Manuel observes Isabel as she attempts to make sense of what exactly is going on in her world and how she can make it a better one.

Beautifully shot by cinematographer Xenia Patricia, who also worked on last year’s spectacular “Zodiac Killer Project,” “Filipiñana” frequently consists of largely static tableaus that are so perfectly, poetically rendered that they almost resemble paintings. Be it when a figure is standing alone in the tall grass looking down at the world with a slightly tormented expression, or the fantastic final shot that lingers for several unbroken minutes, Manuel takes his time in letting everything unfold before you. Life moves at a different, more intentionally laborious pace in his film just as the specter of death seems to increasingly be lurking just out of frame.

Though the film has drawn comparisons to Michael Haneke and David Lynch, Manuel also cites the late, great Jacques Tati, and it’d be easy to make the case for “Filipiñana” as the more reserved, mirror image of Tati’s classic “Playtime” in how it holds the rhythms of modern life up to the light. One other comparison that felt most relevant was the sublime recent “Universal Language,” both in the similarly wonderful way it was shot and in how it shifted into being a reflection on home and memory in his final act.

“Filipiñana” ends up being much more about displacement where the ongoing yet unseen violence has become just another part of the operations of the club. In one unexpectedly affecting monologue near the end, it makes explicit that the workers keeping things moving at the club are those who have been removed from their lives and histories. Just like the uprooted pine trees that keep getting brought in after the one before them died, life seems perpetually out of reach in this place.

It’s all part of the artificiality of the club that makes it feel like a simulacrum of life. We only begin to see reality for ourselves closer to the end, with Manuel pointedly holding us at a distance just as Isabel begins to get closer to seeing the cracks forming in this faux, oddly frightening world. That she is not always certain about what exactly is amiss only makes it that much more disquieting.

The way this unfolds will likely test the patience of those not accustomed to what can be broadly called “slow cinema,” but it was on a second watch that I found myself utterly and completely riveted by the deliberate, devastating way “Filipiñana” unfolded. It’s a film of restrained, yet no less shattering, unease that, for all the artificial beauty that exists in the club, also invites you to look closer and ponder what ugliness lies beneath that all have grown accustomed to.

It holds a potent, petrifying and poetic power that culminates in a breaking of the poisonous spell that, until this moment, had held the entire film in its grasp.  In these flooring final moments, it movingly ponders what it means to take a leap of courage and swim upstream against the casually cruel waters everyone else is swimming in. Everything and nothing has changed in the world of the film, though it remains a work of art that may change those watching it just as Isabel herself does in the end.

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Bruce Springsteen released a new protest song Wednesday condemning “King Trump” and the violence perpetrated by his “federal thugs” — referring to immigration officers — in Minnesota.

“I wrote this song on Saturday, recorded it yesterday and released it to you today in response to the state terror being visited on the city of Minneapolis,” Springsteen wrote on his social media platforms, sharing his new song, “Streets of Minneapolis.” “It’s dedicated to the people of Minneapolis, our innocent immigrant neighbors and in memory of Alex Pretti and Renee Good.”

Good, a 37-year-old mother of three, was shot multiple times and killed by a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement officer during an immigration raid on Jan. 7. Pretti, a 37-year-old ICU nurse at a VA hospital who had protested President Trump’s immigration crackdown and Good’s killing, was shot and killed by ICE agents on Jan. 24.

Both Minnesotans are memorialized by name in Springsteen’s new rock song, which describes the immigration crackdowns and the protests by those who live there. His scathing lyrics also denounce Trump advisor Stephen Miller and Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem for their statements following the killings, which were contradicted by eyewitness accounts and video.

“Their claim was self-defense, sir / Just don’t believe your eyes,” Springsteen sings with his familiar rasp. “It’s our blood and bones / And these whistles and phones / Against Miller and Noem’s dirty lies.”

Both Miller and Noem justified the shootings in the immediate aftermath. Miller called Pretti “a would-be assassin,” and Noem accused Good of committing “an act of domestic terrorism.” Videos later surfaced contradicting their statements.

Springsteen, who has long been an outspoken critic of President Trump, also calls out immigration officials for their racism and for claiming “they’re here to uphold the law” yet “trample on our rights” in his new song.

In a statement to the New York Times, White House spokesperson Abigail Jackson said that “the Trump administration is focused on encouraging state and local Democrats to work with federal law enforcement officers on removing dangerous criminal illegal aliens from their communities — not random songs with irrelevant opinions and inaccurate information.”

Multiple celebrities, including Olivia Rodrigo, Pedro Pascal, Billie Eilish and Hannah Einbinder, have also spoken out against ICE and the immigration crackdowns in Minneapolis.

Comic actor Will Arnett finally gets a straight dramatic role and he’s playing … a comedian. Well, a would-be comedian. But he’s not an outrageously awful or failing one; the point of this film is not the delicious ironic cringe of delusional loserdom, as it is with Arnett’s small-screen roles such as the hopeless magician Gob Bluth in Arrested Development, or the washed-up equine star in the animation BoJack Horseman, or even his scheming figure skater Stranz Van Waldenberg in the movie Blades of Glory.

Arnett plays Alex, a regular guy with a regular job, married with two young kids but unhappily heading for divorce. He discovers standup comedy by performing in an open mic slot one night on a weed-fuelled whim, and finds that audiences love his unfunny but sweetly honest confessional ramblings. And then he kind of improves – but are we supposed to think by the end that he is, in fact, genuinely funny? It’s not entirely clear. And the film, though likable and spirited and nicely acted, isn’t completely convincing on its own terms. It is, after all, intended to be funny on its own account.

Are we required to believe, for example, that Alex is talented at and committed to comedy in the way his wife Tess (Laura Dern) is supposed to have a vocation for coaching volleyball? Or is standup just a cathartic, meaningful episode through which he might pass before returning to his day-job in finance, with which he might honourably support his children but which is never shown and which apparently never supplies any material?

This is a kind of remarriage comedy, directed and co-written by Bradley Cooper who also appears, interestingly awarding himself a classic Arnett-type role: an annoying and grinningly conceited unemployed actor called Balls (is that a first name? Surname? Nickname?).

The film was inspired by an autobiographical anecdote by the British comic John Bishop, who says he semi-accidentally stumbled into comedy one night in the midst of divorce depression. Of course, that anecdote could be like the stories told by tough-guy actors about how they didn’t mean to get into acting, they just went along with their mate to the audition. But in this business it doesn’t have to be 100% true – just entertaining.

It is clear that Alex and Tess’s marriage is dying. It is a slow, agonising implosion due to Tess’s discontent at having given up her thriving sports career to be a stay-at-home mom to the two kids they had via IVF, and Alex’s lack of support for her incipient depression. Their married friend group are not especially helpful: Stephen and Geoffrey (played by real-life marrieds Sean Hayes and Scott Icenogle) are secure but the appallingly immature Balls and his smart, sharp-tongued wife Christine (Andra Day) have difficulties of their own.

What all these people have in common is that they can’t really help Alex. Like a standup comic who semi-ironically suspects his microphone isn’t working, lonely Alex feels he isn’t being heard. But then he chances upon a comedy club and, to get in without paying the $15 cover charge, impulsively signs up to do five minutes. Finally, he winds up performing regular gigs without telling his wife, cheating on her with comedy itself, and doing material about their grisly sex life. Tess’s discovery of all this is spectacularly embarrassing.

And her reaction? Well, it’s not really believable, but Dern and Arnett are such good performers and work so sympathetically together that it comes off perfectly well in the moment. What might have been more plausible is that Alex, so far from being inspired by comedy to renew his relationship, sees the comedy value in its uproarious breakdown and creates more and more real-life opportunities to generate material, and Tess senses that she is becoming the butt of a joke of whose existence she has not yet uncovered.

Arnett has such a gentle face: handsome yet sensitive and wounded, the kind of face that you want to stroke sympathetically. He’s a good actor, and never anything other than committed, and it’s a relief in some ways to see a drama about comedians who aren’t supposed to be dark or malign. But I’d like to see a film about a comedian who, like Bishop, really does flower into being funny.