A woman (Salma Hayek Pinault) walks into a plaza sparsely occupied by patrons enjoying an afternoon coffee and a magazine and lottery ticket kiosk. She approaches the booth and fingers a stack of newspapers before asking the attendant (Demián Bichir), an older man with rounded shoulders and reading glasses perched on his nose, a question. Her delivery is studied, as if a more natural cadence battles against an inherent severity. She begs the man to close up the shop and have a drink with her. Her mannered sweetness becomes more urgent with his refusal. This is a command, not a request. 

Premiering at the Toronto Film Festival, Without Blood is Angelina Jolie’s latest foray into directing. The actress, who is making waves this festival season with her performance in Pablo Larrain’s Maria, adapted this thinly plotted parable from the novella of the same name by the Italian writer Alessandro Baricco. Without Blood obliquely investigates the psychological and generational toll of war. 

Jolie treads familiar ground here: A handful of her previous directorial efforts, including In the Land of Blood and Honey, Unbroken and First They Killed My Father, set their action against the distressing backdrop of war. Whereas these other films grounded themselves with the details of real conflicts like the Bosnian War or the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia, Without Blood claims no land or era. This lack of specificity may have worked in the hands of a more risk-taking helmer, but Jolie’s approach to direction can be as stiff as the woman’s initial encounter with the kiosk attendant. Despite bursts of intelligence, especially when it comes to conveying the fractured quality of trauma narratives, Without Blood’s vagueness ends up blunting many of its lessons. 

An uneasy tension hangs in the air as the man and woman settle into a nearby restaurant. She begins to tell her story, parts of which Jolie shows early in a confidently staged scene. Her name is Nina, and when she was a young girl, three men broke into her house and executed her father (Alfredo Herrera) and brother (Alessandro D’Antuono). While her father’s screams overwhelmed the bungalow and her brother’s blood dripped onto her ankle, Nina hid silently in a burrow beneath some floorboards. 

Her fate became lore in this unnamed country where a years-long battle brewed between two factions. Whether that conflict is regional or political is never made clear and, in Jolie’s estimation, is not relevant. Without Blood is more concerned with how all war wounds people, from its youngest victims to its oldest perpetrators. Most of the film takes place in a cafe, where Nina and the man, whose name we later learn is Tito, exchange different versions of her fate. In Nina’s telling, she is adopted by a pharmacist (Pedro Hernández), who gambles her off to a count (Luis Alberti). She ends up married at 14 and bearing the wealthy baron three sons. As Tito tells it, Nina’s union was a botched assassination turned marital arrangement: The count fell in love instead of killing her. The truth lies somewhere between Nina’s scarred memories and Tito’s vague recollections. In between these exchanges, the pair offer platitudes about the dangers (but never the details) of war. 

The conversation between Nina and Tito swings between gripping moments and duller ones that are helped along by Hayek Pinault and Bichir’s tense banter. Their chemistry is defined by mutual recognition and shared trauma. Hayek Pinault hones in on understated motions — tears welling up in the eyes, tightening the grip on her spoon or pursing her lips — to convey the depth of her character’s pain. Bichir nails the subtle shifts required from his character, whose innocence becomes less black-and-white over the film’s brisk 90-minute runtime. 

Still, Jolie’s overly cautious visual language limits the impact of the drama. Flashbacks to the pair’s past offer some dynamic moments, like bird’s-eye-view shots that suggest Tito has been watching Nina over the years, gesturing at their linked fates. There’s beauty here, too, as Jolie captures the vividness of the ochre landscape. For the most part, though, she relies on close-ups, toggling between the two diners’ faces in straightforward edits by Xavier Box and Joel Cox. 

That innocent people suffer from conflict is not a provocative stance. But it seems like the only point Without Blood can make when it’s not focused — more interestingly — on observing how trauma lives in the body and shapes the mind. Despite flashes of power, the story ultimately seems too thin to bear the weight of its themes.

From its very opening frames, the artistry of “The Wild Robot” bursts through every image. We’ve become so worn down by American CGI animation that barely considers the visuals in a form that once shaped imaginations for entire generations. The great Chris Sanders and his team have made a film with literally hundreds of shots that could be printed and framed on a wall. Their approach isn’t the cold, sterile feel that you get from so many modern cartoons. It’s more like moving art; it feels like you can almost see the brushstrokes on a moving painting. In that sense, it owes more to films like “Wolfwalkers” or the work of Studio Ghibli than a traditional major studio cartoon. One could watch “The Wild Robot” with the sound off entirely and still have a rewarding experience—turn it on and you have one of the best animated films of the decade.

Lupita Nyong’o proves yet again that she can do anything, perfectly voicing a robot named ROZZUM 7314 (or “Roz”) that crashes onto an uninhabited island. Roz is programmed to be an assistant for whoever purchases her, so she first scours her new home for a master, seeking to complete any sort of mission before she activates a signal to return home. These opening scenes of a robot trying desperately to be helpful to any creature that needs it are surprisingly hysterical, rich with heart and humor.

The journey leads her to cross paths with some of the more rambunctious animals on this remote locale, including a fox named Fink (Pedro Pascal), an opossum named Pinktail (Catherine O’Hara), a grizzly bear named Thorn (Mark Hamill), and a beaver named Paddler (Matt Berry). She also quickly learns that nature is a terrifying place. One of many wonderful things about Sanders’ adaptation of the book by Peter Brown is how unafraid this film is of death, which used to be a subject that children’s fiction helped little ones understand but now seems forbidden in animation. Nature can kill you.

Roz comes face to face with death when she accidentally falls on a nest, killing a mother bird and almost all of her eggs, except for one. When that egg cracks, it reveals a runt that Roz names Brightbill (Kit Connor), who imprints on the robot as his mom. If nature had its way, Brightbill wouldn’t survive—runts don’t make it in the wild. But most runts don’t have a robot as a mother.

“The Wild Robot” shares DNA with films like Sanders’ masterful “How to Train Your Dragon” and another timeless tale of a robot who defies its programming in “The Iron Giant,” one of my personal favorites of all time. However, it’s not a film that’s content to merely mimic its inspirations, finding a unique voice in its blend of tension, humor, and grace.

This is a movie that’s bursts with unexpected humor—often in jokes about how easy it is for animals to die in the wild—but also just so deeply heartfelt in every frame, and only rarely in a manner that feels at all manipulative. The visual artistry in the painter-like compositions comes through in other elements too from the all-around stellar voice work (especially Nyong’o, who finds nuance in what could have been a cold vocal turn) to a great score by Kris Bowers. The truth is that one can tell when a project like this is made for profit vs. when it’s made for artistic passion, and everyone involved in “The Wild Robot” poured their hearts into it. You can see it. You can hear it. You can feel it. And that truly matters, especially in an era when so much children’s entertainment feels like nothing more than a cynical cash grab. This is made from the heart in every way. And that’s what allows it connect with yours.

Chris Sanders once described his approach to “The Wild Robot” as “a Monet painting in a Miyazaki forest.” As insane as that may sound, he pulled it off. It’s a film about robots and wild creatures, but it’s also a movie about parents and children. Roz learns the great difficulty of being a mother, discovering that sometimes the best way to take care of a child is to discard the programming that we thought would teach us how to do so. Sometimes you just have to trust your heart. Sometimes you need to be wild.

This review was filed from the premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival. It opens on September 27^th.

Benj Pasek and Justin Paul have become EGOT winners.

The duo won an Emmy on Sunday for “Which of the Pickwick Triplets Did It?” their original song co-written with Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman for “Only Murders in the Building” at the Creative Arts Emmy Awards.

Pasek and Paul are the 20th and 21st people to reach EGOT status. Both 39, they’re tied with fellow songwriter Robert Lopez as the youngest to win Emmy, Grammy, Oscar and Tony awards. They’re also the first creative team to become EGOT recipients simultaneously, winning all four awards together.

Their EGOT journey began when they won an Oscar in 2017 for their original song “City of Stars,” featured in the film “La La Land.” Later that year, they won the Tony Award for the original score of “Dear Evan Hansen,” and they won the Grammy Award for best musical theater album for the stage musical’s cast recording in 2018.

The pair met as freshmen at the University of Michigan and also wrote the songs for “A Christmas Story, The Musical,” “The Greatest Showman” and “Spirited.” They are also contributing songs to Disney’s upcoming live-action “Snow White” movie and Pharrell Williams’ semi-autobiographical drama “Atlantis,” both scheduled for 2025 release.

Along with Lopez, Pasek and Paul are in good company with fellow EGOT composers, lyricists and songwriters: Richard Rodgers, Marvin Hamlisch, Jonathan Tunick, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Tim Rice, John Legend, Alan Menken and, most recently, Elton John.

“Which of the Pickwick Triplets Did It?” was expertly performed by Steve Martin as part of a fictional Broadway musical in the Hulu series’ third season. The joke-packed patter song, about three infants who are all suspects in the murder of their mother, was a source of narrative tension, since Martin’s character was extremely nervous about performing it in full.

“The more alliterative or the more plosives that there were, the more twists and turns or the pace of the song, the more of a payoff for you as an audience,” Paul told The Times earlier this year. “You’re wondering: ‘Can he actually do it?’”

The composition won the Emmy for original music and lyrics over “Girls5eva” track “The Medium Time” by Sara Bareilles; the “True Detective: Night Country” number “No Use” by John Hawkes; “The Tattooist of Auschwitz” piece “Love Will Survive” by Kara Talve, Hans Zimmer, Walter Afanasieff and Charlie Midnight; and the “Saturday Night Live” song “Maya Rudolph Mother’s Day Monologue” by Eli Brueggemann, Maya Rudolph, Auguste White, Mike DiCenzo and Jake Nordwind.

“Only Murders in the Building” has 21 nominations, including best comedy series and the performances of Martin, Martin Short, Selena Gomez, Meryl Streep and Paul Rudd.

An edited version of the two-night Creative Arts Emmys ceremonies will air together on FXX at 8 p.m. Sept. 14.

The Primetime Emmy Awards, taking place at the Peacock Theater at L.A. Live in Los Angeles, will air on ABC at 8 p.m. Sept. 15. The ceremony will be hosted by Eugene and Dan Levy, making them the first father and son pair to do so.