Movie Reviews
‘Are We Good?’ Review: In Introspective Doc, Marc Maron Navigates the Painful Realities of Grief
Toward the end of his 2023 HBO comedy special From Bleak to Dark, Marc Maron tells the audience a high-wire joke he’s been working on since his partner, the director Lynn Shelton, died in 2020 from a rare blood disease.
It starts with Maron on the way to the hospital to say goodbye to Shelton after a doctor arranges for the comedian to see her body. When Maron gets there, he takes his time saying goodbye. As he’s walking out of the ICU, he stops to consider a thought: “Selfie?” he asks himself. “No,” he finally decides. Most of the audience laughs immediately, but a few gasp before succumbing to their chuckles. It’s the kind of blunt and slightly scandalous humor Maron has built his career on, but it’s also textured with something rare for the comedian: a tender emotional awareness.
Are We Good?
The Bottom Line A scrappy portrait of grief.
Venue: SXSW Film Festival (Documentary Spotlight)
Director: Steven Feinartz
1 hour 35 minutes
There are scenes of Maron workshopping this joke in Are We Good?, a new documentary about the comedian that premiered at SXSW. The film, directed by Steven Feinartz, chronicles the years in Maron’s life succeeding Shelton’s death. It follows the comedian as he returns to stand-up and uses his craft to navigate this painful experience. Unlike most recent celebrity docs, Are We Good, which is still seeking distribution, is a little more than a hagiographic tribute. It’s an introspective portrait of how grief forces Maron, who spent a career metabolizing his feelings into cantankerous jokes, to finally confront his emotions.
While anyone navigating loss can identify with parts of the comedian’s journey, Are We Good? seems best suited for those familiar with Maron. The film complements the HBO special, offering a kind of behind-the-scenes look at the efforts that brought Maron in front of that audience at New York City’s Town Hall.
Feinartz, who also directed From Bleak to Dark, takes an unfussy approach to shaping Are We Good?. He uses home videos, recent footage of Maron living his life or testing new routines, as well as interviews with friends and colleagues like John Mulaney and Michaela Watkins, to tell the comedian’s story. The director occasionally indulges in some aesthetic flourishes — animation by Michael Lloyd, for example — but he mostly sticks to a spare style. This approach gives the doc a scrappiness that not only reflects Maron’s disposition, but also captures grief’s wayward turns.
The doc opens with a brief overview of Shelton’s relationship to Maron and her unexpected death. Feinartz relies on the comedian’s own telling of the romance, but he also pulls in clips from Maron’s show. They encountered each other in the 2010s and Maron invited the director onto his show, WTF With Marc Maron, in 2015. Excerpts from that episode capture the beginnings of their friendship. Shelton was married at the time and Maron was in another relationship, but the two artists stayed in touch. Shelton directed a couple of Maron’s specials as well as episodes of GLOW. She even cast Maron in her 2019 comedy Sword of Trust, which premiered at Sundance. When they finally got together, their relationship seemed as much an intellectual match as a romantic one.
“I was better in Lynn Shelton’s gaze,” Maron says at one point in Are We Good? Her death broke his heart and upended his world. Not only did the comedian lose his best friend, but he also couldn’t grieve her with his community. Shelton passed during the early days of the COVID lockdown. Maron frequently jokes about feeling like an exhibition when his neighbors, making an effort he appreciated, tried to comfort him from six feet away.
It’s no wonder Maron made use of Instagram Live. The comic started using the app’s feature while Shelton was alive (you can hear and see her in the background of some videos), but her death changed his approach. The livestreams, many of which Feinartz includes in the doc, became a way for Maron to connect with others and process his feelings.
In fact, Maron used almost everything in his life to confront this loss. The Instagram videos, his stand-up routines once he got back on stage, his podcast and even his relationship with his two cats all became avenues through which the comedian processed grief. The experience, though a universal one, felt singular and overwhelming, and Maron needed to talk about it. At first the conversations and jokes were a bit stilted — awkward even — but he eventually got more comfortable, loosening up and letting the emotions wash over him like a wave.
Are We Good? traces the evolution of Maron as a person and artist trying to make space for loss in his life. The process unearths other repressed emotions, especially about his early years. Feinartz uses Maron’s biography — the emotionally absent father, the youthful years in Albuquerque, his early interest in comedy and his substance abuse — as a lens through which to understand his present pain. This framing lets Feinartz cover most of Maron’s life and early career, but it’s by no means comprehensive.
As with many of us, Maron’s emotional issues can be traced back to childhood. The comedian talks a lot about his dad’s emotional inaccessibility. In one telling anecdote, Maron remembers how he was often tasked by his mother with telling a joke whenever his father was in a mood. “You’re the only one who can make him laugh,” she would say.
When Barry Maron appears in the doc, Maron reveals that his father has dementia. The condition complicates their relationship as Maron spends more time with a person he hasn’t really forgiven. The senior Maron is also more to the political right than his son, and sometimes the junior Maron references his father’s conspiratorial thinking. Here’s where I wish Feinartz had dug a bit deeper. It seems like Maron’s relationship with his father, changing so much in the face of the latter’s disease, has added another layer to his grief. But the doc doesn’t dwell. Instead, Feinartz splits his attention between this painful thread and one concerning Maron’s career ambitions.
When HBO taps the comedian for a special, it boosts Maron’s confidence. His excitement is palpable. He’s been a working comic for decades and hasn’t always felt as recognized as his peers. The special makes him feel like he’s arrived, and it becomes a place where his emotional and artistic lives meet honestly.
Movie Reviews
Ella McCay
Other Noteworthy Elements
Ryan and Ella’s marriage appears to be on the rocks. Ella wonders if Ryan only married her for the perks of her career (even when they were young, it was clear Ella had a big future in store). And Ryan’s foul behavior suggests this is true.
When Ella forgets to thank Ryan for his support during a speech (because she gets flustered by unexpected interruptions from Governor Bill), Ryan essentially throws a temper tantrum. He uses the incident to try to convince Ella to get him a political position (egged on by his mother, who belittles her own husband). He then resorts to unscrupulous means to manipulate and embarrass Ella, holding the threat of divorce over her head.
We’re told that other politicians despise Ella. Her very presence reminds them of their own inadequacies as policymakers and compromises they’ve made as politicians. (At one point, Ella criticizes the majority of her fellow politicians for spending more time campaigning than they do reading proposed legislation.) Even Bill, when Ella asks him for advice, is hesitant to openly support Ella, since it could hurt his own career. As such, the film seems to serve as a commentary on the political state at large: Ella literally says, “You can’t be popular and fix anything.”
Not long after Eddie’s affairs come out, Helen hugs him and tells him she loves him but that she’ll never forgive him for cheating on his wife. Years later, Eddie seemingly tries to make amends with his children, but it’s fueled by a selfish desire, since his current girlfriend told him she wouldn’t marry him unless he made up with his kids. And when Helen tells Eddie that he needs to stop messing up long enough for his kids to forgive him and do the work required to fix his relationships, he retorts that his kids will “be better” once they forgive him.
We learn that Ella’s mom passed away young, though we’re not given the details of what caused her death. Eddie admits that he sent Casey to military school after her death because he “didn’t want the responsibility” and that he avoided Ella because he was scared of how she’d react to that decision. (At the film’s start, he and Ella haven’t spoken in 13 years.)
A politician uses a cheat sheet of sorts while calling donors to make it seem like he cares about them. People lie, scheme and manipulate others. We hear about political blackmail and bribery. Casey’s job involves advising people on sports betting. A trooper assigned to Ella’s protection unit purposely goes into overtime in spite of a budget crisis because he’s tight on cash and apparently going through an expensive divorce.
Casey is described as agoraphobic because he hasn’t left his house in 13 months. However, he insists that his reclusiveness is a choice—that he can leave whenever he wants. But he does seem to have some severe anxiety about leaving, and we learn that his self-imposed solitary confinement followed an embarrassing romantic mishap. His house is littered with dirty dishes and bags of trash.
A woman gets petty revenge against someone by calling the health department on his pizzeria and getting it shut down.
[Spoiler warning] Ryan, in a strange grab for attention, starts a political scandal for Ella involving blackmail and bribery. He gives Ella an ultimatum, and Ella responds that if he loved her—if he even liked her—he wouldn’t be doing this to her. Because Ryan doesn’t get what he wants, he blames the blackmail and bribery on Ella, telling the press that he’s divorcing her. And the scandal, though completely fabricated, is bad enough for her party to remove her from office.
Movie Reviews
Movie Review: In Scarlet, transplanting Hamlet to an anime dreamworld | Mint
The Japanese writer-director Mamoru Hosoda has made some amazing films that take profound leaps into dreamlike worlds.
Hosoda’s “Mirai” (2018) is about a 4-year-old boy who’s resentful of his newborn sister. But in his backyard garden, he meets his sister as a teenager. This is just the first of many domestic time travels, as the boy meets other relatives from other points in their lives. A new understanding begins to dawn.
In “Belle” (2022), a teenager who’s lived through tragedy finds a soaring catharsis in a virtual realm. I thought it was one of the best films of that year, and I still think it might be the best movie ever made about the internet. Either way, its song-and-soul-shattering climax is unforgettable.
Yet in Hosoda’s latest, “Scarlet,” the director’s enviable reach exceeds his grasp. In it, his female protagonist is a medieval princess who, after seeing her king father killed by her uncle, and dying herself, awakes in an expansive purgatory. In this strange afterlife, peopled by the dead from all time periods, she seeks revenge for her father.
Anyone, I think, would grant that a Japanese anime that transplants “Hamlet” to a surreal netherworld is a touch more ambitious than your average animated movie. Unlike the wide majority of cartoons, or even live-action movies, the problem with “Scarlet” isn’t a lack of imagination. It’s too much.
Hosoda, a former Studio Ghibli animator whose other films include “Wolf Children” and “Summer Wars,” has an extraordinary knack for crafting anime worlds of visual complexity while pursuing existential ideas with a childlike sincerity. But an excess of baroque design, of emotion, of scope, sinks Hosoda’s “Scarlet.” It’s the kind of misfire you can forgive. If you’re going to fail by overreach, it might as well be with a wildly ambitious rendering of “Hamlet.”
In the thrilling prologue, set in 16th century Denmark, Scarlet (Ashida Mana) watches as her uncle Claudius (Kôji Yakusho) frames her father as a traitor and has him executed. Enraged, Scarlet — without any visitation from her father’s ghost — goes to kill Claudius. Only he poisons her first, and Scarlet awakes in what she learns is called the Otherlands.
It’s a kind of infinite wasteland, full of wandering souls and marauding bandits. People are there for a time, and then they pass into nothingness. A stairway to heaven is rumored to exist somewhere. As she seeks Claudius, Scarlet is joined by a stranger she encounters named Hijiri (Okada Masaki). A paramedic from modern day, he spends most of his time in the Otherworld trying to heal the wounds of others, including Scarlet’s foes.
“Scarlet” can be meandering and tedious. Even Rosencrantz and Guildenstern turn up. If the Otherworld is laid out like Scarlet’s troubled conscience, the ensuing battle between vengeance and forgiveness feels dully simplified. It’s all a sea of troubles. Hosoda tries to build some interiority to the story (not a small aspect of “Hamlet”) through Hijiri’s backstory, telescoping Shakespeare’s quandaries to contemporary times.
Hosoda grafted “Beauty and the Beast” into “Belle,” to sometimes awkward, sometimes illuminating effect. But in “Scarlet,” he struggles to bridge “Hamlet” to today. It’s a big swing, the kind filmmakers as talented as Hosoda should be taking, but it doesn’t pay off. Still, it’s often dazzling to look at it and it’s never not impassioned. Hosoda remains a director capable of reaching trembling, operatic heights. In “Scarlet,” for instance, Claudius gets a spectacular death scene, a remarkable accomplishment considering he’s already dead.
“Scarlet,” a Sony Pictures Classics release, opens in limited release Friday and in wider theatrical release Feb. 6. Rated PG-13 by the Motion Picture Association for violence/bloody image. Playing in both Japanese with subtitles and English dubbed versions. Running time: 112 minutes. Two stars out of four.
Movie Reviews
‘No Other Choice’ Review: Park Chan-wook’s Timely, Dark, Hilarious Comedic Satire That Slays with Style
Most people who have seen a few director Park movies will agree that he has one of the most creative and crazy minds out there. I’m happy to join the choir. This marks the 55-year-old filmmaker’s inaugural foray into the Black comedy subgenre, although we are cognizant of his cheekiness.
Director Park’s examination of the economic class structures in South Korea, as evidenced by Man-soo’s dismissal, is as bleak as it is in any other urbanized capitalist nation. It is, after all, based on an American novel, but it exploits this premise to build a powerful Black comedy. With No Other Choice‘s straightforward plot, he deconstructs the conventions of masculinity under a capitalistic umbrella through a kooky but always funny atmosphere. One equally funny and depressing recurring gag is post-firing affirmations that many of the unemployed former breadwinners use as an excuse to continue their self-pity wallowing. Man-soo’s dubious scheme reflects himself in his fellow compatriots, who share the same ill fate. They all neglect their loving families, becoming real-time losers to the significant impact of the capitalist culture on the common man. As the plot develops, Park explores the twisted but captivating development of this man regaining his sense of self and spine… You know, through murder.
As this social satire unfolds in dark, humorous ways, No Other Choice is a rare example of style and substance working together. Director Park throws every stylistic option he can at the wall, and almost everything sticks. Mainly because his imaginative lens – crossfades, dissolves, and memorable feats – is both visually captivating and enriching to Man-soo’s mission. The film encroaches on noir-thriller sensibilities, especially with its modern setting. Man-soo’s choices become more engrossing and inventive, proving timely even in its most familiar beats while personalizing every supporting character.
Director Park and his reunion with director of photography Kim Woo-hyung from The Little Drummer Girl execute a distinctive vision that flawlessly captures the screwball comedy archetype with its own rhythmic precision and stunning visuals, particularly in contrast to the picturesque autumnal backdrop. Compared to Decision to Leave, it’s more maximalist, but it still makes you think, “Wow, this is how movies should look.” Nevertheless, the meticulous framework and blocking in the numerous chaotic sequences impart a unique dark-comedic tone that evokes a classic comedy from the height of silent era cinema, albeit in stunning Technicolor.
In an exceptional leading performance, Lee Byung-hun channels his inner Chaplin.
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