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‘Backspot’ Review: Devery Jacobs and Evan Rachel Wood in a Perceptive Queer Cheerleading Drama

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‘Backspot’ Review: Devery Jacobs and Evan Rachel Wood in a Perceptive Queer Cheerleading Drama

Cheerleading is brutal business in Backspot.

A GoPro-style opening sequence captures its young female athletes at work, sprinting and flipping and pounding the floor so hard it sounds liable to shatter. Later, we get close-ups of blistered feet, bruised arms, a bloody nose plugged up with a tampon. Through director D.W. Waterson’s camera, we register the tremble of their muscles as they hoist each other into the air, or the pain on their faces as they stretch their legs into splits.

Backspot

The Bottom Line

A sensitive and stylish coming-of-age journey.

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And precisely none of this effort is meant to be visible. When it is, they’re reprimanded: “You’re making it look hard. You need to make it look easy,” an imperious coach, Eileen (Evan Rachel Wood), scolds Riley (Reservation Dogs‘ Devery Jacobs). But the tension is a familiar one for the teenager. An anxious perfectionist, Riley spends her whole life trying not to let the cracks show. Backspot captures that inner turmoil with sensitivity and style, if not always with the ambition required to vault it to a more elite level.

At the point when we meet Riley, she’s a mid-level cheerleader whose life includes blissful afternoons with Amanda (Kudakwashe Rutendo), her girlfriend and teammate, and stilted evenings with her perpetually edgy mother, Tracy (Shannyn Sossamon). The bulk of it, however, is devoted to her chosen sport — practicing it, training for it, thinking about it. If she has friends outside the team or obligations outside the athletic schedule (like, say, going to school), we get barely a whiff of them. Initially, then, the news that Riley and Amanda have been chosen to join a top-tier squad comes as a giddy shock to both. But with the dream promotion comes a crushing pressure to perform, which threatens to alienate Riley from her loved ones and even from herself.

Though Backspot is shot through with a sense of unease that occasionally flirts with horror, the actual narrative contours of Joanne Sarazen’s elliptical script are relatively modest. There are few shocking twists or fiery confrontations. Riley’s journey is built instead on smaller, more internal shifts — through the note of wonder that creeps into her voice as she starts to see Eileen as a queer role model, or the sourness that subsequently seeps into her dynamic with Amanda. The world is sketched out through telling details, like the sharp contrast between Amanda’s crowded but cozy home and Riley’s spotless but chilly one, rather than labored exposition. In time, Riley’s path leads her toward a reconciliation between the person she’s expected to be, the person she wants to be, and the person she truly is. Jacobs‘ magnetic performance alerts us to every tiny miscalculation or epiphany along the way.

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The narrow scope has its limitations. A glimpse of Eileen eating leftover takeout alone in her car or Eileen’s assistant coach, Devon (Thomas Antony Olajide), blowing off steam in a gay club after hours hint at full lives that extend beyond the frame, but neither is allowed enough time to truly reveal their depths. (Less prominent characters like Riley’s mom are reduced to symbols and plot devices.) Themes of class and sexuality add intriguing texture to Riley’s story, but are touched upon too lightly to carry any real weight. A significant amount of Backspot‘s 93 minutes is devoted to montages of Riley at play or at work, and one wonders if some of that time might have been better used digging deeper into the people and ideas surrounding her.

As a translation of its protagonist’s subjective experience, though, the film is almost obsessively observant. Close-ups of Riley’s increasingly sparse eyebrows track her emotional state, as her mounting anxiety manifests in trichotillomania. The sound mix zeroes in on the panting of athletes, or gives itself over to the unbearable drone of Riley’s mother’s constant vacuuming. Backspot can be a pleasure to look at, particularly when it’s focused on the grandeur of bodies in motion. But it’s not exactly pretty. The film’s dominant colors are the utilitarian grays and blacks of a gym, nestled within a Canadian suburb dotted with dirty snow.

It’s a pointed choice, given that elite cheerleading — “the old school stuff, the stuff that gets you trophies,” as Eileen puts it — isn’t just delivering astounding feats of athleticism and discipline. As Backspot points out, it’s also about projecting a certain image of idealized conventional femininity: thin, trim, glazed in glittery makeup topped with a beaming smile. It seems no wonder that a girl like Riley, so intent on being seen as perfect, might be drawn to the sport, and even less wonder that it has the potential to break her.

But if the film follows her into the darkness, it also offers her a way out through its unvarnished but compassionate view of her life and the people who care about her. Riley struggles to live up to perfection, as defined by her coach or her family or her own lofty standards. Backspot firmly but lovingly reminds her that she only need learn to be herself.

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Movie Reviews

Cobweb Blu-ray Review: Lizzy Caplan & Antony Starr Horror Movie Intrigues

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Cobweb Blu-ray Review: Lizzy Caplan & Antony Starr Horror Movie Intrigues

Cobweb didn’t quite make waves when it was released in July, but its aptly timed Blu-ray release comes right in time for the spooky season, which fits it much better than summer. Samuel Bodin’s directorial debut has a talented cast that features Lizzy Caplan, Antony Starr, and Cleopatra Coleman, alongside child actor Woody Norman, who continues to be one to really watch. With some fun ideas, a unique framing, and some cool practical effects, Cobweb winds up making an impact despite its limited resources.

“Eight-year-old Peter is plagued by a mysterious, constant tap, tap from inside his bedroom wall – a tapping that his parents insist is all in his imagination,” says the synopsis. “As Peter’s fear intensifies, he believes that his parents (Lizzy Caplan and Antony Starr) could be hiding a terrible, dangerous secret and questions their trust. And for a child, what could be more frightening than that?”

What makes Cobweb really stand out is the performances. Caplan and Starr are great as the parents, delivering creepy performances that leave the audience truly guessing if they are anxious parents, abusive psychopaths, or somewhere in between. While not particularly scary at any point, the film is always engaging, and Norman does a great job of portraying a child’s natural fear in such a situation.

The film will leave viewers with a lot to digest, especially if you engage with what you just saw and try to make sense of it. How much is to be taken literally? Could it be a child’s imagination that leads to a tragedy, and the more supernatural elements are simply used to cope? There are a lot of ways to read the events that take place, which makes this a prime candidate for rewatches. It’s one of those movies that are just as fun to discuss with friends as it is to watch.

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The special features don’t really engage a ton with its interpretation — which is fine and almost ideal as we don’t need literal answers to every piece of art –, but I still would’ve loved to have heard a director’s commentary discussing what went into the movie. There are three short featurettes, though, totaling around 8.5 minutes. They provide a decent look into the practical effects that went into its final act, using a child’s perspective to tell the story, and taking advantage of primal fears, such as being afraid of the dark and spiders. While I wish there was a bit more to sink your teeth into, they do complement the film well and are worth checking out after you finish watching.

Cobweb Blu-ray Review: The Final Verdict

Cobweb winds up punching above its weight, and there’s no better time than fall to revisit it. Just as intriguing a film to engage with as it is to watch, it’s a quick and rewatchable movie that is worth discussing. While there aren’t a ton of special features, what is here is an interesting glimpse at production. While it’s not one of the year’s best horror movies, it’s still a fun watch worth your time.


Disclosure: The publisher sent us a copy for our Cobweb Blu-ray review.

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Beyond Fest review: ‘Caligula’ naughtier than ever in Ultimate Cut – UPI.com

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Beyond Fest review: ‘Caligula’ naughtier than ever in Ultimate Cut – UPI.com

1 of 5 | Malcolm McDowell and Helen Mirren star in “Caligula.” Photo courtesy of Vitagraph Films

LOS ANGELES, Sept. 30 (UPI) — Caligula: The Ultimate Cut, which screened at Beyond Fest in Los Angeles, is unlikely to win over critics of the original film. But, fans of the notorious Penthouse production will be treated even more debauchery in a more focused narrative.

The film charts the rise and fall of Roman Emperor Caligula (Malcolm McDowell). The empire’s excesses involve the carnal delights that Penthouse magazine specialized in.

However, producer Bob Guccione took the film away from director Tinto Brass and added hardcore sex to the film’s orgy scenes. The Ultimate Cut is comprised entirely of alternate takes of scenes or footage that has never appeared, and none of Guccione’s additions.

It remains the story of Caligula, though. Caligula’s predecessor, Cesar Tiberius (Peter O’Toole) already had a harem of sex slaves performing for him or fulfilling his needs.

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So any take chosen is still full of background actors naked, writhing and simulating sex. Some sex acts are even suggested in shadow.

Once Caligula becomes Cesar, he enjoys the abuse of power. He makes light of the actual duties of the position.

Some absurdity remains in the nature of the material and is not necessarily out of place in an epic of decadence.

Caligula dances and prances around. In the rain his palace becomes a Slip N Slide. With his short kilt, McDowell inadvertently moons the camera every time he turns around.

The most memorable scenes from the film are still in this cut. Those would be the execution by decapitation machine, and the assault on newlyweds Proculus (Donato Placido) and Livia (Mirella D’Angelo).

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Much of the film’s last hour is restored for the first time, which gives Caligula an actual arc. It explores Caligula’s insatiable madness to its inevitable conclusion.

McDowell plays the megalomania of speaking in dramatic declarations like, “If only all Rome had just one neck” and declaring himself a god.

The third hour also restores much of Helen Mirren’s role as Caligula’s wife, Caesonia. Considering the softcore sex scenes she shares with McDowell in this section, it’s surprising Guccione would have ever omitted erotic material with his lead actors.

Caligula is never boring. It can be exhausting, so at three hours plus an intermission, one might have taken the opportunity to hone the cut down to a more manageable running time. Perhaps Caligula is destined to be excessive by its very nature.

The only excess that feels out of place is the decision to open the film with more than five title cards explaining the circumstances of the original production. That is too much information to read at the beginning of a film.

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This version of the film should just be presented either for people to discover afresh, or for fans to explore further before or after the film.

At that, even without Guccione’s interference, there are plenty of orgies and taboos in this edition of Caligula. Even without the hardcore sex scenes Guccione added, Caligula will never be tame.

Fred Topel, who attended film school at Ithaca College, is a UPI entertainment writer based in Los Angeles. He has been a professional film critic since 1999, a Rotten Tomatoes critic since 2001, and a member of the Television Critics Association since 2012 and the Critics Choice Association since 2023. Read more of his work in Entertainment.

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Reptile Review – IGN

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Reptile Review – IGN

Some thrillers coast on mood. Reptile slowly drowns in it. For nearly two-and-a-half hours, this plodding murder mystery sustains a single note of hushed unease. Every scene has the same vibe, a pinprick of vague dread amplified by the low hum of what the Netflix subtitles refer to as “tense music.” A man walking into a building? Ominous. A couple dancing at a bar? Ominous. A detective admiring an automatic kitchen faucet? Believe it or not, that’s ominous too. Because the film never strays from this atmosphere of impending doom, it quickly loses its persuasiveness, like a boy crying wolf one too many times.

For a little while, though, it’s an effective approach. The opening minutes have a seductively sinister pull, efficiently drawing you into the apparent New England dream life of two young real estate agents, Summer Elswick (Matilda Lutz) and her boyfriend, Will Grady (Justin Timberlake). It’s not just the overcast lighting scheme that clues us to storm clouds forming on the horizon. There’s also the way Juice Newton’s timeless “Angel of the Morning” rises triumphantly on the soundtrack, only to be swiftly cut off by an opening door. The movie’s first and arguably only true shock arrives just as abruptly, as Will comes home to find Summer brutally stabbed to death. The title slams dramatically across the whole screen, obscuring our view of her mutilated body.

Seasoned detective Tom “Oklahoma” Nichols (Benicio del Toro) catches the case and works it, very gradually. The pool of suspects is small but almost comically filled with plausible psychos. We can’t rule out the boyfriend, thanks to how close to the chest Timberlake plays his emotions. There’s a dirtbag ex-husband (Karl Glusman) who looks like a police sketch personified, with his pencil stache bracketed by sharp cheekbones. And what gumshoe wouldn’t turn his magnifying glass on Eli Phillips (Michael Pitt), a townie who pulls the classic serial-killer move of appearing among the gaggle of onlookers outside the crime scene and holds a grudge against Grady’s local real-estate dynasty? Eli also has the misfortune of being portrayed by Pitt, the frequent onscreen creep who gave TV’s Hannibal and the English-language Funny Games remake some additional notes of distress; how obvious the movie will become hinges partially on whether he’s the culprit or an easily profiled red herring.

Making his feature debut, director Grant Singer fits a profile, too. He stages scenes just like a guy who cut his teeth on music videos: obsessed with surface effect, less so with how well his story tracks from one carefully composed image to the next. The clipped editing, seedy overhead illumination, and periodic plunges into file cabinets mark Reptile as another entry, like The Little Things or Prisoners before it, on the growing log of David Fincher imitations. In fact, the movie often plays like the work of someone who caught Zodiac or Gone Girl on cable years earlier and is trying to recreate it from memory, getting some of the sickly sleekness down but remaining foggy on the specifics.

This movie could really use a Gillian Flynn pass. It has the veneer of a Fincherian procedural, but not the density of clues or complications or studiously observed lead-chasing. Singer, who also cowrote the screenplay, portentously stretches out his ho-hum mystery, which gets less interesting the closer the detective comes to solving it. (The biggest revelation, the one that cracks the whole case, is uncovered thanks to laughable carelessness on the guilty party’s part.) Padding out the protracted runtime are scenes of the detective’s intersecting personal and professional lives. That his wife, played by Alicia Silverstone, is an encouraging, unofficial partner is a nice subversion of police-movie convention. A more playful thriller might have some fun with their dynamic instead of folding it into the general gloom.

Reptile’s ho-hum mystery gets less interesting the closer the detective comes to solving it.

There’s some craft to admire at least. The cinematographer, Mike Gioulakis, supplies some of the same creeping menace he previously lent films by Jordan Peele, David Robert Mitchell, and M. Night Shyamalan. He has an expert eye for the evil lurking in the cracks and crevices of suburban life. Beyond the polished imagery, it’s the performances that prop Reptile up. Del Toro, especially, draws you close with his understatement. He downplays everything, raising an eyebrow but never his voice, even when threatening the man flirting with his wife. Is that lawman strategy or essential temperament? There’s much more intrigue in the actor’s carefully subdued delivery than what the whodunit provides.

Then again, maybe he’s just drowsy. The audience probably will be. Reptile drones through its mystery, almost daring viewers to zone out, perhaps in hopes that we might miss a few key details and walk away thinking we’ve seen something more suggestive and complex than we have. The film has no ups or downs, just a flatline of disquiet connecting one identically inflected moment to the next. It’s the detective thriller as foreboding white noise machine.

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