Sight, 2024.

Directed by Andrew Hyatt.
Starring Terry Chen, Greg Kinnear, Fionnula Flanagan, Wai Ching Ho, Raymond Ma, Ben Wang, Jayden Zhang, Donald Heng, Jennifer Juniper Angeli, Natalie Skye, Danni Wang, Natasha Mumba, Mia SwamiNathan, Esabella Anna Karena Strickland, Sky Kao, Ken Godmere, Corey Turner, Jeffrey Pai, Sara Ye, Kenneth Liu, Ryan Cowie, Tara Burnett, Aidan Wang, Peter Anderson, Peter Chan, Kelvin Luo, and Garland Chang.

SYNOPSIS:

When a blind orphan arrives in his waiting room seeking a miracle, a world-renowned eye surgeon must confront his past and draw on the resilience he gained growing up in China during the Cultural Revolution to try to restore her sight.

Well-intentioned but clunkily structured and edited (the film doesn’t necessarily have an ending but rather an abrupt fade and transition into one of the usual Angel studio pay-it-forward advertisements), Sight tells a story about how the past and present inform one another, yet is so sprawling in its attempt to do so that nearly every section comes across as streamlined, forced, corny, and overly cloying. 

There’s too much ground to cover in 100 minutes, so every plot point, whether it be a look at the Cultural Revolution in 1970s China and survivor’s guilt of not fulfilling a promise, a breakthrough in curing blindness, the personal life of renowned eye surgeon Dr. Ming Wang (an expressive, affecting performance from Terry Chen) who found success in America, out of place comedic anecdotes involving his family, a puzzling disinterest in characterizing young orphaned Indian girl Kajal (Mia SwamiNathan) inspirational to his life who was blinded at the hands of her mother pouring sulfuric acid to make life more sympathetic as a street beggar (that’s a whole movie right there begging to be made), or some weak third act love interest material with a bartender, director Andrew Hyatt (co-writing the screenplay alongside John Duigan and Buzz McLaughlin, based on the autobiography of that trailblazing doctor) ends up with stale, unimpressionable Wikipedia style filmmaking that would somehow put similar fare to shame.

The more is more approach to storytelling prevents the film from ever settling into a moment or rhythm, meaning the intended emotional punches never hit. Admittedly, there are serviceable performances and the heartwarming true story factor. However, even that is undercut during the ending credits, which makes the usual biopic choice to insert some pictures and footage showcasing bits and pieces of the events that unfolded; it’s moving and suggests that the stronger route might have been through making a documentary.

Stylistic choices, such as having Dr. Ming Wang hallucinating haunting visions of his past as if egging him on to not give up on the children and to keep at it making headway on scientific breakthroughs, feel awkward in a grounded film such as this. The real story doesn’t need that kind of hokey, dramatic elevation; it would be compelling if the filmmakers figured out what to focus on. One portion is a mildly interesting look at scientific trial and error with Dr. Ming Wang experimenting alongside his trusted associate Dr. Misha Bartnovsky (a reliable Greg Kinnear, supportive and amusing); another is a baffling sitcom complete with a bumbling brother failing at entrepreneurship, and then there is a small slice of showing how the good doctor met his eventual wife (lovely, but hardly necessary here), all while flashbacks are rapidly unfolding without a chance to settle into a place and time.

Meanwhile, one wonders how Sight would have turned out if it actually played up the connection between the blind patient and the metaphorically blind doctor, uncertain of how to move forward in his future rather than moving it as something to spell out during the last 10 minutes. It’s reductive that the filmmakers only see Kajal as a source of inspiration, not a fully fleshed-out person, a trope that has plagued disability-centric stories for ages. Likewise, the exploration of Communist China is also surface level and deserving of stronger treatment. Essentially, Sight lacks cohesive vision.

Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★

Robert Kojder is a member of the Chicago Film Critics Association and the Critics Choice Association. He is also the Flickering Myth Reviews Editor. Check here for new reviews, follow my Twitter or Letterboxd, or email me at MetalGearSolid719@gmail.com

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=embed/playlist

Hit Man, 2024.

Directed by Richard Linklater.
Starring Glen Powell, Adria Arjona, Austin Amelio, Retta, Sanjay Rao, Molly Bernard, Evan Holtzman, Mike Markoff, Ritchie Montgomery, Kate Adair, Beth Bartley, Morgana Shaw, Richard Robichaux, Bryant Carroll, Stephanie Hong, Gralen Bryant Banks, Jonas Lerway, Murphee Bloom, KC Simms, Jordan Joseph, Joel Griffin, and Garrison Allen.

SYNOPSIS:

A professor moonlighting as a hit man of sorts for his city police department, descends into dangerous, dubious territory when he finds himself attracted to a woman who enlists his services.

Exploring murder as a crime of passionate love, personalities altering across adulthood, who and what danger truly comes from, the spontaneous urge to hire a professional killer (with the mythology of the entire fake profession deconstructed and picked apart), and a study of how to balance the id and the ego, co-writer/director Richard Linklater’s Hit Man (loosely based on a true story magazine article from Skip Hollandsworth, and star Glenn Powell assisting with screenplay duties), this film is much more than the vehicle for sizzling chemistry founded on erotic danger material that its two leads kill with command.

Skillfully wading between genres, Hit Man begins as a situational comedy about boring philosophy studies college professor Gary Johnson (Glenn Powell), who returns home from work to feed his birds (also knowledgeable and obsessed with them) and cat while casually having dinner at a pathetic but hilariously constructed one-person dinner table inside a mostly empty kitchen. Gary also does sting operations undercover for the police on the side, except his role in those operations is promoted to the field once the temperamental Jasper (Austin Amelio) storms onto the scene complaining about cancer culture, having been suspended for physically attacking some teenagers who “deserved it ” on the job.

This allows Gary to become Ron, or rather, the “constantly aggressive,” hardened, cold-blooded killer who couldn’t be any more opposite from his otherwise nerdy, well-articulated, loner real self. Gary comes across as so lame that during a brief reunion with his ex-wife (Molly Bernard), she almost seems disappointed that their marriage was apparently so loveless he never entertained the idea of putting a hit out on her if things went south or generally killing for love.

Nevertheless, Gary finds within himself a more charismatic, twistedly imaginative, likable badass easily capable of easing strangers meeting him in random locations to lower their guard and incriminate themselves into premeditated murder over a wire. At the same time, we are consistently amused observing the cuckoo, zany individuals desperate enough to resort to such an arrangement under the impression it will fix all the problems. It is equally funny that Ron switches up his wardrobe to appeal to different types of people seeking his supposed service, experimenting more with finding his true identity.

However, what happens when someone (Adria Arjona) doesn’t just bring an envelope filled with money to the meeting but a genuinely depressing story about an abusive husband who possibly does deserve to be whacked? It’s a brilliant inversion of what we have been watching up until this point, switching the proceedings from comedy to the aforementioned superheated romantic thrills as fake hitman continues to enjoy the more positive perception people bestow upon him as Ron by using that false identity to get closer to this woman, named Madison, while also giving her some rules to adhere to regarding entering a relationship with a professional killer. 

That shift largely works due to the performances from Glenn Powell and Adria Arjona (who seems to have mostly had smaller roles in blockbusters until this breakthrough, revelatory performance), delivering lines with suave and seduction. Small physical tics in the performances elevate that magnetism, whether it be the opening of an alcoholic bottle mid-sentence and mid-stare, a perfectly timed and corny one-liner, or actors always aware of what the character should be feeling and how they should react in a given scene. There is a moment where Ron does encounter the toxic boyfriend (Evan Holtzman), instantly turning fearful but also regaining that composure the second her new boyfriend whips out a gun. 

Most importantly, the snappy screenplay allows viewers to buy into the initially absurd idea that Madison would be comfortable around a killer, even if we know Gary/Ron has never actually done such a thing. She has been around someone legitimately abusive who has caused her immense emotional and psychological pain, so in her mind, how much worse could it be getting close to a professional killer if he is actually a compassionate human being to her outside that job? Ron even puts it to her in the best terms; he’s a people person outside this line of work.

Hit Man also has its share of convenient, strictly movie moments, although they never threaten to jeopardize or tear down the absorbing character work behind the simmering attraction. The third act does transition into a thriller where an actual murder is in the picture, which makes for a noticeable small drop off in the introspection on identity, but Richard Linklater and the company also find ways to make that refreshing and exhilarating, most notably in an electric sequence involving what amounts to role-play on top of role-play. More to the point, nearly every single moment of Hit Man, well, hits. It is high-voltage fun, armed with smarts, sexiness, showiness, and substance.

Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★ ★ ★

Robert Kojder is a member of the Chicago Film Critics Association and the Critics Choice Association. He is also the Flickering Myth Reviews Editor. Check here for new reviews, follow my Twitter or Letterboxd, or email me at MetalGearSolid719@gmail.com

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=embed/playlist

A highly skilled professional masseuse, Mai moves into town and joins a spa. No one really knows what she does for a living, but speculation abounds as to her likely source of income. Disrespectful terms like “sugar baby” and “hooker” are thrown at her behind her back while one neighbour accuses her of attempting to steal her husband (the blame being placed on Mai instead of the lecherous spouse in question). When she is not looking, ladies in the adjoining flats litter her doorstep with garbage and dog poop. These civic squabbles and jealousies may be presented in a melodramatic manner but they highlight the struggles of single women living by themselves in South East Asia (and elsewhere). Judgement and a lack of privacy are two issues that are commonly faced. Local playboy Duong and an independent, middle-aged woman are the only people who are accepting of Mai. If her domestic situation wasn’t hard enough, there are co-workers at the massage parlour upset with Mai’s success. She is booked on most days, with her colleagues worried about their regular clients being poached. When male customers wish for special services, she is quick to tell them that she is a professional and to keep any dodgy requests at the door. This attitude further enrages her contemporaries. Meanwhile, Duong, who’s footloose and fancy-free, takes a genuine liking to his neighbour.

Mai isn’t a film that can be easily categorised. Sure, there’s a love story on which everything hinges, but to reduce it to just that would be doing it a huge disservice. Sexual violence and suicidal ideation, complex family dynamics (not on the part of Mai alone but Duong too), deep-seated issues of trust and self-loathing as a direct result of past abuse, the inability of the child to sever ties with the parent, gambling addiction and resultant debt—there is a lot of heavy subject matter to uncoil here. And the intrigue makes each subsequent part of the story fairly unpredictable. You know some bad things are coming, but you’re neither sure of their extent nor their scope. Phuong Anh Dao does a phenomenal job as the film’s lead. Sensitive, kind and understanding, though she keeps those who try to get too close at an arm’s length. Her past is something that has clearly affected her life in an adverse way, and she wishes to steer clear of vulnerability. Even as Duong sheds his playboy persona when he develops feelings, she resists the urge to reciprocate. Shame is another repetitive theme witnessed through the film. It is indeed unfortunate that Mai judges herself so harshly; it is for those who wronged her (including her gambling addict father dependent on her for money) to feel shame. Sadly, that’s not how things work. And despite a supportive daughter, a benevolent benefactor and a man genuinely in love with her, it is hard for her to see her true worth.

Complicated parent-child dynamics are seen through Mai, with it being a difficult subject to shake off. Mai’s relationship with her father is fraught with issues; a role-reversal of sorts can be seen (she has to mother and protect him constantly). For all intents and purposes, he was a terrible father, putting her early life at grave risk. Duong, for his part, lives forever in his wealthy, single mother’s shadow. He stays on his own and dreams of pursuing a career in music, but everything is done on her dime. And not for a moment does she allow him to forget any of the sacrifices made. Worm, his pet name, only reinforces where all the power lies. These two parents, at different ends of the graph, are both equally to blame for their children’s internal struggles.

Beautiful and poignant, it is the sheer emotional range of Phuong Anh Dao and Tuan Tran that holds the film together. What is not said leaves a mark. Their faces and eyes tell a story beyond the dialogue. Mai has this strange ability to surprise you when you finally feel like you’ve called its bluff, and that remains one of the film’s foremost qualities. The writing doesn’t deal with its themes in a flippant manner. It goes to the heart of trauma, where love was once broken (perhaps even irreparably), to see if a small window of trust may yet remain. There are layers to Mai that aren’t easy to decode. The film attempts to understand that undefinable feeling, romantic or otherwise, setting itself apart in the process.