Movie Reviews
'The Crow' movie review
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‘The Crow’ hits theaters this weekend, NewsdayTV’s film critic Rafer Guzmán reviews the film’s reboot.
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Movie Reviews
The Mesmerizing Close Your Eyes Asks What Really Makes a Life
![The Mesmerizing Close Your Eyes Asks What Really Makes a Life The Mesmerizing Close Your Eyes Asks What Really Makes a Life](https://pyxis.nymag.com/v1/imgs/dcb/4fc/0bff2f7ac4d924c01f5b4012697bd6310d-close-your-eyes.1x.rsocial.w1200.jpg)
Victor Erice’s fourth feature is a stirring tale about memory, identity, and friendship, and it feels deeply, almost alarmingly personal.
Photo: Manolo Pavón
This review was originally published on May 25, 2023 out of the Cannes Film Festival. We are recirculating it now timed to Close Your Eyes’s theatrical release.
Before this year’s Cannes, the Spanish director Victor Erice had made only three features in a 50-plus-year career. These happen to be three of the greatest films ever made. The Spirit of the Beehive (1973) is one of Spanish cinema’s most beloved treasures. El Sur (1983) had its production cut short and thus is considered something of a film maudit, but to my eyes, it’s even better than Spirit of the Beehive. And his 1992 documentary, Dream of Light, which won the Jury Prize at Cannes that year, is one of the most mesmerizing meditations on the elusive nature of art that anyone has ever made, anywhere.
That was 31 years ago, and the premiere of a new feature by the now-82-year-old Erice, a three-hour drama called Cerrar los Ojos (Close Your Eyes), was one of the most notable news items in this year’s Cannes lineup. The director was not present, however, for the Tuesday premiere of his film at the festival. Some suggested it was because he was too ill to make the trip, while others speculated that after so many years out of the limelight, he had taken on a Terrence Malick–style reticence. (It’s worth noting, however, that Erice has continued to make shorts and produce other work over the years; he also served on the Cannes jury in 2010.)
Two days ago, Erice published an op-ed in the Spanish paper El País explaining his absence. Turns out, he was just pissed. The director’s first feature in 31 years was playing out of competition, a fact Erice apparently learned only at the press conference announcing this year’s lineup. At Cannes, it’s generally understood that the main competition is where the best films are screened, though in truth the negotiations over who does and doesn’t get to compete are often filled with petty politics and starfuckery. (For example, you’re clearly guaranteed a competition slot if your film either stars or was directed by Sean Penn.)
To be clear, Erice wasn’t annoyed because he wasn’t in competition. He felt disrespected by the way the festival had communicated with him, keeping him in the dark about its intentions. This matters because other festivals — including Venice and Cannes’s own parallel fest, Directors’ Fortnight, which has in the past premiered many major movies from major directors — had offered Erice choice slots. These other venues all effectively got screwed over by Cannes’s inability to communicate properly with the filmmaker.
The good news is that one day all this nonsense will be forgotten but Close Your Eyes will remain. Erice’s fourth feature is a stirring tale about memory, identity, and friendship, and it feels deeply, almost alarmingly personal. It opens with tantalizing images from what turns out to be an abandoned project called The Farewell Gaze. That picture, we learn, was left unfinished when its star, Julio Arenas (Jose Coronado), disappeared under mysterious circumstances, seemingly walking away from the movie and from his whole life, never to be heard from again. The director, Miguel Garay (Manolo Solo), never shot another roll of film. Indeed, he now lives off the grid, in a trailer by a beach, growing his own tomatoes and catching fish. A TV investigation into Julio’s disappearance lures Miguel (who sometimes likes to be called “Mike”) back into the world, and he begins to make inquiries into what might have happened back then.
There’s enough of a mystery in Close Your Eyes that it makes sense to keep the rest of the story secret for now. The film proceeds in stylistically distinct movements. That opening scene, with its lush images of footage allegedly shot long ago, even looks like it could have been a part of a real movie called The Shanghai Spell that Erice spent three years preparing back in the late 1990s, only to have it fall apart. Some have speculated that this actually is footage Erice shot for that project, but that production appears to have stopped well before cameras started rolling.
Erice, however, remains heartbroken over the experience, and it’s clear that he sees a lot of himself in Miguel, an artist who’s withdrawn from the world. At one point, Miguel visits his old projectionist friend Max (Mario Pardo), who has a large, dusty archive full of film reels. Max talks about the fact that 90 percent of cinema history still exists only in celluloid form, even though almost nobody screens 35-mm. anymore. There is a sense throughout Close Your Eyes that everything Miguel knows is being taken away from him. The almost idyllically austere seaside abode where he lives is on the verge of being sold, meaning he’ll have to leave. Julio might have withdrawn from the world years ago — either by dying or walking away — but now, with his own world slipping away, Miguel understands something about vanishing.
Close Your Eyes soon settles into a very deliberate, matter-of-fact cadence, at first built around two-person dialogue scenes. The director even seems to be toying with the viewer’s patience here, with each scene ending on an almost excruciatingly long fade to black. (I definitely heard some gripes.) But the almost bland textures of this section feel relevant to the whole project, as Erice sets up a stark contrast between the magic world of cinematic make-believe and the humdrum nature of base reality.
Close Your Eyes is about cinema, too, though not in the way that we’ve become used to in recent years; it’s not a love letter or a poison-pen missive, but rather an exploration of cinema as memory and of the relative value of that memory. This is a film made by a man who has been unable to direct the films he’s wanted to for decades. You feel his frustration and regret in every frame, but you also sense a sort of acceptance. At one point, Miguel types out on a keyboard a statement about an artist who had decided that his masterpiece would not be his work, but his life. Is that an aspirational thought or a desperate one?
The final section of the picture asks, in mesmerizing and unbearably touching fashion, what really makes a life. Is it memory and identity, the cumulative power of all our experiences, the knowledge of our friends and family? Or is it simply the ability to be happy and present? Those opening scenes of that film abandoned long ago feature a man who talks about how often his name has changed over the years, and he laments the fact that his estranged daughter, who is half-Chinese, has been given a different name by her mother. Everybody’s name seems to undergo multiple changes in this movie. What’s in a name? Why does who we are even matter in the grand scheme of things?
As Miguel’s search goes on, we might begin to wonder if he’s really looking for Julio or for himself. The man in the unfinished movie longs for one last glance from his daughter — that “farewell gaze” of the title — before he dies. Miguel needs Julio’s memory more than Julio needs his own. It’s in others’ gazes that we know ourselves. That’s something a filmmaker understands. And it’s something that a filmmaker who hasn’t been able to make a film really understands.
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Movie Reviews
Vaazhai Movie Review: Powerful performances shine in an otherwise black-and-white tale
![Vaazhai Movie Review: Powerful performances shine in an otherwise black-and-white tale Vaazhai Movie Review: Powerful performances shine in an otherwise black-and-white tale](https://static.toiimg.com/photo/msid-112699445/112699445.jpg?12770)
Vaazhai Movie Review: Vaazhai, based on true events from Mari Selvaraj’s life, is a film deeply rooted in his land. It tells a tragedy that unfolds through the eyes of Sivanendhan, a school kid living with his mother and sister in Puliyankulam village near Tirunelveli. Mari wastes no time introducing the back-breaking labour of carrying banana plantains, a task doubly taxing for Sivanendhan and his best friend, who juggle this work with school, leaving them without a single day off.
The film presents picturesque snapshots of the countryside, with affecting sounds that marry the harshness of their lives with the mud that they come from. From the outset, it’s clear we’re in for an earthly affair that’s firmly grounded in the backgrounds of its characters. It follows Sivanendhan (Ponvel), a young Rajini fan, as he splits his time between studies and weekend labour. His best friend Raghul (Sekar), a Kamal fan, works alongside him to help repay a loan left by Sivanendhan’s late father. Despite the constant pain from their heavy labour, the boy remains focused on his studies and finds moments of joy, like his crush on teacher Poongkodi (Nikhila Vimal).
Kani (Kalaiyarasan), a local, fights for better wages and clashes with the upper-caste landlord, showing the village’s struggles. As the story progresses, a missing cow leads to a confrontation with a broker. The narrative thus shows the consequences of missing a day’s labour, juxtaposed with the relatively normal childish joys that these kids find in school.
True to Mari Selvaraj’s style, the film dives into caste dynamics. It sets up a whole ecosystem: villagers breaking their backs in the plantation, a broker playing middleman, and when Kani tries to organise a strike, the big boss shows up to smooth-talk their demands away.
Mari tries to win the audience over with some neat little moments. There’s a hilarious debate between the kids about Rajini versus Kamal that’ll crack you up. Then, there’s Siva’s cheeky move of swiping his teacher Poongkodi’s kerchief, which turns into this sweet bond. Cue a breezy scene of Siva hitching a ride on Poongkodi’s two-wheeler to the rice mill, complete with a catchy tune. These lighter bits, sandwiched between the tough stuff, are meant to hit you right in the feels. When it works, it’s a gut-punch — both heartwarming and heartbreaking.
But there’s only so much sympathy to go around. The film’s so busy painting this black-and-white picture of the downtrodden versus the village bigwigs that it forgets to add some shades of grey. Sure, Siva’s a great kid with potential, and yes, the villagers have it rough. But when the baddies are just your typical moustache-twirling landlord types who seem to own people, it’s hard not to roll your eyes a bit. The film’s begging you to feel bad, but by making everything so cut-and-dry, it actually makes it tougher to stay connected.
The acting in Vaazhai is a standout. Ponvel and Raghul, the young leads, deliver stellar performances that keep you glued. Their on-screen chemistry is top-notch, with Ponvel especially shining as he carries the bulk of the emotional weight. Nikhila Vimal nails her role as the kind, sympathetic, and attractive village teacher. Kalaiyarasan and Dhivya Duraisamy round out the cast nicely, helping to establish the film’s social dynamics.
Craft-wise, the film holds its own. Theni Easwar’s cinematography is a highlight, capturing the countryside and banana plantations with an eye for earthy details like animals and insects. Santhosh Narayanan’s score complements the visuals perfectly, alternating between airy lightness and oppressive heat to mirror the story’s emotional beats.
Vaazhai has got heart and looks the part, but it could’ve used a bit more grey in its village tableau.
Written By: Abhinav Subramanian
Movie Reviews
Movie Review: Style triumphs over logic in Zoë Kravitz’s great-looking but vexing ‘Blink Twice’
“Love means never having to say you’re sorry,” somebody once famously said in the movies. It made utterly no sense in 1970, but even less so now. In recent decades, the apology has become all the rage.
So at the beginning of Zoë Kravitz’s “Blink Twice,” when her tech-mogul protagonist, Slater King, sits on a TV couch and says “I’m sorry” for some unexplained transgression, well, it’s a familiar scene. Pick your offender, pick your year: Famous person issues ritual apology, gets off grid for a bit (in this case, a remote island with chickens) and returns, presumably forgiven. We’ve seen it all before.
Not that it isn’t fun to watch here — especially because Channing Tatum is so delightfully, charmingly smarmy in the role. “Blink Twice” is a big swing for him as an actor and even a bigger one for Kravitz, his life partner, as director and co-writer of this stylish, ambitious, buzzy film that seems to aspire to be a gender-themed “Get Out,” or a #MeToo-era thriller with echoes of “Promising Young Woman.”
And Kravitz almost pulls it off. With the help of a terrific cast, she offers strikingly confident, brashly entertaining filmmaking, until everything seems to break down in a mess of porous storytelling. It’s not the sudden intrusion of gore that’s the issue — this is a horror film, duh. It’s the sudden departure of logic. Perhaps you won’t be able to turn away — but, unlike in Jordan Peele’s or Emerald Fennell’s above-mentioned films, you won’t necessarily be able to explain what you saw, either.
But it sure is crackling fun, until it isn’t — which is a pretty apt way to describe the experience that Frida (Naomi Ackie, excellent) has. A cocktail waitress who designs nail art, Frida lives in a rundown apartment with roommate Jess (Alia Shawkat). When the two get a waitressing gig at a fundraiser, they cleverly plot to change into slinky dresses midway so they can mingle with wealthy guests.
Turns out, it’s a fundraiser for Slater’s firm, and when Frida trips, it’s the billionaire himself who helps her up. He introduces her to his friends, and soon, Frida and Jess can’t believe their luck — they’re on Slater’s plane, en route to his very own Fantasy Island.
The water is sparkling. The champagne is, too. Frida and Jess’ closets are filled with resort wear in stylish white, matching those given the other female guests: the flaky and/or stoned Camilla and Heather, and hard-nosed, sharp-elbowed Sarah, who has eyes on Slater and thus daggers out for Frida. (Adria Arjona’s Sarah is easily the most compelling performance of the movie.)
The food, prepared by Slater’s buddy Cody (Simon Rex), is impeccable. (His other pals are played by Christian Slater, Haley Joel Osment and Levon Hawke, and his therapist by Kyle MacLachlan.) Alcohol is plentiful, sheets are soft, and there’s drugs, too — to be used “with intention,” according to Slater, whatever that means. Days are long, nights are longer, and soon nobody knows what day it is anyway.
But why is that, exactly? Well, all phones were confiscated upon arrival by Stacy, Slater’s ditzy assistant — Geena Davis, a hoot but somewhat underused (and one should never underuse Geena Davis). But something deeper seems at play. We’re trying to avoid spoilers, but as Jess tells Frida, “There is something wrong with this place.”
That would be easy enough to figure out just by looking at the oddly terrifying faces of the resort workers (shades of “Get Out”) who are surely hiding something. Also: why does Frida have dirt under her fingernails? And what happened to a red stain on her dress? Weird stuff is happening.
But Frida, still, is angry that Jess is balking. They’re on a gorgeous island, and someone important is courting her. “For the first time in my life I’m here and I’m not invisible, so please,” she admonishes her friend.
And so the pretense continues — that pretense, familiar in the Instagram era, of always having a good time. “Are you having a good time?” Slater asks more than once. “Yes!” says Frida, less convincingly as time goes on.
And when everything has gone to utter bloody, gory chaos, someone still suggests, eerily: “There’s a version of this where we’re all having a good time.”
There’s a deeper undercurrent here. Women, Kravitz has posited, are always expected to smile, play the game, pretend they’re having a good time — and, she says, to “forget” the bad stuff. And so forgetting is a prominent element in her film, one we won’t spoil.
In any case, there’s indeed a version of Kravitz’s film in which we’re all having a great time — most of it, actually. She just needs to stick the landing. We’ll all be eager to see what comes next.
“Blink Twice,” an Amazon/MGM release, has been rated R by the Motion Picture Association “for strong violent content, sexual assault, drug use and language throughout, and some sexual references.” Running time: 103 minutes. Two and a half stars out of four.
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