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‘The Sparrow in the Chimney’ Review: A Heady Summer Bonfire of Combustible Family Relations

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‘The Sparrow in the Chimney’ Review: A Heady Summer Bonfire of Combustible Family Relations

The opening frame of “The Sparrow in the Chimney” evokes a kind of art-directed ideal of country living: In a spacious, rustically textured farmhouse kitchen, mid-afternoon sunlight pours in through open windows so large they double as French doors, looking out onto rolling, summer-kissed lawns and hazy woods beyond. A regal ginger cat slinks in over the sill, as amplified birdsong and insect chatter also seem to blur the indoor-outdoor boundary. A casserole simmers patiently on the stove. Who wouldn’t want to live like this? Pretty much everyone, it turns out, in Ramon and Silvan Zürcher’s elegantly vicious domestic horror movie, which forensically unpicks the compacted resentments, betrayals and traumas underpinning a single weekend family gathering, with a touch as icy as the lighting is consistently, relentlessly warm.

The Zürcher twins — who take a joint “a film by” credit on all their work, though only Ramon is billed here as writer, director and editor, with Silvan as producer — have a knack for probing inviting household spaces in a way that renders them unfamiliar, even alien. Their 2013 debut “The Strange Little Cat” observed the everyday routines of an ordinary family from a distance that turned their movements into droll physical comedy, while 2021’s “The Girl and the Spider” located whispers of the uncanny in the back-and-forth of a young woman’s apartment move. The third film in the Zürchers’ “animal trilogy,” “The Sparrow and the Chimney” marries that same detached observational quality and fey sense of the absurd to a more elaborately fleshed-out narrative, crackling with melodramatic danger and intensity of feeling. This increased dramatic heft could earn this Locarno competition entry the broader arthouse exposure that has eluded the Zürchers’ previous work, despite their ardent critical following.

The “animal” aspect of the trilogy isn’t incidental. Throughout “The Sparrow and the Chimney,” the natural world encroaches on human life in ways that don’t feel invasive so much as equalizing, as social conventions and restraints are gradually shed in favor of brute base instincts. The first innocuous sign of this collapse is, well, a sparrow caught in the fireplace of the rambling rural house where Karen (“I’m Your Man” star Maren Eggert) grew up, and is now raising her own gradually dispersing family. The bird is freed, in a dusty flurry of flight, by Karen’s lonely pre-adolescent son Leon (Ilja Bultmann); over the next two hours, few will make quite such a lucky escape.

Karen’s consistently stiff, stricken expression is the first clue that all is not rosy in this apparent idyll. When her younger, cheerier sister Jule (Britta Hammelstein) arrives to stay the weekend, with her husband Jurek (Milian Zerzawy) and daughter Edda (Luana Greco) in tow, Karen has to be pulled into a hug, as if her body has forgotten how. When Karen’s eldest daughter Christina (Paula Schindler) joins them from college, too, there’s an anxious void where an embrace should be. Meanwhile, her highschooler daughter Johanna (a scorching Lea Zoe Voss) wouldn’t touch her mother if her life depended on it: A self-styled Lolita who yearns to escape the nest, she radiates above-it-all hostility toward the world in general, but saves a special white-hot reserve of hatred for Karen. That’s beginning to rub off on cherubic Leon, a precocious gourmet (and vulnerable mark for local bullies) who cooks the family’s meals but doesn’t eat them.

The occasion for this family gathering is the birthday of Karen’s husband Markus (Andreas Döhler), though he’s not much in a mood for revelry either — he’d rather quietly continue his dalliance with the family’s young dog walker Liv (Luise Heyer), who lives in a cottage across the way, and has an alleged history of mental illness and arson. Thus are all the elements lined up for a quasi-Chekhovian knockdown battle of competing desires and miseries, though not every conflict plays out exactly as you might predict: Some aggrieved characters passively watch when you expect them to strike, while others resort to stark acts of violence without obvious provocation. The most aggressive presence here, meanwhile, may be a phantom one: Karen and Jule’s late mother, remembered rather differently by the two sisters, who still wields control over a house to which Karen feels oppressively obligated, while Jule was all too happy to wash her hands of it.

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Zürcher’s script balances the excavation of long-buried secrets against a steady stream of present-tense confrontations and revelations, as does his limber, darting editing — while Eggert’s tensely still, hollowed-out performance, as a matriarch increasingly inclined to walk away from familial chaos, is a stabilizing anchor amid all this narrative sturm und drang. The remaining ensemble deftly rolls with the film’s volatile tonal shifts. There’s more broad, barbed comedy in their collective interactions, and occasional, devastating tenderness when they get each other alone — as in one exquisite scene where Christina, despite her recent absence, reads her younger brother’s inner life so acutely as to make him feel, at least for a moment, less alone in it.

“The Sparrow in the Chimney” may be a crowded work, sparking and seizing with nervous energy, but there’s a mutually enhancing tension between the rough-and-tumble of the drama and the refinement of the filmmaking. Characters seem to veritably chafe against the poise and gilded beauty of DP Alex Hasskerl’s immaculate compositions, and they sometimes strain to be heard over the intricate sound design, with its symphonic melding of human rhubarb and the hum, traffic and weather of the outdoors. Nearby, a lake and island where Karen’s children once swam has been taken over by intimidating cormorants, possessively guarding a spot they’re no longer willing to share; perhaps the time has come for this fevered, fractured house to cede itself to the elements.

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Movie Reviews

‘Mexico 86’ Review: Bérénice Béjo Toplines a Compelling Political Drama That Never Drums Up Enough Emotion

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‘Mexico 86’ Review: Bérénice Béjo Toplines a Compelling Political Drama That Never Drums Up Enough Emotion

The violent shadow of Guatemala’s decades-long civil war looms large over Mexico 86, an intimate political thriller about a family of two trying to stay together as the fight pursues them abroad. Written and directed by César Díaz, whose 2019 Cannes Caméra d’Or winner, Our Mothers, also dealt with the deadly repercussions of the Guatemalan conflict, this engaging if somewhat rote second feature stars Bérénice Béjo (The Artist) as a leftist militant forced to decide between revolution and motherhood.

Per the press notes, Diaz based the story on his own childhood, and there’s clearly an authenticity to the way he depicts the harried underground life that activists were forced to lead at the time, with a suitcase always packed so they could flee at any moment. What’s less convincing is the film’s tepid emotional atmosphere and predictable chain of events, even if they lead to a rather moving finale that manages to pull the rug out from under us.

Mexico 86

The Bottom Line

An intriguing tale of motherhood and revolution.

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Venue: Locarno Film Festival (Piazza Grande)
Cast: Bérénice Béjo, Matheo Labbé, Leonardo Ortizgris, Julieta Egurrola, Fermín Martínez
Directors, screenwriter: César Díaz

1 hour 29 minutes

If Our Mothers was more of a contemplative narrative about the war’s long-term traumatic aftereffects, Mexico 86 hits the ground running and never really lets up. After a prologue, set in Guatemala in 1976, shows activist and recent mother Maria (Béjo) witnessing her husband’s murder by government thugs in broad daylight, we skip 10 years ahead to find her living under cover in Mexico City, where she dons a wig, goes by the name of Julia and works as an editor at a progressive newspaper.

Maria is far from home but still deeply entrenched in her combat, shacking up with a fellow activist, Miguel (Leonardo Ortizgris), and doing her best to fight Guatemala’s military-backed — and U.S.-supported — dictatorship from a distance. She’s also doing her best to stay close with her 10-year-old son, Marco (Matheo Labbé), who lives with Maria’s mother (Julieta Egurrola) back home. When the two arrive in Mexico for a visit and Marco winds up staying, it puts Maria in a tough spot: How can she be a good parent while waging a clandestine war against a right-wing junta?

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The dilemma recalls the one in Sidney Lumet’s 1988 masterwork Running on Empty, a similar story of family ties and leftist revolutionaries that was made two years after the events in this film are meant to take place. But whereas Lumet’s devastating coming-of-age story provided a major shot to the heart, especially in its portrayal of a teenager trying to crawl out from under his parents’ weighty shadows, Mexico 86 is less emotionally effective overall, and works best during its handful of suspense sequences.

One has Maria receiving a secret dossier about Guatemala’s mass killings only seconds before her contact is stabbed on a crowded street. In another strong scene, she escapes from her apartment with Miguel and Marco, which leads to a car chase with the secret police. When they get caught in a traffic jam, the chase turns into a shootout, with Maria at one point appearing to hold a gun to Marco’s head — a telling sign that she’d rather sacrifice her own child than hand him over to the enemy.

There’s a way out of all this, but it’s a tough one: Maria’s overseeing operative (played by Fermín Martínez from Narcos: Mexico) tells her she can send Marco off to a “hive” in Cuba, where he’ll be raised with other children of the revolution in relative safety. But the bond between mother and son seems to be tightening, despite some rocky moments, and Maria clearly doesn’t want to give up either Marco or the bigger battle.

Béjo, whose own parents fled the dictatorship in Argentina and settled in France, does a good job portraying Maria’s push-and-pull between family and political engagement. The path her character takes can feel obvious at times, and there’s a general lack of depth to Diaz’s script, even if it’s been drawn from real events. Yet the director manages to land a powerful ending that puts the effaced Marco front and center in a major way, even if it comes a tad late.

The film’s title refers to the 1986 World Cup, which took place in Mexico and which is never referred to except in a few perfunctory moments. The greater backdrop to the story is what happened in Guatemala during the dark years of its many dictatorships, including a genocide in the early ’80s that lead to hundreds of thousands of deaths. If anything, Diaz succeeds in conveying how fatal the conflict in his homeland truly was, making its way into foreign lands and tearing loving families apart.

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Stream It Or Skip It: ‘One Life’ on Paramount+, in which Anthony Hopkins brings his A-game to an otherwise ordinary historical drama

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Stream It Or Skip It: ‘One Life’ on Paramount+, in which Anthony Hopkins brings his A-game to an otherwise ordinary historical drama

One Life (now streaming on Paramount+) is proof that the presence of Sir Anthony Hopkins always and without fail elevates a movie. (OK, maybe not that one Transformers movie, but at least his scenes were memorably unintentionally hilarious.) This film is more stereotypical of what we’d expect from the veteran Oscar winner, who plays the older version of real-life British gent Nicholas Winton, whose efforts to extract hundreds of Jewish children from Nazi-occupied Czechoslovakia made him an unsung hero of World War II. Johnny Flynn (Stardust) plays the younger version of Winton as the film jumps between the late 1930s and 1987 – but as you’d expect, Hopkins is the one who truly carries the movie.

ONE LIFE: STREAM IT OR SKIP IT?

The Gist: Nicholas (Hopkins) has too much stuff. Boxes and boxes of it, piled up here and there, in the den, in the garage. He’s 80-ish, and he takes it slow around their nice, spacious house, but he still drives and still dives into the pool in their lovely back garden. His wife Grete (Lena Olin) insists it’s time to get rid of some of that stuff – but they’ll find a special place for that one attache he keeps in the drawer, she promises. It’s the kind of attache that’s ripe to trigger a flashback: Young Nicholas (Flynn) visiting Prague in 1938. He visits a refugee camp where children clamor for the bit of chocolate in his pocket. A sweet girl, in spite of the harsh conditions and the dirt on her face and hands, smiles wide and shows the gap where her two front teeth are about to grow in. A 12-year-old girl looks considerably more haunted, holding a baby that isn’t her sibling or cousin but one that belongs to people who are just, well, no longer there. 

The Nazis have already pushed these people from their homes, and are on the brink of invading Prague. Something must be done about this, Nicholas insists. He can’t just return to London and resume his job as a stockbroker. He wires his boss and says he’ll be back whenever, and gets to work, recruiting humanitarians Doreen Warriner (Romola Garai) and Trevor Chadwick (Alex Sharp) to come up with a plan to extract the children to the U.K. Nicholas goes home and gets his mother (Helena Bonham Carter) to help him drum up money, visas and foster families. He pleads with British bureaucrats to be, well, less damn bureaucratic, and they put the kids’ paperwork to the top of the pile. 

Letters are written. Photos are taken. Money is raised. Promissories are penned. Typewriters go tickity-tack. Phones ring. Children say heartbreaking goodbyes to their parents as they board trains to safety. Meanwhile, in 1987, Nicholas contemplates. That is to say, he stares longingly into the distance, in between cleaning jaunts (he piles up boxes of old paperwork and burns them in the yard). He opens the attache and pulls out a scrapbook full of photos and documentation. There’s no pride or nostalgia on his face. Just – blankness? An unwillingness to open old wounds, perhaps? He takes the attache to a newspaper, and the doltish editor sends him away. This is Nicholas’ legacy. And he doesn’t know what to do with it.

One Life
Photo: Paramount+

What Movies Will It Remind You Of?: There’s some very clear parallels to Schindler’s List here.

Performance Worth Watching: Without Hopkins’ haunted nonverbal performance, One Life would be incredibly ordinary.

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Memorable Dialogue: Nicholas states it plainly at the refugee camp: “I have seen this, and I cannot unsee it. And because I may be able to do something about it, I must at least try.”

Sex and Skin: None.

Our Take: One Life is a character study cloaked in the trappings of a historical drama – and thank the cinema gods it sidesteps most of the trappings of the staid biopic. The finely shot, relatively bare-bones 1930s sequences lay the groundwork for Hopkins to silently and existentially ruminate in 1987, where Nicholas very pragmatically clean-sweeps the clutter from his life and ends up finding a bit of emotional clarity in that precious briefcase. Director James Hawes shows an eye for the usual period detail, but more crucially, executes the narrative with a sense of urgency, maintaining tension as the Nazi invasion looms and using montages effectively to convey significant amounts of visual information while Lucia Zucchetti edits crisply, sharply and with clear intent. This is not at all the talky foot-dragger of a drama you may expect it to be.

Hopkins’ scenes are where the film finds its true agency, a complexity beyond the easy and simple assertions of his character’s selflessness. It’s obvious that Nicholas deserves recognition, but he may not feel quite the same. And so the actor, furrowing his brow, stirs all manner of intangibles into the screen version of Nicholas: The specter of aging, feelings of unworthiness, long-faded memories vividly returning. On top of all that, and more visibly spelled out by the screenplay, is nagging regret: Did I do enough? That notion leads to an inevitable tearjerker conclusion, one that feels less egregious after Hopkins put in all that work. This is precisely why he’s a master of the craft.

Our Call: STREAM IT. Hopkins’ thoughtful artistry, coupled with Hawes’ technical proficiency, renders One Life a thoughtful and memorable drama.

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John Serba is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

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Movie Reviews

Movie review: Borderlands? A borderline disaster

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Movie review: Borderlands? A borderline disaster

Borderlands isn’t just the worst movie of the year – it’s one of the worst blockbusters ever made

How is it possible that Borderlands, a new action blockbuster based off one of the best-selling video games of all time, will continue its legacy as of one of cinema’s greatest disappointments?

That reality is the saddest part watching the new Borderlands movie, now stupefying and nauseating audiences everywhere. What should be a fun, sci-fi summer romp is instead a total misfire from nearly every department.

For those unfamiliar, the Borderlands games feature a set of ragtag outlaws across dystopian planets across space, often searching for treasure and space-like creatures. This film version loosely follows the main plot of the first game, first released back in 2009.

That premise though, of a rescue mission gone wrong on a dangerous, desert planet, is here obliterated in an awful screenplay that feels like a half-hearted rip-off of Mad Max and Guardians of the Galaxy (another big summer hit that, strangely, first premiered almost ten years ago to the day.)

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Borderlands’ script is atrocious, filled with unspecific nonsense at best and cruelty and crudeness at worst. The plot is derivative and simple. The technical design is unfinished and grotesque, with no clear theme or purpose. The editing and direction is confusing, and most of the cast looks bored and anxious on screen.

Even worse is the film’s sense of humour, seemingly insulting the PG-audience of teenage boys by stuffing every scene with as much unfunny toilet humour is possible. The jokes are consistently crass and gross – sometimes downright revolting – and each is worse than the one before it.

Some of the more tasteful zingers, for example, include quips like, “You’re a bunch of poopy mouth faces who can eat your own butts!”, or, “I didn’t know electrocution caused defecation!”, complete with the matching visuals.

As if this wasn’t bad enough, somehow the film’s $110 million budget didn’t include enough to finish rendering or animating the film’s special effects, which often have the composure and detail of a half-finished high school project. I haven’t seen effects this sloppy since 2019’s Cats…which famously went on to win Worst Picture that year.

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Having an unpolished final product in the modern movie landscape is unacceptable when it’s a large studio project like here at Lionsgate, especially when the competition (like Universal and Warner Bros.) have cutting edge effects in every major film with ease. An unfinished or rushed movie is just lazy. The effects are so poorly rendered the 15-year old original Playstation 3 video game looks better than this.

Yet the worst sin is how all of the characters in the cast are endlessly nasty and unlikable, with almost no redeeming character traits. These are bitter, cynical characters with no counter balance that makes the audience want to root for them.

Not only is this a betrayal of their more gripping, gritty personalities in the source material, but it gives talented actors in the cast nothing meaningful to work with, leaving them to flounder with shallow, clunky dialogue and comedy dripping with corporate synergy.

I almost feel bad for the genuinely talented performers like Cate Blanchett, Kevin Hart and Jamie Lee Curtis whose skills as storytellers and comedians are being wasted, especially with designs and relationships that are being misdirected as a clear knock-off to better science fiction movies of the last decade.

Blanchett, for what it’s worth, is still fully committed to the character however unpleasant she is. Her performance, along with a few others (like a great Janina Gavankar as Commander Knox) are truly the sole enjoyable elements of this mess.

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Video games movies have a (perhaps unfair) reputation in the last 40 years of having disingenuous Hollywood adaptations often misunderstanding the tones that made the franchises and characters popular in the first place. It’s possible to get the adaptation right – look at the recent success of The Last of Us on television.

But not Borderlands. Director Eli Roth has completely misunderstood what makes summer blockbusters entertaining or why the games were such a big hit in the first place. His tone is so off-putting that the whole film feels boring and hollow.

I’ve been reviewing movies for more than a decade, and I genuinely can’t remember the last time I disliked the experience of watching a movie this much. For anyone going out to the cinema for a good time, that’s a borderline disgrace.

1 out of 10

Rated PG, 1hr 42mins. Sci-Fi Action Adventure.

Co-written and directed by Eli Roth.

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Starring Cate Blanchett, Ariana Greenblatt, Kevin Hart, Jamie Lee Curtis, Florian Munteanu, Jack Black and Edgar Ramírez.

Now playing at https://www.cineplex.com/theatre/silvercity-burlington-cinemas.

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