After a triumphant splash in Juno, lovely, appealing Elliot Page got Oscar nominated, was on his way to a promising career as an important film star with range and talent, and then suddenly disappeared for 17 years. What happened? Where did he go? Now we know. 

Close to You is my first exposure to Page since his emergence as a wistful, sensitive and dedicated man named Elliot. His absence from the screen is entirely understandable for a variety of obvious reasons, and Elliot has expressed a serious need to reach out to the vast number of friends, fans and prospective employers who wondered about his transition. To make sure you get the point, he has found a perfect vehicle in Close to You, emerging from bed in the opening scene naked, with a place for every feature, every feature in its place—flat-chested, no Adam’s apple, a clean-shaved chin with evidence of a five o’clock shadow, and a muscular torso that has been to the gym (but still a mystery about what goes where below the waist). I guess you could call it a brave, bold performance, but when you think about it you realize Page has no other choice if he wants to be both honest and a working artist with a viable future. He also wrote the screenplay with director Dominic Savage, so I think it’s safe to say the film includes excerpts from his personal experience.

 In Close to You, he plays Sam, a man living in Toronto, adjusting to his transition with a new job and a new life. Sam hasn’t seen his family for four years, but now he bites the bullet and takes a long-dreaded trip back home for his father’s birthday. On the train, he runs into Katherine, an old high school friend, and feelings from their unresolved past refresh old memories of deeply troubled times when they experienced a lesbian relationship that traumatized them both. Katherine is married with children, but still drawn to Sam. In the weekend that follows, there are more chance encounters, and the superficial circumstances that bring them together force them to interact in intensely personal ways that open old wounds and open new doors. Part of the problem with Close to You is Hillary Baack, who plays Katherine. Miscast and inexperienced, she is not up to Page’s standards and mumbles so incoherently that whole scenes clumsily pass by without clarity.

At home, Sam is impacted even more. Every concern about how his parents and his siblings will react—plus the unsolicited comments and questions he receives about his transition—mirrors the ignorance, discomfort and terror in the eyes of the people who say they love him best but understand him least. The film is an emotionally observant drama about coming home as yourself, only for everyone to treat you like a stranger. “I’m happy,” Sam explains, “I’m living my life; I just need space. You weren’t worrying about me when I was not OK.” But as the domestic anxieties and challenges build, Sam must face the painful knowledge that coping is not his responsibility, and things have never really changed in a toxic environment that never felt fully welcoming in the first place. 

Things build to a violent explosion, Sam leaves with high expectations reduced to unresolved despair, and nothing ends the way you think it will, with everyone making nice and saying, “I forgive you.” But in a weak, vacillating postscript, raw honesty wanes when Katherine arrives in Toronto, gives in to her true feelings, and ends up in bed with Sam before she exits forever, with a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. Despite Page’s lack of uncertainty about how to play a tender scene with maximum feeling, I didn’t believe this soapy resolve, and I found their nude sex scene not only a confusing way to end Close to You, but also just a little bit creepy.

4/5 stars

Being dead isn’t easy. In Dead Talents Society, a new supernatural comedy from Taiwanese director John Hsu Han-chiang, the afterlife is every bit as competitive and unforgiving as the land of the living.

Spirits must prove themselves worthy of becoming ghosts through a rigorous selection process of auditions and contests, and avoid being condemned to eternal damnation.

For one newly deceased young woman, played by Gingle Wang and known only as The Rookie, this comes as quite a shock and is a far cry from the eternal rest she expected to find on the other side.

Hsu’s film is a supernatural screwball comedy about making a life for yourself in the Great Hereafter. After dying under uncertain circumstances, our heroine finds herself wandering listlessly through the Underworld with her best friend (Bai Bai) when she learns that her place on the ethereal plain is far from secure.

All the other ghosts have worked hard to hone their craft as a spectral menace, developing a nuanced character and terrifying technique while cultivating a formidable urban legend for their manifestation in the land of the living.

Those who fail to establish themselves as a ghost of merit within 30 days are permanently disintegrated.

The Rookie finds herself flung into a punishing audition process, overseen by a formidably unforgiving jury, to secure herself a haunting licence. Laughed off stage, all seems lost, until she is taken in by a compassionate band of misfits who haunt a dilapidated, rarely frequented hotel.

While rarely conjuring any genuine scares, Dead Talents Society is a wildly imaginative, frequently hilarious and shamelessly feel-good tale of teamwork, friendship, self-belief and finding your true purpose, where death is not the be all and end all, but just the first step towards living your best life.

Film

Sing Sing
Director: Greg Kwedar
Black Bear Pictures, Marfa Peach Company and Edith Productions
In Theaters 08.16

There are many reasons why film and the performing arts have been a driving force in my life, one being that art has the power to take us anywhere. In the case of Sing Sing, the audience is transported inside a maximum security prison in New York, while the film’s characters use the stage to transport themselves out.

Inspired by the true story of the Rehabilitation Through the Arts (RTA) program at the Sing Sing Correctional Facility, the film follows a group of inmates who are use theatre as a way to focus their energy and minds. A wrongfully convicted prisoner, Divine G (Colman Domingo, If Beale Street Could Talk, Rustin), uses his considerable skills as an actor and writer to create a safe space where the inmates can find a shared purpose, working alongside Brent Buell (Paul Raci, Sound of Metal), a playwright, director and activist who volunteers at the prison. As the the RTA closes a successful Shakespearean production,  they hold a meeting to discuss their next production. As a gruff new inmate, Clarence Maclin (who plays himself) joins the group, he suggests shaking things up with a comedy, and soon, the group is developing an original work entitled called Breakin’ The Mummy’s Code. The play will use the premise of time travel to bring cowboys, ancient Egyptians, Robin Hood, Freddy Kruegerand Hamlet together all in one unforgettable performance—if they can all get along and work together. While Maclin’s hardened demeanor and tendency to pick fights with others creates obstacles, both Brent and Divine G see potential for him to be an asset to the program as the program acts as an asset to him. Throughout the collaborative process, the inmates confront the decisions that led them to prison, and through the RTA, they challenge traditional notions of masculinity, reignite their imaginations and rediscover their capacity for joy and resilience. 

Sing Sing is a profound and beautiful film about creating the best of times in the worst of times and places, and director Greg Kweder (Transpecos) invites the audience to share in each cathartic moment with with both the cast of Sing Sing and the cast of Breakin’ The Mummy’s Code—which are made up in large part of the same people, as former inmates and members of the RTA play themselves in the film. While it has some heavy moments and never lets us forget where these men are, Sing Sing is a rare prison film that is more interested in finding joy and beauty than in hammering home the brutal reality of life in the worst place on earth. Kweder and his screenwriters assumed that their audience has a certain cineliteracy, and trusts that we remember the nightmarish moments of The Shawshank Redemption and don’t need to see them again for context. The low-key visual style affords the audiences a taste of being right there in thick of things while affording us the comfort of being able to step back and merely observe if we so choose, though the shared energy, determination and humor of this troupe of committed performers will make you feel swept up in the desire to be a part of something grand and meaningful more often than not. It most certainly doesn’t make you think “I wish I was in prison” for a moment, though it’s hard to watch the film and not think of yourself in these men’s shoes, and regardless of how they got there, there’s an undeniable feeling of love and respect for their unbreakable spirits and the ways in which they support each other.

Domingo is mesmerizing a Divine G, following up his Oscar nominated performance in Rustin with an electrifying portrayal of a man desperately trying to hold on to the things that make him human, and dedicating himself to keeping other from falling even as he walks the edge. Raci is the kind of actor who can communicate volumes with minimal words and even limited dialogue, and his presence as compassionate as it is commanding. Maclin is clearly the breakthrough discovery here, as an actor with no previous experience on camera who brings a smoldering intensity that brings Denzel Washington to mind, and while he’s likely to be relegated mostly to supporting roles on screen, he shows us inSing Sing that he will forever tower as a leading man in life. Sean San Jose (Another Barrio) as Mike Mike, Divine G’s roommate, and Sean Dino Johnson, another RTA member playing himself, provide transcendent moments of humanity and dignity that had me leaving the screening wanting to be a better person and to do more with my life.

After a few weeks of mediocrity and outright misfires, Sing Sing is a much needed injection of art and soul into the bloodstream of cinema, mixing heavy drama with humor and humanity. It’s a heartfelt plea for a society driven by empathy instead of apathy, yet it never surrenders to the urge to be manipulative or didactic. By simply holding the mirror up to nature, Sing Sing makes a powerful case for the importance of creativity and storytelling in all of our lives, and it’s a rejuvenating, hopeful and inspiring work that made me feel grateful to be alive. –Patrick Gibbs

Read more self-exploration film reviews here:
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Film Review: Harold and the Purple Crayon