A woman (Salma Hayek Pinault) walks into a plaza sparsely occupied by patrons enjoying an afternoon coffee and a magazine and lottery ticket kiosk. She approaches the booth and fingers a stack of newspapers before asking the attendant (Demián Bichir), an older man with rounded shoulders and reading glasses perched on his nose, a question. Her delivery is studied, as if a more natural cadence battles against an inherent severity. She begs the man to close up the shop and have a drink with her. Her mannered sweetness becomes more urgent with his refusal. This is a command, not a request.
Premiering at the Toronto Film Festival, Without Blood is Angelina Jolie’s latest foray into directing. The actress, who is making waves this festival season with her performance in Pablo Larrain’s Maria, adapted this thinly plotted parable from the novella of the same name by the Italian writer Alessandro Baricco. Without Blood obliquely investigates the psychological and generational toll of war.
Without Blood
The Bottom Line
Plays it safe.
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Venue: Toronto International Film Festival (Special Presentations) Cast: Salma Hayek Pinault, Demián Bichir, Juan Minujin Director: Angelina Jolie Screenwriter: Angelina Jolie, Alessandro Baricco
1 hour 31 minutes
Jolie treads familiar ground here: A handful of her previous directorial efforts, including In the Land of Blood and Honey, Unbroken and First They Killed My Father, set their action against the distressing backdrop of war. Whereas these other films grounded themselves with the details of real conflicts like the Bosnian War or the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia, Without Blood claims no land or era. This lack of specificity may have worked in the hands of a more risk-taking helmer, but Jolie’s approach to direction can be as stiff as the woman’s initial encounter with the kiosk attendant. Despite bursts of intelligence, especially when it comes to conveying the fractured quality of trauma narratives, Without Blood’s vagueness ends up blunting many of its lessons.
An uneasy tension hangs in the air as the man and woman settle into a nearby restaurant. She begins to tell her story, parts of which Jolie shows early in a confidently staged scene. Her name is Nina, and when she was a young girl, three men broke into her house and executed her father (Alfredo Herrera) and brother (Alessandro D’Antuono). While her father’s screams overwhelmed the bungalow and her brother’s blood dripped onto her ankle, Nina hid silently in a burrow beneath some floorboards.
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Her fate became lore in this unnamed country where a years-long battle brewed between two factions. Whether that conflict is regional or political is never made clear and, in Jolie’s estimation, is not relevant. Without Blood is more concerned with how all war wounds people, from its youngest victims to its oldest perpetrators. Most of the film takes place in a cafe, where Nina and the man, whose name we later learn is Tito, exchange different versions of her fate. In Nina’s telling, she is adopted by a pharmacist (Pedro Hernández), who gambles her off to a count (Luis Alberti). She ends up married at 14 and bearing the wealthy baron three sons. As Tito tells it, Nina’s union was a botched assassination turned marital arrangement: The count fell in love instead of killing her. The truth lies somewhere between Nina’s scarred memories and Tito’s vague recollections. In between these exchanges, the pair offer platitudes about the dangers (but never the details) of war.
The conversation between Nina and Tito swings between gripping moments and duller ones that are helped along by Hayek Pinault and Bichir’s tense banter. Their chemistry is defined by mutual recognition and shared trauma. Hayek Pinault hones in on understated motions — tears welling up in the eyes, tightening the grip on her spoon or pursing her lips — to convey the depth of her character’s pain. Bichir nails the subtle shifts required from his character, whose innocence becomes less black-and-white over the film’s brisk 90-minute runtime.
Still, Jolie’s overly cautious visual language limits the impact of the drama. Flashbacks to the pair’s past offer some dynamic moments, like bird’s-eye-view shots that suggest Tito has been watching Nina over the years, gesturing at their linked fates. There’s beauty here, too, as Jolie captures the vividness of the ochre landscape. For the most part, though, she relies on close-ups, toggling between the two diners’ faces in straightforward edits by Xavier Box and Joel Cox.
That innocent people suffer from conflict is not a provocative stance. But it seems like the only point Without Blood can make when it’s not focused — more interestingly — on observing how trauma lives in the body and shapes the mind. Despite flashes of power, the story ultimately seems too thin to bear the weight of its themes.
Satya Dev’s upcoming heist drama, Zebra, is set for a grand release tomorrow, with the actor expressing high hopes for its success. Kannada star Daali Dhananjaya plays a pivotal role alongside Satya Dev.
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To build anticipation, the makers recently released a sneak peek and hosted a special show for a select audience. The latest update reveals that the film’s runtime has been set at 164 minutes (2 hours and 44 minutes), which may feel a bit lengthy for a heist thriller. It remains to be seen how well the film engages its audience.
The movie also stars Priya Bhavani Shankar, Sathyaraj, Amrutha Iyengar, and others. Produced by OldTown Production and Padmaja Films Private Limited, the film’s music is composed by Ravi Basrur, known for his work on KGF.
Directed by Amber Sealey. Starring Phoebe-Rae Taylor, Jennifer Aniston, Rosemarie DeWitt, Luke Kirby, Judith Light, Emily Mitchell, Michael Chernus, Courtney Taylor, Catherine McNally, Kate Moyer, Maria Nash, Jeff Roop, Sharron Matthews, Kim Huffman, Ian Ho, Gabriela Francis, Gavin MacIver-Wright, Maya Lee O’Connor, Nicholas Fry, Miley Haik, Lauren Plech, Nylan Parthipan, Pip McCallan, Isaak Bailey, Christian Rose, Cristiano Buchanan, Anabelle Dietl, and Mia Burke.
SYNOPSIS:
Melody Brooks is navigating sixth grade as a nonverbal wheelchair user who has cerebral palsy. With the help of some assistive technology and her devoted allies, Melody shows that what she has to say is more important than how she says it.
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Born with cerebral palsy, Melody Brooks (played by Phoebe-Rae Taylor, also born with that condition and unquestionably a significant key to the authenticity on display) is a nonverbal wheelchair user. She is also knowledgeable with ambitions and has a lot to say, but she is limited to communicating through a board attached to her wheelchair tray (a slight, realistic touch that most films about disability seem to ignore the existence of for some inexplicable reason) containing a chart of basic sentences, thoughts, feelings, and moods for simple expression.
Directed by Amber Sealey (from a screenplay by Daniel Stiepleman and based on the novel by Sharon M. Draper), Out of My Mind mainly works because it understands that giving Melody a Medi-Speak device (an electronic tool that reads off whatever is prompted, while also coming with preprogrammed basic phrases and sentences, read aloud in the usual generic computerized voices) won’t entirely solve the problem if everyone from the school faculty to her friends and immediate family vary in their struggles to listen to those words. The issues raised stem from society and the education system, not the disability itself. That’s not to say electronic voice communicators are useless. A voice is a voice, and her father Chuck’s (Luke Kirby) reaction to hearing her daughter “speak” for the first time in which he lets the waterworks flow is a heartstrings-pulling moment that doesn’t ring false.
However, even he sometimes misses the point and gets so caught up discussing what’s best for Melody with his wife, Diane (Rosemarie DeWitt), that they both end up ignoring her in the heat of the moment. He does happen to be the more forward-minded of the parents, as fearless as his daughter is about enrolling into a standard 6th-grade class rather than overachieving in special education. If expectations are already met, why not raise the bar? That alone feels like a mantra most disabled people already live by, consistently feeling the need to prove themselves to able-bodied people who can’t even be bothered to learn that they don’t have to talk to someone in a wheelchair with an awkwardly kind, pitiful tone. Nevertheless, Diane is the helicopter parent raising justifiable concerns over ostracism and bullying.
As for the speaking device, what Melody chooses to say first is equally moving, as it encapsulates and sums up the frustrations and misunderstandings she has felt, even from her family, her whole life. It’s also important to point out that the film isn’t vilifying the parents; caring for a disabled child is tricky, will wear anyone down, and inadvertently cause those miscommunications, or lack thereof. Despite one or two powerful scenes of them standing up for Melody, whether it be from an ablest school system (including a teacher played by Michael Chernus who is technically qualified at the job but is immensely punchable when it comes to his ableism and treating Melody’s classroom presence as a distraction and nuisance), the film primarily sticks with her perspective, sprinkling in some inner thoughts using the voice of Jennifer Aniston.
It’s a device used sparingly, thankfully not overdone. As for why Jennifer Aniston, Melody loves watching Friends, but one is eager to know if that’s also a choice from the book or one encouraged by Phoebe-Rae Taylor. From little details such as classroom desks placed too close together for wheelchairs to fit through the aisles, classmates feeling an awkward pressure of losing “cool” status if they are caught giving friendship a chance with Melody, and grossed-out glances her way as eating messier foods becomes, well, messy to her face, the film understands the pitfalls of public and social disabled life. Again, maybe that’s already in the novel or screenplay, but it can’t be overstated enough that when filmmakers cast disabled actors, it comes with extra layers of authenticity and insight.
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Remember that this is still a Disney+ production, so the material has a sanitized, sentimental feel while broadly playing every narrative beat. Once a nationwide quiz competition comes into play, the narrative’s focus shifts there, perhaps too much, even if it still explores Melody’s othering by some of her peers and that enraging teacher. Bluntly put, it all becomes too plot-focused and even contrived. Feel-good songs also repeatedly pop up to remind viewers that the material will never get too challenging. However, a film is sometimes so well-meaning and educationally beneficial that such saccharine material is worth overlooking. Out of My Mind offsets that with a huge heart and a dignified, optimistic, touching performance from Phoebe-Rae Taylor.
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
And a pussycat shall lead them! Flow, the animated film that’s Latvia’s submission for the Best International Feature Oscar, kicks off with a beautiful moment of tranquility: A small, black feline, staring wide-eyed at itself in a rippling puddle. It’s somewhere in a forest, surrounded by foliage, and the ambient sounds of nature fill the soundtrack. A rabbit runs by, momentarily startling the cat. It’s soon followed by a pack of dogs, chasing the bunny and barely registering the meowing bystander’s existence. The creature will eventually amble up to a house with a cracked attic window, slipping inside for an early afternoon nap.
It’s all very soothing, giving you the sense that you’re watching the animation equivalent of ASMR. Then, after some business involving a stolen fish, our furry little friend finds itself in the same patch of green earth as before. Once again, the dogs sprint past it. This time, however, they’re followed by a thundering herd of deer. The animals appear to be running away from something. In the background, the trees begin to violently sway back and forth. And then, a huge wave rushes through and washes away everything in its path, including the cat. It eventually gets back to dry land, but then the water keeps rising. And rising. And rising….
A survivalist thriller that’s designed to appeal equally to animal lovers, avant-garde-cartoon aficionados and environmental doomsayers, Flow will spend the next 80 minutes following this feline and his fellow interspecific travelers as they try to navigate the end of the world as we know it. Eventually, the Golden Retriever who’d been part of that roving gang of doggy miscreants will join the freaked-out kitty on a boat they happen to spy passing by. So will a capybara, a lemur and a secretarybird. When the cat falls overboard and can’t paw its way back to the surface, it’s rescued from drowning by the opportune passing of a mammoth humpback, who catches the animal on its nose and breaches just in time. Saved by the whale! One life down, eight to go — although given the obstacles it will continually face, you worry that this resourceful lil’ buddy will eventually run through all of them before the day is over.
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Director Gints Zilbalodis may be gathering an admittedly adorable posse of all creatures bright and beautiful, each of them rendered in a gorgeous, sometimes crude style of animation that would be best characterized as Early PlayStation Cut-Scene Chic. But in terms of storytelling, he’s going a specifically anti-Disney route here, and this road less traveled makes all of the difference. There’s no dialogue, at least none decipherable to human ears — everything is a symphony of meows, woofs, squawks, grunts, squeaks, squeals and simian cries. With the possible exception of one act of heroism late in the film, none of the animals are anthropomorphized. They more or less act in accordance with their IRL counterparts. There is no identification regarding where this is taking place — some of the stunningly detailed backgrounds suggest Angkor Wat, others bear a striking resemblance to Venice — though the predominance of both medium-sized and massive cat statues suggest it’s some sort of SPCA-sponsored sanctuary city. No explanation is given as to where the humans have gone. No explanation is given as to why a biblical flood is threatening to destroy it all, though for anyone who’s cared to keep their eyes open and their heads out of the sand, no explanation is necessary.
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The stars of the Latvian animated movie ‘Flow.’
Sideshow/Janus Films
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There’s little to no hand-holding — and/or paw-, talon-, or hoof-holding — in Flow. There’s simply making sure you keep your nose above water. There’s another enigmatic sequence that occurs as Zilbalodis ushers us into the third act, in which some sort of cosmic force grants one of these critters what appears to be a last-minute reprieve from terra firma. But the real takeaway is that we have to rely on each other for salvation. And it’s here where this experiential experiment in empathy, eco-activism and elation over the creative possibilities of a medium too often hijacked to sell toys truly hits its marks. Most of these animals either show up with or encounter a group of their fellow species (monkeys, dogs, birds). Most of them are abandoned or rejected by their peer groups, thanks to tribalism or simple self-preservation. The one moment in which these four-legged beasts resemble their furless, featherless two-legged neighbors is when several of them abandon a rescue mission midway through because of a passing distraction. Ain’t that just like a Homo sapien?
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Yet this disparate band somehow manages to endure, and though you can’t accuse Flow of having a happily-ever-after ending, it somehow does go out on a optimistic note — a water-logged Planet Earth half empty, rather than half-fully ruined. There is a reprise of that lovely opening shot, basking in a calm before the inevitable storm to come. The movie ends as it begins, with no easy solution in sight. Only now we see a makeshift community staring back at themselves, no one alone, everyone companions in the apocalypse. It’s a timeless moral. And yet, at this particular moment, for many of us staring down the next four years, the idea that a community can come together to take on the rising tides couldn’t be more welcome or needed.
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