Laurie Babin and Juliette Gariépy in Red Rooms. Photo: Nemesis Films
There are no real red rooms in Canadian director Pascal Plante’s unnerving thriller Red Rooms. Mostly a lot of white, gray, blank ones — from the bare and futuristically antiseptic courtroom where a grisly trial is taking place, to the minimalist high-rise Montreal apartment where the film’s protagonist lives, to the squash courts where she takes out her anger. The title refers to the horrific, blood-soaked dungeons where, it is alleged, the serial killer on trial — Ludovic Chevalier, also known as “the Demon of Rosemont” and played wordlessly by Maxwell McCabe-Lokos with saucer-eyed, predatory calm — mutilated his teenage victims while livestreaming the slaughter for money. We do witness distant flashes of such a room at one point, but the idea mostly looms over the film like an unseen dimension, a psychotic alternate reality beneath and beyond the eerie, empty drabness of modern life.
Plante’s interest lies not so much in the criminal or his victims but on the people obsessed with him. The film (which is now available on demand and playing in select theaters) follows Kelly-Anne (Juliette Gariépy), a statuesque and mostly expressionless professional model who gets in line early every night to get into the small courtroom in the morning. Deep into the world of the dark web, Kelly-Anne spends much of her time playing online poker with Bitcoin and hacking into other people’s private lives — even accessing the email accounts and security codes for the grieving parents of the Demon’s victims. Kelly-Anne doesn’t show much emotion, but Plante often accompanies her scenes with wailing, operatic music that is as expressive as she is not. She also meets another serial killer groupie who could be her polar opposite in personality, Clémentine (Laurie Babin), a manic chatterbox who genuinely believes Chevalier must be innocent because his big eyes are too kind. (His eyes, by the way, are not kind — and Plante makes fine use of them in one of the film’s more striking scenes.)
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There is no real bloodshed in Red Rooms, but there is a kind of spiritual savagery. Plante achieves this partly through subtraction: Confronted with a verbal accounting of the Demon’s unspeakable crimes, Kelly-Anne’s poker-faced fascination with the trial is increasingly hard to read. Is she drawn to Chevalier and his alleged acts, or repulsed by them? This is among the many questions that hang in the air for most of Red Rooms’ running time, and the unnerving mystery of Kelly-Anne’s psyche, combined with the ease with which she moves through the shady corners of the internet, present a portrait of a very modern soul — unreadable, unstable, and unsettling.
At the same time, the initially controlled direction of the film — with its long, deliberate tracking shots, and orderly spaces — suggests a character who is herself fully in control of herself and her surroundings. Kelly-Anne might be unwell, but she’s also quite cool. This contrasts sharply with the messy behavior of Clémentine, who during one of the movie’s more bravura sequences calls into a late-night talk show to try and defend Chevalier, only to reveal how unhinged she really sounds. But as Red Rooms proceeds, Kelly-Anne’s reality also begins to slip, and the film’s style becomes looser, more frantic and fragmented. So much so that we might even start to question the veracity of what we’re seeing.
Despite the (thankful) lack of gore and violence, Red Rooms feels curiously giallo-adjacent at times. The bursts of formalism, the melodramatic score, the ways in which the model-protagonist’s own profession becomes a stylistic barometer for her mental state — these are all evocative of that classic, colorful subgenre of horror. What’s missing is the tongue-in-cheek exploitative quality of giallo. Or is it? By denying us cheap thrills, and by pointedly going in the other direction, Red Rooms highlights their absence. This picture about people obsessed with criminals and their grisly crimes confronts us with the mystery of who the obsessives truly are; the questions we ask of Kelly-Anne could also be asked of all us genre fiends. The expressionless, fascinated gaze at the heart of this film is ultimately not the protagonist’s, but our own.
Pottel, directed by Sahith Mothkuri and starring Ajay, Yuvachandra, and Ananya Nagalla in pivotal roles, is a rural drama that delves into the socio-cultural issues of the 1970s. The movie, which captivated audiences with its intriguing title, was released in theaters in October and recently debuted on OTT platforms Amazon Prima and Aha. With music by Sekhar Chandra, the film aims to strike an emotional chord with its thought-provoking narrative.
Plot Summary: The story is set in a remote village during the 1970s, where the powerful Patel family dominates the region. Believing that education empowers people to question authority, the Patels discourage the villagers from pursuing it. Mallanna (Chatrapathi Sekhar), who recognizes the importance of education, dreams of educating his son Gangadharam (Yuvachandra). However, his efforts are thwarted when Patel (Ajay) kills him to maintain control over the village.
The villagers revere a local deity, Balamma, and Patel manipulates their beliefs to suppress dissent. Gangadharam grows up in this oppressive environment, determined to bring change. He marries Bujjamma (Ananya Nagalla), defying her brother and societal norms.
Meanwhile, the village observes a ritual every 12 years, offering a Pottel as a sacrifice to their deity. This time, Gangadharam is tasked with overseeing the ritual. The stakes are high, as failure to perform the ritual properly could have dire consequences for him. Caught between his goal of educating his daughter and empowering the villagers, and the ritualistic traditions, Gangadharam faces immense challenges from Patel. How he overcomes these obstacles forms the crux of the story.
Analysis: The film effectively portrays the socio-political dynamics and superstitions prevalent in rural India during the 1970s. The director highlights the dominance of landlords like the Patels and their efforts to maintain control by keeping the marginalized sections uneducated. The screenplay weaves these themes with clarity, emphasizing the need for education as a tool for empowerment.
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The movie also sheds light on superstitions and rituals like animal sacrifices, which were exploited by the powerful to manipulate the weak. The village itself feels like a character in the story, with its landscapes and traditions adding depth to the narrative. The realistic portrayal of the struggles and resilience of rural communities enhances the film’s authenticity.
Performances: Yuvachandra delivers a compelling performance as Gangadharam, capturing the character’s struggle and determination effectively. Ajay excels as the antagonist Patel, portraying the role with authority and menace. Ananya Nagalla impresses with her portrayal of Bujjamma, adding emotional depth to the story. The supporting cast, including Chatrapathi Sekhar, performs within the scope of their roles, contributing to the narrative’s strength.
Technical Aspects: Cinematography by Monish Bhupathiraju stands out, beautifully capturing the rural and forest backdrops, adding an immersive visual quality. Music by Sekhar Chandra complements the narrative well, with both songs and background score enhancing the emotional impact. Editing by Karthik Srinivas ensures a cohesive flow, although some scenes feel slightly stretched. The authentic depiction of rural settings and customs adds to the film’s credibility.
Final Verdict: Pottel is a sincere attempt to address important social issues like education, empowerment, and superstition through a rural narrative. While the film’s pacing and predictability in certain areas might deter some viewers, its emotional core and relevant themes make it a worthwhile watch for those interested in rural dramas.
1 of 5 | Robbie Williams appears behind the scenes of his biopic “Better Man,” in theaters Dec. 25. Photo courtesy of Paramount
LOS ANGELES, Dec. 21 (UPI) — Robbie Williams is the latest subject of a musician biopic. Better Man, in theaters Dec. 25, takes such a wild approach that it easily stands apart from films like Walk the Line and Bohemian Rhapsody.
Williams got the performing bug at age 9 in a school performance of The Pirates of Penzance. As a teenager, he auditioned to be in a boy band and landed a spot in Take That.
Williams went solo after friction with the band but still struggled to write original lyrics. By Better Man‘s accounts, Williams had a similar cinematic trajectory as Johnny Cash or Freddie Mercury.
However, Better Man represents Williams as a talking monkey. Director Michael Gracey explains in a pre-film video that he took Williams literally when the singer called himself a performing monkey.
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So this is a Planet of the Apes visual effect. It’s Williams’ voice but Jonno Davies performing the reference footage, along with a few other performers for elaborate dance scenes.
The film never gets used to having a monkey as the lead character, a real-life figure who is still alive at that. It never ceases to be off-putting, especially when Williams sings and dances elaborate choreography, and that is part of the film’s power.
Now, when Williams goes through the stereotypical spiral into drugs and alcohol, watching a monkey recreate those scenes is avant-garde art. The visual effect captures Williams’ charm and emotional turmoil, so it’s not a joke.
It only becomes more shocking the more famous Williams gets. Once he starts sporting revealing dance outfits, even more fur is on display.
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It’s not even a movie star embodying Williams. There’s neither the real Williams nor an actor’s persona to attach to the film, removing yet another layer of artifice but replacing it with an even more jarring one.
As if one monkey isn’t daring enough, Williams’ inner demons are also visualized as monkeys. So many scenes boast monkey Williams staring at disapproving monkeys too.
Other biopic traditions include a scene where Williams sings a rough demo of his future hit “Something Beautiful” and confronting his absent father (Steve Pemberton) over abandoning him. The biopic tradition of showing photos of the real Williams during the credits actually breaks the spell when audiences can see he was not an actual monkey.
The monkey is the boldest leap Better Man takes but it is not the only one. A disco ball effect lights vast outdoor locations, and the film includes a climactic action scene.
Musical numbers are dynamic, including a romp through the streets of London in an unbroken take. A duet between Williams and lover Nicole Appleton (Raechelle Banno) evokes Astaire and Rogers.
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The film embodies Williams’ irreverent spirit, as if a drama starring a monkey could ever be reverent. In his narration, Williams is self-deprecating, and some of the dance numbers blatantly injure pedestrians in their choreography.
The new arrangements of Williams’ songs add dimensions to his hits.
Better Man is bold cinema. The audacity alone is worth celebrating, but the fact that it works is a miracle.
Fred Topel, who attended film school at Ithaca College, is a UPI entertainment writer based in Los Angeles. He has been a professional film critic since 1999, a Rotten Tomatoes critic since 2001, and a member of the Television Critics Association since 2012 and the Critics Choice Association since 2023. Read more of his work in Entertainment.