Somehow, entirely inexplicably, we're already thinking about Christmas. And, we suggest rather than schlepping to the typical department stores or your go-to online shops to get your friends, family or yourself a well-deserved gift, instead you could pick out unique goodies at The Big Design Market. The independent designer extravaganza has moved online this year, so you can nab all the top-quality, handmade, ethical and sustainable wares from your couch. With such a wide range of products, you're sure to find something for even the pickiest people on your list. As it's all virtual in 2020, The Big Design Market is combining its (usually) separate Sydney and Melbourne fairs into one epic 12-day event, featuring more than 200 makers, designers and small creative businesses. Acting as a gateway to each maker's store, the online edition will ensure 100 percent of profits go back to the designer, too, so you can support local while crossing off your Christmas list. It's win-win. Running from Wednesday, November 18 till Sunday, November 29, The Big Design Market Online's interactive catalogue will feature everything from locally made threads to jewellery, furniture, art, textiles, homewares, puzzles, festive food and drink packs, stationery, leather goods and much more. There'll also be a bunch of virtual activities and experiences, plus daily showbag giveaways (valued $300-800), filled to the brim with gorgeous goodies. Just head here for details. The Big Design Market has moved online this year and will take place from November 18–29. Check out all the designers involved — and get a head start on your Christmas shopping — via the website. Lead image: Amelia Stanwix
UPDATE, December 23, 2020: The Midnight Sky is screening in select cinemas in Melbourne, and will also be available to stream via Netflix from Wednesday, December 23. It has been four years since George Clooney last appeared in a movie, dating back to 2016's Hail, Caesar! and Money Monster. Accordingly, while The Midnight Sky definitely isn't a documentary, the fact that it features the actor at his most bearded and reclusive instantly feels fitting. Also noteworthy: that this sci-fi drama joins the small but significant list of films that combine the star and space, following Solaris and Gravity. Clooney has everything from TV medical dramas and sitcoms to heist flicks, action fare, rom-coms and a stint as Batman on his resume, of course. He's a versatile actor, and an Oscar-winning one, too (for 2005's Syriana). But there's something particularly alluring and absorbing about seeing Clooney get existential, as all movies that reach beyond earth's surface tend to. He clearly agrees, because he not only leads The Midnight Sky but also directs it as well. Clooney plays workaholic research scientist Dr Augustine Lofthouse and, although The Midnight Sky rockets into space, it doesn't send its protagonist there. Instead, in 2049, after an environmental disaster has made the planet uninhabitable, he chooses to remain in the Arctic as his colleagues evacuate. He's dying anyway, and frequently hooks himself up to machines for treatment — in between downing whiskey, watching old movies, eating cereal and talking to himself. Then, interrupting his lonely decline, two things change his status quo. Firstly, a young girl (debutant Caoilinn Springall) mysteriously pops up out of nowhere, refusing to speak but obviously needing an adult's care. Secondly, Augustine realises that he'll have to trek across the oppressively icy terrain outside to connect via radio to a crew on the spaceship Aether, who've been on a two-year mission to ascertain whether newly discovered Jupiter moon K-23 can support life, and are now making their return unaware of what's been happening at home The space movie genre is as busy as the sky above is vast. Consequently, films about folks marooned in the great black expanse, dealing with the fallout of a pioneering journey and/or trying to make contact — whether those in space's depths are attempting to chat to earth, trying to find others lost in the same situation, or being sought by the people left on terra firma — reach screens every year. The Midnight Sky proves familiar as a result; if you've watched Clooney's other space-set features, or Interstellar, The Martian, Ad Astra, Contact or 2001: A Space Odyssey, you'll spy elements you've seen before. Although adapted from Lily Brooks-Dalton's 2016 novel Good Morning, Midnight, that screenwriter Mark L Smith is on scripting duties also adds a number of recognisable components. He penned the screenplay for The Revenant, another tale of survival against an unwelcoming terrain. Here, he has graduated from the wilds of 19th-century America to one of the globe's frostiest and most isolated spots, as well as all that lingers outside of the planet's atmosphere. The Midnight Sky isn't merely an exercise in flinging derivative parts out into the beyond and seeing what comes back, however. The key, both on-and off-screen, is Clooney. When the film spends time with the Aether's astronauts, including the pregnant Sully (Felicity Jones, On the Basis of Sex), ship commander Adewole (David Oyelowo, Gringo), veteran pilot Mitchell (Kyle Chandler, Godzilla: King of the Monsters), and other crew members Sanchez (Demián Bichir, The Grudge) and Maya (Tiffany Boone, Hunters), it's at its most generic. Indeed, when it ventures to space, The Midnight Sky almost screams for either Augustine to head there as well, or for the feature to plummet back down to earth to join him once more. As the movie's focal point, Clooney is as soulful and grizzled as he's ever been. As a filmmaker, he certainly gifts himself the feature's best moments. But in the latter guise, he's also aware that films about space are films about connection, including to routines and everyday moments — so the fact that Sully and company's exploits feel well-worn, including a climactic sequence involving an action-packed space walk, cleverly reinforces that idea. Unmistakably, this is a big-thinking and big-feeling feature. Its characters grapple with life, love and loss — aka what it means to be human, and to have lived — while also confronting the reality that the world they know is changing forever. It's purely coincidental, but The Midnight Sky overflows with 2020-esque inclusions, too. Having your sense of normality ripped away, spending time alone trying to reach out to others, and endeavouring to find a route back to the existence we once knew but may never again in quite the same way couldn't be more relatable (and that's just from the pandemic; parallels with climate change are also unsurprisingly rife). Amidst the obligatory outer space sing-alongs, as well as the smattering of life-and-death incidents, these concepts land as thoughtfully as intended. It helps that, spanning not only himself but also Jones, Oyelowo, Chandler, Bichir and Boone, Clooney has amassed an impressive cast. His co-stars mightn't be playing the most fleshed-out figures, script-wise, and may not match the actor/director in terms of screen presence, but the same uncertainty and yearning lingers in their portrayals. The script's use of flashbacks to Augustine's past are less convincing, as is their importance to The Midnight Sky's third act via a plot development that's easy to predict. Alexandre Desplat's (Little Women) score also falls on the heavy-handed side, stressing the mood and tone in an unnecessarily forceful way — especially given that Martin Ruhe's (Catch-22) cinematography is aptly pensive and probing, particularly in its earth-bound visuals. Still, Clooney is a skilled filmmaker. He has demonstrated that again and again since he first jumped behind the lens with 2002's excellent Confessions of a Dangerous Mind and 2005's masterful Good Night, and Good Luck, and it's clear here as well. The Midnight Sky isn't his greatest achievement as a director in general or as an actor in a space flick, but it's an involving, engaging and poignant addition to his resume on both counts. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gb8ZbP6qAzE&feature=youtu.be
Home may mean different things to different people but, in Monsoon, Vietnam doesn't mean home to Kit (Henry Golding). He was born there, in the aftermath of the war. He spent his earliest years in the Asian nation, with his parents caught up in the aftermath of the conflict. But when he was still a child, his family left for a refugee camp in Hong Kong and then moved permanently to London. Now, as an adult who has lived the bulk of his existence far away, he returns for the first time to bring back his mother's and father's ashes. He's instantly thrown off balance upon his arrival, whether he's driving through moped-filled streets or walking around crowded markets. Little of what he remembers is the same — his old house and his neighbourhood stomping grounds, particularly — and he doesn't recall as much as his childhood best friend Lee (David Tran), who stayed behind, would clearly like. Of what he does recollect, some crucial details clash with Lee's versions, too. As Kit roves around Saigon and then Hanoi — his place of birth and his parents' original home, respectively — he's searching for a connection. He'll make one, but not in the way he expects. Monsoon tells a noticeably slight tale, but Cambodian-born Chinese British writer/director Hong Khaou (Lilting) is keenly and overwhelmingly aware that a sense of belonging doesn't simply come with one's birth certificate. Kit wants to feel like he's where he's supposed to be. He wants to appreciate his homeland, and its significance to his mum and dad, as effortlessly as he appreciates his online dates. But it takes time, immersion and a true willingness to feel an affinity to the place he's supposed to call home. It takes falling in love with one of those online dates, American ex-pat Lewis (Parker Sawyers), too, and hearing about the object of his affection's complicated relationship with Vietnam as the son of a soldier who fought for the US during the war. Khaou is a minimalistic filmmaker, in a sense. He delves into straightforward scenarios, and knows that he needn't layer them with too many external complicating factors. In other words, he's cognisant that merely examining how a person copes — even in a very commonplace situation — can deliver several lifetimes worth of complexity without a wealth of other narrative roadblocks or setbacks. Here, that means tagging along as Kit flits around Saigon, sorts through his awkward baggage with Lee, and makes a pilgrimage to Hanoi in search of the perfect resting place for his parents. It also means watching as he befriends local art curator Linh (Molly Harris) and follows her home to join her relatives as they make lotus tea, and soaking in the neon-lit bar hues and misty seaside cafe views on Kit's dates with Lewis. Monsoon revels in these moments, and in what they reveal about its protagonist, all while showing how Kit himself recognises that he's changing and connecting with each experience and realisation. As a result, both Khaou and Monsoon ask a significant amount of Golding — more than his previous charisma-driven roles in Crazy Rich Asians, A Simple Favour and Last Christmas have combined. Viewers of those three films already know that he can radiate charm like few other actors currently appearing on-screen. Indeed, because he served up such a magnetic presence in that trio of flicks, it's easy to forget that he only has seven movies to his name to-date (six of which hail from the past three years, in fact). But Monsoon requires Golding's soulful best; at every moment, he's tasked with conveying the potent thoughts and jumbled emotions swelling inside Kit, and with doing so largely without dialogue. It's a quietly powerful performance, and it's one that the movie steadfastly needs. Actually, it's one that Monsoon depends upon. All of the film's key players are superb — including second-time actor Tran (Farewell, Berlin Wall), the also charismatic Sawyers (who played a young Barack Obama in Southside with You) and Harris (Artemis Fowl) as the pragmatic Linh — but Golding is its emotionally saturating core. While it might be light on talk, making its chatter count whenever it flows either freely or nervously, Monsoon is big on atmosphere. Alongside Khaou's delicately pared-back approach and Golding's tenderly gripping performance, that's one of the film's strongest assets. Even if you've never roamed far beyond the spot where you entered this world, everyone can relate to feeling like an outsider somewhere where they think they shouldn't — and Monsoon nails and expresses that sensation again and again. That's how Khaou and cinematographer Benjamin Kracun (Beats) approach the movie in their naturalistic visuals, too. Whether staring down at the daily hustle and bustle, or dwarfing Golding via his surroundings, it views Vietnam as someone might view a childhood memory that's slipping from their mind. Accordingly, Monsoon feels comfortable and intimate and eye-opening and new all at once, like it's seeing a familiar sight properly for the first time. Of course, that's Kit's journey, as it is for anyone embarking upon a homecoming that feels foreign — and it proves immensely affecting viewing. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETK0fOKwJNQ
If a fresh bun, an expertly grilled patty and a slice of melted cheese is your idea of a perfect meal, then you might just have to permanent marker October 29 in your diary. Why? There are going to be a whole heap of cheap burgers to snatch up. Melbourne chain Burger Project is turning five and celebrating by grilling $5 cheeseburgers at all three of its local stores all day on Tuesday, October 29. Head to St Collins Place, Chadstone or Bourke Street, and grab a bargain (or, depending on how hungry you are, several). For those new to Burger Project's take on an old fave, Neil Perry's eatery whips up a hand-pressed slab of Cape Grim beef, layers it with pickles, onion, mustard and cheese, then squirts on some secret sauce. Next, it's all placed between a soft milk bun. And it tastes even better when it's less than half the regular price.
Twelve months is a long time to wait between film festivals. Don't worry — the folks behind Melbourne's annual queer cinema showcase feel your pain. While the Melbourne Queer Film Festival usually only runs in March, this year it's giving LGBTQIA movie buffs a little something extra, thanks to a three-day feast of flicks between Friday, October 4 and Sunday, October 6. Called Melbourne Queer Film Festival Extra, and designed to become an annual end-of-year highlight, this bonus mini-festival will serve up ten features and two shorts programs for its inaugural run. And, while it's definitely a bite-sized affair, it's all about quality rather than quantity. Screening at Cinema Nova, MQFF Extra kicks off with Pedro Almodovar's sublime Pain and Glory, starring Antonio Banderas in his Cannes Film Festival Best Actor-winning role. You can also swoon over Celine Sciamma's glorious Portrait of a Lady on Fire, see comedian Simon Amstell turn filmmaker with Benjamin, and explore the story of a British transgender man's quest to deliver his own child in Seahorse. Or, step back into the past via two movies with high-profile stars: Vita and Virginia, featuring Elizabeth Debicki as Virginia Woolf and Gemma Arterton as Vita Sackville-West; and Lizzie, with Chloë Sevigny playing accused murderer Lizzie Borden opposite Kristen Stewart.
Australia's touring celebration of genre cinema, Monster Fest loves all things weird and wonderful on the big screen. From outback-set horror flicks to eye-popping remakes to strange Lovecraftian tales, this festival fills its program with horror, sci-fi, and anything else that's dark and twisted — and likely destined for a cult following. Starting in Melbourne back in 2011 and still unleashing its biggest lineup in the city, this excuse to spend plenty of time in a darkened room has quite the 2019 program, too. From opening night's 3 From Hell, aka Rob Zombie's latest ultra-gory crime effort, to closing night's Ready or Not and its story of a wedding night turned bloody, you'd best prepare for plenty offbeat treats. Other standouts include Rabid, which sees the Soska sisters fashion their own version of David Cronenberg's classic; Color Out of Space, complete with Nicholas Cage going crazy; and a restoration of 2000 Australian slasher flick Cut, which stars Kylie Minogue. A word of warning: if you like your movies happy and chirpy, this isn't your kind of festival. If you're eager for the exact opposite, Monster Fest takes over Cinema Nova from Thursday, October 10 to Friday, October 18.
Did you turn green with envy when Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger played the ultimate scavenger hunt, aka hunting down horcruxes? Have you always felt that you could use your magical skills in the same way? The City of Melbourne understands and — given that it's already in the grip of wizard fever thanks to Harry Potter and the Cursed Child — it's giving Potter fans quite the Christmas present. On Sunday, December 15, the Magical Christmas Quest will take over the CBD. At 9am, the first clue will be revealed on the quest website — and at 10am, it's time to start 'accio'-ing your heart out. You'll search your way around the city, heading to six Melbourne locations, solving riddles and completing missions at each stop. And as you've probably guessed, you'll be getting into the Harry Potter and the Christmas spirit all at once. [caption id="attachment_674451" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Harry Potter and The Cursed Child by Manuel Harlan[/caption] Expect to be rewarded for your efforts, too. Sorry, you won't win a trip to Hogwarts — but the major prize-winner will nab a hefty haul. On offer is a VIP Harry Potter and the Cursed Child experience, which includes a pair of tickets to the both parts of the show, backstage access, a night's accommodation and a pre-show dinner for two at Sofitel Melbourne, plus a $500 Myer gift voucher (which you can use at the magical new Harry Potter store). We can't all be the Boy Who Lived — or the Person Who Wins the Quest, more accurately — but ten runners up will score a $100 Gift Finder voucher. You can play as a team or individually and dressing up as your favourite HP character is, of course, encouraged. Everyone who participates will go in the draw to win. The first clue revealed at 9am on the quest website. Image: Harry Potter & The Cursed Child at the Princess Theatre.
UPDATE, November 20, 2020: Maiden is available to stream via Netflix, Google Play, YouTube Movies and iTunes. "Her name is Tracy Edwards, and her dream is to compete in the world's toughest yacht race with the world's first all-women crew." They're the words of a British television presenter in the mid-80s and, as seen in documentary Maiden, they're dripping with condescension. Edwards decided to enter an entirely female team into the prestigious Whitbread Round the World yachting race after first taking part in 1985–86, when she was the cook to an all-male group. During that initial voyage, she was treated poorly — unsurprisingly given the era and the sport's male bias at the time. But those patronising, dismissive, chauvinistic attitudes and insults were like a red rag to a bull, motivating the passionate lover of the open sea to compete again on her own terms. The only way for Edwards to truly sail the 33,000 nautical miles from Southampton, England, and back — via Uruguay, Western Australia, New Zealand, Uruguay again and then America — was to recruit 11 other women to make the journey with her. The 27-year-old knew she'd be instantly mocked, and mocked she was. She assembled a committed crew of women for the 1989–90 contest, and found a boat called Maiden, but no one would sponsor them, support them or even take them seriously. In the media, they were mercilessly made fun of ("tin full of tarts," one journalist called them). In the yachting realm, their male peers bet that they wouldn't finish the race's first leg, let alone all six over its eight-month duration. At every turn, they were belittled, underestimated and considered a sideshow (and when they dared to be seen in swimsuits at one point on their watery trek, they were also shamelessly objectified). With this chapter of sporting history now sailing across the cinema screen 30 years later, one thing should be obvious: Maiden's voyage through the Whitbread race is a story worth telling. It's the ultimate underdog tale, as well as a rallying cry against sexism that's no less relevant today than when the fearless skipper and her dedicated crew hit the seas. As chronicled via archival clips and contemporary interviews by filmmaker Alex Holmes, his doco makes all of the above plain, giving this plucky story and the gutsy gals who made it happen the treatment and respect that both deserve. Holmes' task is a relatively easy one, admittedly; with real-life events this gripping, this tale almost tells itself. Recognising this fact, the director steps through the specifics in a linear, unfussy but deftly edited fashion, deploying the formidable Edwards as his anchor. He starts with her backstory, explores how teenage rebellion led her to the freedom of venturing across the world's oceans, and then follows her Whitbread efforts — from her initial inspiration to the white-knuckle on-the-boat reality in the team's secondhand vessel once the race began. Even when the film leans heavily on talking heads, the details are riveting; however the documentary steps up a gear once it weaves grainy home-video footage from Maiden's journey into the mix. Candid and unfettered as it captures women doing battle with the water ("the ocean is always trying to kill you; it doesn't take a break," Edwards notes, looking back), it puts viewers right there on the yacht with the all-female crew. The fist-pumping, cheer-worthy highs and tense, dangerous lows of Maiden's trek are best discovered by watching, with the yacht's trip serving up the kinds of thrills usually penned by Hollywood. Indeed, it's incredibly surprising that a dramatisation hasn't hit the big screen already. Never forgetting or downplaying just how appallingly Edwards and company were treated three decades ago, Holmes' doco does more than simply relive or revel in their tale. Crucially, it also gives the film's subjects a voice, letting them relay the nitty gritty of their experiences in their own way. Back in the 80s, they were asked about squabbles, surviving without makeup and whether a round-the-world yacht race was the best place for the fairer sex, all while the men were were asked about strategies, tactics, skills and accomplishments. Redressing that egregious wrong — and showing the determined sparks still gleaming in these women's eyes — this rousing and exhilarating documentary proves a stellar snapshot of an inspiring feat, a rebuke against gender stereotypes and misogynistic attitudes, and a fierce portrait of persistent ladies telling the world that they'll do whatever they damn well like wherever they damn well like. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kjFXdXSmGZ8
The Coburg Night Market will return for its tenth year and, for the first time, will take place over four consecutive days from Friday, November 28 to Sunday, December 1. Pop over for an al fresco meal — perhaps homestyle Iraqi food from Nohadra's Kitchen, foot-long German sausages from Brat n Roll, Polish dumplings from Pierogi Pierogi, vegan shawarma from Hamsa Hummus Bar or Japanese soufflé pancakes from Kumokumo — and visit one of the two bars for cocktails, wine and beer. Once you've had your dinner, you'll find live music running every day and night. The music has been curated by a different group each day, with College of Knowledge, Stoic Records, Baked Goods and PS Music Group all looking after the tunes for an evening. Some of the artists on the lineup include Danika Smith, Tekwani, Francesca Gonzalez and Sex on Toast DJs. Before you leave, don't forget to peruse the 50 local artisan stalls selling food, homewares, jewellery and more — it's only a few weeks till Christmas, after all. The Coburg Night Market runs from Thursday–Friday 4–9pm and Saturday–Sunday midday–9pm.
It can be hard to wrangle a little peace and calm in amongst the hustle and bustle of the city, but CBD food and retail precinct St Collins Lane has just the fix. It's teamed up with boutique gym Ashley Faithfull Training Studios to launch its very own wellness hub, offering a breather from that fast-paced city life. Located up on Level 1, it's a calming, serene destination that's now offering daily 45-minute meditation and yoga sessions — for just the cost of a gold coin donation. Yep, you can enjoy a little escape, get bendy and de-stress, then head back to the office feeling ultra refreshed, while all spending less than the cost of a coffee. There are classes at 7.30am and 12.15pm each weekday, offering mostly hatha, ashtanga and vinyasa yoga styles, with meditation sessions on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Even better? All proceeds go to The Big Issue, supporting its work helping homeless, marginalised and disadvantaged people. Knock over five classes and you'll also be in with a shot at winning a 12-month Ashley Faithfull membership. We're heading into the busy season, so class spots are sure to be snapped up fast. You'll need to book your mat online to secure a session.
With awards season approaching, the end-of-year flicks are coming in thick and fast. Your to-watch list is getting long, but your wallet doesn't want to play ball. Call Village Cinemas' latest special a case of great timing, then, with the chain offering up discount tickets that'll solve your problem. From Thursday, November 21 until Wednesday, November 27, you'll only pay just $10 for your movie of choice at any of Village's cinemas around Melbourne. Or movies. With everything from Charlie's Angels and Judy to Doctor Sleep and Ready or Not currently screening, there's plenty to watch if you're keen to spend as much time in a darkened room as possible. You'll find Village at Crown, the Jam Factory on Chapel Street, the Rivoli, Sunshine or Century City in Glen Waverley. Tickets for the Coburg Drive-In are also included in the deal. To get the ten-buck tix, you'll have to sign up to Village's Vrewards membership program (it's free). The special isn't available for special events, Gold Class or preview screenings, but you're certain to find something to watch regardless. And you can book online — there's just a $1.40 fee.
UPDATE: May 18, 2020: Good Boys is available to stream via Amazon Prime Video, Foxtel Now, Google Play, YouTube and iTunes. Before the high-schoolers who populate every teen movie start worrying about heading off to college and having sex for the first time, they're tweens with not-too-dissimilar problems. That's the premise behind the familiar but very funny Good Boys, which leans so far into its Superbad-lite status that it has even enlisted Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg as producers. Instead of two horny 17-year-olds, this scaled-down coming-of-age comedy focuses on a trio of sixth graders. Instead of finding its characters on the cusp of graduation, it meets them as they start middle school. And instead of turning up to a lively shindig on a quest to lose their virginity, Good Boys' pre-teen protagonists navigate the age-appropriate equivalent: their first kissing party. The comparisons keep coming, although writer/director Gene Stupnitsky and his co-scribe Lee Eisenberg (the screenwriting duo behind Bad Teacher and Year One) don't just tread in Superbad's footsteps. Good Boys' predecessor boasted more than a little in common with Can't Hardly Wait, which in turn took Dazed and Confused's lead — and they all nodded to American Graffiti before that. Just a couple of months back, Booksmart did something similar too, using a firmly female-focused viewpoint to its advantage. There's not as obvious a point of difference here, with tween and teen boys getting mixed up in almost the same types of situations. But what Good Boys lacks in originality or perspective, it makes up for in charm, sincerity and a stellar cast of young talent. In a few years, Max (Jacob Tremblay), Thor (Brady Noon) and Lucas (Keith L. Williams) could relive these kinds of hijinks at the end of their high-school days — a thought that's probably crossed Stupnitsky, Eisenberg, Rogen and Goldberg's minds — but for now, they just want to be liked by the cool kids in their grade. And that seems possible after the lifelong buddies score a coveted invite to Soren's (Izaac Wang) pashing party. Alas, while Max is driven by his all-consuming crush on classmate Brixlee (Millie Davis), his friends have their own troubles. Thor is desperate to nab a role in the school production of Rock of Ages, but also desperate to seem like he doesn't care, while the gleefully dorky Lucas is struggling with news of his parents' (Retta and Lil Rel Howery) impending divorce. Plus, when the pals aren't trying to brush up on puckering up, they're unwittingly getting involved in drug deals with Max's older neighbour Hannah (Molly Gordon) and her bestie Lily (Midori Francis). Much of Good Boys' humour hits instantly and flows easily, as kids say the darnedest things in highly inappropriate circumstances — searching for "porb" and mistaking sex toys for weapons, for example. As the film's marketing campaign made a point of stressing, this may be a picture about children, but it definitely isn't for them in any shape or form. There's a more resonant layer to the gags, too — which, in a movie that spends plenty of time giggling as its central tweens swear, might not immediately seem the case. To see Max, Thor and Lucas not just face the reality that they're growing up, but explore an adult world that feels so strange and different to their pre-teen grasp on reality, is to remember the confusing ups and downs of going through the same process yourself. That said, this isn't a mere exercise in raucousness and nostalgia shaped around episodic antics, such as skipping school, sipping beers and running away from cops. Like Booksmart before it, Good Boys grounds its jokes, narrative and outlook in today's cultural and societal standards. In other words: goodbye lazy stereotypes and outdated views, and hello inclusiveness, emotional intelligence, and seeing these boys learn to respect women, themselves and each other. Stupnitsky and Eisenberg are still guilty of padding out the picture with a few too many recognisable scenarios, even with its brief 90-minute running time. But their film glows with authenticity nonetheless — because, for all the outlandishness they encounter, these kids always react in realistic ways. As much as Good Boys has an affable, genuine vibe on its side, it wouldn't work quite as well without its three child stars. Room's Tremblay, Boardwalk Empire's Noon and The Last Man on Earth's Williams not only sell their rapport, but play their parts with honesty and earnestness — and without a hint of precociousness. The bike-riding trio also shrugs off a Stranger Things insult, in a line that speaks beyond pop culture's current obsession with plucky children (see also: IT and IT: Chapter Two). Swap Good Boys' crudeness for a dash of the supernatural, after all, and this sweet, breezy and amusing film would fit nicely among all those classic 80s adventures. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WeeyM8cRinI
Another boozy outing makes its way onto the Melbourne scene as the revamped CBD haunt State of Grace launches a lavish afternoon tea party — starting this Saturday, December 1 and proceeding every Saturday and Sunday thereafter. The Mad Hatter-themed tea party is on offer from 1–3pm each day, and instead of tea, there'll be bottomless punch bowls and prosecco up for grabs. The punch comes in three rotating (and brightly coloured) flavours, all served in antique-style goblets. It's a decadent affair on the food menu, too. Of the six bite-sized dishes on offer, you'll find caviar and crème fraîche on a blini; mini duck parfait toasties with a gin and juice jam; and Yarra Valley crudité served with Four Pillars gin and herb cream. Dessert is a eton mess with meringue and lemon curd pots. All in, it'll cost you $55 per person for the two hours. Bookings are necessary and you can see the full menu here. State of Grace's Afternoon Tea Party runs from 1–3pm every Saturday and Sunday.
If you, like us, are a big fan of cheese, you'll know the tasty hobby can get a bit pricey. From stocking up on wheels of brie to splashing out on truffled gouda, going out for a night of oozy raclette and buying legit Parmigiano-Reggiano, things start to add up. Luckily, the dairy-loving folks at Meredith Dairy want to help. They're bringing back their super-popular Bucket Bonanza Sale just in time for the holidays — so your Christmas, and New Year, can be cheesier than ever. At the sale, two-kilogram buckets of the brand's award-winning goat's cheese will be going for only $50 a pop. The smooth, salty, spreadable cubes come marinated in a blend of olive oil, garlic and herbs. To put that price into perspective, the 550-gram jars at Woolies go for a whopping $20 each. The only catch is that the sale is located a little out of the city, at Meredith's distribution centre in Truganina (about a 40-minute drive from the city). But we think it's worth it — this is one tasty sale you won't want to miss. Meredith Dairy's Bucket Bonanza Sale will run from 11am–2pm.
Dogs. Pups. Pooches. Floofs. Pupparoos. Whatever you call them, you probably love 'em. And this Saturday you can hang out with a whole heap of them for free at the RACV Pawtrait Pup-Up. From 10am–2pm, Fitzroy's Edinburgh Gardens will be transformed into a dog-filled paradise, complete with agility courses for dogs, animal treats (and a barbecue for humans), giveaways and a pop-up portrait studio for your furry friend. Yep, you can finally get your pup a headshot. Dog Photog Studios will be on hand to snap a pic of your pooch in one of many colourful outfits — for free. And while the photography session is complimentary, spots are limited, so we suggest you head in earlier rather than later. RACV Pawtrait Pup-Up will run from 10am–2pm in the off-leash area of Edinburgh Gardens. Images: Courtesy of Dog Photog.
Following the announcement of its upcoming relocation to an even bigger location, Mukka has decided to give back to its loyal diners. To celebrate Mukka's Fitzroy soft relaunch on Friday, November 24, ahead of its official grand opening on Saturday, December 2, the popular eatery will be slinging a huge discount to dine-in customers. Head into Mukka's brand-new location for dinner from Wednesday, November 29 to score 50 percent off your bill. This exciting offer will allow diners – both new and old — to enjoy all of the much-loved street eats, flavour-filled dosas, hearty curries and incredibly cheesy naan that Mukka is known for. You'll get to enjoy all of its beloved familiar favourites alongside some enticing additions to the menu, including new punchy specials hot off the sleek new charcoal grill. Plus, when you opt to dine in, you'll be one of the first to experience the vibrant decor sourced directly from India and handpicked by co-owner Kabir Singh. There's also a five-metre-long feasting table and Melbourne's first-ever Bollywood-themed bar, which boasts a gorgeous mural dedicated to the iconic Bollywood film, Sholay. This exclusive offer is only available for one week and will be running until Friday, November 24, so head over to Mukka's reservations page to book your spot.
When is a Ridley Scott-directed, Joaquin Phoenix-starring trip to the past more than just a historical drama? Always, at least so far. Twice now, the filmmaker and actor have teamed up to explore Europe centuries ago, initially with Gladiator and now 23 years later with Napoleon — and where the Rome-set first was an action film as well, the second fancies its chances as a sometimes comedy. This biopic of the eponymous French military star-turned-emperor can be funny. In the lead, Phoenix (Beau Is Afraid) repeatedly boasts the line delivery, facial expressions and physical presence of someone actively courting laughs. When he declares "destiny has brought me this lamb chop!", all three coalesce. Scott (House of Gucci) not only lets the humour land, but fashions this muskets-and-cannons epic as a satire of men with authority and dominance, their egos, and the fact that ruling a country and defeating other nations doesn't cancel out their pettiness and insecurities. As it's off with Marie Antoinette's (Catherine Walker, My Sailor, My Love) head, it's in with Napoleon's revolutionary stirrings in Scott and screenwriter David Scarpa's take (with the scribe returning to cut the powerful down to size after the director's All the Money in the World, just as Walker apes another famous figure after playing Anna Wintour in House of Gucci). Also in: Napoleon's tinkering with facts, which'll later see its namesake and his troops fire at the pyramids. Devotion to historical accuracy isn't the movie's aim. Like The Castle of blasts from the French past, it's more interested in the vibe of the thing — said 'thing' being how Napoleon Bonaparte, later Napoleon I, follows his yearning for glory and adoration above all else. Scott stitches together a selection of his own recurrent obsessions, too, such as Phoenix sulking, savaging the quest for command and influence, Gallic days of yore as seen in his debut The Duellists and the unrelated The Last Duel, and unfettered ambition's consequences as per The Martian and Prometheus, then tops it with the requisite bicorn hat. My my, in Waterloo Napoleon will eventually surrender in this 158-minute flick — which is the short version; a four-hour director's cut is on its way to Apple TV+ once the film's cinema release is done — but he has considerable battles on three fronts to wage first. The movie's 18th- and 19th-century military frays span everywhere from Toloun to Austerlitz and Borodino. The tussling that his sizeable sense of importance sparks is as inescapable as his shadow. And attempting to repair his fragility through his romance with Joséphine de Beauharnais (Vanessa Kirby, Mission: Impossible — Dead Reckoning Part One) and desperation for a son is a conflict-filled affair again and again. When those encounters are sexual, they're filled with short, sweaty thrusts and Basic Instinct moments, as well as clashes of wills and desires. In this tumultuous marriage, food fights also feature. So hops Napoleon from vignette to vignette, war to war, one end of the continent to the other, rise to fall, Napoleonic politics to tabloid fodder, and constant conquests to multiple exiles. So jumps Napoleon from Corsican soldier to Paul Barras (Tahar Rahim, Extrapolations)-backed force, Robespierre's (Sam Troughton, The Lazarus Project) demise to the Bonaparte brothers' coup (House of the Dragon's Matthew Needham plays Lucien), capitalising upon anti-royalist feelings to donning a crown, and triumph to capitulation. With detours for dramatic flair — and comic — here and there, the broad biographical strokes are covered, plus minutiae that paints Scott's chosen picture (including Transatlantic's Sam Crane as Jacques-Louis David painting the famed The Coronation of Napoleon picture). Bringing Wikipedia to life, petulant scowling, ample buffoonery, pining for Joséphine, sumptuous cinematography by Dariusz Wolski (continuing his Scott run since Prometheus), gorgeous production design from Arthur Max (a Scott regular since GI Jane): that's the mix. Scott slips in an early scene that sums up his approach fittingly, popping up while Napoleon is in Egypt. After a mummy is presented to the general standing upright in its propped-up sarcophagus, he hops up on a stool to stare closely at its desiccated form, expecting to divine more about it just by peering in his specific manner. Napoleon isn't shy about dehydrating its titular figure's pomp, or about its guiding force's angle. No one asks "are you not entertained?", but anticipating both Napoleon and Scott thinking that of their onlookers is easy. Seesawing between impressively staged epic spectacle and marital and regal farce, Napoleon is indeed entertaining — "you think you're so great because you have boats!" is another instantly memorable piece of dialogue, as uttered thusly — and also sprawling, grandly handsome, frequently not all-conquering enough and as on the surface as an exploded horses's insides. As more than ABBA has immortalised, plus Succession's reference to Napoleon's severed collector's-item penis as well, Scott's subject is better-known than he ever craved, let alone could've dreamed. Depicting him as a little bit of everything in this character study is apt, then, with so much information about him existing that a definite take feels elusive. Perhaps that's why Napoleon isn't short on cinema stints but has hardly proven a mainstay, even if Louis Lumière first brought him to celluloid with 1897's Entrevue de Napoléon et du Pape and 1927's silent Napoléon has been revered for almost a century. Stanley Kubrick's iteration didn't eventuate, but is now being revived by Steven Spielberg. Charlie Chaplin's attempted project became The Great Dictator instead. The Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure version might be the take of record for many until now; Phoenix acts here like he's definitely seen it. Napoleon's ever-committed lead is compelling to watch, but the film is best when he's part of a duo. Although the emperor ultimately divorced Joséphine when she didn't deliver him the heir that he demanded, his famous lovesickness — as letters document — makes it plain that he felt that way, too. Kirby is magnetic, as the role calls for, yet also pragmatic. Her Joséphine sees him as no one else does except the movie itself, and he is spellbound in her presence. The double-act setup also works when Napoleon is paired one-on-one with friends or foes, such as Austria's Francis I (Miles Jupp, The Full Monty) and England's Duke of Wellington (Funny Woman's Rupert Everett, also sneering and having a ball). This is a picture about a man clamouring not just for a legacy but for company, after all, and Scott never forgets it.
Screenlife films such as Missing should be the last thing that moviegoers want. When we're hitting a cinema or escaping into our streaming queues, we're seeking a reprieve from the texts, chats, pics, reels, searches, and work- and study-related tasks that we all stare at on our phones and computers seemingly 24/7. (Well, we should be, unless we're monsters who can't turn off our devices while we watch.) There's a nifty dose of empathy behind thrillers like this, its excellent predecessor Searching, and the similar likes of Unfriended and Profile, however, that relies upon the very fact that everyone spends far too much time living through technology. When an on-screen character such as Missing's June (Storm Reid, The Last of Us) is glued to the gadget on their desk or lap, or in their hand — when they're using the devices that've virtually become our new limbs non-stop to try to solve their problems and fix their messy existence, too — it couldn't be more relatable. As Missing fills its frames with window upon window of June's digital activities, cycling and cascading through FaceTime calls, Gmail messages, WhatsApp downloads, Google Maps tracking, TikTok videos, TaskRabbit bookings, plain-old websites and more, it witnesses its protagonist do plenty that we've all done. And, everything she's undertaking feels exactly that familiar — like the film could be staring back at each member of its audience rather than at an 18-year-old who starts the movie unhappy that her mother Grace (Nia Long, You People) is jetting off to Colombia with her new boyfriend Kevin (Ken Leung, Old). That sensation remains true even though Missing's viewers have likely never had their mum disappear in another country, and their life forever turned upside down as a result. We've all experienced the mechanics behind what writer/directors Will Merrick and Nick Johnson (who make their feature debut in both roles after editing Searching) are depicting in our own ways, with only the vast power of the internet able to help. As an opening video set 12 years earlier explains, plus folders of medical info and farewells over a move from Texas to California, June is far from thrilled about Grace and Kevin's getaway due to its timing. She isn't fussed about her mum's rules for while they're away and repetitive reminders to empty her voice messages, either, but they'll be gone over the weekend of Father's Day, a difficult occasion given that June's father James (Tim Griffin, True Detective) passed away when she was a kid. To fill her time home alone, she makes sure that she's not really home alone, throwing parties she's not supposed to, avoiding tipping off her mum's lawyer pal Heather (Amy Landecker, Your Honor) — who's on check-up duties — and hanging out with her bestie Veena (Megan Suri, Never Have I Ever). But when June heads to Los Angeles airport to collect Grace and Kevin upon their return, her situation gets worse. She waits. She holds up a playful sign. She films the whole thing as well. But no one shows. Five years have passed since Searching became one of the best screenlife movies yet while making stellar use of John Cho (Cowboy Bebop) as a dad desperate to find his absent daughter. With that flick's writer/director Aneesh Chaganty and co-scribe Sev Ohanian getting a story credit, Missing flips the setup, having a kid looking as far and wide as technology currently allows for a parent instead. With some assistance from FBI Agent Park (Daniel Henney, Criminal Minds), but not enough — plus on-the-ground sleuthing by Cartagena local Javi (Joaquim de Almeida, Warrior Nun), thanks to an outsourcing service — June gets investigating, and also increasingly frantic about what's happened, why, where Grace might be and how to get her home. The film also gets pacier than Searching, reflecting not just half a decade's worth of tech advancements, but a teenager's innate, always-on comfort with the online landscape as a digital native. June doesn't just hop from app to app, program to program, chat to chat and call to call quickly — and, conveniently for the film, keep her webcam running in-between so viewers see the stress expand across her face as she does so. As she scours and worries, worries and sours, she's as creative as she is determined with her detective skills. Indeed, Missing doubles as both stalker 101 and a cybersecurity warning. If you're already concerned about the surveillance-heavy times that we live in, expect your Black Mirror-style anxieties to only expand while watching. Missing is so relatable in what it's showing, rather than the tale it's using all those computer windows to show, that it's also a double-edged sword: we've all been June, inseparable from our MacBooks and the like; can our online lives be so easily picked through, as Grace does to Kevin as her suspicions heighten, as well? As Searching did, Missing has its audience playing gumshoe along with its characters. As Unfriended and Profile did — all four movies share Russian Kazakh filmmaker Timur Bekmambetov as a producer, and he also directed Profile — it keeps everyone on high alert via a tense, propulsive and immersive affair. Viewing screenlife flicks, which also includes the unconnected Host and We're All Going to the World's Fair (and the less-convincing Spree, and downright grating Dash Cam), means constantly seeking clues as to where the next twist, revelation or crucial detail will spring from. They're an involving experience, especially when there are people to find and crimes to solve, and Missing is as on-edge, nail-biting and as attention-demanding as they come. Amid the sea of clips, conversations and text on-screen — and some wild leaps in logic — the nerves and vigilance here aren't June's alone. Missing knows how folks watching will engage, even if it obviously isn't interactive in the way that film-meets-game Isklander — screenlife IRL, basically — is. It knows that it exists in a world obsessed with true-crime, smartly commenting on the pervasive and persistent fascination with other's misdeeds — and overtly linking back to Searching in the process — while asking how much anyone can ever truly know their nearest and dearest. That's another relatable source of the thriller's distress. It's where Reid proves devastatingly effective, compellingly shifting from a teen annoyed at her mum's overprotectiveness to the point of virtually ignoring her, to a concerned daughter willing to do whatever it takes, to questioning everything that she's ever been told. Long also plays her panicky matriarch part with potency, but the riveting Missing is right on target at grounding its nerves and thrills alike in all that can be uncovered, endured and experienced with your fingers on a keyboard and your eyes staring at your chosen rectangle.
With photographer Nan Goldin at its centre, the latest documentary by Citizenfour Oscar-winner Laura Poitras is a film about many things, to deeply stunning and moving effect. In this movie's compilation of Goldin's acclaimed snaps, archival footage, current interviews, and past and present activism, a world of stories flicker — all linked to Goldin, but all also linking universally. The artist's bold work, especially chronicling LGBTQIA+ subcultures and the 80s HIV/AIDS crisis, frequently and naturally gets the spotlight. Her complicated family history, which spans heartbreaking loss, haunts the doco as it haunts its subject. The rollercoaster ride that Goldin's life has taken, including in forging her career, supporting her photos, understanding who she is and navigating an array of personal relationships, cascades through, too. And, so do her efforts to counter the opioid epidemic by bringing one of the forces behind it to public justice. Revealing state secrets doesn't sit at the core of the tale here, unlike Citizenfour and Poitras' 2016 film Risk — one about Edward Snowden, the other Julian Assange — but everything leads to the documentary's titular six words: All the Beauty and the Bloodshed. They gain meaning in a report spied late about the mental health of Goldin's older sister Barbara, who committed suicide at the age of 18 when Goldin was 11, and who Goldin contends was just an "angry and sexual" young woman in the 60s with repressed parents. A psychiatrist uses the eponymous phrase to describe what Barbara sees and, tellingly, it could be used to do the same with anyone. All the Beauty and the Bloodshed is, in part, a rebuke of the idea that a teenager with desires and emotions is a problem, and also a statement that that's who we all are, just to varying levels of societal acceptance. The film is also a testament that, for better and for worse, all the beauty and the bloodshed we all witness and endure is what shapes us. Life is all the beauty and the bloodshed, inescapably — and in the film's most recent footage, Goldin fights against the latter. In an essay penned in 2017, published in 2018 in Artforum and given voice now, she reveals her addiction. "I survived the opioid crisis. I narrowly escaped," she says of her time taking OxyContin, which was originally prescribed to her as it is for many: for surgery. "Though I took it as directed, I got addicted overnight. It was the cleanest drug I'd ever met," Goldin continues. The damage that this prescription substance has caused is well-documented, in docos and dramas such as The Crime of the Century and Dopesick alike. All the Beauty and the Bloodshed isn't just another popped from the packet, but a feature that inserts Goldin's battle against the wealthy Sackler family, founders and owners of OxyContin-making pharmaceutical company Purdue Pharma, into a bigger slideshow. This is a personal fray, again for many reasons; All the Beauty and the Bloodshed's nesting layers exceed any set of matryoshka dolls. The conflict between autonomy and dependence has long been one of Goldin's sources of fascination — given how her sister was treated, how could it not? — and her seminal work The Ballad of Sexual Dependency filters through the film, as well as acts as inspiration. Goldin crusades against the reliance that so-called "miracle drug" OxyContin has sparked, and the rising death toll the opioid epidemic keeps notching up. Co-founding advocacy group PAIN (Prescription Addiction Intervention Now), she literally rallies against the Sacklers, whose fortune is enormous off the back of the OxyContin's carnage. She directs particular focus to the Sacklers' artwashing, thanks to their hefty donations to galleries and museums, which is where PAIN stages its protests. Many of the cultural institutions accepting the Sacklers' money — many of them bearing the family's name on their buildings, in fact, because that's how much funds such spaces have received— are also intertwined with Goldin's career. An artist's work has to display somewhere, and hers has garnered berths in prestigious spots. PAIN targets them all and more, at considerable risk to Goldin's professional standing, and in a case of an artist firmly putting her principles first. All the Beauty and the Bloodshed begins with action at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and with a "die-in" in its largest gallery space, which is named for the Sacklers. It's a powerful sight, not just filled with prone protestors on the ground but with orange prescription pill bottles scattered around, and bobbing in the room's moat. More such scenes appear throughout the movie, travelling to the Guggenheim Museum and the Louvre — their famous spiral ramp and pyramid, respectively, taken over to make a statement. Poitras could've simply filled a documentary with Goldin's photography or her efforts with PAIN; either way, a gripping film would've eventuated. If she'd just gone with the second option, it could've been another like fellow 2023 Oscar-nominee Navalny that ripples with the tension of a spy thriller, as such scenes do within All the Beauty and the Bloodshed anyway — complete with actual espionage. PAIN's protests are potent to visually behold, Goldin ensuring that they stand out aesthetically and, as the doco sees, photograph well. The passion and piercing emotion of All the Beauty and the Bloodshed wouldn't be what it is without everything around its OxyContin-combating quest, however, because no one action, decision, movement or person is just one thing. This chronicle of the political must also be personal, detailing how Goldin's childhood brought her to life on the fringes, then to photographing it to preserve it, and then to fighting for it. It has to examine how her work is a response to society's marginalisation of women and the queer community, and also crucially a portrait of her own ups and downs, too, showing where her empathy and activism bloomed and why. All the Beauty and the Bloodshed isn't dutifully connecting dots, though, but observing all that makes someone who they are — and makes their deeds, such as Goldin's crusade against the Sacklers, what they are at the same time. It flits backwards and forwards in an act of structural mastery, recreating the feeling of slipping and sliding through memories. Along the way, it gives its marvellous cavalcade of its subject's imagery room to resonate, as it does with her commentary on it, her recollections of her fallen friends like Pink Flamingos star Cookie Mueller and artist/activist David Wojnarowicz, and her constant unpacking of her childhood. It lets court-ordered victim statements to the Sacklers in Purdue's bankruptcy deal echo and linger. Winning the Golden Lion at the 2022 Venice International Film Festival as well, this is a remarkable doco about an individual, and the others who've cast their shadows upon her, as well as a stirring account of the clash between individuals and power — Poitras' frequent topic of interest, after all.
Only one female filmmaker has ever been nominated for the Best Director Oscar twice. That woman: Jane Campion. The New Zealand talent won the coveted prize in 2022, for the phenomenal The Power of the Dog — and, while her exquisite revisionist western was the absolute best movie of 2021, it's not the only highlight on her resume. Campion's filmography is packed with must-sees, and see them you must — on the big screen at the Australian Centre for the Moving Image. In partnership with the 2023 Sydney Film Festival, the venue is showing Jane Campion: Her Way, a lineup that will step through the New Zealand director and screenwriter's career. [caption id="attachment_847709" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Kirsty Griffin/Netflix[/caption] On the bill: The Power of the Dog, because watching it via streaming is nowhere near the best way to revel in its wonders; The Piano, the 1993 Oscar-winner that nabbed Campion her first Best Director nomination; In the Cut, a tremendous erotic thriller starring Meg Ryan; and Holy Smoke, with Kate Winslet starring opposite Harvey Keitel. There's also everything from 1986's Two Friends, 1989's Sweetie and 1990's An Angel at My Table through to 1996's Nicole Kidman-starring The Portrait of a Lady and 2009's Bright Star about poet John Keats and his romance with Fanny Brawne. The program runs from Thursday, June 15–Sunday, July 2, and also features a showing of the new documentary Jane Campion, The Cinema Woman. Top image: Kirsty Griffin/Netflix.
We've got Christmas markets galore, an abundance of Santa photo ops and even a couple of festive-themed hotel rooms. But Footscray's craft bottle shop and bar Mr West is getting into the Christmas spirit in a much more fitting way — it's rounding up some of its all-time favourite drops to showcase at a huge four-hour festive tasting party. On Sunday, December 4, A Very Merry Tasting Extravaganza will take over the upstairs bar, inviting punters — and Christmas shoppers — to sip their way through a hefty lineup of boutique brews, craft spirits, cider and low-intervention vino. There'll be over 100 products to sample on the day, including pours from the likes of The Gospel Whiskey, Four Pillars, Marionette, Ester and Mezcal Union, and wines from labels including Good Juice, Gentlefolk, Lucy M, Babass, Commune of Buttons and Bobinet. Flying the flag for the beer scene, you'll find favourites like Hop Nation, Burnley Brewing, Two Metre Tall, Dollar Bill, Mountain Culture and more. A $25 ticket will get you entry and all your tastings, with a selection of Pie Thief's famed pastry creations also on offer for when you're feeling snacky. And if anything takes your fancy, booze-wise, you'll find every drink product available to buy from the downstairs bottle shop. Images: Mr West
Sweat, skin, sex, schisms, secrets and survival: a great film by French auteur Claire Denis typically has them all. Stars at Noon is one of them, even if her adaptation of the 1986 novel of nearly the same name — her picture drops the 'the', as a certain social network did — doesn't quite soar to the same astonishing heights as High Life, her last English-language release. Evocative, enveloping, atmospheric, dripping with unease: they're also traits that the two flicks share, like much of the Beau Travail, 35 Shots of Rum and White Material filmmaker's work. Here, all the sultriness and stress swells around two gleamingly attractive strangers, Trish (Margaret Qualley, Maid) and Daniel (Joe Alwyn, Conversations with Friends), who meet in a Central American hotel bar, slip between the sheets and find themselves tangled up in plenty beyond lips and limbs. Shining at each other when so much else obscures their glow, Stars at Noon's central duo are jumbled up in enough individually anyway. For the first half hour-ish, the erotic thriller slinks along with Trish's routine, which sees perspiration plastered across her face from the Nicaraguan heat, the lack of air-conditioning in her motel and the struggle to enjoy a cold drink. The rum she's often swilling, recalling that aforementioned Denis-directed feature's moniker, hardly helps. Neither does the transactional use of her body with a local law enforcement officer (Nick Romano, Shadows) and a government official (Stephan Proaño, Crónica de un amor). Imbibing is clearly a coping and confidence-giving mechanism, while those amorous tumbles afford her protection in a precarious political situation, with her passport confiscated, her actions being scrutinised and funds for a plane ticket home wholly absent. Trish is a freelance journalist, albeit without much in the way of gigs, as the snarky response she gets from an editor (John C Reilly, Winning Time: The Rise of the Lakers Dynasty) on a video chat shows. Cue trading coitus for cash; when she's first flirting with the white-suited Daniel at Managua's Intercontinental Hotel, however, she's as interested in the free drinks, comfort and cool surroundings as the $50 price she puts on a night together. They click, then go their separate ways in the morning. But after she spies him talking with a Costa-Rican cop (Danny Ramirez, Top Gun: Maverick), she offers words of warning. Daniel says he works in oil, and his situation in the region is as tenuous and thorny as hers — details of which are largely talked around in both cases, in a picture concerned with characters, emotions and sensations over plot mechanics. In a script penned by Denis with Andrew Litvack (High Life) and Léa Mysius (Farewell to the Night) from Denis Johnson's text — which drew upon his time in Nicaragua and Costa Rica in the early 80s, trying to become an international political reporter — there still remains ample story to go around. Car chases, police threats, assassinations, border runs, collateral damage and CIA offers flesh out the narrative, as does the late arrival of a sharp-talking American (Benny Safdie, Licorice Pizza). Creating a tinderbox environment to ignite around Trish, Daniel, and their dance of lust, loyalty and love is all that politics-fuelled intrigue's main aim, though. Stars at Noon updates the book's time period to now, with masks, vaccinations and testing anchoring it firmly in the COVID-19 age, but there's a timelessness in the way that specifics about controversial articles, election troubles, spying and foreign meddling come second to feelings and flesh. Some things stay the same no matter the period or players, Denis contends, and means it in multiple manners. Fans of the filmmaker's past work — even just viewers of it — will know that she loves dwelling in this fraught, fragile and fiery space, where things can change in an instant in a personal and existential fashion alike. Denis sees life that way in general; we aren't all writers who've fallen afoul of foreign regimes and are now getting by via sex work, or businessmen patently not doing what we say we are, but being plunged into messes of both our own and others' making is a universal fact of being alive. By focusing on white characters in a location where they instantly stand out, the West Africa-raised Denis also continues the contemplation of colonialism and privilege she's placed on-screen since her 1988 debut Chocolat ("having sex with you is like having sex with a cloud," Trish notes to Daniel here, on account of the Brit's pale complexion). Chaos swelters as thick as the humidity wherever the westerners go, but these outsiders create far more for everyone they meet, especially everyday locals. Just like in a 90s-era erotic thriller, which this often resembles, the calmest place to be in Stars at Noon is loitering in Trish and Daniel's shared embrace in bed or swirling around an empty dance floor; whichever Denis is focusing on, and cinematographer Eric Gautier (The Truth) as well, the experience is lingering as well as rhythmic and woozy. Sometimes rain clatters down around the film's core duo, sometimes the lighting beaming above couldn't be more seductive — and frequently Tindersticks, who've scored Denis' work for two-plus decades now, add a dazed but urgent mood. The tension, the uncertainty, the desperate solace that having even a tenuous and tricky physical connection with someone else can bring: they all become almost tangible and definitely palpable. Playing their parts with the requisite spark, Qualley and Alwyn melt stickily into each other, and viewers watching take their lead with the movie. That deeply intimate focus pushes the Cannes Grand Prix-winning Stars at Noon out of Graham Greene-esque, The Quiet American-style territory. Also, with her screaming in the streets as she struts and saunters barefoot in sundresses and singlets, Trish is anything but hushed. In one of the Once Upon a Time in Hollywood and My Salinger Year actor's best performances yet, Qualley exudes tenacity and flightiness — two traits that keep somersaulting the more Trish is with Alwyn's suave and enigmatic Daniel. Cannily, Qualley and Alwyn feel thrust together rather than destined, a truth on-screen and off- (High Life's Robert Pattinson was initially cast, then Black Bird's Taron Egerton). Indeed, there's a volatility to Stars at Noon, and to the romance at its centre, that's equally apt. When you're surveying life's instability — one of its basic and unavoidable truths — getting the film itself in the same kind of lather is no small feat.
UPDATE, January 27, 2023: Sissy is available to stream via Google Play, YouTube Movies, iTunes and Prime Video. Scroll, swipe, like, subscribe: this is the rhythm of social media. We look, watch and trawl; we try to find a sense of self in the online world; and when something strikes a chord, we smudge our fingers onto our phones to show our appreciation. If wellness influencers are to be believed, we should feel seen by this now-everyday process. We should feel better, too. We're meant to glean helpful tips about how to live our best lives, aspire to be like the immaculately styled folks dispensing the advice and be struck by how relatable it all is. "You saved my life!", we're supposed to comment, and we're meant to be genuine about it. The one catch, and one that we shouldn't think about, though: when it comes to seeking validation via social media, this setup really does go both ways. As savvy new Australian horror film Sissy shows, the beaming faces spruiking easy wisdom and products alike to hundreds, thousands or maybe hundreds of thousands of followers — 200,000-plus for this flick's namesake — are also basking in the glory of all that digital attention, and getting a self-esteem boost back in the process. Sissy starts with @SincerelyCecilia, an Instagram hit, doing what she does best. As played by Gold Coast-born Australian actor Aisha Dee of The Bold Type in an astute and knowing stroke of casting, she's a natural in front of the camera. Indeed, thanks to everything from The Saddle Club and I Hate My Teenage Daughter to Sweet/Vicious and The Nowhere Inn as well, the film's star knows what it's like to live life through screens out of character. She's been acting since she was a teenager, and she's charted the highs of her chosen profession, all in front of a lens. So, it's no wonder that Dee conveys Cecilia's comfort recording her videos with ease. The actor hops into the spotlight not only once but twice here, but she's just as perceptive at showing how the world crumbles, shakes and shrinks whenever there's no ring light glowing, smile stretched a mile wide and Pinterest-board background framing her guru-like guidance. "I am loved. I am special. I am enough," is Cecilia's kind of mantra. Through her carefully poised and curated videos, such words have sparked a soaring follower count, a non-stop flow of likes and adoring comments. But she's so tied to all that virtual worship that her off-camera existence — when she's not plugging an 'Elon mask', for instance — is perhaps even more mundane than everyone else's. It's also isolated, so when she reconnects with her childhood best friend Emma (co-director/co-writer Hannah Barlow) during a chance run-in at a pharmacy, it's a rare IRL link to the tangible world. Cecilia is awkward about it, though, including when Emma invites her to her out-of-town bachelorette party that very weekend. Buoyed by memories of pledging to be BFFs forever, singing Aussie pop track 'Sister' by Sister2Sister and obsessing over movie stars, she still agrees to go. Sissy's first act is a Rorschach test: if you're already cynical about the wellness industry and social media, unsurprisingly so, then you'll know that nothing dreamy is bound to follow; if you're not, perhaps the blood and guts to come will feel like a twist. Either way, there will be blood thanks to Barlow and fellow co-helmer/co-scribe Kane Senes' game efforts, reteaming for their second feature after 2017's For Now. There will be chaos as well, and bad signs aplenty, and a rousing body count. Hitting a kangaroo en route to their remote destination clearly doesn't bode well, and also kicks off casualty tally. Then the old schoolyard dynamics bubble up, especially when Cecilia's playground tormentor Alex (Emily De Margheriti, Ladies in Black) is among the fellow guests. Pre-teen taunts resurface — "Sissy's a sissy" was the juvenile and obvious jeer spat her way back in the day, and repeated now — and the @SincerelyCecilia facade starts to shatter. If Mean Girls was a slasher film set in an off-the-beaten-track home in Australia, it might look something like Sissy, which is a compliment multiple times over. Every horror movie wants to be smart and savage on an array of levels, but Barlow and Senes manage it again and again, and with grisly fun. Their latest feature weaponises everything from influencer culture and pastel, rainbow and glitter colour palettes to toxic friendships and troubling childhood dynamics, all while spinning a clever, cutting and comedic take on the impact of bullying. Their targets are blatant — well, if you only see terrible things in the picture's version of inkblots, as per above, they are — but that doesn't dull or dampen any point that Sissy makes. That it premiered at SXSW 2022 at the same time as Bodies Bodies Bodies feels oh-so-fitting; they both involve remote houses plagued with twentysomething mess, mayhem and mania, share many of the same points, are delightfully entertaining to watch and would be a stellar double. Would Sissy work quite so well with someone other than Dee playing its eponymous figure, though? Thankfully, that's a question we'll never know the answer to. Her portrayal is as shrewd, amusing and engaging as the movie she's in, and as wonderfully layered — which couldn't be more pivotal in a flick that's also about the vast chasm between our Insta selves and our off-social reality, and how any group of people is mere hours from tearing each other to pieces verbally, emotionally and physically in the right/wrong circumstances. She's in fine company, however, including Barlow's on-screen efforts and De Margheriti relishing her antagonistic part. As Emma's fiancée Fran and friends Tracey and Jamie, Lucy Barrett (Halifax: Retribution), Yerin Ha (Halo) and Daniel Monks (Pulse) each also steal more than a few standout moments. One helluva lead performance, as gloriously diverse a cast as Australian cinema has boasted, grim fates awaiting half the coat of arms, schlock and viscera galore, scathing social commentary: that's Sissy. A knowing-but-never-too-winking vibe, neon hues paired with unsettling images, canny framing, needling sound design: that's Sissy, too. If Carrie was set in today's always-online world, amid cancel culture and plentiful praise at the press of a button, it'd look like this as well. That said, this new instant Aussie horror classic takes its own bold stab at plenty of things, and genres — plus tropes and people — and always remains its own film. Cecilia and her followers could learn from it, because appreciating your faves, incorporating them into your existence but never losing yourself in them is a lesson far removed from their Insta-curated world.
Sometimes, a horror movie forever brands a certain day of the week with scares forever. Sometimes, it lets the one and only Nicolas Cage do his unhinged best. And sometimes, a scary flick is smart, scary, and a thoughtful musing on both grief and motherhood. Those films? Friday the 13th, Mandy and The Babadook, aka prime October viewing — and Halloween viewing, too. And yes, they're three of the features on Cinema Nova's impressive Halloweek lineup between Thursday, October 27–Wednesday, November 2. How does this Carlton cinema celebrate the spookiest day of the year? With a big-screen scary-movie takeover for an entire week. The seven-day fright fest spans flicks old and recent — and eerie, creepy, fun and silly. Different movies show on different days, but it's a stacked list. Start with Winona Ryder, Gary Oldman and Keanu Reeves in Bram Stoker's Dracula, or by revisiting the OG Paranormal Activity. Then, check out Melbourne-set cult-favourite Body Melt, or get entranced by The Nightmare Before Christmas. Alongside all of the above, there's also the black-and-white version of Nightmare Alley, the Lovecraft-based Re-Animator, 90s fave Hocus Pocus (no, not the sequel) and the original Suspiria (no, not the remake). Or sink into Park Chan-wook's Stoker, get evil with The Omen (again, not the remake) and see Jeff Goldblum in one of his most glorious roles courtesy of David Cronenberg's The Fly.
If you're a fan of movies, television, games and every other facet of screen culture, and you live in Melbourne, then you're also a fan of the Australian Centre for the Moving Image. It's the nation's very own film, TV and game museum, right here in Federation Square — yes Melburnians, it's something special. Can't remember the city without ACMI? That's because it's been part of the CBD for two decades now. Naturally, the venue is celebrating that fact by welcoming folks in — and slinging half-price movie and exhibition tickets for two days to help. [caption id="attachment_799587" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Shannon McGrath[/caption] Drop by the ACMI Turns 20 festivities on Saturday, October 29–Sunday, October 30 for discounted entry, which spans the dazzling Light: Works From Tate's Collection and all movie sessions. With the former, you can peer at a Melbourne-exclusive showcase from the UK's Tate galleries featuring more than 70 works, including pieces by Claude Monet and Yayoi Kusama. With the latter, you can feast your eyes on the Tilda Swinton-starring The Souvenir Part II, the end of ACMI's Goodbye to Godard tribute season, or opt for the Halloween-appropriate Blood and Black Lace and In Fabric. And, ACMI is doing free cookies and choc tops for the two days, too — while stocks last. [caption id="attachment_858887" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Raemar, Blue, 1969, James Turrell. Tate: Presented by the Tate Americas Foundation, partial purchase and partial gift of Doris J. Lockhart 2013. © James Turrell. Photo: Phoebe Powell.[/caption]
UPDATE, October 26, 2022: The Good Nurse released in select cinemas Down Under on October 20, and streams via Netflix from October 26. It isn't called CULLEN — Monster: The Charles Cullen Story. It doesn't chart the murders of a serial killer who's already a household name. And, it doesn't unfurl over multiple episodes. Still, Netflix-distributed true-crime film The Good Nurse covers homicides, and the person behind them, that are every bit as grim and horrendous as the events dramatised in DAHMER — Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story. Such based-on-reality tales that face such evil are always nightmare fodder, but this Eddie Redmayne (Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore)- and Jessica Chastain (The Forgiven)-starring one, as brought to the screen by Danish filmmaker Tobias Lindholm (A War, A Hijacking), taps into a particularly terrifying realm. The culprit clearly isn't the good nurse of the movie's moniker, but he is a nurse, working in intensive care units no less — and for anyone who has needed to put their trust in the health system or may in the future (aka all of us), his acts are gut-wrenchingly chilling. Hospitals are meant to be places that heal, even in America's cash-driven setup where free medical care for all isn't considered a basic right and a societal must. Hospitals are meant to care for the unwell and injured, as are the doctors, nurses and other staff who race through their halls. There is one such person in The Good Nurse, Amy Loughren, who Chastain plays based on a real person. In 2003, in New Jersey, she's weathering her own struggles: she's a single mother to two young girls, she suffers from cardiomyopathy to the point of needing a heart transplant, and she can't tell her job about her health condition because she needs to remain employed for four more months to qualify for insurance to treat it. Then enters Cullen (Redmayne), the newcomer on Loughren's night shifts, a veteran of nine past hospitals, an instant friend who offers to help her cope with her potentially lethal ailment and also the reason that their patients start dying suddenly. There's no spoiler alert needed about The Good Nurse's grisly deeds or the person responsible. Cullen's name hasn't been changed in Krysty Wilson-Cairns' (Last Night in Soho, 1917) script, which adapts Charles Graeber's 2013 non-fiction book The Good Nurse: A True Story of Medicine, Madness, and Murder, and Loughren's similarly remains the same. The Good Nurse also opens with the quietly disquieting Cullen retreating as someone in a different hospital years earlier goes into convulsions — standing back motionless, he tries to appear anxious but instead looks like a creepy blank canvas. Accordingly, that he's the cause of much of the movie's horrors is a given from the outset, but that's only one of Lindholm and Wilson-Cairns' angles. As aided by centring Loughren's plight, The Good Nurse is also a film about institutional failings and coverups with very real consequences. Indeed, as set to an eerie score by Biosphere (Burma Storybook), there's a procedural feel to Lindholm's first feature in America; that he helmed episodes of Mindhunter beforehand doesn't come as a surprise. There are cops, too, in the form of detectives Baldwin (Nnamdi Asomugha, Sylvie's Love) and Braun (Noah Emmerich, Dark Winds), who are brought in seven weeks after a patient's passing just after Cullen arrives. But nurse-turned-administrator Linda Garran (Fear the Walking Dead), who summons the police, is hardly forthcoming — about the almost-two-month delay or with information overall. It isn't in the hospital's interests to be upfront, which is why and how Cullen has kept moving from healthcare facility to healthcare facility, and notching up a body count at each by spiking IV bags with fatal doses of insulin and other medications. No hospital wants to be seen to be at fault, and won't warn fellow institutions, either. Long before figures are splashed across the screen — the significant number of victims admitted to, and the far more vast tally authorities suspect Cullen has killed — The Good Nurse is distressing. Cinematographer Jody Lee Lipes (A Beautiful Day in the Neighbourhood) lights the movie like a horror flick, using darkness and shadows for a story filled with them, but there's more than just an icy tone and mood at play in that choice. Crucially absent is the vision of slick, gleaming medical setups seen in hospital-focused TV dramas and comedies, and in illness weepies, because nothing is softened or soothed here. Even if Cullen hadn't crossed her path, Loughren's own relationship with the health industry is disturbing enough. Doting on her patients with a dream of a nurturing disposition, she truly fits the film's title — and yet her own life depends upon her grinning and bearing her own sickness so that she doesn't lose her job, otherwise she won't be able to afford the treatment necessary for her own survival. Fresh from winning an Oscar for The Eyes of Tammy Faye after two prior nominations, and having a busy year with The 355, The Forgiven and Armageddon Time already in or bound for cinemas — and with TV show George & Tammy also soon to drop — Chastain is restrained but commanding as a woman in an excruciating situation several times over. Frequently, and with Lipes peering close to her face, she conveys The Good Nurse's engrained dismay and shock purely in her gaze. That expression is loaded with commitment and concern as well, in a performance that's always the movie's weathervane. Fellow past Academy Award recipient Redmayne is nowhere near as subtle, proving both forceful in Cullen's ordinary mannerisms and later histrionics; a frequent trait of his work in general, it mostly fits given his current part is needling from the get-go. In far different territory than the last feature boasting his involvement — that'd be Danish day-drinking dramedy Another Round, which he co-wrote — Lindholm lets unease drip from Redmayne as Cullen, rather than have it astonish. He isn't interested in endeavouring to explain the why of it all, either, accepting that something this awful can happen because it has, and serving up no attempt at finding motivations for Cullen's actions. Instead, he lays bare the human toll, including moments with two men whose existences are ripped apart thanks to trips with loved ones to the wrong hospital at the wrong time. Taking cues from the likes of Spotlight, Lindholm also exposes the system that enables such atrocities. Of course, swap nurses for doctors and viewers of Dr Death will feel like they're in familiar terrain, although that also helps make The Good Nurse more upsetting — knowing there are other true tales like this can only heighten the discomfort.
UPDATE, December 17, 2022: Roald Dahl's Matilda the Musical screens in Australian cinemas from Thursday, December 8, and streams via Netflix from Sunday, December 25. Mischievous and magical in equal measure (and spirited, and gleefully snarky and spiky), Roald Dahl's Matilda has been a balm for souls since 1988. If you were a voracious reader as a kid, happiest escaping into the page — or if you felt out of place at home, cast aside for favoured siblings, bullied at school or unappreciated in general — then it wasn't just a novel. Rather, it was a diary capturing your bubbling feelings in perfect detail, just penned by one of the great children's authors. When Matilda first reached the screen in 1996, Americanised and starring Mara Wilson as the pint-sized bookworm who finds solace in imagined worlds (and puts bleach in her dad's hair tonic, and glue on his hat band), the film captured the same sensation. So has the song-and-dance stage version since 2010, too, because this heartfelt yet irreverent tale was always primed for the musical treatment. Over a decade later, after nabbing seven Olivier Awards for its West End run, five Tony Awards on Broadway and 13 of Australia's own Helpmann Awards as well, that theatre show's movie adaptation arrives with its revolting children and its little bit of naughtiness. Tim Minchin's music and lyrics still provide the soundtrack to Roald Dahl's Matilda the Musical, boasting the Aussie entertainer's usual blend of clever wordplay and comedy. Both the stage iteration's original director Matthew Warchus and playwright Dennis Kelly return, the former hopping back behind the camera after 2014's Pride and the latter adding a new screen project to his resume after The Third Day. The library full of charm remains, as does a story that's always relatable for all ages. Horrors and hilarity, a heroine for the ages, a hulking villain of a headmistress, the beloved Miss Honey, telekinetic powers: they're all also accounted for. Matilda devotees since their younger years will spot changes, as there were on the stage. Some minor players have been ditched, and turning the tale's genius namesake into a storyteller herself adds thematic and narrative layers. Fans from the theatre will hear fewer songs, a choice made to fit Matilda the Musical's new format — making it shorter, snappier but no less entertaining and resonant. Indeed, adapting a stage sensation for the screen with everything that filmmaking entails in mind hasn't always been a given, as seen when fellow hits like Cats have made the leap. One of the joys of Matilda the Musical, then, is how kinetic, fluid and visual it proves — how cinematic, really — instead of just pointing a camera at a set like it's a stage. From the moment that Busby Berkeley-esque opening number 'Miracle' begins, there's no doubting that this is a film rather than a filmed stage musical, and that Warchus, Kelly, cinematographer Tat Radcliffe (Queen & Slim) and editor Melanie Oliver (Judy) know it. Twirling, swirling, and peering on from above as new parents and their babies bond, it's a delight of a kickoff. Of course, the sequence also shows how Matilda's birth was hardly welcomed by the selfish and vain Mr and Mrs Wormwood (Venom: Let There Be Carnage's Stephen Graham and Amsterdam's Andrea Riseborough), who don't want a bundle of joy at all. It's no wonder that as a girl (Alisha Weir, Darklands), she escapes into books from mobile librarian Mrs Phelps (Sindhu Vee, Starstruck), and jumps at the chance to finally go to school — where the warm Miss Honey (Lashana Lynch, The Woman King) awaits, but also the strict, cruel and kid-hating Miss Trunchbull (Emma Thompson, Good Luck to You, Leo Grande). For almost four decades, this setup — give or take a few details — has seen Matilda work to be seen, accepted and loved in the world. It's fuelled a message about kindness, patience and respect winning out; a satire about uncaring schools and parents, and the disdain shown by the worst of both towards kids who deserve far, far better; and a pigs' blood-free, child-friendly spin on Carrie in its own way as well. That's all still essential in Matilda the Musical's on-screen guise (including streaming, given it's funded by Netflix), as told in a highly stylised, often surreal fashion. This version of Matilda isn't as rascally and impish as the 1996 flick, or the book, but it is playful; think Paddington and Paddington 2, the epitome of all-ages British cinema of late. Paddington 2's wonderful antagonist might spring to mind, too, aka one of Hugh Grant's very best performances. Love Actually stars make stellar enemies in fun for all the family, it seems — not that there was every any doubt about the always-great Thompson as Trunchbull. Her resume already attests that she can do anything, and should, with her prosthetics-wearing, teeth-gnashing, kid-throwing, comically masterful turn here slotting in alongside recent highlights like the aforementioned Good Luck to You, Leo Grande, Late Night, Years and Years and The Children Act. Among the movie's purposefully cartoonish portrayals, Graham and Riseborough also nail the task at hand. And as Ms Honey, Lynch is as skilled at playing soft, thoughtful and loving as she is in no-nonsense No Time to Die and Captain Marvel mode. You can't have Matilda without a winning Matilda, though, with Weir energetic even when her character is being derided by her nasty mum and dad, traumatised by Trunchbull, or initially trying to fit in at Crunchem Hall. Her take on the tyke is both vulnerable and enterprising — so just what everyone that's ever buried their nose in the book already pictures in their head, and has long connected to. While anyone who read the novel before the past decade won't have instantly imagined songs and dancing as well, Matilda the Musical similarly plays out exactly as you'd expect there, whether or not you've seen the stage production. Recent decades haven't always been great for new flicks based on Dahl's works, with Wes Anderson's Fantastic Mr Fox spectacular, Tim Burton's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory definitely not, Steven Spielberg's The BFG too calculating, and the Anne Hathaway-starring The Witches tame and bland, but Matilda the Musical is more than a little bit lovely. Top image: Dan Smith/Netflix © 2022.
As the name suggests, the crew behind Blue Mountains Stargazing is best known for the starlit tours it hosts in New South Wales' stunning Blue Mountains. But luckily for local star aficionados, it's heading our way this week, hosting a twinkling one-off event at Cactus Country on Friday, December 2. Thought to be Australia's largest cactus garden, this 12-acre plant-filled oasis in Strathmerton will now play backdrop to an evening of astrophysicist-led stargazing. Guests can wander the grounds at sunset and grab some suitably-themed dinner from the burrito bar, before an astrophysicist guides the group on an award-winning journey across the night sky. Learn the ins and outs of naked-eye astronomy, take a peek at those glittering gas balls through professional telescopes and astronomy binoculars, and discover the art of constellation storytelling. You'll also have the chance to ask the expert all your burning questions about stars and astronomy. [caption id="attachment_845479" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Cactus Country[/caption]
Mention the name Weird Al Yankovic and a pop parody song likely slips into your head. Maybe you're now humming 'Eat It' to yourself, or 'My Bologna' — or perhaps 'Like a Surgeon', 'Another One Rides the Bus', 'Smells Like Nirvana' and 'Amish Paradise' are echoing in your brain. They're some of the musical-comedy tunes the singer is famous for, but they won't be getting a workout on his 2023 Australian tour. First, the exciting news: Weird Al is heading our way in March, including hitting up the Victorian capital as part of a comical whirl around the country. Next, the possibly surprising news: The Unfortunate Return of the Ridiculously Self-Indulgent, Ill-Advised Vanity Tour, as it's called, isn't about playing Yankovic's satires of other well-known songs. AUSTRALIA, here I come!!! #TheUnfortunateReturnOfTheRidiculouslySelfIndulgentIllAdvisedVanityTour comes to Melbourne, Adelaide, Sydney, Perth and Brisbane in March 2023! https://t.co/o0riivPZ37 — Al Yankovic (@alyankovic) November 27, 2022 Instead, the musician is swapping his usual parodies for his other musical-comedy standouts across his 14-album catalogue. Clearly, he has plenty of tracks to choose from — and they'll all be played with his original band of four decades in an intimate, stripped-down show. Don't go expecting costumes, props or video screens, either. This deep cut-focused tour follows Yankovic's successful 2018 and 2022 North American Vanity Tours, which featured sold-out performances at The Kennedy Centre and Carnegie Hall. In Melbourne, he'll be joined by comedian Emo Philips, his The Vidiot From UHF co-star, for two gigs at the Palais Theatre on Friday, March 10 and Saturday, March 11.
If Emily had been made two or three decades earlier, it might've starred Frances O'Connor, rather than boast the Australian actor-turned-filmmaker as its writer and director. Back in the 90s and 00s, O'Connor played with literary classics in movies such as Mansfield Park and The Importance of Being Earnest, plus a TV version of Madame Bovary. Now, making an accomplished and emotive debut behind the lens, she explores how Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights might've come to be. Is a Kate Bush-inspiring piece of gothic romantic fiction of such passion and yearning — the only one from a writer lost to tuberculosis at the age of just 30 in 1848 — the result of a life touched by both? That's a question that this fictionalised biopic ponders. Emily begins with another query, however, although it's also basically the same question. "How did you write it?" Emily's (Emma Mackey, Death on the Nile) older sister Charlotte (Alexandra Dowling, The Musketeers) demands. "How did you write Wuthering Heights?" As one Brontë grills another, "I took my pen and put it to paper" is Emily's literal answer, offered as she reclines, pale and not long for this world, alongside printed versions of her now-iconic story. The response provided by the gorgeously shot, impressively acted and deeply moving Emily is far more complicated, but O'Connor's choice to open her movie with this scene and question is both clever and telling. One perspective on great artists, including of words, is to view their work as intertwined with their lives — aka this feature's preferred vantage. A key perspective of Emily, too, is not letting the small amount of detail known about the middle of literature's three Brontë sisters dictate how this story is told. That copy of Wuthering Heights by Emily's side? It bears her name, as does every iteration printed today, but her book wasn't first published under her real moniker — her pen name was Ellis Bell — until two years after her death. With Emily, O'Connor doesn't just pluck everything from her own imagination, but conceives of context for a novel that still haunts and entrances today. Before she's close to saying farewell, the film's namesake is a shy, sensitive but strong-minded young woman seen as the family black sheep — in her minister father Patrick's (Adrian Dunbar, Line of Duty) eyes, visibly, given that she always comes second to Charlotte and the younger Anne (Amelia Gething, The Spanish Princess), and also further afield. "They call you the strange one," Charlotte advises with exasperation at Emily's demeanour, her penchant for staying home and for fondness for roaming, rolling and falling in green among the wily, windy moors. There's no absence of kindness among the sisters, but Emily's keenest affinity springs with her scampish brother Branwell (Fionn Whitehead, Voyagers), an aspiring creative whose attachment to alcohol and opium impacts his dreams. Into this Yorkshire maelstrom arrives handsome curate William Weightman (Oliver Jackson-Cohen, The Lost Daughter), instantly winning over Charlotte and Anne with his lyrical sermons and his Valentine's wishes, and the village of Haworth as well, but initially leaving the guarded Emily sceptical. So, when Patrick decrees that William will help with Emily's French lessons, she's reluctant in general — including about their burgeoning connection. In a movie filled with standout scenes so potent that many other flicks would long to possess them, a debate in the Gallic tongue about blind faith proves one of Emily's most electrifying. That said, sparks don't merely fly in verbal discussions, as the frantic but careful attention given to the era's complicated disrobing demonstrates once Emily and William submit to their smouldering attraction. Teaming up with cinematographer Nanu Segal (A Spy Among Friends) and editor Sam Sneade (The Suspect) — and with strings-fuelled assistance from composer Abel Korzeniowski (The Courier) — O'Connor finds heat and solace against the picture's bucolic backdrop. At its lustiest, Emily never threatens Lady Chatterley's Lover, but it too is earthy, full-hearted and focused on a tactile romance. The impressionistic filmmaking itself evokes the whirlwind of sensations swirling and stirring inside its central figure, whether the movie is cutting to black, deploying handheld camerawork or energetically setting the pace through quick edits. Throw in that often-urgent score, as well as elemental sound design that whirrs with the wind but also knows how to punctuate its emotions with silence, and to watch Emily is to feel as feverish as O'Connor contends that Emily did, or might've, or could've. It isn't just a compliment to O'Connor to note that she pens and helms a feature she would've once fronted. Such is the now-director's standing as an actor — in a career that's also spanned Love and Other Catastrophes, A.I. Artificial Intelligence, The Hunter, The Conjuring 2, Cleverman and The End — that they're words of praise to Mackey as well. The Sex Education star ripples with intensity even in the stillest and quietest of moments, constantly conveying Emily's ever-churning thoughts and feelings in something as simple but loaded as a pensive gaze. Emily adores peering intently at her face and Mackey is up to the scrutiny, but one of her powerhouse scenes involves Emily donning a mask. Playing a storytelling game, and bringing to mind the origins of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein in the process, she spooks Charlotte, Anne, Branwell and William by claiming to be the spirit of the Brontës' dead mother. How symbolic this exchange is, too, laying bare the influence of grief upon the family and displaying what Emily is capable of when she doesn't have to worry about the face she's showing the world. How wonderful it'd be to see Mackey cast as Catherine in a future adaptation of Wuthering Heights as well, if another soon joins the many past takes — 1939's Oscar-nominee, 1992's Juliette Binoche-led flick and 2011's Andrea Arnold (Cow)-directed one, to name a few — on-screen. For now, though, if there's a misstep in Emily, it's the nods given to the Brontës' speculated sibling rivalry. All three sisters made their mark on the page, and on history — Charlotte is responsible for Jane Eyre, of course, and Anne for Agnes Grey and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall — and having them in competition with each other feels reductive. Still, it never undoes the movie, and it does help answer the big early question slung Emily's way. How did she write Wuthering Heights? In a family of sharp, intelligent, talented women, by being utterly and unflinchingly herself.
Boxing Day sales are all kinds of hectic, but a few thirst-quenching Boxing Day ales? Well, that's something we can definitely get around. The good folk at Welcome to Thornbury are on the same page — in fact, they're dedicating two whole days to serving you well-deserved post-Christmas brews with chill vibes to match. From 1–8pm on Monday, December 26 and Tuesday, December 27, Boxing Day Ales will transform the food truck park into a welcome, beer-filled respite from all things shopping. There'll be both live acts and DJ sets to soundtrack each day's festivities, as well as arcade games, a jumping castle and a boxing ring tournament to keep you entertained. Meanwhile, the good times will be rolling thanks to a lineup of food trucks, and multiple bars stocked with just about anything your thirsty self could desire. That includes a huge range of tap beers from a bunch of local legends. And what's more, if you simply can't resist a bargain, you can get your sales fix right here with hourly specials running from 1–5pm. Oh, and don't forget to throw your hat in the ring for the meat tray raffle — it'll be a cracker.
Many of us may remember hating mushrooms as a kid. Maturing is realising that mushrooms are, in fact, incredibly delicious. The versatility of mushrooms and their many varieties has earned them a spot on the podium of 'world's tastiest things'. From the simple crimini mushroom to the decadent chanterelle, they never fail to bring a warmth and earthy flavour to food of all kinds. So, brace yourself for the news that a dedicated food itinerary — A Fungi Affair — is coming to South Melbourne Market from Friday, June 16 to Sunday, June 25. Your ticket gives you access to ten experiences at ten venues throughout the market, nine of which have fungi-centric food for you, and the other will be an education in fungi species, growing, storage, cooking and more. The edible stops include award-winning Fritz Gelato and the Australian truffle-infused gelato (don't knock it until you try it), Claypots Evening Star and the mushroom chowder, Simply Spanish and its beer-battered mushroom and many more. There's no particular order you'll need to visit them in, nor a time limit, so you can be as quick or slow as you'd like. Plus, you can opt-in to buy an exclusive bag of mushroom-themed food and produce to take home. A Fungi Affair will be available from Friday, June 16 to Friday, June 25 starting from 11am or 2pm every day, tickets are $80 per person. For more information, visit the website.
It's a bloody glorious setup: Nicolas Cage, actor of a million unmissable facial expressions, star of almost every movie he's asked to be in (or so it can seem) and wannabe bloodsucker in 1988's must-be-seen-to-be-believed Vampire's Kiss, playing the dark one, the lord of death, the one and only Dracula. In Renfield, that stellar idea makes for frequently bloody viewing — cartoonishly, befitting an OTT horror-comedy with Nicolas Cage as Dracula. And the pièce de résistance that is Cage getting his fangs out as the Bram Stoker-created character, who was inspired by the IRL 15th-century Wallachian prince Vlad the Impaler? It is indeed glorious. The Transylvanian is the latest part he was born for, after stepping into his own shoes in The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent, getting revenge over a pet pig in Pig, milking alpacas in Color Out of Space and screaming while dousing himself in vodka in Mandy (and, well, most things on his four-decade resume). Some movies have learned a simple truth, however: that putting Nicolas Cage in front of a camera and letting him unleash whatever version of Cage the film needs isn't always enough. That disappointment is usually on everything but Cage (see: his entrancing work in the otherwise average-if-lucky Willy's Wonderland, where he wordlessly battled demonic animatronics and made viewers wish he was around in the silent era), but Renfield has pre-emptively staked that lesson through its own heart. As the title makes plain, Cage's Dracula isn't the lead character. Instead, the long-suffering, insect-eating servant played by the feature's other welcome Nic, The Great's Nicholas Hoult, is in the sunlight. Accordingly, The Lego Batman Movie and Robot Chicken director Chris McKay doesn't even try to get his feature by on the Cageness of it all alone. That's a miscalculation. In fact, it's up there with the flick's Robert Montague Renfield pledging allegiance to the vampire that started all vampire obsessions. Renfield is at full power when Cage is front and centre, and feels like its blood is slowly being drained when he's out of the frame. Rocking lush red velvet threads and a devilish stare, Cage couldn't be better as Dracula, proving both Renfield's instant drawcard and its reason to keep watching. He gives the script's ultimate toxic boss angle hilarious bite, too, because that's the storyline. After several lifetimes of doing the undead master's bidding, Renfield realises that finding people for the Count to sink his chompers into, cleaning up the mess afterwards — there's always a mess — and generally dealing with his chaos isn't fun, fulfilling or healthy. Getting invincibility and immortality by eating bugs doesn't bother him, but the demands that go with it do. The script from Ryan Ridley (Rick and Morty, Community) based on a story by Robert Kirkman (The Walking Dead, Invincible) has Renfield come to that epiphany by attending a New Orleans support group for codependent relationships, then deciding to be his own person again. If only escaping Dracula was that easy, as over a century of movies — and Stoker's OG text — have established. There's a coming-of-age slant to Renfield's quest to work out who he is if he leaves the darkness behind, chooses life and matures into a post-offsider existence (while coming-alive-again isn't a term, that's what it is as well). There's also a hefty shadow cast by What We Do in the Shadows given that unhappy vampire familiars are a part of both Taika Waititi and Jemaine Clement's side-splitting movie and the also-ace American TV spinoff. But McKay and company don't trust that there's enough legs in the Nic-and-Nic double act, either, or that putting them in Shadows-meets-Dracula territory gets the blood pumping. Their solution: also making Renfield about NOPD traffic cop Rebecca (Awkwafina, The Little Mermaid) and the mob family she's trying to take down. Her vengeance-fuelled feud hones in on the obnoxious Tedward Lobo (Ben Schwartz, in Parks and Recreation's Jean-Ralphio mode if he was a gangster) — and, of course, Renfield and Drac get in the middle. He may be fresh off a big-screen stint in The Menu, but Hoult was in somewhat similar territory a decade ago in zom-rom-com Warm Bodies. Even when he's tasked with delivering explanatory narration like this is Zombieland, being the likeably dreamy lead in a light-hearted twist on a horror-genre staple suits him, although not as much as irreverent takes on royal history as in The Great and The Favourite. Still, in Renfield he's at his best when he's bouncing off Cage. The entire cast is, including Schwartz, Shohreh Aghdashloo (Mrs Davis) as Teddy's all-controlling crime matriarch mum and Brandon Scott Jones (The Other Two) as Renfield's 12-step-group's leader. Cage is just having that much of a blast. While he knows he's in a comedy, he also blends camp and menace in an iteration of Drac that's gleefully happy being fiendish. As the old cliche goes, he could read the phone book in the cape and prove mesmerising. No one recites from 20th-century lists of landline numbers. Renfield spouts wisdom from a self-help book for a scene instead, and it's a nice gag. That moment stands out because it's a rare — Renfield doesn't ever suck, but it's nowhere near as funny as a Cage-starring Dracula comedy should easily be. Slickly shot and content with being amiable, it isn't anything as much as it should be, whether that's an odd-couple flick, a viscera-splashing horror parody, a crime caper, a superhero affair (cue Renfield's supernatural fighting skills) or, in a plot thread flirted with but never committed to, a romance. In not wanting to tie its fortunes to the entire reason that anyone is buying a ticket, this addition to Dracula's lengthy on-screen resume doesn't want to be any one thing, and it shows glaringly. Count Dracula is the Guinness World Records-confirmed most-portrayed literary character, giving Cage plenty of past competition — Max Schrek (Nosferatu), Christopher Lee (the Hammer flicks), Udo Kier (Blood for Dracula), Klaus Kinski (Werner Herzog's Nosferatu the Vampyre), Gary Oldman (Bram Stoker's Dracula), Richard Roxburgh (Van Helsing), Adam Sandler (the Hotel Transylvania movies), Luke Evans (Dracula Untold) and Claes Bang (TV miniseries Dracula) all included. It might be daunted about its own focus, but Renfield surprisingly isn't daunted by that cinema and television history, in one of its other marvellous but oh-so-brief touches. Early on, McKay inserts Cage and Hoult into Tod Browning's 1931 Dracula. Their faces replace Bela Lugosi and Dwight Frye's, and it's a wonder. Leaning into Cage as Dracula far heartier than Renfield does would be glorious, and what Renfield leaves viewers wanting — but it's teasing a Universal Classic Monsters-style effort with Cage baring his teeth that sparks all the yearning.
Speeding onto screens with instant brand awareness is 2023's big trend. Air, Tetris, The Super Mario Bros Movie, Flamin' Hot and Barbie: they've all been there and done that already. Now it's Gran Turismo's turn, albeit with a film that isn't quite based on the video game of the same name. Directed by Neill Blomkamp (District 9, Elysium, Chappie), and penned by Jason Hall (American Sniper) and Zach Baylin (King Richard), it also doesn't tell the racing simulator's origin story. Rather, this pedal-to-the-metal flick focuses on the real-life Nissan PlayStation GT Academy initiative from 2008–16, and the tale of British racer Jann Mardenborough specifically. The overall program endeavoured to turn the world's top Gran Turismo players into IRL motorsports drivers — and the Cardiff-raised Mardenborough is one of its big success stories. The ins and outs of GT Academy receives hefty attention in Gran Turismo: Based on a True Story, plus Mardenborough's life-changing experience along with it; however, much is also made of a massive marketing push. Air, Tetris, Flamin' Hot: yes, they should all come to mind again. Here, Nissan executive Danny Moore (Orlando Bloom, Carnival Row) wants to attract new customers, ideally those leaping from mashing buttons to hitting the road. Accordingly, he conjures up the console-to-racetrack idea to help make that sales boost happen. You don't see it in Gran Turismo the feature, but surely taking the whole situation into cinemas if the underlying concept proved a hit was part of that initial plan as well. Amid the ample product placement anywhere and everywhere that the film can slide it in, that certainty thrums constantly. Kicking into gear based on Mardenborough's tale, the big-screen Gran Turismo has an unsurprisingly engineered air from the outset, then. If filmmaking at its most formulaic sticks to a track, and it does, then this example doesn't dare deviate for a single second. Hall and Baylin gleefully take Hollywood license with the facts, too, and early. For starters, Mardenborough is positioned as the first champion at GT Academy, and part of a make-or-break gambit when he scores his chance to turn professional. In actuality, the program had anointed two previous winners. That's the thing about keeping on your line: it's meant to be the optimal route. So, if you're adhering to the usual rousing underdog sports-film script, which Gran Turismo: Based on a True Story always is, then that kind of tweaking is standard — and, at best, feels like it. The movie's Mardenborough (Archie Madekwe, Beau Is Afraid) has only ever wanted one thing for his future: to race. While his ex-footballer dad Steve (Djimon Hounsou, Shazam! Fury of the Gods) thinks it's unrealistic, he's always dreamed of getting behind the wheel IRL, but he'll take Gran Turismo's lifelike approximation if that's all that's on offer. Enter Moore's gimmick, with Mardenborough's skills in the game earning him a near-fantastical opportunity, and seeing him hop from Wales to Japan, Dubai, Germany, France and more. Although his mother Lesley (Geri Horner, aka Spice Girl Geri Halliwell) is more supportive, trainer Jack Salter (David Harbour, Violent Night), a former driver himself and the man that'll become the GT Academy's mentor, is as sceptical as anyone can be about the entire notion. That's accurate even after Salter agrees to the gig, a choice made purely because he's working for an arrogant and entitled rich kid (Josha Stradowski, The Wheel of Time) otherwise. Someone segueing from excelling behind a gamer's racing wheel at home and in arcades to competing in motorsports — Mardenborough has gotten zipping in formula racing as well, and hit the track at 24 Hours of Le Mans — is genuinely remarkable. As a result, plenty about Gran Turismo: Based on a True Story's subject's reality already fits the against-the-odds template that's reached screens over and over across a plethora of different activities, and that this picture is so slavishly devoted to. Darren Cox, Moore's off-screen equivalent, truly couldn't have hoped for a better story if he was thinking about the silver screen back when he came up with GT Academy. That tinkering when the details don't immediately suit the feature's easy blueprint, however? Again, it's to be thoroughly expected, but it's overtly calculating. Changing the timeline around a fatality solely for dramatic purposes, to give Mardenborough something else to overcome on the road to greatness? That's also deeply shameless and unnecessary. Thankfully, as by the numbers as Gran Turismo: Based on a True Story always proves — and as questionable and needless as some of its plotting choices are — the tension revving through the movie's on-the-track scenes is also genuine. There's little that's out of the ordinary about Blomkamp's approach, nor about cinematographer Jacques Jouffret's (Tom Clancy's Jack Ryan) penchant for swooping sky-high shots (their film doesn't threaten Rush or Ford v Ferrari in the hypnotic stakes, either), but the racing scenes still thrill in the moment. That said, using graphics to construct a car around Mardenborough when he's driving in his bedroom, and to take him back there when he's on the asphalt, isn't the savviest move. Instead of being immersive, it too smacks of needing to shoehorn in as many references to the game, PlayStation and Sony as possible, a motivation that's already evident everywhere that viewers look. There's no mistaking the money-driven motives behind Gran Turismo: Based on a True Story's casting and the characters that it heartily swerves into, too. As Mardenborough, Madekwe is energetic and likeable — convincingly sweet and awkward as required as well — but the fact that the film hinges upon its most bankable name is as glaring as the sun bouncing off a windshield. Since Stranger Things became such a smash, no one enlists Harbour as a cantankerous figure without wanting his irascible best. Blomkamp and company get it, and often, while always making it plain that the feature is built as much around his performance as it is GT Academy, Mardenborough's true tale and selling games. Gran Turismo: Based on a True Story had to get its personality somewhere, of course, because it doesn't spring from its director. Joining the list of acclaimed names doing a workmanlike job on formulaic fare that almost anyone could've handled of late — although doing better than Meg 2: The Trench's Ben Wheatley — he's happy steering a highly watchable but always-routine affair.
When Pixar is at its best and brightest, the animation house's gorgeous and heartfelt films flow across the silver screen. They glow with colour, creativity, sincerity and emotion. In movies such as WALL-E, Inside Out, Soul, Toy Story 4, Up and Ratatouille, the Disney-owned company's work floats beyond the ordinary as it flickers — and yet, it's also grounded in genuine feelings and insights, even while embracing the now Pixar-standard "what if robots, playthings, rats and the like had feelings?" setup over and over. Accordingly, it makes sense that the studio's Elemental draws upon the sensations that its features usually inspire. It seems like something that was always destined to happen, in fact. And, it's hardly surprising that its latest picture anthropomorphises fire, water, air and earth, and ponders these aspects of nature having emotions. What's less expected is how routine this just-likeable and sweet-enough film is, with the Pixar template lukewarm instead of an inferno and hovering rather than soaring. Elemental also treads water, despite vivid animation, plus the noblest of aims to survey the immigrant experience, opposites attracting, breaking down cultural stereotypes and borders, and complicated parent-child relationships. The Captain Planet-meets-Romeo and Juliet vibe that glinted through the movie's trailers proves accurate, and also something that the feature is happy sticking with exactly as that formula sounds. Although filmmaker Pete Sohn (The Good Dinosaur) draws upon his own upbringing as the son of Korean expats growing up in New York City and its distinctive neighbourhoods — that his family ran a grocery store is worked in as well — and his own marriage, his second stint as a director is too by-the-numbers, easy and timid. Elemental looks like a Pixar film, albeit taking a few visual cues from Studio Ghibli in some character-design details (its bulbous grassy creatures noticeably resemble Totoro), but it largely comes across like a copy or a wannabe. Ember Lumen (Leah Lewis, Nancy Drew), the feisty fire sprite at the picture's centre, has footsteps to follow in herself: not just William Shakespeare's most famous couple without the tragedy given that this is an all-ages-friendly Pixar release, but also her father Bernie's (Ronnie del Carmen, Soul). With her mother Cinder (Shila Ommi, Tehran), he left their homeland behind for better opportunities, worked hard to overcome prejudice and discrimination, and started The Fireplace, which sparked Element City's whole Firetown district — and, since she first started simmering, he has always told his daughter that it was all for her. But Ember's temper is heated. It's prone to boiling over with frustrating customers, which doesn't bode well for a convenience-store proprietor. So, while she's spent her whole life preparing to take over the terracotta- and iron-filled shop when her dad retires, he's never been convinced that she's ready. Bernie adores Ember, has put his entire flame into the family business and is as passionate about only one other thing, apart from Cinder. Due to the xenophobia and unkindness that greeted him when he first arrived in Element City, he's scorchingly certain that fire and other elements don't and shouldn't mix. Sohn and screenwriters John Hoberg (American Housewife), Kat Likkel (also American Housewife) and Brenda Hsueh (Disjointed) set out to extinguish that belief, which is where Wade Ripple (Mamoudou Athie, Archive 81) comes in. When H2O streams into The Fireplace via a busted pipe, it brings in the water element, who is also a municipal inspector. To save the store, the explosive Ember teams up with the go-with-the-flow, freely emotional Wade to work out what's caused the leak — and, although she's initially reluctant about him and leaving Firetown, romance gushes, as does an appreciation of burning beyond her comfort zone. As it lays its scene, Elemental also brings Pixar's 2022 highlight Turning Red to mind, which doesn't do the studio's new film many favours. That exuberant straight-to-streaming effort focused on a boyband-worshiping teen rather than a dutiful young woman who's a whiz at blowing glass (an advantage of being constantly and literally fiery). It honed in on its protagonist's relationship with her mother, rather than father-daughter bonds. But both movies are about struggling with balancing cultural traditions passed down through generations, and the strict expectations that can come with them, as kids try to become their own people and remain true to their own, heroes, dreams, desires and personalities. Sohn's film just combines those notions with an element-crossed lovers rom-com — Pixar's take on Moonstruck, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, The Big Sick and other multicultural romances. With everything that Elemental endeavours to ape — which is clearly a lengthy list — this 27th Pixar feature trickles from a lesser stream. That the flick's four different types of elements are thinly sketched out and lean on simplistic cliches dampens its impact, too, all uncharacteristic moves for the usually deeply thoughtful Mouse House outfit, and never more glaring than with the Lumens. With the director also receiving a story credit, there's again no faulting Sohn and his scribes' intentions in exploring societal inequality, decrying racism, and conveying a statement about inclusion and diversity at viewers young and old. Still, the film is at its most shimmering emotionally and narratively when it gets specific rather than broad. The more kindling that it adds to Ember, the stronger it beams. The more that it relies upon its familiar tropes and plot components, the more it recedes. Two parts of Elemental are perennially buoyant, however: the imagery and voice cast. Fire isn't easy to animate, let alone fire beings, but Ember is especially dazzling. She's always blazing, but those flames can grow and fade based on mood, be doused completely by water, get radiant in the dark and change hues depending on her surroundings — and, as a result, she's an expressive marvel. Also stunning: the world of Element City that's conjured up around her, as tinted with a dreamy palette and watercolour look, which its leads walk and talk through like they're in one of the Before movies. As they chat and swoon, and in general, Lewis matches her character's fire. Athie makes a suitably cruisy Wade, while Catherine O'Hara (Schitt's Creek) is an unsurprising delight as his mum Brook. And yet, Elemental also feels like Pixar is taking its titular term to heart in the worst way, making for rudimentary rather than particularly ravishing or resonant viewing.
When they were making All the Real Girls, Pineapple Express and Your Highness together, plus Eastbound & Down, Vice Principals and The Righteous Gemstones as well, did conversations between filmmaker David Gordon Green and actor Danny McBride go as follows? "Do you like all-time horror masterpieces?" one may've asked. "Is creating your own version of some of the genre-defining greats your ultimate dream?" the other could've responded. "What if we revived the best of the best from the 70s decades later?" might've been the enthusiastic next line. Then, as two of the driving forces behind 2018's Halloween and its follow-ups Halloween Kills and Halloween Ends kept chatting, "shall we keep their biggest stars, but in flicks that act as direct sequels to the OG films and ignore all of the past sequels, and also work as reboots sparking a new trilogy?" could've been the latest reply. Thanks to the recent Halloween films, a natter like the above seems likely. Now that Green and McBride are also giving The Exorcist a spin, this kind of talk appears a certainty. So, writer/director Green was possessed with a new demonic screen story with McBride and Halloween Kills' Scott Teems, then penned a devil-made-me-do-it script with Camp X-Ray's Peter Sattler. The result is The Exorcist: Believer, a 50-years-later return to head-twisting dances with evil — this time with a prologue in Haiti rather than Iraq, the bulk of the action set in Georgia instead of Washington, DC's Georgetown, and two girls not one in need of faith's help to cast out malevolent fiends. Green and McBride's swap from Michael Myers to Pazuzu also already has its own trinity in the works, with first sequel The Exorcist: Deceiver due in 2025. As it apes the original movie's structure, there's a touch of trickery in starting The Exorcist: Believer in Port-au-Prince: the city's 2010 earthquake is used to get the plot in motion, a move that lands queasily, clunkily and exploitatively. Perhaps Green and company thought that slipping into a real-life tragedy's skin then wreaking havoc was a fitting piece of mirroring; instead, that choice should've been exorcised. Photographer Victor Fielding (Leslie Odom Jr, Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery) is holidaying with his heavily pregnant wife Sorenne (Tracey Graves, On Ten) when the earth rumbles, leading to him becoming a single father — but not before the baby is blessed in utero by a local healer. Cut to 13 years later, where teenager Angela (Lidya Jewett, Ivy + Bean) is introduced rifling through her mother's belongings, then convincing her grief-stricken dad to let her have an after-school date with her classmate Katherine (debutant Olivia O'Neill). She doesn't tell him that they'll be trying to contact Sorenne via a seance in the woods, though. Christianity reaches The Exorcist: Believer via Katherine, plus her devout parents Miranda (Jennifer Nettles, The Righteous Gemstones) and Tony (Norbert Leo Butz, Justified: City Primeval). Two bedevilled kids means more concerned adults, with the latter's nightmares beginning when Angela and Katherine don't return home from their forest frolic for three days. Once the girls re-emerge, they're withdrawn and erratic. The medical diagnosis is trauma; however, that doesn't explain the spooky happenings. Miranda and Tony contend that something unholy is afoot from the instant that the teens go missing, but Victor takes convincing. There's no lack of folks endeavouring to sway his thinking, as led by believing neighbour and nurse Ann (Ann Dowd, The Handmaid's Tale), who points him in the direction of someone who has been there, seen that and dealt with all the terrors of having a daughter taken over by Pazuzu: Chris MacNeil (Ellen Burstyn, Law & Order: Organised Crime). Shorter than its inspiration but feeling longer, The Exorcist: Believer largely operates in two modes post-preamble: slowly setting the scene, building up to the thrashing, voices and good-versus-evil battle that everyone knows is coming (the film is called The Exorcist, after all); and letting the expected play out. Both are overextended, which doesn't up what little suspense, scares or tension that the feature has — but does benefit the movie's actors and their performances. More time spent with Tony-winners Odom Jr (for Hamilton) and Butz (for Dirty Rotten Scoundrels and Catch Me If You Can) gives The Exorcist: Believer more emotional depth, as much needed. Jewett and O'Neill are visibly enjoying themselves in the picture's darkest turns. Oscar-winner Burstyn (for Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore) plays a smaller part, but her presence has weight to it. Alas, that's all that the film sadly wants of her, as it sets up one possible path, takes it away and then leans on easy nostalgia. As 2018's Halloween did with that saga's 40th anniversary, The Exorcist: Believer has timed its arrival carefully; 2023 marks half a century since William Friedkin adapted William Peter Blatty's bestselling novel that started it all. Green again considers the source material sacred, and it is: earning the now-late but always-great Friedkin his second Best Director Oscar nomination two years after he won for The French Connection, The Exorcist is a horror titan. It made history as the first-ever horror film nominated for Best Picture, too. Not just its own sequels (1977's Exorcist II: The Heretic and 1990's The Exorcist III) and prequels (2004's Exorcist: The Beginning and 2005's Dominion: Prequel to the Exorcist) took its lead, but everything about demonic hauntings since 1973. Still, while The Exorcist: Believer is certainly better than the unrelated The Pope's Exorcist, also from 2023, it's as dispiritingly by the numbers as it can be in attempting to emptily copy Friedkin, resurrect lines, get notes of the same score echoing and keep to the franchise playbook. When controversy surrounded the OG The Exorcist all those years back, the ideas and sights that helped cause it had meaning. A crisis of faith lingered throughout the film as heavy as dread, unease and alarm. When the Pazuzu-possessed Regan MacNeil (Linda Blair, Landfill) stabbed violently downwards with a crucifix, the movie's musing on religion's love of the patriarchy and the latter's struggle with girls when they reach puberty were searing. The list goes on, as Green knows but can't match. The Exorcist: Believer amasses a multi-faith group to do the exorcising this time, deploying inclusivity to comment on the changing role that worship plays in modern American life, yet only weakly says the obvious. The patriarchy is addressed again, overtly in monologues, but mostly The Exorcist: Believer plays like its big church-set moment: wandering in to make a big bloody scene while just splashing around some standard shocks.
If you've ever dreamed of munching on fresh Mornington Peninsula produce prepared by world-class chefs while sipping on a nice glass of Pt Leo Estate wine, but without leaving the CBD, then you might want to keep 6.30pm on Thursday, October 5 free. Pt Leo Estate's Culinary Director Josep Espuga is teaming up with Alejandro Saravia, the Executive Chef at Victoria by Farmer's Daughters, to host a one-night-only dinner that fuses the rich heritages of Spain and Peru. The dynamic duo will take guests on a journey via a seasonal menu influenced by their Spanish and Peruvian roots, showcasing the best of Victoria's produce in the process. The five-course evening promises treats like the Port Phillip Bay Sea urchin mousse, the aromatic Red Hill truffle and salmon roe from the Yarra Valley. On the wine front, Pt Leo Estate has got you covered. Each dish will be paired with wines that'll whisk your palate through the vineyards of the Mornington Peninsula with each sip. And, of course, each drop has all been chosen to complement the robust flavours of Espuga and Saravia's dishes. So, maybe it's time to call that mate you've been meaning to catch up with and reserve a spot. Or, maybe take that special someone. Hell, maybe go on your own and make a new friend who shares your passion for the good things in life. Maybe we'll see you there.
One of 2023's most-anticipated films is hitting Palace Cinemas' big screens on Saturday, October 28. That flick: Strange Way of Life, the latest work by inimitable Spanish filmmaker Pedro Almodóvar (Parallel Mothers). It's a 30-minute short, hence the fact that it won't get the usual silver-screen release — and it's also a sublime queer western starring Ethan Hawke (Moon Knight) and Pedro Pascal (The Last of Us). Almodóvar? Hawke? Pascal? Queer western? Yes, that's Strange Way of Life, which is why it's such a must-see. It made its Australian debut at this year's Sydney Film Festival, then also played the Melbourne International Film Festival, heading to our shores straight from premiering at Cannes — and now it's showing in the Victorian capital again at Palace's Fashion Focus Premiere sessions at The Astor Theatre, Palace Balwyn, Palace Brighton Bay, Palace Westgarth, Palace Cinema Como, The Kino and Pentridge Cinema. In this bite-sized film, Sheriff Jake (Hawke) and rancher Silva (Pascal) share a history, working together as hired gunmen a quarter-century ago. Then, circumstances bring them back together; however, a reunion isn't the only reason they've crossed paths again. "The strange way of life referred in the title alludes to the famous fado by Amalia Rodrigues, whose lyrics suggest that there is no stranger existence than the one that is lived by turning your back on your own desires," explains Almodóvar. Tickets cost $25 for Palace Movie Club members and $30 otherwise, for sessions that include a glass of prosecco or wine upon arrival — and are all about celebrating not only the short, but also the costumes designed by Anthony Vaccarello, with fashion house Saint Laurent producing the film. Also on offer: an interview with the one and only Almodóvar before the short plays. The Astor is doing drinks at 6.15pm and the screening at 6.30pm, while the times are 6.45pm for a 7pm start at Palace Balwyn, Palace Brighton Bay, Palace Westgarth and Palace Cinema Como. Pentridge Cinema's session will kick off at 7.15pm for 7.30pm, and The Kino's at 7.45pm for 8pm.
Poodle Bar & Bistro's famed Patio Party is returning for its sixth instalment on Sunday, September 24, and this one's set to be one of its best. Lilac Wine Bar — Cremorne's cool kid on the block-turned-neighbourhood icon — will be joining in on the fun this time around, bringing some of its talented team to Poodle's Gertrude Street venue to facilitate the festivities. This is truly a match made in heaven. Guest chef Kyle Nicol from Lilac will be grilling up some of his trademark snacks on the patio's charcoal barbecue, while Lilac's Richard Buck will be championing an array of Foreign Fruits' nicest European vino. Just above at Poodle Upstairs, guest chef Brother John will be manning the Raw Seafood Bar — a perfect complement to the array of cocktails on offer throughout the affair. The star of the show will no doubt be the tunes. Expect names like Darcy Justice, Turbo Thot, Dawn Again B2B Toni Yotzi and Mo among the disco DJs. Tickets cost $11.90 — and whether you're keen to kick back with a cocktail in hand and soak up the glorious spring sun, or you're looking to dance the day and night away on the patio, this might be the perfect Sunday for you.
When Song Kang-ho hasn't been starring in Bong Joon-ho's films, he's been featuring Park Chan-wook's and Kim Jee-woon's, plus Lee Chang-dong's and Hong Sang-soo's as well. One of Korea's acting greats boasts a resume filled with the country's directing greats — so getting the Memories of Murder, The Host, Thirst, Snowpiercer and Parasite star, plus Joint Security Area, Sympathy for Mr Vengeance, Lady Vengeance and Secret Sunshine talent, to play a filmmaker for his The Good the Bad the Weird and The Age of Shadows filmmaker feels like perfect casting even before Cobweb starts spinning its reels. Song's career highlights are already many, complete with a Cannes Best Actor Award for working with Japan's Hirokazu Kore-eda in Broker. Here, he's reliably and rakishly charming in a movie-making ode and on-set farce. For his own director Kim, Song plays a director Kim — but on-screen version Kim Ki-yeol is living in the 70s, and also in a rut. Once an assistant to a famed and acclaimed helmer who has passed away, now he's openly mocked by critics for his trashy fare in one of Cobweb's first scenes. He's made most of a masterpiece, however, or so he believes. The only thing that's required to ensure it's a complete classic is two more days to undertake re-shoots. His film is meant to be finished, but he's adamant that the cast and crew reteam (and his producer foot the bill) to ensure that the creative visions that keep haunting his dreams can become a feted triumph. Convincing everyone that he needs to isn't the only tricky feat, with challenges upon challenges unspooling the longer that the fictional Kim and his colleagues spend bustling. Also involved amid the lights, cameras and action: Shinseong Film Studio's Chairwoman Baek (Jang Young-nam, Project Wolf Hunting), who's hardly enamoured with Kim's new plan; Mido (Jeon Yeo-been, Glitch), the heir to his mentor's company; and actors Min-ja (Lim Soo-jung, Melancholia), Ho-se (Oh Jung-se, Revenant), Yu-rim (Jung Soo-jung, Crazy Love) and Madam Oh (Park Jung-soo). Cue doubts, shaky promises, unexpected alliances, philandering, secret pregnancies, squabbles about prominence, allergies to fake blood, fires, stars trying to juggle shooting the movie and a TV drama, and a supporting actor so wedded to stepping into a detective's shoes that he's deducing on the side between takes. It's an anything-that-can-go-wrong-will situation, and equal in careening chaos to two other recent behind-the-scenes filmmaking comedies: One Cut of the Dead and remake Final Cut, just without the zombies and single-shot gimmick. In both that 2017 Japanese hit and its 2022 French do-over, a commitment to keep filming and making art regardless of the cost thrashed around the picture as heartily as the flesh-eating undead. Courtesy of a script co-written with Shin Yeon-shick (1seung), Kim Jee-woon's characters share that determination without such pronounced life-or-death stakes. Bringing a cinematic reverie to fruition is a leap of faith, as Cobweb understands. When it works, it's not just magic but alchemy. "Here's to the ones who dream" might've been crooned by Emma Stone in La La Land rather than in this fellow tribute to that dream, but the sentiment fits. While Cobweb finds plenty of amusement in the on-screen Kim's madcap last-dash scramble to make the motion picture he'll always be known for, it also respects the passion, yearning, gumption and quest. There may be no shuffling masses to contend with, but there are movie-chomping censors who must approve every element that's destined to grace celluloid. For Song's Kim, zombies might've been nicer to deal with. The all-business Baek is all about toeing the line. Without the censors' tick, not a frame will reach audiences — and careers can crumble via blacklisting, too. Kim won't compromise on his tour de force, except that the whole whirlwind reshoot is a constant exercise in compromise. As various solutions spring up to stop the authorities' interference, including persuading them that the new ending will give them an "anti-communist film", setting Cobweb five decades back is a choice with meaning. Harking back to the days when South Korean cinema IRL was at the mercy of the state under the Yusin system rather than truly driven by artists, the film applauds the dedication and the hustle that sees any picture exist, and especially one under such circumstances. Cobweb's cast also deserve praise, with Song unsurprisingly chief among them, as he tends to be in whatever he's in. His selling task is twofold: swaying the production-within-a-production's on- and off-screen players to give their all to crafting his movie the way that it dances through his head, and whether or not it seems to make even a bit of sense; and getting Cobweb's audience invested not just in the madcap mania that Kim Jee-woon can't stop embracing, but emotionally. His co-stars are also up to going along for the ride, particularly Jeon as Kim's co-conspirator in pulling the whole gambit off. Both Song and Jeon get moments as actors playing actors, when Kim and Mido's respective fervour sees them resolved to step in front of the camera to guarantee the performances they want. He's best known for A Tale of Two Sisters, A Bittersweet Life and I Saw the Devil, but Kim Jee-woon is no stranger to dark comedy, as he eagerly plies here. His regular cinematographer Kim Ji-yong, who has been working with the director on and off since A Bittersweet Life, is equally acquainted with lavish lensing — and while Cobweb isn't as ravishing as his efforts on Park Chan-wook's 2022 stunner Decision to Leave (because almost nothing is), it remains an arresting sight as it flits from the black-and-white of Kim Ki-yeol's noir-esque Hitchcock-meets-soap opera flick to the retro period sheen of his existence. Don't go expecting to know exactly what the on-screen Kim is so feverish about, though. His counterpart splashes around the OTT movie inside the movie in fits and bursts, but it suits. Believing that Song's Kim believes in it is easy in a film this savvy, entertaining and adept at weaving its many strands.
Cooking is an act of precision. It's also one of feeling. On the movie that nabbed him the Best Director award at the 2023 Cannes Film Festival, Trần Anh Hùng (Éternité, Norwegian Wood) helms with the same care, spirit and emotion that his characters display in the kitchen. The Taste of Things' audience has a front-row seat to both, as this 1885-set French picture begins with dishes upon dishes being whipped up and the feature's gaze, via cinematographer Jonathan Ricquebourg (Final Cut), lenses their creation intimately and sumptuously. The film's extraordinary opening 30 minutes-plus, as the camera is trained on the stove and counter with slight detours around the room to collect or wash ingredients, is meticulously crafted and at the same time instinctual. Think: the sensations of observing the finest of fine-dining chefs and being a child watching your grandmother make culinary magic, as nearly every kid has, all rolled into one appetising introductory sequence. In the home of gourmand Dodin Bouffant (Benoît Magimel, The King of Algiers), and in its heart, his personal chef Eugénie (Juliette Binoche, The New Look) is so skilled and fastidious that she'd do small-screen hit The Bear proud; she's clearly a conjurer of the culinary arts, too. Hùng and Ricquebourg — the latter a well-deserving Lumiere Award-winner for his efforts here — are methodical with the choreography of setting the scene, while equally deeply immersed in the flow of the kitchen's tasks. As soundtracked by chirping birds, if this was The Taste of Things for 135 minutes and not just half an hour-ish, it'd remain a mesmerising movie. (A word of warning: eat before viewing, lest hunger pangs not just simmer but boil over.) Adapting 1924 novel The Passionate Epicure: La Vie et la Passion de Dodin-Bouffant, Gourmet by epicure Marcel Rouff as he scripts and directs, Hùng does more than fashion among the most-handsomely staged and shot imagery of a meal coming to life, but his approach to this entrée establishes the flavour. For its main course, still never roaming far from the most-important room in the house, The Taste of Things sinks its teeth into a relationship that is first laid bare as the film warms up. Anyone who has ever been employed in a kitchen, or caught a movie or series — fiction and documentary alike — set within one, knows that there's no hiding anything in this always-on-the-go space. How people interact and react can't be seasoned over, either, amid the pots, pans, trays, whisks and spatulas. Accordingly, it's plain to see from the get-go that Dodin and Eugénie are as connected to each other as they are to food, even if Hùng doesn't layer in much in the way of backstory. As well as working together for 20 years, they're occasional lovers, and they'd be married if Dodin had his wish; that they're not isn't due to his lack of asking. Featuring a seafood vol-au-vent, poached chicken, crayfish, a rack of veal, braised lettuce and more — and also a baked alaska that looks as divine as desserts get — that initial meal is a feast for Dodin and his friends at his rural estate. As it is served course by course, praise is showered Eugénie's way, as are pleas for her to join them at the table. She'd rather be behind the scenes; for her, the glory of creation, toiling at something that you're passionate about and dedicating your time to the only work you've ever wanted to do trumps everything. As Eugénie does, much of The Taste of Things shows rather than utters, commencing with the scant amount of dialogue said as lunch is being prepared with assistance from kitchenhand Violette (Galatéa Bellugi, Junkyard Dog), plus Violette's visiting niece Pauline (debutant Bonnie Chagneau-Ravoire), who shows a flair for cooking beyond her years. That The Taste of Things is a sensual picture is evident from its debut bite. That it is patient — slow-burning in fact — is just as apparent. Its guiding force has form in 1993's The Scent of Green Papaya, the Vietnamese French director's Oscar-nominated debut; however, when you're making a movie about savouring what's truly valuable in life, from food and fervour to the pleasure of the person that you love's company, matching that notion is essential. Nothing about The Taste of Things is in a rush, or afraid to revel and linger. Drama is sprinkled through the storyline, as is grief, but the pacing and mood is contemplative to the point of being almost meditative. And that air of appreciation, of luxuriating, of enjoying exactly what's in the title when you can, is the vibe and ethos of its central couple. Irrespective of the turned-down proposals, Dodin and Eugénie have made relishing their shared affair with cuisine and their years side by side the core of their romance. Binoche and Magimel, both luminous beneath painterly lighting whether they're standing over a chopping board, in the bedroom —including after an attention-grabbing cut from a pear to the naked form — or strolling through the sunny garden, aren't strangers in either a professional or personal capacity. In 1999, they co-starred as lovers in The Children of the Century. That same year, their daughter was born. Their off-screen relationship ended in 2003, but there's a comfort in their parts as Dodin and Eugénie that feels both raw and rich, not to mention rare. Watching characters who are allowed to delight in each other with decades of respect and affection behind them is indeed infrequent on-screen, and helps make The Taste of Things play like a delicacy. This gorgeously filmed, performed and penned picture has become famous for something other than its contents, though: it's one of the reasons that Anatomy of a Fall doesn't have 2024's Best International Feature Oscar to its name. Each nation can only put one title forward each year, with France's submission committee opting for Hùng's film over Justine Triet's Palme d'Or-winner (at the same Cannes where Hùng took home the Best Director accolade). The choice didn't escape notice, even if it'll never now be known if Anatomy of a Fall would've pipped The Zone of Interest for the Academy's global cinema prize to add to its win for Best Original Screenplay, and also scoring four other nominations. The scrutiny over the pick, especially after The Taste of Things was shortlisted but not nominated — for anything — does this nourishing treat an injustice. As remains true in the culinary and cinematic spheres alike, a sublime meal is a sublime meal regardless of other exquisite dishes existing.
In The Hunger Games and its sequels and prequels, a post-apocalyptic totalitarian state enforces order by murder, picking children via lottery to compete until just one remains standing. Before it reached pages and screens, The Running Man, Battle Royale and Series 7: The Contenders were among the stories that got there first, always with kill-or-be-killed contests at their cores. Now Boy Kills World enters the fray, but in a city ruled over by despot Van Der Koy matriarch Hilda (Famke Janssen, Locked In), with a group of candidates chosen annually, then slaughtered at big televised display that is The Culling no matter what. The titular Boy (played by the US Goodnight Mommy remake's Nicholas and Cameron Crovetti as a kid) is the rare exception: after witnessing his sister and mother's execution in this nightmarish realm, he's simply left for dead. Making his feature debut, director Moritz Mohr (TV's Viva Berlin!) holds tight to another big-screen staple: a revenge mission. As an adult, that the role of Boy falls to Bill Skarsgård fresh from John Wick: Chapter 4 says plenty. The vengeance that's always fuelled that Keanu Reeves (The Matrix Resurrections)-led franchise, and fellow influence Oldboy as well, mixes with cinema's wealth of fight-to-the-death tales. Also thrown in with the fervour of a fan mixing together his favourite things — which is Mohr's unapologetic approach from start to finish — is a colour scheme that Kill Bill also deployed, Deadpool-style humour and violence, notes cribbed from Matthew Vaughn's Kingsman movies and Argylle with its carnage, and nods to video games and Hong Kong action fare plus Looney Tunes and anime. Accordingly, the make-what-you-adore school of action filmmaking gets another spin with a first-time helmer in 2024, alongside Dev Patel's Monkey Man. Revelling in cartoonishness is unique to Mohr's flick, however — right down to enlisting H Jon Benjamin, aka the voice of Sterling Archer and Bob Belcher in Archer and Bob's Burgers, respectively, as Boy Kills World's narrator. He's Boy's voice, in fact. When we said that Skarsgård's casting says much, it has to; his steps into the red vest of a protagonist who is deaf and mute, and his is a physically expressive instead of vocal performance. Cue Benjamin to utter Boy's explanatory inner monologue, and cue the makings of a modern-day silent-film star in Skarsgård (his next part is a remake of silent classic Nosferatu by Robert Eggers, who directed his brother Alexander in The Northman, and it has the perfect lead if ditching dialogue like the OG movie was on the cards). As penned by Tyler Burton Smith (2019's Child's Play remake) and Arend Remmers (Oderbruch) — based on a story by Remmers and Mohr, and also a proof-of-concept short that helped the pair get iconic Evil Dead filmmaker Sam Raimi (Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness) onboard as a producer — Boy Kills World's script is as busy as the movie's list of influences. Mostly, it's packed with characters, and mainly with adversaries for Boy to smash, crash and bash his way through. After experiencing the life-changing trauma of losing his kin at such a young age, he gets set on his course for retaliation by training in the forest with the Shaman (and yes, that The Raid, The Raid 2 and John Wick: Chapter 3 — Parabellum's Yayan Ruhian is in the role is also telling about Mohr's inspirations). Boy is primed for clash after clash (after clash after clash), then, as his campaign for eye-for-an-eye retribution kicks into gear. Michelle Dockery (Downton Abbey: A New Era) as Hilda's sister Melanie, Sharlto Copley (who was also in Monkey Man) as Melanie's husband Glen, Jessica Rothe (the Happy Death Day franchise) as family enforcer June27: they're all in Boy's way. By his side, he has a hallucination of his sister Mina (Punky Brewster), as well as resistance fighter Basho (Andrew Koji, Warrior) in the flesh. A knack for casting also pumps through Boy Kills World beyond its star, but this is always Skarsgård's show. Bill kills. He's traversed dystopias before in Allegiant, grappled with the complexities of a ruling class in Anna Karenina, been immersed in a single-minded mission in Atomic Blonde, given the Deadpool vibe a spin in Deadpool 2, and conveyed everything through his eyes as IT and IT: Chapter Two's Pennywise — and, sporting an action-star physique, he's a find-someone-who-can-do-it-all lead as Boy. If you need an actor to play a literally silent-type hero and play the hell out of it, Skarsgård is clearly your man. Three questions linger at the heart of Mohr's film, though, two within the storyline and themes, and one for audiences. The first: what makes the action archetype at Boy Kills World's centre truly tick? The second: in a bloodthirsty crusade for reprisals, what's genuinely right and what's wrong? And the third: although this is an impressively choreographed affair that values stunts as much as The Fall Guy (Black Widow and Kingsman: The Golden Circle alum Dawid Szatarski is responsible for the flick's spectacle as its action director and designer, and also fight co-ordinator), would its genre mashup work without Skarsgård's magnetism? The initial pair of queries are thought starters rather than inquiries that receive a firm answer; they're Boy Kills World's efforts to note that revenge tales and their unspeaking protagonists could use some unpacking. The third question, unsurprisingly, earns a hearty no. Skarsgård gives Boy Kills World its strongest element, and leaves it with a calling card as both an action force and a silent wonder. Mohr ends the feature with his own as an enthusiastic filmmaker giving his all to a highly stylised and slapstick love letter. And for viewers? The quippy humour is spotty, as is the relentlessly frenetic cinematography (by Dark Satellites' Peter Matjasko) that can swing from feverish to exhausting — and, while jam-packed, the film feels its 111-minute length. Still, being entertained by the sheer delirious display of it all, with the picture's B-movie energy, love of gore and unwillingness to hold back, is as easy as inserting coins into an arcade machine.
Casting a biopic can't be easy. The awards-courting label that hangs over the genre that's earned Cillian Murphy (Oppenheimer), Will Smith (King Richard), Jessica Chastain (The Eyes of Tammy Faye), Rami Malek (Bohemian Rhapsody), Renée Zellweger (Judy) and Gary Oldman (Darkest Hour) lead actor and actress Oscars over the past decade alone can't make the task any less tricky, either. Then, when music bios get a spin — which is often — the weight of recognition and fandom is an especially heavy factor. Does the actor resemble the star that they're playing physically or in spirit? Can they? Will their attempt to slip into someone else's mega fame read like a triumphant ode or a faded facsimile? Will they try to inhabit rather than impersonate? Is doing the real-life person justice even possible? The questions go on. Even with those queries in mind, Back to Black has chosen its lead well. In Industry's Marisa Abela, who has just six prior acting credits on her resume before now — Barbie is the latest; Man in a Box, her first, came when she was only 11 — the Amy Winehouse-focused film has someone who looks the part beehive or not, and convincingly lives and breathes it behind a north London accent. She sings it, too, when the picture weaves in her own vocals atop Winehouse's music. But casting isn't the only key element for a biopic. The dance that a feature is taking through a well-known figure's life needs the material and the approach to support its central performance — the lyrics and tune to match with sheer talent, in music terms. If they fall flat, so does the flick. And unlike a bad song for an exceptional singer, there's no second chances in this realm. So echoes the big refrain of Back to Black: no matter her significant efforts, Abela as Winehouse is given as by-the-numbers a ditty to croon, and a beat to hit, as the music biopic genre has ever pumped out. It's impossible to know what the subject of the film would think of it, of course, but the movie from director Sam Taylor-Johnson (A Million Little Pieces) and screenwriter Matt Greenhalgh (Film Stars Don't Die in Liverpool) portrays her as someone who hated formula, which the picture itself does not. At their most routine, biographical features boil people and their achievements down to standard plot points that could be swapped into any such flick about any such folk with a sliver of fame. The names change, and the eras, but the details are virtually interchangeable. Dispiritingly, that's on full display here in a tale about supreme potential, the worldwide success to go with it, haunting demons that can't be shaken and a premature death. As a result, everyone knows what'll happen in Back to Black even if you somehow don't know a thing about Winehouse going in. Here, she's an outwardly plucky but inwardly vulnerable teen with a killer set of pipes who has a rocky time of it in the spotlight, in love and with addiction through her twenties until she heartbreakingly joins the 27 Club. If that was the movie's one-sentence pitch to get the green light, it's also all that Taylor-Johnson and Greenhalgh — who worked together before on 2009's Nowhere Boy, which was about John Lennon's adolescence — have committed to. To flesh it out, they've also made the broadest strokes, drawn from the most-obvious details and spun a narrative that's one-note. In this telling, which holds itself up as a tribute, Winehouse's on-again, off-again romance with Blake Fielder-Civil (Jack O'Connell, Ferrari) becomes her defining trait, not her voice. When they meet in a pub, bonding over drinks and pool, and bantering with enough woozy charm to get the entire bar drunk from proximity, Fielder-Civil introduces her to 60s girl group The Shangri-Las, one of her influences. Their first breakup is then the inspiration for the iconic album that gifts the movie its name. The end of their marriage during his incarceration, plus the news that he has started a family with someone else, are poised as developments that she can't get over. There's so little to Winehouse without him in this account — and so much that doesn't directly involve him, such as her early years and even recording Back to Black, is rushed through or relegated to a quick montage — that the movie might as well be called Amy & Blake (it's no Sid and Nancy, though, or even Pam & Tommy). Winehouse is "no Spice Girl", the film has her stress, but she is little more than Blake's girl in its eyes — and regardless of the strength of their love throughout their tumultuous romance, that's hardly the complete Winehouse story. Back to Black gives its protagonist a strong connection with the grandmother (Lesley Manville, The Crown) that she idolises and considers a style icon, and an unwavering sense of what she wants her career to be, but neither earns enough attention to overtake the picture's Blake-centric angle. When it comes to Winehouse's father Mitch (Eddie Marsan, Franklin), the main aim seems to be contrasting with his depiction in Senna and Diego Maradona director Asif Kapadia's Academy Award-winning 2015 documentary Amy. There's no depth there, or to much in Black to Black, as it also puts too much emphasis on its subject's maternal desires and not enough on the ugliness of becoming paparazzi-hounded tabloid fodder, or of addiction. The only place that you'll find complexity: Abela's performance and Winehouse's jazz-pop sound. It's no surprise, then, that the film is at its best when it's recreating gigs, or that they're the next most-prominent part of the movie after the Amy-Blake love story. But unlike in Bohemian Rhapsody or Elvis — or 2024's fellow music biopic Bob Marley: One Love — the concert scenes feel less designed to get audiences soaking in the sensation of watching a stunning talent, transporting them to those moments like they're there in-person, and more about adding a few easy highs to a tale told as an inescapable tragedy. Taylor-Johnson and Greenhalgh, the latter of which also penned the excellent Joy Division-focused Control, used Winehouse's lyrics and interviews as their guide to making the feature, but they've still filtered it through a view that sees the outcome of her life as inevitable. To that, to the well-worn bio template, to making her time with Blake its point of interest and to much more about Back to Black, there's only one response — and it's the same that Winehouse gave to going to rehab.
At its home in Federation Square, the Australian Centre for the Moving Image loves screens big and small, and also adores all of the formats that can dance across them. Whenever you drop by, and whatever its major exhibition happens to be at the time, get ready for a screen celebration. The must-visit venue likes partying, too, by turning its showcases into shindigs. Taking place during RISING 2024, ACMI Nights: Beings is the latest instance. World-premiere exhibition Beings, which focuses on UK-based art and design collective Universal Everything, is filling ACMI's walls and halls with interactive installations until Sunday, September 29 — and it's also the reason for this soiree from 7–11pm on Thursday, June 13. You'll roam around and play with 13 pieces, including works that respond differently to every visitor. Four are brand new, enjoying their global debut just for the showcase. For your $35 ticket ($30 for ACMI members), you'll also dance, eat, drink and watch a heap of performances across the evening. The lineup spans DiTA, Lipelis, Betty Grumble, Samantha Thompson and Harrison Ritchie-Jones — and if you've been to any past Nights events at the screen museum, you'll know that there ain't no party like an ACMI party. [caption id="attachment_944196" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Eva Carasol[/caption] ACMI images: Gianna Rizzo.
Heartbreak is two souls wanting nothing more than each other, but life having other plans. So goes Robot Dreams, another dialogue-free marvel from Spanish filmmaker Pablo Berger, who had audiences feeling without words uttered with 2012's Blancanieves — and showed then with black and white imagery, as he does now with animation, that he's a master at deeply expressive visual storytelling. His fourth picture as a director was nominated for Best Animated Feature at the 2024 Academy Awards. In most years, if it wasn't up against Studio Ghibli's The Boy and the Heron, it would've taken home the Oscar. It earns not just affection instead, but the awe deserved of a movie that perfects the sensation of longing for someone to navigate life with, finding them, adoring them, then having fate doing what fate does by throwing up complications. Usually this would be a boy-meets-girl, boy-meets-boy or girl-meets-girl story. Here, it's a dog-meets-robot tale. The time: the 80s, with nods to Tab and Pong to prove it. The place: a version of Manhattan where anthropomorphised animals are the only inhabitants — plus mechanised offsiders that, just by placing an order and putting together the contents of the package that arrives, can be built as instant friends. Eating macaroni meals for one and watching TV solo in his small East Village apartment each evening, Dog is achingly lonely when he orders his Amica 2000 after seeing an infomercial. As he tinkers to construct Robot, pigeons watch on from the window, but they've never been his company. Soon exuberantly strutting the streets hand in hand with his maker, the android is a dream pal, however, but this kismet pairing isn't what gives Robot Dreams its name. What do two beings, human, animal, automaton or otherwise, do when they're falling head over heels for each other's presence? They glide through their suddenly sunny existence like there's nothing else in the world, joined at the hip and the spirit. This pair explore. They mosey blissfully around New York, which finally feels like a playground for Dog, rather than a place where everyone else is happy. They eat hot dogs from street vendors and dance on rollerskates in Central Park. They swoon over a shared favourite song — embracing the pull of Earth, Wind & Fire's 'September' (because if it can't bring folks together, cementing connections and glorious memories, then nothing can). As the summer nears its end, Dog and Robot also decamp to Coney Island, to the beach, for a cheery day of swimming and sunbathing, and also of relaxing slumbering on the shore. Alongside slip-slop-slap advice, plus the rule that everyone is told as a kid about waiting before swimming after eating, Robot Dreams adds another piece of guidance: watch out that your metal mate doesn't rust and short-circuit from the saltwater and sea breeze if you're taking them out for sun, surf and sand. When Robot can't move after the duo wake up, Dog's only choice is to leave him there overnight, then return the next day with the requisite supplies. The season is truly saying farewell, though — and September, the month, takes on a more mournful tone than in the disco classic that cribs its moniker, as the film also goes on to reflect as the song keeps popping up. When Dog endeavours to bring Robot home, the beach is shut and gated. The reopening date: June 1 the following year, when summer approaches again. In Berger's adaptation of Sara Varon's 2007 graphic novel of the same name — the author and illustrator's Chicken and Cat also gets a shoutout within the flick's frames — Blade Runner's "do androids dream of electric sheep?" isn't the question. Visions frolic through Robot's bucket-shaped head while he sleeps, all toying with the only query that anyone watching is asking: will Robot and Dog reunite? Robot Dreams is a movie of yearning, a picture about the unwanted surprises that can derail contentment and a portrait of the fact that that's the fundamental reality of life. This hauntingly candid truth blows through the film gently but crisply, like a flurry from the ocean on a mostly still day. It sweeps through The Wizard of Oz-inspired reveries and solitary Halloweens, too, plus new friendships forged with a family of birds, and also with the outgoing and outdoorsy Duck. With its line-heavy 2D animation creating a world awash with loving details — the spooky costumes come October 31 are just one delight — this poignant tale is also one of reality and resilience. Everything that Robot Dreams muses on is handled with soul-stirring tenderness and astute recognition, such as the way that fulfilment can flow out with the tide for no other reason than that's how things work sometimes, that living is a balance of weathering disappointment and appreciating joy when and where you can interlace fingers with it, and that knowing when to ride what the next wave brings in is one of the most-crucial lessons there is. Premiering at the 2023 Cannes Film Festival, and winning Best Film at the Annecy International Animation Film Festival the same year, Robot Dreams first debuted before animated series Carol & the End of the World hit Netflix; however, they share the same emotional texture, and the same being-seen sensation, like they've peered into hearts and minds to render the results with strokes, shapes and colours. No words are needed to tell this narrative not only because that's Berger's savvy decision, but because no words are required to describe a journey that everyone has taken. We've all been Dog and we've all been Robot — forced to move on and left behind, that is — and so pictures here do say far more than dialogue ever could about the feeling of standing in both shoes (or paws, or metallic feet). As much of a toe-tapping gem now as it has been since its 1978 release and always will be, 'September' also conveys everything, crooning as it does about love changin' minds, chasin' clouds away, getting souls singin' and hearts ringin', and also about recalling such golden dreams and shiny days gone by. Do you remember revelling in the glow of someone that completes you, pining for them when they aren't by your side, and realising that everything is transient, elation and sorrow included? Thanks to Robot Dreams, you will.
Farewelling summer and launching into autumn means just one thing to fungi fans: mushroom season. Foragers will flock to Mornington Peninsula and Daylesford pine forests to pick their own, grocery stores will be flooded with them, and restaurant menus will be stacked with mushroom-packed dishes. To celebrate this, contemporary Sri Lankan restaurant INDU Dining is hosting a one-night vegan mushroom dinner in the CBD in collaboration with Fable. Head Chef Ishy Patel has used Fable's shiitake-based fake meat to create a selection of Sri Lankan dishes that are entirely plant-based. The four-course set menu ($65 per person) will be served up on Wednesday, March 27, and the team is also giving guests the option to add natural wine pairings for just an additional $34. You'd be a fool to skip these cheap natty wines. The INDU team runs these vegan dinners fairly regularly, so if you want to dabble in the vegan life but mushrooms aren't your thing, be sure to check the restaurant's website for upcoming set menus and collaborations. [caption id="attachment_800034" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Arianna Leggiero[/caption]
Open the cinema doors, HAL, because three Melbourne theatres are each serving up a very special 13-week film feast. You won't need someone to strap you to a chair and force your eyes open with a specula to get you to watch this fantastic movie lineup — and you won't have to wander around a maze-like haunted hotel to get there, either. The Lido, Classic and Cameo picture palaces are turning their attention to celebrating a movie master, with the one and only Stanley Kubrick in the spotlight. On Thursday nights between Thursday, April 18–Thursday, July 11, the trio of cinemas will unleash all 13 of the British filmmaker's full-length features upon eager cinephiles during Kubrick: A Complete Retrospective. That means showing everything from anti-war film Fear and Desire, early noir The Killing and the controversial Lolita through to Kubrick's final completed effort, aka the Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise-starring erotic thriller Eyes Wide Shut. Discover why "I am Spartacus!" became such a famous cinema phrase, find out how Dr Strangelove learned to stop worrying and love the bomb, and plunge into the horrors of the Vietnam War with Full Metal Jacket. Sure, 2001: A Space Odyssey and A Clockwork Orange pop up in retro programs around the country quite often, but there's never a bad time to see these classics the way that they were meant to be seen. The same goes for The Shining, which is also never far from a big screen somewhere, but is playing here in its extended edition. Each week's film kicks off at 7pm — and some of the movies are playing in 4K.
What if a vampire didn't want to feed on humans? When it happens in Interview with the Vampire, rats are the solution. In Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person, Sasha (Sara Montpetit, White Dog) gets her sustenance from pouches of blood instead, but her family — father (Steve Laplante, The Nature of Love), mother (Sophie Cadieux, Chouchou), aunt (Marie Brassard, Viking) and cousin Denise (Noémie O'Farrell, District 31') — are increasingly concerned once more than half a century passes and she keeps avoiding biting necks. Sasha still looks like a goth teenager, yet she's 68, so her relatives believe that it's well past time for her to embrace an inescapable aspect of being a bloodsucker. What if she didn't have to, though? The potential solution in the delightful first feature by director Ariane Louis-Seize, who co-writes with Christine Doyon (Germain s'éteint), is right there in this 2023 Venice International Film Festival award-winner's title. With What We Do in the Shadows, both on the big and small screens, the idea that vamps are just like the living when it comes to sharing houses has gushed with laughs. Swap out flatmates for adolescence — including pesky parents trying to cramp a teen's style — and that's Louis-Seize's approach in this French-language Canadian effort. As much as Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person brings fellow undead fare to mind, however, and more beyond, the Québécois picture is an entrancing slurp of vampire and other genres on its own merits. There's an Only Lovers Left Alive-style yearning and A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night-esque elegance to the film. Beetlejuice and The Hunger bubble up, too, as do Under the Skin, Ginger Snaps and The Craft as well. But comparable to how drinking from someone doesn't transform you into them — at least according to a century-plus of bloodsucking tales on the page, in cinemas and on TV — nodding at influences doesn't turn this coming-of-age horror-comedy into its predecessors. Why does a vampire shy away from their basic method of feeding? Compassion and empathy, as a vamp doctor diagnoses. At a childhood birthday party in the 80s, Sasha (played by Avant le crash's Lilas-Rose Cantin in her younger guise) is gifted what her family thinks will be the ultimate present, to help her fangs come in: the clown hired as the shindig's entertainment isn't just there for a merry time, but as the cake. She won't kill him. She won't murder anyone afterwards. As she ages, it isn't just appeasing her parents that's putting pressure on Sasha to indulge her ingrained urges; when she sees blood, her desire kicks in. That Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person falls into the nest of flicks that understand how harrowing becoming a woman can be is as apparent as a puncture wound around the jugular; again, it still finds its own way to muse on a well-contemplated topic, even while broadly sticking with the familiar "being a teen girl is a horror movie" concept. As a last resort, Sasha is sent to stay with Denise, who nab her meals simply by picking up men and taking them home (her industrial-chic abode has meathooks to assist). But forcing anyone to follow in an authority figure's footsteps never turns out well whether they're breathing or undead, which is another of Louis-Seize's universal notions. A search for identity sits at the unstaked heart of Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person, as Sasha endeavours to grow up and be a creature of the night on her own terms, and without losing who she knows she is. Enter suicide support groups, which depressed and bullied high-schooler Paul (Félix-Antoine Bénard, The Wall) attends to grapple with his own feelings about mortality — an opinion that's far less concerned with retaining his own life than Sasha is about letting humans keep existing. Warm Bodies, Let the Right One In, a human-vamp reversal of Buffy the Vampire Slayer's main romances: that's all dripped into Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person's blood bag as well. With her raven locks and dark-clad outfits, plus the movie's deadpan comedy, there's a touch of Wednesday Addams-but-a-bloodsucker, too. That said, tenderness rather than sarcasm is Sasha's vibe — and finding the balance between bleak and sweet is the feature's. Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person is a film about not just forging your own sense of self, and staying true to it, but discovering someone to connect with who accepts you for who you are, takes the good with the bad, and makes life (or the afterlife) worth living. It might be red with blood, then black with melancholy and angst, thematically, but it's also pink inside. Aesthetically, the Montreal-based Louis-Seize, cinematographer Shawn Pavlin (who also shot her shorts) and editor Stéphane Lafleur (Goddess of the Fireflies) adore contrasts — and letting the feature's visuals say as much as dialogue, especially about Sasha's inner state. Atmospheric yet also neon-lit, taking cues for lighting choices from German expressionist cinema but imparting the flick with a 90s teen-movie sheen: just as it balances humour with bittersweetness, Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person juggles all of the above. Texture and richness pulsate emotionally and stylistically, and also in the soundtrack's bounces from jazz to pop. Indeed, one of the reasons that viewers being able to glean Louis-Seize's sources of inspiration doesn't overwhelm her picture is because it so deeply feels like you could step right into the film. Montpetit and Bénard turn in performances to match, portrayals where angst and longing pump in the same veins at the same time, and where frolicking through the night — sunlight still isn't a vampire's friend here — has the liminal taste of being caught between juvenile fun and adult reality. Alongside possessing great chemistry, Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person's central pair know how to convey the movie's whimsy, darkness and romance while never succumbing fully to any over the other. They play a twist on Romeo and Juliet as well in the process, in a way, as two beings from opposite worlds drawn together. One would prefer to die than hurt someone who doesn't want it. The other would donate his life willingly because it'd give him purpose. As with the rest of her nudges, Louis-Seize doesn't feast on Shakespeare's most-famous tragedy, either; her take has its own charms and flavour.
When Lou Reed's 'Perfect Day' enjoyed its initial sublime movie moment in Trainspotting, it soundtracked a descent into heroin's depths, including literally via the film's visual choices. For three decades since, that's been the tune's definitive on-screen use. Now drifts in Perfect Days, the Oscar-nominated Japan-set drama from German filmmaker Wim Wenders (Submergence). This slice-of-life movie takes its name from the song. It also places the iconic David Bowie-produced classic among the tracks listened to by toilet cleaner Hirayama (Kôji Yakusho, Vivant) as he goes about his daily routine. Fond of 60s- and 70s-era music, the Tokyo native's picks say everything about his mindset, both day by day and in his zen approach to his modest existence. 'Perfect Day' and Nina Simone's 'Feeling Good' each also sum up the feeling of watching this gorgeous ode to making the most of what you have, seeing beauty in the everyday and being in the moment. Not every tune that Hirayama pops into his van's tape deck — cassettes are still his format of choice — has the same type of title. Patti Smith's 'Redondo Beach', The Animals' 'The House of the Rising Sun', Otis Redding's '(Sittin' on) The Dock of the Bay' and The Rolling Stones' '(Walkin' Thru the) Sleepy City' also rank among his go-tos, all reflecting his mood in their own ways. If there's a wistfulness to Hirayama's music selections, it's in the manner that comes over all of us when we hark back to something that we first loved when we were younger. Perfect Days' protagonist is at peace with his life, however. Subtly layered into the film is the idea that things were once far different and more-conventionally successful, but Hirayama wasn't as content as he now is doing the rounds of the Japanese capital's public bathrooms, blasting his favourite songs between stops, eating lunch in a leafy park and photographing trees with an analogue camera. As proves accurate for most folks, the cycle that Wenders and co-screenwriter Takuma Takasaki (an advertising creative director and an author) have scripted for Perfect Days doesn't vary wildly as time elapses. While the sky is still dark, Hirayama awakens in his minimalist flat, slips into his work overalls and gets a canned caffeine fix from the vending machine outside. From there, he drives from toilet to toilet, putting out his sign to notify those passing that the commodes are getting a wash, meticulously scrubbing porcelain and wiping basins, and barely being paid any attention. His midday break brings greenery, that snap and maybe rescuing a sapling to take home to nurture. By evening, he reads William Faulkner, Patricia Highsmith and Aya Kōda. Unless it's his day off, when he turns his cleaning skills to his apartment — and does laundry, gets his photos developed, purchases new books and has dinner out — the pattern repeats. Wenders, making his best fictional feature in years and a movie every bit as magnificent as his Berlin-set 1987 masterpiece Wings of Desire, goes zen himself with his handling of Perfect Days. He's happy with cinematographer Franz Lustig (who also lensed his most-recent documentary Anselm) largely peering on documentary-style patiently and gracefully, taking in the ins and outs of Hirayama's days as serenely as Hirayama navigates them. Perfect Days spies the revealing minutiae, though, including a gesture that's extraordinary in its simplicity, ease and impact. Each morning, as black starts to turn grey in the heavens above as he departs for work, Hirayama stands on his doorstep, peeks at the weather in store, then smiles. A face merely tilting upwards has rarely felt so profoundly tender, touching and essential — and like it says everything about the most blissful way to cope with living. Yakusho won the 2023 Cannes Best Actor prize, alongside gongs from the Japanese Academy and Asian Film Awards, for his rich and majestic performance as Hirayama. The Tampopo, Shall We Dance?, Memoirs of a Geisha and Babel star isn't required to utter much, but this could easily be a dialogue-free movie — except the lyrics of all-important tunes, of course — thanks to his deeply internalised portrayal. To witness his efforts as Hirayama is to understand all that's within the character, usually behind an expression of pure dedication, tranquility or both — and regardless of whether he has assistant Takashi (Tokio Emoto, House of Ninjas) along for the ride, or the latter's girlfriend Aya (Aoi Yamada, First Love); is playing noughts and crosses with a stranger in an endearing fashion; suddenly has his niece Niko (Arisa Nakano, Anata no shiranai kowai hanashi gekijouban) for company; or is lending an ear to someone else's troubles over the quiet drinks he's sipping by the water. With such a diligently naturalistic performance at its centre, Perfect Days tells you how to view it: by soaking up every minuscule piece of this entrancing film. Wenders wants his audience taking it in as Hirayama does all that surrounds him, valuing the small details as much as the bigger picture. The next step: holding onto that feeling and perspective after the projector stops rolling. Can a drama embody mindfulness so completely that watching it leaves its viewers embracing the ups and downs of their own standard existence afterwards, reassessing what they truly want, and rethinking how they approach the full spectrum of emotions from disappointment and monotony to joy and satisfaction? In answering that, there's before Perfect Days and after Perfect Days, because this transcendent picture gives the heartiest yes possible to that question. To grasp fulfilment in your work, to treat your ears to great music and your mind to excellent reading, to clutch as much time as you can in nature, to appreciate everything around you: that's Perfect Days' prescription for perfect days. It's a recipe for an ideal movie experience, too — and how committed the feature is to mirroring what it depicts doesn't go unnoticed. Take its toilets, which are all architectural wonders around the Shibuya neighbourhood. As everyone should, and as they're crafted to inspire, Perfect Days rejoices in their design, as well as in the fact that such striking creations cater for humanity's most-basic bodily functions. They're real. Tours now take visitors between them. There's no playing tourist with what that they, Hirayama and Perfect Days represent, though — finding value, meaning and perfection in life's ebbs and flows can only be a genuine pursuit.
Blue Bayou isn't Justin Chon's first film as an actor, writer, director or producer, but it's a fantastic showcase for his many talents nonetheless. It's also a deeply moving feature about a topical subject: America's immigration laws, which are complicated at best and draconian at worst. Worlds away from his time in all five Twilight flicks — because Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson and Anna Kendrick aren't the franchise's only breakout stars — Chon plays Antonio LeBlanc. While the Korean American tattoo artist has lived in Louisiana since being adopted as child, the name he was given upon his arrival in the US still sparks cognitive dissonance, as the job interview that opens the movie illustrates. It also doesn't stop both the casual and overt racism frequently directed his way, or the deportation proceedings that spring after he's accosted in a supermarket by New Orleans police officers. Helming and scripting as well as starring, Chon layers Antonio's situation with complexity from the outset. He's getting by, just, but his criminal record makes it difficult to secure more work — which he needs given his wife Kathy (Alicia Vikander, The Green Knight) is pregnant. He's a doting stepdad to her daughter Jessie (Sydney Kowalske, Doom Patrol), but her birth father Ace (Mark O'Brien, Marriage Story) is one of those aforementioned cops. Also, Ace has a bigoted partner, Denny (Emory Cohen, Flashback), who makes antagonising Antonio his daily mission. And, after that grocery store run-in, the latter discovers that his adoptive parents didn't ever complete the paperwork required to naturalise him as a US citizen. His life, his wife, his kids, that he has no ties to Korea: sadly, it all means nothing to the immigration system. Based on the plot description, it'd be simple to accuse Blue Bayou of throwing too much at its protagonist, dialling up his hardships and wallowing in his misery, all to tug at heartstrings. The film inspires a strong emotional reaction; however, this isn't just a case of calculating narrative machinations manipulating viewers to feel everything — or even something. There's a sense of inevitability to Chon's feature, his fourth after Man Up, Gook and Ms Purple, and it's all by design. The path that Antonio's life is forced down isn't surprising, complete with tough truths and heartbreaking realities, but it's filled with authenticity. Piling on misfortune after misfortune isn't merely a ploy when all of Blue Bayou's dramas can easily accumulate as they do here, and when no one's struggles are ever limited to just one or two troubles. There's no contrivance in sight, but rather a firm understanding of snowballing sorrows and their overwhelming impact. Still, Chon walks a delicate tightrope. He could've veered into tear-wringing movie of the week-style melodrama, clogged it up with cliches and failed to evoke even a single genuine feeling — or, alternatively, he could've deployed too much restraint and crafted a clinical, procedural film that saw Antonio as a mere cog in a system. The space he's carved out in-between is both masterful and organically messy; finding the right balance is a mammoth task, and embracing the whirlwind that sweeps along Antonio, Kathy and Jessie is inherently chaotic. The result is a stirring and empathetic film that's also precise and intricate, especially when it comes to the emotional deluge weathered by its central trio. At every turn, Blue Bayou plunges viewers into their turbulent existence, sees their plight with clear eyes and acknowledges all that that encompasses. That's true not just in the story's ups and downs, but in every shimmering sight lensed by cinematographers Ante Cheng (Death of Nintendo) and Matthew Chuang (My First Summer). Blue Bayou looks both gritty and romantic at once, finding the immensely tricky midpoint between staying in the moment with all its bleak developments, and also savouring the details, including the small joys and wins, as one does when recalling memories. The movie's urgent, bustling pacing falls into the first category as well, while the second camp spans a fondness not just for water and water lilies — its most heavy-handed piece of symbolism — but also for lingering close-ups of Chon, Kowalske and Vikander. The time spent with Chon and Kowalske alone is revelatory, in fact, soaking in their bond as if it's the most meaningful thing in the world. There's an openness and genuineness to these scenes — an in-the-moment earnestness — that marks Blue Bayou at its finest. The whole film takes the same approach as it shows not only what Antonio is battling against, but what he's fighting to retain; however, these tiny slivers of connection are its crowning glories. Chon is terrific on-screen and -off throughout, but he's exceptionally sincere and full-hearted when he's lapping up oh-so-fleeting seconds with scene-stealer Kowalske. That said, he brings the same resonance to Antonio's well-intentioned but self-destructive choices, especially in the film's midsection. His rapport with the also-excellent Vikander resounds with the kind of hard-fought love that's learned to survive and thrive against the odds, too. Visually, thematically and thanks to potent performances, Blue Bayou would make a stellar double with Monsoon — another big-hearted yet small-in-scale gem that's also about immigration, identity and the interpersonal flotsam that washes up when the pair collide. Scenes where Antonio befriends Vietnamese refugee Parker (Linh-Dan Pham, Mytho), who has similarly lived in the US since childhood and invites him to her family gatherings, particularly bind the two films. They're different in a plethora of ways but, crucially, both pictures recognise the importance of atmosphere in conveying an emotional state, putting audiences in the thick of it with their characters, and peering into minds and hearts. That's where Blue Bayou echoes, whether or not it's playing the Roy Orbison-penned song that gives it its name. This is a movie about migration, discrimination, resilience and endurance in an uncaring world, and about oppressive bureaucracies, engrained prejudice and a supposed land of the free that rarely lives up to that ideal, but it's always a film about people first and foremost.
