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.
Bringing Shakespeare to the big screen is no longer just about doing the material justice, or even about letting a new batch of the medium's standout talents give their best to the Bard's immortal words. For anyone and everyone attempting the feat (a list that just keeps growing), it's also about gifting the playwright's material with the finest touches that cinema allows. It's never enough to simply film Macbeth like a theatre production, for instance, even if all that dialogue first penned four centuries ago still ripples with power — while riffing about power — without any extra adornments. No Shakespeare adaptation really needs to explain or legitimise its existence more than any other feature, but the great ones bubble not only with toil and trouble, but with all the reasons why this tale needed to be captured on camera and projected large anew. Joel Coen knows all of the above. Indeed, his take on the Scottish play — which he's called The Tragedy of Macbeth, taking Shakespeare's full original title — justifies its existence as a movie in every single frame. His is a film of exacting intimacy, with every shot peering far closer at its main figures than anyone could ever see on a stage, and conveying more insight into their emotions, machinations and motivations in the process. The Bard might've posited that all the world's a stage in As You Like It, but The Tragedy of Macbeth's lone Coen brother doesn't quite agree. Men and women are still merely players in this revived quest for supremacy through bloodshed, but their entrances, exits and many parts would mean nothing if we couldn't see as far into their hearts and minds as cinema — and as cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel's (The Woman in the Window) stripped-down, black-and-white, square-framed imagery — can possibly allow. In a year for filmmakers going it alone beyond the creative sibling relationships that've defined their careers — see also: The Matrix Resurrections — Joel Coen makes a phenomenal solo debut with this up-close approach. His choice of cast, with Denzel Washington (The Little Things) as powerful as he's ever been on-screen and Frances McDormand (The French Dispatch) showing why she has three Best Actress Oscars, also helps considerably. The former plays the eponymous Scottish general, the latter his wife, and both find new reserves and depths in the pair's fateful lust for glory. That's another key element to any new silver-screen iteration of Shakespeare's most famous works: making its characters feel anew. Washington and McDormand — and Coen as well — all tread in the footsteps of of Michael Fassbender, Marion Cotillard and Australian filmmaker Justin Kurzel (Nitram) thanks to 2015's exquisite Macbeth, but they stand in absolutely no one's shadows. As also previously splashed across cinemas by Orson Welles, Akira Kurosawa and Roman Polanski, the narrative details remain the same, obviously — from the witches (all played by Kathryn Hunter, Flowers) prophesying that Macbeth will soon be monarch, through to his murderous actions at Lady Macbeth's urging to make that prediction become a reality. All that scheming has consequences, both before and after King Duncan (Brendan Gleeson, Mr Mercedes) is stripped of his throne. One of the smartest parts of the movie's central casting is the change it brings to the Macbeths' seething desperation. Due to Washington and McDormand's ages, their versions of the characters are grasping onto what might be their last chance, rather than being ruthless with far more youthful abandon. They're susceptible to the Weird Sisters' suggestions in a different way, too, embracing what they think should already be theirs rather than seizing a shot they may not have expected for some time otherwise. McDormand's involvement is hardly surprising — she's married to Joel, is one of the Coen brothers' mainstays when her husband and his sibling Ethan share directorial credits, and won her first Academy Award for playing a pregnant police chief in their crime classic Fargo. But The Tragedy of Macbeth moulds what could've just been a given, a case of spouses reteaming again, into an inspired opportunity to give its source material a few shrewd tweaks. Writing as well as helming, that's the intensely fastidious level that Joel operates on. His work has always been assembled with precision, but that devotion to detail feels as stark here as the movie's overwhelmingly evocative monochrome visuals. For a filmmaker known for surveying life's chaotic and careening turns, dating back to 1984's Blood Simple, spanning comedies such as Raising Arizona and The Big Lebowski, and evident in the more recent Inside Llewyn Davis and Hail, Caesar!, too, he makes mess and mayhem look meticulous in The Tragedy of Macbeth. This towering adaptation may carve its own space among the many other Macbeths, but it also shows Coen's penchant for Welles' rendering — and his films in general — plus Kurosawa's Throne of Blood. Those nods come through aesthetically, flickering through a feature that masterfully looks as if it could've been made decades ago. The Tragedy of Macbeth's German expressionism-influenced use of light and darkness isn't just sharp, it's piercing, aptly so when Washington stands in a lengthy corridor to ask "is this a dagger which I see before me?". They're intense words from one of the Bard's greatest soliloquies, and they're paired with such stunning cinematography — that hallway appears to keep extending forever, a sight that says oh-so-much about the moral precipice Macbeth stands at — that the effect is scorching. Something wicked this way comes within the narrative, of course, but something magnificent unfurls in this new retelling. Stepping back into the acclaimed play proves a lean and ravishing experience again and again here, and also eerie and potent — a mesmerising brew when it comes to this story. Strutting and fretting as Delbonnel's staggering cinematography gazes his way, and as Carter Burwell's (The Ballad of Buster Scruggs) score ramps up the tension, Washington is equally transfixing. He needs to be to play this part. He needs to be remarkable to express Macbeth's transformation from loyal royal offsider to killer, and to navigate the corresponding existential torment. Something astonishing this way comes as a result, a feat that isn't The Tragedy of Macbeth's alone with this tale (Kurzel's version was the best film of its year), but provides another masterwork full of sound and fury signifying everything. The Tragedy of Macbeth opens in Australian cinemas on December 26, 2021, and will be available to stream via Apple TV+ on January 14, 2022.
Call it the SNL effect: in two of their past three films, Julie Cohen and Betsy West have celebrated pioneering women who've been parodied on Saturday Night Live. They've referenced those famous skits in RBG and now Julia, in fact, including their subjects' reactions; Ruth Bader Ginsburg was seen howling with laughter when she first saw Kate McKinnon slip into her robes, and Julia Child reportedly played Dan Aykroyd's blood-soaked 1978 impersonation to friends at parties. Cohen and West clearly aren't basing their documentaries on their own sketch-comedy viewing, though. Instead, they've been eagerly unpacking exactly why a US Supreme Court Justice and a French cuisine-loving TV chef made such a strong impact, and not only in their own fields. Julia makes an exceptional companion piece with the Oscar-nominated RBG, unsurprisingly; call it a great doco double helping. Julia arrives nearly two decades after its namesake's passing, and 12 years since Meryl Streep earned an Oscar nomination for mimicking Julia in Julie & Julia. If you've seen the latter but still wondered why Julie Powell (played by The Woman in the Window's Amy Adams) was so determined to work her way through Julia's most famous cookbook — first published in 1961, Mastering the Art of French Cooking completely changed America's perception of printed recipe collections — let this easy-to-consume doco fill in the gaps when it comes to the culinary wiz's mastery and achievements. Let it spark two instinctual, inescapable and overwhelming reactions, too: hunger, due to all the clips of Julia cooking and other lingering shots of food; and inspiration, because wanting to whip up the same dishes afterwards is equally understandable. In their second film of 2021 — after My Name Is Pauli Murray, another portrait of a woman thoroughly deserving the spotlight — Cohen and West take a chronological approach to Julia's life. The two filmmakers like borrowing cues from their subjects, so here they go with a classic recipe that's been given slight tweaks, but always appreciates that magic can be made if you pair a tried-and-tested formula with outstanding technique. Julia's entire cooking career, including her leap to television in her 50s, stirred up the same idea. Her take on French dining was all about making delectable meals by sticking to the right steps, even while using supermarket-variety ingredients, after all. Julia boasts a delightful serving of archival footage, as well as lingering new food porn-esque sequences that double as how-tos (as deliciously lensed by cinematographer and fellow RBG alum Claudia Raschke), but it still embodies the same ethos. Born to a well-off Pasadena family in 1912, Julia's early relationship with food is painted as functional: the household's cooks prepared the meals, and wanting to step into the kitchen herself was hardly a dream. In pre-World War II America, the expectation was that she'd simply marry and become a housewife, however, but a hunger for more out of life first took her to the Office of Strategic Services — the US organisation that gave way to the CIA — and overseas postings. While stationed in the Far East, she met State Department official Paul Child. After a berth in China, he was sent to France, where the acclaimed Cordon Bleu culinary school eventually beckoned for Julia. From there, she started her own cooking classes in Paris, co-penned the book that made her famous, turned a TV interview into a pitch for her own show and became an icon. There's more to each ingredient in Julia, of course, and to the dish that is its towering central figure (alongside her two siblings, Julia measured over six feet tall, causing their mother to joke that she'd given birth to 18 feet of children). This is an affectionate film that's as light and fluffy in tone as a souffle, but it still packs its menu with the bio-doc equivalent of a full meal. The use of text from Julia and Paul's letters — both to and about each other — seasons its collage of photographs and cooking show snippets with personality. Weaving in sensual shots of cooking in action speaks to the depth of the Childs' marriage, too; in Paris, she'd fashion him up a lavish lunch followed by a sojourn to the bedroom, the movie informs. That said, many of Julia's highlights come from simply watching Julia on TV, including when things didn't always go as planned. Talking head interviews from colleagues, friends, relatives, and other big cooking names such as José Andrés, Ina Garten, and Marcus Samuelsson help flesh out all the necessary biographical minutiae, but viewing Julia in action is the film's version of a main course and dessert all in one. She's unflappable, earthy, humorous and informative, her distinctive voice booming away as she talks through making everything from boeuf bourguignon to roast chicken — and it's easy to glean why America warmed to her as much as the butter-fuelled French fare she taught them to make. Why she sparked an entire genre of cuisine-focused television is just as plain to see, as is her trailblazing status as a female in the industry and a harbinger of better American dinners. The leap from jell-o salads to French omelettes and bouillabaisse was sizeable — and necessary. Julia does come with one spot at the table that's missing a dish. When it trifles with thornier topics than its eponymous cook's career, upbringing, marriage and influence, such as her contentment with being a homemaker pre-TV stardom, her tricky relationship with feminism despite her pro-choice views, and her early homophobia before becoming an AIDS activist, it can feel like it's snacking quickly and moving on. The film savours the good, the great and the extraordinary, but these brief notes still leave a taste. In general, though, it's still the kind of appetising movie that'd have Julia herself exclaiming "bon appétit!". Top image: Photo by Fairchild Archive/Penske Media/Shutterstock (6906383b) Julia Child on the set of her cooking show, 'The French Chef Julia Child, Boston.
This lockdown's been a long one and if you're running desperately low on decent at-home activities to entertain yourself, you're certainly not alone. Luckily, Melbourne International Games Week returns for its 2021 edition from October 3–10, coming to the rescue with a very well-timed showcase of the latest and greatest in digital games. And on Sunday, October 3, the fun kicks off with the Big Games Night In, when you can sample some of the best new Aussie-made digital games, for free and from the comfort of home. Curated by the experts at ACMI, the evening's program delivers a diverse range of games, running from family-friendly educational titles, to quirky choose-your-own-adventure experiences for grown-ups. Highlights include the app-based, augmented reality Eastern Market Murder, which will see you playing detective — and delving into some true history — as you bust open clues to a real crime from Melbourne's Victorian-era past. Unpacking will test both your block-fitting skills and your home decorating prowess, as you settle into the task of unpacking virtual boxes in a new home. Elsewhere, you'll find minimalist maths puzzle games (Trios), simulator games based on moving house (Moving Out), and even a physics-based number that'll send you navigating an alien world while battling some extra stretchy, sticky limbs (Completely Stretchy and Uncomfortably Sticky). Top Images: 'Moving Out', 'Completely Stretchy and Uncomfortably Sticky' and 'Unpacking'
International travel could possibly be back on the cards for Australians by Christmas, but you'll be able to get a 26-film glimpse of Italy first. The reason: the 2021 Italian Film Festival. As it does every year, it's showcasing a stacked lineup of new and classic cinema from its chosen part of the globe, as part of its touring program. For Melburnians, this year's fest will arrive in mid-November, in line with Victoria's roadmap out of lockdown. From Friday, November 19–Sunday, December 12, movie buffs will want to head to Palace Balwyn, Palace Brighton Bay, Palace Cinema Como, Palace Westgarth, The Kino, Pentridge Cinema, The Astor and Cinema Nova to get their Italian film fix. The fest opens with The Ties — and with a marriage in crisis. Starring Alba Rohrwacher (Happy as Lazzaro) and Luigi Lo Cascio (Human Capital), and helmed by Daniele Luchetti (La Nostra Vita, My Brother is an Only Child), this moving film follows a couple's tumultuous romance over the course of decades. It comes to the Italian Film Festival after opening last year's Venice Film Festival, and becoming the first Italian movie in more than a decade to do the latter. At the other end of the 2021 Italian Film Festival, the event will close with a classic: Roberto Rosselini's Rome, Open City. It's part of a four-film retrospective of the director's work, and also falls within the fest's look back at iconic Italian leading ladies. This event always comes with a big appreciation for Italy's filmmaking past, which is where documentary Fellini Forward: From the Creative Genius of Federico Fellini, about the acclaimed director, also fits in. Elsewhere, festival highlights include Cannes Film Festival Director's Fortnight winner To Chiara, about a 15-year-old who discovers her father might have criminal ties; Nanni Moretti's Three Floors, which is set across a Rome apartment block; Hidden Away, a biopic about artist Antonio Ligabue; and You Came Back, a thriller that makes ample use of Venice's lagoons. Or, there's also comedy Three Perfect Daughters; drama Tigers, about footballer Martin Bengtsson; and Sirley, which sees director Elisa Amoruso draw upon her adolescence for her first fictional film.
Movie lovers of Melbourne, the big screen beckons — and a heap of weird and wonderful flicks along with it. While nothing about 2021 has turned out as planned for the second year in a row, the city's annual celebration of genre and cult cinema will still be taking over Cinema Nova. Mark Thursday, December 2–Sunday, December 12 in your diary. This year, December isn't just about getting festive. It's also about Monster Fest's ten-day tenth anniversary program, and all the scares, thrills and OTT on-screen chaos that comes with it. The 2021 lineup kicks off with Resident Evil: Welcome to Raccoon City, after all, so it's throwing zombies into the mix from the get-go. Also serving up the undead: closing night's Aussie horror sequel Wyrmwood Apocalypse. Across a selection of flicks that spans hauntings, revenge tales, eerie islands and more, other highlights include The Scary of Sixty First, which finds a bold way to riff on a huge real-life news story; Slumber Party Massacre, a new remake of the 1982 movie; Black Friday, which tasks horror icon Bruce Campbell with dealing with bloodthirsty bargain-hunters; and Bull, about a gang enforcer seeking vengeance against those who double-crossed him. Or, there's also Crabs!, about murderous sea monsters; the Melbourne-shot Mutt, about illegal dogfighting; and a retrospective screening of Aussie found footage horror classic The Tunnel to celebrate its tenth anniversary.
Spring has arrived, and with it comes the smell of fresh popcorn as starlight screenings return to Lido's Rooftop Cinema in Hawthorn. Perched atop the Glenferrie Road picture house, the outdoor screen will once again light up with a selection of new release movies in the open air — from Friday, October 22, aka the earliest the cinema can reopen after Melbourne's latest lockdown. The 2021–22 Lido on the Roof season kicks off with sneak-peek screenings of tweet-to-film effort Zola, plus sessions of Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, Nitram, Free Guy and The Last Duel. Also on the bill: Halloween showings of the OG Scream and the new Candyman, Marvel's newbie Eternals, Bond flick No Time to Die and Palme d'Or winner Titane, with more titles set to be added over spring and summer. Always a hot ticket, sessions sell out quickly here — if you need any more motivation to get booking.
There's a film festival for everything, or so it can sometimes seem — and that includes science fiction cinema. Like flicks about the future, artificial intelligence, where technology might take us and dystopian worlds? That's what's on the bill at the Sci-Fi Film Festival. The event has been going strong in Sydney for more than a few years; however, in 2021, it's making two big changes. Firstly, it's jumping into the online realm. as plenty of other fests have been already this year. Secondly, because that's one of the perks of being digital, it's streaming its 80-film program nationwide. Even better: you can access that huge number of flicks with a $29.99 all-access pass. No, you definitely can't say you don't have anything to watch between Friday, October 15–Sunday, October 31. That lineup includes 13 features and 67 shorts, and spans films from 28 different countries — including Say Yes Again, a Taiwanese title that riffs on Groundhog Day; Tales of Tomorrow, which sees a teenage boy from 1999 tasked with saving human civilisation in 2165; Steampunk Connection, a Canadian documentary about the titular blend of sci-fi and Industrial Revolution-era technology; and Infinite Light, about possibly bringing back the dead. Or, if you like your movies short, you can dive into seven different sessions. The themed programs cover everything from animation, dystopian dreamscapes and the future to humanity's battle against technology and the dark side of our nature.
If you stare at something long enough, you don't just see the obvious. You notice everything, from the details that fail to immediately catch your attention to the way things can change instantly right in front of your eyes. The Killing of Two Lovers is all about this idea, and on two fronts. It puts a fractured marriage before its lens, ensuring its struggles and troubles can't be ignored. It also takes its time to peer at its protagonist, the separated-and-unhappy-about-it David (Clayne Crawford, Rectify), and at all that his new life now entails. In a sparse small town — with the film shot in Kanosh, Utah — its central figure attempts to adjust to living with his ailing widower father (Bruce Graham, Forty Years From Yesterday). His wife Niki (Sepideh Moafi, The L Word: Generation Q) remains in their home with their four children, as they've agreed while they take a break to work through their problems. David isn't coping, though, a fact that's apparent long before his teenage daughter Jess (Avery Pizzuto, We Fall Down) gets angry because she thinks he isn't fighting hard enough to save their family. He's trying, but as Crawford conveys in a brooding but nervy performance — and as writer/director/editor Robert Machoian (When She Runs) and cinematographer Oscar Ignacio Jiménez (Immanence) can't stop looking at in lengthy and patient takes — he can't quite adapt to the idea of losing everything he knows. Not just wed young, but welcoming Jess into their lives when they were basically kids themselves, David and Niki have spent their entire adulthood together so far — and as parents. They've agreed that they can date other people during their time apart, which Niki is doing; however, David just wants what he's always had. Indeed, The Killing of Two Lovers opens with him appearing poised to put that title into effect. He even has a gun, in fact. But nothing is that simple here, or for everyone in the movie's frames, or for anyone. From that very first moment, with the camera lingering on him wrestling with a big decision and radiating pain, anger and uncertainty, this is a feature that's determined to keep staring while its characters grapple with complexities both intimate and commonplace. David can't handle that Niki has started seeing Derek (Chris Coy, The Deuce), who works in the same building. He can't face the fact that she's been promoted at work, which brings more opportunities for her to be independent. And he certainly can't abide by only spending time with his beloved kids — including pre-teen boys Alex, Theo and Bug (Arri, Ezra and Jonah Graham, God Bless the Child) in agreed slots, instead of being there for their every moment. The Killing of Two Lovers watches David rage and fray. It sees him try to be the cool part-time dad, buying his brood toy rockets to send soaring into the sky in the local park, and waking up his sons in the middle of the night to show them he's taken their comedy advice. The film observes as he weathers Jess' anger, fear and disappointment, too, and as he tries to make his date nights with Niki the kind of evening that'll get them back together. It notices his self-centred wish to keep everything frozen in time, his stubbornness to accept any other fate, and his posturing with the unpleasant, jerk-ish Derek. Crucially, though, this is a movie about domestic disharmony that witnesses as much as it can, and lets as broad a spectrum of its protagonist's life as possible tell its tale. The Killing of Two Lovers ensures that Niki's predicament is just as complicated as well. This isn't just a movie that explores what happens when a man could lose everything that's made him who he is; it's also a portrait of a woman torn between a past she knows and a future that's on her own terms. And, it definitely isn't a film that condones David's actions, or offers any neat or predictable answers, explanations or options, but rather it's a snapshot of just how tangled and elaborate life always becomes. There's an element of Scenes From a Marriage at play here, although The Killing of Two Lovers pre-dates the new remake — and so much of the feeling in this gorgeously shot movie comes from its imagery. When it's hard to look away from such rich and enticing visuals, it's impossible not to spot and soak in everything they depict. Each frame is postcard-perfect, not that those pieces of cardboard ever capture such everyday sights, but wide vistas and the snowy mountains hovering in the background are just the beginning. With its long takes, The Killing of Two Lovers forces its audience to glean the naturalistic lighting that never casts David and Niki's hometown in either a warm glow or grim glower. Repeated images of David alone, especially in his car, also leave a firm impression of a man moving and solo. And, presenting most of its frames in the 4:3 aspect ratio, the film also possesses an astonishing and telling sense of space. Nothing is bluntly boxed in here, but everyone is trying to roam within the claustrophobic patch of turf they've scratched out. And, within the feature's square-shaped visuals springs an added fountain of intimacy that cuts to the heart of such close relationships, such as when David and the kids all pile into his truck, or during one of David and Niki's car-bound dates. Of course, without the right actors inhabiting those shots — and the right performances emanating from them — Machoian's stunning sights would ring hollow. Crawford is as soulful as the film's cinematography, and as jumpy as the metallic-sounding audioscape that echoes during its 84-minute running time. He's both masterful and devastating as he, like the overall feature itself, tussles and jostles with David's internal and external chaos. His is a raw and invested portrayal, so it comes as little surprise that he's one of the picture's executive producers. Crawford is aided by spot-on work by his co-stars, though; by smartly penned, stirringly insightful dialogue that most scripts wish they could muster, too; and by a piercing use of silence to let everything sink in. The devil isn't in the detail here — the minutiae is the entire movie, and what an unflinching, evocative and heady vision of yearning and emotionally churning it is.
First, the expected news: if you'd like to check out the latest and greatest in Irish cinema in 2021, you'll need to do so virtually. Now, the exciting news: returning for another year, and for its second virtual fest in a row, the Irish Film Festival will unleash an impressive and varied lineup upon your small screen of choice from Friday, September 3–Sunday, September 12. Wolfwalkers, one of the best movies of the past year and an absolute gem of an eco-conscious animated feature, sits at the top of IFF's must-see list. Set centuries ago, and following a young wannabe hunter by the name of Robyn Goodfellowe (voiced by Honor Kneafsey), it charts a friendship with a girl called Mebh (Eva Whittaker) who just might be a member of a mythical tribe that's able to shapeshift into wolves while they're dreaming. Other highlights include Wildfire, about a dramatic reunion between sisters; Crock of Gold: A Few Rounds with Shane MacGowan, which lets the punk poet and The Pogues frontman tell his own tale over a few brews; the Australian premiere of Phil Lynott: Songs For While I'm Away, about Thin Lizzy's lead singer and songwriter; and horror-comedy Boys from County Hell, which sees a father-son duo accidentally awaken an ancient Irish vampire in rural Derry. Or, as part of a 12-film program, there's also the Gabriel Byrne (Hereditary)-starring Death of a Ladies Man; Deadly Cuts, about Dublin hair salon stylists who take on a criminal gang; and The Bright Side, which focuses on a cynical comedian tackling cancer.
If you're the type of person who pours Tabasco on their breakfast, loads up their pizza with chilli oil and can think of nothing tastier than a bowl of spicy noodles, you'll want to put next Thursday, February 27 in your diary. Preston Market is dedicating a day to all things hot, spicy and sweat-inducing. It's safe to say the northside precinct has your feasting well and truly sorted — a stack of its traders are getting into the spirit with a range of special offers, free tastings and one-off spicy dishes. Swing by the Local Pantry Co for free Danny Balboa hot sauce tastings from midday–2.30pm, then wander over to Super Raw for $2 spicy immunity shots. For something heartier, Cornutopia is serving up $8 chipotle bean burritos and you'll find spicy beef noodle soup (bun bo hue) for $15 at T's Vietnamese. The chilli-filled fun continues over at Lemnos Deli (with chilli-stuffed olive, chilli-coated salami and hot sopressa), at Julie Take Away (serving a one-off chilli chicken tenders sanga) and Dragisha & Nikola Bakery (with a chilli tomato bread). If merely eating chilli doesn't scratch your spicy itch, the market will also be hosting cooking demonstrations from 1–2pm and 1.45–2.45pm.
There's a film festival for everything these days, or so it sometimes seems. You can binge on all things weird and wonderful, go barking mad for short flicks about dogs or direct your eyeballs towards movies from a particular country. Or, you can spend time watching documentaries about our changing world, then hearing experts chat about the subjects raised — which is exactly what the Transitions Film Festival specialises in. Returning for its ninth year from Thursday, February 20–Friday, March 6 — and popping up at a variety of Melbourne venues, including Cinema Nova, The Astor Theatre, Loop Project Space and Bar, Brunswick Mechanics Institute and Siteworks — 2020's fest is filled with thought-provoking films that ponder the challenges and issues facing society at the moment. That's a hefty list, spanning docos about artificial intelligence, engrained bias in the workplace, mindfulness, the economic side of disasters, plastics and skyrocketing housing prices. This year's 29-feature Transitions Film Festival program is specifically focused on the theme of resilience — so, obviously, climate change and the environment pop up frequently. You'll find a number of titles on the intertwined topics, and from a number of countries as well. Look out for opening night's The Great Green Wall, about efforts to plant 8000 kilometres of trees across Senegal, Mali, Nigeria, Niger and Ethiopia; Australia's Convoy, which follows attempts to stop Australia's Adani Carmichael coal mine; and Anote's Ark, where the Pacific island nation of Kiribati endeavours to tackle the rising sea levels threatening to destroy the country. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgfvED5KYAo&feature=emb_logo Other highlights include Magic Medicine, about the use of magic mushrooms — well, their main psychoactive ingredient — to treat depression; The Whale & the Raven, which ponders the ongoing battle between industrialisation and nature; and Mr Toilet, about the the 2.4 billion people around the globe who don't have basic sanitation. And, for a dose of star power, it all comes to a close with Sanctuary, which follows actor Javier Bardem, his brother and Greenpeace on their quest to create the world's largest marine sanctuary in the Antarctic Ocean.
Fashion, art, homewares and handcrafted goods as far as the eye can see — that's usually what's on the agenda at The Village Markets on the Gold Coast and in Brisbane. The event is taking a break under current circumstances; however that doesn't mean that you can't shop from home. In fact, that's where its first Insta Market comes in. Across the weekend of Friday, March 27–Sunday, March 28, the Village Markets Insta Market is showcasing designers, artists and curators — and highlighting just what you can buy with the click of a few buttons while sitting on your couch. Whether you're after new threads, something to pop on your shelf or some goodies for your pet, you'll find it here, as well as special offers and discounts. And, because it's all online, it's available to everyone — even if you're not in southeast Queensland. By taking part in the Insta Market, you'll also be supporting more than 70 creative small businesses — who, like many folks across many industries at present, have seen their whole lives change suddenly. If that's not a great excuse to spend a couple of days scrolling through your Instagram, then we don't know what is.
Thinking of getting out of town and heading to Ballarat for a weekend of food and wine? Well, now you have one more excuse to plan a day trip to the picturesque town, because Australia's largest and oldest regional art gallery, the Art Gallery of Ballarat, has reopened — and it's got some excellent exhibitions. One you won't want to miss is the solo exhibition David Noonan: Stagecraft, which is running till the end of January. The Ballarat-born, London-based multidisciplinary artist's works have appeared in major Australian galleries like the Museum of Contemporary Art in Sydney and the National Gallery of Australia, Canberra, as well as at the Tate Modern in London. Repurposing found black-and-white photographs from old avant-garde magazines, Noonan creates everything from silkscreen prints to tapestries and films — all of which feature in this exhibition. The result is mesmerising and often haunting works that seem like something out of a nightmarish scene at the Moulin Rouge. [caption id="attachment_774450" align="alignnone" width="1920"] David Noonan, 'Untitled' (2019). Jacquard loom tapestry.[/caption] The show features immersive jacquard tapestries, large-scale silkscreen collages and Noonan's 2017 film piece A dark and quiet place. Expect theatrical figures in costume, wearing masks or putting on make-up, signifying connecting themes of transformation and ambiguity. The Art Gallery of Ballarat is showing the exhibition for free, however you'll need to book in a time to visit in order to adhere to COVID-19 restrictions. You can book via the gallery's website. Top image: David Noonan, 'Untitled' (2019). Jacquard loom tapestry. Courtesy David Noonan and Anna Schwartz Gallery. For the latest info on Victoria's stay-at-home orders in 36 suburbs, head to the DHHS website.
It's not often you'd find tea lovers drinking in a cocktails bar, but walk into CBD stalwart Bar Americano at the moment and that's exactly what you'll find. The pocket-sized digs have transformed into a Japanese tea pop-up by the bar's owner Matt Bax. Dubbed Samu, the pop-up is about as different to a raucous night out as it gets. Instead of sitting down for a negroni or the venue's namesake drink, you'll be drinking top-quality tea. With the intention to be a meditative experience, each session is performed in a ritualised manner and runs for about five minutes, with a maximum of two people at anyone time — so expect peace and quiet. You'll be asked to put your phone away, too. If you're keen to book, you can opt for a private tea mediation, which costs $15 and will see you sitting in the entire space solo, sipping a bowl of tea — a single origin ceremonial-grade matcha or caffeine-free Tochu, to be exact — and eating Koko Black chocolate. Otherwise, you can book for a private session for two for $25, where you'll get the space all to yourselves for up to ten minutes. Walk-ins are also available, but with such limited capacity expect to wait in line. Thankfully, with such short sessions, it moves quickly. Samu's pop-up at Bar Americano is running from June 7–30. It's open from 10am–2pm every Tuesday through Thursday. To book, head here.
Melbourne restaurants are welcoming dine-in customers once again, which means you no longer have to eat frozen supermarket pizza. To celebrate its reopening, St Kilda's PB's Bar & Eatery is letting you feast on all the cheesy slices you can handle every Thursday until June 25. To top it off, it's serving up bottomless margaritas, which is surefire way to get the fiesta started. So, round up your mates for a mid-week catch up stat. For $39, you'll be sitting down to 90 minutes of all-you-can-eat woodfired margherita slices, loaded with tomato, mozzarella and basil. If you're vegan, you can opt for plant-based pizza for an additional $4; gluten free pizza bases are available for no extra cost. The price also includes margarita cocktails, which come in three different flavours: classic, peach and watermelon. As numbers are still limited for dine-in service, bookings are essential and must be made via the website, noting you are booking for the bottomless margherita and margarita deal. Walk-ins and phone bookings will not be accepted.
The wonders of the animal kingdom are coming to the Geelong's National Wool Museum courtesy of a huge exhibition of nature photography. Headed to the venue this autumn, the Wildlife Photographer of the Year showcase comes direct from London's Natural History Museum — which has developed and produced the prestigious competition since 1965. Highlighting the astonishing sights that the natural world has to offer, this year's contest attracted 48,000 entries from 100 countries. That not only shows how much we all love creatures great, small, cute, majestic and everything in-between, but how much we love both taking and looking at snaps of them as well. From that huge number, 100 winning pics were chosen for their creativity, originality and technical excellence, and then tour internationally. You can see the eye-popping, awe- (and 'awwwww') inducing results during its Geelong stop from December 21 to April 26. Prepare to rove your eyes over everything from up-close-and-personal shots of gorgeous creatures to astonishing visions of sweeping landscapes. It'll be open every day of the week during its four-month season — from 9.30am–5pm Monday–Friday and 10am–5pm on weekends. [caption id="attachment_761873" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Yongqing Bao, Wildlife Photographer of the Year.[/caption] Top images: Jason Bantle and Daniel Kronauer, courtesy of Wildlife Photographer of the Year and the Natural History Museum, London.
Since popping up over the last decade, the term 'elevated horror' has always been unnecessary. Used to describe The Babadook, It Follows, The Witch, Get Out, Hereditary, Us, Midsommar and more, it pointlessly claims that such unsettling flicks have risen above their genre. Each of these movies is excellent. They all boast weight and depth, trade in metaphors with smarts and savvy, and have style to go with their creeps and thrills. But thinking that's new in horror — that pairing unease with topical woes or societal fears is as well — is as misguided as dubbing Michael Myers a hero. With a name that makes its #MeToo-era point plain, Men has been badged 'elevated', too, yet it also does what horror has at its best and worst cases for decades. That the world can be a nightmare for women at the hands of men isn't a fresh observation, and it's long been a scary movie go-to. Still, Men stresses that fact in an inescapably blunt but also unforgettable manner. The film's setting is an English manor, where Harper Marlowe (Jessie Buckley, The Lost Daughter) hopes for a solo stint of rest, relaxation and recuperation. Processing a tragedy, shattering memories of which haunt the movie as much as its protagonist, she's seeking an escape and a way to start anew. The initial hint that she won't find bliss comes swiftly and obviously, and with a sledgehammer's subtlety. Arriving at an idyllic-looking British countryside estate, Harper is greeted by an apple tree. She plucks one from the abundant branches, then takes a bite. Soon, she's told by her host Geoffrey (Rory Kinnear, Our Flag Means Death) that it's forbidden fruit. He also says he's joking — but in this garden, a woman will again shoulder a society's blame and burdens. As overt and blatant as this early exchange is, there's an intensely unnerving look and feel to Men from the outset. Returning to the big screen after excellent sci-fi TV series Devs, writer/director Alex Garland isn't a stranger to visually stunning, deeply disquieting films that ponder big ideas; see: the complex, eerie and sublime Ex Machina, plus the similarly intricate and intriguing Annihilation. Oscar Isaac doesn't turn up this time, let alone dance. Buckley and Kinnear do turn in mesmerising and magnificent powerhouse performances amid the perturbing mood and spectacular imagery. Gender expectations also get probed and challenged, as do genres. And, things get strange and insidious after Harper tries to lap up her bucolic surroundings. Those blood-red walls sported by Harper's atmospheric centuries-old home-away-from-home? That's another glaring warning. Also discomforting: the jump-scare glitch when she video chats with her best friend Riley (Gayle Rankin, GLOW), after being told by Geoffrey — who is polite but never direct, perfectly satirising both stiff-upper-lip Britishness and the fine line between being courteous and patronising — that reception isn't the best. And, when Harper ventures out of the house, she discovers scenic treasures alongside hardly hospitable locals. She's a woman plagued by troubles that don't begin as her own, and she's forced to devote everything she has to moving past them and surviving. That Harper is played with such instinctive and physical feeling with Buckley, who just keeps going from strength to strength thanks to Beast, Wild Rose, Chernobyl, I'm Thinking of Ending Things, Fargo and her Oscar-nominated efforts in The Lost Daughter, is one of Men's biggest assets. First, there's the naked man who follows Harper through the wilderness, after she wanders through a cavernous tunnel with ethereal acoustics that's a delight one moment and boarded up the next. Then, more and more townsfolk spark alarm. There's the cop who barely believes Harper's stalker story, dismissively so. There's the teen who asks curious questions, demands attention and gets abusive when he isn't indulged. Also, there's the vicar who enquires about Harper's woes, then apportions responsibility her way for her struggles with husband James (Paapa Essiedu, I May Destroy You), while also putting his hand on her knee. The town pub's patrons are wary of her encroachment on their turf, while Geoffrey keeps making his presence known in his civil but passive-aggressive fashion. And, these men — yes, they're all men — share something beyond an unpleasant, off-putting and entitled attitude. Kinnear is also fantastic in Men because he's all men (including in scenes that make it clear that Garland saw his exceptional efforts as Frankenstein's monster in Penny Dreadful). Toxic masculinity deserves to be torn down repeatedly, and nuance needn't be part of that dismantling. The misogyny women can face openly and daily, and the way that simply existing can bring threats in the most ordinary spaces, also demands calling out loudly and strongly. Men does this. It ponders its key idea in different ways, too, including within religion and marriage. It shows how views can fester from adolescence, and within social and supposedly comforting confines. It demonstrates that just being can be fraught with distress for women, taking that reality to surreal, violent and fleshy extremes that'd equally do David Lynch and David Cronenberg proud. Also, it toys with how women are victimised in horror cinema. Garland's take on the topic is vivid and chilling — and as evocative as his past releases, plus his stellar screenplays for 28 Days Later and Sunshine — but Men also dives about as deep as noting that its namesake can be the worst, everyone knows it, and movies and life prey upon it. Still, as a piece of immersive cinema, Men is entrancing. It might be too kind to think its thematic bludgeoning is completely on purpose, but feeling like you're trapped in the same hell as Harper — in the film's present day, and in her orange-hued, positively apocalyptic, just-as-disturbing memories — is by design. Garland's work is that meticulous and sensory, and adept at conjuring up gut- and heart-wrenching reactions. It has been since he started out as the author behind The Beach, in fact. Here, he's aided by the intricate splendour, leafy and shadowy alike, lensed by his now usual cinematographer Rob Hardy (Mission: Impossible — Fallout), as well as the ominousness echoing in the choral-heavy score by fellow regular collaborators Geoff Barrow and Ben Salisbury (Archive 81). That all elevates the movie, although not because it's a higher form of horror, which it isn't. Men is as glaringly direct, primal and surface-level as a bar pickup line, and says nothing new, but its visceral and unshakeable menace still digs in hard, fast, tight and piercingly.
In the realm of franchise filmmaking, "to infinity and beyond" isn't just a catchphrase exclaimed by an animated plaything — it's how far and long Hollywood hopes every hit big-screen saga will extend. With that in mind, has a Pixar movie ever felt as inevitable as Lightyear? Given the main Toy Story plot wrapped up in 2019's Toy Story 4, and did so charmingly, keeping this series going by jumping backwards was always bound to happen. So it is that space ranger figurine Buzz Lightyear gets an origin story. That said, the trinket's history is covered immediately and quickly in this film's opening splash of text on-screen. Back in the OG Toy Story, Andy was excited to receive a new Buzz Lightyear action figure because — as this feature tells us — he'd just seen and loved a sci-fi movie featuring fictional character Buzz Lightyear. In this franchise's world, Lightyear is that picture. It's hard not to see Lightyear as a new cash cow — the Toy Story series' cash calf, perhaps. It's also difficult not to notice that the Disney-owned Pixar has made a movie that renders a famed character a piece of film-promoting merchandise, all while also releasing a new range of Lightyear-promoting merch so that IRL kids can have their own Buzz Lightyear toy again, too. In 2049, will audiences be watching a flick about someone who saw this as a child, nagged their parents for a Buzz and developed their own love of animation, space, franchises or all of the above? It wouldn't be surprising. Of course, there's form for making Buzz a movie tie-in toy; the overarching series' other main figure, pull-string cowboy Woody, stemmed from a fictional western TV show called Woody's Roundup. Maybe that's what Pixar will now make next. Or, perhaps it'll release a film or show based on one of Lightyear's new characters, feline robot companion SOX. Yes, you can now buy toy versions of it in reality as well, because of course you can. Buzz Lightyear and a cute cat that talks? The head of Disney merchandising must've seen potential piles of cash stacked to infinity and beyond purely at the thought of it, and director Angus MacLane (Finding Dory) along with him. Thankfully, as calculated as Lightyear's existence clearly is — and it's as blatantly engineered by bean counters as any movie can be — it's still likeable enough. It only slightly feels like a flick that might've actually come out around 1995, though, even if Apollo 13 sat second at the global box office that year (behind Toy Story, fittingly). And, after sending the wonderful Soul and Turning Red straight to streaming during the pandemic, plus Luca, it's also a standard pick for Pixar's return to the big screen. Buzz the live-action film hero — flesh and blood to in-franchise viewers like Andy, that is, but animated to us — also goes on an all-too-familiar journey in Lightyear. Voiced by Chris Evans (Knives Out) to distinguish the movie Buzz from toy Buzz (where he's voiced by Last Man Standing's Tim Allen), the Star Command space ranger is so convinced that he's the biggest hero there is, and him alone, that teamwork isn't anywhere near his strength. Then, as happens to the figurine version in Toy Story, that illusion gets a reality check. To survive being marooned on T'Kani Prime, a planet 4.2 million light-years from earth filled with attacking vines and giant flying insects, the egotistical and stubborn Buzz needs to learn to play nice with others. For someone who hates rookies, as well as using autopilot, realising he can only succeed with help takes time. Time is a slippery concept for Buzz, however, courtesy of his new predicament. To zoom back home, the Star Command mission team must make the right fuel, and test it — and on each attempt, as Buzz zips into hyper-speed in scenes reminiscent of Top Gun: Maverick, time dilates. His flights pass in minutes, but four years go by for his crew while he's in the air. Still, he keeps soaring and trying, and his best friend Commander Alisha Hawthorne (Uzo Aduba, Mrs America) keeps greeting him upon his return. But her life continues, including marrying the girlfriend she falls for among their colleagues, and having a family. She gets older, too. In contrast, Buzz barely ages, or moves on, until he's also trying to fight an alien spaceship piloted by giant robot Zurg (James Brolin, Sisters) with Alisha's granddaughter Izzy (Keke Palmer, Hustlers), plus her fellow junior rangers Mo (Taika Waititi, Our Flag Means Death) and Darby (Dale Soules, Orange Is the New Black). There's a lot that's average about Lightyear, including the pieces it cobbles together from Top Gun and Star Wars, and everything from 2001: A Space Odyssey, Alien, Starship Troopers, Gravity and Interstellar to Pixar's own Wall-E and Up. There are meta twists that make zero sense in the broader Toy Story narrative, too. There's also a jettisoning of early 2000s TV series Buzz Lightyear of Star Command and its take on Buzz's backstory, and a lingering question: what if Andy had just loved a different movie and wanted a different toy for his birthday instead? And, there's a toy chest filled with Pixar's usual go-to themes, including not being afraid to make mistakes. Obviously, in that same vein — and because the animation studio is owned by the same entity behind the Marvel Cinematic Universe and Star Wars, two forever-sprawling sagas — there's room left for a sequel. Great voice casting makes an impact, luckily. While it can't push Lightyear past its limits as an inessential Toy Story spinoff that doesn't add anything crucial to the series, there's liveliness, emotion and plenty of heart in the film's engaging vocal work. Evans doesn't try to shake Buzz's rampant sense of self-importance, but to unpack it, and finds tenderness and vulnerability in the process. And, he gives the character texture even amid such slick and gleaming animation. Aduba and Palmer also shine in their supporting parts, while Waititi perfects his comedic sidekick gig. Peter Sohn — director of The Good Dinosaur, and also a regular-enough Pixar voice actor — goes one better with SOX, however. Friendly, funny, adorable, and able solve scientific problems while meowing and cough up handy tools alike, that robo-cat is a scene-stealer. Still, finding him entertaining and thinking he could fuel an entire future film himself aren't the same thing, although, as Lightyear shows, no one learned that lesson about Buzz.
Wayne's World — and its sequel — gave the world many things. First, it gifted us two ace comedies that still stand up decades later. Also, it showcased Mike Myers and Dana Carvey at their best. And, there's all those instantly quotable catchphrases, plus the excellent soundtrack as well. Whichever of these you adore more — or if you think they're all worthy at once — Saturday, July 2 is your time to celebrate. 2022 marks a whopping 30 years since the OG Wayne's World released, so The B.East is doing what needs to be done and partying on, naturally. Calling all fans of public access television, broadcasting from your parents' basement and Alice Cooper alike. The Brunswick East bar's Wayne's World 30th Anniversary Tribute Party covers all the necessary bases, starting with a screening of the movie from 4pm — and beer pong as well. Dressing up is encouraged, with prizes on offer. Also, there'll be Wayne's World-themed food and booze specials for all you Babe-raham Lincolns. But, that's just the beginning, because those tunes that helped make the movie such a gem will also be performed live from 9pm. Doing the honours is Even Flow, with special guests from Atomic Riot, Wolfpack and My Safe Word is Murder. Of course, we all know how much Wayne Campbell and Garth Algar like busting out a rendition of Queen's 'Bohemian Rhapsody' — so expect that to echo through the venue. Wayne and Garth's love of 70s and 80s tunes runs much, much deeper, however. Indeed, rifling through their favourites would provide a pumping playlist for any shindig, which means this is bound to be one helluva night. That OG soundtrack includes Black Sabbath, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Soundgarden, Ugly Kid Joe, Temper of the Dog and, yes, Alice Cooper. We're not worthy. Party time, excellent.
No one ever needs an excuse to escape their daily routines with a stint of mini golf, ten-pin bowling, laser tag or karaoke, but on Tuesday, September 6, Funlab's venues are giving you a mighty great reason to anyway. That's when the company's Day of Fun rolls around for 2022, and lets you get putting, rolling, shooting, singing and puzzle-solving for $5 a pop — all to help Headspace National Youth Mental Health Foundation. All day at its 14 locations across Melbourne (and 54 Australia-wide), Funlab will donate all of its proceeds to the charity, which provides early-intervention mental health services to 12–25 year olds across Australia. So, you'll be aiding your own headspace — tap, tap, tapping your way around an indoor mini golf course will do that, for instance — and also showing some love to a great cause. Funlab's Melbourne sites include multiple Holey Moley and Strike Bowling joints, plus Archie Brothers — and the $5 deal covers bowling, darts, laser tag, escape rooms, karaoke, an hour of games and nine holes of golf (all at $5 per activity). Booking in advance is recommended. Obviously, if you'd like to add a few drinks — these venues serve plenty — that'll cost you extra. [caption id="attachment_681171" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Trent van der Jagt[/caption]
Murder-mystery Only the Animals begins with a killer opening image: of a live goat being worn like a backpack. The animal is slung over the shoulders of a cyclist as he rides through the streets of the Côte d'Ivoire city of Abidjan, and the unique picture that results instantly grabs attention — for viewers, even if it doesn't appear to interest anyone in the vicinity on-screen. This French-language thriller doesn't explain its attention-grabbing sight straight up, though. Instead, it jumps over to the Causse Mejean limestone plateau in southern France, where snow blankets the UNESCO World Heritage-listed site and — unrelated to the weather — a number of locals are icily unhappy. Indeed, farmer Michel (Denis Ménochet, Custody), his insurance agent wife Alice (Laure Calamy, Call My Agent!) and Joseph (Damien Bonnard, Dunkirk), one of her clients, are all far from content before word spreads of a shock death in the area; however, the news has implications for all three. Doing house calls is part of Alice's job in her small, close-knit community, and it sees her embarking upon an affair with the awkward Joseph, who has shut himself off from everything beyond his property after mother passed away a year prior. The surly Michel barely seems bothered about his marriage or its possible downfall, spending all his time in the office attached to his cattle-feeding shed ostensibly working on the farm's accounts. Adapting the novel Seules Les Bêtes by Colin Niel, writer/director Dominik Moll (News from Planet Mars) and his frequent co-screenwriter Gilles Marchand switch between Only the Animals' characters and relay the details from their perspectives. First, Alice's take on the situation graces the screen. Next, it's Joseph's turn. Waitress Marion (Nadia Tereszkiewicz, The Dancer) earns the third chapter, which charts her hot-and-heavy rendezvous with Evelyne (Valeria Bruni Tedeschi, Let the Sunshine In), the woman who'll turn up dead — while the final and longest segment belongs to Armand (debutant Guy Roger 'Bibisse' N'Drin), without the goat, as he tries to catfish his way to riches, success and the girl of his dreams. A whodunnit, Only the Animals tasks its audience members with sleuthing their way through its fractured tale, all to discover who is responsible for Evelyne's demise and why. Thanks to its multiple parts, it also gets viewers guessing about events that initially appear unrelated, and how they'll end up linking into the broader story. But the film is filled with other questions, too, ruminating on the primal nature of love and pondering the ways in which pursuing it — or chasing a mere moment, however fleeting, with someone else — can lead down immensely complicated paths. It's here that Only the Animals' narrative structure proves more than just a way to make its plot seem more complex. That can happen with nonlinear yarns; try as many of them might, they can't all be Rashomon, the Akira Kurosawa-directed 1950 Japanese masterpiece that has become a shorthand term for movies with narratives unfurled from different but overlapping viewpoints. As effectively as Moll maintains the tension throughout the film — and keeps his viewers wondering, even as its strands start to converge — Only the Animals isn't Rashomon, either. No other movie is. Still, as the feature's four segments chronicle its characters' varying quests to connect, each one builds upon its predecessors in both a storytelling and an emotional sense. Piece by piece and layer by layer, Only the Animals' chapters combine to paint an intricate and involving portrait of potential, waning, stolen and fake romances, and of the ways in which the decisions of any one person can end up impacting others. Realising that almost everyone always acts in their own self-interest, regardless of whether they're pursuing a grand romance or just a brief fling with someone else, couldn't be more crucial. So is knowing the bliss that can spring when it feels like someone truly sees you, and how that sensation can inspire bold choices and terrible decisions alike (including seeking out the help of a gangster shaman, the film's weakest inclusion). Back in 2000, Moll made a splash with darkly comic thriller Harry, He's Here to Help — and while there are few laughs to be had in Only the Animals, a twisty tone still shines through. The film's plot developments and vignette-esque portions aren't the only elements that leap in sudden directions; love can be strained, strange, glorious and desperate here, for instance, and the movie's impressive actors all engagingly convey a wide range of feelings and reactions, including when only actions rather than words suit. That said, it just might be Moll's use of Benedikt Schiefer's (Exile) enticingly twinkling soundtrack against cinematographer Patrick Ghiringhelli's (Eden) naturally lit, cool-hued imagery that sums up the film best. Only the Animals doesn't just unravel a mystery, or several, but also recognises that sometimes enigmas and uncertainties arise simply because different things clash together and no one is quite prepared for the aftermath. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B5Fr1M2fjY0&t=26s
Enjoying a glass of wine might come with plenty of medical benefits, but having a tipple isn't typically an exercise-heavy pastime. You sit. You drink. You get up, top up your beverage and repeat. You usually don't walk particularly far, let alone run. Then came the Grapest 5K run, a series of wine-tasting fun runs that kicked off around Australia a few years back. Asking participants to put in the hard yards before getting some boozy rewards, it was such a hit that it has kept returning — and yes, it's coming back for another round in 2021. How does it work? Grapest consists of two sections. First, you sprint, jog or set forth at whatever pace suits you best, making your way through scenic vineyard surroundings. Then, you walk another kilometre — yes, in addition to the first five, or ten if you're feeling extra energetic — while stopping at tasting stations along the way and sampling the good stuff. The latter part, they're calling a "wine waddle". Don't worry, if you're not up to the active stuff and you're simply keen on wandering and sipping, that's an option (although it does defeat the idea of combining fitness with throwing back drinks). So is enjoying three hours of live entertainment without running or drinking. Whichever you choose, 2021's event is scheduled for Saturday, May 1 at Leura Park Estate in Geelong.
UPDATE, April 9, 2021: Chaos Walking is available to stream via Google Play, YouTube Movies, iTunes and Amazon Video. From battles in a galaxy far, far away to caped crusaders trying to save the day, cinema's big franchises currently dominate popular culture. They spark months of anticipation before each new film hits screens, top the box office, inspire constant chatter year-round and have even begun to sink their teeth into TV. And, they influence how audiences see other features, too — because watching almost any flick at present involves spotting cast members from Hollywood's ongoing blockbuster sagas. In Chaos Walking's case, for instance, the most recent Spider-Man finds his life disrupted when Star Wars' latest heroine crash-lands on his planet. In the tense aftermath, another Star Wars alumni and an Alien franchise veteran are involved, as is an actor with ties to Star Wars and Marvel, and an upcoming role in the Harry Potter realm. Boiling a feature down to the film behemoths also on its stars' resumes is simplistic, but it's a movie marketer's dream, with the powers-that-be hoping their talent will bring their existing aficionados with them. Here, it's also the most interesting thing about this tedious and generic space western. Adapted from the book series of the same name, Chaos Walking has weathered a difficult path to cinemas. It releases ten years after the rights to turn Patrick Ness' novels into films were first acquired, four years since the movie was originally shot and two years after major reshoots following unfavourable test screenings. The feature went through a plethora of rewrites, with I'm Thinking of Ending Things' Charlie Kaufman on scripting duties at one point, and Ness (A Monster Calls) and Spider-Man: Homecoming's Christopher Ford getting the final credit. Navigating such a mess rarely bodes well for a movie, so the fact that Chaos Walking proves dull and derivative shouldn't come as a surprise. It's hard to see how it might've fared better, though, with its premise an instant struggle. Set in 2257, the film follows colonists from earth on a planet called New World, who are plagued by a strange phenomenon. A multi-coloured haze hovers around men's heads — and only men — showing their every thought. The sensation has been dubbed 'the noise', and experiencing it while watching sure is rackety. In his pioneer village, teenager Todd (Tom Holland, The Devil All the Time) can rarely control his noise. While the Mayor (Mads Mikkelsen, Another Round) is able to filter the words and images that project from his mind — and also rock a furry red coat and wide-brimmed hat far better than anyone should — few others have the same ability. Seeing what everyone is thinking is a tricky way to live at the best of times, and it applies to the entire population, because women have been wiped out in a war attributed to the planet's original inhabitants. But Todd's troubles multiply when he discovers a spaceship, as well as Viola (Daisy Ridley, Star Wars: Episode IX — The Rise of Skywalker), its sole surviving occupant. The mayor and his followers don't take kindly to the first female in their midst for years; however, supported by his adoptive fathers Ben (Demian Bichir, The Midnight Sky) and Cillian (Sons of Anarchy creator Kurt Sutter), Todd isn't willing to surrender the only girl he's ever seen to an angry mob. On the page, the Chaos Walking series dates back to 2008, when first instalment The Knife of Never Letting Go hit bookshelves — but its tale of toxic masculinity feels timely in the current social, political and cultural climate. That said, this isn't a complex, layered or thoughtful film. Instead, it's content to stress its themes in such a broad and easy manner that getting Holland to hold up a sign saying "the patriarchy is bad" would've been more subtle. Cue one-note villains, including Mikkelsen's mayor and David Oyelowo (another The Midnight Sky cast member) as a cartoonishly frenzied preacher. Cue Todd's self-reprimands to "be a man", too. There's no faulting the underlying idea that constantly enforcing stereotypical visions of manhood has damaging consequences, and that the behaviour it inspires (and the sense of entitlement that goes with it) is dangerous and destructive. But Chaos Walking really just uses these notions as a backdrop for a predictable and formulaic dystopian story, and as a handy reason to motivate its conflicts. As told here, the material is so thin and blunt — and so desperately endeavouring to set up a Hunger Games-esque franchise — that thinking about Holland, Ridley and their co-stars' roles elsewhere comes naturally. The awkwardness that has served Holland so well as Spider-Man peeks through, and Ridley's Star Wars steeliness is on full display, but neither actor is ever tasked with extending their talents. Mikkelsen, Oyelowo and Bichir are only asked to hit one note (nefarious, maniacal and caring, respectively), while Cynthia Erivo (The Outsider) is criminally underused. With all that distracting and frustrating noise literally hanging around and screaming for attention, it's hard for anyone to stand out. It's harder still in a movie that plays like a hodgepodge of far better sci-fi and western fare. Just try to see the orange suspenders that Ridley sports in the second half — or realise that this is a flick about a woman falling out of the sky and into a man's life, who then has to protect her on her quest to save the world as everyone knows it — and not wish you were watching The Fifth Element instead. He has Swingers, Go, Mr and Mrs Smith and American Made to his name, but filmmaker Doug Liman is no stranger to helming movies that recall 90s greats. While Edge of Tomorrow instantly impressed for many reasons, using time-loop trickery in a smart action flick and never just feeling like a cheap Groundhog Day ripoff was chief among them. Sadly, Liman doesn't have the same luck with Chaos Walking. Even its busy chase and fight scenes are a slog, although the feature's frontier-town production design and clever visual use of a buried spaceship do catch the eye. As for everything else, 'noise' is the absolute right word for it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ICPoXlmTO0
Fond of Betty's Burgers and its Shake Shack-style burgs? Keen to share the love with someone you love? On Thursday, May 5, the chain of eateries wants Melburnians to come in for a bite — and to bring their besties in as well. To mark the 2022 return of Betty's Bestie Day, the brand's Melbourne joints will be serving up two-for-one burgers all day long. Pay $11.50 for a Betty's Classic — which stacks angus beef, lettuce, tomato, onion, cheese and Betty's special sauce on a soft bun — and you'll score a pair of them. The offer also applies to Betty's Crispy Chicken Supreme burgers ($15.50) and the Betty's Classic Vegan burg ($14); however, whichever you pick, you both have to get the same one. If you're already salivating, make plans to head to one of Betty's Melbourne stores — including at Elizabeth Street, Exhibition Street and Windsor. Again, the two-for-one deal is available all day. It's also on offer via dining in and takeaway, too. So, if you and your favourite fellow burger fiend are especially eager, you could always hit up one for lunch and another for dinner.
Heading to the cinema has never just been about staring at a big screen. That's one key — and glorious — part of the equation, but discovering new things while being transported to different corners of the globe is just as important. It's pivotal at Melbourne's Human Rights Arts and Film Festival, in fact, with the long-running event taking the medium's eye-opening potential as seriously as it can. On the fest's lineup each year: flicks that engage with human rights issues, alongside a lineup of art, music and talks that does the same thing. From Thursday, April 28–Saturday, May 7, HRAFF will start unfurling its 2022 program — and, spanning 21 events across seven venues during its ten-day run, it's quite the lineup. It all kicks off with opening-night pick Dear Future Children, a documentary focused on activists from Hong Kong, Uganda and Chile who are fighting to improve — and save — their futures. From there, highlights include Oscar nominees, New Zealand standouts, simmering Aussie docos and much more. Among those must-sees sits Writing with Fire, a contender for Best Documentary Feature at this year's Academy Awards, which hones in on the journalists behind India's all-female news network Khabar Lahariya; three-time Oscar nominee Flee, a stunning animated documentary about an Afghan refugee's life story; Eva Orner's searing 2021 doco Burning, which doesn't hold back in its scorching examination of Australia's 2019–20 Black Summer bushfires; and fellow homegrown effort River, a lyrical look at the planet's sprawling waterways as narrated by Willem Dafoe. There's also: NZ duo Cousins and Night Raiders, the former about the nation's history of removing Indigenous people from their land and culture, and the latter a dystopian sci-fi executive produced by Taika Waititi; the Bronx-set Queen of Glory, about a Ghanian American academic dealing with the fallout from her mother's passing; and the first Tunisian film to be nominated for the Oscar for Best International Feature, wild art-world satire The Man Who Sold His Skin. And, closing out the film program is Fanny: The Right To Rock, about one of the first all-female bands to release an album in the US. Other key parts of the festival include interactive storytelling and cooking sessions, several lineups of shorts — homegrown, feminist and flicks about interconnection — and a photography event that links in with international photography festival PHOTO 2022.
Whether you're wearied by the past 14 months or so, or you're just an avid movie buff all-year-round, everyone could use a dose of big-screen escapism every now and then. That's on offer every day of the week at the Classic, Lido and Cameo cinemas, of course, but between Thursday, May 20–Wednesday, May 26 it'll only cost you $5. Yes, that's a mighty cheap price for a trip to the movies, and it means that you can even treat your bestie, date or mum to a flick and pay just ten dollars for both of you. Some of the films you'll be able to catch during the week include Best Picture Oscar-winner Nomadland, Chris Rock-starring horror sequel Spiral: From the Book of Saw, and Angelina Jolie's return to the silver screen in Those Who Wish Me Dead. Or, you can check out Carey Mulligan's fierce performance in Promising Young Woman, enjoy the intimate family tale that Minari so engagingly plants, and see Anthony Hopkins deal with dementia in The Father — then watch Stanley Tucci do the same in Supernova. And, although A Quiet Place Part II doesn't officially release until Thursday, May 27, the three cinemas are hosting sneak peeks over the coming weekend — and they are actually included in the $5 deal. Otherwise, the $5 tickets are available at all regular sessions across the seven days — other than previews, special events, retro films, and sessions at Classic Rooftop Cinema, Lido on the Roof and Cameo Outdoor Cinema. To book your $5 tickets, just head to the Classic, Lido and Cameo cinema websites. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Id00Eq1j8M4
UPDATE, May 29, 2021: With Victoria in lockdown, the St Kilda Film Festival isn't hosting any physical screenings on its final day — but you can watch Australia's Top 100 short films for free online until 11.59pm today, Saturday, May 29. You'll find big things in small packages at the St Kilda Film Festival this year. That's true every year — even last year, during lockdown — but you'll also find some changes on this year's program as well. Australia's oldest short film festival, the massive event will once again physically descend upon St Kilda in 2021; however, as it did in 2020, the lineup is also jumping online and screening to movie buffs nationally. The hybrid version of the festival will still showcase works by some of the best up-and-coming filmmakers in the country, which you can watch at 11 physical events or via 15 digital sessions. Running from Thursday, May 20–Saturday, May 29, it all kicks off with opening night at The Astor Theatre, then gives student animation, family-friendly animation, Victorian-made shorts, women filmmakers and directors under the age of 21 their time to shine at ticketed screenings. As always, the backbone of the festival is Australia's Top 100, featuring filmmakers from every corner of the country competing for prizes. You can view these short flicks online this year — and for free — as broken down into themed packages. The Australian Animation Showcase highlights Aussie animation, 'Dark Matter' showcases horror, thriller and dystopian tales, 'Suburban Keyholes' is all about life in the suburbs and 'Age of Innocence' focuses on coming-of-age stories, for instance. Image: Jim Lee
Across the first two months of winter — from Tuesday, June 1–Sunday, August 1, to be exact — El Camino Cantina will be pouring soft drink-inspired margaritas across all of its venues, including in Fitzroy in Melbourne. Looking for something to pair with your creaming soda- or Mountain Dew-flavoured marg? We're guessing that salt and vinegar chicken wings will definitely do the trick. Over the same period, the Tex-Mex chain is also hosting a chicken wing festival called King of the Wing. Ten new flavours and rubs will grace the menu, including everything from chicken salt and mango habanero to teriyaki and nacho cheese. Most days, you'll nab a basket of wings in your chosen flavour, served with blue cheese mayonnaise, for $18. Wednesdays have something extra in store, however. That's ten-cent wing day, with a different King of the Wing flavour on offer each week — if you and your budget-conscious pals need an excuse to head along more than once.
Looking for new threads? Sure, you can head to plenty of markets around town and trawl through food, homeware and other objects, or you can mosey along to Melbourne's dedicated ladies fashion get-together. Round She Goes does one thing, and it does it well. If it's clothing, accessories and jewellery you're after, you'll find it here. Filled with preloved designer and vintage fare, the one-day happening is back for 2021, taking over Coburg Town Hall — both the main hall and the concert hall, for extra space in these pandemic-era times — from 10am–3pm on Sunday, May 20. Expect a heap of stalls, all specially curated by organisers to deliver reasonably priced, high-quality bits and pieces, and ranging from beloved brands to handmade items to clear-outs by some of Melbourne's most fashionable women. Entry costs $4, and when you're finding that shiny gold coin to get you in the door, make sure you did up some other cash as well. Cold, hard currency is preferred here, and parting with it will be worth it. Your wardrobe will thank you for it.
9 to 5 and Working Girl hail from the genre. Everything from Office Space to The Assistant do, too. But films about working in offices, TPS reports and navigating the desk-based daily grind might eventually become a dying breed or a nostalgic retro curiosity. Because art always mirrors life, the gig economy may swoop in and draw the silver screen's focus instead. Sorry We Missed You already has in a resonant warts-and-all manner, and Lapsis now endeavours to do the same via a smart and searing sci-fi satire. There's much to ponder, probe and dissect about the mode of employment that's becoming the status quo, after all, and that isn't bound to change as it spreads and grows. Corporations don't just dictate workers' behaviour during office hours now, supplying a reliable wage and perks such as holiday and sick leave in return. Attempting to monopolise entire fields such as food and package delivery, transportation and caregiving, big companies (you know the ones) hire independent contractors, scrap the benefits, and keep them toiling on-demand or on-call just to earn the bare minimum. This new kind of technology-driven rat race has been normalised, and quickly — and what it means for the labour force, employment, capitalism, corporate greed, class structures and basic human rights demands to be interrogated in thousands of movies as sharp and scathing as this one. In Lapsis and its alternative vision of New York, quantum computing is the next big thing. It requires a network of giant metallic cubes connected via thick black wires, with stringing them together the gig economy's new growth area. It's such an in-demand field and so lucrative for workers, in fact, that cablers can earn thousands of dollars just for a weekend's work. They can also pay off their mortgages within months — if the advertisements spruiking the supposed new employment dream can be trusted, that is. Technology-phobic delivery driver Ray Tincelli (first-timer Dean Imperial) is sceptical, so much so that he won't even use a quantum computer himself, even though they're essential to viewing up-to-date websites and just generally existing in Lapsis' parallel world. But his unwell brother Jamie (fellow debutant Babe Howard) suffers from a pervasive form of exhaustion called omnia, and requires expensive medical treatment. After finding a way into the cabling industry via acquaintance Felix (James McDaniel, The Deuce), Ray's need to make a quick stash of hefty cash quickly overrides his misgivings. Ray doesn't drop his distrust of quantum computing and everything associated with it, of course. But, in trying to pay for medical care and just generally make enough money to get by, he's willing to compromise his ideals out of necessity — or he's forced to, really, given that he doesn't have any other options to take care of his brother and boost his finances. In choosing these motivations to drive his protagonist, writer/director Noah Hutton quickly taps into, caricatures and scratches away at the US today. Helming his first fictional feature after a decade of documentaries, including two about the oil industry, he keeps digging his claws into a society that treats health care as an optional extra for anyone who isn't wealthy, and thinks that basically working yourself to death is just how life should be if you haven't been successful enough in chasing the so-called American Dream. All of this pointed commentary exists in Lapsis' premise, and the deeper it dives into the cabling world, the more biting the film becomes. Hutton is playful, parodying the reality he's drawing upon, but he still sinks his teeth in — and hard. As Ray quickly learns, his new form of employment involves hiking through gorgeously leafy surroundings to get from cube to cube, all while wheeling a cart between his magnetic start and end points. While the terrain is bumpy, the job sounds straightforward and even leisurely and enjoyable, but it definitely isn't. Different routes pay more than others, getting lucrative gigs isn't easy unless you've been at it for years, and competition is fierce between cablers. Also complicating matters: robotic carts that scurry along day and night, and can steal routes from humans by overtaking them. By design, they push flesh-and-blood cablers to work harder — or risk expending all that effort for absolutely nothing. Then there's the fact that when Ray checks in on the trail, using the medallion he's been given, it flashes up the name 'Lapsis Beeftech'. That moniker instantly inspires scorn from his fellow workers, with only acerbic experienced cabler Anna (Madeline Wise, Crashing) willing to explain why. She also talks Ray through exactly what he's gotten himself into, how the companies behind the job treat their contractors, the pushback during past attempts at unionisation and the small ways that cablers can get the upper hand over their mechanical adversaries. Savaging both expensive and quack medical treatments as well — and the fact that they're the types that largely garner attention — Lapsis is undeniably dense in ideas. That said, it's never overstuffed or overcomplicated, and it doesn't spread its many insights and statements too thin. Indeed, as both a screenwriter and a visual storyteller, Hutton keeps striking a perfect balance. He layers his film with reflections upon much about work in the 21st century. He spins an involving dystopian tale, too. And, he doesn't let either the feature's loaded commentary or its involving world-building feel like it's dragging the other along with it, or dragging it down for that matter. Stepping into a high-tech world with a low-fi (and low-budget) approach, Lapsis' analogies might be clearcut, but they're meant to be. Like Sorry to Bother You, one of the other excellent movies of the past few years that tore strips off of so much that we've come to accept as standard, this is a shrewd film that's direct about its targets at every turn. It's also savvily crafted, stems from clear anger and overflows with surprises. The engaging cast, including the wily Imperial, is one such unexpected gem — and so is this astute, complex and compelling delight itself, including in its memorable final stretch.
UPDATE, November 25, 2021: Due to Melbourne's lockdown, Static Vision didn't take place in July as originally planned, and will now run from Thursday, November 25–Sunday, November 28. This article has been updated to reflect that change. Sydney film collective Static Vision has hosted two physical film festivals in Sydney — but it isn't limiting its cinephilia to just one city. Coming to Melbourne's Lido Cinemas from Thursday, November 25–Sunday, November 28, it's getting dreamy, too, via a four-day program that's all about imagined worlds, fantastical visions and the places we journey to when we slumber. Dreamscapes: A Static Vision Film Festival kicks off with a 15th-anniversary screening of Satoshi Kon's Paprika — which is the type of movie absolutely everyone needs to see at least once on a big screen. The premise: in the near future, a device lets a therapist enter patients' dreams. And yes, you now know where Inception got its inspiration. Other highlights: documentary Ecstasy, which features music by David Lynch and Lykke Li; Slow Machine, about an actress who meets a NYPD counter-terrorism specialist; Window Boy Would Also Like to Have a Submarine, which plays with magical portals; and Dreaming Under Capitalism, an experimental doco that tasks 12 people with remembering and analysing their dreams about work. The sublime Waking Life has the honour of closing out the program, with Richard Linklater's Ethan Hawke, Julie Delpy and Wiley Wiggins-starring animated film marking its 20th anniversary. Shorts films will also grace Dreamscapes' screens, because dreamy movies don't just come in big packages. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBrUhQ0_qYA
Talented pooches have been barking their way to big screen stardom since the birth of the medium, and Cannes Film Festival even gives out awards for ace pupper performances. In Australia for a few years now, we also celebrate the intersection of canines and cinema — via our very own dog-themed movie showcase. At the Top Dog Film Festival, doggos and puppers cement their status as humanity's favourite film stars in a touring program of pooch-centric shorts. For more than two hours, dogs will leap across screens in a curated selection of heartwarming flicks about humanity's best friend. Over the last few years, the lineup has included films about dog-powered sports, dogs in space, dogs hiking through the desert, senior dogs and more. The festival hits Melbourne's Village Crown Cinemas on Tuesday, July 27 and The Astor Theatre on Wednesday, July 28 as part of its 2021 run, and rushing after tickets the way your best four-legged friend rushes after a frisbee is recommended. Given how much we all love watching dog videos online, not to mention attending pupper-centric shindigs in general, this event is certain to be popular. You'd be barking mad to miss it, obviously.
A twisty tale of high-stakes British espionage — one that spans secret identities, torrid affairs, country-hopping missions and a world-in-peril situation, too — Operation Mincemeat desperately wants its audience to know about its 007 ties. When it introduces a man by the name of Ian Fleming (Johnny Flynn, The Dig), it lets the moment linger. It drops more than a few mentions of his fondness for writing about spy intrigue as well. And, when he refers to his boss Admiral John Godfrey (Jason Isaacs, Streamline) as M, the film even has him explain why. Fleming is also the movie's narrator, literally spinning a cloak-and-dagger story from the get-go. Plus, seeing him tapping away at a typewriter is a common image. Every single touch forms part of the feature's warm, well-meaning nod to the Bond, James Bond author's early years; however, it's also a tad distracting and unnecessary. Fleming is immersed in the IRL covert mission that Operation Mincemeat explores, and removing him would've been inaccurate, but the details themselves are fascinating enough without getting viewers thinking about tuxedos and shaken-not-stirred martinis. Operation Mincemeat is a war film, set in the darkening days of 1943. It's also just as much a heist film. Whether you've only ever seen one Ocean's flick, have memorised every single word of Reservoir Dogs, or loved Baby Driver or Widows in recent years, if you've seen one caper movie you know the setup: gather a gang together, work out the nitty gritty of a bold but tricky plan, endeavour to put the scheme into action, then weather whatever comes (be it success, failure or a bit of both). Adapting Ben Macintyre's book, which also spawned a 2010 documentary, screenwriter Michelle Ashford (Masters of Sex) is well aware of this formula. With director John Madden (Miss Sloane) behind the lens, Operation Mincemeat doesn't shy away from all of the heist basics for a second. But as with all the gratuitous Bond nods, a cracking real-life tale remains a cracking real-life tale — the kind that no one, not even Fleming, could convincingly make up. The titular gambit came about as much of the Allies' efforts in World War II did: as an effort to do whatever was needed to defeat Hitler. Britain needed to make its way into occupied Europe, but everyone involved knew it — including the Germans — ensuring that any standard move would've been oh-so-easy for the Nazis to predict. Enter the operation that might've been codenamed 'Trojan Horse', except that that label would've been much too obvious. The plan: getting documents about the Allies' purported and wholly fictional scheme to invade Greece to their enemies, misdirecting them, so that the invasion of Sicily could proceed with little resistance. The crucial detail: drifting those papers into Spain, where they could be reasonably expected to end up in German hands, by placing them with a corpse dressed up to look like a British military officer. Making that ruse stick — ensuring that the Nazis didn't smell a plant, specifically — was never going to be a straightforward move. It's one thing to nail the logistics of transporting the cadaver and its faux materials to the right place, and another completely to find a body that works, forge all the necessary documentation and build up a backstory so believable that it'd stand up to enemy scrutiny. As a result, Godfrey isn't keen on the operation, which was reportedly conjured up by Fleming, but it still gets the go-ahead anyway. Tasked with both fleshing and carrying it out are Naval Intelligence officers Ewen Montagu (Colin Firth, Supernova) and Charles Cholmondeley (Matthew Macfadyen, Succession), who amass a team of helpers including Fleming, Montagu's trusty chief secretary Hester Leggett (Penelope Wilton, Downton Abbey: A New Era), plus MI5 clerk Jean Leslie (Kelly Macdonald, Line of Duty). No heist plot ever sounds as exciting as it is when boiled down to a big-picture overview, and that's true of Operation Mincemeat. It's thrilling on-screen, though, including when it dives into the tiniest of gripping specifics. Don't trust anyone who tells you they lack attention to detail and don't care otherwise; when the minutiae is this compelling, focusing on every decision made, each item required, and every possible setback and struggle flows swiftly and easily. Body decomposition rates and submarine routes prove both essential and captivating, but it's the quest to establish the fictitious Major William Martin's personal life that's even more engrossing. That's how the widowed Jean comes into the narrative, and how the best of the movie's subplots starts to unfurl, with Cholmondeley sporting a crush but the married Montagu striking up a rapport instead. Another narrative thread, this time about Godfrey's suspicions that Montagu's dilettante brother Ivor (Mark Gatiss, The Father) might be a Communist sympathiser, is far less critical. Operation Mincemeat is a saggier movie with it included — but rolling out a ripping true tale, then occasionally bogging it down needlessly, is this spy caper's approach from start to finish. Thankfully, courtesy of Ashford's witty scripting and Madden's snappy helming, the handsomely shot feature always remains solid enough to mostly float rather than drag. And it does look the polished period- and mood-appropriate picture, too — with help from cinematographer Sebastian Blenkov, who managed the same with 2016's Their Finest — and engagingly balances its dark hues and dripping tension with cosy "keep calm and carry on"-style determination. Still, it's easy to wonder if Operation Mincemeat would've come together as skilfully as it has — aside from its few soggier inclusions — with any other cast. Enlisting men who've played romantic leads in Jane Austen adaptations works out nicely, spanning Firth and Macfadyen (Pride & Prejudice's Mr Darcy on TV and in film, respectively) as well as Flynn (Emma's Mr Knightley); silent yearning is silent yearning, whether over matters of the heart or for one's country and its success in global conflict. Macdonald is also as delightful as ever, and handles the love-triangle subplot with the grace and emotion it calls for. Indeed, it too might've felt superfluous if it wasn't so sincere, and didn't offer a lower-stakes example of the deceptions people spin and cling to — and the fictions they happily escape into — to keep buoyant. In fact, if viewers needed any other proof that this definitely isn't a Bond movie and really didn't need to emphasise its links to 007 so forcefully, unpeeling Operation Mincemeat's layers makes it as clear as a gleaming Aston Martin's bulletproof glass.
