Some people love Christmas. Others adore winter. Easter's excuse to eat chocolate also has its fans. But if you like all things spooky and scary — if you know your Michael Myers from your Jason Voorhees, too — then October is the happiest time of each and every year, even though it's also the creepiest. Leaning into the unsettling season in a big way: The Astor Theatre, which is dedicating the month to eerie flicks. Horror movie diehards will find unnerving classics new and old on the lineup throughout Shocktober. Some of the program's titles you will have seen countless times. You might've always meant to get around to others. Or, maybe you just haven't had the chance to enjoy a few of these flicks on the big screen — let alone the Chapel Street picture palace's screen — just yet. As packed into single sessions, doubles, triples and a few marathons, highlights include The Fly with The Omen, The Wicker Man paired with Don't Look Now, sinking the fangs into The Hunger (complete with David Bowie) and Blade, and the eerie dream duo that is The Shining and Doctor Sleep. While there isn't necessarily a showing every day of the month, there's more than enough on the bill to make up for the horror film-free days before Tuesday, October 31. Think: Friday the 13th (yes, on the right date), Night of the Living Dead, The Haunting, Possession, The Nightmare Before Christmas, the OG Candyman, The Thing with Videodrome, Mulholland Drive and The Others as well. If you like watching a whole lot of scary movies at once, this year's marathons span the Scream franchise and an all-night ode to Halloween director John Carpenter. Then, on the big date itself, capping off the lineup: a 50th-anniversary session of William Friedkin's horror masterpiece The Exorcist.
If saying farewell to winter always puts you in the mood to spring clean your thinking and soak up some fresh ideas, then The Wheeler Centre's returning festival is one to add to your calendar — again. The literary hub's celebration of words and ideas that is Spring Fling first debuted in 2022, and is back again for 2023 across Monday, October 2–Saturday, October 14. As always, it's got a sparkling lineup of local and international authors, actors, musicians, thinkers and other talents in tow. Among the exciting figures who'll be chatting is Irish author Caroline O'Donoghue, who has both The Rachel Incident and podcast Sentimental Garbage to dive into; 2023 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction winner Hernan Diaz, with Trust and money his topics of conversation; and Looking for Alibrandi star Pia Miranda, fresh from popping up in Aunty Donna's Coffee Cafe, to talk through her life and career. The festival program spans more than 20 events, hitting venues such as The Wheeler Centre itself, Melbourne Town Hall and The Edge at Fed Square. Also on the bill: Boy Swallows Universe's Trent Dalton, cousins Andrew Quilty and Ben Quilty — who'll be speaking together publicly for the first time, covering creativity — and journalist Leigh Sales. Rebecca Makkai will dive into I Have Some Questions for You; performers Gloria Demillo, Jasper Peach and Nevo Zisin will read queer literature and their own words while literally stripped bare to muse on vulnerability; and Amie Kaufman and Lili Wilkinson will explore the YA realm. In the podcast space, O'Donoghue will be recording Sentimental Garbage live, while Jen Cloher will do the same with Everybody's Trying To Find Their Way Home.
Writing a prescient tale is the science-fiction holy grail, and a feat that Philip K Dick firmly achieved. Making a movie that becomes the prevailing vision of what the future might look like in the entire world's minds? That's a stunning filmmaking feat, and one that Ridley Scott notched up as well. The reason for both? On the page, 1968's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?. In cinemas, 1982's Blade Runner. And if you need reminding of how stunning a story that the iconic sci-fi author penned, or how spectacular a film that the legendary director then turned it into, look no further than Blade Runner's return to the big screen — with a live score. When Dick pondered the difference between humans and artificial intelligence more than half a century back, he peered forward with revelatory foresight. When Scott followed fresh from Alien, he did the same. Now, with the clash between the organic and the digital a daily part of our lives in this ChatGPT-heavy reality, of course it's time for Blade Runner to flicker again. Film lovers, get ready for another dream movie-and-music pairing. Get ready for synths, too. Vangelis' stunning score will echo as Scott's feature screens in at Melbourne's Hamer Hall on Saturday, November 4–Sunday, November 5 for Blade Runner Live — an event that premiered in London in 2019, made its way around the UK, then hit Japan earlier in 2023. This session will screen the Final Cut version of the movie. Wondering how it differs from the OG release, and also the House of Gucci, The Last Duel and Napoleon filmmaker's Director's Cut? First unveiled in 2007 for the feature's 25th anniversary, it's the only version that Scott truly had full artistic control over. Blade Runner's narrative, if you're new to the franchise — which also includes exceptional 2017 sequel Blade Runner 2049 and recent animated series Blade Runner: Black Lotus, with a new Blade Runner TV series also on the way — focuses on the one and only Harrison Ford (Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny) as cop Rick Deckard. His task: finding replicants, aka androids, which turns into quite the existential journey. It's almost impossible to name a movie or TV series in sci-fi that's popped up over the four decades since Blade Runner first arrived that hasn't owed Scott's film a massive debt — and any synthesiser-fuelled score that hasn't done the same with Vangelis.
We did it Melbourne. We braved another winter, and spring is now well and truly in the air. T-shirts and shorts are back on the menu (okay maybe not every day), and we are all outside again. 'Tis the weather to be biking — and, lucky you, 'tis the season for a Lekker garage sale. From 9am–4.30pm on Saturday, September 23, the Dutch bike brand will offer huge discounts on a range of bikes — with its range including city bikes, commuter bikes and electric bikes — as well as accessories and spare parts. Some bikes will be up to half price, with prices from $600. So, if you're looking for a new set of wheels, this is the perfect opportunity to snap up a bargain. But it's not just about the bikes. There'll be plant-based food from Purple Rabbit on offer, a DJ set from ETRO and a raffle with prizes from Bodhi & Ride. Don't risk a sleep-in, though — Lekker's past sales have seen pretty hefty lines of punters keen for those bicycle bargains and you don't want to miss out.
The art world's love affair with Andy Warhol has lasted far longer than 15 minutes. Australia's fondness for the iconic artist definitely hasn't been fleeting, either. In 2023 alone, not one, not two, but three different exhibitions Down Under have celebrated his work; however, only Instant Warhol is solely dedicated to his skills with a polaroid camera. On the Gold Coast in autumn, Pop Masters highlighted Warhol's pieces alongside works by Jean-Michel Basquiat and Keith Haring. In Adelaide around the same period, Andy Warhol & Photography: A Social Media honed in on the artist as a shutterbug. Obviously, Instant Warhol has the same idea as the latter, but it will only be filled with polaroid portraits — 59 of them. This time, Warhol's work is headed to Ballarat, displaying from Saturday, August 26–Sunday, October 22 at the Art Gallery of Ballarat during the Ballarat International Foto Biennale. The regional Victorian photography festival is never short on things to see, but Instant Warhol is quite the drawcard for the biannual event. [caption id="attachment_906816" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Andy Warhol self-portrait in drag, 1980. © Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Inc. Artists Rights Society [ARS]/Copyright Agency, 2023.[/caption]The original snaps that Warhol himself took — when he wasn't painting Campbell's soup cans and images of Marilyn Monroe, of course — will be on display. Even if you haven't seen them before, some should be familiar. One of the reasons that the artist captured polaroids, other than loving them, was to turn some of the famous faces he snapped into his screen prints. Drawn from the thousands of photographs he took with the instant cameras between 1958–87, this selection of pictures will also feature images of Warhol himself. They're all coming to Australia thanks to The Brant Foundation, with founder Peter M Brant one of Warhol's early patrons, then a friend, and also the the producer of Warhol's films L'Amour and Bad. [caption id="attachment_906817" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Top image: Andy Warhol, Sylvester Stallone, 1980. © Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Inc. Artists Rights Society [ARS]/Copyright Agency, 2023.[/caption]Top image: Photograph of Andy Warhol taking a polaroid picture while sitting with Jack Ford and Bianca Jagger on the Truman Balcony, U.S. National Archives and Records Administration courtesy Gerald R. Ford Presidential Library via Wikimedia Commons.
When the end of the year hits, do you get 'Christmas is All Around', as sung by Bill Nighy, stuck in your head? Have you ever held up a piece of cardboard to tell the object of your affection that, to you, they're perfect? Does your idea of getting festive involve watching Hugh Grant, Liam Neeson, Colin Firth, Laura Linney, Alan Rickman, Emma Thompson, Keira Knightley, Rowan Atkinson and Martin Freeman, all in the same movie? If you answered yes to any of the above questions, then you clearly adore everyone's favourite Christmas-themed British rom-com, its high-profile cast and its seasonal humour. And, you've probably watched the beloved flick every December since it was first released in cinemas back in 2003. That's a perfectly acceptable routine, and one that's shared by many. But this year, you can do one better — again. A huge success during its past tours of the UK and Australia (to the surprise of absolutely no one), Love Actually in Concert is returning in 2023 to make this festive season extra merry. It's exactly what it sounds like: a screening of the film accompanied by a live orchestra performing the soundtrack as the movie plays. To the jolly delight of Melburnians, it's heading to Hamer Hall at 3.30pm and 7pm on Saturday, December 23. Here, you'll revisit the Richard Curtis-written and -directed film you already know and treasure, step through its interweaved Yuletide stories of romance, and hear a live orchestra play the movie's soundtrack. And, yes, Christmas (and love) will be all around you.
Buzzing at the heart of Blue Beetle are two contrasting notions: fitting in and standing out. Jaime Reyes (Xolo Maridueña, Cobra Kai) wants to feel at home not just in his own slice of El Paso-esque Texan spot Palmera City, but beyond his neighbourhood. When he assists his sister Milagro (Belissa Escobedo, Hocus Pocus 2) working at the well-to-do's houses, he searches for opportunities, especially given that he's in need of a steady job to help his family save their home as gentrification swoops in. Thanks to a run-in with Kord Industries, its warmongering CEO Victoria Kord (Susan Sarandon, Maybe I Do) and an ancient artefact known as the scarab, however, the recent Gotham Law University graduate will soon be his hometown's most distinctive resident. Getting covered in blue armour, being able to fly — wings and other bug appendages come with the suit — and hearing a robotic voice (Becky G, Power Rangers) chatting in your head will do that, as will having a multinational company try to swat you down because it wants to deploy the technology RoboCop-style. So scampers the latest entry in the DC Extended Universe — a movie that grapples with the same concepts as the ever-earnest Jaime beyond its storyline. It slots into its franchise while providing something new 14 entries in, before the DCEU comes to an end with the upcoming Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom (under fresh DC leadership, a different silver-screen saga is coming, which might still link in with Blue Beetle). Directed by Ángel Manuel Soto (Charm City Kings), this is the superhero genre's first live-action flick with a Latino lead, be it from DC or Marvel. It's a family drama as much a caped-crusader affair. It's a story about immigrants striving to thrive and retain their own culture. And, it revels in an 80s sheen and sound. Blue Beetle battles enthusiastically to claim its own space, then, as almost constantly seen and felt. Alas, that doesn't stop it from getting generic as well, as much save-the-world fare is. When it soars in its own direction, Blue Beetle does indeed make an impression. When it marches dutifully in the standard superhero line, it can play like another by-the-numbers movie about great powers and great responsibilities in an ever-sprawling on-screen realm. Mostly, the former outweighs the latter — and Blue Beetle's charms go a long way. Accordingly, this initially made-for-streaming picture serves up a case of taking the struggles with the highlights, which is another of its messages. And there are highlights, particularly whenever Soto's feature feels like it's in a world away from Shazam! Fury of the Gods, The Flash (just to name 2023's other DC movies so far) and the like. That approach worked for Joker and The Batman, two DC films that aren't in the DCEU or new DC Universe, and are each scoring sequels. Jaime's journey to becoming Blue Beetle is instantly familiar: Marvel's also insect-focused Spider-Man and Ant-Man flicks have spun similar origin stories. Here, alien biotech-slash-treasure sparks his big change, as given to him for safekeeping by Victoria's niece Jenny (Bruna Marquezine, God Save the King) because she disagrees with her aunt's combat-for-profit ways. Thanks to Blue Beetle's dedicated, warmhearted embrace of cultural specificity, Jaime's family are always along for the ride, adding a Spy Kids vibe to Soto's film. His mother Rocio (Elpidia Carrillo, Guillermo del Toro's Cabinet of Curiosities), father Alberto (Damián Alcázar, Acapulco), Nana (Adriana Barraza, Penny Dreadful: City of Angels) and uncle Rudy (George Lopez, Lopez vs Lopez), an inventor with a firm individualist streak, are swiftly immersed in the chaos — and Milagro, too — as Victoria keeps valuing the scarab, suit and cash she thinks they'll inspire over any human fallout. Although Blue Beetle has an 84-year history on the page, the eponymous figure's solo live-action cinema debut is as much for newcomers as devotees. Soto's love letter to inclusion isn't only about shining a spotlight on Latinx characters and their experiences, or putting the full Reyes crew at its core — or delivering a clash between the one percent and everyone else, blending the eat-the-rich trend with caped crusaders. It's about accessibility as well; at a time where big film franchises have become so serialised that they're akin to ongoing TV shows on the big screen (and with bigger budgets), and so laden with fan service that the off-screen cheers are virtually choreographed, Blue Beetle doesn't require hours and hours of viewing homework or years and years of devotion to jump in. Again and again, it's plain to see how Soto and screenwriter Gareth Dunnet-Alcocer (Miss Bala) clearly want their feature to stand apart, even when it leans into the superhero template. Also easy to spot: how Blue Beetle would've stuck much closer to the usual mould without such warmth showered upon its characters and its committed performances. Affection goes two ways here, raining down from Soto and Dunnet-Alcocer, then beaming back up from Maridueña and his co-stars. Jaime and his relatives could've stepped into Blue Beetle from a heartfelt TV series that charts the ins and outs of their lives as a loving and hardworking migrant family in a place brimming with prejudice and corruption. They could take the opposite route now instead and it'd feel just as fitting. It's hardly surprising that Sarandon is cartoonish by their side — but, other than giving the plot a threat while personifying corporate and American evil, plus the lust for power and wealth at any cost, she's not being asked to do much else. The respect, detail and authenticity that's evident in Blue Beetle's cultural homage, family focus and casting help give Blue Beetle its gleam. It still becomes a sea of smashed-together pixels late in the piece, though, just with well-portrayed characters that the audience cares about, and also ample splashes of neon and synth like this is Tron with superheroes. What does a twentysomething who's undergone a Peter Parker/Miles Morales-esque life shift with a Venom-meets-Iron Man technology end up physically fighting? Something comparable and visually bland, even if said nemesis gets a backstory rife with suffering at Victoria's hands. Blue Beetle isn't without aesthetic flair beyond its nostalgic riffs, with one scene that's shot to resemble an immigration department raid both grabbing attention and making a statement. It also doesn't lack heart anywhere. And, it's fun with something meaningful to say, neither of which are givens in this genre. That said, finding the balance between being oneself and having another force and its influence flittering around isn't only an issue for Blue Beetle's likeable protagonist.
UPDATE, October 27, 2022: Bodies Bodies Bodies is available to stream via Google Play, YouTube Movies, iView and Prime Video. The internet couldn't have stacked Bodies Bodies Bodies better if it tried, not that that's how the slasher-whodunnit-comedy came about. Pete Davidson (The Suicide Squad) waves a machete around, and his big dick energy, while literally boasting about how he looks like he fucks. Borat Subsequent Moviefilm: Delivery of Prodigious Bribe to American Regime for Make Benefit Once Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan Oscar-nominee Maria Bakalova plays the cautious outsider among rich-kid college grads, who plan to ride out a big storm with drinks and drugs (and drama) in one of their parents' mansions. The Hunger Games and The Hate U Give alum Amandla Stenberg leads the show as the gang's black sheep, turning up unannounced to zero fanfare from her supposed besties, while the rest of the cast spans Shiva Baby's Rachel Sennott, Generation's Chase Sui Wonders and Industry's Myha'la Herrold, plus Pushing Daisies and The Hobbit favourite Lee Pace as a two-decades-older interloper. And the Agatha Christie-but-Gen Z screenplay? It's drawn from a spec script by Kristen Roupenian, the writer of 2017 viral New Yorker short story Cat Person. All of the above is a lot. Bodies Bodies Bodies is a lot — 100-percent on purpose. It's a puzzle about a party game, as savage a hangout film as they come, and a satire about Gen Z, for starters. It carves into toxic friendships, ignored class clashes, self-obsessed obliviousness, passive aggression and playing the victim. It skewers today's always-online world and the fact that everyone has a podcast — and lets psychological warfare and paranoia simmer, fester and explode. Want more? It serves up another reminder after The Resort, Palm Springs and co that kicking back isn't always cocktails and carefree days. It's an eat-the-rich affair alongside Squid Game and The White Lotus. Swirling that all together like its characters' self-medicating diets, this wildly entertaining horror flick is a phenomenal calling card for debut screenwriter Sarah DeLappe and Dutch filmmaker Halina Reijn (Instinct), too — and it's hilarious, ridiculous, brutal and satisfying. Forgetting how it ends is also utterly impossible. The palatial compound where Bodies Bodies Bodies unfurls belongs to David's (Davidson) family, but it's hurricane-party central when the film begins. That said, no one — not David, his actor girlfriend Emma (Wonders), the no-nonsense Jordan (Herrold) or needy podcaster Alice (Sennott), and definitely not Greg (Pace), the latter's swipe-right older boyfriend of barely weeks — expects Sophie (Stenberg) to show as they're swigging tequila poolside. She hasn't responded to the group chat, despite claiming otherwise when she arrives. She certainly hasn't told them, not even her childhood ride-or-die David, that she's bringing her new girlfriend Bee (Bakalova) along. And Sophie hasn't prepared Bee for their attitudes, all entitlement, years of taken-for-granted comfort and just as much mouldering baggage, as conveyed in bickering that's barely disguised as banter. When the weather turns bad as forecast, a game is soon afoot inside the sprawling abode. Sharing the movie's title, the fake murder-mystery lark is this crew's go-to — but, even with a hefty supply of glow sticks (handy in the inevitable power outage), it doesn't mix too well with booze, coke and Xanax. The essentials: pieces of paper, one crossed with a X; everyone picking a scrap, with whoever gets the marked sliver deemed the perpetrator; and switching off the lights while said killer offs their victim, which happens just by touching them. Then, it's time to guess who the culprit is. That's when the mood plummets quickly, because accusing your friends of being faux murderers by publicly checking off all their shady traits will do that. It gets worse, of course, when those bodies bodies bodies soon become literal and everyone's a suspect. "It gets worse" could be a life motto for Sophie and her clique; they're at that stage of adulthood where their whole lives are supposed to await — until Bodies Bodies Bodies, the game, happens — and yet a whirlwind of disappointment and uncertainty lingers. Their friendships are stormy yet stagnating, old scores and misdeeds clattering down, secrets spilling, and past romantic entanglements still causing hail. Tension and unhappiness rains over their fragile arguments about grudges and jealousies, hate-listening and the word 'gaslight', and why 40-year-old Greg is even there as well. No one is making great decisions, or wants to be making decisions at all, and insular couldn't describe better the atmosphere that greets the quiet, reserved, clearly-not-as-wealthy Bee. Initially blissfully head-over-heels in that newly smitten, six-weeks-in way, "it gets worse" also starts to echo for her as the dynamic with Sophie unsurprisingly changes. As the kills keep coming, twentysomething malaise, mania and stupidity gets worse, too — and Bodies Bodies Bodies relishes it all. The dialogue is as sharp as a blade, and yet also like eavesdropping on any cohort of potential horror-movie victims trying to stay alive when they're being picked off one by one in a fancy abode; again, by design. Yes, there's much in the screenplay that's easy to spot. Toying with those formulaic pieces is the other game within the feature's fast-paced and tightly wound game, however, as bloody mayhem ensues sans internet, electricity, sobriety, trust and common sense. Capitalising upon the sense that everything is in a hurry, plus the careening cinematography by Jasper Wolf (Monos) that stalks and roams around the house, to mirror Sophie and her friends' inner chaos is a shrewd touch. That's Bodies Bodies Bodies all over, with Reijn utilising every shot, claustrophobic use of torches and lit-up mobile phone screens to light scenes, mischievous note in Disasterpiece's (Triple Frontier) score, obvious plot inclusion and buzzword-heavy line to irreverently rip into the film's many genres and targets. Bodies Bodies Bodies unpacks us all, to be fair; who isn't a few unexpected shocks away from bedlam, from their flaws being exposed and their worst instincts kicking in (especially without wifi as a crutch, the film jokingly/half-jokingly posits)? This romp of a slasher-comedy shreds almost everything in sight but takes care not to tear its characters down — we've all stumbled, fumbled and fought to survive in our own ways, and life is uneasy for all of us. The cracker of a punchline conclusion is full of heartily dark laughs, not terrors, which is Bodies Bodies Bodies' entire approach to parodying and slicing everything it can. Managing all of the above with a killer cast, too? Especially with Stenberg playing it loose and mesmerising, Bakalova pitch-perfect as the wary but enterprising newcomer, Davidson doing his usual charismatically goofy thing, and Sennott and Pace stealing every moment they can with her lively ditziness and his hanger-on swagger, Bodies Bodies Bodies slays slays slays.
Beer might be the tipple of choice for many footy fans, but if you'd prefer to spend your Grand Final Eve holiday quaffing gin, you'll want to make a date with Brogan's Way. On Friday, September 23, the Richmond distillery is celebrating the public holiday with a Footy Finals Friday Warm-Up session involving bottomless G&Ts. Choose from the 1pm or 4pm sitting and head along to kick back with two hours of free-flowing house G&T varieties. You'll have the chance to try all five signature blends, including Brogan's Way's Evening Light Gin with the Capi Melbourne Tonic, the Strawberries & Cream Gin matched with Capi Dry Tonic, and the Hearts Afire Gin with Strangelove's Dirty Tonic. You'll also get a shared grazing box to pair with your drinks, packed with goodies like seared lamb croutons with crushed pea and mint, Peking duck pancakes, tomato and caper bruschetta, and mini pear and raspberry crumbles. There's a vegetarian version available, too. Tickets to the Friday Warm-Up are $69, including bottomless sips and your grazing box.
We've all spent more time inside than usual over the past few years. In the process, we've all been looking at our furniture far more often than we usually would. So, if you've been rocked by the urge to redecorate, rearrange and reorganise of late, that's hardly surprising — those well-loved cushions, that old couch or your overflowing shelves could probably do with sprucing up. If IKEA is your furniture go-to, then its mid-year clearance sale is here to help, too — offering discounts of up to 50 percent off on some items. Whether you're in need of something big like a bed, chair or desk, or you're eager to fill your walls and surfaces with frames and vases, you'll find slashed prices on a heap of products. The sale runs until Sunday, July 10 — and, for Melburnians, you have multiple options if you're eager to start buying. Head into the Richmond or Springvale stores; browse online, then opt for click-and-collect; or do all your perusing and purchasing on the company's website, before waiting for delivery. Getting in quickly is always recommended, given how popular IKEA's sales are — and the fact that all of the chain's discounted wares are available while stocks last. And if you're wondering how cheap is cheap, plates and bowls start at $1, oh-so-many plant pots and fake plants come in at under $10, there's a set of mirrors for $15, and nifty storage tables cost $20 — and that's just the beginning.
Where would we be without movies during the pandemic? Even when cinemas were closed during lockdowns, we all still sought out the joy and escapism of watching a flick — and truly appreciated how cathartic it is. Still keen to queue up a big heap of movies, and a hefty dose of couch time? Enter Movie Frenzy, the returning week-long online film rental sale. From Friday, June 24–Thursday, June 30, it's serving up a sizeable lineup of popular flicks from the past year, all from less than $3 per movie. On the lineup: the OTT stunts of Jackass Forever, the Oscar-winning poignancy of Belfast, Joaquin Phoenix turning in another fantastic performance in C'mon C'mon and The Sopranos prequel The Many Saints of Newark. Or, bustin' can make you feel good (again) via Ghostbusters: Afterlife, and you can get some more sequel action via Venom: Let There Be Carnage and Sing 2. Female-led spy thriller The 355, Jennifer Lopez-starring rom-com Marry Me, ridiculous disaster epic Moonfall, Aussie zombie flick Wyrmwood Apocalypse and Liam Neeson's latest action effort Blacklight are also available, too. So are the oversized canine antics of Clifford the Big Red Dog, Cliff Eastwood glaring his way through Cry Macho and the literary world-set The Hating Game. (While some of these flicks are more worth your attention than others, we'll let you do the choosing.) You can nab the cheap movies via your digital rental platform of choice, including Apple TV, iTunes, Fetch, Google Play, Dendy Home Cinema, the Microsoft Store, the Playstation Store, Prime Video, Telstra TV Box Office and YouTube Movies — although just what's available, and the price, will vary depending on the service. And you won't need a subscription, unless you decide to join in the fun via the Foxtel Store.
In Sundown's holiday porn-style opening scenes, a clearly wealthy British family enjoys the most indulgent kind of Acapulco getaway that anyone possibly can. Beneath the blazing blue Mexican sky, at a resort that visibly costs a pretty penny, Alice Bennett (Charlotte Gainsbourg, The Snowman), her brother Neil (Tim Roth, Bergman Island), and her teenage children Alexa (Albertine Kotting McMillan, A Very British Scandal) and Colin (Samuel Bottomley, Everybody's Talking About Jamie) swim and lounge and sip, with margaritas, massages and moneyed bliss flowing freely. For many, it'd be a dream vacation. For Alice and her kids, it's routine, but they're still enjoying themselves. The look on Neil's passive face says everything, however. It's the picture of apathy — even though, as the film soon shows, he flat-out refuses to be anywhere else. The last time that a Michel Franco-written and -directed movie reached screens, it came courtesy of the Mexican filmmaker's savage class warfare drama New Order, which didn't hold back in ripping into the vast chasm between the ridiculously rich and everyone else. Sundown is equally as brutal, but it isn't quite Franco's take on The White Lotus or Nine Perfect Strangers, either. Rather, it's primarily a slippery and sinewy character study about a man with everything as well as nothing. Much happens within the feature's brief 82-minute running time. Slowly, enough is unveiled about the Bennett family's background, and why their extravagant jaunt abroad couldn't be a more ordinary event in their lavish lives. Still, that indifferent expression adorning Neil's dial rarely falters, whether grief, violence, trauma, lust, love, wins or losses cast a shadow over or brighten up his poolside and seaside stints knocking back drinks in the sunshine. For anyone else, the first interruption that comes the Bennetts' way would change this trip forever; indeed, for Alice, Alexa and Colin, it does instantly. Thanks to one sudden phone call, Alice learns that her mother is gravely ill. Via another while the quartet is hightailing it to the airport, she discovers that the worst has occurred. Viewers can be forgiven for initially thinking that Neil is her cruelly uncaring husband in these moments — Franco doesn't spell out their relationship until later, and Neil doesn't act for a second like someone who might and then does lose his mum. Before boarding the plane home, he shows the faintest glimmer of emotion when he announces that he's forgotten his passport, though. That said, he isn't agitated about delaying his journey back, but about the possibility that his relatives mightn't jet off and leave him alone. Sundown is often a restrained film, intentionally so. It doles out the reasons behind Neil's behaviour, and even basic explanatory information, as miserly as its protagonist cracks a smile. The movie itself is eventually a tad more forthcoming than Neil, but it remains firmly steeped in Franco's usual mindset: life happens, contentedly and grimly alike, and we're all just weathering it. Neither the highs nor lows appear to bother Neil, who holes up at the first hotel his cab driver takes him to, then starts making excuses and simply ignoring Alice's worried calls and texts. He navigates an affair with the younger Berenice (Iazua Larios, Ricochet) as well, and carries on like he doesn't have a care in the world. His sister returns, frantic and angry, but even then he's nonplussed. The same proves true, too, when a gangland execution bloodies his leisurely days by the beach, and also when violence cuts far closer to home. Tranquility, bleakness, the ordinary and the extreme in-between: it all keeps coming throughout Sundown. Yes, life keeps happening, even amid the relaxed air that breezes through the movie's aforementioned introductory moments. When there's little on the Bennetts' minds except unwinding, their comfort literally comes at the hands of Acapulco's workers. In the streets, an incendiary mood bubbles well before bodies end up on the sand. The gap between the one percent and the rest of us always stays in plain sight. The fact that a getaway as luxe as this one relies upon not the kindness but the exhaustive labour of others never slinks away. Also, that Neil's family wealth springs from slaughter isn't subtle — animals, in the pork trade — but that's never been Franco's approach. Still, Sundown is a film to soak up, riding its twists and wading through its questions, including the plethora that keep springing about Neil's actions. The last time that Roth worked with Franco, in 2015's Chronic, he turned in a mesmerising performance. Here, he's magnetic and absorbing as a man adrift by choice, through entitlement and also due to the cards he's been dealt. Some shots play up that idea with the director's characteristic lack of understatement — floating in a pool, for instance — but the point would've been plain via the film's central performance alone. Roth isn't coasting, or bobbing, or doing anything aimlessly. Sundown's audience can see Neil's behaviour as comic, heartless, troubled or arrogant, or a combination of all four and more, but Roth makes the sense of detachment and entropy behind the character's every move echo from the screen. His efforts prove all the more stark against the also-wonderful Gainsbourg, in a far smaller part. Unsurprisingly, Alice is anything but dispassionate, with her brother's subterfuge, selfishness and utter lack of care for everyone he's affecting earning her increasing exasperation. For Franco, forgoing nuance means staring head-on at the tales he's telling, the people within them and the statements about humanity that are being made — and Belgian cinematographer Yves Cape, who has a number of the filmmaker's pictures to his name (plus entrancing 2019 French film Zombi Child as well), eagerly obliges. Roving your eyes over Sundown's patient frames is an exercise in careful observation, sometimes peering so closely that you can almost count Roth's pores, but usually with a sense of distance that mirrors the space that Neil cultivates around himself. Watching this ruminative feature also requires confronting existential woes — and pondering existence — both compellingly and unsettlingly so. Franco has never had any fondness for privilege, or much for human nature; with his latest penetrating film, he's as unforgiving as always, but also as committed to unpacking what it means to define your own path.
Sweet-toothed Melburnians have likely already swooned over the treats being whipped up by online cake shop — and Instagram favourite — Miss Trixie Drinks Tea. But you've never experienced them like this before. On Saturday, August 6, Miss Trixie is taking over Abbotsford's Altar Electric for its inaugural pop-up, where it'll be serving up cakes and sweets by the slice for the first time ever. Drop by from 9am to find an array of signature goodies, exclusive one-offs and even a few new trial recipes, starting from $5 a pop for cookies and $7 each for brownies. Cakes come in at $9 a slice, with flavours set to include the likes of chocolate Biscoff; coconut and raspberry with gin lime curd and freeze-dried strawberry; and a banana cake finished with peanut buttercream and salted dark chocolate honeycomb. You'll save some coin if you BYO container to pop your morning's cake haul into. And if you fancy mixing and matching the sweet and savoury, Miss Trixie customers can also score $3 coffees and $12 chop cheese sangas from Kelso's Sandwich Shoppe a few doors along. Images: Mrs White Photos
Craft & Co's seasonal gin markets have become a firm fixture on Melbourne's booze calendar. And now, those boozy events are set to score a new sibling, with the Collingwood venue kicking off its first ever Dark Spirits Festival. Running across Thursday, August 18–Sunday, August 21, it's a celebration of top-notch Aussie artisan rum, whisky and other dark drops that promises to introduce you to a heap of new favourites. It kicks off Thursday night with a five-course spirits-matched dinner ($95), starring pours like Artillery's eight-year barrel-aged rum, The Gospel's Solera rye whiskey and the Coastal Stone sherry cask whiskey by Manly Spirits Co. Diners will also get the chance to pick some brains at a meet-the-maker Q&A session, and score a goodie bag to take home. Across the next three days, you'll catch Craft & Co's inaugural dark spirits market, running as a sit-down tasting affair — a little bit like booze producer speed-dating. Pull up a seat and relax as the distillers drop by your table to show off their latest creations, pour samples and answer all your burning questions. There are six market sessions running (7pm Friday; 11am, 2pm and 5pm Saturday; and 11.30am and 2.30pm Sunday), but spots are limited, so you'll want to book quickly. Tickets range from $35–40, including all tastings and a take-home showbag. And as always, there'll be a pop-up bottle shop where you can stock up on goodies for your home bar.
Finding a moment or statement from The Princess to sum up The Princess is easy. Unlike the powerful documentary's subject in almost all aspects of her life from meeting the future King of England onwards, viewers have the luxury of choice. Working solely with archival materials, writer/director Ed Perkins (Tell Me Who I Am) doesn't lack in chances to demonstrate how distressing it was to be Diana, Princess of Wales — and the fact that his film can even exist also underscores that point. While both The Crown and Spencer have dramatised Diana's struggles with applauded results, The Princess tells the same tale as it was incessantly chronicled in the media between 1981–1997. The portrait that emanates from this collage of news footage, tabloid snaps and TV clips borders on dystopian. It's certainly disturbing. What kind tormented world gives rise to this type of treatment just because someone is famous? The one we all live in, sadly. Perkins begins The Princess with shaky visuals from late in August 1997, in Paris, when Diana and Dodi Fayed were fleeing the paparazzi on what would be the pair's last evening. The random voice behind the camera is excited at the crowds and commotion, not knowing how fatefully the night would end. That's telling, haunting and unsettling, and so is the clip that immediately follows. The filmmaker jumps back to 1981, to a then 19-year-old Diana being accosted as she steps into the street. Reporters demand answers on whether an engagement will be announced, as though extracting private details from a teenager because she's dating Prince Charles is a right. The Princess continues in the same fashion, with editors Jinx Godfrey (Chernobyl) and Daniel Lapira (The Boat) stitching together example after example of a woman forced to be a commodity and expected to be a spectacle, all to be devoured and consumed. Listing comparable moments within The Princess' riveting frames is easy; they snowball relentlessly into an avalanche. Indeed, after the film shows Charles and Diana's betrothal news and how it's received by the press and public, the media scrutiny directed Diana's way becomes the subject of a TV conversation. "I think it's going to be much easier. I think we're going to see a change in the attitude of the press. I think that now she's publicly one of the royal family, all this telephoto lens business will stop," a talking head from four decades back asserts — and it isn't merely the benefit of hindsight that makes that claim sound deeply preposterous. Later, Perkins features a soundbite from a paparazzo, which proves equally foolish, not to mention a cop-out. "All we do is take pictures. The decision to buy the pictures is taken by the picture editors of the world, and they buy the pictures so their readers can see them. So at the end of the day, the buck stops with the readers," the photographer contends. The Princess isn't here to simplistically and squarely blame the public, but it does let the material it assembles — and the fact that there's so much of it, and that nothing here is new or astonishing even for a second because it's already been seen before — speak for itself. What a story that all unfurls, and how, including pondering the line between mass fascination and being complicit. Perkins eschews contemporary interviews and any other method of providing recent context, and also makes plain what everyone watching already knows: that escaping Diana has been impossible for more than 40 years now, during her life and after her death a quarter-century ago as well, but it was always worse by several orders of magnitude for Diana herself. The expressions that flicker across her face over the years, evolving from shy and awkward to determined and anguished, don't just speak volumes but downright scream. In the audio samples overlaid on paparazzi shots and ceaseless news coverage, that's dissected, too, and rarely with kindness for the woman herself. Being sympathetic to royalty isn't a prerequisite for feeling perturbed by The Princess. Being a fan of The Crown or believing that Kristen Stewart deserved an Oscar for Spencer — which she did — isn't either. All that's required is empathy for anyone whose existence is stripped of choice, who is made to perform a certain role no matter what, who's saddled with onerous tasks that dismantle their agency and identity, and who gets torn to pieces whether they comply or rebel. That's a key reason why Diana's plight keeps resonating and always will. It's also why 'the People's Princess' label continues to echo. The latter was coined to describe her popularity and that feverish obsession, but it cannily cuts to the core of a heartbreaking truth: Diana attained a supposed fairytale but discovered that nothing in life is a dream, a realisation that couldn't be more relatable and universal. As well-established as the details are, the minutiae still spills out as The Princess progresses: the coupling primarily to provide an heir to the throne, the unsurprising distance in Diana and Charles' marriage, the persistent presence of Camilla Parker Bowles, several layers of envy, the 'Dianagate' tapes and the nation-stopping interviews all included (electricity surges during her 1995 tell-all chat with Martin Bashir, thanks to kettles boiling across Britain, are noted). Ignoring how the media kept shaping Diana's narrative would mean shutting your eyes and blocking your ears, even if the score by The Crown's Martin Phipps didn't maximise the tension. Ignoring the parallels rippling through the royal camp today, in the way that Meghan Markle has been treated by the media, is similarly out of the question. It isn't by accident that Perkins lingers on a young Prince Harry at his mother's funeral to wrap the movie up, after all. The Princess' approach isn't new, either. It's effective, though. And, as the same style proved in recent Australian docos The Final Quarter and Strong Female Lead — films that used archival footage to explore how perceptions are manufactured by the press as well — it's nothing short of damning about media practices and the audience hunger they think they're satisfying. Those two features explored how AFL star Adam Goodes was regarded in the twilight of his career, and how the fourth estate surveyed Australian Prime Minister Julia Gillard while she was in the nation's top job. They dived into the self-fuelling cycle that stems from predatory coverage and the public's responses, one feeding the other and vice versa. Sound familiar? Watching both alongside The Princess would make for grim and harrowing viewing — essential viewing, too, particularly in a world that shows so few signs of changing.
Since its launch back in 2017, Pontoon has become Melbourne's answer to those epic beach clubs that populate European coastlines. Maintaining that solid rep, this summer, the bar has partnered with top seltzer brand White Claw for an epic live gig so you can have tunes served up with your view over St Kilda Beach. On Sunday, February 13, you can extend those weekend vibes with one of the hottest emerging music acts in the country: Close Counters. From 5pm, the Melbourne-based duo will perform a DJ set, spinning up soulful, genre-traversing tunes to have a boogie to. Yep, Sunday sessions and live music are well and truly back and we're here for it. To top it off, you'll be sipping refreshing White Claws while you listen. And best of all? This gig is completely free to attend. For more information on White Claw Weekend at Pontoon, head to the White Claw website.
In early February every year, sweet-toothed souls celebrate World Nutella Day. The day of dessert devotion is just around the corner once again — and it's safe to say Preston Market has your feasting well and truly sorted. The northside precinct is transforming into a treasure trove of chocolatey and hazelnutty delights for the occasion on Saturday, February 5, as a stack of its traders get into the spirit with a range of special offers, free tastings and one-off Nutella dishes. Get stuck into Nutella-stuffed croissants at both Publique Bakery and Rustic Bean Cafe, treat yourself to one of Calavera's Nutella cronuts, gorge on Nutella-filled ricotta cannoli from Cannoleria, or opt for one of the more virtuous vegan Nutella smoothie bowls being served up by Super Raw. Meanwhile, Les Crepes Gourmandes will be stacking both Nutella crepes and waffles, with each of those orders also scoring a free jar of the spread to-go. World Nutella Day runs from 8am–3pm. [caption id="attachment_841133" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Cannoleria[/caption]
It's been a hot and sticky start to the year; but this weekend, you can cool things down a notch with an evening of classical tunes from the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra. The MSO returns to Bunjil Place on Saturday, January 29, for the next installation of the entertainment precinct's Summer Symphony series. Kicking off from 7.30pm, the all-ages concert will treat your ears to classical works from the likes of Aaron Copland, Astor Piazzolla and Johann Strauss II, interspersed with more contemporary tunes. Alongside the musical offerings, you'll also catch stunning performance pieces from diversity-focused Victorian arts group Sangam, as they deliver world premieres of two works, Encounters: Seen and Unseen and New Homes: Loss and Hope. Tickets to the evening show come in at $10, which includes a non-alcoholic drink or glass of bubbles.
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 sustainable 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 wares, the one-day fashion market is back for 2022, taking over Coburg Town Hall from 10am–3pm on Sunday, April 10. Expect a heap of stalls, specially curated by organisers to deliver a hefty selection of reasonably priced, high-quality pieces from the 40s through to today. The lineup ranges from beloved brands to handmade items to wardrobe clear-outs by some of Melbourne's most fashionable women, with 50 stallholders set to make an appearance. Entry costs $4, plus there'll be specialty coffee to keep you fuelled and tasty eats from the Kimu Korean Japanese food truck.
Easter in Sydney doesn't just mean chocolate, hot cross buns and whatever other sweet treats the city's eateries happen to come up with at this time of year — it also means the Sydney Royal Easter Show. And, while you won't find the latter at El Camino Cantina's Tex-Mex joint in Melbourne, of course, the chain is getting into the spirit of the event nationwide with its limited-edition margarita menu, which it has dubbed 'the Royal Rita Show'. For its latest batch of creative flavours, El Camino Cantina is serving up Jelly Belly, Warhead, Chupa Chup and Kinder Surprise margs. There are Trolli Lolli and Rainbow Nerd versions, too. Basically, it's the candy and booze combination you obviously didn't know you'd someday want when you were a kid. These lolly-flavoured ritas are on offer from Tuesday, April 5–Saturday, April 30, costing $20 for a 15-oz glass, $24 for the 20-oz size and $35 for a tasting paddle of four 220-millilitre glasses. And if you'd like to pair them with tacos, you'll find a Royal Rita Show food menu on offer as well; think tacos with popcorn chicken, chorizo and potato hash, slow-cooked barbecue brisket, and prawns with bacon. In Melbourne, you'll find both the margs and tacos tempting your tastebuds at El Camino in Fitzroy.
Broadway and West End smash An American in Paris is singing and dancing its way into Melbourne, with the four-time Tony-winner bringing its Australian run of shows to the State Theatre, Arts Centre Melbourne, from Friday, March 18–Saturday, April 23. The dazzling show is based on the 1951 film of the same name so yes, if you're a fan of classic movies — and classic big-screen musicals starring none other than the inimitable Gene Kelly at that — its name will definitely sound familiar. Story-wise, the musical follows the Parisian exploits of ex-US GI Jerry Mulligan (because its moniker is that straightforward). Set at the end of the Second World War, it charts the budding romance between the newly-free American and a French woman, Lise Bouvier. Your classic boy-meets-girl, with old-world charm, the beauty of Paris and Broadway class. Bringing the Oscar-winning 71-year-old film to the stage, this version of An American in Paris is directed by acclaimed contemporary ballet choreographer Christopher Wheeldon — and adapted for theatre and choreographed by him, too. The Aussie run is also being staged in collaboration with the Australian Ballet, so expect to see some of their dancers helping to bring the musical to life. George and Ira Gershwin's songs make the leap to the theatre as well, including 'I Got Rhythm', 'S Wonderful', 'But Not For Me' and 'They Can't Take That Away From Me'. An American in Paris debuted in Paris — where else? — in 2014, before hitting Broadway, Boston and West End. If you are after a night of spectacular dance and the joy of new romance, with all the Broadway dazzle, this is the show for you. To book your tickets, head to the website. Images: Tristram Kenton.
Twenty-six years after a Neve Campbell, Courteney Cox and David Arquette-starring film about small-town murders thoroughly revitalised the slasher genre, the Scream franchise returned in 2022 to take another stab at cinema glory. Because some things just won't die in the horror realm (see also: the Halloween, Saw, The Grudge, The Ring and Child's Play sagas), the Ghostface killer yet again stalked Woodsboro, and also terrorised a scary movie that once more mixed slasher thrills with self-aware laughs — and was just called Scream, too. Haven't already seen the new Scream in a cinema? That's the best place to see all horror movies, obviously, and it's where this fivequel is showing again on Saturday, March 5. Well, actually, by the time that The Astor Theatre's Scream-a-Thon works through the four other Scream flicks first, you'll actually be watching it in the early hours of Sunday, March 6. If you like scary movies, you'll want to spook yourself silly at this big overnight marathon, which is showing the whole big-screen franchise. It all kicks off at 9pm, and a love of this Wes Craven-started franchise is obviously a must — and yes, you can expect to see folks wearing Ghostface masks, obviously.
The last time that Joaquin Phoenix appeared in cinemas, he played an overlooked and unheard man. "You don't listen, do you?" Arthur Fleck asked his social worker, and the entirety of Joker — and of Phoenix's magnetic Oscar-winning performance as the Batman foe in the 2019 film, too — provided the obvious answer. Returning to the big screen in a feature that couldn't be more different to his last, Phoenix now plays a professional listener. A radio journalist and podcaster who'd slide in seamlessly alongside Ira Glass on America's NPR, Johnny's niche is chatting with children. Travelling around the country from his New York base, C'mon C'mon's protagonist seeks thoughts about life, hopes, dreams, the future and the world in general, but never in a Kids Say the Darndest Things-type fashion. As Phoenix's sensitive, pensive gaze conveys under the tender guidance of Beginners and 20th Century Women filmmaker Mike Mills, Johnny truly and gratefully hears what his young interviewees utter. Phoenix is all gentle care, quiet understanding and rippling melancholy as Johnny. All naturalism and attentiveness as well, he's also firmly at his best, no matter what's inscribed on his Academy Award. Here, Phoenix is as phenomenal as he was in his career highlight to-date, aka the exceptional You Were Never Really Here, in a part that again has his character pushed out of his comfort zone by a child. C'mon C'mon's Johnny spends his days talking with kids, but that doesn't mean he's equipped to look after his nine-year-old nephew Jesse (Woody Norman, The War of the Worlds) in Los Angeles when his sister Viv (Gaby Hoffmann, Transparent) needs to assist her husband Paul (Scoot McNairy, A Quiet Place Part II) with his mental health. Johnny and Viv haven't spoken since their mother died a year earlier, and Johnny has previously overstepped when it comes to Paul — with the siblings' relationship so precarious that he barely knows Jesse — but volunteering to help is his immediate reflex. As captured in soft, luxe, nostalgic shades of greyscale by always-remarkable cinematographer Robbie Ryan (see also: I, Daniel Blake, American Honey, The Favourite and Marriage Story), Johnny takes to his time with Jesse as any uncle suddenly thrust into a 24/7 caregiving role that doesn't exactly come naturally would. Jesse also reacts as expected, handling the situation as any bright and curious kid whose world swiftly changes, and who finds himself with a new and different role model, is going to. But C'mon C'mon is extraordinary not because its instantly familiar narrative sees Johnny and Jesse learn life lessons from each other, and their bond grow stronger the longer they spend in each other's company — but because this tremendously moving movie repeatedly surprises with its depth, insights, and lively sparks of both adult and childhood life. It's styled to look like a memory, and appreciates how desperately parents and guardians want to create such happy recollections for kids, but C'mon C'mon feels unshakeably lived-in rather than wistful. It doesn't pine for times gone by; instead, the film recognises the moments that linger in the now. It spies how the collection of ordinary, everyday experiences that Johnny and Jesse cycle through all add up to something that's equally commonplace, universally relatable and special, too. Conveying that sentiment, but never by being sentimental, has long been one of Mills' great powers as a filmmaker. He makes pictures so alive with real emotion that they clearly belong to someone, and yet also resonate with everyone all at once. With C'mon C'mon, the writer/director draws upon his own time as a parent, after taking inspiration from his relationship with his father in Beginners, and from his connection to his mother and his own upbringing in 20th Century Women. The conversations that the rumpled Johnny and precocious Jesse exchange might be exactly the kind that adults and children always have — the earnest talks that Johnny has with his interview subjects as well, which help place the movie's musings in a broader context — but that doesn't make them any less perceptive and memorable. The key to the film is the key to its central duo's blossoming bond, to Johnny's rapport with the kids on his podcast, and to everything that Phoenix as Arthur Fleck wanted and demanded: genuinely listening. C'mon C'mon builds wonderfully detailed and intricate character studies by doing just that with Johnny and Jesse — and, albeit in less screentime, with Viv. Trips around the US play like big adventures, including when Jesse keeps wanting to explore NY and laps up a New Orleans street parade, but the contents of late-night phone calls, the newly single Johnny's diary-like recorded dispatches about his days, Viv's maternal routine and Jesse's favourite play-acting game — where he pretends he's an orphan — frequently feel just as immense. As C'mon C'mon observes and unfurls these textured slices of life, it also takes the act of listening as seriously as Johnny does. Mills has directed a gorgeous-looking film, any frame of which would make a postcard-perfect memory — its closeups are revelatory, its wide shots that place its characters in their surroundings while surveying the minutiae around them are transcendent — but his soundscape does just as much essential work. Viewers hear the hustle and bustle, the noise of the street, the silence that lingers indoors and the clattering chaos one small boy can incite. Jesse hears it, too, and soon becomes enamoured with listening through his uncle's headphones as Johnny records on-the-ground material for his podcast. The National's Bryce and Aaron Dessner also layer in a melodic and dreamy score that both sets and suits the reflective and warm-hearted mood, while the soundtrack's jumps between genres — opera, Lou Reed and Lee Scratch Perry included — are dynamic. For all of Mills' outstanding choices with C'mon C'mon, a feature filled with them, the care and love he gives his characters and ushers out of his actors is his biggest feat. Phoenix's endlessly impressive work as a man both exhausted and rewarded by pseudo-parenthood is matched by Norman, who turns in a spontaneous and instinctive performance, and by the ever-reliable Hoffman as a woman constantly striving for her own space beyond her roles as a mother, partner and sister. Indeed, watching them together, and seeing their reactions and responses while talking to each other via phone, is as crucial as hearing every word spoken. Yes, C'mon C'mon listens devotedly, but it's just as committed to simply being in these characters' presence, soaking in all that comes with it, and finding the aching and affecting truth in every second.
Some folks just know how to rock a moustache. When Kenneth Branagh (Tenet) stepped into super-sleuth Hercule Poirot's shoes in 2017's Murder on the Orient Express, he clearly considered himself to be one of them. The actor and filmmaker didn't simply play Agatha Christie's famously moustachioed Belgian detective, but also directed the movie — and he didn't miss a chance to showcase his own performance, as well as that hair adorning his top lip. You don't need to be a world-renowned investigator to deduce that Branagh was always going to repeat the same tricks with sequel Death on the Nile, or to pick that stressing the character's distinctive look and accompanying bundle of personality quirks would again take centre stage. But giving Poirot's 'stache its own black-and-white origin story to start the new movie truly is the height of indulgence. Branagh has previously covered a superhero's beginnings in the initial Thor flick, and also stepped into his own childhood in Belfast, so explaining why Poirot sports his elaborately styled mo — how it came to be, and what it means to him emotionally, too — is just another example of the director doing something he obviously loves. That early hirsute focus sets the tone for Death on the Nile, though, and not as Branagh and returning screenwriter Michael Green (Jungle Cruise) must've intended. Viewers are supposed to get a glimpse at what lies beneath Poirot's smarts and deductive savvy by literally peering beneath his brush-like under-nostril bristles, but all that emerges is routine and formulaic filler. That's the film from its hairy opening to its entire trip through Egypt. At least the moustache looks more convincing than the sets and CGI that are passed off as the pyramids, Abu Simbel and cruising the titular waterway. It's 1937, three years after the events of Murder on the Orient Express, and Poirot is holidaying in Egypt. While drinking tea with a vantage out over the country's unconvincingly computer-generated towering wonders, he chances across his old pal Bouc (Tom Bateman, Behind Her Eyes) and his mother Euphemia (Annette Bening, Hope Gap), who invite him to join their own trip — which doubles as a honeymoon for just-married heiress Linnet Ridgeway (Gal Gadot, Red Notice) and her new husband Simon Doyle (Armie Hammer, Crisis). Poirot obliges, but he's also surprised by the happy couple. Six weeks earlier, he saw them get introduced by Linnet's now-former friend and Simon's now ex-fiancée Jacqueline de Bellefort (Emma Mackey, Sex Education). That awkward history isn't easily forgotten by the central duo, either, given that Jackie has followed them with a view to winning Simon back. Boating down the Nile is initially an escape plan, whisking the newlyweds away from their obsessive stalker. But even as the group — which includes jazz singer Salome Otterbourne (Sophie Okonedo, Wild Rose), her niece and Linnet's school friend Rosalie (Letitia Wright, Black Panther), the bride's own ex-fiancé Linus Windlesham (Russell Brand, Four Kids and It), her lawyer Andrew Katchadourian (Ali Fazal, Victoria and Abdul), her assistant Louise Bourget (Rose Leslie, Game of Thrones), her godmother Marie Van Schuyler (Jennifer Saunders, Absolutely Fabulous: The Movie) and the latter's nurse Mrs Bowers (Dawn French, The Vicar of Dibley) — adjust to the change of schedule, two things were always going to happen. The pouty Jacqueline can't be thwarted that easily, of course. Also, the fact that there'll soon be a murder for Poirot to solve is right there in the movie's moniker. Something that doesn't occur: evoking much in the way of interest in any of the film's characters, their fates and — seeing that the killer lurks among them — their motivations. This absence of intrigue springs from the same problem that plagued Murder on the Orient Express, because Branagh is still too enamoured with himself as Poirot to give his co-stars anything substantial to do. Almost anyone could've played the S.S. Karnak's passengers, aka a Christie-standard motley crew, as that's how little a splash this cast makes. Gadot does declare that the steamboat has "enough champagne to fill the Nile" like she's in a camp farce, which definitely stands out, but mostly Death on the Nile is an exercise in squandering talent. Bening is woefully underused, and Saunders and French's on-screen reunion is a wasted comic opportunity. It speaks volumes that an on-autopilot Hammer, aka the one star Branagh might now wish faded into the background, is so prominent. It also helps remind viewers that the flick is stale in multiple ways: shot in 2019, it was originally slated to release that December. Production delays, COVID-19 and just general release-schedule tinkering mean that Death on the Nile now arrives after Belfast, which Branagh made during the pandemic — and the films' close proximity to each other doesn't help this whodunnit. The man behind the two movies has always liked on-screen excess, even if he's not in the centre of the frame, but here all of his visual bombast plays like meaningless gloss. The swooping camerawork doesn't quite sell the extravagant setting as much as it exposes Branagh's style-first approach, and demonstrates a lack of care about whether he's drawing the audience into the story. Cameras circle, the score soars and the feature is fashioned like an epic, but like the cruise's victims, there's no sign of a pulse. The inconsistent pacing, dragging through the setup and then speeding through Poirot's crucial sleuthing like it couldn't be over fast enough, also lands a fatal blow. It doesn't help that the film's also-lacking predecessor already felt like it was stretching its setup, and jumping on a trend that'd seen plenty of other brilliant masterminds reach screens lately (at the time, Sherlock Holmes adaptations were everywhere, or so it seemed). Now, Death on the Nile sails into a world where Knives Out did the eccentric detective bit far smarter and better, that delightful hit is similarly getting a sequel this year, and the likes of Only Murders in the Building and The Afterparty have been unfurling immensely entertaining murder-mystery antics in streaming queues, too. Mostly, though, Branagh's second Poirot outing suffers from being so infatuated with what Murder on the Orient Express did to box-office success — and what the filmmaker himself did as its star — that it's largely happy to merely repeat the feat. There's more moustache here, and an evident effort to spin the plot's threads around love's tangled webs, but neither was ever going to keep this bogged-down slog afloat.
With her song and record titles — her lyrics as well — Courtney Barnett has long found the words to express how many people feel. It's a knack, talent and gift, and it's helped her rocket to Australian fame and global success within a decade of releasing her debut EP in 2012. As thoughtful and captivating documentary Anonymous Club shows, it's also something she's frequently asked about in interviews. But expressing those lines and the emotions behind them with a guitar and microphone as weapons, plus a riotous melody as armour, is different to sharing them quietly one on one. Directed by her long-time collaborator Danny Cohen, who has helmed a number of her music videos, Anonymous Club begins with this reality. Barnett can pour her heart, soul and observations about life's chaos into the tunes that've made her a household name, achieving something that few others can; when she's on the spot, however, she's as uncertain and awkward as the rest of us. Barnett's way with words and wordplay in her work, and her lack thereof elsewhere, thrums through Anonymous Club like a catchy riff. The subject doesn't fade, burrowing into the film as an earworm of a song inside a listener's head does, and feature first-timer Cohen doesn't want it to. His movie was shot over three years, starting in 2018, which places it between Barnett's second studio album and her third — and knowing that makes the phrases from their titles, and from her debut record also, echo with resonance throughout the doco. Anonymous Club could've been called Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit, like its subject's first album in 2015. Tell Me How You Really Feel from 2018 would've worked as well. And, yes, Things Take Time, Take Time would've been apt, too, concluding a line of thinking that the film invites anyway — ultimately finding its moniker in a Barnett track from 2014, before all those releases. Across two tours spanning Europe, the US and Asia, plus stints in Melbourne, Anonymous Club watches Barnett sit and think, and sometimes just sit. It tasks the singer/songwriter with telling how she really feels, and shows her realising the truth that things take time. All of the above is captured on glorious 16-millimetre film and, even within a mere 83 minutes, the backstage documentary is overwhelming comprised of these ruminative, reflective moments — of snatches of Barnett's life caught as she hops between rooms that aren't her own, be it stages or green rooms or hotels or homes she's housesitting. Her thoughts and feelings come via brief chatter in front of the lens (or, more accurately, with the unseen Cohen behind it, shooting with a camera customised to record synchronised sound), and from overlaid snippets of the audio diary he asked her to keep. That's a job she tussles with — more words, more on-the-spot candour rather than deliberated-over lyrics, more struggles — but she still stuck at it for the project's duration. Frank, earnest and honest, so much of what's uttered is as revelatory as everything that Barnett has sung over the years. She confides in the fly-on-the-wall film via her Dictaphone recordings; as a result, a highly poised, posed, image-conscious portrait, this isn't. "I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about anymore. I just feel like I'm going around in circles and digging myself a deeper hole," she says at one point, and many other statements have the same tone. Jumping from America to Japan to Germany and elsewhere, life on the road gets to her. Back in Australia, life without a fixed space to call her own after spending so long touring has a similar impact. "My heart is empty, my head is empty, the page is empty," she offers, another telling statement. "It feels like I'm being part of this scripted performance of what we think we're supposed to see on stage, and it just feels really pointless," she also advises. There's raw feeling behind these words, and Cohen wouldn't have it any other way; Barnett uses her work to wittily and astutely contemplate everyday life, and he does the same with her rockstar existence in his doco. Of course, one of its insights, blatant as it proves, is how anti-rockstar the indie musician's day-to-day reality is. She gets excited about gold in her Berlin lodgings, her unassuming vibe has crowds mesmerised during her shows, and she needs prompting about lyrics when one fan asks her to sign his t-shirt with her own — but much of her days, as seen here, are a quiet, busy shuffle from place to place with swathes of downtime and alone time. Cohen and editor Ben Hall (another veteran of Barnett's videos) convey this in the movie's structure, too. The big-ticket parts of the tours — the gigs, travelling, and interviews with Jimmy Fallon and Ellen DeGeneres — whiz by, while the gap around them lingers. Anonymous Club is a music documentary, but it isn't a concert movie. It knows where Barnett's career is at, the path she took to get there and how she's regarded, but it isn't a career overview or talking head-filled tribute. It features gig footage, but largely spliced into montages instead of as whole songs played on-stage. It thoroughly avoids other chattering figures — be it fellow musicians offering their praise, experts and commentators, or friends and family — in favour of its intimate, personal, in-the-room, inner monologue-driven approach. It's a road movie, but it's about the experience of being on tour over the tour itself or the places visited. Anonymous Club is about spending time and hanging out with Barnett, and about what it's like to be Barnett; melancholy, anxiousness, claustrophobia, doubt, fears, malaise and imposter syndrome come with the territory, relatably so. Cohen isn't advising viewers that stars are people too, though. Again, this isn't that kind of message-pushing, persona-redefining doco. He makes it plain that this one figure is a person first and a famous musician second — and chronicles the process of constantly juggling and balancing the two, and the impact upon her mental health. His chosen aesthetic suits the job perfectly, playing like warm, soft, unprocessed memories, and also relishing blue shades in both pensive and hopeful moments. As its revealing journey is wrapping up, Barnett finds herself more in the second category, and has the words to explain it. "My albums won't be with me on my deathbed holding my hand," she notes. "This film will not be with us as we lie dying — but I'd like to think in the bigger scheme of things, it will live on and help other people, or inspire other people, or create some sort of conversation."
The first few months of the year now done and dusted can only mean one thing in Melbourne: the footy's back. And this month, with our homegrown code now back home, Melbourne is in for the grittiest, toughest, edge-of-your-seat, double-header period on the calendar: the final round of the thrilling 2022 NAB AFLW season and the return of the Toyota AFL Premiership Season. To mark the occasion, the AFL is throwing a massive Festival of Footy. With 12 matches across ten days — and crowd capacity back up to 100 percent — you can experience the pure adrenaline (both yours and the stellar lineup of players), see hard-hitting tackles (that'd be the players') and plenty of family-friendly activities to keep even the most reluctant of footy fans happy. [caption id="attachment_845691" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Graham Denholm (AFL Photos/Getty Images)[/caption] As well as unmissable matches being played at the MCG, Marvel Stadium and Arden Street Oval, the MCG-adjacent Yarra Park will transform into a Festival of Footy live site – a lively hub of camaraderie and healthy competition fit for your whole gang. Head down to the green for food trucks serving up both classic and adventurous bites, a pop-up barber shop, organised games and live performances. Combined with generous giveaways and free entry, it's the perfect scene for a footy-fuelled day out. Signalling the start of the final round of this year's AFLW home-and-away season, the footy-lovers' playground will officially open at 6pm on Friday, March 11, and hold strong til 9pm. It'll also come alive every game day of the final round of the women's league, and the first round of the men's. For more information about the Festival of Footy, head to the website. Top images: Michael Willson (AFL Photos), Graham Denholm (AFL Photos/Getty Images)
This state of ours boasts some top-notch wining and dining — and this weekend, a taste of it is set to descend on an inner-city patch of parkland for one big day of gustatory goodness. The East Malvern Food & Wine Festival returns for its fifth outing, taking over Central Park on Sunday, March 27. Nab yourself a $20 entry ticket and head along to sample top local drops from producers including Innocent Bystander, Heathcote Winery and Wren Estate, before levelling up your knowledge at an expert masterclass by wine educator Nicole Gow. You can mosey through the dedicated craft beer and cider zone, tasting sips from the likes of Deeds Brewing, Sip and Eddies Cider, stocking up on your favourites as you go. And once you've worked up an appetite, hit up the abundant food offering courtesy of vendors like 48h Pizza & Gnocchi Bar, The Smoke Pit, Pressed Waffle Bar and Nepal Dining. Market stalls will be slinging an array of artisan goodies; including quality cheese and food products you can assemble for a lazy picnic in front of the live music stage. Elsewhere, swing by the prosecco and oyster stall for a luxe food pairing; taste some artisan spirits from labels like Brix Distillers and That Spirited Lot; and grab yourself one of Luvlee Gourmet's handmade ice creams.
Turning your phone off during a movie is cinema etiquette 101. Not kicking the seat in front of you, or talking during the film, or taking in food with aromas so pungent they stink out the whole theatre — they're all on the list as well. Usually, so is wearing clothes; however, the returning Fantastic Film Festival Australia is making attire optional for one of its 2022 sessions. One of Australia's film fests dedicated to weird and wonderful cinema — a tranche of flicks so glorious that several events celebrate them — FFFA is back for another year, screening at Lido Cinemas in Hawthorn from Thursday, April 21–Friday, May 6. It has just unveiled its full 2022 lineup, too, and its naked screening certainly deserves attention. The fest debuted the concept last year, and it's bringing it back this year. Even better: you'll be getting your kit off to mark the 25th anniversary of The Full Monty. Stripping off while seeing a classic movie about men stripping isn't the only highlight of this year's program, of course — and yes, if you want to see Robert Carlyle and company while remaining dressed, you can leave your hat on (and the rest of your clothing as well). The attire-optional session sits alongside other standouts such as opening night's viking epic The Northman, starring Alexander Skarsgård and Nicole Kidman, and directed by The Witch and The Lighthouse's Robert Eggers; closing night's New York Ninja, which was shot in 1984, only finished in 2021 and follows a vigilante tale; and a 4K restoration of the inimitable 1981 great Possession starring a young Sam Neill and always-wonderful Isabelle Adjani (The World Is Yours). In total, 22 features and eight shorts and special events sit on this lineup of strange, surreal, out-there and purposely offbeat flicks. We're All Going to the World's Fair arrives from Sundance, combining psychological horror with a coming-of-age story — and a storyline about an online roleplaying game — while French film After Blue is a sci-fi western fantasy about a mother and daughter tracking a killer in toxic forests. There's also indie animation Absolute Denial, which has been compared to Frankenstein but in a digital world; Agnes, which explores a case of demonic possession in a convent; Japan's Dreams on Fire, featuring acclaimed dancer Bambi Naka in her first lead role; Norwegian nightmare The Innocents, as directed by The Worst Person in the World co-writer Eskil Vogt; and The Timekeepers of Eternity, which is adapted from Stephen King novella The Langoliers. On the events bill, FFFA is hosting Music Video Blind Date, to connect Melbourne musos with filmmakers in the hopes of making music video magic — and, thanks to an evening called Cinema 1 Nightclub, it's getting DJ Female Wizard to spin tunes inside a theatre while artist Baben Shin provides the visuals.
There are few things in life as good as a heaping bowl of pasta. And so, you'd best brush up on your fork-twirling skills because next month, Melbourne's getting an entire weekend devoted to the classic carb-based dish. Yep, pasta is the star of the show at the Melbourne Food and Wine Festival's upcoming shindig, The Big Spaghetti. Taking over Queen Victoria Market for a full-blown pasta party on Saturday, April 2, and Sunday, April 3, the event's set to deliver a tasty mash-up of Italian street fair and bustling hawker market. You'll find food stalls from some of Melbourne's favourite pasta-slinging restaurants, including Tipo 00, Pastore, Marameo, Lagotto, Mister Bianco and more. Browse the offering and sample over 20 different smash-hit pasta dishes, plus Italian-leaning snacks, and desserts like Pidapipo's Crema and Nutella Colomba toast with hazelnut Croccante gelato. That's Amore will be doing a four-cheese spaghetti served in a 40-kilogram cheese wheel, and there'll be a 'pasta wheel of fortune' to spin if you're feeling lucky. Also throughout the day, you'll get to catch live tunes, enjoy guest chef cooking demos and sip Italian-wine varietals courtesy of Pizzini. Plus, don't forget to down a few Italian-inspired cocktails while you're there. Top Image: Marameo's crab spaghetti, by Kristoffer Paulsen
Restaurant group Three Blue Ducks is hosting a fundraising dinner to aid communities impacted by flooding in Queensland and Northern New South Wales, with the support of some of Australia's finest chefs. On Wednesday, April 27 at their Melbourne location in URBNSURF, Three Blue Ducks will host a ten-course, canape-style dinner with all profits going to support Northern Rivers' Flood Relief Fund and Queensland's Food Bank. Creating the culinary experience are Three Blue Ducks chefs and owners Andy Allen, Mark LaBrooy and Darren Robertson alongside 12 prestigious guest chefs from across Australia, including Queensland's Louis Tikaram and MasterChef Australia judge Jock Zonfrillo. Home Grown Drinks and Stomping Ground will keep the drinks flowing throughout the night. During the event, attendees can enjoy musical performances by Ed Fisher and Harvey Miller, followed by DJ Mell Hall. The star of the evening, however, is the raffle. Boasting $15,000 worth of prizes, guests can purchase tickets to win donated items from Ripcurl, URBNSURF, YETI, Patagonia and Daiwa. A variety of prizes will also be available for auction, including a tennis lesson with Australian Paralympian Dylan Alcott, and two tickets to the Essendon AFL President's Club. The event will run from 6:30pm–11pm at URBNSURF, and tickets can be purchased now for $250 per person.
Before the pandemic hit, throwback tours were doing big Aussie business — nationwide shows that brought a heap of 90s and 00s musicians our way, let them belt out their biggest hits and doused everyone in as much nostalgia as possible, that is. And while life isn't quite back to normal yet, nature is healing in one key way, with Made in the 90s about to unleash an old-school lineup that'll get you chasing dreams. Responsible for one of the most iconic songs of the 90s, Coolio headlines this retro party, which hits Melbourne on Saturday, April 2. Head along to Festival Hall, prepare to feel like you've jumped back three decades and put that those memorised 'Gangsta's Paradise' lyrics to great use (because yes, if you were alive in the 90s, you know the words). Also on the bill are All-4-One ('I Swear', 'I Can Love You Like That'), Next ('Too Close', 'Wifey') and Renee Neufville, aka one half of Zhané ('Hey Mr. DJ', 'Groove Thang'). Been spendin' most of your life waiting for this? Of course you have.
To watch films written and directed by Ryûsuke Hamaguchi is to watch people playing a part — in multiple ways. That's one of the key truths to features not only by the Japanese filmmaker, but by anyone helming a movie that relies upon actors. It's so obvious that it doesn't usually need mentioning, in fact. Nonetheless, the notion is as essential to Hamaguchi's pictures as cameras to capture the drama. He bakes the idea into his films via as many methods as he can, pondering what it means to step into all the posts that life demands: friend, lover, spouse, ex, sibling, child, employee, student, classmate and the like. Hamaguchi loves contemplating the overt act of performance, too — his Best International Feature Oscar-winning Drive My Car, which also nabbed its helmer a Best Director nomination at this year's Academy Awards, hones in on a play and the rehearsals for it in dilligent detail — but the auteur who's also behind Happy Hour and Asako I and II has long been aware that the art of portrayal isn't just limited to thespians. Shakespeare said it centuries back, of course. To be precise, he had As You Like It's Jaques utter it: "all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players". Hamaguchi's Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy, his second film to reach cinemas in mere months, definitely isn't a French-set comedy; however, it lives and breathes the Bard's famous words anyway. Here, three tales about romance, desire and fate get a spin. This trio of stories all muse on chance, choice, identity, regret and inescapable echoes as well, and focus on complex women reacting to the vagaries of life and everyday relationships. They're about sliding into roles in daily existence, and making choices regarding how to behave, which way to present yourself and who you decide to be depending upon the company you're in. While Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy mightn't ultimately mimic Drive My Car's Oscars success, it's equally masterful. In the first segment — dubbed 'Magic (or Something Less Assuring)' — model Meiko (Kotone Furukawa, 21st Century Girl) discovers that her best friend Tsugumi (Hyunri, Wife of a Spy) has just started seeing her ex-boyfriend Kazuaki (Ayumu Nakajima, Saturday Fiction). She's told in a sprawling taxi chat, which makes for stellar early sequence, and then she grapples with her complicated feelings while musing on what could eventuate from there. Meiko also heads straight to her former paramour, which was never going to simplify the situation. Her mantle to bear: either remaining the picture of a supportive pal by failing to tell Tsugumi about her past with Kazuaki, or laying out their history and forever shifting the dynamic. It's a devastating tale in how intricately it understands the push and pull of bonds that splay in different directions, and how we hold ourselves in various ways depending on who we're with. Next, in 'Door Wide Open', college student Nao (Katsuki Mori, Sea Opening) is enlisted to seduce Professor Sagawa (Kiyohiko Shibukawa, Tezuka's Barbara) as part of a revenge plan by her lover Sasaki (Shouma Kai, Signal 100). She's forced into the part — which blatantly requires her to play a part — by the entitled Sasaki, all because the professor won't give him a passing grade. Nao is married, adding further shades to the roles she's inhabiting at any given time. She's also wholly uncomfortable with the position that her boyfriend has placed her in, but it still leads to authentic connections and revelations. Another of Hamaguchi's strong and frequently repeated truths: that the pretences we all sport, for whatever reasons we adopt them in any particular circumstances, are often barriers to genuine emotions and attachments. Finally, in a world where the internet has been eradicated due to a virus — making third chapter 'Once Again' a piece of science fiction, too, and as quietly fantastical as the feature gets — Natsuko (Fusako Urabe, Voices in the Wind) and Nana (Aoba Kawai, Marriage with a Large Age Gap) cross paths. The former has returned home to attend her high-school reunion, bumping into the latter within moments of getting off the train, with the two women instantly thinking that they were classmates decades ago. Thanks to the preceding portions of the film and also Hamaguchi's filmography in general, it's instantly clear that this scenario won't be straightforward, either. Nana invites Natsuko back to her house, the two chat and reminisce, but neither is all that confident about their shared history in a segment that tenderly but candidly examines role-playing as a two-way street, and also deception as a social grace. Hamaguchi's resume is littered with other obsessions beyond the fictions people spin to get through their days — to themselves and to each other, and willingly and unthinkingly alike — many of which also pop up in Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy. Coincidence has a role in each of the movie's trio of intelligently and painstakingly plotted narratives, and destiny and fortune as well (as the name makes plain). The tangled web that romance weaves, and the sticky strands that represent alluring exes, also leave a firm imprint. So does seduction, and not always in its usual and most apparent form. All three of the picture's sections could stand alone, but each could've been fleshed out to feature length as well; as they exist, they leave viewers wanting more time with their lead characters. Commonalities ebb and flow between them, though, because this is a smart, astute and savvily layered triptych that's brought to the screen with everything that makes Hamaguchi's work so empathetic, warmly intimate and also entrancing. On the list: a canny knack for domestic drama that spies the revelatory in the seemingly ordinary and mundane; a willingness to let dialogue guide each story, yet never by resorting to only speaking in exposition dumps or lazily telling over showing; and, to help with that crucial last component, piercing and haunting long shots by cinematographer (Yukiko Iioka, Listen to Light) in every chapter. Indeed, each portion of Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy almost resembles a full-length film as it is courtesy of these trademark traits, which make the entire movie seem deeply lived-in. It should come as no surprise, then, that Hamaguchi's cast fares just as brilliantly. With the filmmaker's patent fascination with performance on full display, the restrained yet meticulously textured portrayals he exacts from his cast are uniformly excellent. They're more than that; in a beguiling piece about playing parts, and that makes the process of adopting a role its very reason for flickering, peering at its actors feels like peering at reality at its most soulful, insightful and also playful.
What flickers in a robot's circuitry in its idle moments has fascinated the world for decades, famously so in Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Blade Runner and Blade Runner 2049 — and in After Yang, one machine appears to long for everything humans do. The titular Yang (Justin H Min, The Umbrella Academy) was bought to give Kyra (Jodie Turner-Smith, Queen & Slim) and Jake's (Colin Farrell, The Batman) adopted Chinese daughter Mika (Malea Emma Tjandrawidjaja, iCarly) a technosapien brother, babysitter, companion and purveyor of "fun facts" about her heritage. He dotes amid his duties, perennially calm and loving, and clearly an essential part of the family. What concerns his wiring beyond his assigned tasks doesn't interest anyone, though, until he stops operating. Mika is distressed, and Kyra and Jake merely inconvenienced initially, but the latter pledges to figure out how to fix Yang — which is where his desires factor in. Yang is unresponsive and unable to play his usual part as the household's robotic fourth member. If Jake can't get him up and running quickly, he'll also experience the "cultural techno" version of dying, his humanoid skin even decomposing. That puts a deadline on a solution, which isn't straightforward, particularly given that Yang was bought from a now-shuttered reseller secondhand, rather than from the manufacturer anew, is one roadblock. Tinkering with the android's black box is also illegal, although Jake is convinced to anyway by a repairman (Ritchie Coster, The Flight Attendant). He acquiesces not only because it's what Mika desperately wants, but because he's told that Yang might possess spyware — aka recordings of the family — that'd otherwise become corporate property. Before all that, there's a stunning dance — a synchronised contest where families around the globe bust out smooth moves in front of their televisions, competing to emerge victorious. The dazzling scene comes during After Yang's opening credits and is a marvel to watch, with writer/director/editor Kogonada (TV series Pachinko) conveying a wealth of meaning visually, thematically, philosophically and emotionally in minutes. To look at, the sequence brings to mind Ex Machina's, aka the Oscar Isaac-led scene that launched a thousand gifs. In what it says about After Yang's vision of an unspecified but not-too-distant future, it's reminiscent of Black Mirror, with engrained surveillance technology eerily tracking participants' every move. It's here, too, amid the joy of the family progressing further than they ever have before, that the fact that Yang is malfunctioning becomes apparent, turning a techno dream in more ways than one into a potential source of heartbreak. When a feature so easily recalls other films and television shows, and so emphatically, it isn't typically a positive sign. That isn't the case with After Yang. Adapting Alexander Weinstein's short story Saying Goodbye to Yang, Kogonada crafts a movie that resembles a dream for the overwhelming bulk of its running time — it's softly shot like one, and tightly to focus on interiors rather than backgrounds — and that makes it feel like a happily slumbering brain filtering through and reinterpreting its wide array of influences. Another picture that leaves an imprint: Kogonada's own Columbus, his 2017 wonder that also featured Haley Lu Richardson (The Edge of Seventeen), who pops up here as a friend of Yang's that Jake, Kyra and Mika know nothing about. It isn't the shared casting that lingers, but the look and mood and texture, plus the idea that what we see, what we choose to revel in aesthetically and what makes us tick mentally are intertwined; yes, even for androids. After Yang is transfixing, giving its audience plenty of opportunities to put those notions in motion themselves, all just by watching and being swept up in its gorgeously ruminative frames. It's a sci-fi film to revel in — it's cerebral, existential, meditative, hypnotic and soulful, as well as haunting and almost tangibly sensual — and, in the process, to slide onto its poignant wavelength about what truly defines life. After Yang is also tender and curious about intelligence wrought from flesh and from ones and zeros alike, digging into consciousness, memory, and both the impact of and loss of each. From all of that, it ponders the question that's as old as humanity and may even outlive us: what it genuinely means to be human, especially as AI develops, androids and other smart machinery get more immersed in our lives, and robots become inescapably intertwined with our emotional landscape (and perhaps boast their own). Her and A.I. Artificial Intelligence have also traversed somewhat similar terrain in their own ways, but After Yang remains its own film — its own take on all that it contemplates, everything it brings up but doesn't dare to try to simplify with clearcut answers, and the journey it makes through layers of recollections upon recollections. As Jake accesses Yang's memories, it reminds him of his own and reinforces a key fact: that memory is one of life's connective threads, linking our loved ones to us even when they're gone or we are. Kogonada conjures this up while evoking a captivating sense of space and framing via his interior-heavy locations, such as Jake, Kyra and Mika's home. Not since Parasite has a house been as pivotal not only as a setting, but to the atmosphere and substance of a movie. Glass and windows feature prominently, lensed lovingly but meticulously by cinematographer Benjamin Loeb (Pieces of a Woman, Mandy), and putting everyday moments in boxes to treasure. After Yang is a film to feel, to flow with, to sink into, to soak up. It codes that sensation in via Kogonada's sensitive editing, actually, which seems to intuitively mirror the leaping and lurching way the human brain thinks, and through a shifting use of aspect ratios. It's a picture that makes you want to touch it and step into it — and it's home to a masterclass of a quietly powerful portrayal by Farrell, the feature's standout among a well-deployed cast. Operating in the same subtle mode that made him astonishing in The Lobster and The Killing of a Sacred Deer, he's a piece of connective tissue, too, bonding Jake's stresses and delights with viewers' (because everything his character experiences emotionally is unshakeably relatable, even sans androids like Yang). Only an exceptional movie can equally think and feel so vastly, and pose unresolvable queries while also offering such a soothing embrace. It's something that Yang might've pined for, and that we all may have without ever realising it; to see here, it's magic.
The movies have come to Downton Abbey and Violet Crawley, the acid-tongued Dowager Countess of Grantham so delightfully played by Maggie Smith (The Lady in the Van) since 2010, is none too fussed about it. "Hard same," all but the most devoted fans of the upstairs-downstairs TV drama may find themselves thinking as she expresses that sentiment — at least where Downton Abbey: A New Era, an exercise in extending the series/raking in more box-office cash, is concerned. Violet, as only she can, declares she'd "rather eat pebbles" than watch a film crew at work within the extravagant walls of her family's home. The rest of us mightn't be quite so venomous, but that's not the same as being entertained. The storyline involving said film crew is actually one of the most engaging parts of A New Era; however, the fact that much of it is clearly ripped off from cinematic classic Singin' in the Rain speaks volumes, and gratingly. When the first Downton Abbey flick brought its Yorkshire mansion-set shenanigans to cinemas back in 2019, it felt unnecessary, too, but also offered what appeared to be a last hurrah and a final chance to spend time with beloved characters. Now, the repeat effort feels like keeping calm and soldiering on because there's more pounds to be made. Don't believe the title: while A New Era proclaims that change is afoot, and some of its narrative dramas nod to the evolving world when the 1920s were coming to a close, the movie itself is happy doing what Downton Abbey always has — and in a weaker version. There's zero reason other than financial gain for this film to unspool its tale in theatres rather than as three TV episodes, which is what it may as well have tacked together. Well, perhaps there's one: having Lady Mary Talbot (Michelle Dockery, Anatomy of a Scandal) proclaim that "we have to be able to enter the 1930s with our heads held high" and set the expectation that more features will probably follow. A New Era begins with a wedding, picking up where its predecessor left off as former chauffeur Tom Branson (Allen Leech, Bohemian Rhapsody) marries Lucy Smith (Tuppence Middleton, Mank) with everyone expected — the well-to-do Crawleys and their relatives, plus their maids, butlers, cooks, footmen and other servants — in attendance. But the film really starts with two revelations that disrupt the Downton status quo. Firstly, Violet receives word that she's inherited a villa in the south of France from an ex-paramour, who has recently passed away. His surviving wife (Nathalie Baye, Call My Agent!) is displeased with the arrangement, threatening lawsuits, but his son (Jonathan Zaccaï, The White Crow) invites the Crawleys to visit to hash out the details. Secondly, a movie production wants to use Downton for a shoot, which the pragmatic Mary talks the family into because — paralleling the powers-that-be behind A New Era itself — the aristocratic brood would like the money. With Violet's health waning, she stays home while son Robert (Hugh Bonneville, Paddington 2) and his wife Cora (Elizabeth McGovern, The Commuter) journey to the Riviera — as part of a cohort that also includes retired butler Mr Carson (Jim Carter, Swimming with Men), who's determined to teach his French counterparts British standards. And, as the Dowager Countess remains in Yorkshire exclaiming she'd "rather earn a living down a mine" than make movies, potential family secrets are bubbling up abroad. That subplot takes a cue or two from Mamma Mia!; Downton Abbey creator and writer Julian Fellowes must've watched several musicals while scripting. Violet also notes that she "thought the best thing about films is that I couldn't hear them", because the production helmed by Jack Barber (Hugh Dancy, Late Night), and led by stars Guy Dexter (Dominic West, The Pursuit of Love) and Myrna Dalgleish (Laura Haddock, Transformers: The Last Knight), has hit a period-appropriate snag: talkies are the new hot thing, but their flick is silent. 2022 marks two decades since Fellowes won an Oscar for writing what remains his finest achievement yet: the fellow upstairs-downstairs affair Gosford Park. It doesn't do A New Era's viewers much good to dwell on that fact while watching his latest, which is directed by My Week with Marilyn, Woman in Gold and Goodbye Christopher Robin's Simon Curtis as if he simply had a job to get on with. Noticeably, despite the lavish setting and decor that's a fixed part of the franchise, as well as the handsome costuming, Curtis' vision of Downton looks flat and functional rather than gleaming — almost like being stuck with a TV with the always-abhorrent motion-smoothing settings left on. The French-set scenes appear lighter and brighter, purely due to the switch from old-world stateliness to coastal airiness, but hardly dazzle visually either. If a Downton Abbey movie doesn't make the most of its bigger canvas, serves up stories cobbled together from other films, gets soapier otherwise and doesn't have all that much of Maggie Smith in it — even if she makes the utmost of the time she does get on-screen — it's always going to prove a lesser jaunt. That can't be patched over by the winking knowingness of tasking Downton's residents with verbalising how inelegant it is to make a picture there, while also recognising how great the cash is; instead of tongue-in-cheek, that meta choice just lands awkwardly. And, although the returning cast do exactly what their parts call for, with so many players to shoehorn in this can never be a performance-driven piece. Unsurprisingly, some of the feature's best work comes from its newcomers, with Dancy and West both fine additions — and enjoying romantic threads that, while thin, don't just tick boxes as the majority of the screenplay does elsewhere. Also blatant: that the servants are firmly shortchanged, but butler Barrow (Rob James-Collier, Fate: The Winx Saga), kitchen maid Daisy (Sophie McShera, The Queen's Gambit) and Mary's maid Anna (Joanne Froggatt, Angela Black) fare best. Sometimes, A New Era imitates thumbing through a photo album — spotting adored faces fleetingly, recalling old times in the process and, well, that's it. For the most ardent of Downton Abbey devotees, getting another go-around with the show's figures may be enjoyable enough, but this film is all about that easy comfort, nostalgia and familiarity above all else. It's there when John Lunn's score kicks in early, lingers through the all-too-neat ups and downs, and remains when Dockery virtually announces that if this flick does big-enough box-office business, then more's likely to come. Top image: Ben Blackall / © 2021 Focus Features, LLC.
We all know that the Mornington Peninsula is home to stunning natural wonders and hidden gems, but let's not forget about its booming industry of local talent. From artists, designers and sustainable entrepreneurs to brewers and winemakers, the Peninsula is a place ripe with creativity. To showcase this talent, Stoker Studio will be hosting an inaugural Design & Drink Market with the help of online local guide The Ninch. So, head along on Saturday, April 30 and you'll discover all that area has to offer in terms of small-batch and sustainable products, as well as craft beverages. Stoker Studio will be home to a plethora of stalls for your perusing, with textiles from Sundance Studio, wine from Kerri Greens, and wares from Kate Bowman Ceramics and Boatshed Cheese among the items that'll be tempting your wallet. The market will run from 1–6pm, and attendees are asked to come with some spare change — as entry is via gold coin donation, with the proceeds going to for Jimmy's Youth Wellbeing Centre. You can also expect live music and great vibes suitable for the whole family (including the pups). [caption id="attachment_850818" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Kerri Greens Winery[/caption]
Despite being nominated for Best Actor for Being the Ricardos, Javier Bardem had zero chance of nabbing a shiny trophy at the 2022 Oscars. The movie he deserves his next nod for instead: savagely sharp workplace satire The Good Boss, which is home to a tour-de-force of a performance from the Spanish actor. Already an Academy Award-recipient for his powerhouse effort in No Country for Old Men — and a prior contender for Before Night Falls and Biutiful, too — Bardem does what he long has, playing a character who uses a set facade to mask his real self. Here, he's a seemingly kindly factory owner who makes a big fuss about treating his employees like family, but happily lets that ruse slip if they want more money, or have problems at home that disrupt their work, or happen to be an attractive intern. He still sports a smile though, naturally. In his latest Goya Award-winning part — his 12th to be nominated, too — Bardem becomes the outwardly friendly, inwardly slippery Básculas Blanco. Given the darkness that lingers in his self-serving, self-confident, self-satisfied true nature, the character's name is patently tongue-in-cheek. He presides over a company that makes professional-grade scales, which he inherited from his father, and tells his staff "don't treat me like a boss". But filmmakers who put the word 'good' in their movie's monikers rarely mean it literally, and writer/director Fernando León de Aranoa (who reteams with his lead after 2002's Mondays in the Sun and 2017's Loving Pablo) is one of them. As portrayed with quietly compelling magnetism by Bardem, The Good Boss' ostensibly respectable CEO finds his perfectly calibrated public persona cracking slowly, surely and devilishly, all thanks to the weight of his own ruthlessness. Awards aren't just coming Bardem's way off-screen for this exceptional turn; they're baked into the movie's plot as well. When The Good Boss begins, Blanco is determined to win a prestigious business prize — but he can't be called desperate, because appearing anything other than commanding, magnanimous and prosperous isn't in the grey-haired, sleekly attired manager's wheelhouse. Still, everyone around him knows how insistent he is about emerging victorious, including his clothing boutique-owning wife Adela (Sonia Almarcha, The Consequences). Their dutiful but hardly passionate marriage says plenty about Blanco, how he operates, and how careful he is about maintaining the illusion he wants the world to see. Indeed, when pretty young Liliana (Almudena Amor, The Grandmother) starts in his marketing department for a month-long stint, she instantly earns his attention, while he still outwardly flaunts committed family-man vibes. Liliana's arrival isn't without complications either professionally and personally. But in a film that skewers nine-to-five life and relationships alike, that's one of several troubles that upsets the company's balance. Just as Blanco's business is set to be inspected during the prize's judging process, his orderly world is pushed askew. There's the just-retrenched José (Óscar de la Fuente, The Cover), who won't accept his sacking, has set up outside the worksite's gate with a loudspeaker shouting out his woes and even has his school-aged children in tow. Then, there's underling and childhood friend Miralles (Manolo Solo, Official Competition), whose marital struggles are impacting day-to-day operations. And, trusted employee Fortuna (Celso Bugallo, The Paramedic) calls upon Blanco's sway for help with a domestic situation of his own. The Good Boss doesn't lack for subplots. It's filled with them — overstuffed, even. Putting so much chaos on Blanco's plate stretches the film out to two hours, and it feels it, but there's a method behind León de Aranoa's approach. The deceitful air that lurks around his protagonist, not to mention everything he weathers and gets away with, has its heart in paralleling Spanish history. The filmmaker is in as pointedly comedic territory as he was with 2015's A Perfect Day, his Benicio del Toro-starring English-language debut about aid workers — and while the analogy to his homeland's past here remains unspoken, it's as gleaming as Blanco's ashen tresses nonetheless. An employer, husband, friend and person like The Good Boss' central figure isn't unique to Spain, but it's easy to connect the dots between the morally reprehensible behaviour on display and what's come before at the highest level in the European nation. Also mutely blatant: the statement made about what Blanco and his ilk will justify to maintain their authority. With its shaggy running time, and the convenience that seethes through some of its plot points, The Good Boss isn't as fine-tuned as it could be. While bearing a completely different tone, it also somewhat sits in the shadow of Pedro Almodóvar's Parallel Mothers, which similarly nods to Spanish history. And, it is inescapably a movie of two clear halves — the patiently building setup, because there's much to establish; and the payoff, where what Blanco's corruption means for men like him in a place with such a past becomes apparent. Still, when León de Aranoa's script slices, it cuts deeply and with a blackly comic disdain for the excesses of power and privilege that's so palpable that feeling it is inescapable. Also a key component: layering in the change bubbling in modern Spain, especially with gender roles. Regardless of whether The Good Boss happens to be hitting all of its marks at any given moment, Bardem is always mesmerising. Exuding menace has never been hard for him, as his Academy Award illustrates, but he proves as skilled here at letting that unease linger behind a superficially affable exterior as he is at flat-out getting villainous (for the latter, see also: Skyfall). Perhaps what's most striking about that polished-but-ominous combination is how recognisable it is at every turn, as it's designed to be, and how genuinely unnerving it is as a result. Workplaces everywhere are filled with Blancos, of course, aka people who can't ever quite hide their entitled, opportunistic, bullying and winner-takes-all tendencies with pleasant posturing, and yet have made successful careers thanks to coming close enough. Bardem mirrors a world of folks like Blanco with his transfixing performance, but also ensures that The Good Boss' namesake won't be easily forgotten.
The World Press Photo Foundation is a global platform connecting professionals and audiences through raw visual journalism and storytelling. The organisation was founded in 1955 when a group of Dutch photographers organised a contest to expose their work to an international audience. Since then, the contest has grown into the world's most prestigious photography competition and global travelling exhibition. The 65th edition of the World Press Photo Exhibition will touch down in Melbourne this year and be on display at the Magnet Galleries at Docklands from Friday, June 10–Thursday, June 30. The winners from this year's contest were chosen by an independent jury that reviewed 64,823 photographs by 4066 photographers from 130 countries — and while the exhibition only showcases a selection, get ready to peer at the best of the best. Taking top honours for 2022: Amber Bracken's image for The New York Times, featuring red dresses hanging on crosses along the roadside to mark the children who died at the Kamloops Indian Residential School. It's a hauntingly striking photo. This will be on display alongside other finalists, plus eye-catching images in categories that span contemporary issues, the environment, general news, nature, portraits and sports. View this post on Instagram A post shared by World Press Photo Foundation (@worldpressphoto) Top image: 2022 Photo Contest, World Press Photo of the Year. Title: Kamloops Residential School. © Amber Bracken for The New York Times.
To write notable things, does someone need to live a notable life? No, but sometimes they do anyway. To truly capture the bone-chilling, soul-crushing, gut-wrenching atrocities of war, does someone need to experience it for themselves? In the case of Siegfried Sassoon, his anti-combat verse could've only sprung from someone who had been there, deep in the trenches of the Western Front during World War I, and witnessed its harrowing horrors. If you only know one thing about the Military Cross-winner and poet going into Benediction, you're likely already aware that he's famed for his biting work about his time in uniform. There's obviously more to his story and his life, though, as there is to the film that tells his tale. But British writer/director Terence Davies (Sunset Song) never forgets the traumatic ordeal, and the response to it, that frequently follows his subject's name as effortlessly as breathing. Indeed, being unable to ever banish it from one's memory, including Sassoon's own, is a crucial part of this precisely crafted, immensely affecting and deeply resonant movie. If you only know two things about Sassoon before seeing Benediction, you may have also heard of the war hero-turned-conscientious objector's connection to fellow poet Wilfred Owen. Author of Anthem for Damned Youth, he fought in the same fray but didn't make it back. That too earns Davies' attention, with Jack Lowden (Slow Horses) as Sassoon and Matthew Tennyson (Making Noise Quietly) as his fellow wordsmith, soldier and patient at Craiglockhart War Hospital — both for shell shock. Benediction doesn't solely devote its frames to this chapter in its central figure's existence, either, but the film also knows that it couldn't be more pivotal in explaining who Sassoon was, and why, and how war forever changed him. The two writers were friends, and also shared a mutual infatuation. They were particularly inspired during their times at Craiglockhart as well. In fact, Sassoon mentored the younger Owen, and championed his work after he was killed in 1918, exactly one week before before Armistice Day. Perhaps you know three things about Sassoon prior to Benediction. If so, you might be aware of Sassoon's passionate relationships with men, too. Plenty of the film bounces between his affairs with actor and singer Ivor Novello (Jeremy Irvine, Treadstone), socialite Stephen Tennant (Calam Lynch, Bridgerton) and theatre star Glen Byam Shaw (Tom Blyth, Billy the Kid), all at a time in Britain when homosexuality was outlawed. There's a fated air to each romantic coupling in Davies' retelling, whether or not you know to begin with that Sassoon eventually (and unhappily) married the younger Hester Gatty (Kate Phillips, Downton Abbey). His desperate yearning to hold onto someone, and something, echoes with post-war melancholy as well. That said, that sorrow isn't just a product of grappling with a life-changing ordeal, but also of a world where everything Sassoon wants and needs is a battle — even if there's a giddy air to illegal dalliances among London's well-to-do. Benediction caters for viewers who resemble Jon Snow going in, naturally, although Davies doesn't helm any ordinary biopic. No stranger to creating on-screen poetry with his lyrical films — or to biopics about poets, after tackling Emily Dickinson in his last feature A Quiet Passion — the filmmaker steps through Sassoon's tale like he's composing evocative lines himself. Davies has always been a deeply stirring talent; see: his 1988 debut Distant Voices, Still Lives, 2011's romance The Deep Blue Sea and 2016's Sunset Song, for instance. Here, he shows how it's possible to sift through the ins and outs of someone's story, compiling all the essential pieces in the process, yet never merely reducing it down to the utmost basics. Some biopics can resemble Wikipedia entries re-enacted for the screen, even if done so with flair, but Benediction is the polar opposite. It must be unthinkable to Davies that his audience could simply pick up standard details about Sassoon by watching a depiction of his existence, rather than become immersed in everything about him — especially how he felt. Benediction plays like the work of someone who wouldn't even dream of such an approach in their worst nightmares. That's true in Lowden's scenes, with the bulk of the movie focused on the younger Sassoon. It remains accurate when Peter Capaldi (The Suicide Squad) features as the older Sassoon, including opposite Gemma Jones (Ammonite) as the older Hester. When the latter graces the picture's immaculately shot frames (by Harlots, Gentleman Jack and upcoming The Handmaid's Tale season five cinematographer Nicola Daley), he's a portrait of man embittered, and he's utterly heartbreaking. Lowden and Capaldi's performances are as critical to Benediction as Sassoon himself, and Davies as well. They're that fine-tuned, that tapped into the whirlwind of emotions swirling through the man they're playing, and that awash with anger, determination, longing, loneliness, defiance, despair, resentment and tragedy. (Yes, that's a complicated and chaotic mix, and 100-percent steeped in everything that's thrown Sassoon's way). As overseen by Davies, Lowden and Capaldi are also two halves of a whole, not that either actor gives anything less than their all, let alone a fraction of a portrayal. It's devastating to see how and why Lowden's charisma eventually gives way to Capaldi's loathing, but that's the plight that both men are charged with surveying, relaying and helping echo from the screen — exceptionally so. For all of the feeling coursing through Benediction — including when using archival war footage to hark back to the combat that so altered his central figure, rather than taking the 1917 re-creation route — Davies remains a rigorous, fastidious and controlled filmmaker. The feature's 137-minute running time feels as lengthy as it is. While there's a rhythm to Alex Mackie's (Mary Shelley) editing, the movie is methodically paced. Every single image seen is meticulous in its composition, too. Watching Benediction is an active act, rather than a case of being swept away. That matches everything that the film conveys about Sassoon's experiences and the turmoil they caused him, of course. Still, the art of using restraint and precision to stir up big emotions, and to whip and whisk them around so that they're inescapable, is also on display here — and it's one that this exquisite picture's driving force dispenses with as much talent as his subject did with his poetry.
For four decades, Iranian filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami explored his homeland — and sometimes the world as well — through a deeply thoughtful, probing and humanist lens. His features don't simply peer on at people and the places they call home; the late, great director's films truly see both his characters and the spaces they inhabit. And when he passed away in 2016, he left cinema with an exquisite body of work. This year, the Australian Centre for the Moving Image is paying tribute to the inimitable auteur, in its latest collaboration with Sydney Film Festival. Postponed from 2021 due to the pandemic, the retrospective season is called The Films of Abbas Kiarostami, and will screen seven of Kiarostami's features and a selection of his shorts. In Melbourne, the program will play from Thursday, June 9–Monday, June 20 — and spans early works, award-winners and seminal Iranian features all-round. Among the highlights: Close-Up, which blends fiction and documentary; Ten, his snapshot of the lives of contemporary Iranian women; and Taste of Cherry, the first Iranian film to win the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival.
Is there anything more intimate than wandering around someone's home when they're not there, gently rifling through their things, and — literally or not, your choice — spending a few minutes standing in their shoes? Yes, but there's still an intoxicating sense of closeness that comes with the territory; moseying curiously in another's house without their company, after they've entrusted their most personal space to you alone, will understandably do that. In Mothering Sunday, Jane Fairchild (Odessa Young, The Staircase) finds herself in this very situation. She's naked, and as comfortable as she's ever been anywhere. After her lover Paul Sheringham (Josh O'Connor, Emma) leaves her in a state of postcoital bliss, she makes the most of his family's large abode in the English countryside, the paintings and books that fill its walls and shelves, and the pie and beer tempting her tastebuds in the kitchen. The result: some of this 1920s-set British drama's most evocative and remarkable moments. Jane is used to such lofty spaces, but rarely as a carefree resident. She's an aspiring writer, an orphan and the help; he's firmly from money. She works as a maid for the Sheringhams' neighbours, the also-wealthy Godfrey (Colin Firth, Operation Mincemeat) and Clarrie Niven (Olivia Colman, Heartstopper), and she's ventured next door while everyone except Paul is out. This rare day off is the occasion that gives the stately but still highly moving film its name as well — Mother's Day, but initially designed to honour mother churches, aka where one was baptised — and the well-to-do crowd are all lunching to celebrate Paul's impending nuptials to fiancée Emma Hobday (Emma D'Arcy, Misbehaviour). He made excuses to arrive late, though, in order to steal some time with Jane, as they've both been doing for years. Of course, he can't completely shirk his own party. Mothering Sunday does more than luxuriate in Jane's languid stroll around a sprawling manor, or the happiness that precedes it — much, much more — but these scenes stand out for a reason. They're a showcase for Australian actor Young, who has graduated from playing troubled daughters (see: 2015's The Daughter and the unrelated Looking for Grace) to searching young women cementing their place in the world (see also: 2020's Shirley). With her quietly potent and radiant help, they say oh-so-much about Jane that wouldn't have sported the same power if conveyed via dialogue. They're also exactly the kind of sequences that screenwriter Alice Birch (Lady Macbeth) knows well, although she isn't merely repeating herself. Helping pen the page-to-screen adaptations of Sally Rooney's Normal People and Conversations with Friends, she's inherently at home revealing everything she can about her characters just by observing what they do when no one's watching. The broader story in Mothering Sunday also springs from a book, this time from Graham Swift's 2016 novel, with French filmmaker Eva Husson (Girls of the Sun) making her English-language debut in the director's chair. Swift didn't choose an annual occasion at random, with the day cloaked in sadness in the Sheringham and Niven households — and across Britain — in the shadow of the First World War and all the young men lost to the conflict. Indeed, marking Paul's engagement is the best way to spend the date because his brothers, and the Nivens' boys too, will never have the same chance. The need to don a stiff upper lip, to keep calm and carry on, and to embody every other grin-and-bear-it cliche about English stoicism is deeply rooted in grief here, and more will come in this touching feature before the sunny March day that sits at its centre is over. In lesser hands than Swift's, Husson's and Birch's, Jane might've been a peripheral player — or one part in a straightforward upstairs-downstairs setup that could've stepped directly out of Downton Abbey. Thankfully, that isn't Mothering Sunday either as a book or a movie. While class clashes are inescapable within the film's frames, it's how the eponymous date shapes Jane, and how moments both big and small change anyone, that dwells at its core. The picture also flits forward to its protagonist as a writer, where she's drawn back to that past idyll and heartbreak while navigating a relationship with Oxford philosopher Donald (Ṣọpẹ Dìrísù, Gangs of London). And, it jumps further into the future still, where the even-older Jane (Glenda Jackson, making her first movie since 1990's King of the Wind) has spent decades reflecting on that one Mothering Sunday, plus the other joys and losses life has brought her way, in her head, heart and through her work. It's easy to think you know what to expect with Mothering Sunday. Within its 104-minute running time, its pace is as leisurely as British dramas come. Whether roving around the Sheringhams' mansion, the garden party or less lavish places, Jamie Ramsay's (Moffie) cinematography is the epitome of handsome. Also, reteaming The Crown's O'Connor and Colman signals its emphasis on performances (Young and Firth pair up again, too, but the film actually pre-dates their work on HBO miniseries The Staircase). And yet, Mothering Sunday is also never that formulaic, and it isn't merely the movie that could've been constructed simply by connecting the obvious dots. Husson's and Birch's touches give it a gloriously sensual feel, and not only in the lingering sex scenes, their thrusting bodies and even the stains that a tumble in the sheets can cause. Clearly, the two women who've turned Mothering Sunday into a yearning, sultry and textured splash of celluloid have taken the narrative's message to heart: that leaping in, lapping up whatever delights come your way, and also facing the pain if and when it comes, is always better than holding back to avoid the scantest trace of woe. There's nothing overtly forceful about Young and O'Connor's performances, but the same can be said of the wonderful duo, who could fuel several movies with their chemistry alone. That Firth and Colman don't have quite the same presence fits with their characters, though, who nonetheless prove an affecting portrait of post-war mourning. And while there's little that's left unsaid in Morgan Kibby's emotive score, her third for Husson — or in three-time Oscar-winner Sandy Powell's (The Young Victoria, The Aviator, Shakespeare in Love) eye-catching, period-appropriate costuming, either — that too couldn't be more apt, with the film revelling in what it can when it can.
They say the best part of a paella is the crispy, caramelised crust at the bottom of the pan. Well, thanks to Richmond restaurant Mr Joe, you can now get your fix of crispy bits — and all the rest — for half the usual price, every single week. The venue has kicked off a tempting new midweek offering, halving the price of its signature paella dishes every Thursday night. That means you can tuck into a hearty serving of the chicken and chorizo paella, or the vegetable and chickpea version, for just $8.50. Or, opt for the seafood paella, loaded with mixed shellfish and crayfish oil, for a very reasonable $11. But why stop there? If you're thirsty, you can match your feed with 90 minutes of free-flowing cocktails for $39 — think, margaritas, mojitos, espresso martinis and mimosas. Plus, Mr Joe's new tapas menu will have you kicking off your paella party in style, with bites like the smoky meatballs, stuffed peppers, potato tortilla and ras el hanout pork skewers. [caption id="attachment_854553" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Mr Joe, by Pete Dillon[/caption] Images: Pete Dillon
Some venues tell you exactly what they're about right there in their name, and Bridge Road Brewers' latest location, A Bar Made of Cardboard, is one of them. At this short-term spot at East Brunswick Village in Melbourne, the brewery has set up a completely zero-waste bar while working on its second brewery in the same location. Come December this year, it'll be home to a 350-person venue — but, while that's in the works, A Bar Made of Cardboard can welcome in 60 beer lovers inside and out. Cardboard features everywhere. It has been fashioned into tables, chairs shelves, signs and light fittings. In fact, the only things that aren't made of cardboard are the beer taps, fridges and dishwasher, for obvious (and soggy) reasons. Thanks to all that cardboard, the venue is entirely constructed from materials that are either recycled themselves — the cardboard is made up of at least 75-percent recycled material, in fact — or can be reused, recycled or composted. The pop-up is now open, operating from 4pm–late Wednesday–Friday and 12pm–late Saturday–Sunday. Bridge Road Brewers' full range of core and seasonal beers will rotate through the bar's six bar taps, and there's also a wine list that heroes small wine producers from throughout Victoria's High Country. And, an onsite bottle shop will be selling all of the above, plus Victorian spirits as well. Snacks-wise, Chappy's Chips and Mount Zero Olives feature on the menu, plus there'll be food trucks serving up meals on Friday and Saturday evenings.
Melbourne's hosted a swag of new must-see exhibitions of late — and there's an extra dose of after-hours fun to add to your cultural calendar this weekend, too. Coinciding with the launch of its newest exhibition Naadohbii: To Draw Water, Melbourne Museum is back with the next instalment of its monthly after-dark parties. On Saturday, September 24, this edition of Saturday Sessions will once again invite punters in to explore the precinct after it's normally closed; browsing its galleries, kicking back to DJ tunes and catching special curator chats. [caption id="attachment_864171" align="alignnone" width="1920"] 'Tyama', by Eugene Hyland[/caption] This time around, you'll enjoy after-hours access to the immersive projections and special effects of Tyama; the hands-on fun of Bricktionary: The Interactive Lego Brick Exhibition; and the world's most complete Triceratops, star of the Triceratops: Fate of the Dinosaurs exhibition. Plus, be among the first to scope out Naadohbii — a compelling exhibition of First Peoples art exploring the theme of water. Then, hit the dance floor to a gig by celebrated DJ Natalie Ex. There'll also be an immersive water-inspired film screening, plus pop-up bars stocked with bevs to lubricate your cultural wanderings. Saturday Sessions runs from 5pm–9pm. Entry to the event is $15 for adults, though you'll need to grab additional tickets for access to Tyama and Bricktionary at the time of booking. [caption id="attachment_868007" align="alignnone" width="1920"] 'Bricktionary', by Eugene Hyland[/caption]
Every year for the past 101 years, the Archibald Prize has recognised exceptional works of portraiture by Australian artists. In 2022, from a field of 52 finalists, the coveted award has gone to Moby Dickens by Blak Douglas. The painting depicts Wiradjuri artist Karla Dickens, who lives on Bundjalung Country in Lismore, and is designed as a metaphor for northern NSW town's floods earlier in 2022. Douglas — a Sydney-based artist with Dhungatti heritage, who was born Adam Hill – made history, too, as the first New South Wales First Nations artist to win with a painting of a New South Wales First Nations artist. Other winners include a portrait of the one and only Taika Waititi, Nicholas Harding's painting Eora, and Claire Healy and Sean Cordeiro's depiction of a battle between warrior and demon, titled Raiko and Shuten-dōji A huge 1908 entries were submitted for the the 2022 Archibald, Wynne and Sulman prizes, with the three winners unveiled at the Art Gallery of New South Wales in May. And now the finalists are hitting the road for the annual Archibald Prize regional tour. The first (and only Victorian) stop: Narre Warren's Bunjil Place Gallery, where the 52 finalist works will be on display between Saturday, September 3–Sunday, October 16. There'll also be a program of workshops, tours, after-hours parties, themed high teas and other art events to match. [caption id="attachment_853909" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Winner Wynne Prize 2022, Nicholas Harding. Eora, oil on linen, 196.5 x 374.8 cm © the artist, image © AGNSW, Mim Stirling.[/caption] For more information on The Archibald Prize 2022 at Bunjil Place Gallery, head to the website. Top image: Excerpt of winner Archibald Prize 2022, Blak Douglas. Moby Dickens, synthetic polymer paint on linen, 300 x 200 cm © the artist, image © AGNSW, Mim Stirling. Sitter: Karla Dickens.
Melbourne's surf park is sending out the chilly season with a crash, dishing up a high-voltage serve of surf breaks, snow sports and DJ tunes. On Saturday, August 27, Urbnsurf is set to play host to the Boost Mobile Winter Jam, celebrating surf and snow culture with one big day of action. You'll be able to catch some of the country's top surf talent hitting the waves for Season 3 of the Rivals competition series, while a bunch of Aussie snow pros show off their stuff in a lagoon-side snowboard rail jam. While you're watching all that high-level athleticism, you'll be sipping bevs courtesy of Young Henrys, Hard Fizz and Red Bull, and snacking on eats from the day's food truck lineup. And it all wraps up with a big openair dance floor session, with a sunset DJ set from Dena Amy followed by the electronic sounds of Sydney duo Set Mo. [caption id="attachment_865840" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Set Mo[/caption]
Intrigued by the concept of collective behaviour and what it means to be part of a pack? Well, all the answers are waiting to be unearthed at Science Gallery Melbourne, within its latest exhibition Swarm. Running Saturday, August 13–Saturday, December 3, this interactive showcase doubles as a giant experiment, featuring 16 large-scale installations, all exploring various ideas around collective social behaviour. Ponder whether it's better to operate as part of a pack, or to fly solo, as you immerse yourself in highly creative works from around the world. Among them, you'll find an eight-metre-tall kinetic sculpture by performance artist Stelarc and Uni of Melbourne, which reacts in real-time to the presence of people using movements modelled on that of the human body. [caption id="attachment_865076" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Installation view of 'Sentiment Honk' by Rachel Smith (UK) in Science Gallery Melbourne's 'Swarm', captured by Alan Weedon.[/caption] Willoh Weiland's installation Scrape Elegy spits you out a personalised profile based on what's in your mobile phone using data-matching software, while Emmy Award-winning biomedical animator Drew Berry will wow you with the kaleidoscopic antibody swarms in his molecular visualisations of human viruses. Elsewhere, a kinetic sounds sculpture creates noises that are steered by real-time global population growth data, a karaoke-inspired work will see you singing to fruit flies, and there's a collection of robot trees that'll follow you around as you explore the gallery. [caption id="attachment_865078" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Installation view of 'Sentient Forest', by Bompas & Parr Studio (UK) in collaboration with Assoc Prof Monica Gagliano, Dr Claire Farrell and the Faculty of Engineering and Information Technology, University of Melbourne (AU), in Science Gallery Melbourne's 'Swarm', captured by Alan Weedon.[/caption] Top Images: 'Ngapulara Ngarngarnyi Wirra (Our Family Tree)', by Adam Goodes, Angie Abdilla, Baden Pailthorpe (AUS) in Science Gallery Melbourne's SWARM; captured by Alan Weedon. 'Anthropomorphic Machine', by Stelarc (AUS), Dr Paul Loh, David Leggett, Psyche Hou, Quishi Zhou, Gabriele Marini, Dr Eric Schoof, Melbourne School of Design, School of Computing and Information Systems, LLDS Architects, Pelican Studios and Festo, in Science Gallery Melbourne's SWARM; captured by Alan Weedon.
What happens outside an upstate New York strip club at 10am on an ordinary weekday? Nothing — nothing good, or that anyone pays attention to, at least — deduces the unhappy Val (Jerrod Carmichael, Rothaniel) in On the Count of Three. So, he's hatched a plan: with his lifelong best friend Kevin (Christopher Abbott, The Forgiven), they'll carry out a suicide pact, with that empty car park as their final earthly destination. Under the harsh morning light and against a drably grey sky, Carmichael's feature directorial debut initially meets its central duo standing in that exact spot, guns pointed at each other's heads and pulling the trigger mere moments away. Yes, they start counting. Yes, exhaustion and desperation beam from their eyes. No, this thorny yet soulful film isn't over and done with then and there. There are many ways to experience weariness, frustration, malaise and despair, and to convey them — and On the Count of Three surveys plenty, as an unflinchingly black comedy about two lifelong best friends deciding to end it all should. Those dispiriting feelings can weigh you down, making every second of every day an effort. They can fester, agitate, linger and percolate, simmering behind every word and deed before spewing out as fury. They can spark drastic actions, including the type that Val and Kevin have picked as their only option after the latter breaks the former out of a mental health hospital mere days after his last self-harming incident. Or, they can inspire a wholesale rejection of the milestones, such as the promotion that Val is offered hours earlier, that everyone is told they're supposed to covet, embrace and celebrate. On the Count of Three covers all of the above, not just with purpose but with confidence, as well as a much-needed willingness to get messy. It knows it's traversing tricky terrain, and is also well-aware of the obvious: that nothing about considering taking one's own life is simple or easy, let alone a laughing matter. Working with a script by Ramy co-creators Ari Katcher (also a co-creator of The Carmichael Show) and Ryan Welch, Carmichael doesn't make a movie that salutes, excuses or justifies Val and Kevin's exit plan. His film doesn't abhor the emotions and pain behind their choices either, though. Instead, this is a complicated portrait of coping, and not, with the necessities, vagaries and inevitabilities of life — and a raw and thoughtful piece of recognition that the biggest standoff we all have is with ourselves. Rocking a shock of dishevelled bleached-blonde hair, and looking like he hasn't even dreamed of changing his wardrobe since the early 00s, Abbott could've wandered out of Good Time as Kevin — he and Robert Pattinson could/should play brothers some day — including when he's staring down Val with a gun. First, On the Count of Three jumps from there to the events leading up to it, including an earlier attempt by landscaping supply store worker Val in the work bathrooms, his response to hearing about that aforementioned climb up the corporate ladder. In hospital, Kevin is angry; "if any of you knew how to help me by now, you would have fucking done it!" he shouts. But when the time to shoot comes, it's him who suggests a reprieve to take care of a few last items — revenge being his. Calling On the Count of Three a bucket-list movie isn't quite right, because there's a difference between checking off your wildest dreams and working through the essentials that gnaw at you. Accordingly, and in its nervy, restless, go-go-go energy, too, the film is in day-in-the-life territory — focusing on Kevin's score to settle with a child psychologist, Dr Brenner (Henry Winkler, Barry), from his past, and Val getting his issues with his slippery dad Lyndell (JB Smoove, Curb Your Enthusiasm) and Natasha, the woman he thought he was going to marry (Tiffany Haddish, The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent), off his chest. In-between, its main twosome relive minor past glories, whether it's breakfast at a favourite diner or returning to the dirt-bike park job they loved as teens. Those guns have to go off in one way or another, though; Chekov demands it. If On the Count of Three wasn't so deeply felt — so bitterly, unapologetically dark as well — and anchored by such compelling performances, it could've easily gone astray. Tragicomedy isn't straightforward, or simple to pull off. But Carmichael shows his skills as a director (he has TV documentary Sermon on the Mount and a Lil Rel Howery comedy special among his past helming credits otherwise) by skewing both intimate and wide. The film's one-on-one exchanges are candid and revelatory, while pivoting to tensely staged car chases and shootouts still feels natural. The crime-thriller sheen of Marshall Adams' cinematography helps, as does Owen Pallett's evocative score (especially during a climactic pursuit). And, that bickering, bantering, ride-or-die dynamic between the exceptional Abbott and the devastatingly understated Carmichael is captivating to watch. It's a great time for seeing two well-paired actors bouncing off of each other and wanting more — see also: Sam Rockwell and Saoirse Ronan in the vastly dissimilar See How They Run — but On the Count of Three's on-screen chemistry is hardly surprising. Abbott keeps going from strength to strength in complex parts, such as James White, Black Bear and Possessor, while Carmichael knows how to match vulnerability with truth, as his comedy special Rothaniel made plain. Such a key factor here is balance, the elusive concept that Val and Kevin are searching for even if they don't necessarily know it. It bubbles through in the movie's comic moments, too; when On the Count of Three chuckles, it directs is humour at Val cathartically screaming along to Papa Roach's 'Last Resort' in such on-the-nose circumstances, Papa Roach in general, the way that minutiae always gets in everyone's way — whether they're planning to see another day or not — and only starting to live when you want to die.
They headed Down Under to give the town of Yass a makeover. They toured their first-ever standup show our way back in early 2020, too. Now, to make 2022 a whole lot more fabulous, Queer Eye star Jonathan Van Ness is again venturing to Australia — bringing their latest live show Imaginary Living Room Olympian to the Melbourne Convention and Exhibition Centre on Wednesday, September 28. On the agenda: not just tales from the Emmy Award-nominated television personality, hit podcaster and hairstylist to the stars' life, which'll definitely be included, but also gymnastics as well. Their last tour was inspired by a lifelong goal of becoming a figure-skating prodigy in time for the 2022 Beijing Olympics, after all. Clearly, that's not something you shake easily, and Van Ness has a gymnastics routine to show audiences this time around. The overarching theme of the show: that's it's not about the destination, but the journey. That might sound like standard advice, but fans of the rebooted Queer Eye know that no nugget of wisdom sounds average or cliched when delivered by Van Ness. The Imaginary Living Room Olympian tour comes after a big few years for Van Ness, including not only Queer Eye — which has notched up six seasons already — but this year's fellow Netflix series Getting Curious with Jonathan Van Ness, which is based on their podcast of the same name. And, there's Van Ness' publishing career, too, courtesy of 2019's Over The Top: My Story and this year's Love That Story: Observations from a Gorgeously Queer Life (plus children's picture book Peanut Goes for the Gold, about a gender non-binary guinea pig). Expect Van Ness' new shows to be popular — their last tour, which played 40 cities worldwide, sold out theatres in the US, the UK, Canada, Australia and New Zealand.
What's more terrifying: knowing that death is inevitable, because our fragile flesh will fail us all eventually and inescapably, or accepting that little we ever sense can truly be trusted given that everything in life changes and evolves? In horror movies, both notions stalk through the genre like whichever slasher/killer/malevolent force any filmmaker feels like conjuring up in any particular flick — and in You Won't Be Alone, the two ideas shudder through one helluva feature debut by Macedonian Australian writer/director Goran Stolevski. An expiration date isn't just a certainty within this film's frames. It's part of a non-stop cycle that sees transformation as just as much of a constant. You Won't Be Alone is a poetically shot, persistently potent picture about witches but, as the best unsettling movies are, it's also about so much that thrums through the existence we all know. Viewers mightn't be living two centuries back and dancing with a sorceress, but they should still feel the film's truths in their bones. First, however, a comparison. Sometimes a resemblance is so obvious that it simply has to be uttered and acknowledged, and that's the case here. Stolevski's film, the first of two by him in 2022 — MIFF's opening-night pick Of an Age is the other — boasts lyrical visuals, especially of nature, that instantly bring the famously rhapsodic aesthetics favoured by Terrence Malick (The Tree of Life, A Hidden Life) to mind. Its musings on the nature of life, and human nature as well, easily do the same. Set long ago, lingering in villages wracked by superstition and exploring a myth about a witch, You Won't Be Alone conjures up thoughts of Robert Eggers' The Witch, too. Indeed, if Malick had directed that recent favourite, the end product might've come close to this entrancing effort. Consider Stolevski's feature the result of dreams conjured up with those two touchstones in his head, though, rather than an imitator. The place: Macedonia. The time: the 19th century. The focus: a baby chosen by the Wolf-Eateress (Anamaria Marinca, The Old Guard) to be her offsider. Actually, that's not the real beginning of anyone's tale here in the broader scheme of things — and this is a movie that understands that all of life feeds into an ongoing bigger picture, as it always has and always will — but the infant's plight is as good an entry point as any. The child's distraught mother Yoana (Kamka Tocinovski, Angels Fallen) pleads for any other result than losing her newborn. You Won't Be Alone's feared figure has the ability to select one protege, then to bestow them with her otherworldly skills, and she's determined to secure her pick. That said, she does agree to a bargain. She'll let the little one reach the age of 16 first, but Old Maid Maria, as the Wolf-Eateress is also known, won't forget to claim her prize when the years pass. Nevena (Sara Klimoska, Black Sun) lives out that formative period in a cave, in her mum's attempt to stave off her fate — and with all that resides beyond her hiding spot's walls glimpsed only through a hole up high. Then the Wolf-Eateress comes calling, as she promised she would. From there, Nevena's initiation into the world — of humans, and of her physically and emotionally scarred mentor — is unsurprisingly jarring. Her transition from the care and protection of her "whisper-mama" to the kill-to-survive ruthlessness of her new "witch-mama" disappoints the latter, soon leaving the girl on her own. Still, the need to hunt, devour and mutate has already taken hold, even if Nevena is left fending for herself as she shapeshifts between animals and other humans, after extracting their innards and stuffing them into her own body first. With Noomi Rapace (Lamb), Alice Englert (The Power of the Dog) and Carloto Cotta (The Tsugua Diaries) also among the cast, You Won't Be Alone turns Nevena's curiosity-driven experiences of life, love, loss, identity, desire, pain, envy and power into an unforgettable, mesmerising and thoughtful gothic horror fable — charting switches and the stories that come with them with each metamorphosis. In her first new human guise, Nevena may as well be a newborn again; the families and communities she enters, assuming their members' forms, think her behaviour is strange to say the least even when she's been through the process a few times. But every incarnation teaches the young woman plenty, including that existence and its happinesses are oh-so fleeting, precarious, tenuous and precious. The more years that Nevena spends among the living, the more that the bitter Maria is dismayed, as she returns periodically to stress (and because completely leaving the child she took as her own isn't ever straightforward.) Stolevski doesn't let hurt and cruelty subside from You Won't Be Alone, especially as it ponders the way that women — be they mothers, daughters, spinsters desperate for children, ageing figures considered past their prime or anything in-between — are and have been so savagely treated in a patriarchal world. Suffering and fear dwell in the feature's intimate frames, which rove and roam, and also survey nature's horrors (as well as its splendours) as devotedly as they follow its central figure. Cinematographer Matthew Chuang adds the handheld camerawork here to his also immersive and expressive work in Blue Bayou, not only sweeping the audience on a witchy and whispery journey, but making them sense the film's emotions deeply. A repeated refrain, alongside that contrast between stark agonies and gorgeous sights, says everything about the movie, however: "it's a burning, breaking thing, this world; a biting, wretching thing. And yet... and yet...". Unnerving flicks, whether gruesomely carving up a body count like fellow 2022 release X or contemplating a plethora of weighty themes as Nope does, also pulsate with another truth: that life isn't something to lose or squander lightly. You Won't Be Alone emphasises that fact, and the yearning for connection that simmers within us all — recognising that being alive can mean blood, terror and tragedy, but also hope, beauty, affection, soul-changing bonds and even just delighting in the smallest of wonders. Cycling through its cast given the premise, the film's performances soar beyond the last category with their impressive and pivotal physicality, although it's You Won't Be Alone's ethereal mood, energy, understanding and reflection that hang powerfully and poignantly in the air. Take the title literally for many reasons, and because of one pivotal outcome: you won't be alone in being haunted by this meditation on what it means to live. To say that it is bewitching is obvious, too, but also accurate.
A scene-stealer in 2018's The Breaker Upperers, Ana Scotney now leads the show in Millie Lies Low. She's just as magnetic. The New Zealand actor comes to the part via Wellington Paranormal, Shortland Street, Educators and Cousins — and the film first debuted at festivals before her role in God's Favourite Idiot — but it's an exceptional calling card. It isn't easy playing someone so committed to making such utterly questionable choices, yet remaining so charmingly relatable; however, that's Scotney's remit and achievement in this canny, savvy and amusing comedy. It also isn't easy to pull off the timing needed to highlight the hilarious side of Millie's hijinks, while ensuring that her woes, hopes and everything that's led her to lie low but lie about living it up remain understandable; consider her entire portrayal a masterclass in just that. Scotney plays the film's eponymous Wellington university student, who panics aboard a plane bound for New York — where a prestigious architecture internship awaits — and has to disembark before her flight leaves. She says she isn't anxious. She also says it isn't an attack. And by the time she realises what she's done, she's alone in the airport, the aircraft has departed and her own face beams down at her from a digital billboard. Even getting that Big Apple opportunity had made her the toast of the town, and huge things were meant to await, hence the ads and publicity. Now, a new ticket costs $2000, which Millie doesn't have. Admitting that she hasn't gone at all — to her family, friends, teachers, school and the NZ capital at large — wouldn't cost her a thing, but it's a price she isn't willing to pay. First, Millie endeavours to rustle up the cash from her best friend and classmate (Jillian Nguyen, Hungry Ghosts), and then her mother (Rachel House, Heartbreak High). Next, she hits up a quick-loan business (run by Cohen Holloway, The Power of the Dog) but is still left empty-handed. Millie's only solution, other than admitting the situation and facing the fallout: faking it till she makes it. As she searches for other ways to stump up the funds, she hides out in her hometown, telling everyone that she's actually already in NYC. To support her ruse, she posts elaborate faux Instagram snaps MacGyvered out of whatever she can find (big sacks of flour standing in for snow, for instance) and scours for every possible spot, building feature and poster that can even slightly double for New York. There's a caper vibe to Millie's efforts skulking around Wellington while attempting to finance the ticket to her apparent dreams. Sometimes, she's holed up in a tent in her mum's backyard. Sometimes, she's putting on a disguise and showing up at parties in her old flat — eavesdropping on what her mates are saying in her absence, and spying on the boyfriend (Chris Alosio, Troppo) she's meant to be on a break from. While she's doing the latter, she's also reclaiming the car she sold pre-trip to use as loan collateral, because she's that determined to get to America and leave her nearest and dearest none the wiser. Making her feature debut, director and co-writer Michelle Savill has more than just a laugh and a lark in her sights, though, as entertaining as Millie Lies Low's namesake's antics are. There's a caper vibe to the picture of Millie's supposedly perfect existence that she's trying to push upon herself as much as her loved ones as well, like she's selling herself on an unwanted fantasy. Millie mightn't be sure whether the internship is truly her heart's desire, but she's sure that she doesn't deserve it or the fanfare that's come her way with it. Accordingly, Savill has imposter syndrome and the shame spiral it sparks in her gaze, too, and finds much to mine in both an insightful and darkly funny manner. As she follows her protagonist between episodic efforts to print the legend — or post it one Insta picture at a time — her keenly observed film also treads in the perennially great (and relevant) Frances Ha's footsteps. Both movies examine the self-destructive life choices of a twentysomething with a clear idea of what she wants everyone to think of her, but with far less of a grasp on who she really is herself and what she genuinely needs. Some framing and music choices make the connection between Noah Baumbach's Greta Gerwing-starring 2012 masterpiece and Millie Lies Low obvious, but this astute delight is never merely a Wellington-set copy of that fittingly NYC-set feature. Tapping into the reality that no one ever feels like a real adult, let alone a real person, is fuel enough for thousands of movies — and Savill's always has its own mood, thoughts and strengths, including in its interrogation of social media. It doesn't come as news that broadcasting a seemingly idyllic version of your life to everyone you know, and don't, creates pressure to maintain that facade. It isn't a revelation that that's what Facebook, Instagram and the like have inspired to begin with, either. Millie navigates a heightened version of a daily truth for many, and Millie Lies Low does what comedic exaggeration is meant to, acting like a mirror and a magnifying glass. Whether you're a Wellington local or not — or you've visited, or haven't — you can sense the city around Scotney as she flits around; Savill's direction, and Andrew Stroud's (The Changeover) cinematography along with it, has a lived-in look and atmosphere. It feels tangible, too, as do the many shrewd character details and bits of backstory layered through Savill and Eli Kent's (Coming Home in the Dark) script. Nothing about the film would work even half as well if Millie felt artificial, unsurprisingly. Scotney's magnificent performance is crucial, yes, but so is the fleshed-out material she's working with. Millie Lies Low also operates as a cringe comedy, and proves just as textured and relatable as viewers wince and squirm at its central figure's decisions. We cower and recoil — and chuckle — because we can spot the gap between the options that Millie takes and the better alternatives, and because there's nothing pretend about how accurate her fakery feels.
