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Rating History

Father Figures
2 years ago via Rotten Tomatoes

Who exactly was Father Figures made for? It has a number of over-edited road-trip montages despite the fact that the characters go nowhere interesting. Its soundtrack feels like someone walked drunkenly into a studio, shouted "indie", and took whatever came out. It clearly wants to have deep emotional resonance, but also has no less than three "we're inside each other" jokes in the first ten minutes. It feels like the kind of inoffensive fluff you can just turn on when you need some background noise while visiting your parents, but it also has a gag about a cat's giant testicles that seems to exist because, fuck it, they had the animatronic testicles handy.

Ugh, what a piece of utter shit this movie is. In case the obviously photoshopped in-post poster doesn't make it clear, here is a movie that a bunch of big names showed up to for a half-day to collect a paycheck. Christopher Walken, king of showing up for the paycheck, utters something about "the kitties" in a transparent attempt to pull a Joe Dirt and get something memorable out of the whole thing. In Ving Rhames' case, he showed up because he was already in Miami I guess? Katt Williams turns up as a hitchhiker, and he's maybe the only person in the whole thing not phoning it in, and christ I wish he had. He at least sets up an almost-clever riff on a certain pervasive trope that the movie goes absolutely nowhere with. There's precisely one good gag in the whole thing, involving June Squibb's delightfully manic reaction to a gun. The rest of the attempted humour just kind wilts into thin air or, like a recurring gag about how loose the central twins' mom was in the 70s, keeps reaching for the same ineffective tricks over and over.

But then, just when it seems like it's all ended in an out-of-left-field reveal that, hell, probably sounded poignant when the writer put it on a post-it note, it even goes ahead and has the gall to tack on an epilogue whose sole purpose seems to be undoing every lesson the characters were supposed to learn. Owen Wilson's Donald (er, Kyle) was supposed to learn to be a bit more responsible? Nah, he manages to convince millions of people to buy a useless app. Ed Helms' Pete was supposed to open himself up to new experiences? Nah, he'll stick with the girl who pays him any attention, and convince his son to love him through unclear methods (I'm assuming beating the devil at a fiddling contest). Ugh. Hopefully Ving Rhames had a nice time in Miami.

The Beguiled
The Beguiled (2017)
2 years ago via Rotten Tomatoes
½

"Be careful with your v's," notes schoolteacher Edwina in a cursive class, in what would be the most hilariously blunt double-entendre of the year were The Killing of a Sacred Deer not hanging out in the rafters. Whereas that film starring Colin Farrell and Nicole Kidman spoke frankly at all times, this film starring Colin Farrell and Nicole Kidman speaks in code until it suddenly doesn't. "I'm as blunt as I need to be," says Kidman's southern headmistress Martha to John, the wounded Yankee she temporarily shelters. Martha is a capable operator, but as the wounded soldier starts healing, starts becoming active, starts looking virile in a group of secluded women, is bluntness effective?

The Beguiled runs only an hour and a half, but it takes its time within that, carefully setting up its dominoes for the first hour as John charms his way into the existing fissures of the boarding house's ecosystem. It's Civil War setting provides an interesting feint; John quickly shows himself to not be the enemy Yankee they fear, but he's hardly an altruist either. It's final stretch pays off in intensity but lacks some of the previously evident restraint, feeling distinctly like a horror movie at points. But its a beautifully shot film with a talented cast who make this small corner away from the war feel fully realized. It's not a terribly optimistic film, but it is often magnetic.

The Shape of Water
2 years ago via Rotten Tomatoes

Within the first five minutes of The Shape of Water, Sally Hawkins' mute maid Eliza sets a timer, hops in the bath, and masturbates. The film has been marketed as an adult fairy tale, and the first part of the statement can't be ignored. Don't get me wrong; this isn't a raunch-fest about fish-sex. But unlike Pan's Labyrinth, which was an adult fairy tale from a child's perspective, The Shape of Water is distinctly mature through-and-through, a brutally violent, quietly introspective, and lusciously gorgeous delight. It also happens to feature a sexy fish-man.

Even if said sexy fish-man doesn't work for you, there's no denying how stunningly beautiful this film is, with oversaturated blues giving Eliza's apartment the feeling of an aquarium and neon greens (or is that teal?) frequently blanketing the players. In many fantastic ways, the art design evokes Bioshock's Rapture, particularly when combined with its cold-war setting and record-box soundtrack. In a touch that could be viewed as cheap if I had a heart of stone, Eliza lives above a cinema, and The Shape of Water definitely earns the La La Land/The Artist movie-about-how-great-movies-are slot at the Oscars. But it does so in little ways, such as Eliza and her neighbour Giles performing a small couch dance routine, before paying it off in a big, spectacular moment.

The bloody violence might turn some off, and indeed ventures into fairly rough territory at times. Michael Shannon brings a lot of intensity to a fairly one-note heel, finding new dimensions of depravity in every act. One could also fault Del Toro for spending too much time with his side characters, but he paints Giles, Dmitri, and Zelda with a fine enough brush that I wouldn't want to see them excised even if the occasionally feel extraneous. But the heart lies within Eliza and The Creature, whose sensitive puppy-dog attitude never feels manipulative. If this kind of fantastical twist is what movie romance needs, I for one welcome our new sexy fish-man overlords.

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri
2 years ago via Rotten Tomatoes

In a three-act structure, the second act tends to be the one where the good stuff is. Three Billboards outside Ebbing Missouri takes this to heart, beginning well after the murder that incites the action takes place and after the failed investigation has all but folded. Feeling the world is moving on from her still-burning rage, Mildred Hayes (Frances McDormand) rents the titular billboards, personally shaming police chief William Willoughby* (Woody Harrelson), who is dying of cancer and has perhaps the most screenwriterly name ever devised. The billboards scandal ripples throughout the town, perhaps nowhere more than in the police station, where the short-tempered, racist, and punnily-named deputy Jason Dixon (Sam Rockwell) gets angry seemingly on Willoughby's behalf. But the driving background behind each character, from Hayes' tragedy to Willoughby's illness to Dixon's racism, are all established quickly, sometimes awkwardly, through dialogue to cut to the chase. Director Martin McDonagh isn't interested in great tragedies nor is he particularly interested in police abuse. He's interested in how communities function, how defensive they can be to social upset, how putting their members into boxes begets violence. But maybe a bit of interest in the former would have helped.

Three Billboards has been marketed as a black comedy, but never finds an even tone, oscillating drastically between wallowing in melodrama and poking fun at bumpkins. Sometimes this tonal whiplash works: when Mildred's violent ex-husband escalates a situation only to have it defused by his young girlfriend cluelessly asking for a restroom, McDonagh keeps the scene going for a hilariously uncomfortable amount of time. At another moment, a sudden intrusion of Willoughby's illness during an interrogation provides the most intimate moment of the film. However, while a few of the performers find the right nerve to strike (notably the now-ubiquitous Caleb Landry Jones and Samara Weaving), many others never quite find it. Some, like Peter Dinklage's alcoholic salesman, serve one scene and otherwise hang out on the margins, which does give the town a nicely lived-in feel. But others, notably Abbie Cornish as Willoughby's far-too-young and implacably accented wife, feel air-dropped in from a movie-of-the-week. Compared to McDonagh's fantastically odd and dark In Bruges, Three Billboards is just too sincere to read as comedy.

Three Billboards commits to its second-act focus in the end, arguably cutting to black pre-climax. But before it gets there, it engages in some acts of forgiveness that have caused a fair amount of controversy, of which a lot of digital ink has already been spilled. A lot of it comes down to whether a certain act is read as redemption or a step forward, and for my money the film engages with the difficulty of redemption even after attaining self-awareness. It builds up a racial element only to unharmoniously sweep it under the rug, but it rather frankly asserts that atonement isn't simple. The parallels it draws between its two most broken characters are legitimately interesting, although handled less-than-deftly. Thanks to the character of Ebbing itself, it's certainly not a boring ride to get there. It's just not as riveting as the material could have been.