FILM DOODLES

“You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit.”

― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

“Girls” was a sensation from the day it started in 2012. The reasons were manifold – the outrageous nudity, the harrowing realism of the customarily bypassed bits of life on TV and the inescapable urgency of speaking from the mouths of the snowflake millennials. As Lena Dunham’s Hannah declared in the first episode, “I don't want to freak you out, but I think that I may be the voice of my generation. Or at least, a voice of a generation.” And she undoubtedly is. But why?

The headstrong confidence of an over-educated generation mixed with an aggravating sense of egoism spurred by social media does not create the world’s most delightful bunch of characters. Hannah, Marnie, Jessa and Shoshanna are not inspiring role models but they are no villainous cautionary tales either. Their quest to find a convenient balance between the strong clasp of capitalism and the more ephemeral meaning of life is extremely relatable but also highlights the utter futility of any such endeavours. Their negative personality traits are heightened by their sense of perseverance and indifference in the face of complications. Their sense of self is stronger than any of the shit that life throws at them which makes them extremely likeable against all odds.

And then I say “shit”, I mean of course different permutations of “the wrong type of latte” problems when compared to hunger and all other kinds of true human sufferings. This is the life of imaginary middle class Americans living in New York, a piece of fiction based on the life experiences of a white female with supportive parents. Thus, in many ways all the criticism towards “Girls” which has encompassed the series throughout the years ­– whitewashing, questions about rape, the probability of actually getting the jobs Hannah got - is irrelevant. Why should a fictitious TV show replicate life? Why are we assuming it should adhere to the same rules as our everyday lives? In the end of the day, it’s in essence more “Golden Girls” than “Real World”. The fact that it has raised these questions though shows that they have managed to hit a nerve, that somehow the show unveils something about the way we live and think.

That does not mean that the show did not have its problems. In what seemed like a conscious effort to reject any notion of the character arc, the main characters refused to develop or change throughout the series. While adding cute annoyance to some of them like Hannah, it left poor Allison Willams’ Marnie simply unlikable and obnoxious throughout several seasons. It also did not help with creating a flow and made the stories at times episodic and punch-line driven rather than organically stemming from each other.

For this reason, the episodes which have really stood out throughout the seasons either concentrate on one single character or zoom in on the friendship between the four main characters. The one episode which is often mentioned as one of the remarkable ones is “One Man’s Trash” which documents Hannah’s fling with Patrick Wilson’s dashing Joshua. Made probably in a mid-season frenzy of keeping the production costs down, these episodes which have restrictions on the number of characters and shooting locations often turn out better than imagined as the writers have to get creative (the same fate followed the Breaking Bad episode “The Fly”). The viewers get to embrace every step of the development of their brief fling with a beautiful annie-hallesque ending. Half an hour is quite a short period of time so concentrating on one storyline often pays off.

Similar mechanics are at work at “The Panic in Central Park” where Marnie reunites with his old boyfriend, Christopher Abbott’s Charlie, for a night out. This episode gives Marnie some much-needed emotional depth and provides a glimpse behind her thick self-centric façade. One other success of this episode is definitely the splendid and heart wrenching portrayal of Marnie and Desi’s broken relationship – the cracks are so deep that you can almost feel their pain. The perfect pace leads to a rude but needed awakening. It is an impeccable mix of excitement, vulnerability and epiphany.

In addition to these two, there have been another two unforgettable episodes which concentrate on the fifth character in the film – the female friendship. Marnie, Hannah, Shosh and Jessa are not ones to meet over white-tableclothed brunch to discuss shoes and men, their relationship is more down-to-earth, filled with unanswered phone calls, boring parties and let-downs. It’s a friendship with warts and all. The “Beach House” and “Wedding Day” episodes are remarkable in the way they refuse to glamorise female friendships. People are flimsy and unpredictable so the perfect party or wedding is more improbable than it is likely so it is refreshing to see illusions of perfection shattered in a non-preachy way.

And then we come to the last season of “Girls”. The plot became entranced in the scent of an ending. All of the sudden, the episodes had meaning, they had drive. Finally, the character arcs could lead somewhere rather than flapping aimlessly in the wind like yesterday’s laundry in the yard. They could finally take the glimpses of truth which was always their greatest forte and make them lead to something greater than the sum of their parts, make them last. And they did with their unique panache, raging against ironing out the creases for the short-lived satisfaction of the viewer. They were brave enough to shatter all the pillars on which the series stood – the quirky “Mr Big” is out of the picture and the friendship has been pronounced dead. All the questions have been at least partly answered so what is there left to say? This is the perfect blank slate for the final episode.

It is the end of the world with “Girls” in it and I feel fine because I do not think the last episode can disappoint. It has no obligations, no weight on its shoulders, nothing to solve. “Girls” has boldly gone where no one else has and forced the snowflake millennials to face up to what they all are – the children of their time. While shaking up the stagnant cesspool of neat and prim portrayals of women on TV, they’ve showed their viewers that it is alright to wear broken dreams with pride.

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Every now and again, a film manages to capture the essence of something timely and way bigger than the mere sum of the minutes it inhabits. The narrative, cinematography and music all feed into a large sense of what it means to be in that particular moment, regardless of whether you can identify with the characters or not. The “stench” of the era is just too strong, emanating from everything ranging from the little details to the grand narrative. The road movie about a group of impoverished youths called “American Honey” belongs to a fleet of films which manage to translate the concentrated high juice of an era into moving images including “Easy Riders”, “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” and “Natural Born Killers”.

The main character Star (Sasha Lane) is a delicately constructed image of contemporary youth. Emotionally immature and raw but also fearless and gutsy. She flies through the experiences she gathers on her road trip like a gentle breeze, leaving the audience flabbergasted about how close she comes to numerous life-threatening situations. The tingling feeling of always being on the verge of something bad which never really materialises adds a sense of danger and thrill. Star’s naïve disregard for all the glaring red flags allows her to float through all the threatening and dangerous without letting it scar her – an example of childlike escapism similar to that of “Beasts of the Southern Wild”. The robust see-sawing between actual danger and valuable experience is depicted almost in passing which creates a powerful feeling of what it means to be young.

So what does it mean to be young for the people in “American Honey”? They are all misfits who have for one reason or another exchanged their former lives for a dodgy sales pitch and life on the road. They are by no means ambitious money-hungry career people with dreams of “making it” but just youngsters who want to escape their lives and do not really care about what comes after. The high-water mark that Hunter S. Thompson claimed to be visible to the right eyes, does no longer even cross anyone’s minds. There is nothing beyond the here and now, their contentment or unease is all tied up in the moment. They’ve lost the ability to dream and refuse to remember the past.

This kind of not seizing but more like just existing in the moment is emphasised by the generous use of music in the film. One could even call “American Honey” a strange kind of contemporary musical as a lot of time is devoted to people listening and singing to music. Dialogue is scarce but lyrics take over to tell the story. When Star first sees the volatile but sweet Jake (Shia LaBeouf) in the supermarket dancing on the till, Rihanna makes a prophesy from the speakers, repeating, “We found love in a hopeless place”. Later on, Star’s awkward and painful dance scene with his family member is illustrated by the blasting chorus of “I don't have to make you love me, I just wanna take your time” which predicts the reveal of their actual relationship later on. Not to mention the touchingly beautiful use of Mazzy Star’s “Change into You” and the eponymous “American Honey” by Lady Antebellum. Music in “American Honey” is not a decorative element, it becomes the story. These songs offer the young band of salesmen who are living in the moment the ideal escape. Looking out of a bus window with America becoming one blurry puddle of fields or making the most of a moment in a parking lot before the beginning of another dreary work day, for the duration of these songs, they can forget about everyone and everything.

In addition to all this, “American Honey” is first and foremost a love story. A heart-wrenching and realistically problematic one which causes bouts of irrational jealousy but never overcomes the obstacles thrown at it by life. It is the undercurrent which flavours and directs all the other parts of the film but never becomes the raison d’etre of the characters. The love story is spiced with memorably original scenes of dancing on a till, moisturising the boss’s legs, a surprise shoot-out at a pool, demonstration of a secret treasure and long sex scenes which make the audience feel like they are prying. Their mutual infatuation between Star and Jake is not just love for the sake of love but it also emphasises different aspects of power struggle, clashes between classes and the all-encompassing yearning for financial freedom. Love in “American Honey” is intricately intertwined with the world around it which makes it an emotionally charged social commentary of a very pleasing kind.

“American Honey” is an underdog of a musical which looks deep into the heart of what it means to be here and now. It is a film about the youth, their struggles and the escape they find in music. The problems are real but the characters approach them with the nonchalant detachment which comes part and parcel with lack of experience. America and its dream become a distant view from the bus window and a room in a cheap hotel. It might not be a terribly fetching view but it is timely and beautiful in its tiny details and puny victories. They might be in the gutter not looking at the stars, but they know how to appreciate the very moment they are in. 

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 “Midnight Special" D: Jeff Nichols S: Jeff Nichols C: Adam Stone C: Michael Shannon, Joel Edgerton, Kirsten Dunst, Jaeden Lieberher, Adam Driver, etc.
The fanfares around the arrival of “Midnight Special” construed it as the alternative sci-fi of the year. Though enjoyably atmospheric and with a consistent pace, the story fails to deliver a thrill to write home about.

As the curtains unfold, the viewers find themselves in the middle of a chase scene. Plunged right into the plot, snippets of the backstory are cautiously fed to the audience throughout the film in a way which may seem as overly structured. Two guys and an extraordinarily talented child are trying to outrun a myriad of enemies ranging from the FBI to members of a religious cult. The initial yearning to understand and catch every smallest bit of dialogue soon fades as the realisation dawns that the caginess is just a formal device to shroud the empty shell of a plot behind the convenient confines of mystery. The viewers are left to rummage around the darkness most of the time, creating a feeling reminiscent to the creeping uncertainty exuding from Denis Villeneuve’s “The Enemy”. This does not necessarily signal failure as these sentiments (even if they are overlong) can lead to a skilfully creative and necessarily vague ending as in the case of the film mentioned before. The architectural marvel in the end of “Midnight Special”, however, did not pack the necessary punch to stun, explain or make up for the hard detective work which was required from the audience during the preceding two hours. Simplistic bleary-eyed awe for the visual fails to quench the thirst for some sort of an explanation which the film had been building up to. There is potential meat on the bones of this story but for reasons unknown, the more interesting facets like the cult storyline or explaining the complex emotional landscapes of the characters beyond just being moody for the sake of atmosphere remain mere sideshows.

Despite all that, the film excels in creating an atmosphere fitting to the chilling uncertainty of a sci-fi. The yellow-tinged dark colour scheme fits well with the grimy hotel rooms and the gloomy situation. The consistently good soundtrack enforces the supernatural tinge of the story without ever overtaking. And the nostalgic glimmer of the “cinema of wonder” which is used in abundance adds a certain je ne sais quoi by paying homage to the history of the genre. The atmosphere keeps the pace and holds your attention throughout the road trip into the unknown, it is just a shame that the destination fails to enthral.

“Midnight Special” portrays a vaguely explained mysterious escape involving some undefined paranormal powers. Backstories, intentions and explanations are put on the backburner to emphasise the eerie atmoshpere of the pursuit of the unknown. The crumbs which are fed to the audience do not nourish enough to keep the appetite, thus, as the mic drops, the climax feels stale and underwhelming. Low-key sci-fi has to stand out with its inventiveness to overwhelm an audience accustomed to high-end CGI. A moody plot resembling Mulder and Scully’s trip to Malick-land decorated by glorified lense blur falls short of the claim in the title – it might be as dark and gloomy as midnight but "special" can be contested. 






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 “The Nice Guys" D: Shane Black S: Shane Black and Anthony Bagarozzi C: Philippe Rousselot C: Russell Crowe, Ryan Gosling, Angourie Rice, etc

The grimy carefree 70s meet Hollywood’s sweetheart Ryan Gosling and earnest leading man Russell Crowe in an appealing concoction of physical comedy and buddy film. And what a ride it is.

The plot – a raunchy who-dunnit involving two men and a “baby” in her preteens - is decorated with glimpses of originality and wit. There are serendipitous scenes which surprise and astonish with their uncompromised vision which is not afraid of breaking the rules of probability. For example, the opening car crash and later on, Holland March’s (Ryan Gosling) leap off the side of a hotel into a deep blue pool. There is a story to tell and the laws of physics and Murphy will not hinder the course of a great tale. These kind of conveniences do not feel misplaced or lazy because the two “heroes” are not even pretending to be in charge or having the upper hand (surprisingly, not even in the very end). The deer-in-the-headlights act is so enjoyable because it diffuses all pretentiousness which is a feat on its own taking into account that we are still dealing with two Hollywood megastars. Witty little details in the dialogue help as well – clever use of “equanimity” and word play with “porno young lady” are just a few examples of how writing helps to elevate the tone of this physical comedy. Slapstick can be an unrelenting lover (just ask Adam Sandler) but a clever mix of surprise, pacing and wit in “The Nice Guys” manages to make for a very enjoyable viewing.

Despite its many successes, “The Nice Guys” is not without a few faults. It remains unclear until the very end whether Kim Basinger’s Judith’s remarkably stiff performance was an out-of-place example of “Naked Gun” and “Airplane”-style deliberate comedic deadpan or just a casting misfire. Similarly, the character- and relationship-building scenes involving emotional growth feel crowbarred in to create a neat story arc. These stale old emotional narrative ploys seem superfluous in such a free-flowing and fresh film. It is also doubtful whether the brief stint to Gonzo territory in the form of an illusion of a human-sized rat in the backseat added anything to the tonal balance of the film. Not to mention the ending which just reeks of the money the lucrative sequel to “The Nice Guys” will make.

“The Nice Guys” has the oomph and down-to-earthness of “The Amazing Spiderman 2”, the clumsy charm of “Moonlighting” and the unexpected amusement of “Wolf of Wall Street”. Expressing emotion and showcasing character development is not its forte but the magnificently sincere fun to be had watching it will more than make up for it. Gosling and Crowe in a feather-light buddy comedy might sound like an unfunny April fools’ joke but this one is on us – they are simply marvellous.

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 “Age of Adaline" D: Lee Tolad Krieger S:  J. Mills Goodloe, Salwador Paskowitz, etc  C: David Lanzenberg C: Blake Lively, Michel Huisman, Harrison Ford, etc.

When you look at a description of a film which concentrates on Blake Lively in a perfect 50s hairdo called Adaline never ageing, you can already feel the treacle trickling down the screen. And the instincts are never completely wrong. Yes, there is a lot of dreamy dresses and kempt tresses, unrealistically exuberant family meetings and oodles of uncomplicated superficial love. The film never goes to the more interesting places of what Adaline thinks about the copious amounts of world she has seen in her lifetime but Blake Lively wears her obscurity well. Her reserved and muted acting results in marvellous old-school opacity and grace which diffuse the immediate need to know more.

There are moments where “Age of Adaline” becomes more than the light sum of its frothy parts. The ridiculous premise of a lady becoming immortal is explained in such ridiculous pseudo-scientific terms that you start suspecting a case of acute self-awareness. It is also read out by a voice sounding “too” serious, strangely reminiscent of the voice over from “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”. Furthermore, the perfectly executed scenes between the young mother and old daughter point at a certain kind of courage to break the easy mould, even if it is a fleeting joy. Similarly, Harrison Ford does not disappoint and a few shots of Adaline through reflective car windows are reminiscent of the cinematography of "Carol". There are definitely moments to write home about and the surrounding seeming mediocrity makes them ever more special.

It’s not hard to exclude “Age of Adaline” before ever watching it. This certain model of the conventional whipped cream of an average romcom does have its unpredictable charms though. Blake Lively’s Adeline is enjoyably distant and there are glimpses of uncommon hues of meaning. A sumptuous dessert with strangely enjoyable after-taste.

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“Tangerine” is a neon-tinged whirlwind of human emotions. The main charatcers are two transgender women Sin-Dee (Kitana Kiki Rordiguez) and Alexandra (Mya Taylor) but their galloping story is never defined by their unconformist sexuality. The emphasis is never on where they are situated on the gender spectrum but rather on the inherently human emotions of jealousy, loyalty and disappointment.  The ladies do, of course, exude oodles of sass, but rather than it becoming a source of ridicule, it is used as a means of empowerment. Their excess is enviable due to its utter and undefeatable honesty.

Furthermore, “Tangerine” is filmed entirely on iPhone 5s. But similarly as the transgender blurb, it does by no means define “Tangerine”. Awkwardly cut off shots with tops of head missing which draw the eyes on the midriff sections add to the chaotic impetus of the film and never stoop to the lows of motion sickness. The colours are also always erring on the side of bright but never to an extent of reducing it to a caricature. “Tangerine” is just a bright and shakily energetic reflection of a colourful life in perpetual motion. 

Regardless of the bottomless pit of oomph and pizzazz, the camera also knows when to linger. The odd scenes here and there where the camera stops and the story freezes for a second provide a much-needed breathing space in the frenzy of life in West Hollywood. The scenes where Sin-Dee is contemplating her options in the bus stop, where the family dog has its 20 seconds of fame or the very last gentle scene of the film are contemplative still lifes resembling the thought-provoking nature of the last scenes from “The Graduate” and “Annie Hall”.

“Tangerine” never gives in to the gimmicky nature of its own taglines. It is more than the sum of its parts. The Aaron-Sorkin-goes-to-the-hood dialogue keeps up with the high energy levels of the protagonists and reflects their unwavering confidence in who they are. These are transgender women who are not defined by their sexual orientation but their deeply human flaws and weaknesses. Unfortunately in this day and age, this is an achievement.

“The Revenant”, D: Alejandro González Iñárritu, S: Mark L. Smith, Alejandro González Iñárritu, C: Emmanuel Lubezki, C: Leonardo DiCaprio, Tom Hardy, Domhnall Gleeson, Will Poulter, etc. 

“The Revenant” is a gruellingly exciting but essentially hollow feast for the eyes. The thrilling epic with western influences follows the torturous adventures of Hugh Glass in the relentlessly icy American frontier in the 1820s. Spurred by the writings by his real-life namesake, Hugh Glass played by Leonardo DiCaprio presents us with an against-all-odds survival story with a hint of revenge. “The Revenant” excels in conveying the primeval theme of survival and never straying from it. Whether there’s true beauty in its single-minded insistence on brutal simplicity is a matter of taste.

The cinematography by the enormously talented Lubezki gives the primeval down-to earth story a sweeping gravity-defying look. Endless long shots emphasise the erratic chaos inherent in violence and make the breathtakingly vast wilderness a character in its own right. This silent character who is constantly looming over everyone’s shoulder is the most unassumingly powerful of the whole bunch. Differently from the traditional self-righteous pioneers known from westerns and the sprightly Walden-bunch for whom nature is a free-for-all health store, “The Revenant” rewrites the myth of the courageous or ideologically-spurred frontiermen and tree-hugging adventurers. The battle as “The Revenant” sees it, was not against Indians or about conquest but about immediate survival in the wilderness. One that, more often than not, men lost. There are no bigger ideals, no victories. There is no other layer, no hidden meaning. No glimpse into Hugh’s thoughts, only grunting. The driving force of the narrative which keeps your eyes peeled and heart pounding for Hugh is a yearning for thrilling bone-breaking action, the simple trusty “what happens next”. There’s only food for the thrilling sensation known from action films and marvel of the visuals but not much for thought.

It has been widely documented that the cast had to endure their share of hardships during the filming process. Leonardo DiCaprio’s immersive experience reportedly included eating raw liver and swimming in icy cold rivers. In many ways these hardships have become more important than Hugh Glass’ story which makes “The Revenant” more of a performing arts document than a fiction film. Similarly, the growling and grunting in harsh conditions which replaces regular dialogue in the film might be considered to be conceptually inferior to portraying charm and reading hefty monologues. Whether crawling in mud in frosty weather is a marvellous performance or just a documentary recording of a training camp session might not be easily distinguishable. Regardless of what side you gravitate towards, the endless talks about the challenges encountered while filming makes “The Revenant” more about the actors as people outside the story than the characters within. It is not Leo’s most interesting role but it is exactly the kind of suffering for the sake art that the Oscar bunch like to laud.

“The Revenant” is a simple action story about the survival of a more hard-core version of Pocahontas’ John Smith. All other great themes of the western frontier canon like race, friendship, creed and justice become mere sidekicks which offers a refreshingly simplistic and personal retelling of the grand myth. They were all just pawns in the hands of nature and on an individual level not much else mattered. The story is built up on the thrilling encounters between man and nature, dressed up in unforgettable cinematography and talked up by the real-life experiences of the actors on the set. However, underneath it is still just a story about a grunting man in the snow.

“Taxi Tehran”, D: Jafar Panahi, S: Jafar Panahi, C: Jafar Panahi, C: Jafar Panahi, etc.

The silent sinking despair behind every glimpse and flicker of a smile in “Taxi Tehran” makes every second of its mere 82 minutes count twice as much as in other films. The mere fact that we have been blessed with access to Jafar Panahi’s latest works is a miracle as he has been banned from filmmaking and leaving Iran. It must have taken an unimaginable amount of self-control and patience to remain so refrained, keep the consistent pace and focus on building intricate metaphors when all any other human being would want to do is to scream “injustice” from the rooftops. That is why the backdrop of contemporary authoritarian Iran never weighs down Jafar Panahi’s films but gives them wings.

In “Taxi Tehran”, Jafar Panahi is a taxi driver whose clients form a cross-section of the society. The taxi becomes a backdrop for a medley of stories told by a crook, teacher, contraband film merchant, superstitious ladies with a fish bowl, “anti-government” lawyer and Panahi’s own marvellously bustling niece Hana Saeidi. All the stories comment on the practice of filmmaking and the peril inflicted on the Iranian people by the government. The metaphors and references are, however, very subtle and smart rather than loud and hysterical which makes the realisation of the life the characters are leading ever more scathing. Panahi’s contemporary “Canterbury Tales” is a testament of unfathomable patience and unquenchable thirst for filmmaking which will eat you up from the inside. 

Whether you like your sweet sweet love with a hearty side of brashness is paramount to the enjoyment of “Trainwreck”. The title of the film might assume an unexpectedly literal meaning if Amy Schumer’s larger than life entertainment value is a bit too much noise and not enough wit for you. However, it is worth noting that her ouvre sports a kind of bloated realism where jokes never quite steep to the often stinky lows of the “Hangover” crowd. The topsy turvy approach of swapping the stale romcom gender roles are bound to bring about a few smirks even if the tampon jokes and comical sex scenes fail.

Enjoyment aside, “Trainwreck” unfortunately fails to carry out its self-confessed feminist power trip. As the bold and obstreperous Amy finds love, she also seems to lose a large part of what made her the strong and wilful woman she is advertised to be. After Amy becomes lovestruck, “Trainwreck” starts bending to the forceful male gaze. The filmmakers did have the audacity to refrain from a white picket fence and golden retriever “A year later” montage, but the cheerleader scene in the end creates an eerie deja vu feeling of someone recording a bad noughties romcom on your “Trainwreck” DVD. What a sour note to end a relatively entertaining rowdy vaudeville. 

Tarantino’s eight feature film “The Hateful Eight” is an indulgent pastiche which thrives on rampant disregard towards just about everything. The film has been a media sweetheart from the go, inspiring journalists to pen endless articles based on topics ranging from the upset caused by the leaked scripts, Taratino’s stubborn insistence on filming and screening on Ultra Panavision 70 and various quibbles between distributors and exhibitors. A solid groundwork of hype had been laid to pave the way to a masterpiece.

The vast snow-covered Colorado landscapes where the plot begins to unfold successfully reflect on the icy relationships and tough life of the characters inhabiting a space similar to the westerns of mid-20^th century. The cold and constant threat they must have been feeling is masterfully imbued in Robert Richardson’s justifiably Oscar-nomination worthy cinematography. When the distrustful band of strangers retire to Minnie’s Haberdashery for some shelter for an approaching snow storm, they are met with another band of similarly distrustful gentlemen. The visuals change gear at this point and start concentrating on the minute details of people’s faces for hints about their motives, plans and character. Due to the imminent force majeure they will all have to put up with each other in Minnie’s cosy abode filled with coffee and stew until the storm retreats. Having committed a sin and watched a digital screening of “Hateful Eight” due to the lack of more old-school options nearby, commenting on the benefits or wastefulness of Ultra Panavision 70 would be sheer speculation. Tarantino’s relentless stubbornness to stick to film is a laudable marketing ploy which gave temporary work to many highly-skilled projectionists, but it also adds a second layer which has nothing whatsoever to do with the film which starts overshadow the story itself.  Despite all that, it cannot be denied that “Hateful Eight” is a well-shot motion picture even without the crackle and noise of the projector. 

The story, on the other hand, fails to reach the heights of the visuals and fuss around Tarantino’s production choices. The chamber piece of eight stranded men in a cabin carried by mutual feelings of hate and distrust boils down to a few hours of leery glimpses and over-eager drawl. The feeling of encasing the whole of America in one room never really materialised for me, the eight characters never became anything more than distrustful strangers with not much interesting to say. The hints given to solve the mystery of what happened to Minnie or who is plotting against whom are very few and very odd. The jelly bean mystery, for example, drew to such a far-fetched conclusion that it might as well be called rubbish on the floor. Once the killing gets going in the very end (surely that is not a spoiler in a Tarantino film), it is like they had found the Necronomicon and put a bomb in a ketchup factory. There has always been some finesse, rhyme or reason to Tarantino’s endless killing scenes (even in “Kill Bill”), which seems to be completely absent from “The Hateful Eight”. Though some might consider this “wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am” approach to ending a film enjoyable and in tune with his general “don’t care” attitude, others might simply deem it lazy.

  “The Hateful Eight” is a flashy, glossy and stunning film with a bloated, lazy and brash plot. The film about the town musicians of Bremen gathering unwillingly in a pit stop in the middle of nowhere fails to enter into a discussion about the big overarching topics of mankind (justice, race, truth, etc) and does not delve deep enough into the nuances needed for a chamber murder mystery. “The Hateful Eight” is not as much a film as a phenomenon, because everything else around it (aura of the auteur, nostalgia for physical film, etc) is so much bigger and louder than the film itself. It is a film by a director who is trying to make a point and does not care what everyone thinks of it, but it seems that the film is just a medium to his message. The world is Tarantino’s oyster but “The Hateful Eight” is the shell instead of the pearl.

The problem with the series of films which have become to define the world “cult” in the contemporary world is that it is awfully hard to distinguish where the cult ends and awesomeness begins. You cannot consider the film in isolation without the “burden” and backdrop of decades of adventures many of which are bound to evoke a sense of nostalgia for the greener-grassed past. The crow’s feet in the corners of the eyes of the main characters instantly remind the viewers of the times when they weren’t there, adding gravitas to everything they do. The character development for Han Solo, Leia and Luke might not have been as careful and well-defined as for the contemporary idols of screenwriting Don Draper or Walter White, but the amount of time invested in their development throughout decades adds a similarly iconic halo to them. Thus, even the most inane of actions performed by the main characters is sprinkled with gold dust but not because of their own inner brilliance but the strongly-rooted history of success engrained in everything they do. Due to this, all opinions voiced on this matter are subject to strong conditioning from the past which is why the film itself is in many ways irrelevant to the criticism or praise it receives.

 However, to the relief of avid fans and numerous film reviewers, “Star Wars: The Force Awakens” turned out to be a decently entertaining film by blockbuster standards. The new characters add a needed breath of fresh air without destroying the wondrous space universe which has taken decades to build. The one-eyed rotund silent pet-like cuteness of BB-8 evokes the warm feelings you experienced towards Wall-E and balances out the absence and sassiness of the Machine Man look-alike C-3PO. And who wouldn’t have always dreamed of a more volatile and unpredictable Darth Vader (the wonderful Adam Driver)? Furthermore, when watching the newest instalment in close proximity to its older counterparts, the playful self-awareness of contemporary characters shines through. Rey (Daisy Ridley) and Finn (John Boyega) are not unbeatable beacons of righteousness who cannot put a foot wrong. They are able to laugh at themselves which, to be frank, is essential in making a world where obsessing over wearing a plastic helmet is considered normal and where ET-lookalikes roam side by side with friendly big foots relatable in any kind of way to the contemporary audience who are new to the franchise.

May the Force be with you!

The little flights of fancy in the form of haphazardly placed flamingos and peacocks offer absurdist relief. Despite that, “The Lobster” is no Dali – the surreal embellishments are all tightly bound to the plot and never take flight on their own. Nevertheless, “The Lobster” is film like no other which offers a refreshingly novel mix of sci-fiesque romantic satire. The blend of different genres might not necessarily work for viewers with expectations which fit into certain genre conventions, as it is placed uncomfortably between traditional tropes. Similarly, the ending – though one might say genius in how it creates tension – can also be interpreted to fall into the trap frequented by several immensely original indie films. After spending a lot of time and effort in building and justifying the existence of the world on show, it’s struggling to tie up all the complexities of its own storyline. Where do you go after achieving your aim of explaining your existence? It seems “The Lobster” has not answer and just leaves it at that – literally. Whether that is a bout of genius or just plain lazy, is up for you to decide.