FILMS THAT LEFT A MARK
This year started with bright promise — the COVID pandemic seemed to have been tamed, festivals thrived and summer blockbusters ruled once again, with the combo of “Barbie” and “Oppenheimer” pushing 2023 into iconic status. But despite the WGA and SAG-AFTRA strikes, great films found their audiences, and a handful of helmers get personal with praise of their favorites.
All of Us Strangers By Edgar Wright
Andrew Haigh’s “All of Us Strangers” is so delicately crafted and intimately performed that it almost seems wrong to discuss its immaculate construction. Andrew, as a director, has a remarkable ability to create films that are both elegant and stylish, but never lose sight of the deep emotions of the story or the humanity of the characters.
What captivates me about this film, mirroring the book it is based on, is its use of classic ghost story elements to commune with the dead in ways both sublime and heartbreaking. The waking dreamlike structure where Andrew Scott’s Adam is able to meet his long-deceased parents at his current age provides an opportunity for discussion and closure that many desire, but can never have. But while Adam can talk to them now, the conversations are still haunted by what is not said.
One particularly deft sequence, exemplifying Andrew’s skills in constructing a scene and his beautiful directing of the actors, unfolds not with dialogue, but with song. As an adult, Adam and the ghosts of his parents decorate the family Christmas tree while layers of nuance permeate the scene. Physically regressing to his childhood, Adam experiences this annual tradition again while the song playing on the TV, the Pet Shop Boys cover of “Always on My Mind,” holds different meanings to his Elvis-loving parents than it does for their son grappling with his sexuality. That scene, devoid of any words other than the parents singing the song back to their nowadult child, is masterful.
I have long felt that specificity is universal and Andrew is able to imbue the film with detail, such as the use of his childhood home of Croydon, in a way that, though it may not be directly personal to me, still resonated powerfully. I am of the same age as Andrew and while we have different lives, the memories of growing up in the ‘80s under the shadow of AIDS left me aching.
I am in awe of what Andrew managed to do in this film. It’s a true testament to his artistry that he was able to make a film so personal, emotional and resonant, yet also so satisfying within its place in a genre.
Edgar Wright’s films include “Last Night in Soho,” “The Sparks Brothers,” “Baby Driver” and the Three Flavors Cornetto Trilogy: “Shaun of the Dead,” “Hot Fuzz” and “The World’s End.”
American Fiction By Gina Prince-bythewood
Your first film should tell the world who you are as an artist. With “American Fiction,” Cord Jefferson has screamed into a bullhorn. Bold, chaotic, unflinching, personal. Cord has channeled his creative truths into a searing indictment of biased norms. As artists of color, we recognize all of it. The best humor comes from truth, and he yields laughter as a weapon. Forces offenders to pay attention.
To take a look at themselves. But Cord wants more. He wants the world to see our humanity. So he couples his blistering satire with a heartbreaking family drama. With characters who are flawed works of progress searching for peace within themselves, and with each other. The chasm within the family feels real and recognizable, and we root for reconciliation because we want it for ourselves. The poignant moments hit harder because of the audacious humor. It’s a tightrope, and Cord manages to balance both without a stumble. His collaboration with Jeffrey Wright is a triumph, giving the actor the words and space to create a performance that conquers that same tightrope. Cord is a writer/director and he wholly owns this vision. This is a first film that excites us all for what’s to come next. Gina Prince-bythewood broke out with “Love & Basketball,” and has directed films such as “The Secret Life of Bees,” “The Old Guard” and “The Woman King.”
Fair Play By Olivia Wilde
Chloe Domont has joined the ranks of Fincher and Kubrick by brilliantly using our most basic human greed to craft a cinematic grownup nightmare. The monster hiding under this proverbial bed is a fragile male ego, twisting and gnashing at the threat of being undermined by the success of his bride-to-be. “Fair Play” is a riveting, sexy, thriller that begins and ends with blood on the floor, and this filmmaker sure as hell isn’t cleaning it up for you.
Domont begins by letting us fall for a fairy tale about modern love, through the eyes of Phoebe Dynevor’s preternaturally brilliant Emily, but nothing at Harvard or Goldman Sachs could prepare her for the test of achieving success while in a relationship with an insecure man. When it is his promotion we are celebrating, the score is soulful and romantic, the framing intimate and safe, but when it is hers, there is no Champagne in the shower, only her guilty apology and his bitter acceptance. Alden Ehrenreich’s gorgeously entitled Luke contorts from prince to villain with hideous self-righteousness, balking at Emily’s achievements with patronizing incredulity. Only the camera seems to know how dangerous Luke is, creeping towards Emily’s exposed jugular as she clings desperately to the possibility of repairing a relationship that will undoubtedly destroy her. Patriarchal conditioning has taught her that abandonment is
a fate worse than self-annihilation, and only once her delusions of justice are shattered can she understand how powerful she really is.
Good chemistry is usually defined by a convincing display of crackling romantic tension, but Domont shows us something much more difficult: the chemistry of rage. A sex scene is one thing, but a viscerally believable argument is much more challenging, especially when the writing is this unflinching. Once the dam breaks, and the fairy tale is officially dead, Emily and Luke are unselfconsciously vicious, frothing and clawing with brutal honesty.
“Fair Play” seems to dance confidently on the third rail of our nerves. Most directors spend entire careers attempting such a successful emotional experiment. Luckily for us, Domont is just getting started.
Fingernails By Gary Ross
I remember reading George Saunders monumental “Tenth of December” and being both awe-struck and perplexed. Was it speculative fiction set partially in the future, or was it a searing examination of the present, unearthing layers of existence that we refuse to look at?
Christos Nikou’s “Fingernails” is similarly set a half-step into the future, wrestling with themes of intimacy and emotional disconnection. Over two hours, it paints the portrait of an analytic and technologically advanced culture that has the capacity to quantify everything, but feel nearly nothing. (The act of digital self-mutilation that gives the film its title is an attempt to feel something, anything. … Perhaps only physical pain is an objective truth in this world.)
Is “Fingernails” futuristic? That’s the most intriguing thing about the film as it walks the line between now and when — prodding us to wrestle with the question of how plausible this might be in the real world. As the film progresses — and as nuanced performances emerge from Jessie Buckley, Riz Ahmed and Jeremy Allen White — we realize this is no simple morality play, but something deeply felt. Under the weight of its allegory, a lovely and intimate film emerges about feeling, trusting one’s personal truth and finding the courage to love. What better thing is there to make a movie about?
Olivia Wilde’s films include “Don’t Worry Darling” and “Booksmart.”
Gary Ross has directed such features as “Pleasantville,” “The Hunger Games” and “Seabiscuit.”