Jonathan Glazer’s TheZoneofInterest is a strong, admirable, ultra-precise horror film, but it’s strictly made for film devotees and academic know-it-alls…elitists who loathe the taste of popcorn and would rather slit their wrists than experience any kind of visceral enjoyment of anything. Strictly a Cannes joint…DOA at your local multiplex.
…without considering the likely fact that these apparently proud fellows are, on some level, kidding.
If I were King Charles I would have at least forsaken the absurdly flamboyant black-and-gold royal cloak with the 10-foot train, not to mention the crown and scepter.
He’s obviously inviting derision. He’s obviously saying to the world “I am totally living within my own royal membrane and I don’t give a shit what others may think.”
And for the 17th or 18th time, why baldy has ignored the easy-as-pie Prague hair remedy is completely mystifying.
“Rendezvous with Quentin Tarantino”, a special event at Theatre Croisette (home of the Directors Fortnight program), began at 4:22 pm. QT was introduced, stepped on stage to vigorous applause, and announced that John Flynn’s RollingThunder (‘77) would be the secret screening — a 35mm print, he proudly announced — and that a fun discussion would follow.
The film began at 4:35, and I’m sorry but it looked and sounded like shit. A faded, half-pink print. Smothered in dirt and scratch marks during the first two or three minutes and never looking or sounding all that clean. To me the dialogue was weak and whispery and barely audible, especially with the soundtrack humming and popping and crackling.
I hadn’t seen RollingThunder in 45 or 46 years, and if it hadn’t been for the French subtitles (which helped here and there) I would’ve been totally lost about some of the plot particulars.
You’d expect that for an event like this Tarantino would’ve gotten hold of a decent print, or relaxed his purist 35mm aesthetic (I know…heresy!) and shown a DCP. I’m sorry but I haven’t watched a film in this kind of ghastly condition in ages. We’re all accustomed to old films being restored or upgraded these days. RollingThunder is streaming on AmazonPrime.
QT’s affection for this Vietnam War-era revenge film is genuine, and the last thing I want to do is rain on his parade. I was really looking forward to a Thunder session but if you can’t hear a good portion of the dialogue what’s the point?
Inotherwords: “Nothing will give us pause in our determination to trash CoupdeChance when it finally screens in the early fall, possibly in Venice or perhaps at the San Sebastián Film Festival.”
Kady Rush Ashcraft‘s Jezebel riff is nothing –bitter, sour grapes flinging droplets of urine.
As far as I’m able to figure, Jessica Hausner’s ClubZero is a satire of the academic woke insanity virus, which has been spreading among teachers and college professors throughout the progressive community for the last 20-plus years…a virus that has led to mental derangement and domestic terror and has triggered the culture wars .
Or at least, that’s how I read it.
Club Zero is about Ms. Novak (Mia Wasikowska). a chillingly self-possessed teacher at an elite private school, passing along a wacko food concept called “conscious eating,” which basically states that all foods from any source are kinda bad for you and should therefore be pretty much avoided. Eat less and thereby transcend.
Novak’s teachings require the slapping of foreheads, sure, but aren’t hugely different from insisting that (a) all descendants of European tribes (and white males in particular) are corroded and evil or (b) there are no clearly defined women or men any more (gender is a spectrum), or that (c) guys should get pregnant and deliver more babies and (d) the theology of trans people should be canonical and exalted above all other considerations and that (e) the jokes of Dave Chappelle are repugnant, etc.
Florida governor Ron DeSantis would never watch ClubZero (and certainly wouldn’t have the patience for it if he did) but if he somehow got through it he’d undoubtedly say “I endorse this film…two thumbs up!”
Style-wise Club Zero is quite dry and excessively poised and very soft-spoken in an Orwellian sense (which is the point, of course) and at the same time passionately out-to-lunch as far as recognizable human behavior is concerned. I didn’t really “like” it but any film that condemns wokery gets a pass from this corner.
Cannes — Monday, 5.22, 8:55am: The first completely warm and sunny day since HE arrived seven days ago…seven half-suffocating days of threatening sprinkles, sprinkles and occasional rain, storm clouds, somewhat chilly air and a generally miserable atmosphere of dampness.
Tuesday, 5.23 will be my ninth day in Cannes. I’m now finding my second wind, but yesterday I was feeling sick of the press lines, the tourist throngs, the humping around and constant lack of sleep. All things being fair and equal I’m thinking more and more about blowing this pop stand.
The other day Quentin Tarantino and Roger Avary offhandedly announced the death of Leonardo DiCaprio’s Rick Dalton, the struggling, none-too-bright C-level actor who initially caught on with BountyLaw, slowly faded and then resurged in ‘69 after roasting Manson follower Susan Atkins (aka “Sadie Glutz”) with a flame thrower.
Retired since the late ‘80s, Dalton died in Hawaii at age 90.
I for one would have appreciated a photo of Dalton in his dotage (sparse snow-white hair, Gabby Hayes beard, drooping neck wattle), which would have been easy to compose with Photoshop or any decent manipulation software. Okay, perhaps Quentin and Roger didn’t have such a photo ready at the exact moment on 5.19, but why not since?
It pains me to report that KillersoftheFlower Moon-wise, there’s a little bit of trouble in River City. Not a huge amount of trouble, mind. I was moderately and at times actively engrossed and l certainly wasn’t in any kind of pain but…
It holds and occasionally fascinates in a dutiful, believable, step-by-step fashion, and it certainly radiates profound moral lament and heartache for the many Osage victims, but overall it doesn’t quite get there.
It’s basically a bit more than two hours of scheming and murder and fiendish plotting between Robert De Niro’s “King Hale” and Leonardo DiCaprio’s Ernest Burkhart, and a bit less than 90 minutes of Jesse Plemons and his FBI team arriving in Oklahoma and getting to the bottom of it all — but at the end of the day Killers doesn’t really generate enough juice.
Killers is certainly watchable in a steady, methodical way, but it never really builds up a head of steam. Authentic period atmosphere (early to mid 1920s) and beautifully shot. It certainly feels real and lived in, but also lacking a certain fire in the belly quality — a bit too measured and matter of fact and low-flamey.
It’s a good film but it feels too quiet and subdued and even…no, I won’t say mezzo-mezzo. It holds your interest and never bores. But it never really excites either.
All I can say is thank God for Plemons and the G-Men, whose arrival kicks up the dramatic tension and delivers a certain limited gusto.
Cheers for sad-eyed LilyGladstone (it’s definitely her movie — Native American actress wins acting Oscar!!) and a superbly suffering DiCaprio as the yokelish, none-too-bright, puffy-faced Burkhart — but the film is slowish and drawn-out and kinda plodding at times…obviously dialogue-driven but altogether rather quiet and far from any definition of incendiary. It never really combusts.
Was the 206-minute length really necessary? And was the massive budget really justified? Minus the stars and the enormous budget and visual sprawl it could have been a modest four-episode HBO movie that would earn respect…at least that. But with few jumping and shouting for joy.
IlyaPovolotsky’s Grace, a haunting, Wim Wenders-like father-daughter road film set in Russia’s outlying regions, is a Director’s Fortnight selection. Reviews will pop later tonight or tomorrow.
Last night HE enjoyed a friendly sit-down with Povolotsky and producer Victoria Chernukha. Povolotsky, a Cannes first-timer, knows this adrift and rootless turf, and commendably sticks to his stylistic guns. We bonded over his admiration for BlackFlies.