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Thompson: “Austria could submit Kreutzer’s irreverent costume drama Corsage [for Oscar consideration]…many thought Corsage should have been programmed in the Competition…[it stars] versatile Berlin actress Vicky Krieps as Austria-Hungary’s rebellious Empress Elisabeth (‘Sissi’)…Krieps shared the Un Certain Regard Best Actress award. With the right handling from IFC Films, the revisionist 19th-century royal slice-of-life could compete for Best Actress and Best Costume Design, as well as International Feature Film.”
HE reality check: Krieps did not “win big” at Cannes. Her Corsage performance resonated to some extent, but there’s no way in hell that Krieps’ moody, sullen turn will be even considered as a Best Actress contender. Corsage may make headway in the other two categories.
Posted from Cannes on 5.20.22: I regret reporting that Marie Kreutzer‘s Corsage, which screened at 11 am this morning, didn’t sit well. I found it flat, boring, listless. The Austrian empress Elizabeth (Vicky Krieps) is bored with her royal life, and the director spares no effort in persuading the audience to feel the same way.
Krieps plays up the indifference, irreverence and existential ennui. Somewhere during Act Two a royal physician recommends heroin as a remedy for her spiritual troubles, and of course she develops a habit. I was immediately thinking what a pleasure it would be to snort horse along with her, or at least during the screening.
Corsage is unfortunately akin to Pablo Larrain‘s Spencer and Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette — stories of women of title and privilege who feel alienated and unhappy and at a general loss.
I’m sorry but this movie suffocates the soul.
In actuality Empress Elizabeth was assassinated in 1898, at age 51. For some reason Kreutzer has chosen to end the life of Krieps’ Elizabeth at a younger point in her life, and due to a different misfortune.
This is one of the most deflating and depressing films I’ve ever seen.
Siri’s inability to understand or verbalize the LMAO acronym (laughing my ass off) leads to “luhmayo” after the punch line. Jokes have to be delivered just so or they don’t work. Yes, I’m aware that this is eight months old.
Disgruntled friendo: "From the Palme d’Or and on down, the Cannes Film Festival awards often don’t make any sense, and this year are only compounding what is now the twee irrelevance of Cannes itself."
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World of Reel‘s Jordan Ruimy has been told that the Palme d’Or will either go to Lukas Dhont‘s Close (the right choice) or to the sad (i.e., tragic) but unexceptional Tori et Lokita, the latest moderately decent film from Jean Paul and Luc Dardennes, the Belgian brothers who make the same kind of matter-of-fact, low-key, point-and-watch film year after year after year.
Tori and Lokita is fine but very familiar if you know the Dardenne and how their films tend to play. It’s about a pair of African immigrants (not related but pretending to be) suffering cruel or indifferent treatment, mostly at the hands of Belgian drug dealers. You can’t help feeling sorry for these kids, but desperate immigrants have been getting kicked around and exploited for centuries, haven’t they? Life can be heartless for have-nots.
Audience compassion for victims is one thing; recognition of filmmaking excellence is another. The twains don’t necessarily overlap.
The last time I was on the Cannes-to-Paris train was four or five years ago. No SNCF wifi then -- you were on your own with your phone signal. Now there's on-board wifi and with a semi-decent strength. Left Cannes this morning at 11:24 am -- arriving at Gare de Lyon around 5 pm (or 8 am Los Angeles time). The high-speed rail vibe is a nice gentle groove. It settles you. We're just north of Lyon now. The HE pad is at 74 rue Duhesme, in the 18th. I should be opening the door by 6 pm or thereabouts. I'm looking forward to a nice, long, relaxing walk around town.
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…had the cast-iron balls to go with a Bridges at Toko-Ri ending, rather than the triumphant one they chose. I’m talking about Tom Cruise‘s titular character and Miles Teller‘s “Rooster” Bradshaw suffering the same fate that William Holden and Mickey Rooney did 68 years ago. I’m talking about Cruise and Teller being surrounded by enemy troops after crash landing and putting up a good Wild Bunch-level fight before being outflanked and shot to death.
Dying together would have added poignance to the brotherly bond that Maverick had with Rooster’s dad, “Goose”, back in the ’80s, not to mention ending the contentious vibe that exists between Rooster and Maverick from the beginning.
A death ending would also have said “oh and by the way? War isn’t a fucking video game….it’s real, and sometimes the mission doesn’t go perfectly and sometimes good pilots buy the farm.”
A Cruise-and-Teller Toko Ri ending would probably translate into a slightly diminished box-office, agreed, but maybe not. A major character dying at the end of Titanic didn’t hurt the returns any. Not to mention Daniel Craig getting killed at the close of the highly successful NoTimeToDie.
With Top Gun: Maverick having played nationwide for the last three days, candid reactions would be greatly appreciated. Here, un-paywalled, is my two-week-old review that appeared on 5.12. If I over-stated something or was unfair in some way, please explain how, who, where, why and what-the-fuck.
Say it again: TopGun: Maverick is a totally square, totally flash-bang, sirloin steak, right down the middle, Tom Cruise-worshipping, un-woke, stiff-saluting, high-velocity, bull’s-eye popcorn pleasure machine.
If you submit to it, that is. For this is a formula thing, this movie…one super-mechanized, high-style, bucks-up thrill ride with a few heart moments sprinkled in. Au Hasard Balthazar, it’s not, so if you see it with, say, a Mark Harris attitude (and he wasn’t wrong when he put down the original Top Gun nine years ago), you won’t have as good of a time.
If you can just park your quibbles and show obeisance before power…if you can surrender to this military glamour fantasy, this glossy Joseph Kosinski breath-taker, this thundering Cruise + ChrisMcQuarrie + JerryBruckheimer G-force engine, this audience-friendly, holy-shit delivery device…if you submit you’ll enjoy it and then some.
What else are you going to do? Fight it? Stage a protest with speeches and placards?
Everything in TopGun: Maverick is hardcore, highly strategized, mechanized, high-octaned, and totally fucking shameless. It’s like a two-hour trailer for itself. High style, brash energy, fleet editing, classic rock (even the 65-year-old “Great Balls of Fire” is celebrated), movie-star smiles, TopGun nostalgia and a totally driller-killer finale.
Pete “Maverick” Mitchell (Cruise) is a somewhat rakish, middle-aged loner who lives only to fly solo while pushing the limits. After losing his test pilot gig, Mav is assigned to be an instructor at the Top Gun Academy in San Diego. His students include Rooster (Miles Teller), the son of Anthony Edwards‘ “Goose” who despises Maverick for taking his name off the Naval Academy list. (There was a reason.) There’s also the brash Hangman (Glen Powell) and a cool woman pilot, Phoenix (Monica Barbaro).
Maverick’s former rival Iceman (Val Kilmer), a retired admiral, has convinced the commanders that Maverick is the best guy to prepare pilots for a top-secret mission — the destruction of a uranium enrichment plant in some snow-covered mountainous region. Fighter jocks need to swoop in, detonate and get the fuck out before enemy missiles and dogfights ensue. You know what’s around the corner.
Remember Luke Skywalker‘s big Death Star challenge at the climax of StarWars: A New Hope? Portions of that classic action sequence are recalled here. Oh, and also like Star Wars, the enemy has no face, only a dark gray helmet…no nationality or ethnicity.
There’s a moment near the end of Top Gun: Maverick when it seems as if the finale of another film about fighter jocks — Mark Robson‘s The Bridges at Toko-Ri (’54) — is being replayed. You’ll recall that it ends with William Holden and Mickey Rooney huddling in a muddy ditch and being killed by North Korean troops. If only the Kosinski-Cruise-Bruckheimer film had gone the distance in this respect.
But the absence of even a shred of wokeness is wonderful. Remember that it’s locked into a mid ‘80s mindset to start with, and that it was written and filmed before the woke thing kicked in bigtime.