Category: $6 Marcus Special

If the opening scene of Anora doesn’t get your blood moving one way or another, I have terrible news for you. You have died. … The silver lining is of course that even as a dead person, you’re still able to watch movies and read movie reviews. That opening shot, tracking across a line of guys getting lap dances, drops you right into the world of eponymous heroine, Anora, with no apologies. It’s made apparent quickly enough that for these working women, it’s just another day at the office. Except that in this career there is no 401(k), health insurance or paid time off. This is the world of men. If you don’t like it, there’s the door. 

It’s within this milieu that Anora, who shares an apartment with her sister and brother-in-law, takes on escort work. Back at Headquarters strip club, as a Russian speaker, she’s assigned to entertain the son of a wealthy oligarch, who asks if he can see her outside of work. Here the so-called fun and games of the story ensue. And they do ensue, extending Act I almost uncomfortably. Has the director lost control of this story? — Or what you realize later. You’ve been wonderfully set up.

Act II takes you into the realm of comedy but with the real threat of violence underpinning every moment. It’s unnerving but you settle into it. The strength of Anora is that it simultaneously holds what could be an absurd Eastern European folktale within the bounds of a tangible New York City universe. Here, broken noses are felt. As our friend B., who’s an M.D., leaned over to give us a real-time diagnosis of one of the characters. The prognosis wasn’t good. The severity of the mounting symptoms meant that the other characters needed to rush the injured one to the ER. STAT.

And broken dreams are deeply felt as well. Disappointment is the millstone that’s anchored around every neck in Anora. And one apparent theme is that just because you wish something to be real, doesn’t mean it is. 

There are a few outrageous and memorable scenes in Anora. The Coney Island tow truck scene stays with you. And the haunting final scene reveals the depth and complexities of the characters. Cutting to a silent credit sequence gives you no reprieve and invites reflection. A perfect antithesis to the chaotic euphoria of the opening shot. 

It doesn’t surprise me that Director, Sean Baker, a kid from New Jersey, walked away with the Palm d’Or at Cannes for Anora. He has a track record of fearless filmmaking, expressing himself by any means at his disposal. In the character of Anora he found a kindred spirit. 

Conclave is a surprising film. In fact, its theme is don’t be confident that what you think is true. The question is posed and answered by Cardinal Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes), the Dean or manager of the conclave to elect a new pope, “If we were certain of the answers, why would we need faith?” 

Although I wasn’t thrilled with the plodding pace of the film, the plot got more intriguing as the story grew more complex. A solid performance by Stanley Tucci (most recently seen eating his way through Italy in a Max series) and star turns by Lithgow, Sergio Castellitto, Carlos Diehz, Lucian Msamati and Isabella Rossellini leave a lasting impression on the viewer.  

As usual, your faithful correspondents, L & D could be heard laughing at all the wrong places and zinging away with our zingers. But there were quite a few other folks in the theater (another surprise) and so a little restraint by us was in order. 

The film really got interesting when D. started applying his “This Film is like The Shining” theory on the fly. We recently watched the 40th anniversary release of The Shining on the silver screen (I’m still processing) and lo and behold the analogy between these films can easily be made. The cardinals are sequestered in a hotel with long hallways. There is a room that no one is allowed to enter, which the pope died in. There is intense cello playing throughout. The footprint here is indeed one of a horror film. The horror being that the Church may decide to turn its back on the progress it’s made in becoming a voice for peace.

I won’t say more except Conclave is well worth the watch and way over the $6 Tuesday bar. Be prepared to check your assumptions at the church steps.   

I initially stayed away from The Iron Claw because it seemed to be a sports satire à la Will Farrell in Semi-Pro. But as the other $6 Tuesday offerings at Marcus Cinema got dimmer and dimmer, the spotlight on The Iron Claw intensified. A strong nudge came from my friend Bob, a former Incredibly Strange Wrestler in San Francisco and host of the insightful and hilarious podcast, “Old Movies for Young Stoners”. After this, I read that the film was based on a true story, also intriguing. The Metacritic score, for whatever that’s worth, was off the charts. I was finally ready to give The Iron Claw a chance. 

As a child of the 80s I was as geeked up as any kid about pro wrestling, using living room furniture to springboard on an already subdued opponent and land a victorious pin. However, I had never heard or at least not remembered the Von Erich family. Their story had an eerie familiarity but was still obscure to me. Some words I’d use to describe The Iron Claw are unsettling and disturbing. It at times elicited in me feelings of a horror movie like Final Destination or Midsommar. The drama suffocating, every early scene recognizable as foreshadowing, all the fun and games leading to inevitable disappointment if not demise. However, the film never goes full Aronofsky, who I’ve said, should really clean up his shock directing schtick. The Iron Claw never feels like it’s putting the audience through an emotional grinder just because it can. It always feels like it’s telling you an improbable yet simultaneously plausible story.

The questions provoked by the film included, how do you define bad luck vs ill fate? Free will vs determinism? Self-sabotage vs destiny? People have been debating these questions since before the Greek stoics codified them thousands of years ago. And leaving aside the theological conundrum that if the creator knows all, including what you will do with your so-called free will, do you even have it? Determinism could simply be related as, if you engage in high-risk activities then chances are greater that you will have poor outcomes. You could blame it on bad luck or fate. Or you could stop wrestling, as friend of LnD, B, who sat next to us, kept yelling at the screen. All to say, this film fulfills one of the criteria I have for a good film, that it’s thought provoking. 

Another movie that The Iron Claw reminds me of is the great, I Tonya. A story about a struggling family, graced with immense athletic talent, that’s pulled by dark forces around them. The difference here is that the dark force emanates from within and spreads like a low speed lava flow, slowing destroying everything in its path. Holt McCallany is rightly cast as the patriarch who leads his flock into a metaphysical desert. And I found Zac Efron’s performance compelling as he traversed love and tragedy. I was at times as frustrated by the choices of his character, Kevin Von Erich, as B was. However, I could understand his case of Stockholm syndrome and feel sympathy for these brothers who were convinced they were on a righteous path. A notable performance was turned in by Aaron Dean Eisenberg who was totally convincing as an unhinged yet sympathetic “Nature Boy” Ric Flair. He steals every scene he is in. 

I should add, there is plenty of fun in this film, scream at the screen and laugh out loud moments to go with the intense drama. Watching someone’s head get dragged along the top rope will produce some reaction from you, one way or the other. Both D and I found the scene that brothers David (Harris Dickinson) and Kevin (the aforementioned Zac Efron) share with a toilet bowl mesmerizing and funny at the same time. 

If you’re interested in a well-crafted film, with strong performances, that will take you down memory lane while instigating self-reflection on a few of the Big questions, I highly recommend The Iron Claw to you. 

It will drop kick you in the solar plexus in the best way possible. 

Although Ferrari and American Fiction are ostensibly each about difficult families, these two films couldn’t be further apart. After hearing an interview with Adam Driver, who plays Mr. Ferrari, I broke my own rule and went into that movie with high expectations. Driver described how director Michael Mann was so into detail that he would put nine microphones on a car to get the exact sound. That may be true, but great engine revving sounds don’t excuse the many sins of this forgettable, formulaic film.

My first issue is with authenticity. Why did all of the actors have to speak in English with bad Italian accents? The only person who really pulled this off in any way was Mr. Driver. A combination perhaps of his undeniable talent and the fact that he doesn’t speak so much. When Shailene Woodley tried this trick, I had the visceral reaction of hearing nails on a chalkboard. Instead of making me think that this was an Italian story, I just kept thinking, “Why are all these actors speaking English so poorly?”

It didn’t even seem that Penélope Cruz tried, instead relying on her natural Spanish accent. That didn’t work for me either. I heard Sean Penn praising her performance recently and had to wonder if he had seen the movie at all. Cruz does play her part admirably but the entire time I was thinking, “Isn’t Penélope Cruz a great actress?” She cried and screamed and shot a gun in this flattened melodramatic one note of a character, trapped in two dimensions.

After an illustrious career, it may be time for Michael Mann to hang up the directing megaphone. Especially if he is going to be phoning them in. Even the racing scenes, which had their moments, didn’t expand on the cinematic style we saw in Ron Howard’s 2013 film Rush, starring Chris Hemsworth. Meanwhile, one of Mann’s contemporaries, Ridley Scott, convincingly pulled off Napoleon this year. I enjoyed that film. But we were given a heads up by our friend F to read Napoleon as a comedy. And it was funny. Including plenty of slapstick. Maybe Mann was just taking everything too seriously? 

Unlike Mann’s portrayal of the Ferrari famiglia, the characterization of the Ellison family of American Fiction is far more nuanced. The film, based on a Percival Everett novel, explores the loyalties, alliances, jealousies, secrets and not-so-secrets amongst the parents and children, who have a difficult time simply communicating, showing vulnerability.

Although the children are each ‘doctors’ (a GP, a plastic surgeon, and a professor), professional achievement doesn’t necessarily translate into familial harmony. Indeed, according to the youngest son, Cliff (Sterling K. Brown), “This family will break your heart.” Cliff delivers the line as he makes his way to a taxi in the rain, having had his own heart just broken in at least two different ways. And the line and sentiment just hangs in the theater, sending a chill down your spine.

The drama unfolds with a focus on the precarious trajectory of Cliff’s brother, Thelonious “Monk” Ellison (Jeffrey Wright). Monk is a professor and a writer, who takes a leave of absence in Boston to work through some professional and personal issues. A dominant issue for Monk and for the film is trying to navigate the increasingly opaque state of American race relations as a Black American.

Remarkably, this all adds up to being an at times fun movie. The laughs are inspired from a wide spectrum of humor including awkward situations and biting social commentary.  

D brought up one of my favorite movies in relation to American Fiction, Robert Townsend’s classic Hollywood Shuffle. I remember working as a camera assistant on a TV series called South of Nowhere. The directors for the series changed for each episode, and one week the great Robert Townsend took the helm. I remember that he was always whistling or singing. He seemed happy, like a man with a song in his heart. In Hollywood Shuffle, Townsend used humor to capture the pain of black people who are not taken seriously as actors in stories other than those solely depicting stereotypical, impoverished, ghetto scenarios.   

I thoroughly enjoyed American Fiction. Like the novel, it plays in a realm of metanarrative, it deals with current social issues with humor, care and poignancy. But like any great movie, the characters become alive, the characters become real. The alchemy of the written word synthesizing with inspired performances is magic to behold. I hope you can get to the theater and check it out.

When I was at UCLA Film School we always talked about Alexander Payne with such reverence. One of us. Who broke out to make real films. Films that mattered and dealt with human emotion. And that could make you laugh out loud. But we never felt he had a sense of grandeur. Alexander Payne would come back to his alma mater. Talk to the students. Give them editing notes on their films. His legacy was also that he cared. In The Holdovers, Payne taps Paul Giamatti for the second time and they, like in Sideways, cover ground that is esoteric, of the elite, yet somehow completely relatable to anyone. 

I grew up in a large East coast city in the United States, with a huge immigrant population, to which my family was one. When I chose a liberal arts college in Western Massachusetts, I don’t even think that odd was the first word out of peoples’ mouths. And at this small school I met a certain type of person I had never met before. The sons and daughters of business magnates who had shipped their kids off to boarding schools. I’m not here to judge because I know that at least some of those kids are proud of their schools and have made lifelong friends. Even go back to visit! But for some of the others, anyone could tell that it was also a slow motion wound, the pain of forced separation from home and family. What I really learned firsthand was that in life, just coming from money isn’t everything. What I love about The Holdovers is that it reveals how: rich people are people too, the workers at the school are people too, nerds are people too, jocks are people too, exchange students are people too, teachers are people too and even parents, yes parents, are people too. Who’s not a person? The headmaster. That would be bridge too far. As the song goes, “Belligerent ghouls / Run Manchester schools / Spineless swines / Cemented minds.” And there is a very great zinger towards the end of the film that I won’t ruin for you. 

The Holdovers seems like a film I may have worked on in my own Hollywood career. Or even a very well done UCLA film. And I mean that as a high compliment. It’s a natural and raw film. Of course, there are things in the film that happen that would never happen in a totally low budget film. Again, it’s not about the whiz-bang or dazzling you with spandex outfits while zooming towards the cosmic horizon of outer space. It’s a 1970s period piece shot in a 1970s style, right down to the zoom lens. It leaps off the foundation of films like Truffaut’s The 400 Blows, (which if you have never seen, please go watch immediately) and more particularly, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Harold and Maude. There is also a cameo by The Newlywed Game. 

The Holdovers is a holiday film, with all the baggage that implies. It takes on difficult topics, in ways that seem familiar but are actually original. It dives deep into the lives of its characters but at its core, it’s a buddy movie. And it’s about how change is not just scary and inevitable but also necessary for growth. If you’d like to see a film that has some teeth, with great performances, that’s not above a fart joke and that if you’ve read this far I’m sure you’ll enjoy, check out The Holdovers.