Catch-Up, Part 9: Best Picture Adjacent

Welcome back to my series of mini-reviews for movies that have been out too long to justify anything more substantial.

I already uploaded the installment doubling as my rankings for this year's Best Picture nominees, but that leaves out a bunch of movies that were nominated in other categories, as well as some from previous years. I've also got one or two that weren't nominated but should have been (That'll do, Pig. That'll do), and a few that had a lot of awards-season buzz.

Look, no one promised these themes were always going to make sense.

Titane (2021)

I honestly think that's the most messed up movie I've ever seen. I don't seek out highly disturbing movies, and I outright refuse to watch torture porn, so take that with a grain of salt. But with that being said, Titane is... it's pretty horrific.

That said, it's incredibly well made. It gets under your skin, in your head, and then it just... it does really unsettling things once it's there. Like, really unsettling.

The movie's narrative doesn't make much sense if you try to understand it rationally, but it all feels right. I found the effect incredibly impressive: I kept thinking the movie should be losing me with each successive step away from reality, but instead it kept me engaged. You believe in the world of the movie, even knowing how ridiculous it would sound if you attempted to explain it. Titane is very much running on dream logic. Nightmares will do that, I suppose. 

Recommendations are particularly tricky. You really want to go into Titane blind, but I'd hesitate to send the wrong person in the direction of this film. Seriously, if you've got the wrong phobia or trigger, this thing could do serious damage. If that sounds like an exciting challenge, then this one's for you. Otherwise... I don't know what to tell you. Maybe find a friend you trust who's seen it and knows what bothers you, then visit them in the asylum they were committed to after watching Titane and ask for their opinion.

Pig (2021)

I went into this relatively blind, which is by far the best way to experience this thing. In that spirit, I'm going to start by saying upfront if you haven't seen this, you should do so without reading further. While I'm not going to go into detail, even discussing genre spoils a lot.

You were warned.

Okay, a lot of what makes this delightful is what it isn't. Because, if you know the premise, you know it's about a man, played by Nicholas Cage, trying to reclaim his stolen pig. And if you've seen any publicity artwork, you're likely expecting a cross between John Wick and Mandy. And this... it's not that. At all.

Because this isn't an action movie. If anything, it's an anti-action movie. It uses the visual language of action movies and related genres, but it subverts every expectation as far as violence is concerned, to the point it starts to feel like Pig is mocking you for expecting Cage to throw a punch or reveal he's ex-military or some other cliché.

Instead, we're treated to the pacifist equivalent of a crime story, set in the Pacific Northwest, starring Cage at the top of his game. The movie's funny, sweet, intelligent, and profoundly sad. It's beautiful and wonderful, and I hope you didn't read all this before getting to experience it for yourself.

Summit of the Gods (2021)

Apparently the backstory here is dense. This is a French animated movie based on a Japanese manga inspired by an ongoing search for a camera belonging to a mountain climber who vanished in the 1920s. The primary story in the movie centers around a pair of fictional climbers, though I doubt I was alone in needing Google to confirm who was real and who wasn't.

The movie itself is a sort of an existential meditation built around mountain climbing. Tone drives the film - it wants you to feel the epiphanies, fear, and loss its characters go through on their journeys. And to its credit, it does a pretty damn good job selling all that.

The downside is that's more or less all you get. There is some development and exploration of character, too, but it's mostly in service of its tone and philosophical exercise. Even with a relatively tight focus on just a handful of important characters, you don't feel like you get much more than a surface glance and the outlines of a manifesto.

That's not a problem - the movie isn't trying to do anything other than what it manages - it's absolutely a success. It's an effective, tense adventure that takes you through an ideology pertaining to mountain climbing and (obviously) any other human endeavor you want to extend the metaphor to.

If that's what you're looking for, you'll be impressed with the result. But if you're looking for anything else, you'll likely be underwhelmed. This is the sort of movie where one viewer might call it "captivating and profound" while another calls it "boring," and both perspectives have merit.

Tick, Tick... Boom (2021)

I'm not sure whether or not this was a good idea. It's essentially an autobiographical musical from Jonathan Larson, the playwright behind Rent who died just before it became a massive hit. On one hand, the mystique and tragedy of his life are inherently interesting, and the fact there's a way to tell his story in his words and music is really cool. It's the story of him creating his art and contemplating his life and legacy.

It's just... let's back up and examine what that art actually is, because this isn't the story of Rent. Instead, it's the story of another musical, which ultimately fails to launch and teaches him that he needs to write what he knows, a revelation that results in the creation of the musical we're watching, which...

I mean, there's a reason this one never went anywhere. Actually, there are several reasons. First, the songs aren't great, which is kind of an issue given the medium. Second, this is, well...

I feel bad saying this, but let's not kid ourselves: the premise is a fairly generic, self-indulgent story that assumes audiences will find the author's life and point of view meaningful or compelling. And it doesn't help that the parts that are kind of meaningful aren't really his story. Larson lost friends to the AIDS epidemic, and one of them is a major character. Major, but not the main character: this is still about the lessons Larson learned. The way others' tragedies effected him. His pain and growth.

And... yeah, that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. This kind of "stories about middle-class white authors turned bohemians writing stories" is extremely common. It's practically a cliché: every writer (and I'm no exception) thinks they're special. A lot of writers try to chronicle their lives and tell their story. The reason these don't make up the majority of movies, books, and plays out there is readers and audiences disagree with that assessment.

Does the fact Larson was ultimately right change that calculus? I guess that depends on whether you're invested in Larson and his legacy. If so, this is likely going to appeal to you. But me? I still haven't actually seen Rent, so, while I know the context, it doesn't mean much to me. I'm left rating this on its own merits, and....

Look. This isn't bad. Lin Manuel Miranda does a solid job turning this into a movie. He doesn't transform this into something incredible, but he's fine as a director. Meanwhile, Andrew Garfield is really good in the lead. And if you look through the Wikipedia article, the research behind this thing is really impressive.

But, again, the music isn't all that good, the story isn't particularly interesting or unique, and I didn't find the main character all that likable, in no small part because he clearly believed the story he was writing was worth writing. If that seems like an overly meta complaint, keep in mind, this movie is several adaptations deep, to say nothing of the abandoned play it's partly about and features a song from.

If you're a fan of Rent, my guess is you've already seen this, love it, and most likely hate me right now. Sorry? But if you're not a big fan of that musical, this probably isn't going to win you over.

The Last Duel (2021)

I enjoyed this movie quite a bit, which I actually think is kind of a strike against an otherwise pretty good movie. Let me explain: this is ultimately a fairly brutal look at sexual assault and the way society devalues women. The fact the society in question is 14th century France and the issues at play remain completely relevant is basically the point. The details have changed, but the social dynamics are eerily similar. Women's voices are largely ignored, accusations of rape are more dangerous than the crime itself, and vast legal systems give powerful men a host of options and protections. Still pretty damn relevant.

The problem is those themes are kind of overshadowed by Ridley Scott's preoccupation with settings and atmosphere. That's what really stuck with me - I found the experience of watching that world enjoyable, which feels inherently wrong. This shouldn't be fun or pleasant: it should be upsetting and scary. And, to be fair, when we actually get to the titular duel, it is. There's a lot at stake for the only character we give a damn about.

Those who aren't comfortable watching sexual assault should of course approach with caution, if at all. The rape scene (scenes, really, though the last one is by far the hardest to watch) is pretty brutal. And, despite unambiguously taking the victim's side, the movie still feels more interested in its male characters.

Outside of the ending and the assault sequence, this was mostly just fun to watch. In this context, I suppose that counts as both an indictment of the film and as a sort of ironic recommendation for history and D&D nerds.

Flee (2021)

An absolutely incredible, heart-breaking film that pushes the boundaries of what animation can be used for and how documentary can be presented. It's hard to overstate how good and how effective this is. It's emotionally devastating, because it's so real and - on some level - so mundane. The experience of the man at the core of Flee isn't unique or even rare. Flee doesn't point fingers or delve into politics,  but if you can watch it without feeling ashamed at your country's policies, I don't know what to tell you.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)

There's a moment at the end of Portrait of a Lady on Fire when I was no longer certain whether I was looking at film, an oil painting, or some sort of animated effect or hybrid. The entire movie was designed and lit to resemble 19th century art, but in this moment, I honestly couldn't tell.

It was still live action, of course. I'm not sure if my experience was intentional or shared - honestly, I think most of it was in my mind. But that's the sort of magic trick this movie accomplishes through an almost unfathomable control over what you see and hear. It's difficult to convey how meticulous this film is. The most apt metaphor for the experience would be to that of watching a master painter create a portrait. It's a magic trick of storytelling that uses the medium of film with incredible precision.

I feel like I'm underselling this when I say I love this movie. I am in absolute awe of this movie. It's a work of art.

Parasite (2019)

Maybe my expectations were set too high, but while I enjoyed Parasite, it didn't leave all that much of an impact. Don't get me wrong - it's definitely a great movie. Well acted, extremely well written, and really well shot, I'm not at all confused as to why critics loved this. It just didn't entirely click with me.

That goes for the other movies I've seen from Bong Joon-ho, too. I wasn't a fan of Snowpiercer, and while I liked The Host, I wouldn't say I loved it (though it's definitely my favorite of the three). All are impressive films, but they weren't for me. Which is honestly odd, because on the surface, it seems like they would be - smart, genre films are typically what I'm looking for.

Some of this may come down to the endings. I'm not entirely adverse to dark finales, but I find I usually connect more when there's some grand twist or resonant connection. Bong Joon-ho's movies tend to wrap up with the concepts taken to their logical conclusion, coupled with an implied thematic statement. I certainly can't fault that style, but I also can't change what appeals to me.

Dunkirk (2017)

I always feel awkward in situations like these. Dunkirk's clearly well directed - fantastically well directed, in fact, in that it's expertly executed and is clearly as close to a perfect reflection of Nolan's vision as the medium allows. The pacing and editing give the film a relentless sense of dread, despite most of the major characters making it out alive.

So why was I left thinking, "Is that all?" as the end credits rolled?

The main issue (I'll leave it to you to decide whether it's an issue with me or the movie) is character. I rarely connect emotionally with characters in Nolan's movies, this time more than usual. Yes, I realize that's intentional. But it still leaves me unsatisfied at the end of most of his films.

I've watched enough movies to know this is good. And I did find it compelling enough - I liked it overall. But this didn't really pull me in or anything. I understand why its fans love it, and I think the awards were warranted. But when all was said and done, I was left underwhelmed.

Promising Young Woman (2020)

So... yeah. That might be one of the best movies I've ever seen.

I actually have a lot I'd like to say about this, in particular about my reaction to the ending, but I'm not going to. I honestly don't want to spoil anything. This deserves to be seen cold.

I will offer a few thoughts on tone, genre, and content, though I'm not sure how coherent they'll be. I'm seeing the movie referred to as a "dark comedy," which I think is technically true, but it doesn't really prepare you for what you're seeing. It's alternatively identified as a thriller, which I think is much closer. Tonally, it feels a little like American Psycho, with two major differences: 1) it's not gory, and 2) I liked it.

Let's talk content for a moment, because if you know anything about this movie, you know it deals with subject matter that can be difficult for some viewers. For what it's worth, the movie doesn't put much on screen: this is quite literally about the effects, not the actual crime. But that also means it digs into the psychology of its subject matter, which can be brutal in its own way. If that could be an issue, by all means read a plot synopsis before watching. But for everyone else, this is better experienced unspoiled.

It's a hell of a movie. Just phenomenal writing, acting, directing, and editing. I could go on, but honestly... just watch this.

Black Bear (2020)

This was a very weird, very artistic film that I enjoyed but didn't love. To be clear, in this context "didn't love" doesn't mean that this isn't great - I think it's extremely effective at what it's trying to achieve, the pacing is fantastic, and the performances are amazing (with Aubrey Plaza being the standout, though when isn't that the case?). 

What this doesn't do for me is connect. It's a movie about the artistic process, specifically about the dark side of the artistic process. Only like anything related to art, process isn't universal. This isn't how I find inspiration, so I feel a bit removed. That's not a problem with the movie, just a disconnect between me and the film. And, in all likelihood, with a lot of people. In particular, if you're not an artist who's played around in narrative mediums, I suspect this won't mean a great deal to you. That's not to say you won't get it, just that it won't have the same emotional impact it'll have on someone who bases stories on people they've known and situations they've experienced.

I'm not saying it's not still worth seeing - I think this works well enough as an off-kilter surrealist thriller - but there's a subset of artists I expect will walk away from this feeling like they just watched another Being John Malkovich or Adaptation. I'm just not one of those people.