For the first time since its inception, I was unable to see even one film at the Traverse City Film Festival this year. It wasn't for lack of desire, of course, but rather a scheduling conflict between the TCFF and Lollapalooza, which I attended for the second straight year. (Two quick takeaways from Lolla '18 -- rock music attendance is in the minority, and the young kids enjoy wearing basketball jerseys of varying vintages. And I'm old as fuck.) So to make up for my absence at the TCFF, I decided that yesterday would be my own TCFF in miniature, so I went to three movies back to back to back. I walked into a darkened theater at 3:30pm, and essentially didn't leave until just before 11pm. And thankfully, I was able to see three pretty wonderful movies, each wonderful for different reasons. You should see them if you haven't already. The troika of cinematic joy is as follows, with trailers to click on should you so desire:
Mission Impossible: Fallout
Rare is the action franchise that gets better with each installment, but MI:F -- the second MI collaboration between star Tom Cruise and writer/director Christopher McQuarrie -- turns the trick with clockwork precision. (That is, so long as you're able to separate "Tom Cruise, movie personality" from "Tom Cruise, Scientology dude," which I was able to do nearly most of the time.) A solid foundation of character and plot and practical effects, imbued with new locations and new blood, manages to start strong and maintain a high level of action and, yes, pathos within the context of a global multinational commercial blockbuster. The ending is a bit abrupt, but everything before that is exactly what you have come to hope for from a Tom Cruise summer flick. And yes, there's running. So much running.
BlacKkKlansman
It's nice to see Spike Lee, after three decades of filmmaking, still finding new delivery systems for his particular blend of undeniable American -- and African-American -- talents. Based on a true story (an oxymoronic phrase that never fails to make me roll my eyes not a little bit), BlacKkKlansman is nominally about an African-American police officer infiltrating the KKK in early '70s Colorado, but it's much more than that. While the trailer is emphasizing the comedic elements, the film itself rarely mines moments of laughter. Rather, it leans heavily into multiple lessons of recent history, from attempts at Klan rebranding to the roles of women in sociological movements of color and power to ugly moments of institutional racism and irrational hatred. And any parallels between then and now are less intentional then blatantly telegraphed, especially at the end(s). It's about three tweaks away from being a truly great film, but the emotional impact of the storytelling is too significant and meaningful to be dismissed as merely "solid" and "good." It's an important and disquieting achievement that reflects and refracts the multitudes of America for just over two hours. Just don't go in expecting a buddy comedy.
Eighth Grade
Writer/director Bo Burnham -- yes, the talented comedian -- has made a film so precise and replete that it's hard to believe it's a debut effort. Burnham creates a world of modern specificity amid universal themes that resonates deeply with anyone whose middle school experiences were less than idyllic. Part of the success is the actual casting of age-appropriate actors, which rarely happens in films about young teens, but it's the almost non-stop eliciting of anxiety and dread from the most banal of situations, from a swimming pool party to YouTube vlogging to a trip to the mall to making small talk with a parent, that hits the hardest. I was cringing in various degrees for the entire movie, as scene after scene dragged me back to moments in my life where I felt time slowing around me like an insect in crystallizing amber, obscuring my vision and stealing my breath and movement. And while I'm sure that doesn't sound like an entertaining experience, the empathy elicited by Eighth Grade is overwhelmingly rich and ultimately rewarding. Sometimes, it's a triumph to not run away from or vomit on another human being with whom you try to make a connection. And while I know that not everyone has felt that way even once, I'm sure that most of us have, more than we'd like to admit.
Mission Impossible: Fallout
Rare is the action franchise that gets better with each installment, but MI:F -- the second MI collaboration between star Tom Cruise and writer/director Christopher McQuarrie -- turns the trick with clockwork precision. (That is, so long as you're able to separate "Tom Cruise, movie personality" from "Tom Cruise, Scientology dude," which I was able to do nearly most of the time.) A solid foundation of character and plot and practical effects, imbued with new locations and new blood, manages to start strong and maintain a high level of action and, yes, pathos within the context of a global multinational commercial blockbuster. The ending is a bit abrupt, but everything before that is exactly what you have come to hope for from a Tom Cruise summer flick. And yes, there's running. So much running.
BlacKkKlansman
It's nice to see Spike Lee, after three decades of filmmaking, still finding new delivery systems for his particular blend of undeniable American -- and African-American -- talents. Based on a true story (an oxymoronic phrase that never fails to make me roll my eyes not a little bit), BlacKkKlansman is nominally about an African-American police officer infiltrating the KKK in early '70s Colorado, but it's much more than that. While the trailer is emphasizing the comedic elements, the film itself rarely mines moments of laughter. Rather, it leans heavily into multiple lessons of recent history, from attempts at Klan rebranding to the roles of women in sociological movements of color and power to ugly moments of institutional racism and irrational hatred. And any parallels between then and now are less intentional then blatantly telegraphed, especially at the end(s). It's about three tweaks away from being a truly great film, but the emotional impact of the storytelling is too significant and meaningful to be dismissed as merely "solid" and "good." It's an important and disquieting achievement that reflects and refracts the multitudes of America for just over two hours. Just don't go in expecting a buddy comedy.
Eighth Grade
Writer/director Bo Burnham -- yes, the talented comedian -- has made a film so precise and replete that it's hard to believe it's a debut effort. Burnham creates a world of modern specificity amid universal themes that resonates deeply with anyone whose middle school experiences were less than idyllic. Part of the success is the actual casting of age-appropriate actors, which rarely happens in films about young teens, but it's the almost non-stop eliciting of anxiety and dread from the most banal of situations, from a swimming pool party to YouTube vlogging to a trip to the mall to making small talk with a parent, that hits the hardest. I was cringing in various degrees for the entire movie, as scene after scene dragged me back to moments in my life where I felt time slowing around me like an insect in crystallizing amber, obscuring my vision and stealing my breath and movement. And while I'm sure that doesn't sound like an entertaining experience, the empathy elicited by Eighth Grade is overwhelmingly rich and ultimately rewarding. Sometimes, it's a triumph to not run away from or vomit on another human being with whom you try to make a connection. And while I know that not everyone has felt that way even once, I'm sure that most of us have, more than we'd like to admit.
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