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Bob Mann (459 KP) rated The Light Between Oceans (2016) in Movies
Sep 29, 2021
“You only have to forgive once. To resent, you have to do it all day, every day”.
In my review of “The Two Faces of January” I described it as a film that “will be particularly enjoyed by older viewers who remember when story and location were put far ahead of CGI-based special effects”. In watching this film I was again linking in my mind to that earlier film… and that was before the lead character suddenly brought up the two faces of Janus!
For this is a good old-fashioned weepy melodrama: leisurely, character based and guaranteed to give the tear ducts a good old cleaning out.
It’s 1918 and Michael Fassbender plays Tom Sherbourne, a damaged man seeking solitude and reflection after four years of hell in the trenches. As a short-term job he takes the post of lighthouse keeper on the isolated slab of rock called Janus – sat between two oceans (presumably as this is Western Australia, the Indian and the Southern Oceans). The isolation of the job previously sent his predecessor off his trolley.
En route to his workplace he is immediately attracted to headmaster’s daughter Isabel (Alicia Vikander) who practically THROWS herself at Tom (the hussy), given that they only have snatches of a day at a time to be together during shore leave. Tom falls for her (as a hot blooded man, and with Vikander’s performance, this is entirely believable!) and the two marry to retire to their ‘fortress of solitude’ together to raise a family and live happily ever after…. or not… For the path of true motherhood runs not smoothly for poor Isabel, and a baby in a drifting boat spells both joy and despair for the couple as the story unwinds.
(I’ll stop my synopsis there, since I think the trailer – and other reviews I’ve read – give too much away).
While Fassbender again demonstrates what a mesmerising actor he is, the acting kudos in this one really goes again to Vikander, who pulls out all the stops in a role that demands fragility, naivety, resentment, anger and despair across its course. While I don’t think the film in general will trouble the Oscars, this is a leading actress performance that I could well see nominated. In a supporting role, with less screen-time, is Rachel Weisz who again needs to demonstrate her acting stripes in a demanding role. (Also a shout-out to young Florence Clery who is wonderfully naturalistic as the 4 year old Lucy-Grace.)
So this is a film with a stellar class, but it doesn’t really all gel together satisfyingly into a stellar – or at least particularly memorable – movie. After a slow start, director Derek Cianfrance (“The Place Beyond the Pines”) ladles on the melodrama interminably, and over a two hour running time the word overwrought comes to mind.
The script (also by Cianfrance, from the novel by M.L.Stedman) could have been tightened up, particularly in the first reel, and the audience given a bit more time to reflect and absorb in the second half.
The film is also curiously ‘place-less’. I assumed this was somewhere off Ireland until someone suddenly starting singing “Waltzing Matilda” (badly) and random people started talking in Aussie accents: most strange.
Cinematography by Adam Arkapaw (“Macbeth”) is also frustratingly inconsistent. The landscapes of the island, steam trains, sunsets and the multiple boatings in between is just beautiful (assisted by a delicate score by the great Alexandre Desplat which is well used) but get close up (and the camera does often get VERY close up) and a lack of ‘steadicam’ becomes infuriating, with faces dancing about the screen and – in one particular scene early on – wandering off on either side with the camera apparently unsure which one to follow!
A memorable cinema experience only for Vikander’s outstanding performance. Now where are those tissues…
For this is a good old-fashioned weepy melodrama: leisurely, character based and guaranteed to give the tear ducts a good old cleaning out.
It’s 1918 and Michael Fassbender plays Tom Sherbourne, a damaged man seeking solitude and reflection after four years of hell in the trenches. As a short-term job he takes the post of lighthouse keeper on the isolated slab of rock called Janus – sat between two oceans (presumably as this is Western Australia, the Indian and the Southern Oceans). The isolation of the job previously sent his predecessor off his trolley.
En route to his workplace he is immediately attracted to headmaster’s daughter Isabel (Alicia Vikander) who practically THROWS herself at Tom (the hussy), given that they only have snatches of a day at a time to be together during shore leave. Tom falls for her (as a hot blooded man, and with Vikander’s performance, this is entirely believable!) and the two marry to retire to their ‘fortress of solitude’ together to raise a family and live happily ever after…. or not… For the path of true motherhood runs not smoothly for poor Isabel, and a baby in a drifting boat spells both joy and despair for the couple as the story unwinds.
(I’ll stop my synopsis there, since I think the trailer – and other reviews I’ve read – give too much away).
While Fassbender again demonstrates what a mesmerising actor he is, the acting kudos in this one really goes again to Vikander, who pulls out all the stops in a role that demands fragility, naivety, resentment, anger and despair across its course. While I don’t think the film in general will trouble the Oscars, this is a leading actress performance that I could well see nominated. In a supporting role, with less screen-time, is Rachel Weisz who again needs to demonstrate her acting stripes in a demanding role. (Also a shout-out to young Florence Clery who is wonderfully naturalistic as the 4 year old Lucy-Grace.)
So this is a film with a stellar class, but it doesn’t really all gel together satisfyingly into a stellar – or at least particularly memorable – movie. After a slow start, director Derek Cianfrance (“The Place Beyond the Pines”) ladles on the melodrama interminably, and over a two hour running time the word overwrought comes to mind.
The script (also by Cianfrance, from the novel by M.L.Stedman) could have been tightened up, particularly in the first reel, and the audience given a bit more time to reflect and absorb in the second half.
The film is also curiously ‘place-less’. I assumed this was somewhere off Ireland until someone suddenly starting singing “Waltzing Matilda” (badly) and random people started talking in Aussie accents: most strange.
Cinematography by Adam Arkapaw (“Macbeth”) is also frustratingly inconsistent. The landscapes of the island, steam trains, sunsets and the multiple boatings in between is just beautiful (assisted by a delicate score by the great Alexandre Desplat which is well used) but get close up (and the camera does often get VERY close up) and a lack of ‘steadicam’ becomes infuriating, with faces dancing about the screen and – in one particular scene early on – wandering off on either side with the camera apparently unsure which one to follow!
A memorable cinema experience only for Vikander’s outstanding performance. Now where are those tissues…
Kirk Bage (1775 KP) rated Midsommar (2019) in Movies
Jan 22, 2021
In 2017 the stale market of “horror” thrillers got a royal shake-up when Jordan Peele made Get Out. All of a sudden it seemed possible again to use the tired genre, that had been relying on gore and jump shocks alone for at least two decades, as a palette for intelligent social commentary and some seriously artistic flourishes. The following year, Ari Aster came out of nowhere with a debut feature that impressed everyone for it’s originality and bravado in this new “art-horror” model – the devisive yet always interesting Hereditary, a film that confused me on first watch, but gave me faith that I could be unnerved again, it’s secret being that you couldn’t compare it to anything since the golden days of the 70s.
So, when I saw the trailer for Midsommar in 2019 and realised it was the same director, it went straight to the top of my must see list. Add to the appeal the significant lure of the lead actress and main character, the extremely promising Florence Pugh, who blew me away for her raw ability in Lady Macbeth, and beguiled me even more in every minute of Chan-Wook Park’s superlative espionage mini-series The Little Drummer Girl, and I knew this was something I didn’t want to miss. Sometimes it only takes two projects on a CV to elevate a future star from obscurity to A-list potential. In Pugh I had already seen enough range, charisma and depth to suspect she was one of those special few. By the end of Midsommar I was convinced of it!
Plot wise, all you need to know going in cold is that Dani (Pugh) racked with grief following early scenes is dragged to Sweden to participate in the Midsommar celebrations of a small isolated community, as her relationship with boyfriend Christian is very much on the rocks and she is in need of some catharsis and release. At first the Idyllic setting, bathed in sunlight you can almost feel, seems refreshing and clean. The whites, yellows and blues of the images are so crisp you can imagine every smell and texture, and you find yourself smiling, despite the fact a creeping unease and sinister secret is already infiltrating the calm in wonderfully subtle ways.
Needless to say it goes to some very dark and strange places. So much so I gasped out loud twice and stood up from my seat involuntarily on one particularly disturbing moment. To try and explain how that unfolds and comes to be is both impossible and would need some big time spoilers, so I won’t do that. It’s enough to say that where you are emotionally at the end of this filmic experience is very, very far from where you started. Much in the same way as Hereditary, you feel you have been dragged by the hair on a very uncomfortable journey that is both strangely unsatisfying, confusing and upsetting; you can’t say you “liked” either film as much as admitting you can’t stop thinking about them and need to see them again to absorb the detail, if indeed you can bear that.
As of writing this I haven’t gone back and watched this again – I’m genuinely wary of putting myself through it a second time! But, I have gone back to Hereditary and appreciated it much more knowing the ending already, and seeing the detail that is there from the beginning, that makes it all make sense in a way it doesn’t first time around. Midsommar, I sense, is the same, in that there has been so much attention to the build up and background that you will see and hear relevant clues to the mystery much more the more times you watch it. What they are wearing, images on walls and seemingly insignificant things the camera picks up on create a tapestry of loose threads that can be woven together into deeper meaning if that is what you want to do.
Without doing that it may seem like a bewildering entity, deliberately odd for the sake of it, and as such it could put anyone off. At 2 hours and 28 minutes it is a bit of a stretch, and the last half hour, once it descends into the complete madness suggested earlier, perhaps doesn’t live up to the promises it makes. Also, despite Pugh being a mesmeric presence from start to finish, the supporting cast can’t quite go with her on the same level. Even the talented Will Poulter seems burdened by a less than three dimensional character, underwritten as are many in a script that focuses so much on Dani that everything else suffers.
My overall impression of it as a film is that it falls short of greatness by a narrow margin, but comes very close at times to genuine genius. It is the promise of Aster as a filmmaker that excites me most, even if this is not the film it could have been with a little more experience, maturity and, perhaps, budget. It is his Bottle Rocket, or Hard Eight, when you suspect he will have a Grand Budapest Hotel, or a There Will Be Blood in him at some point down the line.
In conclusion, I can’t emphasise enough how much I was drawn to every moment of what Florence Pugh was doing. Be wary of the film if a casual viewing experience is what you want, because it may infuriate you, and compel you even to switch it off, if you are not totally ready to meet it where it wants to take you. But, watch it for Pugh and see what a rare talent she is bringing to cinema into the 2020s. A very exciting prospect indeed.
So, when I saw the trailer for Midsommar in 2019 and realised it was the same director, it went straight to the top of my must see list. Add to the appeal the significant lure of the lead actress and main character, the extremely promising Florence Pugh, who blew me away for her raw ability in Lady Macbeth, and beguiled me even more in every minute of Chan-Wook Park’s superlative espionage mini-series The Little Drummer Girl, and I knew this was something I didn’t want to miss. Sometimes it only takes two projects on a CV to elevate a future star from obscurity to A-list potential. In Pugh I had already seen enough range, charisma and depth to suspect she was one of those special few. By the end of Midsommar I was convinced of it!
Plot wise, all you need to know going in cold is that Dani (Pugh) racked with grief following early scenes is dragged to Sweden to participate in the Midsommar celebrations of a small isolated community, as her relationship with boyfriend Christian is very much on the rocks and she is in need of some catharsis and release. At first the Idyllic setting, bathed in sunlight you can almost feel, seems refreshing and clean. The whites, yellows and blues of the images are so crisp you can imagine every smell and texture, and you find yourself smiling, despite the fact a creeping unease and sinister secret is already infiltrating the calm in wonderfully subtle ways.
Needless to say it goes to some very dark and strange places. So much so I gasped out loud twice and stood up from my seat involuntarily on one particularly disturbing moment. To try and explain how that unfolds and comes to be is both impossible and would need some big time spoilers, so I won’t do that. It’s enough to say that where you are emotionally at the end of this filmic experience is very, very far from where you started. Much in the same way as Hereditary, you feel you have been dragged by the hair on a very uncomfortable journey that is both strangely unsatisfying, confusing and upsetting; you can’t say you “liked” either film as much as admitting you can’t stop thinking about them and need to see them again to absorb the detail, if indeed you can bear that.
As of writing this I haven’t gone back and watched this again – I’m genuinely wary of putting myself through it a second time! But, I have gone back to Hereditary and appreciated it much more knowing the ending already, and seeing the detail that is there from the beginning, that makes it all make sense in a way it doesn’t first time around. Midsommar, I sense, is the same, in that there has been so much attention to the build up and background that you will see and hear relevant clues to the mystery much more the more times you watch it. What they are wearing, images on walls and seemingly insignificant things the camera picks up on create a tapestry of loose threads that can be woven together into deeper meaning if that is what you want to do.
Without doing that it may seem like a bewildering entity, deliberately odd for the sake of it, and as such it could put anyone off. At 2 hours and 28 minutes it is a bit of a stretch, and the last half hour, once it descends into the complete madness suggested earlier, perhaps doesn’t live up to the promises it makes. Also, despite Pugh being a mesmeric presence from start to finish, the supporting cast can’t quite go with her on the same level. Even the talented Will Poulter seems burdened by a less than three dimensional character, underwritten as are many in a script that focuses so much on Dani that everything else suffers.
My overall impression of it as a film is that it falls short of greatness by a narrow margin, but comes very close at times to genuine genius. It is the promise of Aster as a filmmaker that excites me most, even if this is not the film it could have been with a little more experience, maturity and, perhaps, budget. It is his Bottle Rocket, or Hard Eight, when you suspect he will have a Grand Budapest Hotel, or a There Will Be Blood in him at some point down the line.
In conclusion, I can’t emphasise enough how much I was drawn to every moment of what Florence Pugh was doing. Be wary of the film if a casual viewing experience is what you want, because it may infuriate you, and compel you even to switch it off, if you are not totally ready to meet it where it wants to take you. But, watch it for Pugh and see what a rare talent she is bringing to cinema into the 2020s. A very exciting prospect indeed.