Back to Black

Director: Sam-Taylor-Johnson
Starring: Marisa Abela, Jack O' Connell, Eddie Marsan, Lesley Manville, Juliet Cowan, Sam Buchanan, Pete Lee-Wilson, Thelma Ruby, Matilda Thorpe
Running Time: 122 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)   

In Sam Taylor-Johnson's Amy Winehouse biopic Back to Black, everything clicks into place for the film's lead, who reminds us just how little we do know about the late English singer-songwriter's beginnings. Putting aside what was covered in 2015's acclaimed documentary, Amy, there's a strangeness to initially seeing her without the beehive hair and tattoos that shaped a unique persona matched only by the talent itself. And much of this is found in Marisa Abela's performance, even well before Winehouse skyrockets to worldwide fame. 

The most perplexing aspect of Matthew Greenhalgh's script is how it avoids casting blame for the singer's death, almost hoping we're absorbed enough in her highs and lows to overlook it. Of course, they'll always be skeptics nursing Dewey Cox hangovers and refusing to give any musical biopic the time of day. But as a respectable entry in that detested and mocked genre, this at least focuses on a more contemporary artist whose legacy hasn't yet been exhausted by a myriad of screen dramatizations. And while it's odd referring to an artist whose breakthrough album was released nearly two decades ago as "contemporary," it's at least a designation Winehouse easily earns. 

Raised in a Jewish, musically inclined home by father Mitch (Eddie Marsan) and grandmother Cynthia (Lesley Manville), Amy Winehouse (Abela) is performing at local pubs when her vocal talents catch the attention of manager Nick Shymansky (Sam Buchanan), leading to a contract with Island Records. But prior to her debut album's 2003 release, Amy takes a step back after creatively clashing with the label, soon meeting and falling for charismatic video producer Blake Fielder-Civil (Jack O' Connell). 

Between Amy's alcoholism, bulimia and violent outbursts and Blake's cocaine addiction, their rocky relationship seems doomed from the start. That and an unexpected tragedy provides the groundwork for Amy's universally acclaimed sophomore album, "Back to Black," which catapults her to critical and commercial success. With it come unpleasant consequences, as she spirals into full blown drug addiction that even a stint in rehab and a period of sobriety can't rescue her from.

While this follows a strict chronological trajectory that might provide further ammo for those tired of the format, it's also an effective snapshot of a relatively brief, unexplored flicker in time. Due to this, it avoids coming across as a history lesson that crams decades of a person's life into two hours, skipping years and events to fit a regimented framework. More disciplined in staying the course, this rarely feels like an exploitive collection of her lowest points.

Because Amy's brief but memorable ascent feels as if it occurred yesterday, there's an immediacy to the story that's more culturally relevant than usual. Having paved the way for Adele and the many other British soul singers who've emerged since, the experience of watching becomes oddly inseparable from the hypothetical question of how the rest of her career would have turned out.

Abela is tremendous in the role, all the way from the opening scene of Amy reminiscing with her grandmother to when she eventually implodes later on. The huge surprise is that the actress does her own singing, faring unusually well given the insurmountable challenge of replicating Winehouse's unmistakable vocal stylings and stage presence. The elephant in the room is how the film handles Amy's addiction, contradicting much of what's been reported. If her substance abuse issues have long been tied to Blake's toxic influence, this paints a far different picture, with him even controversially painted as a victim at various points. 

The pair's initial meeting might be the film's best sequence with O'Connell's finding just the right blend of dangerous sleaze and charm, as we wait for Blake to emerge as the monstrous, abusive instigator we've heard so much about. And though he's far from a positive influence and destructive in his own right, that doesn't really materialize here. Instead, Amy just can't seem to quit him, and while a refusal to go to rehab results in her most iconic hit, by the time she actually gets there, it's too late. Eddie Marsen's Mitch is a constant presence as her dad/manager, in denial and overwhelmed by the harsh reality of his daughter's situation.

Given the family's involvement in this production, it is one of the more sympathetic portrayals of an artist lost to addiction, sidestepping the same tawdry treatment Amy received from the media while she was alive. That the movie captures a certain authenticity can be attributed to an actress who foregoes outright impersonation to embody an insecure family girl with a giving heart who briefly became the biggest pop star on the planet. The hows and whys are sometimes frustratingly murky, but Taylor-Johnson gets a lot right in exploring the gap that separated who Amy was from what the public perceived her to be.                     

Fair Play

Director: Chloe Dumont
Starring: Phoebe Dynevor, Alden Ehrenreich, Eddie Marsan, Rich Sommer, Sebastian de Souza, Sia Alipour, Brandon Bassir, Geraldine Somerville, Patrick Fischler
Running Time: 113 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Chloe Dumont's thought provoking psychological thriller Fair Play starts with one of the more unusual marriage proposal scenes you'll see, largely indicative of the chaos and sexually charged turmoil that follows. It's all downhill for this couple from there as a major job promotion suddenly challenges everything they think and feel about each other. But the most intriguing aspect of Dumont's debut feature is how it suggests anything else could easily have been the trigger. It just so happens to be a seemingly pleasant surprise that unravels their relationship, exposing him for who he is as she struggles to hold herself together.

In a perfect world, fiancés and spouses would be entirely supportive of their partner's accomplishments, chalking it up as a team win. And yet from the moment we meet this entirely relatable couple, it's clear they're built a little differently, though cut from a similar cloth. Both are competitive, highly ambitious financiers working together in a pressure cooker environment where one decision can push you out the door or into a comfy corner office with a raise. Everything revolves around what you've done lately, any misery balanced out by the monetary benefits. She's the better end of the deal, especially as his sanity gradually slips away, culminating in a finale where only one can be left standing. 

Emily Myers (Phoebe Dynevor) and Luke Edmonds (Alden Ehrenreich) are analysts at the high-powered Manhattan hedge fund One Crest Capital and recently engaged, keeping their romantic relationship secret from co-workers. Despite rumors Luke may be replacing a recently fired portfolio manager, Emily is informed by the firm's cutthroat CEO Campbell (Eddie Marsan) that she'll be receiving that promotion instead. 

After initially offering his congratulations, Luke's jealously surfaces, putting a serious strain on their relationship as he continues to obsess over advancing his career, potentially at Emily's expense. Even her attempts to advocate for Luke backfire when it's clear just how little the higher-ups think of him, potentially numbering his days at the firm. Filled with guilt and uncertainty, Emily forges forward as Luke's erratic behavior threatens to destroy their relationship and careers. 

Ehrenreich does a masterful job portraying Luke as completely diminished by Emily's promotion, seemingly overnight made to feel three quarters less of a man than he thought. Never mind that she runs circles around him and everyone else at the firm, he takes it personally, as if her advancement is the ultimate betrayal. It also speaks volumes that his first excuse and allegation is that she must have slept her way to the top or gotten the job due to being a woman. 

Over the course of the film we realize just how little Luke's allegations mean, and not just because her performance is head and shoulders above her co-workers. Because the firm appears to be such an exclusive men's club, it's hard to believe they're just granting women unearned promotions when the financial stakes are this high. And if they wanted to ogle Emily or treat her as their "hooker" as Luke insinuates, it would have been easier to dish out that harassment when she was an analyst. Played by a great Eddie Marsan, the intimidating Campbell is an egomaniac, but he clearly promotes Emily for all the right reasons, revealing Luke's shortcomings and insecurities as the problem. 

This kind of three-dimensional shading of the characters is why Dumont's script works so well, as Luke gaslights Emily with terrible advice, backhanded compliments and even leverages her into helping him while pretending to be insulted by the gesture. Desperately clinging to a self-help guru to improve his standing, he casually tears Emily down, planting doubts in her head about how she looks, acts and dresses. Lingering in the back of our minds is what could happen if he totally snaps, exposing their relationship and blowing up everything she's worked for.

To a degree, Dumont seems to sympathize with Luke's plight while Ehrenreich subtly turns the volume up and down on Luke's behavior at just the right moments, keeping him out of sociopathic territory as long and believably as he can. It's easily the best performance he's ever given, making you wonder if reactions to Disney's Solo would have been the same if he was permitted to give us a little darker, more roguish version of the title character. He was better there than most acknowledged, but this confirms he may have been more stifled than originally believed. 

Even better is English actress Dynevor, who unexpectedly shifts gears when Emily's forced to quickly toughen up and overcome Luke's escalating mind games. It's her journey and that the two have such an intense physical connection further complicates matters, establishing how sex is as important to the equation as office or gender politics. This proves especially true in the controversial last act, prompting us to second guess whatever we assumed was obvious. 

Superior to the trashy, erotic 90's thrillers to which it's being compared, Fair Play is sleek and suspenseful, with Dumont's depiction of the finance world and tight screenplay solidifying it as more than a mere guilty pleasure. And with workplace scenes that invite comparisons to the underappreciated Margin Call, it effectively exposes the types of characters that populate such a setting. What happens isn't beyond the realm of plausibility in toxic relationships, but amped up, making for a gripping, insightful trip into the psyche of someone whose entire identity hinges on power and control.