Starfish

Director: A.T. White
Starring: Virginia Gardner, Christina Masterson, Eric Beecroft, Shannon Hollander, Elias Brett, Tanroh Ishida
Running Time: 100 min
Rating: NR

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

After experiencing 2019's sci-fi cosmic horror fantasy, Starfish, it occurred to me that every filmmaker could do a lot worse than aiming to either succeed or fail in the painfully original way writer, director and composer A.T. White does here, while acknowledging just how difficult that is. But it might be a good thing that few would likely attempt it since that would muddy the waters and make this seem a little less unique. You feel like it should come accompanied with some kind of warning, if not a seatbelt and an airbag, since there's really no way to fully prepare yourself for what's ahead if you're going in cold. 

Attempting to watch it casually is a fool's errand, as the realization hits merely minutes in that it shares more in common with Southland Tales, Under the Skin or last year's equally polarizing but brilliant Under the Silver Lake than the apocalyptic Cloverfield clone some expected going in. You watch it once knowing you won't extract a damn thing, it lingers, then you return for a second viewing that still provides little clarification. Until you discover that's okay. The plot's beside the point because that's not where the movie resides, instead occupying a specific mood, time, and headspace that isn't easily definable.

For many, this will represent the exact type film they detest most, groaning about its deliberate pace or failure to congeal into something that resembles what we'd expect from a traditional narrative. More will complain that it isn't horror, much less sci-fi. All these criticisms, while completely subjective, could just as easily double as compliments, further proving the film's almost aiming too high to warrant classification. It's almost as if White had so much to say that it couldn't be contained and he just started bleeding emotions and images all over the screen. 

Upon an initial viewing, it seems to lose its way a little bit toward the midway point before triumphantly circling back around again at the end for a victory lap. But loses its way from what?  It's sort of difficult to even qualify what that means. In an unbelievable feature debut, White puts himself out there, turning genre conventions on its head with a tone poem that contemplatively explores the grieving process in a manner not quite seen before. Regardless of where you land on it, there's no question we're all better off having been invited in, visually wrestling with concepts and ideas that are still difficult to shake long after the credits roll. 

Aubrey (Virginia Gardner) is reeling from the death of her friend Grace, hauled up in the latter's now vacant apartment with only reminders and memories left of their time together. But when she starts receiving mysterious radio transmissions from an unknown source alerting her of the end of the world, the only clues to unraveling its meaning come from a disembodied voice on a walkie talkie and a single cassette left by Grace labeled, “This Mixtape Will Save The World.” Appearing to be the last person left on earth, Aubrey is sent on a mysterious scavenger hunt to retrieve the rest of the tapes and piece together the signal, all while contending with monstrous, alien-like creatures quickly closing in on her. But to potentially save the world, she'll first need to confront and process her own debilitating grief and guilt.

The business of the tapes, signal and impending destruction of the world could be viewed as entirely metaphorical, or not, if you choose. But it is very much the end of Aubrey's world, at least as she knows it, grappling with not only Grace's death, but a past mistake she'll have to face head-on that caused her whole life to unravel. It's essentially about her depression, even if the other elements can exist on whatever literal or imaginary level the audience wants them to. White mostly keeps the more obvious horror tropes at arm's length with few exceptions, giving us only the briefest glimpse of these creatures, while still managing to wring genuine terror and dread are from Aubrey's situation. 

Cinematographer Alberto Bañares creates this ethereal atmosphere that never really lets up when paired with White's hypnotic, transportive score, invoking a captivating indie music video sensibility often strived for but gone unrealized in lower budget mind-benders. It's distinctive look and style is displayed most prominently during the opening half-hour in arguably the film's strongest section, a nostalgia trip wherein Aubrey explores the contents of her deceased friend's apartment in a sad, soul-crushing stetch of story sure to test some viewers' patience. You'll know immediately whether this is for you, but if it is, it's a lot easier to fall down the rabbit hole, ready to go wherever she's taken next. 

Featured in every scene and carrying the entire movie on her shoulders with hardly a screen partner in sight, Marvel's Runaways and Halloween 2018 star Virginia Gardner is given the ultimate test and pushed past her limits in a role that most actresses on a similar career path wouldn't dare go near, lest their agents drop them for taking it. This performance reveals her hidden depths as an actor, somberly appealing not to others (with the exception of a sensational Christina Masterson as the deceased Grace), but her own character's sense of  hopelessness. Nothing is spelled out for us, as Gardner must subtly and silently provide the pieces that form the puzzle that is, or rather was, Aubrey's existence up until now. 

Clad in an iconic Princess Mononoke-inspired wolf headress, carrying a tape deck around her neck and Grace's pet turtle, it's when Aubrey leaves the apartment that we're immersed into the film's most baffling territory. The nuts and bolts of the plot don't stand up to any kind of scrutiny, but I'm not entirely sure they're supposed to. As she travels to the various locations collecting clues, inventive detours are taken, such as a trippy anime sequence, a face-melting ex-lover and a third-wall breaking moment where she's on the set of this film in a surreal meta scene that would seem outrageous in any other context but this one.

In order to survive, Aubrey will need to process her imense loss, overcoming innner monsters that include a past act of infidelity, heartbreakingly realized and soundtracked in the film's concluding act. Cripplingly sad, visually arresting and impeccably acted with a mesmerizing lead performance, Starfish makes a great case for reading between the lines and just letting go, surrendering yourself to the world the film creates, flaws and all. It's hard to disagree with anyone who thinks there's a masterpiece nestled in there somewhere, frustratingly struggling to break through to the surface. And after a few more viewings, I'm still not discounting the possibility that maybe it will.

The Way Back

Director: Gavin O'Connor
Starring: Ben Affleck, Al Madrigal, Michaela Watkins, Janina Gavankar, Glynn Turman, Todd Stashwick, Brandon Wilson, Melvin Gregg, Charles Lott Jr., John Aylward, Jeremy Radin
Running Time: 108 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★) 

If it's pretty much understood that any film centering around an alcoholic will feature a fair amount of on screen drinking, the first few minutes of Gavin O'Connor's sports drama The Way Back really leaves no doubt as to the pitiful, self destructive hole its protagonist's life has fallen into. It starts with some drinks at the bar, moving on to beers in the shower, and a trip to the liquor store before we actually view the full contents of his soon to be emptied fridge. Very early extinguishing any misconceptions this would be an inspirational basketball drama in the vain of Hoosiers, he consumes enough alcohol in just the first half hour alone to drink Leaving Las Vegas' Ben Sanderson under the table. 

Of course, that the central character is played by Ben Affleck brings an obvious duality to the proceedings, opening the door for criticism that he's simply "playing himself" in a biographical account of the actor's well-documented addiction battle. That can't be easy no matter who you are, so if anything, he should probably be praised for taking a role that cuts so close to the bone rather than just taking the first paycheck that came along. And the film benefits from it, as he helps to paint this sad portrait of a man overcome by his own demons for much, if not all, of the running length. That its better, original title was The Has-Been should give you an idea just how uplifting it isn't.

There's never really a breakbrough, which is kind of the point. It's definitely a sports movie, but a melancholy one doubling as a character study where there's no buzzer beater finale or a coach hoisted upon team's shoulders in celebration of their national championship victory. For many who saw the commericals or trailer, this could actually be a dissapointment, especially when they discover how depressingly realistic the story is. But that's what sets this apart, seeming far more interested in intelligently exploring addiction than sending audiences home with smiles on their faces. 

Former star high school basketball player and construction worker Jack Cunningham (Affleck) spends his days and nights drowning his despair in the bottle, as sister Beth (Michaela Watkins) and separated wife Angela (Janina Gavankar) grow increasingly concerned about his isolation from the family. But when Jack receives an offer from Father Devine (John Aylward) to step in and coach basketball at his high school alma mater, Bishop Hayes, after the current coach suffers a heart attack, he's given something to think about. Or rather in this case, drink about. After initially rejecting the idea, Jack reluctantly accepts, even as his life's in shambles, perpetually in need of a lift home from the bar every night. With this job maybe being his last shot at redemption and respectability, he's shown the ropes by assisstant coach and alegebra teacher, Dan (Al Madrigal) and kept in check by team chaplain Father Mark (Jeremy Radin). 

Inheriting a Bad News Bears-level team that hasn't been to the playoffs since he was a student, the quick-tempered, profanity-prone Jack drops a lot of knowledge about the game while giving these kids some much neeeded structure. He bonds with shy, introverted point guard Brandon (Brandon Wilson), the team's best player dealing with issues at home, and attempts to get through to showboating center, Marcus (Melvin Gregg). But while the team does Jack a lot of good, it can't fix his addiction, and until he faces a past trauma head-on, he'll be a ticking time bomb set to detonate, destroying himself and everyone in his path.  

The vivid depiction of Jack's addiction is so raw and depressing it's easy to overlook just how many of the sports elements of the story work far better than they should. A troubled coach guiding a ragtag team isn't exactly fertile creative territory, so O' Connor (adapting Brad Ingelsby's script) doesn't overstay his welcome in any of the well-shot court sequences while giving us just enough of the players' personalities and problems to be invested. There's a certain lived-in quality to the setting and events that if a pre-credit disclaimer appeared informing us this were a true story we wouldn't be at all suprised. Chances are that similar stories unfold at various schools on courts and fields every day and this does about as good a job as any recent sports drama capturing that, uniquely dialed in to the rhythms of life during and after practice. 

While the darker moments of Affleck's performance will justifiably grab the most attention, his portrayal of an exasperated high school coach may be more impressive. We've all known a guy like this, cutting his players no slack, cursing at the ref and rolling his eyes back into his head at as the team continuously makes boneheaded plays. He also looks and acts like a man attempting to cover up his drinking while not quite succceeding, his eyes glazed over and attention diverted. We anxiously await when he'll be ejected from a game and/or show up drunk to practice, and when both do occur, that inevitability does nothing to dilute its impact since Affleck is so adept at playing this volcanic personality on the verge of going off the deep end. 

Jack has a number of little slip-ups that we know will eventually lead to far bigger ones. As for his personal life, we wonder just how long he can continue drowning himself in liquor before he finally hits rock bottom, fearing what that could look like if this was just the warm-up. When the inciting  event from his past is revealed, it doesn't feel like the manipulative machination it could in a lesser picture, but an underlying tragedy that was already present within Affleck's performance. Hearing it spoken out loud serves only as further confirmation of what we already knew. Given the circumstances it's then even more clear how his sister and most especially his estranged wife haven't lost their patience or given up on him yet, try as he might to throw in the towel for them anyway.  

The Way Back earns most of its points for restraint, not to mention Rob Simonsen's elgiac score, which ideally fits such a mood. What victories there are for Jack are tiny ones marked with a lot of pain a long the way. He's a work in progress, and while that may not make for the most exciting of sports dramas, it makes for a more introspective journey that mixes surprisingly well with some more familar sports movie tropes, all of which are well executed. O'Connor finds just the right tone, with Affleck continuing to prove he's an underrated actor whose career choices have too frequently detracted from that. Here, tasked with developing a deeper, more complex character whose struggles had to strike a personal chord, he's back at his best.

Rocketman

 

Director: Dexter Fletcher
Starring: Taron Egerton, Jamie Bell, Richard Madden, Gemma Jones, Bryce Dallas Howard, Stephen Graham, Steven Mackintosh, Tate Donovan, Matthew Illesley, Kit Connor, Celinde Shoenmaker
Running Time: 121 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)  

It was never going to be an easy road for Dexter Fletcher's Elton John musical biopic, Rocketman, especially following Bohemian Rhapsody, for which Rami Malek won the Oscar for inhabiting legendary Queen frontman Freddie Mercury. And when considering the same director actually stepped to finish the latter film, it makes comparisons between the two especially unavoidable. But if all those criticisms that Rhapsody played as a paint-by-numbers biopic seemed unfair, that's because they were, rehashing the same old arguments everyone makes about the genre. 

Ignoring that biopics are supposed to cover the full scope and meaning of a figure's life, the complaints just never seem to cease whenever one is released, regardless of its quality. Whether it's manufactured outrage at a script daring to depict events either in or out of chronological order, including scenes that allegedly never happened, or even worse, ones that did. But what no one seems willing to admit is that the format has been around this long because when it works, it really works, and is usually only as compelling as its subject allows. It's also what the fillmaker chooses to do within that admittedly rigid framework that can make all the difference, with casting a bit more crucial than it would be otherwise.

By these standards, Rocketman, which was widely praised for sidestepping a lot of typical genre tropes, could still be considered a "standard" biopic, with the important caveat that we should probably start reassessing that designation as a compliment. It may finally be time to admit that biopics can be fun and well-made, especially when the very structure of this musical does as good a job as any of conveying the essence of that person. 

Despite some broad similarities in their outsized personalities and career trajectories, Elton John isn't Freddie Mercury and any film covering his life would have to be an entirely different animal. Elton might be harder to tackle since his music's been played to death for decades on end, with few clammoring for the onscreen dramatization of an artist who could be considered overexposed, at least compared to Mercury, who only now seems to be getting his due. If both performers had a flare for flamboyance and theatrics, that's the area where Elton was incomparable, with Fletcher wisely using that as the film's driving engine. 

Elton John might be the only artist where a full-blown, spare no expenses musical about their life scored to all his hits feels completely appropriate. It's what Across The Universe could have been if they didn't try to shoehorn a fictional story into the Beatles' entire song catalogue. This takes the opposite route, as Elton's songs legitimately feel like an organic extension of his life, inseparable from the journey we see unfolding in front of us. 

If it's less dramatically powerful than Rhapsody, that's only because of the tone of Elton as a person and artist, which Taron Egerton magnificently captures in a nomination-worthy performance. A staggering visual achievement loaded with dazzling musical sequences, it digs deeply into his drug use, conflicted sexuality and unhappy childhood, before settling on an ending that feels slightly less than what it deserves. But it's all undeniably in lock-step with Elton's entire persona and career, making it impossible to walk away without a greater appreciation of everything he's brought to the table. 

From an addiction rehab center, Elton John (Egerton) recounts the story of his life via flashbacks, all the way back to his days growing up in 1950's Britain, when the then-Reggie Dwight (Matthew Illesley) grappled with crippling shyness as a child, as well as rocky relationship with his strict, uninterested military father Stanley (Steven Mackintosh). Some relief comes in his bonding with carfree mom Sheila (Bryce Dallas Howard) and even more supportive grandmother, Ivy (Gemma Jones) over his burgeoning musical talent. 

After excelling at piano from an early age, Reggie starts playing pubs as a teen (played by Kit Connor), gravitating toward rock music before eventually landing in a band and getting signed to a label deal by cigar-chomping DJM chief Dick James (Stephen Graham). Re-christened as "Elton John," it's Reggie's  introduction to songwriter and eventual best friend Bernie Taupin (Jamie Bell) that causes his career to soar to unimaginable heights in the 70's, only to come crashing down when he enters a toxic relationship with manipulative and abusive manager John Reid (Richard Madden). Falling into an abyss of wild debauchery fueled by self-destructive drug and alcohol abuse, Elton must face his personal demons head-on in order to save both his life and career, and perhaps finally be at peace with where Reggie Dwight ends and Elton John begins.

Lee Hall's script is meticulously contructed around some of the artist's biggest hits, providing the soundtrack to the scenes and sequences of his life. The concept itself seems hokey on paper and shouldn't work, if not for the fact that the execution is virtually flawless.While it may be initially jarring to see Elton walk into rehab in a flamboyantly bright orange devil costume before we abruptly flash back to the 1950's with characters in the street singing "The Bitch is Back," it's definitely going somewhere. Fletcher really hits the ground running with this structure, which manages to hit on all the key points on Reggie's path toward becoming Elton, with each musical sequence perfectly encapsulating a specific snapshot in time. 

Movie musicals can be off-putting in the sense that they're not stage productions, nor should they be. So when a character spontaneously bursts into song it can fall flat on its face if the story, tone, direction or energy is off. There's a reason the genre isn't for everyone's tastes, and since it's so rarely pulled off successfully, it's easy to be skeptical. But this is one of the few recent ones that really gets it right, as there isn't a single song in here that feels squeezed in because they're due for a big number.

This is who Elton John is, and whether you're a fan or not, it's impossible to deny that this captures that in a bottle. His songs are who he is, making Fletcher's approach work in a way it probably wouldn't for other artists. But we get the impression that he considered himself a performer first, and what Egerton pushes through is that love of showmanship, which practically burns through the screen, making the fact that the actor actually does his own singing (really well) seem almost secondary. 

All this is evident in the film's most memorable musical sequence, when a then low-key Elton first taps into his larger-than-life persona and brings down the Troubadour with "Crocodile Rock," creating an electric atmosphere that just builds and builds, reaching a cresendo that literally lifts him and an enraptured audience off their feet. Brilliantly filmed and staged by Fletcher, it signals from that point on nothing will be the same for the former Reginald Dwight, as does a later underwater scene that visually juxtaposes the movie's title song with his suicide attempt. 

If Elton was the consumate showman, the artist component is best reflected in his friendship with collaborator Taupin, which went well beyond songwriting despite remaining completely platonic. As the only person who saw Elton exactly for who he was, it ends up being the only relationship in the performer's life that doesn't seem entirely transactional. Whether he's pining for love and approval from his parents or an emotionally and physically abusive manager. attempting to downplay his homosexuality in a failed marriage to friend Renate Blauel (Celinde Schoenmaker) Taupin's unwavering committment to this partnership during Elton's darkest days make their union the film's most memorable, if certainly his least toxic. 

Unlike Bohemian Rhapsody or the Brian Wilson biopic, Love and Mercy from a few years back, you don't get too much insight into the "process" of creating because this simply isn't that kind of movie, nor where the bread is buttered when it comes to Elton's career. What we do get are the emotional highs and devastating lows, which strangely seem to exist on the same plane because of Egerton's performance. The framing device of him telling his story from rehab works because the actor does legitimately play him as a spectator to his own life. In even the biggest successes there's this undercurrent of sadness that when combined with his startling resemblance to the real person and painstakingly accurate recreations of key moments (such as the Dodger Stadium performance), make for quite the experience. 

The ending's only flaw is it's one of those familar epilogues that updates you on the singer's life, which seems completely unnecessary unless you've been living under a rock for the past decade. It also looks like something straight out of a cheap TV special, ranking as one of the more forgettable of its kind and almost completely at odds with the visionary sequence preceding it (a mind-blowing recreation of his "I'm Still Standing" video). But this is actually a small complaint since that video will be remembered as the real closer anyway, as well as a reminder that Elton's journey, unlike so many of his contemporaries, will always be more closely associated with triumph than tragedy. But what's so suprising about Rocketman are the wild detours it takes in showing us how close he actually came to burning out his own fuse.