The Year in Movies

The film business is built around giving consumers what they want. But even today, with the internet tracking our every choice and using the profile created to generate content ever-more targeted to our deepest wants and needs – and yet, still no Married… with Children reunion  – “giving consumers what they want” largely boils down to making films in various well-defined commercial genres. And in 2017, a lot of those genres didn’t pay off.

As the year comes to a close there’s been plenty of must-read “years best” movie lists online – see my co-blogger Rochelle’s list here, my co-author Mel Campbell’s list here, Rochelle’s co-podcaster Lee Zachariah’s list here for starters – and while it’s no real surprise to see many of the same films turning up on many of the many many lists internet-wide, what has been noticeable is that many of the films have been roughly the same kind of film.

Usually this would inspire a range of hot takes along the lines of “2017 was the year of the [insert genre here]”.  But while it’s possible to make the case for plenty of genres, be it smart social horror (Raw, Get Out) or old dudes part their prime (Logan, T2 Trainspotting) or space opera (Valerian, Star Wars: The Last Jedi), or pretty much any two or more mildly similar films – hey, Manchester by the Sea and Call Me By Your Name both came out in Australia in 2017, it must have been the year of Male Weepies With Long Titles – in 2017 so many of the good films felt like variations on the same “quality” film.

Part of the reason why Get Out seemed like such a big deal – and, I suspect, is why it's at or near the top of many lists – is because it wasn’t a polished slice of self-consciously quality film-making like so many other “good” films in 2017.  Get Out was a genre film that had something to say and wanted to say it in a way that went beyond congratulating the audience on their good taste for choosing to watch a quality feature film: [SPOILER ALERT] it was a film about racism that was also about mad scientists doing partial brain transplants - that’s the kind of craziness we needed more of in 2017.

(you could argue we got that with Mother!, except that Mother! was a film way more interested in looking deep than actually having anything deep to say - it wasn’t even as good as Geostorm, a film whose only virtue lies in the fact that “Geostorm” is fun to say.)

Instead what we ended up with in 2017 was plenty of perfectly well-made “quality” films. Obviously that wasn’t the only kind of film being made in 2017 – though I didn’t see any of you at The House – but with most of Hollywood’s blockbusters failing to kindle any serious excitement (remember when Kingsman: The Golden Circle seemed promising? Even Transformers: The Last Knight was only insane in a half-hearted way) the spotlight fell on quality films (and when they weren't around, evil clowns) to lure people into cinemas. 

And that’s fine! I like a good quality film as much as the next person - who at the movies I go to is usually some pension-age media hack who thinks it's hilarious to loudly point out how many production company logos there are at the start of a film - and my top ten-ish of 2017 (sorry, that’s what all this is leading up to) has plenty of them on board. But “quality” is as much a genre as any other - we can use the term “Oscar-worthy” if you’d prefer - and it's simply not a great year in movies when one genre dominates over all others.

In 2017 I would have preferred a few more great films that weren’t self-consciously quality films - more films like Girls Trip and Colossal and John Wick 2 and Happy Death Day and War For the Planet of the Apes and Split and even Valerian, which was kind of a mess in a lot of ways – simply because I go to the cinema to feel things (as I am dead inside) and shock and amazement and excitement are as much fun to feel as muted single-tear sadness at the ineffable beauty of life.

  

But what do I know? I’ve already locked in Brawl in Cell Block 99 as my best film of 2018. Direct-to-DVD in Australia January 31st, everybody! Vince Vaughn beats up a car!

My best of 2017:

*Manchester by the Sea

*Moonlight

*Happy Death Day

*Logan

*Colossal

*Ingrid Goes West

*Split

*Thor Ragnarok

*War for the Planet of the Apes

*Girls Trip

*Jackie

*Valerian

*The Eagle Huntress

*Power Rangers

*20th Century Women

*The Edge of Seventeen

*Dunkirk

*I Am Not Your Negro

*John Wick Chapter 2

My worst of 2017:

*Live by Night

*XXX: Return of Xander Cage

*A Cure For Wellness

*Chips

*Passengers

*Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.2

*Baywatch

*The House

*Churchill

*Snatched

*The Mummy

*The Hitman’s Bodyguard

*American Assassin

*Justice League

*A Few Less Men

*The Snowman

Anthony Morris

The Year in Reviewing

If this article painted a grim picture of the state of Australian film criticism at the start of the year, things have only gotten worse: everywhere you turn reviewers have been fired, others have been replaced by critics already working elsewhere, and the “new screen focused review show” the ABC promised turned out to be Screen Time, a chatty panel show that featured a grand total of zero full time film critics.

It’s been clear for a while now that the future of film reviewing – and much of the media in general - is global. A handful of big name players will dominate the global market, small-time local outlets will pick up the crumbs left over, and those in between will increasingly find themselves squeezed out. That’s already the case with film reviewing. The USA and UK have a handful of big name critics whose opinions are sought out world-wide; it’s a very long drop to the local level, where “influencers” are wined and dined (well, free popcorn’d and coke’d) at a screening so they can talk about the good time they had at the movies on breakfast radio.

Australia is an English-speaking nation with (generally) timely access to the Hollywood blockbusters readers are interested in world-wide; why don’t we have any world-level critics working in our media? Partly it’s due to our media having no global reach: News Corp’s Leigh Paatsch is Australia’s mostly widely read reviewer, but thanks to News Corp's paywalls their arts coverage doesn't attract online interest (which may be why Paatsch seems to have shuttered his reviewing twitter account: https://twitter.com/leighpaatsch).

Partly it’s due to local media organisations having zero interest in competent film coverage: both the ABC and Fairfax have shed numerous critics in recent years, while Fairfax’s current approach – spreading new releases across three reviewers – means that the film and not the reviewer is the focus for promotion; if you’re interested in Jake Wilson’s take and he’s not the one reviewing a particular film, you’re out of luck. Having a single reviewer is clearly a much stronger marketing angle, but this team approach is consistent with Fairfax's long running opposition to making decisions that might conceivably attract or retain readers.

And partly it’s… a whole range of factors, from Jason di Rosso, the ABC’s only remaining full-time critic, working on radio (where reviews, even in podcast form, are less likely to travel internationally), to international players bringing their own critics to Australia, to a general shift away from traditional reviews towards hot takes as websites realise that film articles on race and gender are much more likely to get hits than film reviews focusing on storytelling and performances.

Film criticism has never been a job with a high turnover. People who score a position being paid to watch movies rarely move on of their own free will. But with the local market shrinking – it’s increasingly likely that when the (two?) remaining full-time critics in the Australian media finish up they won’t be replaced - and no scope to expand overseas, new voices are being squeezed out. The handful of Australian critics who have made a name for themselves locally are constantly forced to take jobs that once would have gone to up-and-comers as opportunities shrink across the board. Unpaid blogs and podcasts remain an option for those able to make a living elsewhere, but without the reach of established media players it's difficult to be heard.

And so we return to the same situation we had thirty years ago: paid film criticism is basically a closed shop, only now it’s name recognition rather than being attached to a big publication that keeps a reviewer in work. But as the direction of local media increasingly turns towards focusing on the handful of things that aren’t being done better overseas, the result – as we’re already seeing with The Guardian, where the only films reviewed by Australians are Australian films – will be that the international blockbusters that dominate Australian cinemas will be reviewed by international critics, with local critics left to write professionally on a handful of Australian films a year.

Of course, this is only bad news if you think international films deserve a local take – if you think Australian culture in some way differs from the United States and so films addressing issues specific to one culture could be viewed in a different way by another. But if you thought like that then you’d never get a toe-hold in the international market – and as we’ve established already, that’s really the only option left if you want to make reviewing your career. Still, it could always be worse: if you really want to have a long-term future in reviewing film, it’s probably a good time to start learning Chinese.

Anthony Morris

Eleven Films I Loved in 2017

by Rochelle Siemienowicz

I detest making Best-and-Worst lists. It seems like such a crude schoolboy's approach to films; like collecting and pinning beetles to a board and killing them in the process.

So let's call this a loose list of eleven films (not five, not ten, but eleven, just to be contrary) that I loved in 2017. These films delighted, surprised or impressed me in some way. They leave a trace or linger in my memory long after I saw them. 

Here they are, in no particular order.

1. Faces, Places (Agnes Varda & JR)

I raved about this playful, wise and life-affirming documentary on the August episode of Hell is for Hyphenates. It's a deeply egalitarian celebration of the value of ordinary people in unfashionable places. I can't get enough of Agnes Varda.

2. Raw (Julia Ducournau)

A sensitive and sophisticated cannibal coming-of-age tale, my review of this fresh, French, female horror is here on SBS Movies.

3. Get Out (Jordan Peele)

Combining horror, comedy and social commentary about America's race relations, this smart film worked on so many levels. It was genuinely scary, genuinely funny and I still think about it every time my teaspoon clinks against a cup.

4. The Party (Sally Potter)

I saw this hilarious metronome-timed black-and-white chamber comedy at the Melbourne International Film Festival and laughed so loud. The performances were universally delicious, but special mentions to Patricia Clarkson, Bruno Ganz and Kristin Scott Thomas.

5. The Disaster Artist (James Franco)

Funny, astute and surprisingly warm, this portrait of a terrible artist, and the making of his terrible film, succeeds as a brilliant odd-couple buddy film. 

6. Blade Runner 2049 (Denis Villeneuve)

Sublimely beautiful, there were scenes in this flawed masterpiece that transported and inspired me. I wrote a piece of memoir-infused film criticism about the film here at the Neighbourhood Paper.

7. A Quiet Passion (Terence Davies)

A strange and unsettling portrait of poet Emily Dickinson (whose poetry actually leaves me cold). This was one of those films that was sometimes difficult to sit through, and yet I'm glad I did because the experience of enduring it gave a sense of the life it depicted. Cynthia Nixon gives a singular performance as the eccentric, frustrating and tortured writer. Not a film for everyone.

8. Phantom Thread (Paul Thomas Anderson)

Daniel Day-Lewis and Vicky Krieps give stunning and subtle performances as an obsessive couturier and his latest muse. A sophisticated and very beautiful film about love, power and the games people play. This story went to unexpected places in a most enjoyable way.

9. The Shape of Water (Guillermo del Toro)

Del Toro brings his fairytale sensibility to 1960s Cold War-era Baltimore. There's a strangely sexy fish-man, some Russian spies and frequent detours into song and dance. And yet it works, in no small part due to Sally Hawkins delicate portrayal of a determined mute woman who feels kinship with the beast and embarks on a mission to save him. 

10. Lady Bird (Greta Gerwig)

This often hilarious depiction of the intense and difficult relationship between a commonsense mother (Laurie Metcalfe) and her whimsical daughter (Saoirse Ronan) is pitch perfect in its mix of love, disappointment and resentment. It made me think a lot about my mother, and made me grateful not to have a daughter, and made me eager to see what Greta Gerwig does next.  

11. Call Me By Your Name (Luca Guadagnino)

A languid film full of quiet moments and subtle gestures, this tale of first love and first loss is tangy and sweet. To be honest, much of the pleasure I had was in spending a summer hanging out under fruit trees with beautiful people who compose music, speak multiple languages and wander around without their shirts on. No money problems, no wars, no battles to save the universe, just the pulse of life and sex, and the time to explore exquisite emotions.

Review: Star Wars: The Last Jedi

As titles go, The Last Jedi suggests a finality rare in modern franchise film-making. The Last Jedi: so we're only a few movies into their takeover of Lucasfilm’s Star Wars franchise and Disney are axing one of the series’ core concepts? That’s gutsy story-telling. And then the film ends on the opposite note, with a major character literally saying out loud that anyone who expected this story to be about “the last Jedi” is wrong. Guess misleading titles are part of the Star Wars tradition too.

This misdirection sums up the entire film: claim big narrative-shattering developments, deliver as little real change as possible. It's hard not to see The Last Jedi as the first Star Wars movie to fully embrace the idea that these movies don’t need to have a traditional story. The original series was about a struggle for the Galaxy that was also a family drama; the prequels explained how evil rose to power in the first place. Even The Force Awakens was about a variety of biggish things; characters leaving their pasts behind for a new life, the Rebellion trying to find Luke Skywalker while the sinister First Order overthrew the Republic and so on. But this film’s story is as follows: the First order have found the Resistance, the Resistance flees, there’s a battle, the First Order follows, there’s another battle, some side characters who did almost nothing meet their fate, the end. It’s the story of a minor skirmish where most people run in circles.

Still, there are plenty of subplots and side adventures that flesh out what is one of the more enjoyable Star Wars films to date. But previous films have been built around the idea that these “star wars” are winnable, that what our heroes are doing will lead towards a definite conclusion. This one repeatedly says that there will be no conclusion, that this battle will never end, and it's only the bad guys who want to discard the past to create a new future. “They blow you up today, you blow them up tomorrow,” as Benicio Del Toro’s morally ambiguous hacker says helpfully. Ending the story on a moment where a lovable space urchin pledges to carry on a fight that never ends feels more like Starship Troopers than Star Wars.

I think my favourite part in the new STAR WARS was when Laura Dern said “We can ill afford another Klendathu”.

— Anthony Morris (@morrbeat) December 13, 2017

Meanwhile, the now-traditional recycling of scenes, plot points and lines from previous films continues. An isolated training camp with an elderly mentor? One-man fighters taking on massive space juggernauts? Giant walking robots stomping towards enemy trenches on a chilly planet while tiny fighter craft try to hold them off long enough for the main force to escape? The Millennium Falcon swooping in when all seems lost to turn the tide of battle? Well met, old friend.

This running in place extends to the previously introduced characters, who in this installment either find their emotional arcs coming to a resolute end – at least one character will no doubt continue to appear, but their story wraps up in this film – or are kept in stasis, perhaps forever. It feels like Disney, worried about their new investment, seeded their first Star Wars film The Force Awakens with potential mysteries and developments then, when it all worked out just fine, made sure to kill off as many of those plot points as possible here.

To be fair though, part of that feeling is a function of a story which separates the three main newcomers on the Resistance side for almost the entire film: hothead pilot Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) mostly spars with General / Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher) and Laura Dern’s buzzkill Vice Admiral as they flee the First Order, Finn (John Boyega) has a mission that keeps him occupied alongside techy newcomer Rose (Kelly Marie Tran) and Rey (Daisy Ridley) is trying to browbeat Luke (Mark Hamill) into handing over his closely guarded yet useless Jedi knowledge.

(seriously, why did old-style Jedis need a decade or more of training when both Luke and Rey seem to have picked up the gist in a week or so?)

Still, if this was a franchise interested in character development they would have chosen a different story to tell. Which is another break from the past; the previous two trilogies were, at their heart, about the idea that people change and grow (in good ways and bad). Even the best parts of The Last Jedi – which would be the way that Rey and Vader wannabe Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) are somehow telepathically linked via the Force and basically have secret skype sessions where they hate-flirt all through the night – are heavy with the suggestion that either character could possibly grow to agree with the other and change their path in life.

Almost from the very beginning Star Wars has been about selling merchandise, and action figures need a consistent, unchanging backstory for “goodies versus baddies” play; what development action figures do have is more about changing costumes and getting cool new toys to drive around in. And for fans who do want character development, there’s all the ancillary media – tie-in novels, games, comics, possibly even spin-off movies – to keep them happy. The movies are the big spectacle that lures people into the franchise, where they discover it contains everything they could want from a story… just so long as they’re willing to purchase the expansion packs.

So while this is full of striking images, effective fight scenes (one lightsabre battle is up there with the series’ best), and even a few honestly emotional moments (mostly based around nostalgia for characters from the earlier, more character-based films), this also feels – even more than the blatant retread that was The Force Awakens – like the point where the rot sets in. Not because of any failure in the film-making; on top of the previously mentioned virtues this is also probably the funniest Star Wars film to date, with a firm sense of the characters as people with shifting moods and senses of humour. But while all previous Star Wars films presented audiences with a galaxy where all the characters’ struggles meant something, this presents us with a war that never ends.

There are plenty of decent stories that can be told against that backdrop: the USA has been fighting the Forever War since 2001 so there’s examples everywhere you look. But Star Wars has always been about brave heroes and evil villains battling it out against a high stakes cosmic backdrop: to have the end result always be a violent stalemate will eventually become depressing no matter how many cute aliens and wacky robots turn up. Presumably that's why future films are focusing on side characters (a Han Solo prequel, a non-Skywalker trilogy) who can have adventures with meaning without being involved in the wider struggle. It might have started a long time ago in a galaxy far far away, but the war they’re fighting rages to this day.

Anthony Morris

Some thoughts: Stan's Romper Stomper

After watching the first two episodes of Romper Stomper, Stan’s new six part series based on the original 1992 film (it airs on the streaming service January 1st), it’s clear the producers - which include the movie’s writer / director Geoffrey Wright - were faced with a dilemma. The original film is notorious for its right-wing politics, but the film itself is more about ceaseless motion and senseless violence than arguing any coherent philosophy. It’s a string of high-energy scenes of action, destruction and dancing (it’s largely structured like a dance movie), loosely justified by some racist slogans and Nazi flags.

But trying to sustain that level of energy and intensity across six hours would clearly be impossible; the film struggles to keep it up for 90 minutes. So instead of following up on the original’s focus on a bunch of manic clowns trashing Footscray largely because they can, this series is all about the politics, presenting a variety of people and groups united by their connection to an aggressive strand of right-wing activism that represents an evolution of the original film's skinhead thuggery.

The film trapped viewers in the world of its skinheads: we heard their music, we heard their views, and everyone outside them was seen as a subhuman target for violence. For some – most notably David Stratton, who refused to give it a star rating when it was covered on The Movie Show – this forced the audience to identify with a group they should despise. For others (okay, me), it was more that by focusing so closely on them, we were made to see their flaws: for all their posing they were simply violent dickheads tearing their lives apart, and anyone seeing anything admirable in these brutal clowns needed to pay a little more attention to what was actually taking place in the film.

Because the series – the first two episodes at least - is much more about the politics rather than the thrills (and cost) of physical violence, we have to have balance. So opposing Lachy Hulme’s Blake and his right wing “Patriot Blue” organisation we have the Antifa, a group of left-wing uni students whose mission it is to blunt the alt-right’s thrust into Australian society.

Between them are a small group of Muslim bystanders, people who largely want to live their lives without being targeted by Patriot Blue. But the Antifa are opposed to Patriot Blue first and foremost, which leaves these characters trapped between two warring sides with no-one to stand up for them but themselves.

The idea that anyone watching would be attracted to the Patriot Blue characters is dubious at best. Their leader is fat, impotent, and prone to boring everyone to death at barbeques by reading out “bush poetry”; his pious, Christian wife is equally boring and happy to cast aside her cherished values to sleep around behind her husband’s back. Meanwhile, the Antifa types are generic uni students, which is to say they’re smug, sneering, and heavily pierced. Whoever wins, we lose.

The trouble with dividing these groups into good guys and bad is that the world of Romper Stomper is one of all against all, a violent place where violence rules (it’s notable that the police barely make an appearance in the first two episodes, and their minor punishments are largely shrugged off). Just about every location here, from the streets to a nursing home to a television studio, is shown as a form of battleground where people struggle for dominance.

In this world, the real conflict isn’t between left and right wing activists; it’s between people who are happy to resort to violence and aggression to achieve their aims and those who aren’t. And in movies and television, this simply isn’t a fair fight. Violence is simply more dramatic, more exciting to watch; whatever our feelings about violence in real life, we’re almost always going to find ourselves more interested in watching the people who solve problems with their fists than those who want to talk things out (see also: every superhero movie ever).

So when a series tries to have it both ways – violence is bad; here’s some more violence – you end up with a muddled mess like Netflix’s current series The Punisher. There the lead is a mass-murderer driven to kill and kill again because of the death of his family… but don’t worry, he only kills bad guys and he's really, really torn up about it. The (far superior) comic version (especially when written by Garth Ennis) knows that the real way to add balance to this kind of character isn't some kind of moral waffling, but to show the monster you become when you fully embrace violence: pretending there’s ever a justifiable reason to gun down hundreds of criminals is ridiculous and treating your audience with contempt.

Initially the new Romper Stomper looks like it’s falling into the same trap, with a bunch of bad guys that have to be heroically fought against. And it’s possible this could end on a note of “why can’t we all just get along”, at least in a political sense. But the original film was all about the pure thrill of violence: it might be a dead end that will ruin your life and get you killed, but it’s fun while it lasts. And with this new Romper Stomper the thrill of violence remains – only where the film was all about the physical, this is much more about the emotional excitement of living a violent way of life, of finding meaning in your life from being in a gang and feeling like you’re in a life-and-death struggle, an all-important war where your very way of life is at stake.

Obviously it’s not: Romper Stomper portrays Patriot Blue as a bunch of easily manipulated blowhards living out a pathetic fantasy. But in the same way the film showed how easy it was to be lured into one kind of violent lifestyle, this is doing the same for another kind, showing us a range of people that, for different reasons, thrive on conflict and are willing to push things as far as they can to achieve their goals. Only this time, by showing us the people who suffer because they don't share this love of violence, it may also show us a way out.

Anthony Morris

Some Thoughts: On Watching Polanski

Since August this year I've been co-hosting the long-running film podcast Hell is for Hyphenates along with funnyman and film buff extraordinaire Lee Zachariah. For those unfamiliar with the monthly show, we spend the first part reviewing three or four new release films, while the middle section deals with a topical cinema-related issue or question. The final (and probably most important) segment is dedicated to our Filmmaker of the Month, where a special guest joins us to discuss the entire works of their favourite filmmaker. Lee and I endeavour to watch or re-watch as many of these films as possible.

Time constraints mean I'm far less of a completist than the obsessively thorough Lee, but I use the show as an exercise in self-education, a chance to fill in a few of the many gaps in my film knowledge. So far, I've enjoyed digging around in the works of George Miller (chosen by Edgar Wright for August), Sylvester Stallone (selected by Michael Ian Black for September), and Jean Pierre Jeunet (chosen by Adam Elliot in October).

November's episode presented a conundrum. Our special guest, author, film historian and film critic Emma Westwood, had put up her hand a year ago  to speak about the films of the prolific French-Polish director Roman Polanski. There was no denying his genius or his right to exist among our eclectic pantheon of auteurs. From his highly original early black-and-white films like Knife in the Water (1962) and Cul de Sac (1966) through to Hollywood masterpieces Rosemary's Baby (1968) and Chinatown (1974) and later the Academy Award-winning Holocaust story The Pianist (2002), Polanski is a director who cannot be ignored. He's interesting even when his films are batty or misconceived. (I didn't get a chance to see What? (1972) but from Emma's commentary in the course of recording the show, it's one such a crazy curiosity and I intend to catch it now.)

But Polanski as a person has famously done bad things to girls and women. Some very bad things, and the list of allegations keeps growing. With 2017's ongoing revelations of widespread sexual assault and harassment in the film industry, and the urgency of the massive #MeToo public campaign, it's even more impossible now to talk of Polanski without also asking how we as film commentators and consumers deal with the works of artists who've committed crimes and abused power. 

We had to talk about it, even if we had no answers. And there are no easy solutions, especially if, like me, you want the choice to remain an individual one. Don't tell me what I can and can't see. It seems ridiculous and dangerous to insist that an artist has to be morally impeccable in order for me to consider their work. At the same time, offences must be dealt with, preferably by the legal system, and things have to change in film industries all over the world so that it's no longer considered fame's privilege to sexually abuse or coerce the less powerful. 

You can listen to us grappling with this mess around the 16:14 mark. Emma puts a persuasive case for separating the art from the artist. I dance around the issue trying to have it both ways, while Lee reveals himself to be an adorable moral idealist, who'll nevertheless continue watching every film ever made.

Lee Zachariah, Emma Westwood and Rochelle Siemienowicz post-Polanski debrief

Some Thoughts: Justice League

The reason why Hollywood loves superheroes has nothing to do with why fans love superheroes. Since the advent of television, Hollywood has been in the business of providing audiences with what television can’t provide, and for the last twenty years or so that’s meant big budget spectacle. But as the technology for on-screen destruction has improved, it’s been increasingly difficult for human beings to plausibly survive the carnage on screen. How to provide the massive levels of destruction audiences now demand yet satisfy their conflicting desire to watch movies featuring actors? Superheroes (but not until Hollywood tried vampires and people living inside a computer game).

So when it's said that the reason Justice League has bombed – relatively speaking – is because it’s not faithful to the characters, it’s reasonable to raise an eyebrow. Superman and Batman have been around in comics for 75 years; they’ve been everything from grim “realistic” figures to space clowns to your Dad in a bad outfit. Meanwhile on the Marvel / Disney side of the street, almost none of their movie characters have been anything like their (equally varied) comic book versions. And who cares? These are characters so generic they have to be put in weird brightly coloured outfits so people can recognise them: so long as they solve problems with their fists, they’re good.

Likewise when people complain that Justice League is tonally all over the place. They’re not wrong, but since when has that been a problem for a superhero movie? Everybody loved the most recent Thor movie, even though that lightweight romp couldn’t have been further in tone from the dour fantasy of the character’s previous film. Batman is a character scarred for life by seeing his parents murdered in front of his eyes as a child… so he dresses up as a bat and spends millions on gadgets so he can go punch random criminals: being tonally all over the place is why people like superheroes.

Today it seems that if you can think of something you liked in a previous movie, it’s a): in Justice League and b): it’s why Justice League is no good. When did jokes and banter become a bad thing? Right about the time Justice League hit cinemas. And if having a bulky and often largely CGI bad guy with a generic evil scheme to destroy the world is now a major negative, that rules out literally every single Marvel bad guy plus all the DC ones back to The Joker in The Dark Knight.

Don’t forget, there was a stretch where every Marvel movie had the exact same ending – heroes fighting on a large object falling out of the sky – and nobody cared. The ending of Man of Steel involved a big fight where supposedly thousands died (off screen) and that was bad; Justice League has a big fight in a largely deserted small town and the heroes are shown rescuing people and that’s… also bad? People are griping that Joss Whedon took over Justice League when Zach Snyder stepped aside after a personal tragedy: Edgar Wright was all but fired from Marvel’s Ant-Man and audiences didn’t seem too fussed there.

All of which suggests that whatever it is that people are reacting to in these films, it’s not what they say they’re reacting to. They clearly don’t care about consistent characterisation, original storytelling, or anything else they say they do, because if they did they’d be a lot more picky. What they really like is what we all like: confidence.

Movies boil down to someone – or a group of someones – telling us a story. And telling a story well takes confidence. If a storyteller has a great story packed with interesting characters and exciting developments but they stumble over the order of things and mumble during the important bits, the experience is going to suck. Likewise, if the story is poor but they tell it well it’ll be a good time even if afterwards we realise it didn’t make any sense.

At the moment, Marvel movies have confidence. Even when Disney is firing directors and ordering reshoots, it’s because the executives have confidence in what they’re trying to do. They’re not brilliant guys making genius moves: Thor: Ragnarok is exactly the film you’d get from an executive saying “Guardians of the Galaxy did well, make Thor more like that”. But even when they mostly suck – hello, Doctor Strange – they feel like films the makers had confidence in.

On the whole, DC movies do not have that confidence. Wonder Woman did, largely because it felt like for once DC had the jump on Marvel with a female superhero; they knew the time was right for what they had to sell, so as long as they made a film that wasn’t complete garbage it would work out. But otherwise their line-up has been a muddled mess of brutal edits and reshoots that have resulted in films that don’t leave people feeling like they’re watching a story anyone feels confident in.

Without that confidence, it doesn’t matter if the performances are good, the jokes are decent, the fight scenes are well-handled (and compared to pretty much every other recent superhero movie, Justice League at least shows signs that someone thought about the various characters' different levels of ability and how they could be effectively used in a fight) or anything else. They’ll never come together to make a decent film.

And if you want to watch a film where a bunch of supposedly entertaining things never really come together to make a decent film, we already have Justice League.

Review: The Killing of a Sacred Deer

In his first English-language film, The Lobster (2015), Greek writer-director Yorgos Lanthimos introduced us to a weird sanitorium world where unmarried people fought desperately against the clock to find a mate. The punishment if they failed: being surgically reincarnated as an animal. A similar bizarre and macabre sensibility inhabits Lanthimos’ second English-language film, The Killing of a Sacred Deer, though here it’s a simpler – and it must be said, less interesting – story with obvious roots in the Greek tragedy of Agamemnon, with the impossible lose-lose choices the hero must face after making a fatal mistake.

Steven (Colin Farrell, bearded and paunchy) is a middle-aged heart surgeon who regularly meets up with a troubled and fatherless teenage boy, Martin (Barry Keoghan). They drink coffee and exchange stilted pleasantries and gifts, and eventually the boy is invited home to meet Steven’s wife, Anna (Nicole Kidman) and two children, Kim (Raffey Cassidy) and Bob (Sunny Suljic). To explain more would spoil the story’s unspooling, but it’s sufficient to say that as his children fall ill with a mysterious ailment causing paralysis and finally bleeding from the eyes, Steven is forced to choose which of his family members must be sacrificed.

Lanthimos has his actors speak in affectless monotone, delivering dialogue that’s both absurd and banal. Steven tells colleagues at a dinner that his daughter has begun menstruating, and nobody bats an eyelid. Anna announces at the dinner table that ‘Bob has nice hair. We all have nice hair.’ There’s an eerie comedy in this. Everybody comments on Kim’s beautiful voice, though when she sings (Ellie Goulding’s triumphant ‘Burn’), her voice is weak and ordinary. This blank automaton-like performance style serves to underline this story is a metaphor, and its characters are puppets in service to Lanthimos’ somewhat sadistic entertainment.

The Killing of a Sacred Deer succeeds in taking us to a place that’s grotesque and puzzling, though thanks to interesting and starkly beautiful shot compositions by DOP Thimios Bakatakis and editing by Yorgos Mavropsaridis (both of whom also worked on The Lobster and Dogtooth), it’s not boring or ugly, merely sterile. Whether you really want to spend time in this space where children, paralysed from the waist down, drag themselves around the house and plead for their lives, while their parents weigh up the options and values of each child, is worth pondering before you submit to this increasingly disturbing psychological horror.

Aristotle wrote that the function of the stories of tragic heroes was to produce fear, compassion and then to enjoy the purification of catharsis. The problem with The Killing of a Sacred Deer is that nobody is heroic, compassion is absent and there’s no real catharsis – and ultimately no point.

- Rochelle Siemienowicz

SaveSave