Slow burn

The Endless (dir. Justin Benson & Aaron Moorhead, 2017) doesn’t immediately grip you and horrify you, but the slow burn has a great payoff and I found it so thrilling to watch. Its first few minutes were styled like a documentary, with Justin and Aaron answering questions about each other and about a death cult they escaped from ten years ago. This style wasn’t maintained until the end of the film, but the film itself gets progressively creepier and more terrifying to watch when they go back to the camp and discover its sinister secrets.

The premise of the film is that there is an entity watching over Camp Arcadia, and it really messed with my head trying to figure out what it was or the extent of what it can do. As the film went on, more surreal elements of the camp were revealed: the strange totem-like rock formations, the two moons, photographs falling from the sky, the reflective force field-like surface, and “House of the Rising Sun” on repeat. Each new element of the camp makes it more bizarre, and coupled with its residents, it really made me just want to get out of there ASAP as a viewer.

There was something really off about the members of the commune. On the surface, it seemed like they were just a group of people who have made a living for themselves and rely on each other, toying with an entity that may or may not be real. Of course, members of a supposed UFO death cult could presumably be perceived as weird, but the residents initially seemed normal in maintaining their livelihoods, albeit subjugated by the unseen entity. They even play with it, perhaps showing Justin and Aaron how it could be a friendly entity instead of a malevolent one. But no tug-of-war could convince me of the entity’s innocence nor the normality of the camp. What really threw me off were the people who acted differently, such as Smiling Dave, who was perpetually smiling (who wouldn’t find that creepy?) and “Shitty” Carl, who was always aggressively walking towards wherever and ignoring Justin when he tries to interact with him.

Turns out, “Shitty” Carl was perpetually aggressive for a reason. When the true nature of the camp was revealed, I was floored. The image itself was jarring: two Shitty Carls simultaneously talking to Justin and hanging dead in his cabin. When the concept of time loops was explained, it all made sense, how the residents never aged, the song playing over and over (which was also the most tragic time loop for me: just a mere loop of a few seconds), and I empathized with Carl’s perspective completely. This repetitive cycle of life and death was really just for the amusement of the entity, and it was a horrible trap to be in.

Aaron, on the other hand, didn’t think so. He thought this was a much better way to live than their already repetitive and mundane life back home, one that was dictated by Justin. It was more frustrating for me to see Justin try to convince Aaron to escape with him than it was to actually see them try to escape. While I could see where he was coming from, I could not imagine how his free life could be more horrible than being stuck in a time loop. In that regard, I found his mindset more annoying than pitiful. I was rooting for Justin, who was just trying to be a good brother and doing his best to take care of him.

It will take me another watch of The Endless to see if I interpreted its ending correctly, but all I can say is I was thoroughly engrossed in its world yet I never want to step foot in it. That’s how I can say this was an excellent horror film, one worth revisiting.

Before it’s too late

The threat of unemployment is suddenly apparent because graduation is approaching, and this film didn’t help ease that dread. There are so many things to be anxious about in building a livelihood for yourself, primarily making ends meet but also finding your purpose and making sure you sustain your relationships along the way. Sorry to Bother You (dir. Boots Riley, 2018) tackles these issues and more that plague the labor force, and it does it so tastefully that I was hooked the whole time. I loved how the film depicted the individuals onscreen move toward their goals and grapple with issues beyond them while never disregarding the structural forces that keep them at bay. It inspires us to act against these forces now, even if it was created in a different setting, because these oppressive forces are all-encompassing.

The main characters of the film — Cassius, Detroit, and Squeeze — were middle class people trying to make a living, and also notably Black and Asian. These traits shaped the trajectory of the film, in their pursuit of happiness and society’s reaction to their plight. In this regard, I really liked the casting choices for this film and their excellent performances. Armie Hammer will always kill it as a white capitalist scumbag that his movies almost feel sequential (Steve Lift could be a Winklevoss twin from The Social Network). I loved Lakeith Stanfield’s portrayal of Cassius Green, making him out to be someone who has never seen success in life until now and is just not ready to let it go so easily, until he comes across a groundbreaking form of evil, and he snapped out of his high. Their nuanced performances — posture, diction, facial expressions, etc. — show that even though Cassius has climbed the ranks, he is fundamentally different from Steve. Though Cassius had a definite upgrade in his lifestyle, he could not compare to the sort of greed that Steve had, one that would literally transform humanity (not for the better, but into a wholly different kind of species) just for profit. To make matters worse, this work was not regarded as a groundbreaking form of evil by the media and the government, but rather as merely groundbreaking, a scientific breakthrough.

These differences in personality were also apparent in the costume and set design of the film. I loved the details that went into the costumes and the sets, such as Detroit’s different pairs of conspicuous earrings, which supported her personality as a headstrong artist (see: her MURDER/KILL earrings). Mr. Bleep’s eye patch contributed to his mystery at the beginning. Some set pieces also caught my attention, such as the bottle within a bottle in one of the bars, and the details in the elevator (and its elaborate passcode) to the power caller floor. Pieces like these were kind of a nod to certain types of gaudiness and inventiveness that were present throughout the film. Inventiveness was also apparent in the dialogue and further developed the way characters think, such as how Diane came onto Cassius as soon as he was promoted to a power caller, how Salvador and Cassius almost got into an argument but resorted to compliments instead, the rapping segment (that honestly made me uncomfortable). These scenes, although peculiar, show who the characters’ core, but the film shows how they are also capable of change. Even so, the strongest relationships in the film handle these changes in a way I found justified.

All in all, I loved this film because it was sensitive in its treatment of grave issues like capitalism and racism, but it still managed to be entertaining to watch because of its comedy. I appreciated how it also portrayed the nuances that go into fighting for a cause, how relationships are made, broken, or mended in the process, the difficulty of fighting against the powers-that-be, and the hardships of sustaining your own life and your family’s without neglecting to push for the collective good. It’s a film that everyone should watch, before anything like equisapiens are made into a reality.

Unbound

I found Repo Man (dir. Alex Cox, 1984) intriguing, as someone who doesn’t watch science fiction and action films a lot. It has a simple plot, but what elevates it and makes it all the more bizarre are the personalities of the characters and groups that encounter the car which provides the central conflict.

The opening scene was a good encapsulation of the film — it involved an authority figure, a Chevy Malibu, and a disappearance, which are three elements consistently present in the film. After this scene, we are introduced to Otto, who gets caught up in the world of repossession and alien abductions, and is thoroughly in for the ride. As a young punk rocker who has nowhere to go after his parents donate all his tuition money to a televangelist, he is content with the adrenaline rush. I think it’s relatable in how when we hit a slump in life, we search for something that will get us up and running again, that will stimulate our senses and motivate us to move (even if it’s something you don’t fully understand yet). Maybe all the characters feel this way, and that’s why they’re in a wild chase to obtain the Chevy Malibu. It’s a literal chase for the repo men.

Personally, the way the characters interacted with each other in their hunt for the car was kind of lackluster for me, in that most of the relationships weren’t memorable or weren’t ones that I could get invested in. I didn’t find myself rooting for Otto and Leila because Leila seemed to be more attached to the car, even putting Otto in harm’s way to obtain information. The only thing I found amusing about Leila is the name of her workplace, the United Fruitcake Outlet. Otherwise, I did not care much for her character and her dynamic with Otto. The one relationship I liked is the one between Otto and Miller, because their dynamic shifts from apprehension to camaraderie. Otto probably just thinks Miller is crazy at the beginning when Miller was theorizing about aliens but eventually acknowledges his ideas’ merits, literally culminating with them riding off in the night sky together.

In addition, I appreciated the small details spotted in the total bizarre scope of the film. One specific scene involved a railroad crossing sign, which I found interesting as a backdrop detail that was a nod to an important encounter or intersection between Otto and Dr. J. Frank Parnell. I also appreciated how the criminal punk trio robbed the same grocery store, because they were just trying to sustain themselves and this grocery store contained the bare minimum for their subsistence, with products not even labeled as anything other than what they were. And, although not a small detail in any sense, who could forget the glowing green car that flew over the L.A. skyline? It was a fitting ending for me, because two people were finally worthy of owning the car that could possibly radiate itself through time, the two people who were more unbound to any group or to any lifestyle than anyone else in the film.

Repo Man could inspire you to chase your own Chevy Malibu and not just relinquish it to anyone else. But personally, it didn’t quite hit the mark.

Language, love, and loneliness

My Own Private Idaho (dir. Gus Van Sant, 1991) is unlike any Shakespearean film adaptation I’ve seen. As a queer film, on the other hand, it tackles love in the tragic style that I’ve encountered in other queer films like Brokeback Mountain (2005). Watching the events unfold left me with a deep feeling of sadness and empathy for Mike Waters, the narcoleptic protagonist.

I’m unfamiliar with Henry IV but I’ve watched a few film adaptations of Shakespeare’s plays, and from what I’ve seen, directors or producers either stick with the original text, or transform the text according to the language of the film’s milieu, such as in Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet (1996). To my surprise, My Own Private Idaho switches between both. The effect was somewhat jarring to me at first, mainly because I though it added some friction between the transitions, but it grew on me as I realized it helped build the personality of some characters. Shakespearean language oddly seemed to suit them, and it fascinated me and made me listen closer to what they were really trying to say.

Of course, this type of screenplay can be risky as it could be difficult to follow for some viewers, but I appreciated the effort that went in maintaining the characters’ voices and identities, as well as the layers that were incorporated in the dialogue. The contrast between the use of Shakespearean language and modern language added a layer to the different relationships the characters had for each other. Modern language was used between the two male leads, Mike (played by River Phoenix) and Scott Favor (played by Keanu Reeves), who were peers who shared a bond with each other that was revealed to be of the romantic kind (or at least a one-sided romantic kind) as the film progressed. I’ve only ever seen Keanu Reeves in the John Wick franchise, and seeing him play Scott Favor, a fortunate young man who initially rebels against his inheritance by slumming with street hustlers, was a pleasure to watch. Meanwhile, Shakespearean language was used by Bob Pigeon, a sort of father figure to Scott Favor, at least. There was quite of a buildup regarding Bob Pigeon’s character, but what struck me the most was how Scott said that Bob was more of a father to him than his real father was. This type of switching between Shakespearean and modern language contributed to the overall tone of the movie, which explores the different levels of trust we have in the people we surround ourselves with.

Throughout the film, we are transported across different locations through not just title cards, but mostly because of Mike’s narcoleptic episodes and his quest to find his mother. I barely found a sense of permanence in the film, as even Mike’s own childhood memories were questioned and shaken. Although, I recognized that Scott is always by his side, until he falls in love with a girl that they met in Italy. This destroys Mike, as the only thing he can count on when he wakes up from his narcoleptic episodes is suddenly not there anymore. Not only does he have to deal with the constant threat of his surroundings, never knowing where he’ll end up next, but now he also has to deal with the threat of his crushing loneliness in a world that will never seem to be in his favor. He now has to carry his burden alone.

The way the film depicted this sense of sheer aloneness was greatly elevated through the use of sound and performance (or the lack of it, as in the one time Mike was screaming without using his voice), in odd songs and dialogues that do not seem to fit in the scope of the characters, therefore ending up being ignored or disregarded, like the weird musical number by Hans, which Scott promptly ended because of a lack of understanding and/or toleration.

All in all, I was deeply moved by My Own Private Idaho. It resonated with me because of its portrayal of feelings we’re all familiar with, even if the conditions are not similar. We’ve felt rejected and incredibly alone before, but we’ve also been carried in love and care when we needed it the most.

The impact of convenience

This film affirmed three of my views: 1) Retail is not a joke, 2) convenience stores are the setting for some of the most interesting stories, and 3) capitalism is detestable. As someone who frequents convenience stores and has incorporated these visits into my daily life, and as a daughter of two merchants who own a sari-sari store, I was greatly interested in the project of this movie and its commendable execution.

Simply put, this film depicted vignettes of experiences of employees that work or have worked in this one convenience store. They are divided by shots of time as told by a wall clock, but we do not know how many years pass between the terms of these employees or the duration between their individual stories. I found this type of narrative unique in that it does not require any change in location and it does not have a straightforward chronological flow, but it was still able to impart a cohesive message.

Even though this strategy could make processing the film difficult for those who want to connect these stories or decipher the common thread among them, I personally enjoyed just absorbing each unique perspective that each character had to offer, no matter how light or how profound. They all contribute to the film’s unique exploration of the nature of convenience stores: here is a place where people from all walks of life come in to acquire basic goods on the go, but from the perspective of the people who provide these goods to them. Thus, the film allows us to look into these employees’ lives as well. We see a young gay woman coping with heartbreak, a young man making music on his laptop, a man trying to learn English during slow work hours and unintentionally offending customers when he tries to apply what he learned, and a young adult who’s already broke and unfortunately also gets fired from her job at the convenience store because of a surprise inspection by a member of the head branch, among others. They all provide a plethora of nuances to the kind of life these type of part-time workers live and the impact of their encounters with customers.

I liked this way of storytelling because it reveals the other, perhaps darker side of convenient stores. Convenient stores are typically brightly lit and vibrant because of their 24/7 open hours and the array of products that they have, but their walls see everything in the range of human emotion, even those that are not as bright and vibrant as their location. These stores witness not just happiness and humor, but also feelings like (in this movie’s case) fear of the mysterious and/or the supernatural. Sadness and grief can also be evoked in this type of setting, as can be seen in the characters who experience dejection and desperation.

In that regard, I definitely did not see the ending of this film coming, but I wasn’t surprised, either. The ending goes to show that the stores that are regarded as convenient by costumers are in truth less than convenient and even detrimental to the workers of these stores themselves. In providing us convenience, they sacrifice their own dignity, and capitalism forces them to do so. The maintenance of these stores is often done by just one to two people, and they are expected to be consistent but receive minimal compensation for it. I was both angry and sad at the ending of the movie, because it reveals how convenience stores can be a microcosm for the larger economic practices that disadvantage and oppress workers, making them “futureless things,” as the movie suggests. Thus begs the question: how does convenience contribute to the future of humanity?

Very Effective Anti-Heroin Propaganda

I can’t even begin to talk about this film. It made me feel all sorts of uneasy and horrified and as an end result it gave me the conviction to never touch any hard drug ever.

Perhaps I’ll start with the opening sequence itself and its tone-setting recklessness. That one scene of Mark and his friends running from who knows what, coupled with his monologue of choosing what seems like the mundane or the stable, made me anticipate more of that tension, and the film did not fail to deliver. I felt its sustained thrill as the movie progressed. A lot of times, I was just so absorbed by the tone and the pace of the movie, which often left me slack-jawed in how visceral it all was. See: that one scene in the Worst Toilet in Scotland. See: that scene with Allison screaming and the slow yet nonetheless dreadful reveal of why. But even when it shifted its direction, slowing down and showing the characters at their most vulnerable, I still felt the palpable tension and the traces of uneasiness, much like how I imagine it would feel like to be on the last few moments of one’s high.

Secondly, I found it confusing that I felt thoroughly sorry for Mark Renton and his friends, even though I did not like them so much. Mark had a semi-permanent angry expression on his face but sometimes the knots fade and he has these moments of boyishness that make me feel drawn to him. Moreover, what these characters experience are real-life predicaments that do not get talked about enough. God knows I can relate to how resigned Mark is even though he knows some part of him still wants to change. God knows I can relate to Tommy knowing the truth about something and wanting to say it out loud just for the sake of doing so. I can even somehow relate to Spud in how he wants to remain loyal to his friends no matter how difficult they get.

All of these contribute to the film’s incredibly nuanced take on drug addiction, showing how destructive it is but also how hard it is to let go, especially if your reality is not that appealing without it. When joblessness, loneliness, and grief plague your everyday life, one is rightfully inclined to find some form of relief.

Unfortunately, this kind of temporary relief can have long-term consequences. Where are the long-term solutions? Do these characters have access to them? Is it entirely up to individual choice and determination? Perhaps not. What I appreciated about this film is how it treats the characters as flawed human beings, never neglecting the human aspect and always complemented with the fickleness of life. It depicts what makes these characters feel and what makes them motivated, and it is from acting on these motivations that the characters either live miserably or comfortably, though not always in a predictable way. Quitting heroin is not a guaranteed way of making your life better. Helping a friend out might make you feel worse about yourself. Ultimately, we still have to live with our choices, be they mundane and stable or the complete opposite.

Satellite of love (and loss)

First, a standard disclaimer: I am not a glam rock enthusiast. I do not know anything about that era in the history of music, and the history of Britain, for that matter. That being said, this film completely gripped me and sparked an interest in me that I could not shake off even a full week later. Velvet Goldmine represents an era of music that pushed boundaries, and as a film, it does the same.

There’s something about the performance of it all. I believe this is a film that heavily relies on its visuals as much as its music. These components elevate each other to create a spectacle that is palatable and highly entertaining, without neglecting to focus on humanity, and never failing to evoke emotion. The costume and set design was enough to hold your attention, but the concept and application of every song that was performed was unique in their respective ways, symbolic of different triumphs and struggles that the characters experienced.

Among the main characters, Arthur is the only one who is a spectator in the glam rock scene. This is a crucial role, for it allows the viewer to look deeper into the life of a rock star. What do we find? Not only is rock not as glamorous as it appears, it can also get very lonely and miserable.

One scene that really stood out and grabbed my attention was the first performance we see by Curt Wild. If this was the norm for glam rock performances, I thought, I have no idea why I failed to get into it earlier on. I completely resonated with Brian Slade’s reaction. He was perfectly shocked, eventually letting out a tiny smile and failing to contain his absolute pleasure in taking in the sight of Curt Wild’s bare torso and stage gimmicks, which included unabashedly touching himself, sprinkling glitter all over his body, and even completely taking off his pants at one point. A lot of emotions were going through Brian Slade’s seemingly still face: envy, admiration, perhaps even attraction. Although, the morning after, all he could say was: “I wish it had been me. I wish I had thought of it.”

For me, these two scenes were a microcosm of Brian Slade’s larger goals: to make an impact on the music industry, to become the biggest names in rock history, and at the very least, to be liked by audiences. And to an extent, he did achieve this. But why did it all go south?

Perhaps it all rooted back to a hunger for fame, or a loss that could not be filled. Underneath all the glam and glitter, the heart of this film lies in a relationship built on mutual respect and a passion for music. When otherworldly individuals find each other, they will either collide and soar to newer heights or they would cause destruction. Unfortunately for Brian and Curt, it was both. The world is not as cosmic as they wanted it to be, even if they had descended from the stars.

A dose of (unexpected) reality

First, a disclaimer: I have never watched a Godzilla film before this screening. I have heard of the franchise, but I was rarely drawn to monster movies enough to seek it out and pay to watch one in the cinemas. With this, I was intrigued by the prospect of watching a film that featured a monstrous dinosaur-like figure rampaging across a first-world country.

The first act of the film surprised me: it was a realistic depiction of an unrealistic or unlikely phenomenon. What would any government do when faced with the unprecedented appearance of a larger-than-life- beast? Of course, stick to what is known, which is the protocol. Unfortunately, a sudden monster attack is not the best event to realize that bureaucracy and red tape in a time of crisis will contribute even more chaos and casualties to the threat itself.

This was a welcome and poignant insight for me, and one that I did not expect from a monster blockbuster. It also prefaced how Shin Godzilla would eventually progress throughout the film: not through willing heroes that would jump to death to save everyone’s lives, but through rational collaboration and teamwork that does not necessarily rely on protocol.

As much as I liked this premise, I must admit that its overall impact was perhaps unintentionally decreased by some visual effects that left me and the rest of my fellow viewers chuckling instead of trembling in fear. The first phase of Godzilla looked like a glorified version of Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon, and therefore, made me less inclined to perceive it as a monster in favor of seeing it as a clumsy dragon that doesn’t know better.

Although, as Godzilla phased further, I liked the development that the remaining characters portrayed owing to their adaptation to the predicament. There is rarely a case for individualism here, but is justified in the event it is revealed.

Overall, I liked my first Godzilla experience. It was grounded on reality even in the temptation of going overboard with its premise, and showed a surprising level of humanity and nationalism, much more than I would expect from any monster film.

When tension elevates nonsense

As the introductory film to Elements of Screen Arts, Schizopolis floored me for a number of reasons, making me label it as a thoroughly entertaining watch. Its lack of an implicit plot pushes the viewer to look at the individual aspects that make up the film, and these features are unconventional enough that one can recognize them off the bat and make judgments based on their effect.

That being said, I found the entirety of the film incredibly weird and hilarious, and I loved every second of it. At the onset, I looked at it as a commentary on corporate and married life, and I thought it made several points. Apart from this, though, the film also made a whole lot of nonsense appealing, which is unconventional in my personal trajectory of film-watching.

I found that the film’s characters – a corporate employee, his adulterous wife, his insecure coworker, and his alternate self, among others – can shift from being understandable and relatable at one moment to being completely absurd at the next. This was a dynamic I was not prepared for but genuinely liked, as I was forced to look at their nuanced characteristics instead of trying to make sense of the nonsense they were projecting.

Schizopolis’s worldbuilding worked well for me in relation to its other elements, in that its mundane setting further accentuated the weirdness that was happening throughout the film. The depiction of these characters moving through their pedestrian circumstances was playful and unique, and this mismatch was what the film had going for it.

The film’s dialogue worked in a similar fashion, in that some sections were truly incomprehensible, but allowed me to look at the tone and emotion that they attempt to convey or evoke. In this regard, I felt the emotions in a new kind of way. This technique unexpectedly made the emotions more potent.

Apart from the film’s technical merit, it also evoked in me a certain cognitive dissonance. I have dedicated my life to storytelling and the impact of words, but this film showed me that language can mean nothing and still convey something! In truth, that made me uncomfortable, but I cannot discount its reality.

This unique approach to filmmaking kept me hooked for the entire time, its richness in absurdity making me want to know what will happen next. For some viewers, this method might seem standoffish, but I liked it for how it deliberately throws all conventions out of the window in trying to depict conventional realities. This tension reveals the film’s charm and genius.