Watching “Babygirl,” this fascinating exposition starring Nicole Kidman and dealing with dominance against submission within the workplace that bushed the Biennale on Friday, one of the colleagues maintained that, in spite of its drawbacks, it was not ‘a film that could be dismissed.’ So as sweet as I possibly could be, I said, “Just watch me.” But given some more time to think it through, I’ve resolved he’s correct. In a way. Halina Reijn’s the Director of ‘Bodies Bodies Bodies’ new work is probably not for naive audiences, to say the least and quite blunt manner. Possibly as flu, if nothing else. Perhaps that is too cruel. For the past few days, I have been grappling with this film as well as its critical reception interacting with fellow colleagues praising it much more than I do. Though there is no way that I would ever grow to like ‘Babygirl’, which, in all honesty, is a possibility which is completely out of the question, I would at least have to applaud it for its conviction, if I was able to determine what those convictions actually are.
The film is certainly a vehicle for Nicole Kidman, who plays the role of Romy, a CEO of an automated tech company, who gets into a scandalous dom sub affair with her intern Sam, who is much younger and whose passion, in the end, nearly destroys her marriage with Antonio Banderas as well as her mental equilibrium and perhaps her career. There have been many critics who have praised Kidman for putting up a bold and fearless act, but which stunning performance has she ever compromised? I am always delighted to watch them, but even more so if the films are interesting.
Generally, I do not subscribe to the “What is this auteur trying to say?” brand of film criticism, but in this case, I must state, for instance, that shortly before the film ended, I grew more confused in that regard. To begin, is “Babygirl” reactionary in nature, believing that independent women while in authority positions in corporate structures have deep rooted natures wanting to be oppressed by men. Or is this the more pessimistic extrapolation and not ideological? Or what? And so on. Certainly, however, here Romy’s need/want to be dominated is equally dramatized and not thought through. I told one of my colleagues I was puzzled and he rather dryly suggested another explanation: “Is S and M good?“. Not great per se but also who cares?
The film does showcase the fact that it does not shy away in concern of how far is it going to go in regards to that. But Harris Dickinson’s obnoxious, “I’ve got your number” intern Sam is interesting for no more than a minute, after which I rooted throughout the film for the truck to run his character over. Spoiler alert: that truck does not appear.
After having been exhausted by ‘Maria’ and annoyed by ‘Babygirl’, I was thankful for the rather non complex feelings that came over me as I watched ‘The Order’, a fact based thriller about an FBI agent investigating a white supremacist crime ring in the Northwestern United States. The Australian Kurzel, who is famous for his more stylized works like ‘The True History of the Kelly Gang’ or ‘Nitram,’ here shifts his focus towards subtle characterization and story progression, although one might begin to feel restless when he equates deer hunting with anything for that matter. There are not so many in that vein, though, and therefore the net result is rewarding.
Hitherto presented in varying versions, Law looks considerably older and heftier here than in previous appearances. The most striking feature is the moustache featuring prominently in the film, which gives him the air of Nick Offerman. Yes, Nick Offerman, I fear. As a lead white supremacist, Nicholas Hoult is understated but very scary. It is bizarre to see this American problem examined by an Australian director and two British actors. Indeed, in a queue for the loo after the picture, I heard one such audience member say, ‘It’s because he’s Australian that Kurzel can really tell the truth about America.’
In any case, screenwriter Zach Baylin is from Delaware, while the guys who wrote the book of non fiction on which the film is based were/are also our guys as well. (The book concerns the Silent Brotherhood, authored by Kevin Flynn and Gary Gerhardt who were both veteran correspondents for The Rocky Mountain News Gerhardt died in 2015.)
Things were starting to look bleak with respect to my fiction film expectations when, closer to the weekend, I realized that the best films within that genre I have come across were made at about the time I was born: superb restorations of Michelangelo Antonioni’s “La Notte” as well as Francois Truffaut’s “The Soft Skin.” Wonderful films, each of which in its own way deals with the themes of love dissatisfaction and existential malaise in a still relevant and powerful perspective.
But there was a thrilling potential in the perfect form of Brady Corbet’s “The Brutalist” a fictionalized narrative about a Hungarian architect violently crossing continents in post World War II America and his endless struggle with a challenging client which becomes a signature work for them both. As the architect Laszlo Toth, who cannot be confused with the man who attacked Michelangelo’s pieta, performed by Adrien Brody is talkative, endless in quotes, so to say. And, to be honest, Guy Pearce is the strongest his Van Buren in his career, this is the character who employs Toth to erect something like a small city on a hill. A very strong annoyance is Joe Alwyn as a mocker son of Van Buren.
In the all but archaic large gauge film, VistaVision, Corbet shot the film, which has its stylistic ancestors, not only Douglas Sirk for that matter, but also King Vidor whose “An American Romance” made it possible for the European immigrant to create a brand of his own in American Steel. Yes, it takes over three hours to finish this epic is meaty as hell, perhaps even a bit gristly at times, but isn’t cinema the form of art that stirs emotions thus enabling you to go for non conformism and pure, boundless insanity. If yes then this is definitely a film that one must contend with, as it explores the most captivating idea of non-atomic american mutation since Paul Thomas Anderson’s “The Master.”
American movies cutting across that pejorative of a subtitle which reads ‘based on true story’ changes everything because directors rationalize their twisted sentimental motives believing that imbeciles won’t mind something stupid because it is based on something tangible. The latest one from the Brazilian filmmaker Walter Salles builds suspense by leaving such information for the very end: that it is based on a true story. While this might easily be a case in point, watching anything is pretty heart radifying, and yes, it’s okay to be able to consider seeing something like this.
“I’m Still Here” (this is a translation from the Portuguese original “Ainda Estou Aqui”) takes mostly in the early years of the 1970s, a decade when Brazil was under the military dictatorship. For about 45 minutes, Salles takes time to introduce the Paiva family to his audience. Tremendously amiable architect Rubens and his wife Eunice have five sweet kids, own a house a stone’s throw from a beach in Rio, and enjoy a bounteous life of music and exquisite food. One day some grim looking people come to the Paiva house and take Rubens away for ‘some questions’. And he never returns.
Later, in the movie, Eunice makes attempts to discover what happened to him. She even spent considerable time in jail, while making sacrifices in order to protect and feed her family. Middle aged Eunice is portrayed by Fernanda Torres who acts in a very delicate and refined manner and in my opinion, tidies the floor with more than one performance offered by the principal actors on whom the focus has so far been at the Biennale. And after such an incredible leap fauntleroys appeared also the other fwait who in saules 1998 documentary central station was a tortured old lady and now at nintey five years is still bewitching. For God’s sake how old am I going to feel if I do not get some of that good night out here.
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