Tiger Stripes

Puberty Brings Out the Monster Within in Feisty Malaysian Genre Movie

With her debut feature “Tiger Stripes,” Malaysian writer-director Amanda Nell Eu joins an exciting group of directors who provide subversive takes on genre and body horror. Julia Ducournau and “Raw” comes to mind, as do Agnieszka Smoczynska and “The Lure” and John Fawcett and “Ginger Snaps” — like David Cronenberg before them.

Eu, an MA graduate of the London Film School, blends Malaysian folklore with heightened realism and a large dollop of “Mean Girls” in the story of a tween going through changes wrought by puberty and alterations in her friendship group. World premiering at the Cannes Critics Week, it came away with the Grand Jury Prize for best feature and has been collecting additional kudos ever since. It represents Malaysia in the Oscar international feature competition.

Bold 12-year-old Zaffan (Zafreen Zairizal) is the natural leader among her group of gal pals, all currently seniors at their religious primary school. She’s the one who wears a bra under her proper Islamic attire, doffs said attire to splash in an idyllic forest pool and does wild dances for TikTok.

Although she hangs out with Zaff, the younger-seeming Farrah (Deena Ezral), a spiteful prefect, is actually both jealous of and disgusted by her. Meanwhile sweet-faced Mariam (Piqa) tries to keep the peace as the trio wend their way home, meowing when they are being catty, gluing colorful stickers everywhere and filming themselves on their phones.

When Zaff becomes the first girl in the school to start menstruating, it catalyzes physical changes in her as well as the sudden loss of her top-girl status, orchestrated by the sneaky Farrah who doesn’t miss a chance to shame her and get the others to ostracize her as well. Things aren’t exactly period positive at home either as her stern mother tells her, “You’re dirty now.”

Zaff doesn’t have any one to talk to about what’s going on; about the viciousness of her former friends, her physical transformations and urges, or her sightings of a red-eyed female demon among the treetops. Although she tries to hide by adding gloves to her modest Islamic dress, the more she is provoked, the more she transforms into a were-tiger, capable of bounding up trees (courtesy of a kind of cheesy but charming special effect) and killing and eating small animals.

When Farrah leads the other girls in brutally bullying Zaff in the seniors’ toilet one day, Zaff decides to embrace her monstrosity and release her inner tiger, causing hysteria amongst the girls and the teachers. Unctuous publicity hound Dr. Rahim (Shaheizy Sam) arrives on the scene and convinces Zaff’s parents that an exorcism will fix the problem. More mayhem ensues.

Eu’s smart script makes Zaff’s story into a parable about individuality and independence and whether to stay hidden in shame and fear or express one’s own power and freedom. To put that point across, she’s aided immeasurably by the strong casting of the three main girls and their chemistry. Because of the pandemic, Eu had a longer pre-production period to work with them and an acting coach, and to share and discuss the themes of the film.

Inventively shooting on a tight budget in essentially three locations — the school, the thick green forest and Zaff’s home — Eu uses nature as a liminal space where the girls can keep their childish ways yet be wild without worrying about the judgments of their community. It’s a place where they peacefully co-exist with wild animals and sometimes hard-to-spot demons.

From the exuberant credits and opening sequence through to the end, “Tiger Stripes” is the work of a confident new talent whose next work will be eagerly awaited.

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Maestro

Bradley Cooper film hits high notes despite some missed beats

Bradley Cooper's directorial venture, Maestro, takes a measured approach in portraying the multifaceted life of Leonard Bernstein, blending moments of brilliance with occasional missteps. The film unfolds as a biographical drama that meticulously traces the intricacies of Bernstein's relationships, artistic achievements, and personal tribulations over a span of 45 years.

The film begins with Bernstein at the pinnacle of his career, thrust into the spotlight as the substitute conductor for the New York Philharmonic at the age of 25. This initial sequence, however, sets a brisk pace that at times feels rushed, offering glimpses into Bernstein's romantic entanglements and the pivotal entry of Felicia Montealegre into his life. The narrative, in its early stages, occasionally sacrifices depth for brevity, leaving some relationships and emotional arcs underexplored.

Carey Mulligan's portrayal of Felicia Montealegre emerges as the film's anchor, infusing depth and emotional resonance into the story. The exploration of Bernstein's complex marriage becomes a focal point, with Mulligan delivering a compelling performance that navigates the nuances of a relationship marked by love, tolerance, and eventual tragedy. As the film pivots around the dissolution and revival of their union, Mulligan's prowess shines, elevating the emotional stakes.

Cooper's stylistic choices, particularly the use of black-and-white and colour cinematography to signify different eras, do contribute to the film's visual richness. The deliberate shifts in tone and aesthetic capture the evolving periods of Bernstein's life, offering a visual metaphor for the various chapters. However, at times, these stylistic decisions verge on becoming distractions, overshadowing the narrative flow.

The film grapples with the challenge of encompassing an extensive timeline within a limited runtime. While attempting to cover Bernstein's struggles with his sexuality, his marriage, and his musical triumphs, Maestro occasionally sacrifices depth for breadth. Some moments feel truncated, and the transitions between significant phases of Bernstein's life lack the connective tissue needed for a seamless narrative.

Despite these challenges, the latter part of Maestro finds its footing, particularly in portraying Bernstein's later years. The film culminates in a poignant depiction of his enduring love for music, underscored by a mesmerising live performance by the London Symphony Orchestra. These moments, free from the narrative rush, allow the film to breathe and capture the essence of Bernstein's artistic legacy.

Maestro balances moments of insight with occasional narrative unevenness. While Cooper's directorial choices contribute to the film's visual appeal, the ambitious scope of Bernstein's life occasionally results in thematic dilution. The film, anchored by strong performances, does succeed in offering a glimpse into the tumultuous life of a musical genius, even if it occasionally struggles to maintain a consistent narrative cadence.

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Only the River Flows

An Elusive Chinese Serial Killer Procedural Pays Homage to Film Noir

Premiering in Cannes' Un Certain Regard sidebar, Shujun Wei's slow-burn thriller stars Yilong Zhu as a detective whose hunt for a serial killer uncovers the secrets of a small town. 

A film noir that’s so vintage it comes wrapped in crackling celluloid and old cassette tapes, Only the River Flows (He Biande Cuo Wu) follows one obsessive detective’s long and elusive hunt for a serial killer in 1990s provincial China, and the effect it has on a small town with plenty of secrets lurking beneath the surface.  

Written and directed by Shujun Wei (Striding into the Wind), the movie is less a nail-biting thriller than a puzzle-like homage to the noir genre itself, with echoes of Jean-Pierre Melville, Chinatown and Memories of Murder. But even more so, it’s a portrait of Chinese society before the recent economic boom and in the wake of the Tiananmen Square protests, at a time when citizens lead repressed lives of quiet desperation.

A few of those lives unravel at the hands of Ma Zhe (Yilong Zhu), the chief detective in his town’s criminal investigation unit, which, in true film buff fashion, has been relocated to an abandoned movie theatre, with Ma Zhe’s office up in the projection booth. (The setup resembles that of 21 Jump Street, with a cinema replacing a church.)

It’s a fitting headquarters for a story set in the pre-digital era, when technology was still mostly analog, and photographs or audio recordings were things you could manipulate with your hands. Both of those media will provide key evidence during Ma Zhe’s search for a killer who’s been stalking the local riverbanks, leaving several victims in his path, including an old woman, a forlorn poet and an innocent little boy.

Wei and co-writer Chunlei Kang adapted their script from a novel by Hua Yu, and the tone they initially take with their material, despite the grisly murders, is rather light. Ma Zhe’s crew of Keystone Kops prefer flirting or playing ping-pong to doing any real policework, and the film’s early scenes are filled with bits of observant social dramedy.

But as the investigation progresses, Ma Zhe’s obsession intensifies. He trails a key suspect, known only as the “madman,” who’s linked to the first victim and keeps escaping him. And he follows other clues that lead him to inadvertently expose the hidden lives of his community — whether it’s an illicit affair between two lovers of poetry, or a crossdressing hair stylist trying to conceal his identity from the public.

If the multiple killings in Only the River Flows are what keep the story going, they ultimately function as MacGuffins revealing something deeper and darker about mid-1990s China. The darkness is amplified when Ma Zhe’s private turmoil, involving the upcoming birth of a child who may be mentally disabled, creeps into the plot, causing much friction between the detective and his pregnant wife, Bai Jie (Chloe Maayan).

Increasingly thrown off course, Ma Zhe grows terrified and ashamed about what’s to come: Is the “madman” he’s hunting not unlike his future son? Shame and secrecy seem to be the guiding principles at a time, and in a place, where obedience counted most, and Wei keenly observes how adhering to social norms could drive some people over the edge. Even if Ma Zhe winds up catching the killer, or at least the guy he believes the killer to be, it’s a bitter victory, a source of private anguish despite his public triumph.

Shot by the talented Chengma Zhiyuan (Fires on the Plain) in a vintage style that’s purposely murky and tinged with various shades of mud, the film’s aesthetic echoes its somewhat opaque plotting, which doesn’t exactly make it an edge-of-your-seat affair. But like the investigation itself, the meaning of Only the River Flows gradually finds its focus as the story progresses, leaving the viewer staring into the same abyss the detective does — an abyss that, as in any respectable film noir, stares back at him.

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THE HOLDOVERS

‘The Holdovers’: Three Sad Souls Stranded for Christmas

Alexander Payne’s jaunt to the past, with Paul Giamatti playing a curmudgeonly instructor at a 1970s boarding school, is crackling with pungent life.

“The Holdovers” takes place in New England somewhere, in 1970, at a tony, all-boys boarding school called Barton, where the students who can’t go home for Christmas wind up spending their breaks in the care of Paul Hunham (Paul Giamatti), the sourest, most pompous instructor the movie can find. He teaches ancient civilizations and prides himself on being the sort of principled educator who flunks senators’ kids and says stuff like, “Such are the vicissitudes of life” and “Listen, you hormonal vulgarian!” He smells bad, and breaks into Greek and Latin as much out of spite as bonhomie. The man can read everything but the room.

In fairness, the kids are no picnic, either. They set little traps for Hunham’s arrogance and sic their daddies on the administrators, who then bear down on him. Certainly, the glass eye he uses has made him only more risible to them. Now here he is, as stuck as the five castoffs he’s forced to oversee. And the minute it looks as if the movie’s set to be a deft prep-school caper that pits wily brats against a lemony know-it-all, it introduces a surprise. It’s a ritzy, laugh-out-loud Christmas miracle that whisks away four of the boys at the end of the first act. But one of them, an almost cool only-child named Angus Tully (Dominic Sessa), can’t go because nobody can reach his parents. (He was ready to lounge on St. Kitts, but his mother takes off without him.)

The Teacher’s Lounge

Germany’s hopes for an Oscar rest in “The Teacher’s Lounge”

You don’t have to be a teacher to be triggered by the tense and suspenseful drama “The Teacher’s Lounge,” Germany’s most worthy contender for a Best International Feature Oscar nomination.

A gripping story of idealism battered by bruising reality, high-handed authority and arrogant, misguided students who organize themselves to achieve maximum chaos, “Lounge” is a cautionary slice of education in an “Every parent’s an expert” era. Over-booked teachers are an easy target for parental ire in what passes for a political satire of the corrosive effects of ever-bending tolerance in the face of anarchy. And yet there’s still room to believe the final line of every teacher’s prayer about “reaching just one kid.”

Like schools themselves, Iker Çatak’s film, co-scripted by Johannes Duncker, is loaded with a lot of hopes, expectations and baggage. It is a riveting, intensely disquieting experience.

Leonie Benesch of TV’s “The Crown” stars as Carla Nowak, an idealistic young teacher who seems popular with the sixth graders in her new school. The kids even buy into her cutesy little “Guttentag” call-and-response clap exercise to start each (math) class.

But when we meet her, she’s squirming in her chair and blurting out words of protest. A couple of colleagues, including one who had his pocket picked, are leaning on the two student council representatives who sit in on faculty meetings with the principal (Ann-Kathrin Gummich). There are thefts happening in school, even in the teacher’s lounge. And one teacher in particular (Michael Klammer) is going full authoritarian on making these two name a suspect.

Ms. Nowak’s protests fail. The boys are separated from the girls in her class, and then a “voluntary” search of wallets has the adults accusing a Turkish boy of stealing. That falls apart under examination, and the boy’s parents are understandably outraged at the stigma this puts on their child.

Ms. Nowak may be vindicated, but at what cost? We start to count the ways she’s overly permissive and downright lax in keeping her students in line above and beyond simple “pay attention in class.” She’s intent on giving one and all the benefit of the doubt, allowing a cheater a second chance at taking a test, seeing students to slip out of P.E. to sneak a smoke, and then letting them talk her out of “calling your parents.”

But it’s when Ms. Nowak notices a colleague raiding the coffee fund piggy bank that she decides to take action on this injustice of accusing kids of stealing. She leaves her wallet in her jacket in the lounge, and leaves her laptop open and secretly “watching” that jacket.

Her “discovery” seems damning enough. But even after the accusation, she and we have doubts. The principal gets ahead of herself and in legal terms, they have to retreat to a CYA position. And that’s when parents, students and Nowak’s fellow teachers sense blood in the water.

“What happens in the teacher’s lounge stays in the teacher’s lounge” isn’t funny in this context, deflected in German with English subtitles. Nowak is embattled and at a loss for allies.

Some will try to devour her, or get her fired. Others will fume at how her lack of “solidarity” with the faculty has exposed them all. And she finds herself carrying guilt over the accusation, fretting over collateral damage (the accused thief’s student son, played by Leonard Stettnisch) and under figurative and literal assault from all sides.

We see universal teacher problems such as rude, hotheaded kids who’ve never been taught to apologize, bullies who target the vulnerable as well as smug middle school know-it-alls who figure they can get to the bottom of this school “scandal” via an “interview” with the student newspaper.

Whatever the stakes this story presents, there’s rising suspense over where all this is going, where this disturbed kid or that idealist facing her own idealism will take things.

Benesch makes a wonderfully empathetic and yet maddening heroine. We see what we think are missteps, question Nowak’s confidence and certainty of the comforts of The Moral High Ground, and admire her all the same.

But we fear for her fate and ponder what form “doom” might take, if this gamble on human decency, protecting “the future” through children and strict adherence to political correctness blows up in her face.

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Poor Things

‘Poor Things’  – Emma Stone is Enchanting in Yorgos Lanthimos’ Masterful Adaptation

Poor Things is widely regarded as such a masterful piece of literature not only because of its unconventional storytelling methods and the interjection of unusual illustrations but also due to its rich characters. Originally published by Alasdair Gray in 1992, to be adapted in all of its glory would require the right creative team. Enter Yorgos Lanthimos, a filmmaker who has swiftly made his stamp on cinema within the last decade with beloved gems like The Lobster and The Killing of a Sacred Deer. Now, Lanthimos returns to the big screen for the first time since his subversive and acclaimed 2018 feature The Favourite, which was co-written by screenwriter Tony McNamara, who opted to translate Poor Things for the screen independently. 

Set in the 19th century, Poor Things follows Bella Baxter (Emma Stone), a young woman whose inanimate body was recovered and brought back to life by Dr. Godwin Baxter (Willem Dafoe). The story shares obvious similarities with Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein sure, but these are only surface-level comparisons. Baxter is an unorthodox surgeon whose maimed body was experimented on by his own father in the name of science.

As Bella learns her cognitive and motor skills back with relative haste, Godwin, who is lovingly and aptly nicknamed God by his surrogate daughter, recruits one of his more keen students Max McCandles (Ramy Youssef) to keep a watchful eye and make detailed notes on her progress. However, when Godwin unsuspectingly leads lawyer Duncan Wedderburn (Mark Ruffalo) into Bella’s life, he entices her to run away and see the world by his side, leaving her home and the only people she has ever known for the first time.

Yorgos Lanthimos’ Poor Things excels in finding a faultless middle ground between staying loyal to the source material and making adjustments to the plot as well as character dynamics in order to form a cohesive film adaptation. One of the most significant changes is that Bella is present from the very first frame of the movie whereas in the novel, many years pass within Godwin and Max’s friendship before Bella is even introduced. As a result, we are gifted with Bella’s enthralling presence for nearly every minute of the highly justified two-hour and twenty-one runtime.

It is relentlessly clear that this adaptation is a byproduct of adoration for the novel. Subtle references like incorporating the book’s original cover art into the blocking of a final scene and a similar illustration style being used within the opening title card are just a few examples of this type of homage. It is a very rare feat to make every frame of a film feel warranted and crucial, yet the impeccable synergy between Yorgos Lanthimos’ direction and Tony McNamara’s script makes for an utterly enticing experience from start to finish.

Ramy Youssef captures the kind and eager spirit of Max McCandles in his feature film debut while Willem Dafoe nails his endearing paternal demeanour as Godwin Baxter. Jerrod Carmichael, Christopher Abbott, Margaret Qualley, and Kathryn Hunter each get their individual moments to shine in supporting roles as well. Nevertheless, it is Mark Ruffalo who manages to deliver one of his most unforgettable performances to date as Duncan Wedderburn. As a man whose characteristics are firmly built upon the foundations of the patriarchy, he gets more than he bargained for from Bella’s unyielding spirit as she challenges the prejudices of her times. Ruffalo holds nothing back, playing the character with a hilariously memorable high-brow accent and level of camp that is necessary for a project of this caliber. 

Though often abstract, this fierce tale of a woman who is physically constructed by the patriarchy but determined to forge her own path and affirm her autonomy translates gorgeously both to the screen and the modern day. Filmmaker Yorgos Lanthimos is given the perfect material to operate at his finest levels of artistic expression. As a result, Poor Things is a wildly entertaining quest for liberation and a true cinematic tour de force that wears its technicolor heart on its sleeve.

The End We Start From

 Jodie Comer is exceptional in new survival drama

In The End We Start From, being a first-time mother feels as transformative as surviving a climate disaster.

Based on Megan Hunter's novel of the same name, Jodie Comer's new movie reframes the disaster-movie genre by focusing on intimate moments rather than an action-driven plot and brutal, impactful imagery. That makes Mahalia Belo's feature debut even more realistic — a down-to-earth approach to an apocalyptic event where motherhood turns out to be the biggest of all adventures.

Also, who needs massive-scale destruction when you have Comer's jaw-dropping lead performance? After being overlooked in Ridley Scott's The Last Duel, the Liverpool actress is flawless in her first solo lead performance.

The End We Start From follows an unnamed Woman (Comer) who gives birth to her first child, Zeb, on the same day heavy rainfall starts submerging London. Alongside her husband (Joel Fry), she is forced to leave the city in search of refuge.

They make it to his parents (Mark Strong and Nina Sosanya) in the countryside, but soon the lack of resources and the escalating tensions in increasingly starving and isolated communities around them break any sense of safety they might have achieved.

Out in the wild again, she finds herself alone with her son, forced to deal with loss and trauma while taking care of a newborn. It's a story of resilience, strength and chosen families, as another lonely young mother (Katherine Waterston) becomes her travel companion, turning the story from harrowing drama to uplifting road movie.

After all, The End We Start From refuses to give in to pessimism, and that sets it apart from the apocalyptic-movie pile.

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CABRINI (2024)

Deep in the heart of a film like Cabrini, with all its saccharine approach to the biographical concept, lies something very strong. A message of hope, a wink at our own actuality, and the fact that no matter who tells the story, history is worth taking a look at. Alejandro Monteverde has made a beautiful film after going through the harrowing and bittersweet journey that was Sound of Freedom, and he has stayed away from the scrutiny of the film. He simply looks back and decides to pay homage to an indispensable subject in the form of a historical journey to understand the value of the past.

Cabrini is the result of a story he came up with alongside Rod Barr, which was materialized in a script by Barr, where they compiled a series of facts about a very important woman. Mother Cabrini is known as the first U.S. citizen to be canonized by the Catholic Church. Her life is an inspiring journey that will make your heart smile with hope and resilience. Making a film about her isn’t precisely a sure win. The religious aspect of the story won’t exactly win over current audiences who are disconnected from the past. But Monteverde is brave enough to provide his vision and delivers a strong drama that feels naive sometimes but ultimately triumphs in its treatment of Cabrini as a woman whose only flaw was feeling too much love for those who needed it the most.

In the late 1800s, Cabrini and other sisters of the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus institute traveled to New York City to find that Italian immigrants weren’t exactly well received. The Archbishop isn’t quite helpful, but feeling the pressure of other religious organizations, he accepts to give Cabrini and company some help. This is the beginning of her journey, one that would make her a key figure in providing a safe haven for immigrants, orphans, and other citizens that were considered secondary in this era of New York City.

Sister Cabrini faced just about every threat from a sexist society. Not even the Vatican was able to unconditionally help her. It wasn’t until Cabrini decided to use her leadership to compel politicians and other leaders to recognize immigrants as key members of society that Italian-Americans weren’t fully accepted. To say she’s an important part of their community is an understatement.

Monteverde’s ability to film a period piece is undeniable. The production design is masterful and really positions the viewer in a time where misery was the rule and surviving was the only outcome. Living was just theoretical for immigrants who sought a better opportunity. He indulges in details and sometimes loses the perspective of the story because of this, but ultimately the film works because Cristiana Dell’Anna‘s performance as Cabrini forces the film to stay grounded in its hellish depiction of reality. Her role is not excessively dramatic, and Monteverde directs her to stay inside a territory of balance. While it’s a sad film, it feels much more hopeful because of a determined interpretation of Cabrini’s figure.

Sometimes a film is essential because of what it represents in its artistic setting. And sometimes, it’s just because of the story it tells on a channel that’s properly designed by a natural storyteller. Cabrini belongs in the latter, and it’s one of the films in 2024 that you should give yourself the opportunity to watch if you seek an uplifting experience.

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The Beekeeper

Jason Statham’s latest action movie is heavy on fight scenes, light on bees.

Every great idea that moves an art form forward inspires imitators who swim in its wake, and John Wick has more imitators than most. The second audiences started praising the type of fight choreography that allows the viewer to actually see what’s going on, every action movie treated us to grueling, lengthy combat scenes shot at wide angles with every landed punch in the center of the frame. Others aped bits of the Wick mythos, building worlds of lore for their main characters – often members of secret fighting societies, often retired – and their enemies – usually mobsters or hitmen possessed with terrifying knowledge of a certain martial art. The Beekeeper, directed by David Ayer and starring Jason Statham, is the latest of these copycats, posing the intriguing question: What if John Wick, but with bees?

Statham plays Adam Clay, a quiet, soft-spoken man living in the New England countryside. He keeps to himself, but makes an exception for Eloise Parker (Phylicia Rashad), an elderly woman who lives in an isolated farmhouse. They share one exposition-laden conversation, but you can tell they’re friends. (If there’s one thing Statham’s going to do, it’s charm every veteran actress he’s cast opposite.) Clay keeps bees, housing them in hives on the side of the road and extracting and jarring the honey in Eloise’s shed. One evening, when delivering a jar of said honey to Eloise (after collecting a bunch of bee-killing hornets in a bag and electrocuting them), Clay finds her dead on the floor of her living room, having committed suicide after a shady company conned her out of her savings.

Things escalate from here. Gone is the hazy farmhouse, the rolling upstate hills. FBI Agent Verona Parker (Emmy Raver-Lampman) is on the case, but her jurisdiction only goes so far. It’s up to Clay to go rogue, hunting down those responsible for his friend’s death and blowing up their neon-tinged call centers. Shockingly, a beekeeper played by Jason Statham is not just a beekeeper. He was once a capital-B Beekeeper – “A Beekeeper beekeeper?” one character asks breathlessly – a member of a top secret organization of special agents that operates above the law when the law is not enough.

As you might expect, the rest of the movie is Adam Clay punching and shooting and exploding his way to the top of the phishing conspiracy, taking out goons and sawing fingers off of sniveling phone scammers while grunting lines like “I protect the hive” and “I’m gonna burn you down.” His lengthiest piece of dialogue is a long diatribe about the evils of organizations that financially prey on elderly people, so as far as any viewer is concerned, his actions are completely justified.

That said, it’s not not a good time, if all you want to see is a classic Statham beatdown with flashes of inspired pizazz. The supporting cast is all good, if a little too heavily reliant on profanity-laden dialogue. We get it! You’re all upset! Taylor James of Vikings: Valhalla gets a particularly memorable third-act intro as The Most Evil South African Henchman You’ve Ever Seen With Frosted Tips. At a certain point, so many people are yelling and shooting and punching at each other that it’s difficult to remember why they’re all mad, and a shocking twist near the end of the film only serves to confuse even more. Where the inner workings of a beehive are ordered chaos, The Beekeeper is just chaos, with Jason Statham in a stinger-proof jacket barely holding it all together.