Jojo Rabbit offensive and manipulative
What I found so offensive about Jojo Rabbit wasn’t necessarily the depiction of Hitler (though basically every other film in existence that’s pilloried him has done it better and smarter), but rather just how unfunny that depiction was—and how uninterested Taika Waititi is in probing anything deeper than a History 101 level of understanding of this period in his direction or performance. It’s one-note, deeply manipulative attempt to make Hitler everyone’s cute BFF.
Very little is new or original here, from Waititi’s rampant copying of Wes Anderson at every turn (and to poor effect at that—not even the costumes look good!) to the nauseating jokes that are bludgeoned into the audience’s head at every turn. (The “Heil Hilter” bit, which wasn’t funny the first time, certainly wasn’t funny on the fourth or fifth iteration.)
For me, the film is disingenuous and grossly obvious at every calculated, forehead-slapping turn. It’s like if you gave a broad outline of the Holocaust to a third grader and asked them to come up with two hours’ worth of unfunny, faux-audacious knock-knock jokes about it. It’s so safe, so sanitized, so incapable of coming up with an original narrative thought or artistic decision.
A redemptive narrative for Rockwell’s gay SS soldier (yet another poorly thought-through performance as a racist character from him) isn’t the only part the film’s actors are forced to make work. Rebel Wilson saunters in with a few disposable line readings; Alfie Allen putters around as Rockwell’s stereotypical gay sidekick; and try as she might to bring warmth to the mother character, Scarlett Johansson is overshadowed by her own death scene, which might be the most appalling thing I’ve seen in a movie this year.
I know Film Twitter has had a heyday with both films, but I’d echo comparisons to Green Book in that both attempt (quite weakly) to use comedy to try to make you feel better about the horrors of the past and present. Because if we all just talk to each other (or dance, as the film’s ending wants you to believe), everything will be alright. Right?!
I’d say I was perhaps being too hard on it since it’s now racking up Oscar buzz, but I saw the first screening of it at TIFF and wasn’t having it then, either. I know that was a rant and a half, but hopefully it gives you a better idea as to why some of us are so vocal in our distaste for the film.
It Chapter Two an ambitious and sobering effort
It (2017) was a grown-up Amblin film that did not use the popular eighties studio aesthetic as an excuse for a nostalgic harkening back of the era. Rather, it was a film that blurred the line between the real-world fears of a group of adolescents and the demons that plagued the darkest corners of their minds (via fantastical and nightmarish sequences). In this regard, the film had more in common with A Nightmare on Elm Street then ET. The film also effortlessly impressed with the impeccable chemistry of its young cast and riveting theatrical performance of Pennywise (Bill Skarsgard).
By comparison, It Chapter Two is an ambitious and sobering effort, weaving past and present with such beautiful elegance that the film becomes the cinematic equivalent of group therapy.
The sequel picks up 27 years after the original film. The group once known as The Losers Club are mostly living separate lives far away from their childhood town – Derry. When a vicious attack is punctuated with the message of “Come Home,” the sole club member who remained in Derry, Mike Hanlon (Isaiah Mustafa), enlists the help of his former friends to destroy the ancient creature they once defeated as kids.
The adult section of the It narrative has always been a hard pill to swallow. Strictly viewed through the 90s mini-series, it’s a melange of mockable imagery, plodding pacing, and saccharine sentimentality. To its credit, It Chapter Two tries to tackle this challenge with its tongue firmly in its cheek. The de facto leader of the group – Bill Denbrough (James McAvoy) – grew up to become a novelist in the vein of Stephen King and is frequently mocked for his endings (an allusion to the novel’s and miniseries’ ending) The mythologizing is also relegated to the background and rendered pointless by the final confrontation.
If anything, the initial set up for the mythological quest is an excuse for the characters to confront their past selves and lives. These are the sequences that make It Chapter Two a unique horror film. Rather than indulging in the persistent cycle of setting up and scare, the sequel’s most horrifying moments are the characters realizing how their fears illustrate their inhumanity – whether it’s Denbrough confronting the reality that he could not save a kid (similar in age to his dead brother Georgie) from Pennywise or Eddie Kaspbrak (James Ransone) leaving his Mum to die because he’s too scared to fight of a leper.
This speaks to the film’s central theme of how we can never truly just hold on to the pristine images of ourselves. We must confront and acknowledge that we are more than the identities painted by our memories.
During this stretch, there is a frequent amount of new footage involving the younger cast members, intercut with their grown counterparts’ current actions. Rather than becoming a visual crutch, the use of the footage reinforces the thin line between some of the characters younger and grown-up identities. They also function as memories with the present moments awakening the past and rippling into the future. Jason Ballantine’s editing ensures that the transitions between the two timelines are often poetic and meaningful. One such moment is when Beverly (Jessica Chastain) walks through her old house and remembers a painful memory of her dad, reinforcing the somewhat meek person that Beverly grew up to be.
In most of her performances, Chastain has always been the toughest person in the room, never allowing her vulnerability to bubble to the surface. As Beverly, this dynamic is reversed. The actress’ most striking moments are when she’s sensitive. One moment that comes to mind is when the character is subtly conveying the hidden burden she must carry about a recent event.
Bill Skarsgard returns with a captivating performance as Pennywise, adding interesting colors to the role, particularly in his human Robert “Bob” Gray manifestation. But Bill Hader steals the show as the grown-up Richie Tozier. While Hader gets a lot of comedic mileage out of his zapping one-liners, it’s the character’s silent and introspective moments where Hader excels, portraying a great deal of pathos and sweetness.
Director Andy Muschietti made It soar with a persistently moving camera. It painted an idyllic and horrifying picture of Derry. He also impressed with sequences that blurred the line between fantasy and reality, with appearances from Pennywise in some of the kids’ activities. In Chapter Two, Muschietti adds depth to a lot of his sequences, whether it’s the use of a long shot in the tail-end end of the Mrs. Kersh sequence or the seemingly endless nature of the Hall of Mirrors. Both these sequences also impress with their framing and Benjamin Wallfisch’s score, particularly the latter with its whining musical strings and dreamlike sound of a slowed-down carnival ride in its last throes.
Despite its virtues, the sequel does feel like it’s wrestling with some of the more outlandish aspects of its source material. The set piece in the Chinese restaurant is a reminder that King’s penchant for finding the horror in ordinary objects leads to some silly avenues. There’s a sequence involving a Derry monument coming to life that sucks out all the horror of that scene and the central creature’s menace. While Pennywise’s final form is far better than that of the TV miniseries, his appearance is marred by the persistent discoesque lighting that clashes with the tension of the scene. But above all, the filmmakers do not quite know what note they want to end the picture on, so they decide to hit them all.
In spite of this, It Chapter Two is an engrossing and therapeutic horror movie. It never forgets the human element of the story and how fear can paint us in the worst possible way.
John Wick 3 plays by its own rules
John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum offers more of everything we loved about the first two movies: more of the engaging and darkly glamorous world of the assassins and the Continental hotels; more of handsome, grief-stricken, and driven Keanu; more innovative ways to die (he kills someone with a book!); and more dogs! I appreciate that the characters all believably fit into this world with its strict rules (no innocents die) that seemingly lurks just under the surface of our everyday, hum-drum city streets. Sure, it’s ultra-violent and completely bananas, and I don’t know if I ever need to see it again—but seeing it with a hyped-up audience on opening night was just plain fun.