Movies
Ask a dozen people what was wrong with the 2012 Alien prequel, Prometheus, and you'll get a dozen different answers. Based on the online reaction thus far, the same seems to be be true of Prometheus's sequel, Alien: Covenant. And make no mistake: this is not a perfect movie. The plotting is haphazard, lurching awkwardly from cheap-thrills horror (there is a shower scene that is already, and justifiably, becoming infamous) to cosmic philosophizing, and the screenplay underwrites several key characters, most significantly Katherine Waterston's. But whereas I thought Prometheus failed by leaving its most intriguing philosophical ideas on the table to grow cold and mangled by a dysfunctional screenplay and a reckless abandon for grotesque action, Covenant actually manages to pick up those ideas and run with them in absolutely fascinating ways. The xenomorph action is interesting enough (and appropriately disgusting), but where this movie really shines is in its Big Ideas: the ideas of creation as sadism, of biogenesis, of the relationship between creator and creation—ideas gestured toward in Prometheus but only truly realized here. And they're all developed mesmerizingly via a Michael Fassbender performance (performances, really) to die for. The xenomorph is a sideshow, honestly. The movie (after a brief prologue) begins and ends with Fassbender's android in isolation, and I can't think of a better way for the film to introduce its most compelling character—it's this guy you should be watching. Grade: A-
The first thing you'll notice about Nocturnal Animals is its exquisite formalism—this movie looks ravishing, nearly every frame (especially within the nighttime scenes) crafted with the eye of a master stylist. In fact, it looks so great that the second thing you notice might not even register on any level but a naggingly subconscious one. But pay attention; this second thing is very important, and that is that this movie kind of sucks. Aside from its stunning formal achievements (nothing to sneeze at, believe me), the movie is a failure on nearly all narrative and structural metrics. Splitting the story between a "real life" art gallery owner (Amy Adams) and an enactment of the novel manuscript she's reading, the movie cross-cuts between the psychological Expressionism of Amy Adams's plot (where the novel, written by her ex-husband, triggers memories of her tumultuous relationship with the author) and the B-movie smut of the novel's boilerplate murder/revenge saga. The B-movie segments are by-far the superior of the two halves, but by switching frequently between the occasionally robust novel narrative and the positively anemic and thin Amy Adams plot, the film saps the energy out of all of it. At least it's pretty to look at. Grade: C
Released in Iran a decade ago but only recently in the United States, Fireworks Wednesday is a minor, early work by Iranian master Asghar Farhadi. But given that this is Farhadi, of course "minor" still means "quite good." Containing elements of the domestic thriller that Farhadi would later refine to high art, Fireworks recognizably belongs with his filmography, a tense, often exciting, ultimately crushing drama involving a marital spat and the housekeeper unlucky enough to be positioned between the spouses. It's a much looser, less precise feature, being split between the two spouses, than the taut, brutally efficient plotting of A Separation or The Past, but the grounding of the film in the housekeeper's POV is an interesting wrinkle, using her limited knowledge to craft the film into a low-key mystery. Farhadi wouldn't achieve real greatness until his next feature, About Elly, but Fireworks Wednesday is a robust accomplishment regardless. Grade: B+
I haven't read the original Stanisław Lem novel, but word on the street is that when adapting the book—a tall order, given that it already had a masterful and beloved adaptation by Andrei Tarkovsky (my least-favorite Tarkovsky, but of course great nonetheless)—Steven Soderbergh aimed to stick closer to the novel's vibes than the earlier Soviet classic. I can't tell you if Soderbergh succeeded on that metric, but on a regular old movie metric, Soderbergh's Solaris succeeds tremendously, maybe even as much as Tarkovsky's. Relative to the Soviet classic, there are definitely far fewer color-tinted driving, and the runtime is handsomely trimmed by a third (both welcome modifications), and in general, the vibe is much more tactile than the occasionally opaque Tarkovsky touch—we really feel the tangible reality of these characters, which makes it all the more unsettling when their identity is called into question. It's a hypnotic, creepy, and fascinating film; in re-adapting classic source material, Soderbergh crafts one of his absolute best. Grade: A-
Music
DAMN. is not as good as any of Kendrick Lamar's last three releases. But since that is just to say that DAMN. is not a mind-bending masterpiece, that's not really much of a qualification. So how about this: DAMN. is Lamar's most scattered, inconsistent release yet, and it's one where he, seemingly intentionally, plays up his most #problematic characteristics—his use of the word "bitch," his depictions of women, etc.—in the interest of rigorous self-reflection that sometimes feels more like some dissonant combination of punishment and aggrandizement than commentary. Which is its own kind of commentary, and interesting commentary at that. But an "interesting" work is not necessarily a successful one. DAMN. is certainly successful—very successful, even—in stretches: the scathing, Fox-News-gutting "DNA.", the despairing, world-weary "FEEL.", the U2-featuring "X*X.", to name a few. It's cool to see Kendrick performing in what is, on the surface, a more mainstream-ready sound than he's touched in several years, and that's offset nicely by what is probably the most interior, abstract concept he's yet tackled—basically, a at-times stream-of-consciousness exploration of the competing impulses of his psyche and the ways that manifests itself in his life, his relationships, and his belief in God (lampshaded most prominently by the juxtaposition of mirror-image track concepts: "LUST." followed by "LOVE.", etc.). But the execution of that concept is where things get a bit dicey, not just because the track-to-track excellence wavers (e.g. I'm not a huge fan of "LOVE." or "LUST.") but because his commitment to the concept itself is slippery. Parts of the album are as incisive and biting as Kendrick Lamar has ever been, but other sections feel only cursorily thought through, skimming over the surface of interesting issues. It's not fatally flawed, and given the way Lamar's music has a way of opening up and metamorphosing over time, I may be premature in writing this review. But as it is, the album feels wounded in such a way that keeps it from stretching up toward greatness. Grade: B+
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