Movies
The structural games are fun and Nolan-y and a clever way to tell intimate stories while maintaining a sweeping scope. But ultimately, it's not a movie about the mechanistic approach to time (despite the best attempts of a tedious, obvious Hans Zimmer score that literally ticks like a clock—blerg, just go away, dude). It is, to simplify slightly, a rebuke of the exclusionary self-interest of patriotism, framed through an impressive barrage of kinetic, tense action sequences. To its great credit, Dunkirk nearly avoids Godard's old anti-war-film paradox precisely through how it handles these scenes (and there are plenty—it would not be an exaggeration to call the entire film 100% action), developing them as a series of small parables regarding the role of British identity in a time of crisis. The most British thing, Nolan argues, is selfless sacrifice in the opening of its borders to those in need. In our current political climate, that's practically radical. Grade: B+
There isn't a lot of hope in War for the Planet of the Apes, which shows humanity trapped between self-extinction and dehumanizing captivity and abuse at the hand of the apes—Woody Harrelson's Colonel, despicable as he may be, is fundamentally correct about humankind's future, which, alone, is one of the smarter and more startling touches to this already smart and startling franchise. And that's just the villains (War is the first of these new PotA movies that presents human kind as basically irredeemable). These apes, we know (provided this series follows the same trajectory as the originals) go on to create a brutally oppressive society on the foundation of Caesar's rebellion. Its grim battle scenes bear this out with as unflinching and bloody a portrayal of combat as the PG-13 rating is likely to allow, and the film's "happy" ending is further unsettled, not just for the actual events depicted but by the score of the film itself, which highlights the final shot with uneasy ambivalence. The feel-bad movie of the summer, for sure, and a vital, terrific success because of it. You'll be hard-pressed to find a movie with more brains and heart this summer's blockbuster landscape. Grade: A-
You likely won't see a prettier-looking movie all year, from the uh-MAZE-ing cinematography to the neat way that the set design and costuming blends modern society with a lush, Victorian-Gothic sensibility into a haunting timelessness. But holy Moses, this movie is demented—delightfully so for a large portion of its runtime, but by the end, culminating in a scene of sexual assault that I have severe reservations with, it's decidedly not delightful. But... I kind of love it anyway? It's rare to see a movie, even a horror movie (which Wellness most definitely is) go so all-in with artsy smut, and reservations and all, it's a singular viewing experience I'm not likely to forget soon. Grade: B+
Jon Favreau writes, directs, and stars in a gigantically cloying fantasy with wish-fulfillment ranging from the mildly implausible (starting your own restaurant and having complete creative freedom as a chef) to the downright ludicrous (hooking up with both Scarlett Johansson and Sofía Vergara, marrying the latter [twice!]). Good golly, though, the food looks amazing. So amazing that it inspired me to get up from the movie and make my own spaghetti sauce (which turned out great, btw). It's a very silly, inconsequential film, but its love for food is contagious enough that I'm not completely turned off by Favreau's obvious self-indulge. Grade: B-
To say that it's Brief Encounter wrapped first in a blanket of aching ennui before being crushed by the insurmountable uncaringness of the universe is technically accurate, but it does nothing to communicate just how gorgeous and moving every second of this film is. There's nothing surprising about one of the most acclaimed movies of the 21st century being amazing, but in case you haven't heard it enough, let me say it again: this movie is incredible. Grade: A
In the studio, Talking Heads are inscrutable and alien, hermetically sealed within their chilly beats and existential dread. This is perhaps a consequence of their very late-'70s/early-'80s production or maybe an intentional choice of aesthetic, but regardless, it's a vital aspect of the band's sonic identity, and I regard it very much as a feature, not a bug, of the band. Which is why it's such a shock to discover that onstage, Talking Heads became an honest-to-goodness, heart-in-the-gut rock band without compromising a modicum of their essential character. Would you have guessed that the band that gave us "Houses in Motion" could break a sweat? Well, they can; in fact, the band practically spends the entire set drenched in perspiration. It's a fantastic feat of both the band's formidable, go-for-broke musicianship and Jonathan Demme's shadowy, evocative filmmaking that the band becomes as immediate as it does without sacrificing the cock-eyed existentialism that makes their music so compelling. And not to downplay any of the many, many talented individuals that make this film one of rock's greatest visual documents, but the protagonist here is unquestionably David Byrne, who thrashes about the stage like a human in exuberant agony at the realization that he doesn't know what it means to act human. From his herky-jerky dances was born a generation of Thom Yorkes and Annie Clarks; within Demme's frame, the strange geometry of this brilliant man is mesmerizing. Grade: A
Music
It's hard not to hear an album with a heavy, industrial feel and not jump immediately to the twin standards of heavy, industrial hip-hop, Death Grips and Yeezus, and while that comparison isn't entirely unwarranted (these beats are heavy—just listen to the opening "Heat," which is appropriately hot), the album's more surprising textures come on tracks like "2Pac" and "Swim," which abruptly pivot toward R&B and even soft rock. This brand of abrasive, experimental hip-hop tends to be a bit monochromatic, but Saturation is a cornucopia of sounds that paint the album's themes of self-doubt and coming-of-age with an egalitarian approach to genre. Plus, it's cool to see a hip-hop collective in 2017, as dominated by monolithic figures as the industry is. Grade: B+
On the brink of diving deeply into the jazz-fusion avant-garde, Miles Davis released Sorcerer, in many ways a summation of his '60s quintet work up to that point. There are peppy hard-bop numbers ("The Sorcerer"), smokey modal compositions ("Pee Wee," on which Miles doesn't appear at all), and even a vocal piece closing out the album ("Nothing Like You"). It's almost more of a Herbie Hancock and Wayne Shorter album than a Davis one, as they contribute five of the seven tracks, and as such, it's appropriately sax- and piano-heavy. In 1967, Davis had bigger things on his mind, and he only had one more fully acoustic album left in him before his electric period; one gets the impression that he was a little tired of this mode at this point, given his lack of involvement with the album's composition. So Sorcerer isn't "essential" in any sense of the word. But it's still very good and a fantastic document of jazz's left-of-center in the mid-'60s. Grade: B+
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