Movies
mother! (2017)
There's not much point in talking about mother! without laying bare its whole game, so Spoilers Ahoy!. And here we go: Darren Aronofsky's latest film is basically an allegorical adaptation of the entire Bible, from Genesis to Revelation, albeit through an idiosyncratic interpretive lens that I first thought was Gnostic and now think is probably closer to an environmentalist exploitation of Gnostic mythology. Because here's what we have: Javier Bardem as a frustrated artist (aka the Abrahamic God, it becomes clear soon enough) who cares more about his creation—both the actual text of his poetry and the rabid fandom that it spawns—than about his relationship with Jennifer Lawrence, his wife whose own artistry lies in the restoration of their beautiful home after a fire (basically a Mother Earth figure and clearly the one of the two who has anything like a sense of moral priorities). It's Lawrence's character, then, who bears the trauma of the ways that the increasingly unruly fans (aka humanity) Bardem invites into their house tear her work to pieces. And from this perspective, we get a parade of increasingly literal analogues for Adam and Eve, the Garden of Eden, Cain and Abel, the Flood, the life and death of Jesus, and more, all driving toward one resounding message: that humanity's presence on Earth is a costly mistake by an egotistical creator intent on exploiting the planet's profound beauty toward profoundly short-sighted ends. And if I already sound like an overly self-impressed divinity school egghead, that's just the kind of thing this movie is going to do to you and just the sort of naked grasp at showy profundity that people tend to hate Aronofsky movies for. I don't begrudge people for hating this movie. For the Christian crowd, it is blatantly and unapologetically heretical (essentially postulating that Christianity itself is an assault on the Earth—sort of the opposite message of 2014's Noah, for what it's worth); for others (and likely Christians, too), it's yet another movie that uses the cruelty of men toward women as a metaphor, and a metaphor that hinges on a brutally depicted assault that's likely to be the hardest-to-watch cinematic moment of this year; for others still, it's a solipsistic movie about Aronofsky himself (he's actually in a relationship with Lawrence, so...), and as self-critical as it is, there's no denying that he still casts himself as God Almighty; for even more others, it's an aggressively experimental movie that, rather bafflingly, someone somewhere convinced a major studio to produce and market as a mainstream horror flick. So I get it, and I even hold some of those reservations myself and even kind of wonder what the use of such an aggressively anti-human allegory is beyond pure head-trip academics, given that all those involved in making and experiencing this movie are, I assume, human themselves (and given that, I also assume, Aronofsky is not really advocating for a species-wide extermination). But still. I can't quite shake this movie. Goodness knows we need more movies interested in critical engagement with the Biblical narrative (as opposed to stifling and narrow-minded adaptation), and as much as I scratch my head at the idea that humanity should not exist, I'm all for knocking the human race from its presumption that it deserves a central and proprietary role in creation; the movie is, if nothing else, a veritable scream for the human race to recontextualize their place on this planet, and if the ideological means that it uses to get there are a little eyebrow-raising, it's at least a conversation I can get behind. Plus, there's no discounting Jennifer Lawrence's performance here, which is like a far more personal iteration of Catherine Deneuve's Repulsion tour de force; it's incredible, all the more so considering the fact that the camera spends approximately 80% of the film a few inches from her face. And speaking of the camera, it's worth noting that for all the narrative insanity, mother! is Aronofsky's most stylistically restrained film yet, and that precision pays off handsomely. It's a masterfully directed movie; we can argue about the ends to which that direction is devoted, but I will fight anyone who trashes the actual craft here. All of which is to say: I think I like this movie a lot. Grade: A-
It Comes at Night (2017)
I hate to be the "what's the point" guy, but... what's the point? It Comes at Night has some cool atmospheres and is across-the-board well-acted, sure, and I guess if you squint, you could call it some sort of examination of paranoia or humanity's tendency to mistrust to self-destructive ends or whatever. But this movie's genre Jenga game in which it takes out the conventional expository and narrative pieces we're used to leaning on in psychological thrillers has progressed so far that it's basically captured the exact moment that the whole structure is toppling in on itself. And besides, the one element that it needed to take out to make its commentary on paranoia have any weight at all—i.e. the certainty of the existence of "it," the threat of the title—is still right there staring us in the face in a mid-film plot point. I'm not sure what all the acclaim was about here, honestly. Grade: C
Rough Night (2017)
On paper, there's a lot here to like: a fun cast, gender-flipped comedy tropes, a screenplay that seldom relies on improv, physical humor involving corpses. And some of that pays off in brief flashes of success (e.g. the corpse comedy, because it's hard to get that wrong). But outside of those small moments, there's really not a lot going for this movie. It's not "bad" per se, but it's very, very forgettable. My ongoing distaste for mainstream American comedies is largely to blame, I'm sure, but this movie sure doesn't do a lot to be an ambassador to us hard-to-please viewers. Grade: C
The Double (2013)
There's nothing like a movie trying very, very hard and succeeding. With The Double, I'd say this is the case about 75% of the time, and as such, it's an often gratifying and exciting watch. I do feel like, as with the similarly inventive and energetic Cosmopolis (released within a year of this film's debut), I'm missing a piece here having not read its source material—in this case, an 1866 Dostoyevsky novella. It's all very interesting and engaging, but without the original novel, I'm having a hard time figuring out the starting line in this race. Grade: B+
The Chorus (Les Choristes) (2004)
I'll give the movie this: the rickety inspirational-teacher tropes bear a little more weight when they're put to use in a story that shows a teacher motivating troubled students through musical extracurricular activities instead of classroom instruction. But otherwise, I don't have a ton of positive things to say about Les Choristes, a movie that, when it isn't paint-by-numbers, is making some pretty baffling narrative decisions like making one of the troubled youths a legitimate sociopath who then conspires to destroy the school (there are many things that teaching movies don't capture about real-life teaching, but never once have I watched one and thought, "You know, the one thing this movie is missing is turning one of these students into a flat villain"). And of course the kid with the child with the most beautiful voice is the one who is also the one who looks most angelic. Because as we all know, soulful blue eyes are a direct contributing factor in singing ability. Grade: C-
Music
LCD Soundsystem - American Dream (2017)
The band's return from the shortest breakup ever more than justifies the questionable ethics of returning after such a high-profile and definitive exit. Leaning more heavily on post-punk textures than ever before, American Dream is an uneasy, atmospheric album that, while not a complete reinvention, is far from a retread either, and tracks like "How Do You Sleep?" and "American Dream" pulse with a sort of personal dark-night-of-the-soul feel that's relatively unprecedented even in the more emotionally forthright moments in group's coolly hip past. There's a sleek consideredness to even "All My Friends" that's mostly absent here; instead, Murphy's production and lyrics aim for a rawness that, though not really ragged in a punk sense, still feel more transparent and prickly than ever before. That said, it's probably LCD's least-compelling album since their self-titled debut, which isn't to say that there's anything expressly "wrong" with this album, but just because it doesn't reach the dizzying heights of Sound of Silver or This Is Happening (or even, for that matter, "Losing My Edge," though "Tonite" tries its darnedest). There are few tracks here I would rank among LCD's best, but that's an unfair standard to hold any album to. Grade: B+
The War on Drugs - A Deeper Understanding (2017)
What I remember and return to most in 2014's Lost in the Dream are the anthems: the moments when The War on Drugs filtered Born to Run through Tunnel of Love and arrived at something transcendent and huge. Very few moments on their new album approximate that diesel-fueled grandiosity. Instead, A Deeper Understanding goes for the slow burn, taking as many inspirations from '80s R&B and power ballads ("I Want to Know What Love Is" is a major touchstone here) as from Bruce Springsteen and heartland rock. This is never better than in the album's fourth song, "Strangest Thing," in which a slow, synthy riff builds to a stadium-sized climax. Still, without the speed of Lost in the Dream's peppier tracks, A Deeper Understanding lags a bit, and it's a far looser, occasionally dull experience as a result. They key is its length, I'm afraid; it's long, a full seven minutes longer than Lost in the Dream (an album that was already flirting with bloatedness). I can imagine an absolutely stellar 40-minute version of this album, but at 67 minutes, it's reminiscent of the CD long-windedness of that '80s era it clearly adores, which dilutes the undeniable greatness somewhat. Grade: B
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