First Man (2018)

Thinking back on prior moviegoing experiences, I've been lately reminiscing on 2014's Whiplash and how much of a exhilarating, full-bodied, robust, palpable work of film it was, successfully selling me on the appeal of both Miles Teller and Damien Chazelle. Spectacularly, while neither of them walked away with an Oscar, they seemed to both be affected the most by the reception of Whiplash, in terms of clout and adulation. After Whiplash, they were truly ready for the major leagues.

Miles Teller did this... by seemingly squandering and/or under-utilizing his talent in films such as Fantastic Four, War Dogs, and Home of the Brave. His draw was that he was a tangible actor, but he was being pushed for stardom; a bid that wasn't dramatically disastrous, but I never can look at him on screen and feel the same full-blooded enthusiasm I used to feel. Thankfully, in terms of Damien Chazelle, he, then and now, realized that influence could only slimly get him by. What mattered was his content and vision. Sure, La La Land proved that he could almost win an Oscar by making an old-fashioned, evocative, frothy musical film, but could he successfully branch out into a suspenseful, verging-on-being-epic pedigree of film?

Well, he sure as hell makes a valiant attempt, telling the story of the First Man.

That "first man" in question is Neil Armstrong, the first man to walk on the moon. After a mishap as a test pilot and reeling after a personal family tragedy, he decides to apply to Project Gemini, which was trying to beat the Soviet Union in the space race and send us to the moon. The film chronicles the intense planning, rigorous attempts, fantastic close-calls, up until the climactic moon landing, as part of the Apollo program, while detailing all the emotional stresses and losses among the families.

The film's opening shot both showed the film's potential and concerned me, as to what I was afraid the film could've been with uncertain, reticent direction. It establishes the pervasive feeling of isolation and rapid hazard, fraught with some of the most aggressive, unremitting, and assaulting shaky cam I've seen in years and the eyes of Armstrong, seething with malaise and heightened embarrassment. As a test pilot, he bounces his fighter jet off the atmosphere, which gets him grounded.

I was apprehensive, because I thought that the intrigue and human interest of Armstrong would be cherry-picked and boiled down to some insultingly simple, psuedo-inspirational, excessively sentimental narrative. Chazelle clearly does want to modulate the heroism of Armstrong, but he does this not through any mandated story arcs or Hollywood contrivances, but through humanity, which is what carries the film. 

As engaging as his journey of dedication and merely doing his job is, the most touching sequences involving Armstrong are centered around him mourning his young daughter. I loved watching him interacting with her in the beginning, stroking her hair with initial, loving tenderness, but seems to strike a devastating tone of finality and tragic attachment as the film proceeds. In the subsequent funeral scene, Armstrong struggles to keep a stony face at her funeral, but forcibly sobs behind closed doors in a specifically plaintive moment. As well, the most memorable, sobering moment of the moon landing sequence involves Armstrong letting his daughter's bracelet slip out of his hand and into darkness, all portrayed with a potency and gravitas that nearly left me in tears.

For all the talk about it being about the "first man," I would've personally called this "First Men," because while Armstrong seems to be in the middle of this cinematic venn diagram, the film gives equal attention to all the astronauts. It doesn't depict them in broad clichés and while the film bequeaths many of them with melancholic fates, it doesn't write them as melancholic figures. There are many scenes of genuine camaraderie between Armstrong, his fellow astronauts, and their families. The film manages to intertwine NASA lives and personal lives naturally and you become so invested that you can actually name and mourn the men who slowly get picked off, one by one.

However, if you are going to make a movie called First Man, you need a damn good one. And Ryan Gosling? Yeah, he'll do.

Gosling portrays Armstrong as an benevolent Everyman with both an external, unwavering, committed courage and a desperate, internal sensitivity. He has no time to waste, lacks any sort of predisposition for quitting, and feels like he must shut off any emotional weakness to be a hero to his children. I'm not quite sure if Gosling will receive Oscar consideration for this role, but if he does...

...you might to also guide some of that over to Claire Foy, who gives the stand-out performance as Neil's wife. She's cold and harshly quiet, but that's the magnetism and addictive power of her character. Watching the film, she truly is the backbone of the household, because in all actuality, she carries most, if not all, of the burden as a homemaker. She has no position to break down and even if she did, it would have little value. She cries once throughout the film early on and that's it. 

This sort of domestic pluckiness and staunch grit juxtaposes beautifully against Gosling's soft, composed attitude in a scene where Armstrong's wife demands him to explain to his two sons that this mission might be his last. While the scene doesn't pay off as well at it initially establishes, the interplay between the struggle to keep confident and collected on his part and the struggle to preach reality on her part is an explosive, propulsive, captivating moment. In addition, they share a emotionally spare and quiet, yet mentally, analytically complex exchange for the final shot. They don't utter a word, yet every liberating, painful, and gentle thought is shared amongst each other with ferocious purpose.

Chazelle isn't going to wow in the field of special effects, nor should you expect any manufactured thrills, but what Chazelle specializes is in craft. This film shows a departure from a typical music-inspired narrative and yet he still shows a whopping amount of prudent instinct in that field, thanks to our old, Chazelle-film friend, Justin Hurwitz. The orchestral music sounds so gorgeous, yet so distinct and so perfectly timed. Even the regular sound editing manages to be so peculiarly, wonderfully trippy in some areas, such as the first failed mission when the rocket spins out of control and the sound effects used sound something a la Psycho. While the film isn't packaged with gimmicky suspense sequences, there are some genuine thrills along the way and the moon landing sequence manages to bring a vaster, hauntingly desolate scope to outer space that is uniquely its own.

First Man isn't going to be hailed as a new masterpiece and, yeah, sometimes it does get a little too melodramatic for its own good, although ever so briefly. However, I was surprised, relieved, and satisfied that Chazelle can step outside of his comfort zone and imbue the American-as-apple-pie image of this "giant step for man and giant leap for mankind" milestone with enough warmth, wit, and authentic, bracing emotions to activate a extra echelon on veneration for these fine men, including the First Man. This film is not a historical dramatization, but moreso a layered portrayal of a precarious moment in our history.

On that basis, I thankfully enjoyed it.

RATING: Three out of four stars

The Hate U Give (2018)

I think it's inevitable and almost insultingly basic to say that Amandla Stenberg has, long at last, finally been in the film she's truly wanted to star in. Since making her cinematic breakthrough in 2012, portraying the woefully-fated Rue in The Hunger Games, her brand as an actress withered, instead being branded moreso as a pro-black advocate who happens to have Hollywood connections. It seems, however, that Hollywood has both championed and punished her for this fact. She definitely had the black audience on her side, in the wake of Raven-Symone coincidentally losing her black cred around the same time, but not only was she decried by some for, gasp, having the balls to "start shit" with Kylie Jenner, the cinematic roles she was receiving were seen as quite lackluster.

It seems that in these socially woke, BLM times, Hollywood wanted to give her the title of "rising star," but without the actual sustainable power, which led to middling parts in films such as Everything, Everything, Where Hands Touch, and seemingly the most egregious, The Darkest Minds, all of which ironically enough involve Stenberg, a pro-black advocate, portraying characters that fall in love with white people, and two of those examples being based off books. However, when you can't earn that Fault in Our Stars money, nor can you earn that Hunger Games money, you always have the socially conscious outlet to strike a chord. 

Enter The Hate You Give!

The film's star is Amandla Stenberg as Starr, a high-school student surviving with two identities: the non-confrontational, proper Starr at her predominately white prep school and the trap music-loving, slang-spouting Starr in her predominately African-American hometown of Garden Heights. She finds these two cultures being forcibly meshed after a late-night party. Her childhood friend, Khalil, drives her home, but is stopped by police. During the encounter, he is shot and killed in front of Starr. Because Starr was the sole witness, she receives outside pressure to testify against Officer #115 and has to face the unintentional ignorance from her school. Meanwhile, Khalil used to sell drugs for King, who threatens and stalks Starr's family out of fear that Starr's testimonial will only bring attention to King and his illicit business.

There is one thing the film is manage to provoke: thought. This film raises thematic points that are cogent, stimulating, genuine, and even at certain points, fair. Consider the scene that sets the plot in motion of the officer killing Khalil. The situation itself (a white cop murdering a black teenager) is inherently prejudiced and unfairly biased and it's easy to quickly label it as such, solely on a surface level, especially given how the officer pointlessly questions Khalil about selling narcotics and how he treats Starr, barring her from recording on her phone and handcuffing her, despite her not committing any wrongdoing. 

However, when the officer discovers that the "weapon" he was suspicious and paranoid of is a hairbrush, the officer soon becomes even more skittish and regretful, almost expressing a contrite apology. This aspect must mean that the officer isn't a racist, but is merely a victim of circumstance and of hasty, overly-impulsive decision making. He is afraid. However, what is he actually afraid for? Is he afraid because of the terror and senselessness of his personal transgression or because of the soiling of his personal security and image? It's ingeniously never made clear, which (a) brings even more angst and horror to the situation, (b) brings a brief flash of humanity to the officer and (c) further illustrates the argument that the true villain is the crude, capitalist, corporate-fucking judicial system, which forces commoners to suffer and let the higher-ups in position get away because of money, power, and potatoes.

Another enrapturing facet of the film is its portrayal of cultural identity, not particularly through the eyes of Starr, but from her nurse mother and her kingpin-turned-grocer father. Starr's mother is the reason for Starr attending a prep school, due to her not wanting Starr to be beat up, hooked on drugs, or pregnant, and she is hell-bent on moving out of Garden Heights. However, Starr's father admires the spirited, tight-knit community, in spite of the squalor and drug-infested landscapes. Both present legitimate perspectives, which lead to the question of how much of yourself should you sacrifice in order to thrive? Do you stay closer or move farther away from your roots? Does either/or detract from yourself?

The film also makes incisive commentary on white fragility and faux-liberal ignorance. In one scene, the students at Starr's prep school stage a walkout in response to the death of Khalil. However, with the exception of one #BlackLivesMatter sign, none of the students truly accept the gravitas of this horrific situation, neither do they even discuss the event in anything but offhand terms. "It's in response to the horrible thing that happened to that person," Hailey, Starr's prep school friend, perfunctorily explains, "as well as being an excuse to cut class." This escalates throughout the film, bit by bit, with Hailey delivering insensitive and myopic statements in front of Starr, all the while being offended by the mere idea of her being called a "racist." This all erupts in one of the most explosive, powerful moments involving Starr, Hailey, and a hairbrush.

As you may notice, I don't seem to discuss Starr herself very much, but actually, that's part of the brilliance of the film. For a solid portion of the film, the plot revolves around Starr, but doesn't draw a direct lineage with Starr. While Starr is the main character, the majority of the film is everyone else reacting to the circumstances involving Starr, as well as the sheer environment, which portrays a ugly, derelict town with such color, vision, and warm insight. Starr re-focuses and hijacks the plot to put her as the center of attention when the character herself gains her aplomb, self-assured voice, and her true, primal expressions on inequality and systematic apathy.

And what a character she is! While her story arc isn't intrinsically groundbreaking, it is narratively beguiling. She masks her disgust and any sort of incendiary propensities behind a guilt-ridden form of passiveness and a doe-eyed, dolorous gaze until the blazing fire ignited by injustice and blindness can't be concealed any longer, with every now and then donning one of the most sincere, adorable winning smiles ever to be shown on film. And that smile belongs to Stenberg, giving the fundamental performance in the film and of her career. She has the heaviest burden with this role, but she courageously and fiercely pushes through her role, portraying every scene so tragically, so authentically, and so lovably. It would make my entirety of 2019 if she could pick up an Oscar nomination.

However, the rest of the cast pull off incredible work, as well. Russell Hornsby adds an incredible layer of compassion and intrigue to his role as Maverick, Starr's father. Here is a man who grapples with his past, yet is the most persuasive, level-headed, intelligent, commanding voice and presence in the whole movie. Regina Hall gives her most avuncular, enticing performance as the sweet-natured, yet no-nonsense mother of Starr. Algee Smith, for his ten minutes of screen time, portrays Khalil with a sympathetic sneer and a hypnotic, star-making smile. 

Anthony Mackie shows off his menacing, despicable side as King, the drug lord and Common, a.k.a. Mr. Makes My Day Brighter Every Time I See Him Onscreen, almost seems to be marginally subversive of himself as Uncle Carlos. His character is particularly interesting, because who Common is portraying is someone that isn't making proper strides to advance and empower his own community. He loves his family, but when he is confronted about the underbelly of his job, he always concocts up an excuse. One precise moment is when Carlos discusses the frenzied mindset of confronting a black suspect, but when Starr asks about a white suspect, Carlos admits his own implicit bias, but refuses to mend or reverse it, saying to a teary-eyed Starr, "It's a complicated world." It's odd to see Common play such an antithesis of himself, but in a human way. We know these people. We've seen permissive black people like this and it's transfixing how Common both seem to bemoan and excuse his own appalling bias.

Admittedly, however, there is a time or two where the film seems to dangerously veer into the melodramatic side. There's one bit of dialogue said by Starr near the end during a confrontation between her family and King that I felt was over-indulgent and detracted what could've been an effectively, quietly plaintive moment. Some might argue that the final monologue is too cheery and rapidly forcing a resolution, but in my eyes, I think it works. The movie is based on a novel by Angie Thomas, which was targeted to young adults. That ending monologue is attempting to speak to young girls, moreso black girls, but you could argue all young girls; to empower them, to present yourself as one singular person unabashedly, to know your limits, but know that change might mean pushing them.

Honestly, I might've accused it of being too sentimental and pandering to teenagers, as if they are toddlers that need simplification, but not when it's through the mouth of Starr. Like Moana in 2016, Starr is a character that young girls, once again, mostly black girls, can look up to. I can imagine a lot of black girls rocking braids and donning a hoodie like Starr. She has the voice and The Hate U Give has the message. When critics were dubbing Blindspotting as the next Do the Right Thing, I actually think they were referring to this film. 

Think about it. Both films include a disillusioned protagonist that ultimately tries to avoid explosive confrontations, but their own outrage towards injustice leads them to being the primer for chaos. Sure, it may be filtered for teenagers, but the power, fury, and intensity that Spike Lee laid forth back in 1989 can certainly be found from director George Tillman Jr. and late screenwriter Audrey Morris almost thirty years later. The Hate U Give gets all of my love!

And I'm ready for Armond White and any other loud-mouth, anti-SJW detractor to label this as amateurish liberal-spewing propaganda, and how it's offering a narrow-minded perspective of black struggle, and how it's forgoing genuine torment to produce a mindless heroism narrative and how it's victimizing and exploiting black people, while claiming to ally with them, and how...I dunno, Algee Smith's too dreamy of a murder victim, I guess.

Well, to those people, you know how "THUG LIFE" is an acronym for "The Hate You Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody." Well, in this case, I'll claim it to be an acronym for "The Hate You Give Liberals Increasingly Fuels Entertainment."

Yeah, that sounds about right. 

RATING: Four out of four stars!

A Star is Born (2018)

You know, with all the political tomfoolery and social mockery afflicting and embarrassing us as a country, culture, and species, I feel that maybe it might be time to go back to basics every once in a while, when it comes to the movies. These past three years has been a filmmaking renaissance, precisely reflecting and reprimanding our current turmoils, tragedies, and our most pressing social anxieties. However, mindless and flashy entertainment (sometimes, a conglomerate of the two) is still as imperative as ever; the difference between diving into a redolent, rich meal at a four-star restaurant to showcasing your repressed gluttony at a fast-food restaurant. They are two vast fields of pleasure; incongruous, but highly necessary.

And what more of a classic, timeless, and overall enlightening cinematic tradition that the grand ol' movie musical! And one that is a remake, having formerly been fronted by both Judy Garland and Barbara Streisand. Such grandiosity, some rushing emotions, such soaring voices of power, theatricality, and beauty!

What sweeping pleasures to be had from… A Star Is Born… directed by Bradley Cooper, and which tells the tale of an alcoholic wash-up and a disillusioned aspiring artist.

Shit. *sighs* Here we go, I guess.

This film stars director/producer/writer Bradley Cooper as Jackson, a rock musician who has developed a habit of indulging in alcohol and painkillers. After a show, he decides to take a detour and ends up in a drag bar, where he meets Ally, played by the glorious Gaga in her film debut, a regular performer at said gay bar, but has never found the self-esteem and the confidence to continue pursuing a career in music. "It sounds great," they all say, "but your nose is too big and you won't be successful."

Jackson discovers that she can not only belt a note, but has a knack for songwriting. Through intense persistence, he manages to get Ally to come to a gig of his and perform. The video of the performance goes viral and a power couple commences through Jackson and Ally. However, will Jackson's self-destructive behaviors catch up with him? Can Ally go solo and maintain her artistic integrity? Holy shit, is that Dave Chapelle in a dramatic role? Wait, is that the Diceman?

I don't want to portray this film as a dirge of an experience, but this tale has been tried-and-true. While Cooper deftly continues the tradition to preserving the narrative foundation, but transmuting the external and emotional components, it's still a tale that begins inspiring and then delves into tragically unfair, no matter which version and/or soundtrack you reference. However, Cooper fortunately retains one other aspect that bolsters the integrity of this Star is Born legacy: power. In any other hands, this material could've been handled in too treacly of a tone and, at times, it borders that dangerous pit, but his daring, go-for-broke, yet tender direction keeps the films as raw and gritty as Cooper's singing voice, eerily reminiscent of Kris Kristofferson himself.

One discovery I made while watching this film and thinking about Bradley Cooper's best works is that Cooper truly values meaningful connections. In The Hangover, Cooper had a tremendous camaraderie with his friends, in the midst of all the debauchery, frenzied chaos, and stolen Mike Tyson tigers. American Sniper showed a man with a deep, personal connection to his profession. American Hustle delineated his connection with his own perceived morality and he showcase a connection between two damaged souls, yet temperamentally opposite, in Silver Linings Playbook, my favorite Cooper role to date.

I can only conclude that this, anything Rocket the Raccoon-related notwithstanding, is the reason why films like Aloha, Burn, and Joy were all financial and critical duds is because Cooper failed to spark any sort of tangible connection in his performances, or at least that's why Cooper was seen as unremarkable, at best. However, allow Cooper to explore meaningful connections and what an engrossing, tumultuous, lovely love story you receive between Jackson and Ally and all the nuances that Cooper portrays the love story with. One of the most sensually intense and riveting moments in early on when Ally self-deprecates herself for her big nose. Jackson asks to touch it and the camera zooms in on the moment, lingering with more vigor and raw attraction than the sex scenes, which are shot tersely and sparingly, just long enough to where you confirm the emotional bullseye between these two beings. It's not about leering, it's about loving.

Also, I guess it’s fitting that A Star is Born is a story that has been about revelations and comebacks, because when it comes to Cooper's performance…

Damn!

Welcome back, Bradley! I don't know where the hell you've been, but you came home and that's all that matters. And you can bet your ass that I'll be rooting for you to get that Best Actor nomination. Also, Academy of Arts and Sciences, if I may put in a request, don't forget about Gaga either because…

DAMN!

Lady Gaga (I was going to use her real name to give her more credibility in the acting realm, but fuck it, Gaga suits me well) is quite simply a revelation. I saw her in an interview where she stated that she hates herself without makeup, because that isn't really her. I can only assume that she had to extract feelings from herself of insecurity, of inadequacy, and of crippling, desperate fears of losing control over her image and style. Whatever the case may be, she shows it in a truly naked performance, in more ways than one. Her vulnerability and naivete coupled with her quick-wittedness and her emerging courage is something to behold, augmented by those glorious Gaga eyes, so glowing with pathos, intensity, and a raw, striking aggression that she could stand toe-to-toe with Judy Garland.

It's almost comical how it took Mariah Carey subsequent bit parts and twenty-second cameos to make an impact, yet Lady Gaga hits it out of the park in one try, all the while reminding us that her musical abilities have not fallen to the wayside. Speaking of which, the music is mostly strong, but again, I do say mostly. While all of Bradley Cooper's self-written, self-performed songs all click with me, Gaga seems to let some of her leaden, syrupy pop sensibilities creep in, which lead to songs intentionally awful ("Is That Alright?") to ones that are rather flavorless ("Look What I Found") to ones too maudlin, too strained, too pretentious, and overrated ("I'll Never Love Again").

Regardless, this is an emotional gut punch of a musical in the same vein it's always been. It's rather subversive in that sense: manipulating our content, rigorously hopeful expectations of musicals, in order to transport us to a journey that both musical fans and non-musical fans will most likely be caught off-guard by. Throughout the film, I tried to find a definitive, binding connection between Ally and Jackson that links them as personalities. What do they share? The tragic answer is that they are well-intentioned, spirited, passionate individuals that try to abscond each other's circumstances. Jackson tries to expose Ally to stardom, only for her to lose her artistic credibility and her hope in romance. Ally tries to lift Jackson through his struggles, which only makes for him seeping deeper into his angst and his vices, to the point where his hope in himself can no longer be recovered. It doesn't make for a consistently uplifting experience, but it makes for an authentic one.

Also, Lady Gaga, if you choose to explore more with nudity, I… I will not complain at all.

RATING: Three out of four stars