We Didn't Doubt The Fire: Mrs Doubtfire @ The Saenger Theatre
Review by Dorian Hatchett Rob McClure and I were both born in 1982. That leads me to believe with some certainty that I can understand how absolutely enchanting the work of Robin Williams was to him as a child. I still carry a DVD of Dead Poets Society with me when I move (despite not having a DVD player for years) because there is something essential, even formative, about the way his acting style shaped my sense of what makes something funny. This also allows me to understand why Rob and would throw himself into a passion project like Mrs. Doubtfire the Musical, and when its Broadway run was truncated by industry complications brought on by Covid 19, would follow it by joining the North American tour. He plays the titular character, Mrs. Doubtfire, a clever ruse made up by jilted husband and father Daniel Hillard. Joining him on stage for the touring production is his real-life Spouse Maggie Lakis as Miranda Hillard. They have worked together before, having met on set in a production of Grease, and later working as puppeteers in Avenue Q. Their stage chemistry is undeniable, even playing divorced co-parents. Everything about this production is eye candy. It’s sweet and bright and not too complex. Following the story line of the movie pretty much exactly, the musical numbers are easy replacements for cinematography in a feel-good stage production full of easy laughs and physical comedy. McClure is a genius with impressions, and pulls out all the stops for comedic affect. Mixed into the dialogue are a smattering of current pop culture references that did not fail to bring laughter from the audience (there’s a special, delighted sound that rang ‘round the theatre when the caricature of Paula Deen suggests that 8 sticks of butter would be perfect for an easy-peasy recipe). Dance numbers are well choreographed, with the polish and flair befitting a true Broadway-level spectacle. There are laughs designed to register separately with both children and adults in the audience as double entendre, in the way that the best family comedies often do. It’s rare that I see a traveling production with a set design that rivals the shows I’ve seen on Broadway, but I feel a special mention needs to be made of the set design for this show. There are a host of different sets, including two different houses, a restaurant, the streets of San Francisco, a tv sound stage, and a wardrobe department, and each of them is as detailed and seamless as the last. The stage crew was flawless in their execution, and the lighting design kept the audience engaged in a way that was surprising in such a fast-paced show. The Saenger Theatre is a true gem for sound, and this show is no exception. Mrs. Doubtfire runs at the Saenger Theatre through May 19 Bat-tement Tendu: Dracula @ The Orpheum Theatre
Review by Dorian Hatchett Shirtless vampire air guitar is a scene in this New Orleans Ballet Theatre production of Dracula, and it's an entire vibe. I knew I was in for an interesting evening just looking at the audience. The juxtaposition of typical ballet patrons to every high glam goth in New Orleans entertained the wait for curtain. The show - choreographed by Oliver Halkowich - is a masterclass in mashing up classical themes and modern cultural tropes. I have never laughed out loud at the ballet before tonight. The dancers were exemplary story tellers. Aaron Wiggins as Renfield is mania personified. I could write an entire review about his frantic, often heartbreaking, rendition of a servant locked into madness and desperation. Josh Reynolds' Dracula is a cavalier rock star, backed by his casket girl company of writhing succubi. Jonathan Harker (Tristan Hanson) is clearly dealing not only with Mina's attraction to the count, but his own conflicted interests in the villainous Lothario. The set is austere. Costumes and movements were so on the nose that to tell the tale of decadence and oblivion needed no further elaboration. A casket for Mina, a window frame for insight into Johnathon's mind, and backdrops of castle walls were everything we required. The music is chosen for its specificity, not for its time period. (How did I not notice before that Day-O is the quintessential song for supernatural misadventure hangover?) While the majority of scenes are intimate, there are scenes throughout where the principal characters find themselves among the townspeople, and the skill of the choreographer really shines here. The dancers utilize the entire stage, whether there is one focal point or a dozen. Crowd scenes are beautifully proportioned to contain a collection of conversations between characters, without feeling overwhelming. Click here for more information about New Orleans Ballet Theatre About to Snap: Civil War
There have been some negative reactions to director Alex Garland’s (28 Days Later, Ex Machina) provocative-titled thriller, Civil War. The backdrop is enticingly dramatic: in an unspecified near future, The United States of America is divided into warring regional factions. It’s full-out war, with violent guerilla units in the streets and heavy artillery blasting neon jets across the night skies. And yet, this film is not really about that, and I think that’s where the disappointment might lie. Yes, the civil war exists, but Garland doesn’t really dissect it. We have no idea who anybody is politically, and with developments such as Texas and California aligning, we can safely say we’re in fantasy territory. If you’re hoping for a bloodthirsty onslaught, where your side sticks it to the other, then this is not the film for you. Nothing is defined on a macro level (an intelligent choice, I think) - this is all about the personal. It’s a road trip, a buddy movie, a dissection of journalism and a tribute to the war correspondents that Garland grew up around as the son of a political cartoonist. Kirsten Dunst plays conflict-hardened war photographer Lee Smith (a nominative genuflection to real-life WWII photographer Lee Miller), and the movie tracks her odyssey from New York to Washington D.C. to track down the President (Nick Offerman). Manhattan feels like 1973 Phnom Penh at the end of the Cambodian War, with the press holed up in a hotel, drinking through the power cuts. Here we meet Smith’s colleague Joel (Wagner Moura), a charismatic, gung-ho thrill seeker, as well as veteran correspondent Sammy (Stephen McKinley-Henderson) and young upstart Jessie (Cailee Spainey). There seems to be a real trend in modern media to have a battle-scarred elder transport a vulnerable innocent along a treacherous journey (cf. The Last of Us, The Mandalorian, etc), and this movie broadly falls into that category. In their trusty press truck, the gang set out across a lawless country. We encounter local militia, rogue army units, refugee camps, death squads and isolated men fighting personal battles. There’s even a bucolic small town where it’s business as usual, the clothing boutiques open and quotidian life continuing despite the snipers on the roofs. There’s brutality (especially the jarring cameo by Jessie Plemmons), danger and a sense of chaos. It’s a very analogue war, with automatic weapons and film cameras rather than drones and digital media. Smith is Jessie’s hero, and there’s a sharp learning curve as the experienced, decorated war photographer (“You took that legendary picture of the Antifa Massacre,” Jessie gushes) educates the inexperienced snapper in the most grueling on-the-job training imaginable. It’s a visceral experience, with gorily bleeding casualties, mass graves and gunpoint negotiations all a part of everyday life. Garland has taken pains to make this a very personal film. Civil War is less about politics and is more concerned with the documentation of atrocity and how it shapes its witnesses. It values poetic truths and intimacy, and I’d argue it’s a better film for it. (PO) New balls, please: Challengers
As if being one of the tennis balls so thoroughly thwacked in this tennis-themed love triangle, I was back and forth on this movie. There was a lot to enjoy, as well as some less engaging aspects that left me firmly on the fence, or in this case, the net. The plot is fairly straightforward: two very close young friends fall in love with the same woman, a fellow tennis phenomenon, who courts (pun very much intended) both of their affections. The dynamics of this lusty triangle are tested as their careers lurch in very different directions. Starting with the positives, the three leads combine with infectious chemistry, especially when the two tennis players (Mike Faist as Art Donaldson and Josh O’Connor as Patrick Zweig) trade loving quips or, eventually, pointed barbs. Their love interest, Tashi Duncan (Zendaya) motivates much of their bonding and conflicts, and Zendaya pulls off a confident, mature performance. There’s some dazzlingly innovative cinematography as we inhabit the point of view of the dueling players on court and even the tennis ball. Shots hurtle violently down the camera lens, almost threatening to burst out of the screen (and this without the need for 3D glasses). For me, though, some artistic choices landed out of bounds. Some of the more emotional scenes are hijacked by a jarring, intrusive synth soundtrack that feels out of place. I’m generally a fan of composers Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross moody electronica, but here it seems ill-employed. I also felt that some of the non-game edits are unnecessarily busy, and there’s a pacing issue that could have been avoided with a heavier hand on the cut. This movie does not need to be over two hours long. That said, the nonlinear structure works well as a gradual reveal of a couple of twists, and though some other reviews seem to suggest it’s confusing, the time periods are all very obviously titled. The story naturally culminates in a tense face off, and though the ending might be divisive, I think director Luca Guadagnino (Call Me By Your Name, Suspiria) made the right call here. In turns ebullient, sexy and dramatic, Challengers is an engaging match up, thriving more on court than off. (PO) You know, it's no good: a review of Back to Black
Asif Kapadia’s 2015 documentary ‘Amy’ is a heart-rending look at a phenomenal singer and performer, battling both her demons and ultimately destructive professional and personal associations. Back To Black, a 2024 biopic directed by Sam Taylor-Johnson (A Million Little Pieces, Fifty Shades of Grey) is…something else. Despite the panoramic mockery of the early trailers, I went in with an open mind. Yes, lead Marisa Abela was leaning into mannerisms a little eagerly (especially with the singing), but it’s nothing that Rami Malek didn’t somehow get an Oscar for (he’s a fine actor, but Bo-Rap is far from his finest hour, IMHO). I was counting on the story and cinematography of this “impressionistic” (?) retelling of the Winehouse legend elevating things beyond fan-service karaoke. That hope lasted around five minutes. It’s…not subtle. The first piece of information that the director wants you to know is that Amy Winehouse is not like other girls: she likes old fashioned music, not modern pop like you thought! The endless musical references arrive like Miles Davis delivering a discordant trumpet solo about an inch from your ear. “Why don’t people like jazz?!” Amy yells to her dad Mitch (a hapless Eddie Marsan), apropos of nothing. We meet Amy as an unknown, but within about ten minutes she’s famous. You find yourself constantly flailing for any kind emotional depth, like a third-class Titanic passenger grasping for a floating door frame. One night she’s cobbling together songs on a guitar in her bedroom, in the next scene she’s won a struggle-free bevy of international awards. The payment of dues that was so well portrayed in the documentary is just vaulted over. Tension with her roommate mum is hinted at, I wonder what the story is th-DOESN’T MATTER DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT because we’re already half way through the next scene. It’s a disorienting, breathless race to get to her indie meet-cute with Blake Fielder-Civil (Jack O’Connell), punctuated with cloying scenes with her ex-singer grandmother (Lesly Manville), who drops names like they’re covered in vegetable oil ("I sang wiv 'em all!"). Here’s where things get even murkier, where The Estate of Amy Winehouse starts to make its unwelcome presence felt. Blake and Mitch are historically known to be predatory, exploitative, and self-furthering. Here, though, Blake is presented as a lovable, bright-eyed rogue. He may be an addict, but he has Amy’s best interests at heart. As for Mitch, you may as well have him blunder around the set with a NUMBER ONE DAD mug. (One quick tangent: Blake romances Amy by playing her 'The Leader of the Pack' by The Shangri-La's. Movie Amy has never heard this song before. One of the most famous songs of the 1960s, a decade she is supposedly obsessed with. Am I nitpicking? Maybe. But...what?!) Amy and Blake are set up as kind of a Sanitized Sid and Non-Threatening Nancy. They’re chased by a benign, Keystone Cops gaggle of paparazzi, and when Blake goes to prison (IRL he got two years for a violent physical attack) he immediately blooms into the patron saint of rehabilitation. Other than that, Amy does a couple of gigs (many major events are just ignored), she moves house and, oh, she has a caged songbird DO YOU GET IT? DO YOU GET IT? DO YOU? GET IT? DO YOU? The final scene is beatific, Amy in a pastoral rehab center, seemingly canonized and almost euphoric. It's awful on multiple levels. Thrashing inconsequentially in the clichéd swamp of musical biopics, Back to Black sinks into the mire. It’s a movie more concerned with washing the blood from the hands of the living, rather than celebrating a talent, or analyzing the circumstances that resulted in her tragic death. (PO) Noises Off at Jefferson Performing Arts Society Review by Todd Perley Michael Frayn’s timeless 1982 “Noises Off” rollicks and bumbles (in a good way) at JPAS through 4/21. This tightly-written comedy follows a traveling theater troupe rehearsing and performing a farce. Each of the eight characters are archetypes of the theater world, complete with various neuroses and shortcomings. Act I is the dress rehearsal…run poorly…and we get to know our cast and crew, as well as see a glimpse of the play they’re putting on. Best to listen to their material as we’re going to visit it again in progressively advanced states of decay (the endless plates of sardines will become the ninth character.) The merry players are supportive of their fellow cast members’ flaws and mistakes. Just a happy family putting on a show, tra-la! In Act II, a month later, we watch behind the scenes at a performance as the relationships amongst the once-chummy cast start to fall apart. “Start to fall apart” is perhaps a bit mild. They engage in fights, sabotage…and there’s an axe. Ahhh, the theater! Act II is a stunningly-choreographed, complex ballet of physical comedy that had us all roaring with laughter and applause. Act III, a month and half after THAT, we find our intrepid thespians at the end of their respective ropes, phoning in their performances and exhausted by the behind-the-scenes bickering, fights, and betrayals. The play they put on then is a farce of their own making, barely recognizable to the original material. What keeps Noises Off together is our affection for each of these fragile villains, whose awful behavior somehow never lessens their likability. The direction of the play (as opposed to the play within the play) is quick and lean and savvy, which is a fascinating complement to the ineptitude of the meta-play within. Every actor holds their own, with Elizabeth McCoy as the ditzy ingenue shining amongst them. Eric Porter’s set design is astounding, and as two-faced as the characters themselves. I won’t tell you what they do to the set for Act II, but it elicited a “Wow!” from most people seated near me. On a personal note, I confess I had a terrible hangover and was dreading leaving my house that night. Turns out Noises Off was the most effective panacea for what ailed me. I tell you this as testament to the miraculous healing power of good writing, acting, directing, and a healthy shot of laughter. Which is better than a shot of whisky. Live n’ learn. Noises Off plays at Jefferson Performing Arts Society through April 21st. Click here for show times and ticketing information. Sign up for the free, weekly Out All Day newsletter, with reviews, news, interviews and more: She Stoops to Conquer, UNO Robert E Nims Theatre Review by Dorian Hatchett Watching a play originally produced in 1770s London, on stage 251 years later, is not an uncommon experience for the modern audience. Shakespeare has been getting the modern adaptation treatment for 200 years longer than that. The success of shows like Bridgerton prove that Americans crave dramas about class struggle in an England still ruled by rigid social castes and obsessive adherence to filial responsibility. Each of these modern adaptations seeks a new way to connect with the audiences of now, though (I’m lookin' at you, John Leguizamo as Tybalt, or the pop music played on celestina in Bridgerton’s ballrooms). Director Madison Smith sought to capture her American audience by setting this Georgian Era story in the 1865 Gold Rush. While waiting for the play to begin, members of the chorus (who play background and small parts throughout the show as bar patrons and servants) interact with the audience. It might have been awkward, but it set the stage well for the production; we were to remember that this was a comedy of errors of social machination, and not to be taken too seriously. The chorus of musicians plays through the interludes and transitions, and the original music composed for the play was cohesive and fun. I found myself wishing that the singers had microphones, as some of the lyrics were lost in the small auditorium. Overall, though, the vibe landed and the music was a notable and positive addition to the show. The Gold Rush-era setting was never made explicitly clear (I learned it from reading the program) but it didn’t really matter to the value of the play. The dialog of the show was left as originally written, so at times was hard to decipher to the modern vernacular ear, but the actors' physical comedy more than made up for any meaning lost to verbiage. Notable among the cast were Laszlo Fulop as Mr. Hardcastle, with a spirited intonation as the patriarch who was charmingly off-kilter but clearly adored by his family. Violetta Valverde had a dramatic physical response to every emotional trigger, endearing her to the audience despite her being the antagonist of the show. The rest of the cast all had stand-out moments: Caylee Sanders was so believable as clever, lovestruck Kate, and Morgan Hall as Sir Charles Marlowe had few lines but was by far the best vocal actor of the entire cast. The leads, however, carried the show as the adults in a room of slightly confused children, reminding the audience and supporting cast alike that to laugh at oneself is the height of wisdom. Like many plays of the era, the scope of the production was centered on emotional interchange, and this was no different. I can lovingly describe Austen as books about the horror of being perceived at the homes of other people, and She Stoops to Conquer (originally produced just two years before the birth of Jane Austen) is a clear predecessor to the tone of the soap opera-like literary devices of the time. The actors in this production are obviously comfortable with each other and the subject matter, even if they occasionally trip over the more deprecated language. The set is simple (but incredibly efficient) and it didn't overcomplicate the visual storytelling with unnecessary details. The focus was entirely on the emotions and words (and the wardrobe, which the play references often) and that was very well done on the part of the company. Confusion about the setting aside, the show was bright, well-rehearsed, and the whole experience was a delight. She Stoops to Conquer runs at UNO Robert E Nims Theatre through April 20th. Click here for show times and ticketing information. Sign up for the free Out All Day weekly newsletter, with news, reviews, interviews and more:
There are many impressive elements in Dune 2, the second part of Denis Villeneuve’s adaptation of Frank Herbert’s 1965 sci-fi novel.
For starters, there’s the scale of the thing. Villeneuve has vocally expressed his love of visuals over dialogue, and he pours everything into the aesthetics of his world building. Planets, industrial compounds, desert landscapes and imperial palaces are all delivered with a sense of scale and grandeur that’s reminiscent of the epic movies of David Lean. On the big screen especially, these lingering landscapes and interiors are gorgeous and intimidating. Secondly, the sound design. Every vehicle and weather system has a rich, layered acoustic presence, and it really helps with the immersive nature of the movie. The dragonfly-like ‘Ornicopters’ buzz and purr and groan as if they are organic creatures. It’s a huge universe, with lots to cover, and we won’t get into a detailed plot summary as it could take all week. Suffice to say, Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) is a Christ-like figure, prophesied to lead the indigenous people of Arrakis (the Freman) to freedom. A race called The Harkonnens do the violent, oppressive dirty work for the shadowy Emperor (Christopher Walken) as they seek to control the planet’s resource: Spice. There’s also the influence of Paul’s mother Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), part of the occult Bene Gesserit sisterhood. Dune (2023) set all of this up, and Dune 2 focuses on Paul taking up the mantle of savior. Like any good hero in their monomyth, he has to train himself in new disciplines, wrangle his magical powers and win over his disciples. We get a series of training montages where he learns to ride the huge sandworms and the special way to walk in the sand to avoid these massive predators. All of this time, the enemy plot, and we see the ascendance of the psychopathic Feyd-Rautha, played by Austin Butler. He is the Harkonnen Baron’s nephew, and we meet him at his birthday celebrations, where he slaughters gladiators in a huge arena. This is one of the best scenes, the stadium cast in monochrome thanks to their black sun, the countless hordes cheering from their seats. Suffice to say that there’s a lot of plot to cover - this is even before we get to the love interest of Chani (Zendaya) and the increasing religious fervor of warrior Stilgar (Javier Bardem). At over two and a half hours long, some of the pacing takes a hit, but if you’re happy just to let the visuals flow over you, then it’s not too arduous. You do feel that Villeneuve is fighting against exposition (tricky with just so much of it necessary) so that he can focus on the striking visual flourishes, and maybe slightly more judicious editing could keep things moving. It’s hard to be too bored with such glorious renderings, though, and the fight and action scenes jolt you back into the thick of things with stirring regularity. At this point, if you’re invested, you’re invested. If, like me, you missed the first chapter and streamed it before going to the sequel, you’ll rue not making it to the cinema in the first instance. Films like this are what big screens are for, and not many directors working today understand that as well as Villeneuve. Dune 2 is showing at AMC Theaters and at The Prytania Canal Place More recent Reviews SIGN UP FOR YOUR FREE WEEKLY NEWSLETTER: New York Lonely Girls: Annie @ The Saenger Theater review by Eileen Daley There’s an unwritten rule in show business to never work with children, animals, or starring roles for women over 40. Part of the eternal appeal of 'Annie', which played this weekend at the Saenger Theater, is that it bucks all of these conventions. The success of each production hinges on a large cast of child actors, an intelligent yet appropriately scruffy mutt, and the ratio of relatability to delicious cruelty in the portrayal of a certain harried orphanage matron. I was delighted to watch Friday night’s performance of the classic 1977 musical walk this tightrope with grace and pluck. Annie’s popularity was evident with the theatergoing crowd, which skewed younger than most at the Saenger – it was a sea of mothers and daughters (or very lucky orphans), some in red curly wigs and matching fire-engine dresses. It made me reflect on why Annie is one of those child actor roles that really sticks with people. It’s a very popular school production, and has spawned no less than three feature film adaptions in the last five decades. Almost every theater kid knows an Annie, played an Annie, or was rejected as an Annie. It’s a role that’s never in danger of being aged up, as anyone who’s tried to sing “Maybe” after their voice dropped can tell you. Paradoxically, though, the stars shouldn’t be more polished than they are charming – it’s harder to buy the woes of an orphan that are sung through perfectly golden pipes. So, it’s an achievable goal for young wannabe actors who dream of the hard knock life. The musical zips along at a quick pace that keeps kids and adults alike entertained. Since it’s based on a comic book, the scenes play out almost like episodic vignettes, bookended by a catchy tune near the top and its matching reprise to tie things up. The wonderful ensemble cast really shines in the large performances such as “We’d Like to Thank You, Herbert Hoover” and “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile,” two of my favorites, and they even manage to make the pat love letter to metropolis “N.Y.C.” go down a little smoother. Though Annie’s dog Sandy is offstage more than I’d like, the under-dog/study Kevin puts in a perfect effort (the program helpfully provided pictures of both dog actors, so we could identify him by the distinctive ears). As for the main cast, they were dazzling and heartbreakingly vulnerable in turns. The namesake lead Rainey Treviño belts with the best of them and makes Annie easy to root for. Her orphan companions, especially Molly (Jade Smith), are fiendishly adorable. Both Daddy Warbucks (Christopher Swan) and Rooster (Jeffrey T. Kelly) also give standout performances and showcase impressive vocals, but the most entertaining of them all is the delightfully dour Miss Hannigan (Stefanie Londino). She lends such world-weary pathos to the portrayal of the miserly old maid that by the end of her solo, “Little Girls”, the whole theater audience of moms was ready to ride into battle for her. It’s so much more fun to watch a villain that could be yourself on a bad day than it is to watch a caricature, and it was easy to see that she has fun playing it, too – underneath all the misery on the surface. Watching Annie as an adult is a more darkly humorous experience than you might expect. The title character’s bright optimism seems hopelessly naïve, and President FDR features much more prominently than I’d remembered. Most of all, the conceit of the main plot – Warbucks’ staff bring him an orphan to mentor for two weeks before Christmas – seems more like a cruel Youtuber stunt than the setup for a heartwarming family tale. But, just like a Depression-era radio soap opera, the melodramatics coalesce into a rewarding message about perseverance and found family. It’s enough to keep you humming about “Tomorrow” for weeks. The Saenger Theater's Broadway in New Orleans season continues in May with Mrs Doubtfire SIGN UP FOR YOUR FREE WEEKLY NEWSLETTER: Buff justice: Love Lies Bleeding
It’s funny being a dyed-in-the-wool Gen X-er, raised on the cinematic neon and throbbing synth bass lines of 80s thrillers. To see those elements lavishly celebrated - not as a gimmick, but as a legitimate aesthetic, is what first drew me into Love Lies Bleeding. I guess the kids might call it vaporwave meta-irony, but this movie could have been made in 1987. It feels as authentic a period piece as The Holdovers, and it wears its influences on the ragged sleeve of a sweaty, blood-stained, pastel jogging suit. I was already a fan of director Rose Glass’s 2020 breakout, low-budget horror Saint Maud, and this is also something of a genre film, though much more mixed. It’s part neo-noir thriller, part Gen Z Thelma and Louise, part fantasy pastiche. In small-town New Mexico, gym manager Lou (Kristen Stewart at her best: nihilistically moody and uncompromising) has her interest piqued by new-to-town, ambitious bodybuilder Jackie (played with charismatically chaotic chutzpah by Katy O’Brian). They fall for each other fast, their romance straining to break free of the psychodramatic gravity created by two villains: Lou’s ratlike, abusive brother-in-law JJ (Dave Franco) and sinister patriarch Lou Sr., evoked with full-throated, seedy relish by Ed Harris. At first, it’s all sweet nothings on hazy afternoons in bed, coupled with gently romantic steroid abuse, coupled with sex scenes that - come on, let’s be adults about this - are nothing that dozens of pulpy ‘erotic thrillers’ didn’t get away with back in the day. There’s nothing here that Mickey Rourke or Kim Basinger didn’t do to service a plot. The vicious entanglements of the town’s underbelly throw a greasy wrench into the relationship, though. Violence is an intrusion and also a necessary response, and the tentacle-like machinations of low-level organized crime insistently encompass Lou and Jackie’s worlds. Jackie’s tilt at a bodybuilding competition becomes divisive as she starts to lose her grip on reality. Lou Sr. starts to exert criminally paternal pressure, and Lou sinks into a flailing, emotional morass. She’s spinning plates with ever-increasing tension, the turmoil (reminiscent of movies like Uncut Gems) pulling her apart as she attempts to reconcile her past with her possible future. Some might recoil at the film’s employment of magical realism and honestly, it’s not something I’m generally a fan of. If you just trust the director, though, and see it as another way in which the film fights against being boxed into an easy classification; you can choose to find it daring. The graphic, visceral scenes rub against the 80s visuals to create a grubby, restless world, which slips even further into depravity as the psychological vice tightens. The performances across the board are impressively committed, and keep a compelling love story well above simple parody. (PO) |
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