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A Moonage Daydream Review If you are of an age that you were aware of David Bowie’s body of work in 2016, then you can remember where you were when you heard of his passing. I was living in Lincoln, Nebraska at the time, and my now-husband had just left for Army boot camp on January 2nd. Bowie’s passing on January 10th came on the heels of Scott Weiland’s accidental overdose on December 3rd and just before Alan Rickman’s death on January 14th. To say I am a fan of these three men is an understatement, but Bowie’s death affected me the most deeply. Informing Heath, my partner, through a letter, that David Bowie had both released his new album and passed away, at the devastatingly young age of 69, was nothing short of surreal. But what is Bowie, if not surreal? Brett Morgen’s latest documentary, Moonage Daydream, captures that exact essence of David Bowie in all his beautiful complexity. Told entirely through concert footage, interviews, music videos and artistic home videos (although there should be a more extravagant word for what these videos actually are), Moonage Daydream has no interest in defining Bowie as a man; rather the film strives to create a space in which to meditate and bask in the influence of Bowie. More art piece than film, Moonage Daydream continually cycles back on itself, starting at the end with Bowie’s “Blackstar,” then traveling through his early years, the various tours that led him to Berlin, his reemergence after solitude, his years after meeting Iman, and then finally back to the beginning: the end. Using this style of storytelling, Morgen paints a picture of Bowie that is, at first, broad, then begins to take focus, then zooms back out. Moonage Daydream is the first officially sanctioned film on the artist, with Morgen having access to five million different items within Bowie’s estate. This allows the film to reach a depth that no other exploration of the artist has even begun to approach. But that doesn't mean Morgen is concerned with contextualizing who he thinks the man to be. Morgen’s work always presents itself more as a mood in which audiences can dwell in their own thoughts and relationship to the work. While watching this particular piece of art, I couldn’t help remembering my own upbringing which was soundtracked by Bowie from a very young age: whether that be through his music, watching the 1986 classic Labyrinth, adoring the Bowie-inspired-1998-film Velvet Goldmine, loving the work of Wes Anderson and Christopher Nolan’s 2006 The Prestige, and finally, getting to see the touring exhibit David Bowie Is back in 2018 at the Brooklyn Museum. While heavily invested and present during my screening of Moonage Daydream, Morgen granted me the privilege and solace to process my own personal reckoning with Bowie’s death, by crafting a magical two hours in which Morgen brings him back to life. Within this brief renaissance, Morgen does illustrate some form of narrative of Bowie’s life, but because Morgen doesn’t begin with Bowie’s childhood (rather his metaphorical death in “Blackstar”), he perpetuates the idea of Bowie as an ethereal being that was never born unto this world. Morgen’s Bowie seemingly just is, and as far as linear lifetimes go, that isn’t far from the truth. Bowie was already 21 when Morgen was born (similarly, 21 years later, when Bowie was 42, I was born) and Bowie’s debut, self-titled album was released the year prior to Morgen’s birth. So there is not a world in which Morgen existed without the presence of Bowie, no matter how small. There’s something to be said about that type of relationship with an entertainer, one that’s forged by the very nature of an artist creating in the world, but it’s undeniable that those types of bonds are tangible when a recording artist has become the soundtrack for one’s life, as undoubtedly Bowie’s music has for so many people. Morgen manages to capture that relationship so purely that Moonage Daydream can even act as a mirror by which to gauge your own life’s reflection and connection to the world. There are a few moments within the film where Morgen seems to entertain being interested in tethering Bowie to some sort of common, worldly understanding (within his relationship to his parents, especially his mother, and his capacity to engage with romantic love) but Morgen wisely steers away from any final resolution in those departments. Rather, Morgen’s inclusion of these types of interviews where Bowie is asked about these familial relationships only illuminates the general population’s desire to know Bowie, to understand him and make sense of him. Bowie’s concert attendees, from the very beginning, possess a Beatles-like fervor in their admiration of him that borders on insanity. The screaming, the crying, the quaking; it’s all there. But when asked why they like him, it’s simple. They like his makeup, his clothing, his music: they simply like what he is. And in Moonage Daydream, this is what Bowie is. The documentary wastes no time detailing how Bowie studied music, or how he came to write most of his albums. With the exception of a few montages of him in the studio in Berlin, or a scene detailing how he would write lyrics only to chop them up and sing them out of order, Bowie’s connection to his music is almost entirely a state of mind where he channels the music out of the very ground on which he stands. His nomadic search for himself, his new muse, his new talent, and his new sound is far deeper than merely learning how to play a guitar. Morgen spares us the how and instead treats us to the who. Mirrored in Bowie’s search for himself, throughout the course of his ever-changing career, Morgen’s own contextualization of sound and image also evolves over the course of the film. The audience can expect to see most of the footage repeat itself, at one point or another, while the music and Bowie’s inner-monologue continues in a linear fashion. Morgen manages to touch on a good deal of Bowie’s discography, but the music might not always match the “correct” footage. Instead of being disorienting, however, this use of repeated footage but showing the footage in a new, or deeper, context plays into our own interpretation of memory and sound. So, in that sense, Moonage Daydream is exactly that, a daydream in which our understanding of both Bowie’s life and our own can come together and align in a way that has never happened before. Morgen has created a capsule, not dissimilar to a sense deprivation tank, where Bowie and the audience are one, within the womb of Bowie. As the film draws to a close, and you find yourself approaching the “Blackstar” once again, you’ll begin to feel a deep sense of grief as you remember that the film does, in fact, have to end. Bowie’s already met Iman, he’s found some form of real connection to this mysterious place he called home, and now it’s time for him to depart. It’s a tragic, but gorgeous, end to a story that everyone already knew. Some artists truly do transcend this plane, sacrificing a part of themself that they’ll never get to benefit from as much as we get to. Brett Morgen, while making Moonage Daydream, suffered a near-fatal heart attack that resulted in a week-long coma..but he survived. He attributed his heart attack to smoking and lack of exercise, but also to his tendency to overwork. Not only is Moonage Daydream a love letter to the life and art of David Bowie, but it provided the opportunity for Morgen to reconcile with his own obsessive search for artistic achievement. He’s lucky in that in his own search, he could take solace in Bowie’s. Something happened on the day he died. I thank Brett Morgen for capturing an essence of him, very much alive. Bernadette Gorman-White Managing Editor Bernadette graduated from DePauw University in 2011 with a Film Studies degree she’s not currently using. She constantly consumes television, film, and all things pop culture and will never be full. She doesn’t tweet much, but give her a follow @BeaGorman and see if that changes.

To know Marcel is to love Marcel, and this hasn’t changed since 2010. After three beloved viral YouTube videos One - 2010, Two - 2011, and Three - 2014, Marcel has finally made it to the big screen with Dean Fleischer-Camp’s directorial debut. Fleischer-Camp, alongside co-creator, co-writer, co-producer, and star, Jenny Slate, mined some of their original videos and added more story, more context, and more heart to construct the film that has been tapping into waterworks everywhere: Marcel the Shell with Shoes On. If you’re familiar with Marcel, you know he’s a shell because you can tell by his body, but he also has shoes…and a face: and he likes that about himself. The Marcel in the YouTube videos is full of whimsical quips and observations about life that are insightful and infinitely quotable, and he easily appears to have a rich inner life. But what the film brings to the table is the question of who Marcel is in the context of the larger world. Where does Marcel live? Who’s his family? And who is this mystery voice recording Marcel’s day-to-day? The film answers all of these questions and more in its concise 90-minute runtime, and beautifully so, but where it surprises you is its layered commentary, and the ability to be enjoyable whether you see the layers or not. On the surface, Marcel is about appreciating the ongoing beauty and intricacies of life while enduring the pains of loss and grief. But existing underneath that surface (which is a very, very funny surface, I should add) are lessons on all kinds of topics ranging from divorce to online toxicity. These different layers enrich the film as a whole, but their recognition isn’t vital to enjoying the simplicity of its heartwarming message of love, community, and cherishing the beauty of everyday life. But if you’re looking to delve a little deeper into the histories of the filmmakers, Marcel has even more lessons to offer. You quickly learn in the beginning of the film that Marcel lives in a home that was once owned by a couple that have since broken up and have chosen to rent the home out on AirBnB. This couple, Larissa and Mark, split up amidst a series of screaming matches which leads to the majority of Marcel’s community (i.e. family) being hastily packed up, unbeknownst to and by Mark, and driven away to a new home. The film picks up two years after Larissa and Mark have split up. Additionally, the film begins because the documentarian shooting the film, Dean Fleischer-Camp playing a version of himself, and his wife chose to divorce. Dean moves into the AirBnB as a temporary living situation while he searches for a new home/apartment. Coming off of the mostly light-hearted YouTube series, this is a lot of divorce/heartbreak for the genesis of Marcel’s story. But, as a film that can, and should, be used to help guide children through other heavy subjects such as fear and death, why not also face the reality that roughly 50% of children witness their parent's divorce? Both Larissa and Mark and Dean and his ex-wife were childless couples, but Marcel faces the repercussions of Mark and Larissa’s split just as much as any child would. Because of Larissa and Mark’s explosive breakup and the resulting trauma, Marcel doesn’t have a frame of reference for a couple who have chosen to amicably uncouple until Dean moves in. As Marcel and Dean’s friendship strengthens, and Dean begins to share more of himself, Marcel comes to learn more of the adult world. Jenny Slate and the “real” Dean Fleischer-Camp themselves are a representation, by all appearances, of a healthy friendship nurtured after an amicable uncoupling. The pair married in 2012 and divorced in 2016. This return to Marcel the Shell as a creative project the two of them have shared in over the past decade is an excellent example of a healthy adult friendship. Even the Dean within the film chooses to comment on the dissolution of his (fictional, but probably real) relationship as mutual and healthy. This life lesson is obviously not the most important of the film, but it’s a hopeful one for fans of these two artists and an important one for both children and adults alike. Speaking of Jenny Slate’s real-world experiences, Marcel’s experience with the internet isn’t overwhelmingly positive. It’s a rarity that films shine a discerning spotlight on the toxicity of social media, as most film and television these days use social media more as a tool or a language to further plot and tone instead of honestly critiquing it. Not to say that every creator has a responsibility to critique its placement in our world; social media and the internet are such a daily part of life that it would be odd not to see them utilized in at least some way in a modern-day project. But, every once in a while you’ll get a project like Bo Burnham’s Eighth Grade (or, even more critically, Burnham’s Inside) that truly takes social media to task and makes us take a good hard look at just how frequently and easily we misuse the power at our disposal. Marcel isn’t concerned with going in as hard as Burnham’s works, but Marcel doesn’t shy away from passing judgment on the people who are only using him to further their own social status. When Dean posts a bit of his in-film documentary on YouTube, Marcel starts to gain popularity and stardom, so much so that when Marcel utilizes another YouTube video to gain intel on his missing family, Marcel’s “fans” go so far as to piece together the clues of where he lives to get that all-so-precious selfie in front of his house. Marcel makes note that the users all have something to say, but none of them are offering to help him in his cause. “This isn’t a community, it’s just an audience.” The online toxicity does come to a head at a certain point, but not before it elicits a physical response. This may be a bit of a stretch, but one can’t help but be reminded of Slate’s experience with social media on the receiving end of the critique regarding her relationship with Chris Evans. Bolstered by Evans’ “fans” who thought he could “do better,” Slate was thrown into a level of stardom that she had never experienced before, similarly to Marcel, eventually playing at least a small part in their breakup. Now, Marcel doesn’t experience anything quite like that, but the use of social media in the wrong hands does bring personal turmoil to Marcel, who is a perfectly wonderful little guy just trying to live his life the best way he knows how. Marcel isn’t the only one affected by this social media storyline either; in fact, possibly more affected (and the biggest story change from the original YouTube videos to the film) is his Nana Connie. Nana Connie, named after Slate’s own grandmother, is a catalyst for change in Marcel through this period in his life just as much as Dean’s arrival is. Connie, voiced wonderfully by Isabella Rossellini, seems to be modeled after Rossellini herself. (Slate has said in interviews they knew Rossellini was a big ask, and that she signed onto the project only after receiving encouragement from her children. Thank you, Elettra and Roberto!) Rossellini is most well-known for her roles in Blue Velvet and Death Becomes Her, but if you’ve paid attention to her work from 2008 on, you may be familiar with her Green Porno series. Green Porno is a comedic nature series of short films that aired on The Sundance Channel starting in 2008 (a number of them, along with subsequent series Seduce Me and Mammas, can now be found on, you guessed it, YouTube). The goal of the program, in Rossellini’s words, is to be both “entertaining and educational” while teaching viewers about animal sexual behavior and, in later series, animal mating and maternal rituals. If you’re keyed into the knowledge of Green Porno’s existence, learning about Nana Connie’s interests is even more endearing. Nana Connie loves to garden and take care of the insects in the garden. She has earned the insects’ trust, and in return, they help her with gardening tasks. Both Nana Connie and Isabella Rossellini are shining examples of Earth’s caretakers, teaching generations to come to follow in their footsteps by finding communion with their fellow organisms. These layers found within Marcel the Shell with Shoes On that bridge from the fantasy of the film to the reality of the filmmakers (the possibility of healthy uncoupling, a nuanced dissection of the perks and pitfalls of social media, and the call to care for the planet) are just three examples of the extra lessons to be learned within the film, at your own choosing. Ultimately, Marcel is an animated triumph that acts as a heart-on-its-sleeve comedy, but the manner in which Marcel, both the short and the feature, came to exist is impossible to ignore. Fleischer-Camp and Slate made the original short and first showed it at one of Fleischer-Camp’s comedy shows (where Slate jokes only 12 were in attendance), and afterward, an audience member asked if he would put it online so she could show it to her mom. Fleischer-Camp agreed, and thanks to the beauty of which the internet is possible, people bonded over the magic of Marcel. In the end, Marcel’s search for community isn’t so different from our own, and Marcel is an excellent guide to help get us there. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ Bernadette Gorman-White Managing Editor Bernadette graduated from DePauw University in 2011 with a Film Studies degree she’s not currently using. She constantly consumes television, film, and all things pop culture and will never be full. She doesn’t tweet much, but give her a follow @BeaGorman and see if that changes.

A Brief Love Letter to Apollo 10½: A Space Age Childhood It may come as no surprise to you that I was not born prior to 1969. As a child who was born twenty years later in 1989, my memories of the Apollo 11 moon landing were crafted from history lessons in primary school, and, years later, colored with the delightful Stanley Kubrick conspiracy theory (among several other conspiracy theories). Looking back at the event from an outsider’s perspective, one heavily coated with pop culture, it’s difficult to connect with the fact it ever truly happened at all; especially considering that man hasn’t been back on the moon since 1972. But in the course of those two eventful years, six missions did land men on the moon, and the children of that time were filled with a passion for exploration and knowledge, one that clearly bled into their very own hopes and dreams. Richard Linklater’s recent Netflix release, Apollo 10½: A Space Age Childhood, is a semi-autobiographical recollection of how it felt to be a kid at the time of the first moon landing, amid many other timely historical events such as the tumultuous friction of the Vietnam War juxtaposed against the carelessness of parental supervision (or lack thereof). While this specific subject matter covered a time I was not around to see, I couldn’t help but be transported back to my own childhood of playing in the street, fighting with my siblings over the remote, and fantasizing I was a local detective, always on the verge of cracking open a new case. With Apollo 10½, Linklater, while documenting a fixed span of time, has managed to capture a universal feeling of nostalgia, one that can easily permeate every generation of people. By coloring the moon landing through the eyes of his protagonist, an adult named Stan, narrating his memories from when he was a 10½ year old in 1969, Linklater paints an even more believable picture of the times than any historical records have ever imprinted on me. As a filmmaker, Linklater frequently returns to themes of childhood, the passing of time, and the question of purpose in order to craft a connection between artist and audience, and Apollo 10½ delivers on that relationship. It can easily be considered a companion piece to his prior work like Boyhood and Waking Life in that Linklater is also mining the gray area between process and product. In Apollo 10½, the adult narration of Stan (provided by legendary voice talent, and School of Rock / Bernie collaborator, Jack Black) introduces the audience to the world of Houston, TX in 1969: a town dominated by its inhabitants’ relationship to NASA and the space program (something Linklater also experienced as a child). The use of recollection of the events of that summer, and the months prior, helps to paint a picture of Stan and his family that can be viewed as fact or fiction, which adds to the film’s relatability even further. We all have memories of our childhoods that may or may not have happened, but in adulthood, the only thing that matters is the recollection of said events. Without delving too deeply into the specifics, Stan recounts his childhood prior to the moon landing in one defined metric: he single-handedly tested the specifics for the Apollo 11 mission because he was recruited by NASA to test-run their “slightly smaller than intended” test module prior to the Apollo 11 run (hence Apollo 10½). Stan is so convinced he played an integral part in the moon landing that he even recalls having to keep the classified mission secret from his family, leaving the actual Apollo 11 moon landing memory less than memorable: one he would even doze through. Linklater, through Stan, renders the factual evidence of the time nearly obsolete by his perception of the reality of the time, leaving the audience to also perceive time and memory through the lens of retrospection. What best aids Linklater in this realm between fiction and reality is his use of animation. Using a different application from his previous two animated works (Waking Life and A Scanner Darkly), where he filmed the films prior to post-production and animated overtop of the footage using the rotoscope technique, Apollo 10½ was filmed in front of a greenscreen. So, while the two aforementioned films were entirely rotoscoped, Apollo 10½’s people were filmed while its landscapes and buildings were completely digitally reimagined. This helps lend to its out-of-this-world believability. For instance, Houston’s very own Six Flags AstroWorld has been closed since 2005, but in Apollo 10½ (both on-screen and in-story), AstroWorld is still alive and well. Nobody discredits the truthful history of AstroWorld’s closing, but in order to recreate the location, Linklater no longer relied on the physical space still in existence in order to animate it on screen. His animation team has grown since Darkly’s 2006 animated venture, but also because he’s dealing in the realm of retrospection, he no longer needs to work in a realistic, tangible space. Is this, perhaps, sounding more and more like a fictionalized moon landing? (I doubt that’s Linklater’s intention… perhaps my own personal history with the moon landing is starting to come into play…maybe “Stan” would like to weigh in…) Regardless, my favorite aspect of Apollo 10½ is the focus on the Childhood of it all. As mentioned above, I didn’t find the specific late 60s of the plot to be a deterrent to my interaction with the overall piece and found myself frequently understanding exactly what the children were going through. Maybe it was because I came from a family of four children with limited means, or maybe it’s because I didn’t have a smartphone until 2007 (when I was a freshman in college), that I so identified with the children within the film, but I distinctly remember the joys of being “unplugged” and free to run around in the street, in the back of pickup trucks, and rampant in the neighborhood, all without the ability to “make contact” with adults until dinnertime. Perhaps that’s also what makes the connection to reality so tangible. To live was to live in reality as opposed to “in the cloud” or on the web. Although animated, Apollo 10½ feels more tangible than many live-action films in its ability to conjure fully realized memories of childhood, whether that be from 1969 or the mid-’90s (and hopefully from the 2010s on…although I don’t have much of a connection to that generation as of yet). I cannot speak to the scientific accuracy of Apollo 10½: A Space Age Childhood (especially with how fictionalized Stan’s account is - although it does sound fairly accurate), but what I can speak to is how the film made me feel. Linklater, Stan, and his entire family made me yearn for a simpler time, one in which the future seemed brighter, my adulthood seemed less an obligation, and my biggest question of the day was which ice cream flavor I wanted. If these qualities seem appealing to you, I encourage you to give Apollo 10½ a shot. Not only is the animation beautiful and the themes thought-provoking, but as any film made about the end of the 60s, it’s also got a bangin’ soundtrack. As a film lover, you never forget the first films to feature music from the 60s, and for me and countless others of my age bracket, movies like Forrest Gump and Now and Then were formative in my music appreciation. I can only hope that Apollo 10½ can hold that formative space in someone’s life. For that matter, I hope Apollo 10½ becomes one of those films for someone in their formative years now, scrolling through Netflix just as I used to browse my local video rental store, as a film that helps to instill a love for experimental animation and Linklater just as Waking Life did for me back in the early 2000s. Thanks to Linklater’s early work and my absolute obsession with his Before trilogy, I’ll always err on the side of support for Linklater’s artistic endeavors, but it's also rewarding to connect to his work on a genuine level. He has seemed to have missed his window for a fourth Before film, but his continued interest in approaching film through time (like his work over 12 years in Boyhood and his upcoming 20-year project, Merrily We Roll Along) will always keep me engaged in his method of filmmaking; always approaching a project through the lens of memory and growth. Just as Stan does, it’s easy to romanticize the past, but in doing so we can provide a salve for a troubling future, one in which we’re faced with the fear of the world not providing a space for us. Watching Apollo 10½: A Space Age Childhood feels like a warm hug, and despite its 50-year difference, it offers a hopeful outlook on life. If only for a few hours, Linklater offers a welcome reminder to take a trip to our youth to fully appreciate how far we’ve come, no matter how many small steps it’s taken along the way. Bernadette Gorman-White Managing Editor Bernadette graduated from DePauw University in 2011 with a Film Studies degree she’s not currently using. She constantly consumes television, film, and all things pop culture and will never be full. She doesn’t tweet much, but give her a follow @BeaGorman and see if that changes.

A Short Ranking of the Films I Watched at Sundance 2022 Ever since writing my Best Of 2021 list, my brain has been in ranking mode with pretty much everything, but especially with films. So when, January 24th through 27th, I got to watch some excellent Sundance screenings, my mind automatically rated them from most impactful to least (even though I told it not to!). I always go into each Sundance season (heh, the two seasons I’ve been able to attend their virtual festival) fairly naive to what the line-up has to offer. I tend to take the last two days before tickets go on sale to read the film descriptions, but I try to stay away from learning who’s in them and who’s directing them in order to best introduce myself to something new. But then, of course, the closer it gets to screening-time, the reviews and articles of available films begin to trickle in. So, sadly, I’m fully aware I missed a lot of other great films this time around. BUT, the films I did get to watch were absolutely fantastic, so I’d imagine the entire line-up was pretty spectacular. Out of my very small Sundance 2022 experience, I’d like to share my brief reviews (spoiler-free!) of the films I enjoyed.* *I was lucky to catch The Worst Person in the World outside of Sundance, so that film will not appear on this list. 5) Emily the Criminal If you’re a fan of Aubrey Plaza (who was in the photo on the film’s ticket page, so I couldn’t ignore it), Emily the Criminal won’t disappoint. Both Plaza and the brief synopsis, of a woman with a record struggling with debt who gets sucked into an underworld of LA credit card scams, sold me on the film. Plaza plays Emily (who’s from Newark, NJ, and has an incredible accent) with integrity and empathy, so much so that you can’t help but root for her even while she burrows deeper and deeper into her crime spree. Director and writer, John Patton Ford, perfectly captures the current climate of America; one where a large percentage of millennials feel as if they’ll never be able to climb out of a hole of debt, especially if they’ve made even just one mistake in their life. Told in a brief hour and a half, Emily the Criminal moves at just fast enough of a pace that keeps you hooked on the drama while also giving you enough time to really empathize with the very few, and different, characters it presents. It paints LA in a completely fresh way, thus giving me better insight into a culture different from my own, which I think is a necessary feat at this point in time. 4) Meet Me in the Bathroom Fashioned and inspired by Lizzy Goodman’s 2017 oral history of the same name that documents the rise of a new rock elite in New York from 2001 to 2011, Will Lovelace, Dylan Southern, and Andrew Cross’s Meet Me in the Bathroom gives the visuals to the soundtrack Goodman created. Sadly, the film only covers roughly a three-year span (the seminal years at the beginning of the book), but it truly soars in its ability to primarily tell the story of the NYC music scene with intimate, archival footage. With the help from band members from the likes of The Strokes, The Moldy Peaches, Interpol, TV on the Radio, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and LCD Soundsystem, Meet Me in the Bathroom acts as a perfect time capsule, not only of music at that time, but also of how the tragedy of September 11 changed NYC, and how those changes influenced so many crises today (including the ongoing gentrification/art discourse). While choosing to only cover these brief, tragic years helps to ground the film in a thematic manner, I can’t help thinking that I would have enjoyed this more as a limited series where the filmmakers could have completed the entire decade to help make the story of that time feel more like an LP rather than an EP. But I suppose if my main issue is that I wanted more of it, then that’s fairly tame as far as critique goes. 3) Resurrection I bought a ticket to Resurrection fairly last-minute, during the festival, after Sundance had released more second-screening tickets (as opposed to premiere tickets) available to the public. It was already getting a lot of interesting reviews, and after Rebecca Hall’s recent, and well-deserved, upward career praise, critics were already signaling that her performance was going to be one to watch this year. Resurrection also boasts the talent of Tim Roth, so that’s a pretty winning pair and a difficult one to pass up. The short of Resurrection is that it follows Margaret (Hall), a single mom raising a soon-to-be-college-aged daughter who is well respected at work and seems to be, overall, on top of her game. But when she begins to notice David (Roth), a man from her past, popping up again in her life, things begin to fall apart. A sharp, psychological thriller written and directed by Andrew Semans, Resurrection takes turns you won’t expect and features an ending that stuck with me for days. It’s a film that has truly nestled in my brain, and I look forward to the discussion it prompts in this coming year. 2) The Janes The underground, illegal-but-safe-abortion-providing ring of women in Chicago in the late 60’s/early 70’s, THE anonymous JANES, were honored with two films this year at Sundance. One is a fictional account starring Elizabeth Banks named Call Jane, and the other is a documentary by filmmakers Tia Lessin and Emma Pildes called The Janes. The Janes themselves are more than deserving of their recognition at this year’s festival. Similar to Meet Me in the Bathroom, The Janes features a decent amount of impressive archival footage, alongside a well-kept inventory of photographs and memorabilia (provided by the Janes), intercut with recent interviews of The Janes as they are now. These women (and a few, extremely lovable men - respect) tell the story of how Jane came to be and illustrate the path their organization took leading up to the decision made in Roe v. Wade. It’s a harrowing, detailed, inspiring story about community and basic human decency that is, tragically, just as timely now as it was then. These women are heroes, and The Janes is a necessary call to action. 1) You Won’t Be Alone Easily the most haunting film at Sundance this year was Goran Stolevski’s You Won’t Be Alone. Written and directed by Stolevski, who is of Macedonian and Australian descent, You Won’t Be Alone is a foreign film that transcends spoken language. Set in a 19th-century Macedonian village, You Won’t Be Alone begins when a female infant is chosen for transformation by an ancient and foreboding spirit. This leads to the child, Nevena, being set on a path that is even more isolating than the act of damnation itself, up until the true revelations begin. In You Won’t Be Alone, one soul is portrayed by multiple actors, holding a magnifying glass to just how rich and complex human life can truly be. Not only does You Won’t Be Alone resonate on a deeply personal and emotional level, but the film is also truly stunning. With some of the most visually affecting character and set design in recent years, Stolevski and team make the otherworldly seem historically accurate. (And if you can avoid temptation, I advise you don’t watch the trailer for this one, as I think it paints the film in a different tone than the one I experienced.) While I truly enjoyed all of the Sundance films I watched this year, I’m most excited for the world to see this one. You Won’t Be Alone is a rare, one-of-a-kind film that touches something deep in your soul you didn’t know you had. Bernadette Gorman-White Managing Editor Bernadette graduated from DePauw University in 2011 with a Film Studies degree she’s not currently using. She constantly consumes television, film, and all things pop culture and will never be full. She doesn’t tweet much, but give her a follow @BeaGorman and see if that changes.

Hi. I’m Jeremy. You may have seen me around this website on occasion. You may have seen me on a local film set. You may have also seen me at the theater. Speaking of, we got movie theaters back! Hoorah! It’s been wonderful slowly getting that sense of community and spectacle back into our lives again. As much as things have changed over the last two years, it’s nice to go back to that old comfortable aura of sitting in a large and dark space, letting a cinematic experience immerse you. Feels good man. A quick shout out to all the films that I did not get around to seeing that had the potential to make my list like The Tragedy of Macbeth, The Power of the Dog, One Shot, and West Side Story. The honorable mentions: Judas and the Black Messiah, The Paper Tigers, Bad Trip (this was also on my 2020 list while it legitimately came out this year, and it’s also still that good!), Raging Fire, Benedetta, Riders of Justice, Wrath of Man, Red Rocket, The Matrix Resurrections, The Green Knight, and New York Ninja On to the top 10! The Card Counter Paul Schrader continues his hot streak of lost and lonely men coming to terms with their own haunted past. Truly a wonderfully nuanced story of veteran trauma, continuously proving that Paul Schrader is still one of the best to ever put words to a screenplay. Drive My Car This is one of those that you have to let wash over you over time. Drive My Car is long and deliberately paced, but also an incredibly immersive and emotionally rewarding experience about processing grief, and love, and finding meaning in the art you create for yourself and others. Mad God Phil Tippett’s stop motion creations have always had a specific charm on me, from the ATATs in Empire to the ED-209 in Robocop. Their specific movements and flashes of personality within their faceless structures signaled a specific artistic flourish. I knew that creature was a Tippett creature. With Mad God, we are treated to an entire WORLD Tippett extracted out of his own mind 30 years in the making and it is truly inspiring. It's a total face-melting collage of brutal and breathtaking stop motion imagery. The Empty Man The Empty Man deserves more love and attention than it is currently getting. A two and a half-hour horror feature that’s primarily built on atmosphere, mystery, and mythology, there’s really nothing quite like it in the modern horror landscape. After its terrific opening (26 minutes until the title card!) it took me a while to get into its specific wavelength, but once I finally clicked, I clicked hard. The Empty Man was one of my earliest watches of 2021 and it has not left my head since. Dune: Part One With the constant onslaught of CGI-reliant blockbusters being thrown at us at a blistering rate, it’s so easy for us to take the art form of computerized visual effects for granted. For Dune to come along and bring back that sense of wonder, scale, and awe into a high-budget affair is commendable. Story Screen’s favorite Canadian Denis Villeneuve turns a dense text, believed to be unfilmable for 50 years (not for the lack of trying), into a palpable and gorgeous world that’s so easy to be hypnotized by. Desert power indeed. Malignant I had initially written off Malignant from its early advertisements. I had assumed James Wan was cashing in on the current Neo Giallo trend, but in actuality, Warner Brothers just had no idea how to market this beast of a film. Malignant is one such beast. Saying any more will ruin the surprise it has in store for you, but once you do seek it out, you may not quite be ready for the rug it pulls out from under you. The Last Duel Film is an exquisite form of visual art in terms of showcasing subjective perspective (I’ve written about this in the past with Gone Girl ) and this idea is explored in such an effective and bleak manner in The Last Duel. You are presented with a story of an unspeakable act from three different perspectives. The details shift, there are changes in the most subtle of places. A simple glance in one perspective has a completely different context in another. The Last Duel is a powerful grasp and showcase of direction, performance, tone, and editing. Bravo. Titane Titane is a dizzying whirlwind of violence, debauchery, sex, fire, love, and, well…cars. Julia Ducournau sharpens her unique sense of style and pace utilizing aspects of New French Extremity, and body horror reminiscent of Cronenberg (both of them) to create a surprisingly touching story of two profoundly disturbed people finding comfort and peace within each other. Titane is a tremendous and original watch. Pig “They don’t care about you, none of them. They don’t even know you because you haven’t shown them. Every day you wake up and there’ll be less of you. You live your life for them and they don’t even see you. You don’t even see yourself. We don’t get a lot of things to really care about.” One of our finest living actors, Nicolas Cage, starring as one of the best-written characters he’s ever played, in one of his best and quietest performances he’s ever done. A film as appetizing as the cooking it displays. One of the best films about revenge I’ve ever seen. Licorice Pizza I’m admittedly a tad late to the PTA party, but Licorice Pizza simply dazzled me. It feels like hazy and nostalgic memories directly extracted from the brain and put to the screen. A film of pure energy and momentum not exactly about love, but the desperation to feel loved. Every time Cooper Hoffman had a mannerism that reminded me of his late father, I held back tears. Licorice Pizza gave me such a rush of joy, excitement, and heart that I can’t help but crown it at the very top. Follow me on Letterboxd for more spicy opinions. Jeremy Kolodziejski Jeremy is younger than he looks, and has passionately studied the art and craft of filmmaking for as long as he can remember. He is currently a freelance wedding videographer and is also heavily involved in Competitive Fighting Games. You can follow him on Instagram @prof_k.o

It’s a strange thought to remember there were many a discussion questioning if we would be blessed with a year’s worth of film discourse in 2021. But in fact, this year’s list (for me, personally) was the most difficult one to write thus far. Some of the chosen films were so good that they chose me, while others ran up and down the rankings multiple times before landing in their final spot. And that tenth spot? That tenth spot almost could have been 20 other movies. (And perhaps in a revisit in a year, the order will have changed once again.) What struck me most while choosing these specific films, however, was their distinct connection in their relationship with communication. I suppose you could say all films, all stories, all…well, art is about communication at its very foundation. But I feel these films in particular shine a light on a wide array of different types of communication among characters, emotions, and audiences. Instead of elaborating further, let me just tell ya… 10) Stephen Karam’s The Humans I am a New York transplant, so I can never claim to understand the true pain of what it was like to live within the physical realm of 9/11. Living in the midwest, the reality of the Twin Towers falling was a tragic story we followed in the news more than anything else. But since moving to NY, I’ve come in direct contact with people who had lost someone, some many, on that day. The tragedy is grounded here, just as it is in The Humans. Set in a Chinatown apartment, The Humans’ humans (the Blake family + 1) join together for a Thanksgiving dinner in daughter Brigid Blake and her boyfriend’s new place. The pipes ding, the floors creak, and there’s just generally not a good aura about the place; but is that the residence or is that the people? I was pleased to read many other critics were categorizing this as a horror instead of family drama (or at least a hyphenation of the two), because the reason this movie works is, in part, due to the Blakes’ fears, and the more frightened they become, the more frightening the film is. Coupling religion with family baggage and terrifying tales of nightmares, The Humans is a meditation on loss and fear of change. It also happens to be about trauma (generational, religious, societal, psychological), but I felt it most to be a love letter to the people of New York who have been suffering since 2001, urging them to seek communion and conversation to help shed their collective trauma. Originally performed as a play in 2015, Stephen Karam adapts his stage play for the screen in brilliant fashion, all the while crafting perhaps the best horror film of 2021. 9) David Lowery’s The Green Knight Of these top 10 films, my enjoyment of The Green Knight suffered the most from the dreaded Covid release delay. Because the hype train ran for SO LONG prior to its release, the buzz surrounding the film almost eclipsed the film itself: the operative word being almost. Not to say I didn’t enjoy the film as I was watching it, but I had been saddened to feel the film leave my mind so quickly. That being said, The Green Knight is a feat of adaptation and design, and as I returned to the film for the purpose of this list, my enjoyment of the film was rebirthed. The Arthurian legend of Sir Gawain and The Green Knight is a fairly well-known Arthurian tale, as well as fiercely beloved, that has now found itself magicked for the screen by the wizard, David Lowery, himself. Colored in rich hues of green and medieval brown, The Green Knight tells the tale of King Arthur’s nephew, Gawain, accepting a quest to, upon delivering a blow upon The Green Knight, receive the same blow one year hence. Throughout the year, his trepidation grows, despite his enjoyment of the fame the quest has brought him. As the film progresses, the realism wanes more and more until a fever dream of a conclusion brings this tale of “will he, won’t he” to a satisfying close, all the while stoking the fires of the question: who is The Green Knight? And who’s telling the tale? 8) Edson Oda’s Nine Days I walked out of my solo Nine Days viewing thinking I may have just watched the best movie of the year. If I had to attribute a reason as to why it fell slowly towards this end of the ten, I’d have to confess that its rewatch value gave me pause. Nine Days is a heavy film. Heavy, but devastatingly beautiful and wholly original. Superstar Winston Duke stars as Will, a former human who now exists in the realm in which souls are chosen from pools of candidates vying for a spot on planet Earth. Will is one of the conveyors whose job is to host a nine-day interview process where one lucky soul will be picked to make the transition into human life. The souls who don’t make the cut will then fade into non-existence. Will, however, dedicates his non-life to nurturing these wandering souls into their eventual obsolescence by providing them each with a favorite “memory” to experience before they go. The scenes in which the souls depart this world are some of the most hauntingly heartfelt moments I’ve ever experienced in a cinema. If I were a soul in the realm of Nine Days, and Will were to concoct a favorite memory for me to experience before I passed, getting to watch Edson Oda’s portrayal of souls experiencing bliss wouldn’t be too far off. 7) Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s Drive My Car (screenplay by Hamaguchi and Takamasa Oe) You simply can’t talk about communication in film without talking about Drive My Car. Not only is Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s film an international feature film and an adaptation of a Haruki Murakami short story, but within the film itself, protagonist Yūsuke is adapting Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya in a production where the actors on stage speak different languages (with some of the actors not understanding the languages their fellow actors are speaking). At face value, Drive My Car follows Yūsuke as he navigates sequential tragedies throughout his life, but at its core, Drive My Car is about learning to overcome your failures of communication, and to tear down the barriers we put up to protect ourselves. Unfamiliar with the source material, I was able to watch Drive My Car with very little foreknowledge, so I was able to take in what the film offered to me without any preconceived notions of intent or direction. It was like a Sunday drive through unfamiliar countryside. At nearly three hours, the pacing is perfect, and I found its style to be the most intriguing of the year (many a time throughout the course of the film I found my mind wandering to other pieces of art and beauty, and the film not only allows for this but actively encourages it in its shot design and structure). I’m a sucker for a story that seems as if it continues long after the credits roll, and Hamaguchi painted a picture so vivid I’m inclined to believe that the storied bright red Saab is still cruising around the streets of Hiroshima and beyond. 6) Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch In another wonderful 2021 film, The Worst Person in the World, a character laments the period in his life where he reached a point when art (films, music, comics, etc.) didn’t, couldn’t, imprint on him in the same way that works such as these had once imprinted on him in his youth and early adulthood, but that transition didn’t stop him from chasing that spark of connection time and time again. This is how I had been feeling with Anderson’s recent work; while I still enjoyed his films in the era of Moonrise Kingdom and beyond, I worried I’d never feel that connection I had felt with films like The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou or Rushmore ever again. That was until The French Dispatch dropped on my doorstep. The French Dispatch (of the Liberty, Kansas Evening Sun) is a love letter to a great many things: journalism, storytelling, legacy, but most of all, people. People are infinitely fascinating (for the most part), and we all just want to connect and be a part of each other’s stories. The act of reporting on said stories is an exaltation of the human condition. We all strive to retain a nugget of our own personal truth (am I really here, and what proves I am?) while allowing ourselves to be weathered and refined by our fellow man. The French Dispatch contains all of the Andersonisms Wes-heads have come to know and love (note to self: trademark “Wes-head”), with Anderson’s style becoming even more polished in its exponential growth. I laughed, I cried, I mourned with the staff of The French Dispatch. Wes Anderson’s done it again. 5) Julia Ducournau’s Titane Save for my favorite film of the year, I don’t think I felt more excitement during a viewing than when I watched Titane. Similar to the other car film previously mentioned, Drive My Car, I went into Titane with limited knowledge, not knowing the scope of the film’s story. Obviously, I knew the lead, Agathe Rousselle’s Alexia, has sex with a car. That was as far as I got in the car owner’s manual, and I’m pleased I hadn’t read any further. Julia Ducournau made waves with 2016’s Raw, which is nearly perfect except for dropping the ball, in my opinion, in its exploration of university hazing culture. But here, Ducorunau’s skills are even sharper in weaving Titane’s A story of Alexia’s complex relationship with bodies and homicidal tendencies, and its B story of Adrien’s coming-of-age connection to his pseudo-father. If all of this sounds like assorted car parts, good; you should keep it that way until you watch the film. Out of my top ten films this year, Titane was my favorite one to discuss, constantly unearthing differing, and still-could-be-correct, opinions, theories, and conclusions. The film looks, sounds, and breathes great: because if a car can have sex, a film can breathe, right? Titane lives up to its name: pure strength. 4) Leos Carax’s Annette (music by Sparks: lyrics by Ron and Russell Mael, and Leos Carax) If there’s any film on this list that is a 100%, bonafide “Bern Movie,” it’s gotta be Annette. Also featured in Edgar Wright’s 2021 documentary, The Sparks Brothers, Ron and Russell Mael, have been having an electric year (already coming hot off of their critically acclaimed 2020 album, A Steady Drip, Drip, Drip). Annette tells the tragic story of Henry and Ann, a provocative stand-up comedian (my favorite Adam Driver performance this year) and a heralded opera singer (Marion Cotillard), and their daughter (the titular Annette), throughout the many tragedies their familial structure attempts to withstand. To further delve into their story would be to rob the uninformed reader of this wild ride, but I can’t stress enough how much I think this is mandatory viewing for fans of Sparks, fans of Leos Carax, but, mostly, fans of Adam Driver. Clearly, Driver’s star has been rising for a good many years now (“Outer…Space!”), but this is a top-five performance in his career so far (and that’s with three performances under his belt in this year alone). I so badly wish to divulge more of this fantastic story to you, dear reader, to entice your viewership, but I also want you to go in as blind as possible. Stare into the abyss with Annette; you won’t regret it. 3) Sean Baker’s Red Rocket (screenplay by Sean Baker and Chris Bergoch) Sean Baker’s at it again. This special director films people, especially working class (and, in this case, working ass) people, in such a genuine and sincere way that, if it weren’t for how well-structured the fictional story is, would fool you into believing you were watching a documentary. Rarely do films resonate with me on such a familiar level as his works do. I recently traveled back home to southeastern Indiana for the holidays, and while I didn’t go out much (hello, we’re still in a pandemic), several non-masked individuals managed to strike up brief conversations with Heath and me, and nearly all of these reckless individuals could have been characters in Red Rocket. It reminded me that when you’re out in the midwest, people do tend to be overwhelmingly friendly…at least to your face. Behind closed doors, you know you probably wouldn’t agree on most topics of government or politics, but they’ll kindly wish a happy holiday and thank you for helping them find the seltzer in the grocery store (because we were targeted as people who would probably know where the seltzer was…and they were right). Red Rocket stars ex-porn star, Simon Rex, as…an ex-porn star. Rex’s Mikey Davies (aka Mikey Saber) returns home, from LA to Texas, down on his luck and hoping to stay with his wife and mother in law, Lexi (Bree Elrod) and Lil (Brenda Deiss). But, they don’t really have a choice, and Mikey just does what he always does, lies and schemes until he gets what he wants. And sadly, this behavior begins to bleed over to his new, teenage girlfriend (Strawberry, played by a captivating Suzanna Son) as he begins to groom her too. But, by the time you get to the end of the story, you start to wonder if Mikey wasn’t groomed at some point himself. Red Rocket may sound like a downer of a movie, but it’s got so much humor (laugh-out-loud-multiple-times kinda humor) and charm that you instantly wanna rewatch it as soon as it’s over. And the cycle of abuse continues… 2) Denis Villeneuve’s Dune: Part One (screenplay by Denis Villeneuve, Jon Spaihts, and Eric Roth) I know that Dune: Part One is in second place on my list, which implies I should have a lot to say about it, right? Well, I do, and for one, I think it’s an amazing film. Just like with other Denis Villeneuve projects in the past, he has managed to adapt an unthinkable project into a phenomenal film. There are only a handful of filmmakers right now who are true masters of the craft of blockbusters: who completely understand the tenuous and important bond between scope and story, and Villeneuve absolutely gets it. Just as he had done with Arrival and Blade Runner 2049, he has proven, yet again, that he is THE preeminent sci-fi director at the moment. The only thing I didn’t enjoy about Dune: Part One was the immediate, irrational fear I developed, after finishing the film, that Dune: Part Two won’t live up to the perfection of the first. Other than that, I am still in awe of its beauty and the carefully crafted characters that graced the screen (although, if I’m honest, this is the worst of the three Timothée Chalamet performances of the year…but that’s not saying much, because Chalamet had an excellent year). I could go on about how much I loved Dune: Part One, but I have a sneaking suspicion that this one will be discussed on the Story Screen Presents Best of 2021 podcast. So, I’ll save my voice for now. 1) Janicza Bravo’s @zola (screenplay by Janicza Bravo and Jeremy O. Harris, based on tweets by Aziah “Zola” King, @_zolarmoon) “Y’all wanna hear a story about why me & this bitch here fell out???????? It’s kinda long but full of suspense.” It was the tweet heard ‘round the world, and now it’s landed a spot as my favorite film of the year. I had known of the infamous tweet thread back when it had gone viral, so when I learned of Janicza Bravo taking the story to the screen (thank you, dear GOD, that James Franco had this taken away from him), I was instantly intrigued. And this film does. not. disappoint. Told over the course of one sadistic weekend, the Zola story is the infamous tale of an on-and-off-again dancer, Zola (played with aplomb by Taylour Paige), agreeing to join fellow dancer, Stefani (a plucky Riley Keough), on a trip to Tampa to score some major coin. The plan is to dance, rinse, repeat, and go home. But the trip turns into a pimp-induced, messy sexcapade that Zola just did not sign up for. Colman Domingo (as X, the pimp) and Nicholas Braun (Stefani’s boyfriend, Derrek - all hail Cousin Greg!) round out the main cast. This, especially if you’re familiar with the tweet thread, should be all the pitch you need to like, rt, comment, and follow. What Bravo achieves in @zola’s speedy, 90-minute runtime is the most fun I had in a theater all year long (and that was with watching both Spider-Man: No Way Home and The Green Knight with the expressive, rowdy Story Screen fam as well). Bravo uses a barrage of tweet notification dings, repetition, fourth-wall breaks, and swiping transitions to immerse you in the social media world of @zola, and while this style of editing isn’t necessarily new, it certainly is one of the most cognizant mergers between the two medium. @zola is an absolute blast, and in the ever-blending worlds of life, social media, and filmic representations, it is a masterclass in moving forward in cinema. It also manages to tell a story about the world of sex work while never passing judgment onto the work itself, just onto the “messy” and dangerous people who deal in sex trafficking. Similarly to Red Rocket, @zola paints a picture of real people and real life that rarely gets a cinematic spotlight. Bravo’s keen eye and ear take a series of 140-character tweets and give Aziah King’s embellished weekend out the true coin it deserves. ******************** So, here’s to 2021 and the stories it told. They keep speculating that the theater experience may die, but just as people have, cinemas have tapped into a resilience all their own to weather those speculations. But please, don’t forget, it’s up to us to show our support for our local indie cinemas. In 2022, go out, watch a movie, and buy some concessions while you’re at it; we gotta keep these stories coming. Bernadette Gorman-White Managing Editor Bernadette graduated from DePauw University in 2011 with a Film Studies degree she’s not currently using. She constantly consumes television, film, and all things pop culture and will never be full. She doesn’t tweet much, but give her a follow @BeaGorman and see if that changes.

Pablo Larraín’s most recent film, Spencer, has a lot to live up to. As the markedly apt saying goes, when it rains it pours, and these past few years have been rife with interpretations of Princess Di, the Princess of Wales, the former Lady Diana Spencer. For the past two seasons, Emma Corrin has represented the younger Diana, on Netflix’s The Crown, documenting the events leading to her betrothal to Prince Charles as well as the tumultuous years of their doomed marriage. In fact, the series finale of season four (Corrin’s final season playing Diana) ends at the famed Sandringham Estate where, during another Christmas, Prince Philip implores that Diana heeds her oath to the crown and try to maintain both her marriage and civility to the family. It’s difficult In that sense, for those who watch The Crown, for Spencer to stand on its own, and even more difficult to accept Spencer’s ethereal premise. For those who can separate the two works of fictionalized history (or three for that matter, if you also count the recent musical, Diana, which premiered on the stage in 2019), Spencer is largely rewarding for the warped fairy tale it presents and claims to be. The opening credits set the scene, detailing that this is a fable based on true events as opposed to an accurate account of Diana’s decision to leave the royal family. We first find Diana (an exquisitely focused Kristin Stewart) on her way to Sandringham Estate for Christmas with the royal family, stalling for time as she knows that once she arrives, she’s going to be back under the microscope again, with every move she makes becoming fodder for royal and tabloid critique. The eerie, psychological mood-building the first act sets up is the Christmas pud in which the film bakes, with each subsequent scene easing you into Diana’s deteriorating psyche. Larraín’s film isn’t concerned with feeding you the facts of what has led Diana to this particularly painful Christmas holiday, so if you aren’t aware of the history of the royal family, it truly does read as a princess story gone wrong, asking what would happen if the prince, and all of the royal rewards, turned sour. But it can also translate as a story about modern divorce (scratch the tiara and pearls) and what it means to choose yourself and your children instead of the family who no longer serves you. The film cleverly can eject itself from history entirely, depending on the viewer. The film is also clever in its depiction of Diana’s relationship to the common man, whether that’s Darren, the head royal chef, or her royal dresser, Maggie (a delightful surprise in Sally Hawkins). Diana emotionally identifies as more common than royal, despite being born into British nobility, and Spencer argues this rift has driven her mad over the years, seeping into her very tether to the living world. In so much, she’s even driven to hallucinating other royal family members from years gone by. If that sounds like your cup of tea, then this otherworldly connection will only strengthen your admiration for the film. And if that type of surrealism isn’t necessarily for you, you can also choose to eject from those hallucinations as well, choosing to read them as mere poetic license that helps to elevate Princess Diana’s very grounded feelings of anxiety and paranoia. Aside from the macabre tonal shifts in reality, Spencer both sounds and looks great. Scored masterfully by Jonny Greenwood (who can stand on his own, but is most often recognized as Radiohead’s lead guitarist), the narrative weaves through moody fog and well-lit estate hallways as if the music grows from the very lawns of Norfolk itself. You’re never quite sure if Diana’s woes are ever as powerful as they are at Sandringham, where the juxtaposition of expected holiday mirth and reality-driven familial obligation are at their strongest, and the music helps to sell that confusion. That score, mirrored upon the beautiful countryside of Norfolk, convinces any given audience member that this is the land of fantasy: one that can no longer be fully treated as our own reality. What is needed to help pull the narrative back to Earth, and draw you back to some form of history, is the clothes, and costume designer Jacqueline Durran succeeds in every single facet of Spencer. Arguably, outside of Diana’s grace and philanthropy, the most lasting impression she had on the modern royal family’s representation was her style, and it appears Spencer’s biggest focus was to replicate Lady Di’s facade. The ending of the film is poetic, certainly, but one can’t help but feel that the conclusion of the film reads like a fashion show. Beautiful to watch, and iconic in scope, it just can’t help but feel a bit like a modern-day perfume ad. All of that pacing and structure aside, Durran’s work on dressing not only the royal family, but the entire antfarm of employees who keep the royal family dressed and fed is a feat in itself, and I hope she’s rewarded come Oscar nomination season. (Between The French Dispatch, Dune, House of Gucci, The Green Knight, et al, the costume design category will be seeing more than its fair share of competitors this year.) While all of these triumphs in the production of the film are admirable, the film has garnered considerable praise for Stewart’s performance, which is undeniable. Her Diana, however, is tinged with confusion and, what the film seems to judge as, weakness. While she struggles with her bulimia and growing distrust of nearly everyone around her, the film somehow glamorizes her plight with cool jewel tones, wide-angle shots, and longing glances from Stewart herself. Stewart completely nails this particular character analysis (not to say that the acting choices are far-fetched in the context of the film, far from it), but if you choose to start weaving the film’s story-book-gone-wrong tone with that of the wretched reality of Diana’s grooming to fail, there’s a severe disconnect. In the final shot of the film, we see Diana peering across the Thames with a twinkle in her eye, but only for a split second. She has freed herself from the jail cell within her mind, but she’s quickly reminded that she will never be free from the family she married into and the magnifying glass from which she’ll always run. But before those closing scenes (that of mother and children fleeing Norfolk and enjoying a casual meal bridgeside), the film crescendos in a moment of freedom that contradicts the judgment and stigma the writing and direction seem to place on mental illness. Spencer wants so desperately to free Diana from her ailments, but it can’t see that in doing so, she becomes more myth than human, more fantasy than flesh and blood. And because the two truly can’t be separated in our reality, her story seems stunted in both. A moody, ethereal royal nightmare, Spencer truly is, but the question of “too soon” or necessity looms large. While Spencer is an enthralling character study, its lack of empathy with Diana’s inner struggles stunts the conversation surrounding mental illness. Sympathy abounds, but without the deeper analysis of crown and country, the men who wrote and directed Spencer trap Diana in a box much too small. She was the people’s princess after all. To reduce her to something as simple and moody as mental complexity is to imply that something within her was intrinsically wrong, something from which she should be freed and stripped. And for a woman who was already stripped of so much, it’s unfair to rob her of her humanity too. Bernadette Gorman-White Managing Editor Bernadette graduated from DePauw University in 2011 with a Film Studies degree she’s not currently using. She constantly consumes television, film, and all things pop culture and will never be full. She doesn’t tweet much, but give her a follow @BeaGorman and see if that changes.

2021 marks 15 years since the release of 2006’s X-Men: The Last Stand. This movie was the final installment in the original X-Men trilogy and the biggest legacy of this movie is it took five years and a soft reboot to save the franchise. So what didn’t work and why did this movie get such a bad reputation? The first and biggest issue is that the source material it was trying to adapt isn’t conducive to film. The arc known as the “Dark Phoenix Saga,” came out after five years of build-up and storytelling. So many moving parts were in play prior to this story, and film is not the right medium to capture this. Comic books are an incredibly serialized medium with decades of continuity. A good comparison is something like an old-fashioned soap opera. In both, decades pass and the characters never really deviate too far from their original concept. Characters can die and come back, characters get rapidly aged or de-aged, or they can look completely different. Television is the only format that comes close to approximating the storytelling in comic books. Films take much longer to produce and they usually need to tell a story in a finite amount of time. Disney has adapted the serialized nature of comics to great success in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Every year, 1-3 movies will come out, and plots are raised and resolved much later. This long-form serialized storytelling method was mastered in the comic book format by none other than longtime Uncanny X-Men writer, Chris Claremont. Claremont wrote the X-Men for sixteen years. During his time, he redefined the genre of superhero fiction and produced some of the most critically acclaimed superhero comics of our lives. In particular, the one from which this movie takes its material…the “Dark Phoenix Saga.” At face value, the 1980’s “Dark Phoenix Saga” seems like it could be a sexist story about how a woman cannot handle power/agency. Not long before this arc, founding X-Man Jean Grey (AKA Marvel Girl) had been transformed into the immensely powerful Phoenix. However, the reason Jean goes “evil” and becomes the Dark Phoenix has less to do with her inability to cope with her newfound powers, and more to do with the machinations of the men around her. She is implied to have been sexually assaulted by the sleazy villain Mastermind and used by the evil capitalist villains the Hellfire Club. The world around her was just not ready to deal with a woman with such power and proceeded to break her. This movie version takes the surface-level approach where Jean Grey is a side character in what should be her movie. The original Fox X-Men movies centered around Wolverine above everyone else. The story of the struggles and pain of Jean Grey is meant to motivate the male hero. We see how hard this is for Wolverine, while Jean mostly has to wear black contacts and look tortured. The other issue this movie has is trying to adapt a second, different, story arc, from 30+ years after “Dark Phoenix.” That arc is Joss Whedon’s “Gifted” arc of Astonishing X-Men. This arc covers the concept of a “cure” for being a mutant. So in addition to taking on a nine-issue arc that had almost five years of serialized build-up, this movie attempts a completely different storyline with a completely different cast. The movie was set up to fail, with only one hour and 44 minutes to handle what should have been a season’s long arc on television. The movie also attempts to introduce far too many new characters for the third installment of a franchise. Kelsey Grammar’s Beast, who in the comics is a founding member of the team, is finally introduced and given center-stage. Ben Foster’s Warren Worthington III/Angel is also a founding X-Man who comes in to promptly show off the special effects of having large wings. Additionally, the show also continues the tradition of throwing in B and C-List X-Men characters as wordless cameos only to kill them off or recast them in successive movies. With a budget of $210 million dollars, this movie was the most expensive film ever made when it came out. The bloated amount of special effects and characters only goes on to underserve the characters who should be the film’s focus. Through an odd twist of fate, the same writer, Simon Kinberg, would get a second chance to redo this adaptation years later in 2019’s Dark Phoenix. The penultimate outing for the Fox-owned X-Men franchise before the official Disney takeover, Dark Phoenix, served to mostly...exist. It was the fairly uninspired final outing for this series and everyone realized that maybe, just maybe, this story can’t be done justice in film. Outside of film, the story has been adapted twice for animation. In X-Men: The Animated Series we get possibly the closest to a comics-accurate adaptation, done in 22-minute installments over the course of a season. Wolverine and the X-Men, the most recent X-Men cartoon, attempts a happy medium between the film version and the comics version. It’s unknown what tactic the Marvel Cinematic Universe will take now that Disney has acquired Fox, but we do know that they have two failed attempts at this iconic story to give them pause on where to proceed next. But then again, the recent hit show WandaVision stole the idea and copied it to enormous success! Marco Rummo Marco is a comedian, writer, and underemployed New Yorker trying to make it in this damn world. He enjoys fruitlessly pursuing love on dating apps and keeping track of all of the movies he’s seen on Letterboxd.

I suppose this is the preamble of the list where I make comments on how strange and different the year 2020 was. Well, yeah, it was, and now we’re here, the part of the list where I say, “Thank God for movies!” And, yes, thank God for them. Of course. But also, here we are, at another point in my list where I say… Ya know, I love movies, but if 2020 gave me anything, it was a newfound appreciation for, literally, anything-other-than-screens. It may be insensitive (and I understand how lucky I am), but I’ve told pretty much anyone who’s asked that 2020 was fairly good to me. Granted, we here at Story Screen Beacon were furloughed as far as the physical cinema went, but we took those kernels and made some VERY successful popcorn out of a Drive-In, and, ya know...that was a lot of fun. And, outside of work, I spent so much more time with my husband (Heath) and my pets; I got to help Heath finish so many household renovations (inside and out of the house), and I really cemented my fitness routine (I ran 193.1 miles in 2020...what?). It had been a long time since I had stepped out of that dark, cinema bubble and while I love that bubble, distance can make the proverbial heart grow fonder and, also, more appreciative of the films that really, truly, speak to you. I’ve seen A LOT of great cinema this year, but without the constant discourse I’m used to, it allowed some breathing room to solidify just what makes a “Bern 2020.” (And if I’ve left out your favorite film of the year, I can assure you, without a doubt in my mind, that film just missed the cut at “number 11.” “Number 11”s ad infinitum.) 10) i’m thinking of ending things i think in almost any other year, charlie kaufman’s i’m thinking of ending things would have ranked higher, but this isn’t just any ole year. i’m thinking of ending things is right up my alley (stellar acting, complex narrative, wallpaper), but more than anything, it reminds me of how i felt as a pre-teen when i first started developing my own personal cinematic tastes. (these types of films don’t come along super often, and i think i felt it last while watching 2017’s thoroughbreds; that’s what makes them so special.) kaufman is the type of filmmaker that can enter a cluttered space in my brain, decorated with malkovich timelines and lacuna inc. pamphlets and say, “you know, i’ll make some room here.” in terms of filmmaking, i’m thinking of ending things is a real treat, starting seemingly normal enough before taking a quick turn into the surreal and descending into an ominous madness. jessie buckley and jesse plemons star as a couple (supposedly) traveling back home in order for the latter to introduce the former to the parents, but you never quite get a handle on just who the former and, especially, the latter are. but the mystery isn’t even necessarily the point of the film. as the two jess(i)es participate in a wrestling match of the mind, toni collette and david thewlis dazzle as the confused parents, and the waters just get muddier and muddier. and they never unmuddy as they approach a crescendo of dance and stage design and old gymnasiums and the questions multiply until you’re left out in the cold in an old pickup, picking up the pieces. if you haven’t yet watched i’m thinking of ending things, log in to netflix and give it a shot. byo head-scratcher and opinions. (and once you’re finished, check out our hot takes episode where we don’t get any closer to answers, but we have a damn good time tryin’.) 9) One Night in Miami... Regina King is a gift that just keeps on giving. Her directorial debut, One Night in Miami... is one epic night indeed. Adapted for the screen by Kemp Powers (a busy man who also co-penned/directed Pixar’s Soul), One Night in Miami... is based on his very own stage play by the same name. Taking place (mostly) during a fictional account of one evening where four very real, and very prominent, Black Power Players meet in 1964 to discuss how to proceed in the Civil Rights Movement, the events in Miami couldn’t feel any more prescient. (And boy, I cannot wait until I never have to make a statement like that again.) The four players in Miami are Malcolm X, Cassius Clay, Sam Cooke, and Jim Brown, and while I could just use this space to endlessly praise Regina King (I could do it, you know), I gotta talk about the performances, because while the entire film is masterful, the performances are truly incredible and are the reason this film cemented a spot on this list. Kingsley Ben-Adir, Eli Goree, Leslie Odom Jr., and Aldis Hodge (blink twice, because you just saw this chameleon in Leigh Whannell’s inventive The Invisible Man) are the four men who embody the four leads, respectively, and even though I’ve only had a few days to sit with this film before writing this list, I can’t get these performances out of my mind. Now, this is the first time I’m gonna open myself up to you, dear reader, but I have yet to see Spike Lee’s 1992 film Malcolm X (I know, I know) so I’m not familiar with Denzel’s performance. But I DID watch Hulu’s High Fidelity, and I’ll tell you I was excited to research who this Kingsley Ben-Adir character was and was shocked to find that I had just watched him play Mac opposite Zoë Kravitz’s Rob. I’ll also tell you I’ve never seen 2001’s Ali (sorry, Will). So, I suppose Ben-Adir and Goree are my first introductions to portrayals of these epic men, and I’m glad for it. But it was Hodge’s quiet and strong interpretation of Jim Brown and Odom Jr.’s intellectual read of Sam Cooke that really had me on the ropes. If you’re familiar at all with Cooke’s work, it’s no surprise when (redacted) is the song of choice for the close of the film. But that foreknowledge doesn’t take away the weight (redacted) had on my heart. Remember when I mentioned I was learning to cry in public back in 2019’s “Best of” list? Well, now I’m just crying at home a lot, and that DEFINITELY happened at the end of One Night in Miami... (and a lot of other nights too, but we won’t talk about those right now.) (Also, I haven’t watched Hamilton yet. Aren’t confessions fun?) 8) Portrait of a Lady on Fire Helloooooooo pre-pandemic! Coming in hot, half a lifetime ago, Portrait of a Lady on Fire saw a wide US release in February of 2020, so you better believe it made my 2020 list. But I’m probably more surprised than you are. I’ve watched my fair share of “period pieces” (I’m a slut for that type of costume design), but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that, while enjoyable, I do find them to fall into similar patterns. My favorite period piece is Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette, and I gravitate to it due to its inventive soundtrack and how fresh Coppola’s interpretation is. What I wasn’t expecting with Céline Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire, after seeing the previews, was just how fresh it would feel without the modern soundtrack. Sciamma takes her creative liberties (since she is telling an original story rather than an adaptation or recounting a factual event) with the time period and all but eliminates the male presence, and let me tell you, reader, man it felt good. If you’ve seen the trailer for PoaLoF, you’ll of course understand that it follows a painter having to paint a portrait without the subject knowing, because she is obstinately refusing the work to be completed (because...reasons!). And during the subterfuge of the portrait’s completion, the two women fall in intellectual and physical understanding (the truest of love there is). There is plenty the trailer doesn’t allude to, and I wouldn’t want to take that discovery away from you, but this somewhat basic love story is duly fleshed out with a handmaiden and a mother, and an entire coven of women who all seem (although the mother is somewhat blind to it) to truly understand one another. It hearkens to a time when people could learn more truly, fall more madly, and feel more deeply, and the cinematography and composition are haunting. Portrait of a Lady on Fire, frankly, still haunts me. Tourner autour. 7) The Wolf of Snow Hollow I was late coming into the Jim Cummings’ fan club back in 2018 when Thunder Road hit cinemas. (I saw it in 2019 and thoroughly loved it, as much as you can love a film that wrecks you), and I didn’t want to make the same mistake with The Wolf of Snow Hollow. Cummings, once again, doesn’t disappoint in delivering something completely refreshing, relatable, and foreign all in one go. The manner in which characters speak to each other in a Cummings film is something altogether unique, and even though they’re sometimes delivering soul-crushing dialogue, you still can’t help but laugh at the delivery. The man knows how to write a script, my kind of script. In The Wolf of Snow Hollow (billed as a comedy/horror), the town’s police force is trying to curb the attacks of a monthly predator that’s killing women in gruesome and other-worldly ways. But, then the film *SPOILER* shows you an actual werewolf, like, pretty early on in the film. Because that’s not what the film is about. It’s about something so much more sinister and prevalent. I don’t want to say much more because I found it so heartbreaking and raw that I’d like you to go on that journey yourself. Just know: Cummings delivers, as expected, as Officer John Marshall; Riki Lindhome (from Garfunkel and Oates fame) finally gets to shine in a somewhat serious role as Officer Julia Robson; and Robert Forster turns in his final performance as Sheriff Hadley and, truly, brings the house down. The film is dedicated to Forster, and if you happen to relate to the subject material, it feels like it’s dedicated to you too. 6) Dick Johnson is Dead You just don’t come along a film like Dick Johnson is Dead every day...you just don’t. How many fathers (suffering from dementia, approaching the end of their life) have a documentarian as a daughter who can film their death in multiple ways to provide a historical, and cathartic, record of their life? I mean, I know a lot of people, but I don’t personally know anyone who matches this description...except now I can say I know Dick Johnson, and I’m absolutely enamored with Kirsten Johnson, his documentarian daughter. Kirsten began her work in filmmaking after earning her BA in Fine Arts and Literature from Brown University in 1987, and you may know her camerawork from award-winning films like Pray the Devil Back to Hell and Citizenfour. Kirsten is fascinating enough that she should have a documentary made about her life (which you get a taste for in Dick Johnson is Dead), but her MO while documenting her father’s twilight years is much more concerned with cementing her understanding of her family’s history before the last remaining historian is gone. Now, don’t be misled, Dick is just as invested in mapping out his deaths as Kirsten is, and is often the giddiest with his “heaven” escapades, which ceremoniously follow his many deaths. Documentaries are usually more interested in covering events passed, trying to figure out just what happened, and how. But where Dick Johnson is Dead soars is in its attempt to come to terms with the great inevitable, and in the process, Dick and Kirsten get exactly what they want: the opportunity to spend more time together. As a society, we constantly shy away from the practicalities of death, and yet are enamored with the gruesomeness death presents. The Johnsons transcend that gothic fascination, and most often when you transcend, you find art. 5) Possessor Okay, so I haven’t watched the MTV Movie Awards in years, probably well over a decade, and I’m in no way shaming them by saying this, but I feel like they just have to have a category that’s something like “Coolest Movie.” Right? That seems like an award they would have. Like, “Coolest Movie and Now You’re Cooler by Association Just by Watching It.” Right? Well...regardless, that’s the award Brandon Cronenberg’s Possessor would win, and there needs to be more room for films like this in the “Big Boys” circuit of film awards. Possessor is not only cool, but it’s incredibly polished for Cronenberg’s sophomore feature film effort. My favorite sci-fi films are those that just drop you into the fray and let the story loose (2019’s High Life comes to mind - a film that has since moved up the ranks the longer I’ve dwelt on it), and this is exactly what Possessor does. Throughout the film, we get a few moments of technology exposition, but they’re handled in more of a jargon way than an explanatory way, and these moments are far eclipsed by the stunning visuals and performances. In Possessor, Andrea Riseborough (THE titular Mandy from the 2018 masterpiece, Mandy) plays a renowned biotech assassin (Tasya Vos) who is transplanted into unsuspecting, breathing human-beings via [sci-fi explanation here] who she then manipulates to carry out hits before committing suicide in the body and pulling out into her own physical form (which lies mostly dormant in the organization’s facility). So, take these ingredients, add Vos’ family, and then put Vos in a body that begins to reject her, and you’ve got Possessor. Christopher Abbott (blink twice again because you just saw him deliver a stellar performance in Lawrence Michael Levine’s Black Bear) plays said reluctant body who is chosen as the vessel to complete the main assassination within the film. I was already very much digging the atmosphere of Possessor leading up to the “possession,” but when Abbott’s character (Colin Tate) begins to play a predominant part in the plot, it’s after he’s supposed to have been possessed by Vos and, let me tell you, Abbott IS Riseborough. The way Abbott can flip and show signs of Tate trying to escape Vos’ control is Out. Of. This. World. You would think Riseborough was wearing a literal Abbott costume and playing a big charade. As much as I enjoyed Riseborough in this film, Abbott deserves an Oscar nomination for this role, and I know he’s not gonna get one (I mean, One Night in Miami... has four lights’ out performances alone, and then you have Chadwick Boseman’s heartbreaking turn in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, and Riz Ahmed’s Ruben in Sound of Metal…), and it really breaks my heart. This is the type of performance that feels truly grounded, and I suppose that comes from the lack of press regarding the role, but I was both surprised and floored by how cool this movie was. “Coolest Movie” hands down, all four of ‘em. 4) The Third Day (Limited Series - HBO and Sky Atlantic) Hooooooo, boy, I feel like I’ve told every single person I know to watch The Third Day, and, most likely, I told them multiple times. Honestly, I can’t shut up about it. There were quite a few of these limited series floating around that I considered also including on this list (HBO’s female-forward I May Destroy You and I Hate Suzie and FX’s always-impressive, Season 04 of Fargo - the episode “East/West”...get outta here), but despite my initial predictions for these series, The Third Day paralyzed me. I think about it, I don’t know...maybe every other day? Even now, and this show dropped in September. The Third Day is split into two, three-episode-long, halves, the first being titled “Summer” and the second, titled “Winter.” “Summer” follows Sam (Jude Law, c’maaaaaaaaaawwwwn, how can you resist), a grieving father who is, by circumstances, drawn to the mysterious Osea Island. The transportation to get on, and off, Osea Island is primarily facilitated by a periodically flooded causeway. So, of course, once he arrives on the island (which is somehow familiar to Sam), events unfold and he is unable to get back home to his family. For a day. But then, you know, more events happen. These events take place for three episodes, and that’s the first half - “Summer.” “Winter” is also three episodes long and, tonally, is the exact opposite of “Summer.” During the first half of The Third Day, colors are bright, the land is lush, and the island is bustling with activity, preparing for a mysterious festival. But, in “Winter,” when three new people come to the island looking for answers, the island is blue - in color, in mentality, and in harvest. There’s death here, and for all the intrigue “Summer” built, “Winter” is equally complex. I truly won’t, and can’t, say much more without robbing you of the magic of Osea. (Although, quick aside - the rest of the cast other than Jude Law is also stunning. You’ve got Emily Watson, Naomie Harris, Paddy Considine, Katherine Waterston...really, the entire cast is incredible.) What cemented The Third Day as a contender on this list (amongst the television heavyweights) was watching all six episodes (which already ended with what brought your good friend Bern here to inconsolable sobs) only to discover there was a 12-hour Facebook live-stream featuring the connecting season: “Autumn.” This live-stream was a fully immersive theatrical experience that was recorded in one continuous take that the entire “population” of Osea (a very real place) participated in to better facilitate the story that bridges “Summer” and “Winter.” THIS is next-level storytelling, and you can still watch “Autumn” (now separated into two parts) by searching “The Third Day Autumn” on Facebook. (Don’t be mistaken: this is a Third Day endorsement and not a Facebook endorsement...that’s just where you can watch it.) So now, can you please just go watch The Third Day? You and I are friends at this point, so I’m contractually obligated to tell you to watch this show. It’s like I’ve almost built a personality out of it. 3) Palm Springs This is, probably, the film that is the most difficult to write about, because it could have ended up in the number one slot, and even now as I write, I’m remembering how delightfully surprised I was by Palm Springs (a similar feeling to the one I had while watching Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga). I also have to keep reminding myself what a treat it was to watch this in July of 2020. If 2020 woke me up to anything in the world of film, it’s that I’ve really grown to appreciate films that are released just to be released (the unsung heroes of the summer). No ulterior motives of snatching awards in sight. Politics be damned! Anway...if you’ve been living under a rock, or, more appropriately, in a cave, Palm Springs is the Hulu darling/rom-com starring Andy Samberg and Cristin Milioti where a couple has to come to terms with relivinglivinglivinglivingliving the same day, because, they’re what? Stuck in the same day, forever. (That’s right, y’all, it’s a Groundhog Day scenario up in here!) Okay, so Samberg’s character (Nyles) is attending the wedding of his girlfriend’s friend in Palm Springs, and during the day, prior to the festivities, he stumbles into a mystical cave that homes a portal. This portal, once you step through, makes you relive the same day...seemingly forever. Nyles experiences this on day one of the “calendar,” thereby being forced to repeat the same wedding over and over. (Seems fun, right? Open Bar? Anonymous Sex? Where’s the catch?) Well, I guess eternity is kind of boring, and Nyles has played out every possible outcome (even, mistakenly, luring someone else into the cave - an outstanding JK Simmons). But what he hasn’t done, is gotten a member of his desired sex caught into the cave, and this is exactly what happens when Milioti’s character (Sarah - sister of the bride) also gets caught in the infinite time-loop. Okay, okay, so...there have been plenty of other time-loop films throughout history, sure. But what if the time-loop wasn’t about convincing (i.e. gaslighting) someone outside of the loop to fall in love with you, but was more about staying with that person who you already love...forever? What if the time-traveling, time-loop romp was more about choosing that person, on your own terms because you’re on the same page, every single day? And then take that scenario, and what if, additionally, your desired partner (in this case, the lady) wants to solve for x (x = getting out of the time-loop) because the lady can’t live here...in the same day...forever. And the reason for that is a commentary on how women are held to live in their guilt far more often than men are and the woman is compelled to find an actual solution to that societal quandary. Whew….okay, okay, so this, among many other reasons, is why Palm Springs ranks so high on this list. I’ve found, as I get older, that when the discussion of monogamy comes up in works of art or in conversations amongst “intellectuals,” monogamy tends to take a bad rap. It’s argued, with panache, that, perhaps, the human life is too long to consider only bonding to one person. I’m not here to argue whether or not monogamy is the way to go. But what I will say is that Palm Springs offers a smart, feminist perspective on how to pursue monogamy, if that kind of thing is your bag. It also heavily features Kate Bush’s “Cloudbusting” in its third act, and well, if I wasn’t already sold on this phenomenal film by that point, Kate Bush sealed the deal. 2) Promising Young Woman I sometimes make the mistake of mentally reserving a spot in these lists for films I assume I’m just gonna love (I did it earlier this year with both Sound of Metal - my mom’s half deaf and the speaking volumes in SoM didn’t hit me in an overwhelmingly authentic way - and First Cow - while I found the 1.33:1 aspect ratio in 2017’s A Ghost Story positively sorrowful, I found its use in First Cow to be a little flashy and distracting)...but Promising Young Woman did NOT disappoint. I never want to be that person who doles out “life lessons” to those younger than I am (“take it from me,” “if I were you, young whippersnapper,” etc.) but as I’ve entered into my 30’s these past few years, I’ve really begun to take personal stock of where I am, and where I’m going. As you read this, in 2021, I will have been out of undergrad for 10 years, the big 1-0. The further removed I’ve been from that time in my life, the easier it is to acknowledge that those four years I spent in college were fairly damaging, for both my self-esteem and for my pursuit of higher education. I attended an overwhelmingly Greek university, and if you weren’t in a fraternity or sorority (which I wasn’t - I didn’t make the cut), you were left to cling to your Independent nomenclature with either pride, indifference, or in my case, condemnation. As the social butterfly I am, in order to make a name for myself and make friends, I partied, and I partied HARD. There were multiple evenings where fellow party-goers would claim I had gone missing for periods of time, only to return even more wasted than when I left. I had a problem. I was depressed, I couldn’t afford all of the books I needed for classes (because I was too poor to be there), so some of my grades weren’t to my own personal standards and in order to ignore all of these issues I drank even more. It was a difficult circumstance to avoid because everyone on campus had their own, different reasons to drink and did so every weekend. And, really, there’s a decent amount of these excursions that hold positive memories for me, because I can remember them. You’re either having fun, or you’re not, or you’re having fun until you’re not. I wasn’t having fun a handful of times, but any of those fun evenings could have taken a turn for the worse with one false step. There were 11 fraternities on my campus and on any given weekend, you could bank on at least three of them throwing some kind of rager. Most often, the plan was to ping-pong around campus until you found the party that stuck. On any given weekend, how many women did I party with that took that one false step? How many times was I in the room moments before the step was taken, leaving to find another frat that felt more my speed? Promising Young Woman details the long-term effects caused by these toxic college experiences, that are seemingly perpetuated to bolster the young, male ego and line the pockets of academia. Watching PYW was both difficult and a treat wrapped up in a pastel bow by directorial genius, Emerald Fennell (in her long-awaited film-debut). The pastel, “feminine” color palette was a smart choice this year: you can also find it in both Swallow and, the afore-mentioned, I May Destroy You. Choosing to dissect the question of “what do we do with women in a world that is built to only support the male trajectory?” in a pastel environment helps make the problem more palatable for an audience who may not have this issue at the forefront of their minds. Plus, these three projects just look great. And, obviously, Carey Mulligan is phenomenal as Cassie Thomas, the woman shouldering the guilt and the loss of this broken system. Cassie’s a woman who died a long time ago, and I consider myself lucky that I didn’t leave university feeling the same way. Many women, and men, leave academia broken. The #MeToo Movement has been making strides towards treating this social illness and creating safe spaces for conversations such as these, but Promising Young Woman reminds us there are plenty of survivors still healing. (And after watching PWY, may I offer a nice, comedic chaser of the Netflix comedy special by Natalie Palamides: “Nate: A One Man Show”? Consent!) 1) David Byrne’s American Utopia It was always gonna be David Byrne. You can’t just give me more David Byrne in a year and expect anything less. If you’re unfamiliar with Byrne’s work, he is the lead singer of the band, Talking Heads, and is responsible for helping to orchestrate what just might be the best concert documentary ever made: Stop Making Sense. If you see Byrne’s name associated with a project, you know you’re in for a treat. David Byrne released his album American Utopia in 2018, which became the backing project for a world tour of the same name, which eventually became the Broadway show, which was, in turn, captured for the screen by none other than Spike Lee. Whew, American Utopia’s been making the rounds. Byrne was also a musical guest on SNL in early 2020, and he and his cast performed two songs from the said show (“Once in a Lifetime” and “Toe Jam”), immediately piquing my interest. Thank God for Spike Lee for capturing it so beautifully. Stop Making Sense is expertly stitched together to appear as one, continuous concert, complete with set and costume changes. I was expecting more of the same with American Utopia but was pleasantly surprised to find AU is one part lecture, two parts performance art, three parts concert, four parts protest, and 10 parts celebration. Byrne covers such topics as human interaction and the capacity for community love, the importance of voting, and what music-making means to him. He also touches on how important it is for musicians to honor each others’ cultural differences and the respect between music makers from all walks of life. And boy, Byrne’s music makers are just the best. (And Byrne repeatedly shows his admiration for them, in typical Byrne fashion.) They dance and run around the stage all while weaving old, Talking Heads hits and new, Byrne singles seamlessly into one, awesome production that feels like home. And you just couldn’t have asked for a better director in Spike Lee. His involvement adds an extra heft of validation to Byrne’s message, and its tribute to those lost in the #BlackLivesMatter movement is perfect. Byrne, and his cast, sing (after asking permission) a cover of Janelle Monáe’s “Hell You Talmbout,” that is somehow both joyful and sorrowful in the same breath. It became a requiem for me in the quiet moments when I reflect on where we are, as a family, a community, and a nation among many. American Utopia ends with 2018 single, “Everybody’s Coming to My House.” Byrne sings of a party where everybody’s coming to his house, and he’s never gonna be alone, and they’re never gonna go back home. It’s about a joining of community and a celebration in our understanding that we’re all in this together. “I wish I was a camera/ I wish I was a postcard/ I welcome you to my house/ You didn’t have to go far.” Bernadette Gorman-White Managing Editor Bernadette graduated from DePauw University in 2011 with a Film Studies degree she’s not currently using. She constantly consumes television, film, and all things pop culture and will never be full. She doesn’t tweet much, but give her a follow @BeaGorman and see if that changes.

It is difficult to put into words the sheer breadth of anxiety, trauma, and grief we all went through in the year 2020, so I won’t even begin to try summing all of that up, as I’m sure better writers than I can do that more gracefully. What I will highlight, however, is my deep forlornness for the theatrical experience. Some of us at home may have 4K TVs, surround sound speakers, and a jar of popcorn kernels so that they don’t have to pay $8.99 for a single bucket. It is a more comfortable “theatrical experience” people can have in the safety and comfort of their own home, and that is terrific! With the advent of certain companies releasing their tentpole films Day One to streaming services, I didn’t have to pay $12.99 to see Wonder Woman 1984 and drive 20 minutes home ruminating on how much I deeply regretted the experience and how much money I burned on that aggressively mediocre garbage! I could just do all that at home without paying an extra dime! Yay! What the theatrical experience offers that watching at home does not is the sense of community. The electricity in the air when a group of several dozen people knows they are sitting together to experience something special. The quiet array of gasps that permeate the theater as a surprising turn of events unfold in front of us. The wild howling when a singular piece of art touches the funny bones of everyone in the audience. You can very well watch Jackass 3 at home, but you will not recreate what it was like seeing Jackass 3 for the first time in the theater. A film presented in the theater can grab your attention in such an intimate way that no set up at home can quite match. All that being said, there was still a wide variety of quality films to choose from that were released during this tumultuous year. As a benefit, some films that would have otherwise been relegated to obscurity due to large big-budget theatrical films grabbing all of our attention, now get to bask in the spotlight. These are the films that left the strongest impression on me. I can’t say these are the “best,” as I did not get the chance to see every release, but these were the ones I did see and ended up loving in some form or another. I’m also including a few TV series on the list, as the line between television and film tends to blur day by day, especially with how they are released now, I may as well embrace it and have them coexist on the same list. First, here are some honorable mentions: Bad Trip Portrait of a Lady on Fire Soul The Wild Goose Lake Bad Education Color Out of Space And lest we forget Money Plane! Now onto the real list! 10. Bacurau As we all have been locked down and isolated from each other, I tended to gravitate towards films that provided and expressed a strong sense of community. The Brazilian film Bacurau exceptionally delivers on an ensemble cast turning the tiny fictional town of the titular Bacurau into a living and breathing place full of memorable characters and a twisted narrative full of surprises, heavily inspired by psychedelic westerns and the brutal blend of science fiction and action of John Carpenter. 9. The Invisible Man Leigh Whannell's stylistic flourishes impressed me with his 2018 debut Upgrade, but some of the messier aspects of its narrative held it back for me from being great. However, The Invisible Man has all of the strengths of Upgrade (you can say it is even more...upgraded) while being lighter, leaner, meaner, and more on its mind with an incredible lead performance from Elizabeth Moss. 8. Small Axe: Lover’s Rock This is technically a place on the list for the entire Small Axe anthology of films, all written and directed by Steve McQueen. All of them are wonderful and powerful pieces of filmmaking, but Lover’s Rock stands out as such a unique hurricane of a film. I stated that Bacurau gave me the comfort of rooting for a community coming together, but Lover’s Rock had me feeling as though I was right there in the middle of the party with them. It is a truly hypnotizing work of sound and images that so genuinely captures the experience of connecting together through the power of music. 7. Survival Skills For those unfamiliar, I would describe Survival Skills, the directorial debut of Quinn Armstrong, as carrying the same playfully dark tone of a feature-length episode of an Adult Swim infomercial with the narrative subversions of The Stanley Parable. The entire film is stylistically replicating a “Police training” video from the 1980s, narrated by the always gruff Stacey Keach. The complex morality tale of a rookie cop discovering the true nature of the ethics of his job within the framework of a cheesy 80s training video makes Survival Skills a unique and surprisingly compelling watch. To say more would be a spoiler! 6. Cobra Kai Like many Netflix users, I discovered the once Youtube Red Series when the first 2 seasons of the show were dropped on Netflix late in the summer, and the third season earlier this year, with very little frame of reference to the original Karate Kid saga besides watching the original film when I was much younger. That being said, Cobra Kai is the smartest 80s reboot of a franchise I have come across. Instead of attempting to relive the glory days of its predecessor, the show takes an alternate angle and focusing on moving on from the glory days, and in turn, redeeming and bettering oneself now. That’s a powerful theme to sit with these days. The show never lets up on its genuine sense of sincerity as it takes its (at times absurd and unwieldy) premise completely seriously, never once winking at the audience, which kept me fully engrossed for its current 3 season arc. 5. Da 5 Bloods Spike Lee never holds back on what he wants to say and what he wants to show, and the world of film is a better and bolder place with his voice as a part of it. RIP Chadwick Boseman. “Five Bloods don’t die, we just multiply!” For a deeper dive, check out our podcast. 4. Feels Good Man One of the most profound reflections on the madness of the last four years and an engrossing exploration on how a symbol can be warped into a beacon of hatred is a documentary about a cartoon frog. Who would have thought? I hope Matt Furie is doing well. He deserves only the best after what he’s been through. For more, check out our HOT TAKE. 3. Sound of Metal An incredibly powerful aspect of the art of film is its ability to garner empathy through perspective, and Darius Marder’s Sound of Metal is a shining example of such an accomplishment. I felt the pain and the fear Ruben goes through like no other protagonist of recent memory goes through. The sense of loss and panic as his hearing goes is so painful and real, as the film sucks you into his headspace with genius sound design and atmosphere. The anxiety of change is something I’ve struggled with my whole life and it is the anxiety we have all been going through this past year. Sound of Metal is a sensitive reminder that change can be easier if we accept it and get through it together. 2. Possessor A complete face melter of filmmaking in every facet, Possessor proves that Brandon Cronenberg can not only carry the torch of his father’s body horror legacy (perhaps he even has the potential to surpass it?) but can give the most original and uncompromising voice to genre filmmaking since Panos Cosmatos blessed the world of film with the Story Screen favorite Mandy. Long live the New Flesh. For more gory details, listen here. 1. How To with John Wilson Of all the movies and shows that I consumed under a lockdown or otherwise, How To with John Wilson is the one where I wished it would not end. I could vicariously experience New York City through the awkwardly insightful eyes of John Wilson’s camerawork, editing, and narration forever. The 6 episode series provides such a one of a kind, hilarious, and poignant experience that every human on the planet can connect with, giving idiosyncratic yet thoughtful advice on how to better ourselves through our everyday struggles. I have watched through the entire series 3 or 4 times now, and I cannot wait to revisit it again. Thanks for reading. Hope you discovered something new and fun to dive into through reading this. Until then, stay safe and stay healthy. Jeremy Kolodziejski Jeremy is younger than he looks, and has passionately studied the art and craft of filmmaking for as long as he can remember. He is currently a freelance wedding videographer and is also heavily involved in Competitive Fighting Games. You can follow him on Instagram @prof_k.o

From time to time, I think of the little girl with the long blonde braids trapped in the painting. Sometimes she could be seen peering out of the farmhouse window. On other days, she was by the pond feeding the geese. Over time, her visage aged, her back hunched, her hair grew gray, and finally one day, she disappeared from the painting altogether. How a simple story within a story becomes a folklore of sorts, that has affected me well into my early thirties speaks volumes as to the impact The Witches had on my youth. Debuting in 1990, this visual iteration of the 1983 children’s novel by Roald Dahl hits the big 3-0, and by all accounts (despite some screwy CG) has aged well enough to provoke sleepless nights and waking nightmares in the next generation. The combined visions of director Nicolas Roeg (notable for The Man Who Fell to Earth) and producer Jim Henson, birthed what has become noted as a cult classic, adding another layer to witch lore and cautionary tales. With Anjelica Huston at the helm as the “Grand High Witch,” paired with Henson’s practical effects and puppetry, any young impressionable child with good sense would be left wanting a nightlight at bedtime. Fortunately, we find sanctuary with Grandma, played by Mai Zetterling, and her unfettered grandson Luke, played by Jasen Fisher (last on-screen as a lost boy in 1991’s Hook). Though the gap between the children’s novel and the movie is only seven years, Dahl’s colorful and otherworldly characters are so well-formed, as though they are real, or at least were real. The tales have been passed on for a century or more – or so it feels like. What less could be expected of the man who brought James and the Giant Peach to life? The strength of this film is the aspect of nighttime storytelling that sends your mind reeling, added to its saturated visuals which conjure up what you had been trying to imagine. “Real witches look ordinary,” Grandma explained to young Luke, his eyes widening behind perfectly circular lenses. “Every country has witches,” she continued and listed the tell-tale signs: “real witches” have a purple tinge to their eyes, they wear squared off sensible shoes as they have no toes, they use wigs to cover their bald and scabbing heads, they have a highly developed sense of smell, but worst of all, real witches hate children. Straight away, our intrigue is captured by a pleasant and trustworthy looking woman who gently describes the sincere dangers of being a child to her peach-fuzz headed grandson. “I don’t believe it,” Luke exclaims. To this, his grandmother reveals her nub of a pinky finger, imploring that witches are out there, and they mean to do you harm. “Enough,” Luke’s parents intervene as they prepare for a night out. No more stories before bed, they say, but grandma pays no mind. Sadly, Luke’s parents meet some tragic, unexplained end, leaving him in his grandmother’s care and propelling the story from Norway to England (I neglected to mention that our backdrop was a Norwegian holiday). Possibly due to grief, Grandma succumbs to diabetes by way of chocolates and cigars, only to be remedied by rest and relaxation along the English coast. I would like to take a moment to fully appreciate Grandma’s long braided hair and long skirts, donning sterling silver ring and stacked necklaces, her cigar smoking, and chocolate-craving aesthetic: she is an inspiration. With Luke (and his mice) in tow, they trek off to an inn as per the doctor’s orders. How could they know that an entire convention of witches would convene over the same holiday to discuss a more innovative way to completely eradicate children? “The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children,” meets annually under the guidance of Eva Ernst (Huston), who we immediately suspect of being the Grand High Witch. A hoard of glove-wearing, purple-eye-glowing convention attendees fawn over Eva in anticipation of their secret meeting. We aren’t left waiting long before seeing Eva’s true form, as we follow Luke and his two white mice into the convention hall where he plans on teaching his furry friends some circus acts. When the hall suddenly fills with hurried bodies and chatter, Luke hides, quickly understanding that these are no mere women, but the hideous creatures his Grandma had warned him about. They tear away their wigs, revealing crusty sores about hairless heads, pull off the shoes that hide painful stubs, slip off gloves to expose claw-like hands, though the masses pale in comparison to the grotesque, inhuman quality of the Grand High Witch herself. Anyone introduced to this movie as a child forever has scathed into their malleable minds the tearing away of face and hair, the protrusion of ribs, the extension of nose and finger, the melting skin quality of some heinous bird-like creature straight from the depths of hell. Seemingly, the more powerful the witch, the more deformed and nightmarish. Of course, Huston breathes life into the costuming and scared the little life out of me for years to come. As if this transmutation wasn’t quite enough, in strolls Bruno, a plump and gluttonous little boy, lured into the convention hall with promises of chocolate. The Grand High Witch explains to her cohort that a new magic formula she has devised will transform a child into a mouse, making them far easier to destroy. With Bruno acting as the guinea pig, we see Henson’s handiwork come to life, as poor Bruno twists and turns, his body transforming into that of a brown mouse. The witches squirm and squeal with glee at this site, excited to put Eva’s devious plan into action. If only “real witches” didn’t have such an impeccable sense of smell, Luke might have gotten away unscathed, but he too was forced to drink the formula and is transformed into a mouse (a very cute one, at that). Between puppetry and trained mice, the perspective of the story shifts greatly to that of Luke, leaving the viewer feeling more vulnerable than ever. A mouse can be stomped on. A mouse can be caught and gobbled up by a cat. A mouse can fall into a boiling pot of hot soup! I recall an uneasiness in watching this film, gripping my knees and hoping that no more harm came to little Luke the mouse. Against these powerful and inherently evil witches, how could a diabetic grandma and a small rodent possibly win? Well, by using the witches’ magic against them, of course! After finding bottles of the formula inside Eva’s room, Grandma and Luke devise a plan to pour the entire contents of one bottle (500 doses) into the soup being prepared for the convention members. Ultimately, their plan works, rendering all but one lucky witch into scattering mice. Despite the witches’ defeat, Luke and Bruno remain cursed. The medley of the reality of death, illness, predator vs. prey, and an ancient supernaturally evil archetype made The Witches a questionable children’s story. As I found in forums discussing this movie, many thirty-somethings had the same take away: “that movie f*cked me up.” Perhaps it was the late 80’s, early 90’s thing? Perhaps parents loved scaring the crap out of their kids. In re-watching it as an adult, I responded more to Grandma’s emotions: her sadness over the death of her son and daughter-in-law, and her hidden fear that Luke might always remain a mouse (the nuances I hadn’t noticed as a child). Even until the bitter end, we are led to believe that we might not have a happily ever after until the one lucky witch appears and changes Luke back into a boy. A movie that will leave you holding your breath, that will knock you over with its off-kilter camera handling, curse you for life with its costuming and live rent-free inside your mind for eternity, Happy 30th to The Witches! Stamper A Beacon transplant having moved to town a few years ago. With a background in photography, literature, and a fondness of nature she does well in keeping busy in this bustling little community.

That's right! It's ya boi, Robaebae Anderson, spittin' dat spicy spit with guests, Bernadette Gorman-White and Linda Codega, all 'bout dat illest of new flickies to dropeth upon our beloved streaming services: Judd Apatow's directorial effort of 2020, The King of Staten Island, starring teen-heartthrobs Pete Davidson and Bill Burr!! Listen on....