Movies

Chocolate cherries and gourmet ganache, Rocher rivers and fudge flowers, the newest iteration of Roald Dahl’s capricious chocolatier in the 2023 movie Wonka is so sweet it’s saccharine. In fact, the whole story is Pure Imagination.

From the fanciful mind of Paul King – creator of Paddington – Wonka is supposedly the musical origin story of the eccentric, egocentric, megalomaniac Willy Wonka that we all know and kind of love… but it’s actually something altogether different.

Played by Timothée Chalamet, Willy is a starry-eyed youth with a “hatful of dreams” and suitcase full of chocolate hoping to change the world. Naïve and overly optimistic, the young man lands himself in a predicament involving two Dickensian con artists and an all-powerful chocolate cartel. With his ragtag band of newfound friends, including the wise orphan Noodle (Calah Lane), Willy may risk everything, but he never loses hope or the belief that the world is good.

Comparing Chalamet’s Wonka to Johnny Depp’s wouldn’t be fair, much less to the unparalleled maniacal genius of Gene Wilder. At the best of times I’m not a fan of Chalamet as I find him flat and, frankly, dull. In the shoes of the beloved Wonka he didn’t stand a chance. But truly, in this case, I don’t believe it is his fault.

Chalamet sings beautifully and dances all the better. Nathan Crowley’s production design is a decadent feast for the eyes. The jokes, though predictable, are charming, especially from Hugh Grant’s posh Oompa-Loompa. Even the fanciful moments of magic are beautifully crafted. As a standalone story, Wonka is sweet in a Disney-esque sense.

However, Wonka comes from a long-loved legacy. This prequel does not match up with the inevitable future. Chalamet’s optimistic humanitarian gives no indication of transforming into the capitalist, nihilistic sociopath he is doomed to become. In fact, he fights those characters tooth and nail. The dark and lonely future of Willy Wonka casts no shadow on this idealistic youth. Perhaps in the future, hardened by many years, the world won’t stack up to his own imagination. Perhaps he learns that only within his mind will he be free. I just wish, even fleetingly, this darkness had tangoed across the screen.

I am fully convinced that Strange Way of Life was made as an excuse for a bunch of creatives to play cowboys in the desert. With a stacked cast and production team, the short film is the newest addition to director and screenwriter Pedro Almodóvar’s extensive oeuvre broaching themes of desire, family, passion, identity, and LGBTQIA+ issues.

After 25 years, Sheriff Jake (Ethan Hawke) and rancher Silva (Pedro Pascal) meet again. Following a night of passion, Jake must decipher whether his lover’s arrival was indeed to rekindle a love lost or to save his son Joe from the heavy hand of the law. A gruff and hopeless man, Hawke’s Jake exudes a dejected fatalism lifting only for brief moments in Silva’s company. Silva is a hopeless romantic who believes the dream he and Jake once shared can still come to fruition. In Strange Way of Life, Almodóvar subverts the classic trope of the cowboy, painting instead a portrait of compassion that offers new possibilities.

The debut offering from Saint Laurent Productions, a subsidiary of the fashion house Yves Saint Laurent, Strange Way of Life boasts a bright and stylishly curated wardrobe. Antxón Gómez’ production design and José Luis Alcaine’s cinematography possess all the boldness and vibrancy of a signature Almodóvar film. I was struck most of all by the beauty of the editing (Teresa Font), which not only complemented but drove the story.

The brevity of the film means that it goes unfinished, leaving it up to the viewer to fill in the rest of the story. Leaving a movie open-ended enables it to live past its runtime. With this piece, Almodóvar showcases what a short film – but not a short story – can accomplish, catapulting the format back into the cinema as a valid form of expression full of untapped potential. Coming at a time when films seem to be getting increasingly longer (I’m looking at you Killers of the Flower Moon) and the multi-volume series is king, this beautiful slice of cinema is a refreshing reminder that sometimes less is more.

At Wellington’s opening night of the Cinema Italiano Festival, I remember my boyfriend will have to read subtitles during tonight’s screening of The King of Laughter (Qui Rido Io). He then reminds me the movie is in Neapolitan, not Italian, so I too will have to read subtitles. You most likely will as well, but don’t let that stop you from catching the film on the 9^th or 12^th of November at the Embassy Theatre.

The King of Laughter (Qui Rido Io) is a biopic from director Mario Martone about Neapolitan comic theatre legend Eduardo Scarpetta, played by the acclaimed Toni Servillo. Written by Martone and Ippolita Di Majo, the story is a beautiful symphony, a celebration of the language and the city, its theatrical heritage and its people.

Renato Berta’s cinematography paired with Giancarlo Muselli and Carlo Rescigno’s production design is testament to Italy’s long legacy of crafting cinematic masterpieces I would gladly hang on the wall of a museum. Actor Eduardo Scarpetta, who plays Vincenzo in the film, is the great-great-grandson of the film’s protagonist, proof of the Scarpetta family’s lasting impression and endurance.  

Set in late 19^th and early 20^th century Naples, the story follows the rise and fall of this pivotal figure of Italian theatre. And yet I had never heard of him until now. Neither had many of the guests I spoke to after the credits. Gabriele D’Annunzio (Paolo Pierobon), Scarpetta’s contemporary and inadvertent rival, is celebrated the world over. But Scarpetta, who single-handedly took on and, at the time, surpassed the iconic commedia dell’arte character Pulcinella? He is hardly mentioned in our history books. Is it because his artform, parody, is not truly considered art that is worthy of enduring the test of time?

The King of Laughter (Qui Rido Io) tackles this notion. What makes something art? Is it how serious the content is? Or is it its cultural influence or critique? Is it the genre? Or is comedy’s accessibility what makes it important? Either way, the film makes one thing clear: we mustn’t take ourselves too seriously.

If you’re looking for the perfect spooky-season flick, you’ve found it. A Haunting in Venice ventures into all kinds of dark, dank corners, scary séances, and haunted happenings.

Detective Poirot has retired. He lives in Venice, unbothered – his bodyguard, ex-police officer Vitale Portfoglio (Riccardo Scamarcio), sees to that. When his friend, mystery writer Ariadne Oliver (Tina Fey) turns up on his doorstep, he reluctantly attends a séance with her in the dilapidated – and supposedly cursed – palazzo of Rowena Drake (Kelly Reilly). Rowena has employed a medium (Michelle Yeoh) to commune with her dead daughter. What ensues is a twisted, tragic, and titillating tale of terror and tears.

Kenneth Branagh reprises his role as director, producer, and the Belgian detective Hercule Poirot for a third time in A Haunting in Venice. Based on British author Agatha Christie’s Hallowe’en Party, the film follows Murder on the Orient Express and Death on the Nile, though personally, I think this one is the best so far.

Engaging Hollywood whodunnit horrors are few and far between these days. When done right, they are the perfect balance of fun and profundity. A Haunting in Venice is particularly introspective, with writer Michael Green’s screenplay both clever and affecting. Though there are a few jump scares, what is truly haunting is the trauma the characters grapple with, each one wrestling different demons.

Though I enjoyed A Haunting in Venice immensely, I do have a bit of a bone to pick – and not with the book, which was set in England. Why is it that when movies are set in a ‘foreign’ country, very little energy is dedicated to accuracy? For example, Italy doesn’t celebrate Halloween and Venice is famous for Carnevale, which is a similar vibe. Also, only one character is Italian, a supporting role, despite the story taking place in Italy. Italian names, words, and pronunciations are, more often than not, incorrect. This is a movie with a budget of $60 million, made by some of the brightest minds in the industry. In future, I hope to see major productions doing better research, but for that to happen we’ll all have to hold them more accountable.

Stomp your feet, clap your hands, make some noise – it’s time to cause an Uproar. The newest Kiwi film joining an already extensive and impressive legacy of heartwarming and inspiring stories, Uproar, directed by Hamish Bennett and Paul Middleditch, zooms in on one of Aotearoa's most tumultuous moments in recent history: the 1981 South African rugby tour to New Zealand, but through the eyes of a highschooler.

17-year-old Josh Waaka (Julian Dennison) has actively sat on the fence his whole life, but for one reason or another, he’s being forced to take a stand for himself, for his whānau, and for the future. Dennison himself describes Uproar as a story about a boy who is “too white for the marae, but too brown for where he is”, which happens to be an all-boys school in Dunedin. With the country set ablaze and divided by protests against South African apartheid and for Māori rights, Josh finds himself torn between keeping his head down to help his family or stand up for what’s right. Meanwhile he jostles his dream of becoming an actor – fuelled by his teacher (Rhys Darby) – and pressure from his mother (Minnie Driver) and brother (James Rolleston) to play on the school rugby team.

A story about finding yourself, your voice, and your place in the world, Uproar draws a beautiful parallel between the tumultuous state of New Zealand and the storm raging within Josh. He may not show it, but inside, Josh is just as angry and confused as Kiwis across the nation. There are some truly beautiful moments of introspection and character development and some heavy-hitting lines. Had Uproar pared down its montages and perhaps taken advantage of the turning point when the tension was at its most compelling, I think it could have hit home just that much harder. Nevertheless, the story has a rewarding and heartwarming arc that is both eye-opening and inspiring.

Having attended an early screening alongside cast, crew, and whānau, my favourite moment of the evening was seeing the audience take a stand after the fade-to-black and perform a haka with unbridled pride and joy.

A technicolour 1950s dreamland set in the United States desert, Wes Anderson’s Asteroid City gives us everything we crave from his signature style including witty, stunted dialogue, endearing awkwardness, zesty production design, a star-studded cast, eccentric characters, and offbeat humour.

A frame within a frame, Asteroid City opens to an Academy-ratio black-and-white TV show with an unnamed host (Bryan Cranston) that centres on the playwright Conrad Earp’s (Edward Norton) play Asteroid City. The story expertly bounces between The Twilight Zone-esque show, the behind-the-scenes rehearsal of the play, and the pastel-paradise that is the dramatisation of said play. Asteroid City the play takes place in a tiny desert town famous for the asteroid that landed there 3000 years earlier. Tiny mushroom clouds, result of nearby atomic testing, punctuate the horizon as a troupe of self-proclaimed “brainiacs” arrive for the annual Junior Stargazer Convention with their parents. Among them are protagonist and war photojournalist Augie Steenbeck (Jason Schwartzman), his father-in-law (Tom Hanks), actress Midge Campbell (Scarlett Johansson), musical cowboy Montana (Rupert Friend), and school children chaperoned by June Douglas (Maya Hawke). What ensues is classic Anderson mayhem and tomfoolery.

Asteroid City is a visual feast. A testament to the brilliant trifecta that comprises director Anderson, production designer Adam Stockhausen, and cinematographer Robert D. Yeoman, it continues to deliver the harlequin, retro aesthetic we’ve come to know and love. In this case it is perfectly, beautifully, artificially twee and camp.

Written by Anderson and Roman Coppola, the script appears in equal measure clever and quirky. It continues Anderson’s exploration of grief, loss of innocence, and dysfunctional families, seeming to work towards a grand statement but never quite getting there. I have loved Anderson since my first encounter with his eccentric follies, finding them consummate expressions of the magical realism genre I’ve always gravitated towards. But Asteroid City is, in my opinion, devoid of the humanness that makes Anderson’s films so beautiful. It is messy, but rehearsed and clinical, leaving no room for the genuine connection between characters and viewers that typically makes his magical worlds so human.

Thanks to TikTok, baby girl is now used to refer to grown men (fictional or real) who have their fandom in a loving chokehold. Cillian Murphy’s J Robert Oppenheimer (and Murphy as well, who doesn’t love a lanky, dark-haired man with piercing blue eyes and a sweet-talking Irish purr?) definitely qualifies as baby girl.

Rather than gush about Murphy (don’t worry, I will continue to gush) I’ll pivot to reviewing director, writer, and producer Christopher Nolan’s biopic Oppenheimer, which tells the story of the father of the atomic bomb. I saw Nolan’s Tenet and the only remember the terrible sound mixing. Don’t come for me, I know it was ‘intentional’, but I think that’s a pretentious excuse. I saw Inception at the peak of my DiCaprio obsession though and loved it.

Oppenheimer? Three hours is an intimidating runtime, and I didn’t particularly want my teeth rattling out of my skull for that long while bombs were let off left, right, and centre. But I do love me a good biopic… and Cillian Murphy!

It is phenomenal. Oppenheimer is destined to win a couple of Oscars. I have a favourite editor now, Jennifer Lame, who just chef’s kissed her job. I loved the use of black and white to denote different timeframes and storylines. I was engrossed for the entire three hours, on the edge of my seat watching the physicist’s life unfold, evolve, and unravel. I understood all the complicated science things. My only note to viewers is to brush up on US history pre and post-WWII. Without a base knowledge of depression-era ideologies, McCarthyism, and the Red Scare, I may have been a tad confused.

Oppenheimer was written so beautifully, the story a Russian doll, each level revealing another surprise, another mystery, another heartbreak. And I was saddled with what felt like the same moral dilemma Oppenheimer was faced with. Through the scientist’s perspective, the film humanises a moment that most of us see now as morally questionable. Like Prometheus giving humanity fire, Oppenheimer gave us nuclear weapons. How was he to know he’d be tortured for eternity? Not only by history, but by his own morals.

Go see Oppenheimer. If not for me, for our baby girl Cillian Murphy.

We have been bombarded with media surrounding the release of the much-awaited Barbie movie. From billboards to press tours, bus-stop posters to teaser trailers, from Dua Lipa’s hit song Dance The Night playing on our airwaves to the infamous “She’s everything. He’s just Ken” tagline posts.

Love it or hate it, I’d like to officially extend a very warm, aggressively pink welcome to Barbie Land… no, not to you Ken.

Barbie Land is a dream. The streets are lined with Barbie Dream Houses – did I mention the streets are pink? The clothes are impeccable and beautiful, the weather is always sunny, the Barbies and Kens are perfect and perpetually happy, and every day is the best day ever. Until Stereotypical Barbie (Margot Robbie) starts having thoughts about death and her feet go flat. What ensues is a riotous, eye-opening, world-changing, mind-blowing adventure into the real world for both Barbie and her Ken (Ryan Gosling, who steals the show).

It was hard avoiding spoilers, so if you have succeeded thus far, I will let you discover this plastic fantastic world for yourself. But that’s easy, because the true heroes of Barbie are not the dolls but the production team. Sarah Greenwood’s production design is so meticulous, so perfect, so utterly researched it should be deemed the eighth wonder… okay maybe not, but the entire team ensured every detail in Barbie Land is essentially a replica of the actual toys. I offer the same praise to Jacqueline Durran’s costume design. The amount of work that these two departments must have done to achieve the end result is simply mind-boggling.

Director, producer, and writer Greta Gerwig, a feminist icon of our generation, has outdone herself yet again. Barbie is a satire, a tribute, a critique, an adventure, and everything in between. It is so self-aware in its simultaneous championing and condemnation of consumerism, beauty standards, gender roles, existentialism, and more. A new addition to the feminist canon, the mere existence of a movie like Barbie means we have made leaps and bounds as a society. It has its flaws, of course, but it’s fun, it’s beautiful, and it has something to say.

This Barbie highly recommends the movie.

When you’re drowning in debt, struggling to keep the whānau ‘home kills’ business alive, starting a family, and don’t even have money to buy toilet paper, you resort to drastic measures. In Haydn Butler’s Home Kills, screening this Whānau Mārama International Film Festival, brothers Tom (Cameron Jones) and Mark (Josh McKenzie) find a solution by switching livestock for human lives.

I have to be honest and say that Home Kills didn’t feel like a comedy to me. I’m a huge fan of dark comedies, so it’s not that I just didn’t get it. I’ve seen almost every Coen Brothers movie, I watched In Bruges with utter glee, The Banshees of Inisherin was delightfully unhinged. I went into Home Kills thinking it belonged in the genre, and while the central premise is great and there were a few funny lines, I just didn’t catch myself laughing all that much.

Perhaps it’s because I didn’t feel much sympathy for the protagonists? Though that’s common in the genre. I felt for Tom in the beginning since he was dragged into the mess by Mark, but by the end I think I wanted them both to pay their dues. That said, I’m not mad that I disliked them. McKenzie’s Mark is possibly one of the most unsympathetic characters I’ve ever encountered… and I kind of loved it. He truly has no redeeming qualities. He’s selfish, irritating, infuriatingly impulsive, and McKenzie does a bang-up job.

I was also struck by Alex Jenkins’ cinematography. The film is beautiful both in composition and setting, the light captured as brilliantly as the grungy, dank shadows. Furthermore, there were some innovative shots and angles. In a scene where the brothers flee a bar, the camera angle looks as though Mark is holding a GoPro up towards his face, the action in the background. It’s exquisitely stressful and adeptly builds tension.

Home Kills is a fresh romp through rural New Zealand from a different perspective. It was a bit grim at times and would have benefitted from more tongue in cheek, but it’s another quality Kiwi caper to add to our already impressive books.

Prisencolinensinainciusol. If you haven’t heard this Adriano Celentano song before, I recommend you scurry over to YouTube stat. It’s central to director Emanuele Crialese’s newest film L’immensità, screening in Wellington as part of Whānau Mārama New Zealand International Film Festival.

Having grown up in Italy, I’m familiar with Celentano and the song. He’s an icon and often considered the man who brought rock and roll to Italy. A trailblazer of the 1970s – a period of enormous turmoil, political upheaval, and change in Italy – Celentano was authentically himself. Prisencolinensinainciusol is a song that sounds like English but is complete gibberish. Its theme is the inability to communicate. It’s one thing craving to be something else, and in doing so, becoming something in between.

L’immensità follows 12-year-old Adriana or Adri (Luana Giuliani), the eldest child of three who identifies as a boy and begins to increasingly assert his trans state. Meanwhile Adri’s mother, Spanish expat Clara (Penélope Cruz), struggles to cope with her marriage to an abusive, cheating man. Unable to express themselves, both Clara and Adri feel trapped. Their relationship grows closer as their burdens increase. Celentano’s hit song frames the pair perfectly.

Production designer Dimitri Capuani and costume designer Massimo Cantini Parrini had a field day recreating the vibrant absurdity of 1970s Italian style. From furniture to clothes, the colours are vibrant, the forms fanciful – a stark contrast to the inner turmoil of our protagonists. There are inserts of Cruz and Giuliani recreating scenes from famous Italian songs that provide a nice break from the intensity.

There is a lot to unpack in L’immensità, but at the same time I feel there were many moments that merely touched the surface, never delving deeper. So much happens, yet nothing ever changes – life shifts into limbo. With Italy, it’s virtually impossible to speak of something in an isolated way. As a region that has history dating back more than 3000 years, everything bleeds into everything else. A people so influenced by our ancestors and what came before, everything is connected. How can you include it all? Perhaps this immensity, l’immensità, is exactly the feeling Crialese wanted to capture.

I actually have a personal connection to Harrison Ford but let’s start by talking about the newest instalment of the Indiana Jones franchise, Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, shall we?

I grew up watching these movies. And as a true little tomboy I could think of nothing better than going on adventures around the world, discovering hidden treasure, and saving the world from the forces of evil. Let’s be honest, there has never been a cooler nerd than Indy. My disappointment was palpable when I learned most archaeologists spend their days digging in the dirt with a spoon. But Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny did not disappoint me. It’s fun, it’s exciting, and it’s just what every Indiana Jones fan would hope for.

I’m not saying it’s as good as Raiders of the Lost Ark or Last Crusade. I mean, there is no guest appearance from Sean Connery – though Antonio Banderas was a welcome surprise – but it is exactly what you would expect. Nazis, exhilarating yet comical car chases, booby traps, our grumpy yet lovable protagonist, and just the right amount of history to make it interesting but not boring. Director James Mangold alongside designer Adam Stockhausen and cinematographer Phedon Papamichael do a wonderful job of carrying on the legacy of such a beloved series.

I appreciate the new take on an ageing Indiana Jones who can’t quite do as much, though, when necessary, pulls out his whip and signature moves. The CGI to make Ford younger was a bit jarring but it was neat to see flashbacks without using a different actor. The only qualm I really had, aside from a few moments of suspended belief that are inevitable with action movies, that the iconic theme song was played at odd moments rather than for triumphant victories.

Now you’re probably wondering about my two degrees of separation from Harrison Ford. He ordered a burger with nothing on it from my mother while she was working in a restaurant in my hometown – probably on some sort of diet. Obviously disappointed by the boring meal placed in front of him, he flipped the bun at her. So I have to dislike him on principle, but Indiana Jones is always a pleasure.

I’m not a Marvel, DC, superhero saga, blow-everything-up movie girlie. Shocker, I know. But let me tell you my partner was very pleased when I asked if he wanted to see Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3. I thought he’d be extra happy when I asked if he’d watch the first two with me so I would know what’s what and who’s who. To my complete and utter surprise he informed me we had already watched the first one together? So we re-re-watched them.

As far as these movies go, the Guardians of the Galaxy series is quite fun, and it is refreshing. It has its issues – like they really couldn’t think of better aliens than just people dyed blue, red, or green? Really? But it is clever, and witty, and self-aware. There are a lot of jokes that poke fun at the genre itself and it was the first superhero series to not take itself so seriously. And before you come for me, I know they’re all based off comic books and I do respect the genre. I just think there are plot holes that could be avoided. Like sometimes space is deadly and sometimes it’s not. Sometimes they get lasered and almost die and other times they get rag-dolled against buildings for 20 minutes and don’t even tear their suits.

But Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 is a good follow-up of the first two. John Murphy’s soundtrack – which the movies are famous for – is still just as banging. There are some very sweet and introspective moments between all the characters, like when they begin to appreciate each other’s strengths instead of critiquing weaknesses. You learn a bit more about Rocket the Racoon’s (Bradley Cooper) past as well. In fact, he is the protagonist of this chapter. The special effects and editing are of course top tier – think fast cuts, perfectly synchronised music, epic battle scenes. This movie is well made and it’s great fun.

My favourite part? The conversation we had afterwards about the moral implications of whether, due to his hyper-intelligence, Rocket is still a racoon.