Movies

I’m going to be honest with you all – though that is becoming a trend in these reviews – my favourite part of The Thief Collector is the title sequence animation by art director Scott Grossman and animator Michael Lloyd. That’s not to say the rest of the movie wasn’t enjoyable, but their work is just brilliant in that it’s reminiscent of the iconic James Bond visuals. Anyway, I digress.

The Thief Collector is director Allison Otto’s debut documentary feature. It’s a classic art-heist movie… or so I thought. On a base level, the story recounts how Willem de Kooning’s Woman-Ochre was discovered on the wall of Rita and Jerry Alter’s home in Cliff, New Mexico, 30 years after it disappeared from the University of Arizona’s art gallery on the day after Thanksgiving in 1985. This mystery was an enigma for decades until estate agents Buck Burns and Dave Van Aucker’s chance discovery. In the time that Woman-Ochre sat in a chintzy gold frame behind the Alters’ bedroom door, it appreciated from $400,000 to $160 million. I won’t spoil how they allegedly stole the artwork.

The Thief Collector is brilliantly edited by Nick Andert, featuring home videos, photographs, interviews, and dramatisations starring Sarah Minnich and Glenn Howerton (It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia) as Rita and Jerry. Interviews include baffled family members and friends, de Kooning biographer Mark Stevens, agents from the FBI’s art-theft task force, and more.

The story gets especially interesting once it moves on from the de Kooning theft. Suddenly the Alters are calculating and experienced adrenaline junkies with endless secrets. The film takes a turn from treating the theft as an isolated event to a lifetime of ill deeds, analysing Jerry’s book of short stories The Cup and the Lip not as fiction, but a sort of clandestine confessional. Let me tell you: there are some pretty extreme ones in there.

I don’t want to ruin anything, because you can see The Thief Collector as part of Doc Edge Film Festival on the 17^th of June at The Roxy Cinema. All I’m going to say is you may want to have a peek down your septic tank.  

I would like to preface this review by saying I’m not a horror movie gal. Quite frankly, I’m a big wuss. Give me the weirdest Fellini film or a twisted Coen brothers’ movie and I’ll be happy as Larry, but one jump scare and boom: blanket up to the ears. Don’t laugh – it is a proven fact that a blankie can protect you from anything.

I would also like to say I watched the new Kiwi film The Tank alone. I will take my gold star stickers now, thank you.

That said, I recently had the privilege of speaking with the director, writer, and producer of The Tank, Aucklander Scott Walker (check out our next issue for a fun close-up on him), and he informed me his 11-year-old and company were not scared in the slightest.

Well, I was. But isn’t that a good thing?

The Tank follows Ben (Matt Whelan), Jules (Luciane Buchanan), and their daughter Reia (Zara Nausbaum). After mysteriously inheriting an abandoned property along the Oregon Coast, the family accidently unleash an ancient creature (Regina Hegemann) that has terrorised the region, and Ben’s ancestors, for generations.

Initially the story seems to follow the classic creature-feature, but there is a great twist which I won’t spoil. It’s quite satisfying to see the mould broken a bit. The Tank also comments on human greed and impact on the environment, begging the question: who is the real monster here?

It’s set in the 70s, and the 40s technically, and Paul Murphy’s set decoration as well as Nick William’s production design are superb. You also will have noticed that the creature holds a credit. That’s because this entire film is made using practical effects instead of CGI. This is hands down the coolest thing; simply phenomenal. I love it.

The Tank is out in cinemas on the 6^th of June. New Zealand has a long history with genre films, and Scott Walker now joins that legacy. So grab a mate and a blankie for protection, and go support Aotearoa’s newest feature film. It’s a doozy, and pretty cool if you ask me.

I have been the biggest Bill Nighy fan ever since I first saw him in Love Actually, where I became hopelessly devoted to him. I then proceeded to watch as many of his movies as I could legally get my hands on. For all you readers out there who appreciate him as much as I do, I have a friend who met him, and she said that he is as lovely in real life as you would expect. So I would like to start off by saying: Bill Nighy, thank you for your service; you are a treasure.

I would also not judge you if you went to watch Living, Nighy’s newest film, solely for him. His performance is truly remarkable and his role, which is layered and nuanced, brings out the best in him. He is enough to sell it, but I believe you should go see Living for other reasons as well.

Based on Japanese filmmaker Akira Kurosawa’s 1952 movie Ikiru, Living traces a similar story. Set in 1950s London, Williams (Nighy) is a product of his times. He is a civil servant in the department of public works, he goes to work every day on the train, ensures as little as possible gets done in his sector, and then takes the train home to repeat the cycle in the morning. When his doctor informs him that he only has a few months to live, Williams decides to make the time he has left count.

The screenplay was adapted by Japanese British Nobel Prize-winning novelist Kazuo Ishiguro and was written specifically with Nighy in mind as a tribute of sorts to Ikiru. The cinematography by Jamie Ramsay is exceptional. And Aimee Lou Wood as young Margaret Harris is lovely. There are moments that drag on and are a bit anticlimactic, but maybe that’s the point.

Living is a simple movie. It is rich and deep in emotion despite the English reticence, but the plot is quite uncomplicated. We are used to action-packed movies with drama at every proverbial turn, so it was refreshing to take a step back and just enjoy the moment. Perhaps that is all Williams wished for as well.

From what I have heard from fans of Tom Holt, the highly acclaimed, accomplished, and prolific British novelist, the book The Portable Door is one of the most beloved young adult novels of all time. But what about the film rendition of the same name? The reviews online have been mixed, with people ranging from overjoyed to disappointed and even angry. Supposedly the movie doesn’t follow the book. As for my review?

I’ll start with the good. Christoph Waltz as CEO Humphrey Wells and our very own Sam Neill as right-hand man Dennis Tanner, as always, never fail to amuse and entertain. I have the utmost respect for both of these silver screen powerhouses, and in all honesty, they carried the movie with their talent, gravitas, and natural presence. Without these formidable villains, the film would have been – albeit beautifully designed by Matthew Putland and cinematically engaging thanks to Donald McAlpine – quite frankly a corporate spinoff of Harry Potter… but not as good.

That said, The Portable Door book was written well before J.K. Rowling’s wizarding world came to life, so perhaps it’s the other way round. From the palpable disappointment from Tom Holt fans though, The Portable Door film simply did not meet its full potential.

In the film, J.W. Wells & Co is a company that deals in crafting “coincidences” in the real world. However, the mysterious disappearance of John Wells Senior (also Christoph Waltz) has led to Wells Junior attempting to data mine the world’s collective consciousness to advertising companies. This concept is eerily close to home and quite interesting. The execution just doesn’t deliver. Wells Junior employs lost-soul Paul Carpenter (our lead, Patrick Gibson) to find his missing portable door. Why? Well I’m not sure as it doesn’t seem to have much to do with the threat of data mining the entire world. The story doesn’t connect, causing the audience to disengage and thus the stakes just simply aren’t high enough.

It’s fun for sure, but it’s nothing to write home about. If you’re after a rollicking and predictable fantasy-adventure story, then it will hit the mark. In retrospect I feel I watched two separate films sitting on opposite sides of The Portable Door.

The prodigal son returns… to Ballylough. As improbable as that sounds, that is the central crux of Redemption of a Rogue, Irish playwright Philip Doherty’s directorial film debut.

Jimmy Cullen (Aaron Monaghan) returns to his hometown after seven years to say goodbye to his dying father (Hugh B. O’Brien), after which he intends to hang himself. The story begins its slow descent when Jimmy and his brother Damien (Kieran Roche) learn that their father’s will stipulates he cannot be buried in the rain. So it proceeds to rain for 40 days and 40 nights, during which Jimmy is stuck in limbo: Catholic symbolism drenching the town, superstition puddling in the corners. Meanwhile, Jimmy meets Masha (Aisling O'Mara), the self-branded town bike and his Mary Magdalene. Together they embark on a quest to save the town’s children – who have refused to eat or talk – and bring about Jimmy’s salvation.

Director Philip’s brother Joseph Doherty’s production design is soggy and miserable… in a good way. Dank and damp permeate the film, while the nightmarish dreamscape of Jimmy’s mind imbues Ballylough. Cinematographer Burschi Wojnar deserves a shoutout (for shooting entirely in the rain), and the film takes on a blues musical vibe thanks to Robbie Perry’s score. The sharp cuts of Allyn Quigley’s editing style along with the acting take Redemption of a Rogue to the next level.

A mix of absurdism, magical realism, and biblical parables sprinkled with a heaped dose of self-deprecating, deadpan, dark comedy, Redemption of a Rogue is Irish to its core. The story both local and universal. In his flashbacks, Jimmy retains his adult form, making you wonder if you are inside his deranged mind. The Virgin Mary (Lorna Quinn) bums a smoke rather than offering salvation. In a moment of clarity, Jimmy scientifically explains the 10 plagues of Egypt, blaming the rain on the plastic factory rather than his uninterred father.

I will always praise magical realism for its ability to critique the plagues of our reality by rendering the rest of the world absurd through a simple shift in perspective. And for this same reason, I commend Redemption of a Rogue.

Wellington was painted red on the 21^st of March – red with the flag of Tonga.

On the 1^st of October 2011, Tonga beat France at Wellington’s World Cup Rugby game in one of the biggest upsets in rugby history. First, they thanked God, and then they thanked their fans. Red, White & Brass is the story of this game, but it’s not about the players. It’s about Tongans and their māfana – their feeling of warmth, their pride.

“Straight up, this actually happened”, Red, White & Brass informs viewers on its title page. Inspired by the true story of co-writer and co-producer Halaifonua (Nua) Finau. The movie follows Maka (John-Paul Foliaki), a Tongan superfan who misses out on tickets to the big game. In typical Maka fashion, he comes up with a genius plan: signing his brass band up to play at the opening ceremony. The only problem is he doesn’t have a brass band.

Directed and co-written by Damon Fepulea’i, Red, White & Brass is truly a gem of a movie and another jewel in the crown from the production company that brought us The Breaker Upperers and Hunt for the Wilderpeople. Filmed entirely in Wellington, Emily Mafile’o’s production design is *chef’s kiss*. Every scene includes some element of red, every moment is imbued with Tonga. Costume designer Daisy Chiara Marcuzzi employs a similar tactic in her clothing choices, adding red accents to every character’s style. The score by Three Houses Down, which is original and on Spotify by the way, is cheerful, vibrant, and fully embodies the film.

Similarly laudable is the cast of Red, White & Brass. Virtually every actor is a newcomer, yet so comfortable are they in their roles, they seem like veterans of the silver screen. Maka is Foliaki’s first official acting role, and he is superb. But the entire cast should be recognised, as each character is played so authentically you felt as though you left the theatre with a group of new friends.

“There is no I in band”, and it is the whole band that makes Red, White & Brass absolutely brilliant. A work of art and of Tongan ingenuity at its finest, māfana maketh the movie.

Sprawled out on the bow of a luxury yacht cruising the Greek isles, a perfectly poised and bejeweled vieux riche hand cradles an Aperol while the smell of fresh pasta wafts up from below deck, the sea gently lapping the boat, someone in the distance quoting Homer or Virgil for good measure. It’s the epitome of unattainable class and refinement of an almost unreal world. Don’t be fooled by the turquoise water of the Aegean or the saccharine deference of the staff…  for something lurks beneath the surface.

A quintessentially European film, Swedish writer and director Ruben Östlund’s newest film Triangle of Sadness has already received a Palme d’Or for best film at Cannes Film Festival and will likely win many more in the upcoming awards season. A wickedly clever satirical dark comedy, Triangle of Sadness dissects, dismembers, and spits back out the intricacies of social hierarchy.

Divided into three acts, the first carefully tiptoes around gender roles and the privilege (or curse) of being beautiful via celebrity couple Yaya (the beautiful, talented, and tragically late Charlbi Dean) and Carl (Harris Dickinson). In act two Carl and Yaya are gifted a trip on a luxury cruise in exchange for advertising on their social media channels. Surrounded by the uber-rich, the yacht seems a dream come true until rough seas both within and without see the rehearsed congeniality and phony gentility devolve into, well… excrement. In a fight for survival, the passengers battle (graphic) food poisoning and a hijacked intercom echoing an argument about capitalism and communism during nausea-inducing high seas. Blatant allegory at its finest.

By act three the survivors marooned on an island find themselves in a Lord of the Flies situation in which lineage and wealth are no longer valued and it is real-world survival skills that crown a new leader (Dolly De Leon). Beauty, however, becomes directly linked to power, reversing the gender roles of act one. There are so many small details that truly elevate this film to greatness.

Triangle of Sadness is a rotten and festering meal of social hierarchy served on a silver platter, and it’s absolutely delicious.

Fog rolls over the island of Inisherin. The cold sets into your bones and the sea laps at your feet. Centuries of tradition and legend wrap themselves around your shoulders, shrouding the world in ancient mysticism and melancholia that seems only to exist in the realms of Celtic folklore and the fraught history of the Irish Isles. Pádraic Súilleabháin (Colin Farrell) heads down to the local as he has everyday since forever, but his best friend Colm Doherty (Brendan Gleeson) no longer wishes to speak to him. What ensues is a darkly humorous, bloody conflict with devastating consequences.

Set in 1923 The Banshees of Inisherin is an allegory of the Irish Civil War, a bloody battle pitting family and friends against each other. With the made-up island Inisherin translating roughly to “island of Ireland” and the plot revolving around a senseless conflict between Colm and Pádraic – best friends, brothers almost, who lose so much for so little, while the corrupt priest and brutal police officer stand by – the narrative is a powerful and beautifully crafted commentary on a dark moment in Irish history.

If I had the authority to give Barry Keoghan a supporting actor award for his portrayal of Dominic Kearney, I would fly to Ireland and personally deliver it to him. Rivalling Leonardo DiCaprio’s performance in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape, Keoghan offers a compelling and tender portrayal of a boy on the spectrum, struggling to find his place in a world that doesn’t have much space for him. All the characters are so alive and well crafted. The relationships are a truthful representation of small, isolated communities. Cinematographer Ben Davis, designer Eimer Ní Mhaoldomhnaigh, and editor Mikkel E.G. Nielsen make a brilliant team.

I have so much praise for this work of art I could write pages. Martin McDonagh’s The Banshees of Inisherin has received nine nominations at the upcoming Academy Awards, and it deserves them. This film is cinematically masterful, so well acted, visually arresting, funny, touching, sad, and everything in between. It is also a love letter, a condolence, an Irish wake, a ballad to the people of Ireland.

If you loved Singing in the Rain but wished it had been a bit more debauched, decadent, and depraved, then Babylon is the film for you.

Written and directed by Academy Award-nominee Damien Chazelle, Babylon tells the story of three Hollywood dreamers during the rise and fall of the silent film era, from the 1920s through to the 50s. Jack Conrad (Brad Pitt) is the king of silent films, but his talkies prove less popular. Nellie La Roy (Margot Robbie) knows she’s a star before she even steps foot in Hollywood; she gets a lucky break when she sneaks into a party but falls hard when cinema adds sound. Manuel Torres (Diego Calva) slowly climbs the ranks through his determination and commitment, but will his devotion to Nellie be too much to endure?

Cinematographer Linus Sandgren and editor Tom Cross are truly a match made in heaven. Sandgren has a way with light and colour as demonstrated in Chazelle’s La La Land, and his influence on Babylon is evident. Sandgren’s visuals combined with Cross’s fast-paced editing creates a thrilling rollercoaster ride that keeps you on the edge of your seat. Perhaps the biggest praise however should go to production designer Florencia Martin, who creates a world as fantastical, complex, diverse, grotesque, and saturated as a Fellini film.

Though beautiful, exciting, and undeniably entertaining, I think the film is decidedly unoriginal. The story seems more like a rip-off than a tribute to Singing in the Rain and The Great Gatsby. The underlying theme of Hollywood’s brutality, in which fame is delusional, and cinema is a business that uses creatives in its machine, is not only tired and over-used, but executed in a way that leaves no room for redemption or sympathy.

Don’t get me wrong, the actors and crew all did a phenomenal job on the technical side of this film. The first two-thirds are engaging and decadently beautiful. However, I feel as though the final segment of the story somehow lost its way. Nevertheless, Babylon absolutely deserves a watch and some Oscar buzz.

Director James Cameron’s Avatar: The Way of Water continues the saga upon the moon Pandora. Ex-human, ex-marine Jake Sully (Sam Worthington) has established a family with Na’vi partner Neytiri (Zoe Saldaña) and they live in prosperous happiness. However, when the humans return to Pandora to extract its resources, Jake and his family are hunted. They escape to the safety of the island nations of the Metkayina people… or so they thought.

Centered heavily on the importance of family, Avatar also highlights themes of bravery and loyalty, underscoring the importance of doing the right thing and staying strong in the face of adversity. Avatar continues its commentary on environmental destruction, paralleling the ruination of Pandora through resource extraction to the devastation of our own planet by a common enemy: humans.

Avatar: The Way of Water is a visual tour de force and, unsurprisingly, a milestone in the world of CGI and VFX. Featuring new technologies from Wellington’s own Weta Workshop, the film is exceedingly beautiful. With an immersive seascape as the setting for this episode of the Avatar series, every new creature, every element of flora, every tiny detail is saturated with vitality and vibrancy; every being breathes with the eager effervescence of new creation. Russell Carpenter’s cinematography paired with a 3D experience, well balanced to be immersive but not overwhelming, ensures the viewer experiences the story from within Pandora herself, dripping and oozing with life.

Though Avatar is visually arresting and undeniably groundbreaking, the exceedingly lengthy runtime – of which a substantial amount is taken up by a repetitive unending final battle – leaves much to be desired. The dialogue’s informality feels incongruous and distracting. Though the story itself has some poignant and interesting moments, it essentially mimics the first movie with the classic trope of human vs Na’vi, good vs evil. 

Nevertheless, Avatar: The Way of Water is an incredible and unparalleled visual experience that is definitely worth a watch.

I have mixed feelings about David Farrier’s new documentary Mister Organ. On the one hand, it followed a reasonably interesting and twisted true story about a shady individual who I wanted to know more about, while on the other, my interest in the film peaked at about the halfway point as it lacked those defining moments all incredible documentaries are known for.

New Zealand journalist and filmmaker David Farrier (Tickled, Dark Tourist) is drawn into a game of cat and mouse with a mysterious individual who is clamping cars outside an antique store in Ponsonby, Auckland. Delving deeper, Farrier unearths a trail of court cases, inflated claims of royal bloodlines, ruined lives, and at least one stolen boat in this true story of psychological warfare.

One thing that’s for certain is that Farrier has found the ultimate sinister weirdo to ‘star’ in Mister Organ. That man’s name is Michael Organ. During the film, Farrier says, “You pay a soul tax for every minute you spend with him”, and believe me when I say this description is precisely on point. Farrier spent years listening to Organ’s puzzling ramblings while making his documentary and by the end, I felt as if I had done the same. As a director, he utilises long sequences from their one-sided interviews to help the audience fully understand just how whacko this guy is. He also did a great job finding victims and persuading them to share their experiences with Organ, providing a well-rounded view of Organ’s twisted past.

But the big question I asked myself while watching was: is this a story worth telling? There is no doubt that Michael Organ is probably one of the most dangerously annoying men in New Zealand, but if we made a documentary about every crazy person in the world, we would be here for a while! Farrier mentions in Mister Organ he is “trapped” with Organ because he must make a film about him. With no real climax or major developments after he starts filming, this isn’t really true. Rather, the documentary is more about Farrier and his own strange journey with Organ. Is that worth two hours of your time? Only you can decide…

With superhero giants Marvel finally slowing down in terms of acclaim and box office success – only one Marvel film from the last four years is among the franchise’s top five highest grossing – and it seems rivals DC have finally been given a chance to take back the coveted onscreen superhero throne. In my humble opinion, they have once again blown this chance with their latest effort Black Adam.

In ancient Kahndaq, a young boy (Jalon Christian) is bestowed the almighty powers of the gods. Nearly 5000 years later and Black Adam (Dwayne Johnson) has gone from man to myth to legend. After he is freed from his tomb by a local woman (Sarah Shahi) seeking the lost champion, his unique form of justice, born out of rage, is challenged by modern-day heroes who form the Justice Society.

Blockbusters such as The Dark Knight Rises and the more recent Avengers: Endgame showed that superhero movies can combine thrilling action with compelling storytelling. Black Adam fails miserably in trying to do either. Don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of fights during the two-hour runtime, they just, well… suck. Known for his suspenseful thrillers such as The Shallows, director Jaume Collet-Serra throws his style out the window and instead settles for a barrage of slow-motion action sequences and CGI lightning bolts. There was no creativity behind many of the scenes, no thought. And while Johnson certainly looks the part as the film’s troubled champion, this is the least entertaining, least appealing role of his career.

The horrendous writing and poor performances by the cast only made things worse. Just because superheroes themselves are made up doesn’t mean superhero films need to avoid realism like the plague. No, instead let’s just teleport civilians to wherever it’s convenient for the plot, forget that humans take damage, and let a kid (Bodhi Sabongui) chat away cheerfully while mercenaries perish all around him.

In all honestly, I would have walked out the door halfway through Black Adam if it wasn’t my job to stay and watch. It’s an unpleasant barrage of symbols and sounds and adds up to little more than a two-hour montage of recycled action and comedy concepts. You’ve been warned.