Author Archives: Alice

About Alice

Alice was born north of the Arctic Circle, has a BA in Cinema and Media Studies, and has written about film somewhere or other (mostly at Pussy Goes Grrr) since 2008.

2018: Resilience and Despair

Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again, Unfriended: Dark Web, A Star Is Born, Lean on Pete

Writing these countdowns always comes with a sense of relief. I made it through another year. (And spent a big chunk of it watching movies.) Excitement, too: now I can set aside that year, break it down, hold its little pieces in my memory. The year that was can hold no further surprises; now, as I pause in late December waiting for the new one to start, I have an opportunity to assess it. So here, as far as cinema’s concerned, are the little pieces of 2018.

First, a couple outliers. Blue is a lovely Apichatpong Weerasethakul short that premiered at TIFF this year. Within its 12-minute run time, he finds sublime uses for some antiquated visual trickery. The Other Side of the Wind is a film Orson Welles starting shooting decades ago, now given a posthumous release. It’s breathtaking: a poison pen roman à clef full of formal experimentation. (Ranking it alongside films from living auteurs feels a bit like apples and oranges, but it’s a strong addition to the Welles corpus.)

Here are 15 other movies I enjoyed in alphabetical order: The Day After, Did You Wonder Who Fired the Gun?, First Reformed, Happy as Lazzaro, Lean on Pete, Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again, Minding the Gap, Private Life, Shirkers, Sorry to Bother YouA Star Is Born, Unfriended: Dark Web, Unsane, Werewolf, and Widows.

And here are 10 other performances: Bryan Cranston, his voice a forlorn growl in Isle of DogsWidows’ Viola Davis, giving blunt directives in the midst of mourning; Jennifer Ehle (supporting actress extraordinaire) as The Miseducation of Cameron Post’s homophobic villain; Daniel Giménez Cacho, who bears weariness in his sharp features as Zama’s title character; Upgrade’s Simon Maiden, drily funny as a HAL-style AI; Amanda Seyfried as bereaved mothers-to-be in both First Reformed and Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again; Adriano Tardiolo, his eyes wide as the namesake naif in Happy as Lazzaro; Tessa Thompson embodying praxis as the earring-adorned artist in Sorry to Bother YouReady Player One’s Lena Waithe, transformed via mocap into a lumbering avatar; and Anton Yelchin, now a couple years deceased, playing the scumbag of all scumbags in Thoroughbreds.

And now, the list:

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Writing Samples 2016-18

A few years ago, I compiled some writing samples. This is an update with some of my subsequent work. I fear I haven’t been especially prolific, and I can readily pinpoint the reasons why. I’ve worked a series of exhausting day jobs; suffered periodic bouts of depression; and seen my ambitions recede a little. (Countless half-finished projects have led me to set myself fewer and humbler creative goals.) That said, I’ve still written things, and I’m proud of it. On this blog alone, I kept up a thorough viewing diary in 2017 and have put out year-in-film summaries each December. Elsewhere, I’ve published the following:

Here’s hoping I’ll have enough for a similar round-up a couple years hence.

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50 Best New-to-Me Viewings of 2018

Beggars of Life

Every year I put a list like this together as a means of remembering what I’ve watched and loved. A dozen months distilled into a few dozen titles. These movies might’ve made me weep or shiver—though maybe I just sighed, “This is nice,” and put them from my mind till they flew back like a boomerang weeks later. Between them, they boast the acting of Judy Garland and Eusebio Poncela; ZaSu Pitts and Claude Rains; Shu Qi and Roy Scheider; Sharon Stone and Sol Kyung-gu; Lily Tomlin and Denzel Washington. They’re shorts and features, curios and crowd-pleasers, each with its own share of power and beauty.

Alice, Sweet Alice (1976) · Arrebato (1979) · At Berkeley (2013) · Basic Instinct (1992) · Beggars of Life (1928) · Black Girl (1966) · Blood Tea and Red String (2006) · The Chase (1946) · The Cremator (1969) · Duelle (1976) · Duplicity (2009) · 45 Years (2015) · Greed (1924) · I Am Cuba (1964) · I Could Go on Singing (1963) · In My Skin (2002) · In This Corner of the World (2016) · The Kleptomaniac (1905) · The Late Show (1977) · The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner (1962) · Losing Ground (1982) · The Manchurian Candidate (2004) · Madam Satan (1930) · The Masseurs and a Woman (1938) · Master of the House (1925) · Millennium Mambo (2001) · The Moderns (1988) · Moscow Clad in Snow (1909) · The Mouth Agape (1974) · Peppermint Candy (1999) · The Passionate Friends (1949) · Private Lives (1931) · Rock Hudson’s Home Movies (1992) · Running on Empty (1988) · The Sacrifice (1986) · Satan’s Rhapsody (1917) · Senso (1954) · Shoulder Arms (1918) · Sorcerer (1977) · Spanglish (2004) · Stage Door (1937) · Starman (1984) · The Stone Tape (1972) · Stromboli (1950) · Terms of Endearment (1983) · They Were Expendable (1945) · Thief (1981) · Tugging the Worm (1987) · Up the Down Staircase (1967) · Les Vampires (1915)

[The bolded titles form a loose top ten. Everything is pre-2018.]

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Yes, Dad

A third of the way into The Shining, the explicit terror has barely begun. Danny’s been riding his big wheel or watching TV with his mom while Jack marinates elsewhere in the monotony of their new home. Yet an exchange between the two of them when Danny’s fetching a toy fire truck is more insidious than any apparition. It’s just a father holding his son, at first tightly, nuzzling against his head, then with a looser grip as he looks him in the eyes. Their dialogue’s as banal as their domestic surroundings: “Are you having a good time?” asks Jack. “Yes, dad,” says Danny. “Do you feel bad?” asks Danny. “No, just a little bit tired,” says Jack. They go back and forth like this for a while, question and answer, before Danny brings up the hotel’s ambiance and the prospect of physical harm. “I love you more than anything else in the whole world,” assures Jack. “I would never do anything to hurt you. Never.”

Strings and rumbling percussion complicate the scene’s tenderness, as does Danny Lloyd’s robotic inflection. Jack Nicholson gives his lines sinister subtext with those arching eyebrows and curling lips. Their relationship manifests itself in these horror movie techniques. Throughout their talk, Jack keeps both hands on his son, because his affection’s synonymous with control. His is a love that precludes the vocalization of fear. Although this is a vast, bombastic movie, with Nicholson playing a histrionic monster, he’s nonetheless recognizable as a real-life dad with his bathrobe, stubble, and mussed hair. A dad can surround you forever with his body and his love; he can make himself impossible to escape. He can dislocate your shoulder and chase you with an axe and still protest that he’d never do anything to hurt you. Never.

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M Musing

10 years ago I saw Fritz Lang’s M in an intro class on film history. I recall jotting down some notes about Nazism and early sound. Over the intervening decade I took its greatness for granted. Now, upon revisiting it, the film feels startling and fresh. Its structure remains radical, emphasizing forensic methodology for the first half and a tightening manhunt in the second. (Ostensible star Peter Lorre is onscreen for maybe a quarter of the film.) It’s more about the throng than the individual, with a George Grosz-like attention to urban disarray. How, ask both cops and criminals, do you monitor a populace? Despite its lurid narrative, M bears strong resemblance to Walter Ruttmann’s montage doc Berlin: Symphony of a Great City. It depicts the metropolis from top to bottom, indoors and out.

For a story of child murder, M also displays a sick sense of humor. The famed sequence of shots cutting from Elsie Beckmann’s newly bereaved mother to a stairwell, attic, dinner table, ball, and balloon isn’t exactly a joke, but it is droll, and its drollness is nauseating. Later in the film, Lorre’s Hans Beckert stalks a little girl past a row of shops, ducking into a doorway when her mom shows up. The two of them walking past while he faces away is a punchline familiar from dozens of slasher movies: the near-victim oblivious to her brush with death. More overt gags predominate during a police raid on an underground bar. One fugitive tries to sneak up a secret exit; when he sees a patrolman’s boots blocking it, he sneaks back, hanging up his hat with an air of resignation.

Lorre himself looks boyish with his bowtie and his egglike head. He’s cartoony rather than intimidating, a stranger in an overcoat, until the climactic burlesque of a trial renders him hysterical. This outsider (Außenseiter, says the Mabuse-like kingpin) is the right villain for a film of such supreme moral irony. Most of M digresses from the killings to the citywide panic they incite, revealing a spectacle of violence, hypocrisy, and fear. Yet it’s subtle, each segment snapping into the next, all part of the broader investigation. The film was a trailblazing procedural, and it lays its subject bare. What is police procedure? It’s how people with power get things done.

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