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Dune: Massive Scale & Messianic Spirituality

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Never let it be said that Denis Villeneuve isn’t willing to take risks. After the financial disaster of critical darling Blade Runner 2049, one might have thought that the Canadian director would move on to smaller projects.

But why do that when you can tackle a complex work of science fiction with a history of failures onscreen?

Although adapted several times before, Frank Herbert’s 400-page sci-fi epic Dune has often been described as ‘unfilmable’ due to its incredible ambition and scale. However, Villeneuve has never been one to shy away from a challenge. Inching towards a three hour runtime, Dune seems like it could be almost overwhelming or impractical for audiences. (What’s more, its no secret that this is only the first half of the story as well.)

Even so, the experiment works. In taking this approach, Villeneuve has the opportunity to let the film breathe and allow its expansive storytelling and scale to unravel at its own pace. As a result, the film never feels like it’s unnecessarily cutting material for the sake of the runtime yet never really drags either. The director of such films as the vastly underrated Blade Runner 2049 and Arrival, Villeneuve has made a name for himself taking on material with multiple layers and massive landscapes and Dune certainly fits that description.

And to say that Dune operates on a massive scale is to put it mildly. 

Dune tells the story of Paul Atreides (Timothee Chalamet), a gifted young man who believes his destiny is to do great things. As the heir to the House Atreides, Paul is drawn into an interstellar conflict when his father Leto (Oscar Isaacs) attempts to negotiate the exclusive rights to mining a rare and essential natural resource on the planet Arrakis. As discussions move forward, tensions between the House Atreides are stalled when the brutal House Harkkonen attempt to take the resources for themselves. As a result, Paul finds himself caught between loyalty to his father and seeking the destiny that he believes lies before him.

Complex and expansive, there is little wonder why Herbert’s novel is held in such high esteem. The sheer audacity and scope of this piece is awestriking and really truly should only be seen in IMAX. (It’s obvious to see why Villeneuve would have balked at the proposal to release on HBO Max.) While the cinematography may not be quite as impressive as Deakins’ Oscar-winning work in Blade Runner 2049, there is no doubt that Dune is meant to make you feel insignificant against its landscapes. Deserts are expansive and dry. Planets of rain are feel as though they will be drench the audience. Every moment onscreen is constructed to emphasize that its characters are insignificant when compared to the immensity of their environments. 

Filled with creativity and detailed history, this is the sort of sci-fi epic that seeks to honour its source material by fully immersing you within its story. Similar to Game of Thrones, Dune is not a simple ‘good versus evil’ battle but instead becomes a deep political thriller with multiple sides, history and theology. As such, casual fans may need to be patient in order to find their way through at first. (Personally, I was unfamiliar with the material and it took me some time to feel like I fully grasped the relationships and tensions between worlds.) That’s not to say that the film doesn’t feature eye-popping special effects and enormous space battles. Villeneuve has some truly amazing visual action set pieces here as well. Instead, it is simply a caution that the film’s strong political emphasis can be overwhelming to the unfamiliar. 

As warring factions collide over their interest in ‘spice’, their interest truly lies in power and conquest. The primary propellant for space travel, spice also can extend human life and create super-human levels of thought. As a result, this strange material has become the most sought-after resource in the universe, initiating complicated political machinations in order to maintain control of its reserves. (It’s worth noting that Villeneuve seems to use this as a metaphor to echo the battle for oil in the Middle East.) To those involved, those who control the spice control the galaxy.

Complicating this battle is the Fremen, natives of Arrakis who live in the deep desert. To those who seek only the spice, they are viewed as helpless nomads that need the strength and might of their conquerors. However, it is clear from the outset that the Fremen require no protection. Confident, intelligent and well-organized, the Fremen have survived for centuries on their own amidst the dangers of the desert. Though viewed by the powerful as the ‘savages’ of the desert, in truth they have the greatest understanding of their world and how it operates. However, this matters little to their conquerors. Rather than take the time to learn about the Fremen, the people of Atreides and Harkkonen instead view them as obstacles that threaten their quest for power. Like so many victims of colonization before them, the Fremen are treated with disrespect by those who hold the military might and are therefore kept to the margins.

What’s most interesting about Villeneuve’s Dune though is its spiritual underpinnings. Unlike the cold cynicism of Blade Runner 2049, this is a world that has deeply theological roots that inform its culture with hope. From the authority of the Bene Gesseret to the underlying prophesy, Dune is very interested in imbuing its world with messianic themes. This becomes particularly true in the case of the culture’s view of Paul Atreides and his mother. Believed to be the ‘chosen one’, Paul’s relationship with the people of Atraxis reveals two differing worldviews. On the one hand, the two are held in reverence by those who believe. At the same time, they are kept at a distance by those who simply cannot fathom that this insignificant little man could be the one who has been prophesied about. (Echoing the Biblical narrative of Mary and Jesus, the comparisons to the New Testament journey of Christ are undeniable.) Despite their technological advancements and social systems, this is still a world waiting for something (or someone) more powerful that will give them hope and bring justice.

Bound to be divisive due to its long runtime and complex political landscapes, there will be those who feel they cannot connect with Dune. What’s more, its always a risk to make a film with the intent of future installments, especially for science fiction epics. However, Villeneuve’s Dune is one which deserves to be completed. Featuring expansive storytelling, landscapes and a cast that seems to contain almost everyone in Hollywood, Dune simply works. With deep affection for his source material and incredible skill, Villeneuve has yet again created a film which is both stunning and smart. Most importantly though, this story feels like it has something to say… but it simply needs the opportunity to finish its thought.

Dune is be available in theatres on Friday, October 22nd, 2021.

Night Raiders: The Future is History

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Set in the year 2043, Night Raiders takes place in a world where disenfranchised cities in post-war North America are controlled by a maniacal military organization called The Emerson Group. Under their regime, children are considered property of the State and forced into their children’s academy. Having been on the run for years, Niska (Elle-Maija Tailfeathers) and her 11-year-old daughter, Waseese (Brooklyn Letexier-Hart) have managed to stay under the radar by keeping a low profile. However, after Waseese is captured by The Emerson Group, Niska connects with an underground band of vigilantes and joins in their plot to infiltrate the facility and free her daughter.

Written and directed by Danis Goulet, Night Raiders is a sci-fi film with a historical edge. Co-produced by Taika Waititi, there’s a fire to this film that demands attention.  Sharply written and executed, Raiders is an entertaining thrill ride from start to finish. More importantly though, Goulet brings a unique voice into the science fiction genre that allows her to tackle Indigenous stories in a way that connects with everyone. Though its set in the world of sci-fi, Night Raiders still resonates with the real world. Goulet has created a tale that maintains a certain distance from its subject matter yet still feels powerful and poignant. Intense and engaging, Goulet creates a compelling metaphor for the pain of a people group that have often been silenced and ignored. As such, despite the fact that it takes place 20 years into the future, its themes feel current and important in today’s cultural conversations surrounding the history of Indigenous peoples.

Though its set in the world of sci-fi, Night Raiders still resonates with the real world. Intense and engaging, Goulet creates a compelling piece that expresses the pain of a people group that have often been silenced and ignored. As a metaphor for the poisonous environment of residential schools and their effect on the Indigenous communities, Raiders leans into the concept of erasure. With an emphasis on controlling the population, the Emerson Group longs to build a country built on the backs of sameness. As captives, children are indoctrinated into a neutralized culture. Dressing their children in gray tones and keeping them in white cages, Emerson brainwashes their conscripted children with phrasing of dedication to the cause. Colour is eliminated wherever possible with the hope of creating the sense of a unified society. As their indoctrination takes hold, the memories and livelihoods of these children are erased at the hands of the Emerson psychological machine. Similar to the leadership which tormented the children of residential schools, the Emerson Group is concerned only with eliminating differences for the sake of their own ideologies. (It’s also worth noting that everyone who represents Emerson is white while children and families who are subject to their cruelty are all visible minorities.)

With an eye on history, Raiders also very much looks towards the present and the future by speaking into the challenges of breaking free. Although Niska is challenged to step up and take command, her years of oppression keep her under a blanket of fear. Having been stuck under the weight of the Emerson tyranny for so long, she is reluctant to join in the fight against them. Although she yearns for her daughter’s freedom, she believes that the revolution is not her battle. (After all, what can she do about it?) In this way, Niska’s struggle mirrors our current culture as Indigenous populations are being called to step forward and share their stories of suffering. With every traumatic tale that is told, the truth about systemic oppression continues to come to light, allowing for change. However, this bearing of souls is always a challenge, especially after years of psychological oppression. As such, Niska’s journey also resonates at a time when the Indigenous population has finally found the courage to speak out against those that have hurt them in the past.

At the same time, Goulet also demonstrates what’s at stake when she highlights the power of the children themselves. Whereas adults have the opportunity to fight the today’s battles, Raiders acknowledges that their struggle will allow the next generation to have a greater understanding of justice and equity for the future. Although the children require rescue at the hands of the Emerson Group, the film also points to the fact that there is a strength within them that bodes well for future generations. As a result, Goulet balances Raiders with dual perspectives by examining the importance of both an adult awakening and children uprising.

For Goulet, both generations are needed because both voices matter.

To hear our interview with director Danis Goulet & Elle-Maija Tailfeathers, click here (audio) and here (YouTube).

Night Raiders premiered at TIFF and is available in theatres on Friday, October 8th, 2021.

8.01 Writing Back to DEAR EVAN HANSEN

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Directed by Stephen Chbosky, DEAR EVAN HANSEN tells the story of a young man who write letters to himself in order to provide a way of dealing with his mental health issues. However, when one of his letters is mistaken for the last words of another teen who takes his own life, Evan finds himself trapped in a lie that deceives the youth’s family and his friends. This week, the Movies You Missed crew convene to dig into EVAN HANSEN’s moral compass, the film’s depiction of mental health and who they believe the true villain of the film may be.

You can watch the episode on YouTube and stream on podomatic, Alexa (via Stitcher), Spotify, Google Play or Amazon Podcasts! Or, you can download the ep on Apple Podcasts!

Want to continue to conversation at home?  Click the link below to download ‘Fishing for More’ — some small group questions for you to bring to those in your area.

8.01 Dear Evan HansenDownload

The Guilty: Blurring the Lines of Justice

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Everyone wants to catch the guilty but not everyone recognizes that same guilt within themselves.

Directed by Antoine Fuqua (Training Day), The Guilty takes place during the raging wildfires of Los Angeles. As his nightshift at the 911 desk winds down, frustrated and exhausted police officer Joe Bayler (Jake Gyllenhaal) gets a perilous phone call from a young woman (Riley Keough) who appears to be calling her child. Though he must get up early in the morning for a trial of his own misconduct, Joe ascertains that the young woman has been abducted and attempts to piece together her whereabouts from her cryptic clues. With few officers available due to the fires (not to mention the time of night), Joe feverishly works towards rescuing her. However, as the crime begins to unravel, Joe’s own inner demons begin to surface, blurring the lines between justice and vengeance.

In The Guilty, Antoine Fuqua delivers his signature intensity in a film the demands attention. Reteaming with his Southpaw star Gyllenhaal, Fuqua has never taken the easy approach with his filmmaking and Guilty is yet another example of his ability to tell stories that others simply cannot. Taking place entirely in the office of 911 dispatch, it is very difficult to maintain interest over the course of a full runtime in one location (and especially when the protagonist is spending the entire length of the film on the phone). From Phone Booth to Netflix’s Oxygen, many other films have attempted to make this format engaging but most of these examples begin to falter as the film drags on. (Ryan Reynold’s Buried may be one of the few exceptions.) Quite simply, the viewer expects (and usually requires) some sort of visual change in order to keep them focused for an extended runtime. Nevertheless, The Guilty somehow makes it work. 

Much of this can be credited to the commitment of its star. Jake Gyllenhaal has always done intensity very, very well. With few exceptions, Gyllenhaal has always sought characters that he could sink his teeth into and, as a police officer about to stand trial, he fully dives into his performance. Let off the leash by Fuqua, this becomes yet another example of his incredible talent. As a result, anchored by a solid script and the strength of its lead, The Guilty may be one of the best examples of the genre. It simply grabs you from the opening scene and never truly let’s go. 

However, what makes gives The Guilty its power is it subtext. The Guilty tells a story of a police officer who is about to face trial for an undisclosed crime and he does not want to be held accountable. At the same time though, so too does he also refuse to acknowledge his own mental instability. As he fights to save the life of a young woman, he also exposes his own flaws and brokenness. Joe is a man who is determined to save those who he feels deserve it yet is also willing to unleash hell on those that don’t. The pressures of the job have clearly broken his spirit and his judgement is compromised. (“Broken people save broken people,“ he is told by a coworker.) Although we never fully fully discover what his crimes may be, we certainly understand that he made the wrong decision when he caused them. His desire to do right has been overcome by his pension to do wrong.

As such, there’s a complexity to Joe that keeps the viewer at a distance. We believe that he is someone who wants to defend the innocent. He is passionate about bringing down ‘the bad guys’ and wants to be one of the ‘good guys’. His love for his estranged family is genuine.

However, Joe also proves that he’s not currently suited to wear the badge. Bored and frustrated by the average person, he has little interest in the everyday problems of everyday people. Then, when really difficult situations arise, he is far too willing to take matters into his own hands. While this sort of rogue cop has been celebrated on film for decades (ie. 24‘s Jack Bauer), The Guilty understands that this sort of rage-filled avenger simply has no place in real life. There’s an inner rage and hatred against ‘scumbags’ that fuels Joe’s actions, making him a toxic presence in the community. In other words, his ‘justice’ can just as easily become an outlet for his own mental health issues. In this way, The Guilty acknowledges the importance of the police yet also calls for accountability and health of those who don the uniform.

Bold and gripping, The Guilty is a film that needs to be experienced. With skill and substance, Fuqua takes a genre that rarely works and delivers an entertaining and thrilling film that keeps the viewer on the edge of their seat. Even so, the real value of the film is its question of valor which resonates deeply with the questions of police accountability today. While Joe may be a man who wants to not be Guilty, it’s also clear that he’s far from innocent.

The Guilty is available on Netflix on October 1st, 2021

Titane: Viciously Brutal and Hauntingly Beautiful

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There are films that haunt you because they’re disturbing and there are films that haunt you because they’re beautiful.

Somehow, Titane manages to be both.

Directed by Julia Ducournau, Titane tells the story of Alexia (Agathe Rousselle), a young, provocative dancer who has been broken by trauma. At a young age, Alexia was involved in a brutal car accident that left her with a titanium plate implanted in her skull. As a result, she has always felt a connection to cars and spends her nights working auto shows as a showgirl. When a bizarre incident with her vehicle leaves her pregnant, Alexia unleashes her rage with murderous vengeance on those around her. Scared for her life and on the run, she disguises herself as a young man who has been missing for a decade and fools his father, firefighter Vincent (Vincent Lindon), into bringing her home. As she settles into her new life, so too must Alexia fight to keep her growing secret from those around her who threaten to expose her and bring her to justice.

To put it simply, Titane is one of the wildest cinematic experiences that you will have in 2021. The winner of this year’s Palme D’Or at Cannes (and taking the Midnight Madness prize at this year’s TIFF), the film is graphic, violent and borders on insanity in moments. Early on within the film, Ducournau reveals that she is willing to let her lead character’s inhibitions fly and she does so with style and brutality. With electricity and colour, Ducournau wants these scenes to linger in the minds of her audience and there’s little question that she succeeds. 

What’s interesting though is that, even in the film’s most shocking moments, Ducournau often seems to maintain a sense of play. This becomes particularly evident in one brutal murder scene where the director opts to utilize a pop soundtrack. Despite its vicious violence, Ducournau’s musical choice injects the moment with some levity and twisted humour that surprises the viewer. In this way, Titane shows that it is more than willing to sit in its own darkness by adding a subtle glee to its tone. 

Having said this though, this film has an emotional core that draws you in. Somehow, after the blood splatters and sexuality subside, Titane strikes deep with a personal story about love and its relationship to personal suffering. When we first meet Alexia, we see her as a young girl who simply wants to express herself yet finds her inner joy extinguished by her father’s indignation and lack of empathy. As a grown woman, she remains the object of her male fans who view her as the object that they want her to be, even though they are forbidden for touching her. (“Look with your eyes, not your hands,” they’re reminded. In this way, she lives a life of cold distance from human connection. (What’s more, this also likely explains her strange connection to the cars themselves as a representation of both masculine power and impersonal touch.)

But that’s what makes her relationship with Vincent so fascinating.

Grappling with her trauma, Alexia’s murderous sprees are fueled with a hate-filled wrath that keeps anyone from getting close to her. Within her lies a bubbling rage that can turn white hot in the blink of an eye when needed. She simply does not know how to love or be loved. Now, by adopting the identity of Vincent’s long-lost son, Alexia finally finds the perfect vessel to start over without allowing anyone to get close to the real her.

However, despite her apprehension and lack of interest, Vincent refuses to be dissuaded. Having lost his son a decade prior, he will not allow himself to lose ‘him’ again. For the last ten years, there has been a hole in his soul that has left him adrift. Now, with the rediscovery of his ‘son’, Vincent’s fatherly love becomes relentless. With unconditional acceptance, Vincent cares little for where his son has been but simply celebrates the fact that he’s home again. He swears that none of his firemen will hurt him or they will face his wrath. (In fact, Vincent even swears to Alexia that, should he hurt ‘him’, he will kill himself out of grief.) 

Despite the warnings of others, Vincent sees what he wants to see. In Alexia, he sees his son and that is who she will be. (“I don’t care who you are. You will always be my son,” he proclaims.) Despite the fact that Alexia shows no real repentance for her actions, Vincent’s deep love for her covers over a multitude of sins. While some will say this is an act of denial (and that is a fair argument), it’s fairly clear that this stems out of a redemptive love that gives her a new identity. Although her past requires justice, she is made new in the love of her new father. (In this way, the film takes on remarkable parallels to the Biblical parable of the Prodigal Son who returns to a father who has been awaiting his return anxiously.) Without giving away spoilers, this relationship allows new life to spring forward out of a broken person that bears the scars of others and trauma. A new life that life matters.

In Vincent, there is hope. Even for Alexia.

Yes, Titane is an unsettling film that is designed to disturb its audience. Yes, it is graphic and brutal with its sexuality and violence. However, there is something beautiful within the subtext of this film which becomes even more shocking. Despite its package of bright lights and bare skin, this is a film about breaking free from the damage inflicted by others and being made new. No matter what may have come before, Alexia’s relationship with Vincent demonstrates the incredible power of an unconditional (even Divine) love that sees hope for the broken soul. It’s a love that sees who you can be, as opposed to who you are.

And, in the end, that love proves to be the most haunting aspect of Titane.

Titane premiered at TIFF ’21 and is available in theatres on Friday, October 1st, 2021.

TIFF ’21: Dear Evan Hansen

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Directed by Stephen Chbosky (Wonder), Dear Evan Hansen tells the story of a young man named Evan Hansen (Ben Platt) who suffers from social anxiety disorder. In an effort to help ease his stress, his therapist advises him to write letters to himself in an effort to get out his feelings. However, when one particularly revealing letter lands in the hands of the deeply troubled Connor (Colton Ryan), events begin to unfold that place Evan in a difficult position. One the one hand, he has the opportunity to create a new life for himself based on a lie or, on the other, he could tell the truth and slip into social oblivion again.

Based on the Tony award-winning musical, Dear Evan Hansen is an enjoyable piece that delves into issues of mental health with maturity and grace. In many ways, it’s unfortunate that the primary topic of conversation around the film has been focused on the use of 27-year-old Ben Platt as Evan himself. And admittedly, yes. There’s something distracting about him in the role. Maybe it’s the make-up or simply the lighting but, somehow, Platt does feel slightly out of sync with the film’s world. 

However, having said that, it’s worth noting that the other “teens” onscreen are approximately the same age as Platt (and, in some cases, even older). So, perhaps that aspect of the film has been overblown by the film community. What’s more, Platt truly has a passion for the role and does everything possible to fully immerse himself in his character. Whether the viewer appreciates it or not, there is definitely a connection between Platt and Evan Hansen that demanded Chbosky cast him as his lead. (Chbosky has stated that he never considered anyone else for the role.)

Controversy aside, there’s a lot to like about Hansen. Anchored by a truly incredible soundtrack, the film pops along and production numbers mostly have an enthusiastic energy. Performances by Julianne Moore and Amy Adams are solid and the script rarely drags too much. Even so, the most important aspect of the film is its handling of the topic of mental health. Despite its lively soundtrack and lively performances, Hansen is a film which is unafraid to kick at its own darkness until it sees some daylight. With humility and heart, the film takes its subject matter seriously and, in realistic ways, highlight the dangers faced by those who suffer in silence. From Connor’s suicide to Evan himself, their journeys are informed by the struggles that few are aware bubble under the surface. 

Similar to his previous films Wonder and Perks of Being a Wallflower (which he also wrote), Chbosky has a way of giving voice to this generation of youth in ways that highlights their struggles and pain. With empathy and grace, Dear Evan Hansen is yet another project that allows him to wrestle with the challenges of youth without ever trying to pretend that he is one himself. In many ways, one senses that Chbosky’s approach to filmmaking youthfulness is to listen and learn, rather than simply claim to know from experience himself.

As a result, Hansen feels like an opportunity for young people to explore and express the pain that often goes unnoticed by adults. Yes, Evan’s decisions throughout the film are often poor and spiral out of control. However, he also has our sympathy for his wounded soul, especially with the film’s final ‘reveal’ about his broken arm. Like the cast that he wears, Evan too is trying to protect himself from the hurts that lie within that few others understand. When one considers that his inner pain is mirrored within Connor, suddenly they seem less cruel. Like the one who was lost, Evan too is trying to navigate his own hurts.

His deception of others is also one for himself.

In this way, there’s definitely value in Dear Evan Hanson. Whether or not one can agree with the choice to use Platt (or his makeup), the film’s messages and conversations about mental health, healing and hope add layers to the story which make it a love letter worth reading.

To hear our interview with director Stephen Chbosky, click here.

Dear Evan Hansen premiered at TIFF and is available in theatres on Friday, September 24th, 2021.

TIFF ’21: The Starling

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In The Starling, Lilly (Melissa McCarthy) and Jack (Chris O’Dowd) are a couple who have been shattered by tragedy. A year after their infant daughter has passed away, their grief has driven them apart. While Jack is recovering in a psychiatric clinic, Lilly tries to maintain her job in a local grocery store and keep their home stable. After an encounter with a tiny starling pushes her to the brink, Lilly reaches out to Larry (Kevin Kline), a local veterinarian, for help and emotional support.

Directed by Theodore Melfi, The Starling is an enjoyable film that still feels like somewhat of a mixed bag. Melfi understands how to bring the best out of his cast and they offer some good work here, especially O’Dowd and Klein. This is a film which deals with grief in a mature manner that refuses to settle for any easy answers on how to deal with the pain. There is a great deal of respect here for those who are hurting and how they manage to work their way through it. For example, each character within the film is dealing with their own pain in different ways, whether it’s Jack’s self-blame, Larry’s penchant to flee or Lilly’s denial. In each case, Melfi’s film allows its characters to be themselves and take their own journey’s towards healing. (In particular, Kline’s supporting role as the broken counsellor turned veterinarian anchors the film with a hesitant wisdom.)

Nevertheless, despite the strengths of the film, there are simply a few too many spaces that take you out of the experience. Despite her incredible dramatic talent, there are times when McCarthy’s need to provide humour somehow lets the air out of the moment. (The scene with the ladder is particularly noticeable.) While The Starling is most definitely an enjoyable and poignant film over all, there are times where it still feels like a missed opportunity.

In a strange way, one of the most intriguing aspects of the film is the starling itself. With every attempt that Lilly makes to rebuild her garden (and her life), the bird swoops down and make it difficult for her to do so. As she mows the lawn, she is forced to run into the house. Planting vegetables in the garden result in further random attacks from above. (In fact, she eventually even has to wear a football helmet to protect herself.) Despite the fact that she is attempting to do something constructive, she finds herself under constant threat of assault from her tiny feathered adversary.

However, this is also what makes the starling so interesting. Mirroring Lilly’s struggles, this small, territorial bird operates as a strong metaphor for grief’s ability to constantly attack at random times. For anyone who has endured the trauma of grief, there is a certain level of paralysis that takes place for the wounded. As much as one wants to let go of their suffering, there is a process that must be endured in order to do so. Similarly, despite the fact that Lilly desperately wants to move forward, this tiny creature keeps causing her to fall flat on her back or run away in fear. 

And it refuses to relent.

As such, grief is portrayed as a road with many twists and turns. Days of joy turn quickly based on a simple reminder of the pain that they’d briefly forgotten. Moments that feel like breakthroughs can bring hope but can also seem elusive. Each experience feels like an eternity and yet gone in a blink of an eye. Every character does what they can to get through the day. 

Incidentally, it’s worth noting that, although faith is brought into the film, it is also held a distance. As Lilly attempts to get through the day, she sits and stares blankly at a television program that mentions that there’s hope yet gives few answers. In this way, faith becomes somewhat of a panacea for this grieving mother as she zones out in front of the TV but never really seems to be able to connect it to her life. While never portrayed negatively here, faith simply seems irrelevant to her experience, even if it is calming for her.

But this is what works best within the film. These quieter moments highlight the challenges of suffering and grief without sacrificing their complex nature. Whereas many films often offer simple solutions, The Starling doesn’t always come to conclusions and that is too its credit. Even though the more slapstick moments can deflate moments that need thought, the more one reflects on the film, the more one can appreciate what Melfi and his team are trying to do. Like the starling itself, this is a story that understands that grief must be endured before it can finally be released.

To hear our interview with director Ted Melfi, click here (audio) and here (YouTube).

The Starling premiered at TIFF and is available on Netflix on Friday, September 24th, 2021.

Quickening: Tradition Versus Independence

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Quickening

Sheila (Arooj Azeem), a Pakistani-Canadian university student, is trying to find her independence while dealing with traditional and overbearing parents.  As she experiences love, sex, and heartbreak for the first time, Sheila has to deal with the fallout of those things essentially on her own.  She doesn’t seem to mesh well with her family or her peers.  With the exception of one friend, Sheila doesn’t confide in anyone.

Directed by Haya Waseem, Quickening is an interesting look at the immigrant experience and the difficulties navigating cultural traditions versus independence. As a first generation Canadian, Sheila has certain values that she is expected to uphold.  In one scene, Sheila is asked by a family member if she has forgotten those values.  In many scenes, it’s apparent that Sheila is conflicted between her family life and the life that she is trying to create as an adult.  You can almost see her mulling this over in her head as she quietly goes about her business.

On top of her own experiences, we see Sheila’s parents going through their own difficulties.  As immigrants trying to make their way in Canada who desire to make their children happy, Sheila’s parents experience financial hardship which threatens to uproot them again.

Quickening

Sheila is a very contemplative character but doesn’t seem to let the audience in.  Personally, I found it difficult to connect with her.  Although, perhaps this speaks more about the tribulations that she was experiencing during this time in her life.  Even thought she was going through quite a complicated mental health struggle, Shiela was forced to keep it inside so she wouldn’t reveal anything to her family.

There were numerous unique camera angles throughout the film that would often cut off the heads of the characters.  In some scenes, I found this style creative but, in others, I felt like perhaps I was missing out on something. While I was very interested in one of the main plot points of the film, I didn’t feel as though it was fleshed out enough.  I wanted to know more about this particular situation.  Though the piece was coming to a crescendo, it still felt vague about its. intentions to me.

Quickening premiered on Saturday, September 12th, 2021 at the Toronto International Film Festival.

TIFF ’21: All My Puny Sorrows

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Ever since their father’s suicide in their youth, sisters Yoli (Alison Pill) and Elf (Sarah Gadon) have wrestled with tragedy. Now adults, All My Puny Sorrows follows the two women who carry their grief in different ways yet both are having difficulty coping to get through the day. Navigating a divorce and her struggling career as a writer, Yoli is getting by emotionally (but barely) while Elf is now a famous concert pianist who seems to have the world at her feet. However, neither woman find it easy to confront the emotional trauma that haunts them. After Yoli attempts to commit suicide, the family is forced to dig up their personal demons and figure out what it means to move on.

In many ways, the term ‘puny’ is an understatement for the sorrows in this film. Instead, Sorrows is very much a piece where the weight of death and sadness is simply too much to bear. This is a family of tragic figures who grip a torch of mental health that is being passed along within this family. Broken by the death of their father ‘by his own hand’ [though they hate that term], they carry the weight of his suicide with them into adulthood. Now, Elf may seem like the picture of success yet cannot bear to make it to the next day. While Yoli may be more emotionally stable, she too is struggling to get by, primarily financially. 

Tightly written in a way that pays homage to classic tragic authors, the language in this film is often framed poetically. With constant literary references, Sorrows deep dives into the stories of authors who used their skills to express their pain so beautifully in the past. Though the content is extremely heavy, Sorrows benefits from solid performances from its stars. Allison Pill does a wonderful job leading the cast as a woman struggling and fighting to survive but ultimately forced to release all expectations of life. At the same time, Gadon (who may be one of Canada’s finest actresses right now) continues to turn in grounded performances that feel present with her characters.

Perhaps to its credit, Sorrows offers few answers of hope for those battling mental health issues, depression and suicide. Set against the cold winter, this too is a film which focuses on the winter of the souls of its characters. Whereas many other films attempt to explain away the reasons (and solutions) to issues of depression, Sorrows instead highlights the toxic ways that culture has tried to placate these feelings in the past. For example, in one particularly interesting scene, a pastor shows up to Elf‘s room and attempts to shame her into forgiveness and hope. Instead of listening to Elf’s pain or taking on a posture of humility, he shows a shocking level of insensitivity in the moment and utilizes shame in order to ‘provide help’. In response, she lashes out at him and takes off her clothes. The shock of the moment forces him out of the room in fear, leaving her alone in her suffering. Afterwards, Yoli and her mom discuss Elf’s story, recognizing the perils of shame and the way that we carry it. While this is hardly the most uplifting of moments, it also shows the cold insensitivity of a culture that too frequently stands on the outside, unwilling to acknowledge the depth of pain in others.

However, it’s worth noting that this also means that hope within this world also feels more elusive. As answers become less clear, so too does the pit of suffering feel more… inescapable. By the end, Sorrows seems to lean into hope as the practices of letting go yet finds it difficult to offer ways by which to do so. While it’s appreciated that the challenges of mental health are taken so seriously, so too does the film bear a heavy weight on the viewer’s soul as well.

In many ways, the title All My Puny Sorrows feels immensely ironic as these burdens are far from small for its characters. There is a heaviness to this film that is both painful and poetic as its characters sit within their struggles, seeking some form of light. Even so, due to a smartly written script and engaging performances, the film manages to remain compelling, even when its sadness can be overwhelming. 

All My Puny Sorrows premiered at TIFF ’21 on Saturday, September 11th, 2021.

TIFF ’21: To Kill the Beast

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Set in a small town in the jungles of Argentina, To Kill the Beast follows the journey of Emilia (Tamara Rocca), a young woman from Buenos Aires who is searching relentlessly for her lost brother. After her mother’s death, Emilia’s great hope is to ease the broken relationships with her family and so she sets out on a quest to find him. As she takes up a room at the aunt’s hostel, Emilia meets another young border who challenges her to open her eyes to the nature of love and what it means to be free from oppression.

The first feature written and directed by Augustina San Martin, To Kill the Beast is a film that wrestles with the monsters that haunt us. San Martin uses her setting to create a world of mystery and fear. Set against the steamy darkness of the jungle, the proverbial beast casts an ominous shadow that no one can find but everyone knows exists. Targeting women in the night yet leaving no evidence, the beast is an ever-present terror that hovers over the area. In choosing to use the beast with such ambiguity, San Martin creates an aura of oppression within this small town but refuses to isolate it’s meaning to one particular issue. 

To be clear, San Martin has flatly denied any chance to provide specific information as to what she intends the beast to represent. Having said this though, she does leave clues as to what she may view as the true demons that come in the night. For example, San Martin repeatedly highlights the masculine power that infests all aspects of the community. In this small town, men make the decisions. They lead the search in the woods. They control the church and government. Theirs is a patriarchy of tradition and toxic masculine dominance. 

At the same time, Beast also seeks to tell the story one woman who is discovering her sexuality as well. As Emilia attempts to reconcile her family, so too is she coming of age. When a young woman moves into her border home, something within her comes alive yet the traditions that she has been taught keep her trapped emotionally. Set against the backdrop of masculine control, her desire to be free from sexual oppression becomes a key aspect of her individual freedom as well. In one particularly fascinating moment, Emilia, her lover and their aunt turn on the radio and hear a recording of Ave Maria. However, while the tune remains the same, the traditional Catholic worship song has been remixed into a club track. As the women begin to dance, this joyful innocence feels like an act of rebellion. In this brief respite from the culture that surrounds them, the women come alive as they break through the oppression of the male-dominated church and celebrate their lives in a moment of freedom.

Although San Martin refuses to specify what she believes the beast to be, what is certain is that To Kill the Beast wants to identify those sociological toxins that have oppressed women for far too long. Whether its masculine dominance, the church or some other unknown force, San Martin simply wants her female characters to be free and live without fear in the darkness that surrounds them.

To hear our interview with Augustina San Martin, click here (audio) or here (YouTube).

To Kill the Beast premiered at TIFF ’21 on Saturday, September 11th, 2021