the story: An old soldier tries to find a reason to live.
the rating: ****
the review: I've become somewhat of a Hemingway nut, in the past decade, stemming, ironically or not, from a depiction of Hemingway himself, in Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris, and have been steadily plugging away at his fiction (and some of his nonfiction, including, of course, A Moveable Feast), and he's become very easily one of my favorite writers as a result. Across the River and Into the Trees, though, first came to my attention as a home video release (since its theatrical run was negligible), as it's not considered one of Heminway's essential works, and as such hadn't previously showed up on my radar.
So I collected the movie and ordered a copy of the book, and watched the movie and then read the book, and having read the book, rewatched the movie. As these things tend to go, for those who aren't slavishly devoted to the narrative that "the book is better," I drew more from the movie the second time around, as a result.
The movie changes things somewhat considerably, but it's the same story, all the same, and anyway, it's really a very fine excuse to spend some time with Liev Schreiber.
Schreiber has been one of my favorite actors since I first saw him, either in Scream or RKO 281, in which he plays Orson Welles as he constructs Citizen Kane, although it was probably another TV movie, one I'm fairly certain I'm in exclusive circles for remembering, much less very fondly, at all, called Since You've Been Gone, just an absolutely great, classic voice, and the knowledge of how to use it. He's otherwise had a fairly obscure career, most notable as the second actor to play Sabretooth, in X-Men Origins: Wolverine.
In some alternate version of history Schreiber is an acknowledged classic Hollywood lead actor with a rich catalog everyone knows.
In this one? You could do far worse than to appreciate him in Across the River and Into the Trees. Which, by the way, is popularly considered one of Hemingway's worst efforts, but I enjoyed it as much as I have any Heminway, and as I've said, the film version is worth watching on its own merits, chief among them being perhaps the long-awaited true spotlight for Liev Schreiber.
They say Bogart wasn't really Bogart until he hit middle age, when he at last became a valuable commodity. I don't see that being Schreiber's fate. Today's Hollywood is far too finical for such things. But that he found such a role, in such a film, is worth celebrating all the same. The whole performance seems natural, a culmination of everything he's done so well before, everything he was always meant to be, but never quite found in other movies.
I'm the kind of film fan who can appreciate a movie even if all that's worth recommending is the lead actor. I can accept a good performance for its own regard. Fortunately, the movie around Schreiber knows what it's doing, too, and although it's not Hemingway's version, it feels like classic Hollywood in ways that haven't been seen in probably half a century, an international setting (Venice) that's allowed to settle into the backdrop, as Schreiber embarks on his last fateful excursion, with a young lady who finds herself caught up in it, despite every reason not to be.
Josh Hutcherson, playing a very different role than in a much wider release in 2024, The Beekeeper, is probably the chief beneficiary of the alterations Peter Flannery made to the story, in an expanded, wiser supporting turn than Hemingway envisioned.
the story: A farming village on a remote moon finds itself the target of the nightmarish Imperium military.
the rating; ****
the review: Usually a review, even here, covers one movie at a time, and I could certainly split my thoughts between A Child of Fire and The Scargiver individually, but Rebel Moon hit that sweet spot the internet loves so much, something it was supposed to like but ended up hating, so I'm going to simplify things and write about both films under a single umbrella. Longish review short: Rebel Moon is better than you heard.
Actually, so the story goes, it began life as a project Zack Snyder pitched in the Disney Star Wars era, and anyone who watches or knows anything about Rebel Moon will find this very easy to believe. Much of the general framework of the two films is Star Wars iconography, down to the stand-in lightsabers a few of the characters use.
The very funny thing about all this, the reaction to Rebel Moon is that it addresses basically all the criticisms the internet has posed about Star Wars over the years. It also handily combines the original, prequel, and sequel trilogies, nine films into two.
Star Wars fans worry that the original trilogy will lose its appeal to later audiences, who are growing up with films that look far more advanced than even the pioneering work done in 1977, 1980 and 1983, with or without the visual updates George Lucas has toiled away at for some thirty years. The prequels are generally derided for trying to appeal to younger audiences a bit too much, with elements that are hard to take seriously and thus difficult to separate from the rest of the material. The sequels generally find their criticism in either being too slavish to the original films or not coherent enough in what they were trying to do.
Rebel Moon was constructed in much the fashion of Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings trilogy, in that the two films Snyder produced were part and parcel of the same production schedule, and there was never any doubt that they were both going to be released, especially since, unlike the later Horizon saga, they had a guaranteed, streaming, agreement. The results are much more like Jackson's work than Lucas and his successors, in that they deal with the material in a sober fashion first and foremost, plunging into a fictional landscape and taking it at face value, and assuming audiences don't need to be guided along in accepting it.
This is to say, the story was in place, it didn't have silly elements (unless you choose to view them as such, as many internet responses have), and it looks completely modern, with a budget that subsequently needed good reviews and wide audience acceptance in order for there to be more entries, neither of which Rebel Moon enjoyed, and so the future is doubtful.
It's been described, other than the obvious Star Wars parallels, as another version of Seven Samurai, and that seems to have been enough. But gathering a group of warriors is one of the oldest tropes in fictional. Even in 1954, when Akira Kurosawa's film was released, Tolkien was in fact releasing his Lord of the Rings, which itself is a sequel to his own Hobbit, where another band of warriors gather, and that is to say nothing of Robin Hood's Merry Men, or King Arthur's Knights of the Round Table, the Greeks united in The Iliad, or Jason's Argonauts, which still includes the most famous member of any such band, Heracles, otherwise known as Hercules, spoken of even within The Iliad itself as the greatest generation of warriors...
So the pedigree is certainly there. Even if you leave Rebel Moon at Seven Samurai itself, is that really such a bad thing? Star Wars owes a debt, after all, to The Hidden Fortress, another samurai epic (Rian Johnson, director of The Last Jedi, acknowledges the debt he owed to the same genre in his entry). By the second film, Scargiver, each of the warriors assembled is given an origin, after their spectacular calling cards in Child of Fire as they join the quest, which occasions one of the best, understated moments of the films as at least one character allows another origin to go unremarked, which makes up the bulk of the backstory most important to Rebel Moon...
Because it's Zack Snyder it's lush visuals all around. No one does it as well as Snyder. It's not even close. He's been doing it since 300 and there's no one who even tries, and for years the excuse was, he stole his ideas from the comics he adapted, but Sucker Punch is full of the same verve (and is itself far better than suggested, and an obvious predecessor to Rebel Moon).
To cobble the story, Snyder in fact combines elements from all of the Star Wars trilogies. He splits Han Solo into a number of different characters, including the one played by Charlie Hunnam in Child of Fire. The lead character, Kora (Sofia Boutella) is as much the Rey of the sequels as she is Luke in the originals, or Anakin, or perhaps more accurately Padme (or both) in the prequels. That's what's so fascinating. The Imperium is the First Order from the opening of The Force Awakens, the bloody conqueror without mercy barging wherever it wants with guns blazing, much as audiences adored the vision of Darth Vader in Rogue One. The farmers of Veldt are a version of the Lars moisture farm that can be understood, and faced with a problem that is far more urgent than foot soldiers looking for lost droids. I'm not criticizing Star Wars. Rebel Moon has more in common, in the final analysis, with Braveheart than Luke Skywalker.
It's got Djimon Hounsou, carefully drawing on his appearance in Gladiator, as one of the warriors Kora assembles. There's Anthony Hopkins voicing the robot that explains in simple terms why in this story they're treated like scum (we're left to assume, in Star Wars, that there are latent fears of the droid armies that once ran roughshod over countless worlds). His is the role of narrator. In most of his appearances he's silent. It's artful in ways that are usually reserved to Pixar. Ray Fisher, one of Snyder's Justice League actors, is unrecognizable and yet charismatic in an otherwise thankless role, meant to motivate more than fill the screen. Ed Skrein is the villain who looks like a Nazi but wears a suit, the real suggestion, perhaps, that in our current times the villains wear ties while the rest of us just try to get on with our lives. Corey Stoll appears in Child of Fire as village leader, and if you didn't know it was him you probably wouldn't guess, but as with every time I see him it's easy to appreciate his presence.
Boutella has been a genre queen, somewhat quietly, for much of the past decade, although never appearing in something that has been an unqualified success, or a success at all, really, from Star Trek Beyond to The Mummy to Atomic Blonde. I caught her in a small production called Settlers, a few years back, and I adored that film, and anyone who enjoys Rebel Moon, or even if you can't, would still be recommended to check it out. Rebel Moon is filled with accents, which is something I personally enjoy. She's understated and expected to sell her action role in much the fashion that has failed to connect with just about every other available example (she resembles very much Alicia Vikander's Lara Croft in Tomb Raider, or the lead in Terminator: Dark Fate, the latest cinematic attempt to revitalize that franchise). That alone was always going to be enough to sink Rebel Moon's popular prospects.
All the hate is from people who were going to hate the results anyway. Snyder's Man of Steel and then Batman v Superman were incredibly unpopular online, and then the long campaign for Justice League: The Snyder Cut, which ended up producing actual results, left his reputation in tatters, which he unwisely attempted to capitalize on with director's cuts of both Rebel Moon entries. I haven't seen those. In this era such cuts have begun to take on the reputation of being inherently better than the original, studio, theatrical versions since they "fill out the story," although I've seen every version of Alexander, and that's my favorite movie, and there's no cut that's significantly better. They're just different cuts. There's a very old school of this sort of thing at this point, from the different versions of Brazil to Blade Runner, and I also have ones for Orson Welles' Mr. Arkadin, and a great many of his fans still lament the loss of the original Magnificent Ambersons to the cutting room floor...
The filmwork, the storytelling, the acting, it's all there. Later audiences will surely have a version of Star Wars, at the very least, where if they don't want to watch nine movies can settle for two. It's also its own thing. All of these stories are. By the time you realize how much Kora's life was manipulated, you can't help but be swept up in the tragedy of it, and the prospect of redemption, which is left dangling at the end of Scargiver. Do we need to see that? Will we ever?
I don't think that matters. I think these movies sell themselves. Ignore what you've heard. These are well worth watching.
Here's a little of what went into my selections for the New York Times Reader's Ballot for best films of the 21st century (release order):
Gladiator (2000)
Russell Crowe and Ridley Scott rocketed up my list of essential filmmakers upon the release of Gladiator. Crowe had been a favorite since his supporting role in The Quick and the Dead (1995), but it was his turn as Maximus where everything seemed to click. Certainly Hollywood took notice, and he became as big a star as there was in the years that followed, which were followed by the equally predictable backlash, both within Hollywood and pop culture, which Crowe has been struggling to overcome ever since. Scott's career before Gladiator wasn't something that meant overly much to me, although I can pick and choose from it, and that's still what I've done since, but after Gladiator he realized the historical epic was something he was pretty good at, and while critics, and audiences, were muted at best with the results, and I tended to love them, up to and including The Last Duel (2021), which was a leading contender for inclusion in my selections, edged out mostly because Scott was already represented. In the minds of many Gladiator is still a distant second to Spartacus (1960), but for me it's not even close.
Alexander (2004)
What Scott and Crowe are for Gladiator, Oliver Stone and Colin Farrell are for Alexander, although moreso, for me. Except for his earliest films, I've caught up with Stone's whole filmography, and, well, Farrell is my favorite actor. Popularly and critically considered a laughingstock, I don't care. I think everything about Alexander works perfectly, from Vangelis' score to the expansive and ridiculously generous supporting cast,: Val Kilmer, Anthony Hopkins, Jonathan Rhy Myers, Rosario Dawson, Jared Leto, Toby Kebbell, Brian Blessed, Christopher Plummer, and certainly Angelina Jolie. The storytelling is the most complete I have ever seen in film, up to and including Citizen Kane, to my mind its only real competition, the advantage against being Stone having his whole career in the shadow of Orson Welles' cinematic breakthroughs it took decades for anyone to even begin to consider adopting.
Munich (2005)
Steven Spielberg has been considered one of the greatest directors in Hollywood for so long, it's sometimes difficult to parse the results, caught up in his greatest commercial successes and the WWII duology, Schindler's List (1993) and Saving Private Ryan (1998), that came to dominate his legacy. But for me there's no question at all which is his best film, this century or otherwise, and that's Munich. Completely free to pursue, at this point, the film and the message and the tone as he wanted them, he swung for the fences. The results end on a note that baffled audiences (Eric Bana lost in a moment of passion), but are the sole commentary on the post-9/11 world the film was intended to address. It doesn't hurt that it also captures Daniel Craig in the definitive transition moment to James Bond, the role of his lifetime. Bana flared briefly but brilliantly in Hollywood, and at the exact right moment for Spielberg to capture what he needed for Munich to work. Also doesn't hurt to have John Williams in one of his later moody masterpiece scores, perhaps his last great triumph.
The Departed (2006)
I haven't always admired Martin Scorsese, or Leonardo DiCaprio, but for me this is the perfect moment for both, except Scorsese's Silence (2016), which transcends just about anything he's done before or since, an achievement I still have yet to catch up with myself. DiCaprio wants so desperately to be a classic Hollywood star, and he's remained the last star of the classic Hollywood tradition today, it's nice to be able to say he absolutely nails it here. If it had been released in any other era, it would've been recognized as the achievement it was, and he would've lapped up the Academy Award for Best Actor. Add in another amazing supporting cast, including Matt Damon in one of his perfect roles, and even a Saturday Night Live obsession that followed (You're a cawp! No you're a cawp!), and, just spit-balling here, perhaps a nudge for a fellow New York filmmaker (Woody Allen) to step out of his comfortable trappings, which had begun with Match Point (2005)but led to the superior but overlooked Cassandra's Dream (2008).
The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007)
The best Western I've ever seen, well past the genre's prime, well past the revisionist years that followed, so that we can simply relish a legend past his prime, when he's become ripe for the picking. Brad Pitt is the only actor working today capable of challenging DiCaprio. They starred together, appropriately, in Once Upon a Time...in Hollywood (2019), and it was Pitt who shined brightest, without seeming to try. Pitt was the template Robert Pattinson later followed so acutely, a pretty boy who pursued roles that demanded much more than that, and most of the time, he opted for something grandiose (Twelve Monkeys) rather than subtle. Well, Assassination is subtle. It's calm, it's meditative. It's still waiting its due. Casey Affleck exploded after this, became a whole sensation (Manchester by the Sea). Andrew Dominik still waits, himself, to be acknowledged, allowed himself to be absorbed by the white noise of Netflix (Blonde), from which he hopefully emerges at some point. Another great supporting cast, including a pre-MCU Jeremy Renner.
The Fall (2008)
More than a decade on and still waiting for this to become at the very least a cult sensation, but anyway, this is a true work of genius, a labor of love that explodes the artistic potential of Tarsem previously demonstrated by The Cell (2000) to heights seldom seen in Hollywood, an expansive and hugely imaginative film about storytelling itself, and its potential to save a life, even if it's the storyteller himself. Lee Pace, as a result of The Fall, briefly became a known commodity, which culminated, of all things, in an MCU appearance (Guardians of the Galaxy), but also the thankless task of appearing in the Hobbit trilogy, after Peter Jackson found himself completely abandoned by everyone who adored Lord of the Rings. As I like to say, The Fall is the grownup version of The Princess Bride. Tarsem's career since has inexplicably stalled, but I remain hopelessly devoted.
The Dark Knight (2008)
Christopher Nolan is the greatest director of the 21st century, and it's not even remotely arguable. Although his first film, Following, was released in 1998, his breakthrough, Memento, crashed into 2001 as a complete revelation. His first attempt at the Dark Knight, Batman Begins (2005) was good, but The Dark Knight was leagues beyond anything even he had done, in part because he captured Heath Ledger at his creative peak. I'd been a fan of Ledger since Roar, a short-lived TV series, so I thought I knew him pretty well. Nobody did. He turned the Joker into a work of art. Fortunately Nolan had a complete film around the performance. If any film this century ever had a chance to unseat Alexander in my affections, it was The Dark Knight. Where Farrell had plenty of other interesting projects to explore, Stone's career stalled after a while. Nolan kept plugging away at the new heights. Eventually he reached Oppenheimer (2023), a throwback to old Hollywood that Hollywood itself finally deemed worth acknowledging at the Academy Awards, still operating at levels well beyond anyone else.
Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Otherwise known as the first time an actor truly stole the movie from Quentin Tarantino, to the point where he was essential to the celebrated director's next two projects (Django Unchained and The Hateful Eight), this is the spectacular Hollywood debut of Christoph Waltz, who plowed his way through the next decade or so until audiences less familiar with how he entered wondered why someone would bother making a fuss over him in a James Bond movie (Specter). Also helped launch the career of Michael Fassbender, and hey! there's Brad Pitt again. Difficult for fans beholden to his early classics (Pulp Fiction), this is proof that Tarantino could choose to be ambitious on a different scale. With all due apologies to Spielberg, it's reasonable to suggest the scene where Waltz interviews the Frenchman does more to underscore the horrors of WWII than anything depicted in Schindler's List. In this case, tell, don't show. Because it's Tarantino, of course it works.
Warrior (2011)
With all due apologies to Pattinson, the competition for greatest actor discovered this century after Farrell begins with Tom Hardy, and while he appeared and starred in movies before Warrior, and had his breakthrough in Inception (2010), this should forever be known as his calling card, along with The Departed the closest anyone's come to Brando. And somehow Joel Edgerton is every bit his match. How is that even possible? Gavin O'Connor crafts a masterpiece far beyond the fighting film achievements that preceded it, all the Rockys, all of it, in reaching the most earned cathartic climax ever captured in the movies, at once human and mythic in its dimensions.
Isle of Dogs (2018)
Admittedly, I was very late to Wes Anderson. Rushmore (2009), The Royal Tenenbaums (2001), I knew his films were beloved by critics, and it was absolutely that, just being contrarian, because most of the time, films loved by critics are hard to love by general audiences. They love art house, they love their agendas being embraced. But Wes Anderson is a master craftsman. I started paying attention with The Life Aquatic (2004), but Isle of Dogs is really where it all clicked. He can absolutely work the same magic with live actors, but his stop-motion animation, first captured in Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009), is, I don't know, akin to Robin Williams in Aladdin (1992), pure creative id. It's the latest movie released in the past twenty-five years I obsessed over and feel comfortable placing among the very best ever made, this century or otherwise.
Most of these movies have populated my all-time top ten for a long time. When I was putting it together I was also finishing up the years favorites listings, which made me reconsider how I’ve been compiling that all-time list. So that’s the next step for this blog. First an all-time top ten, and then probably a new attempt at a top hundred, hopefully taking in a more comprehensive look at the history of film than I have in the past. I want to explain all these choices, too. On this blog I’ve picked away so slowly at exploring my perspective on film, most of these have barely come up. For a blog without readers, I guess that’s fine, but the art of film has always been important to me, and I still see no one else out there who sees it the way I do. For me these are obvious choices, that reflect both the best instincts of the past and the way forward, which is also why I can justify the relative clumping to a handful of years. These are filmmakers and actors who continued to dominate the form, many of whom are still taken for granted today.
the story: Pat Garrett hunts down his old friend Billy the Kid.
the review: I recently sat down making my way through three edits of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid, and basically, I loved it. There's a lot of passion and history behind those edits, but what it boils down to is a film that's much more about Pat Garrett than Billy the Kid, and then, at that, less about his conflicted feelings and more about the sequence of events that led from the badge to the murder.
The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford is nearly twenty years old at this point, and is unquestionably the greater cinematic achievement, but probably it would never have existed without Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid. Neither film spends a lot of time explaining the bona fides of their infamous outlaws, but plenty of time exploring the journeys the men who kill them take. For Pat Garrett, there's precious little time spent sharing a screen, without bullets, with Billy. Instead it's Sam Peckinpah indulging himself one last time in the lush visual language of the old west, including Pat's snazzy black duds that when updated with modern technology pop off the screen just as if he were Darth Vader hunting down Han Solo.
Which, by the way, there's plenty of that to be found here, too. Kris Kristofferson's Billy is a visual template for Han, and James Coburn's Pat is given another possible origin for Han's famous cantina showdown with Greedo (Harrison Ford himself had another in an episode of Gunsmoke).
Another valuable screen hand in Jason Robards casually points Pat in Billy's direction, but the reason I really cared about any of this is the enigmatic character known as Alias, who happens to be played by Bob Dylan. Peckinpah apparently felt Bob was an unwanted studio mandate, which is insane. I mean, if you have the young Bob Dylan in a western, wouldn't your first thought, as director, be nothing but abject gratitude? Maybe Sam wasn't much for music, although Bob certainly was. He composed "Knocking on Heaven's Door" for Pat Garrett, and it ends up featured in the movie's best scene. He also fiddled around with the song that would become "Wagon Wheel" in the recording sessions, by the way. His acting isn't much, but there isn't much asked of it. Mostly he's just the one guy smart enough to be faithful to Billy but also convincing factor into Pat's plans, the middle ground that's essential to discovering where these legends fit together when the film itself doesn't bother.
Coburn is effortlessly cool and so much more appealing than Kristofferson, who spends the movie basically preening, assured that the peasants around him are in awe of the legend, when they really should admire Pat as much as we do thanks to Coburn. These are all sketches, which is probably why the film had such a hard time finding appreciation on original release, why the studio had no idea what Peckinpah was trying to accomplish, which was nothing less than an ode to a dying era, both historically and as a film genre. He's not asking that you find either title character heroic, which is why he never frames either of their narratives. We are simply asked to bear witness.
Like so with the film itself. It's an essential part of film lore.
the story: A young Bob Dylan navigates his early career while remaining stubbornly true to himself.
the review: While I was waiting for Conclave to make sense, I kept wondering what was going to pop out unequivocally to me as the best movie of 2024, and then I saw A Complete Unknown, and it was no longer in doubt. I was going to see it anyway; catching up with Bob Dylan has been a hobby of mine for more than a decade. I had figured out that I loved the guy's music, and I understood his role in pop music history, but it wasn't until A Complete Unknown that I got to see a version of how it played out at the time.
Biopics are a staple of American film, and musical biopics especially, these days, since it's easy to assume that the music itself will sell the movie if nothing else, just waiting for something familiar to start playing. But the problem with biopics is that they happen to follow a basic template, and any real understanding of the artist or band in question can be lost in the details. For instance, the other day I watched I Saw the Light, about Hank Williams, and not only is Williams lost in the movie, but even his songs are badly layered in it, so that there's no sense at all about why you should care about any of it, or what Williams meant.
A Complete Unknown certainly has no such problems. We catch up with Boby Dylan as he treks over to meet with his hero Woody Guthrie, who's stuck in a hospital trying to rehabilitate, while Pete Seeger basically acts as his ambassador to the world, and in turn, Bob's. We know his goals, his talent, and his future without even reaching his best-known material, right from the start.
The movie itself is sort of like the real world illustration of Yesterday's conclusions of what it'd be like if everyone forgot about the Beatles except one guy, who proceeds to present all their songs as if they were his own, so that he amazes everyone with his ability to generate great material. A Complete Unknown leans on the great material available and sometimes makes it look too easy, until Bob starts running into problems because as it turns out, success or not, he still just want to be Bob, and isn't too keen to fulfil someone else's vision of him, whether it's Joan Baez or a record label or the Newport Folk Festival.
In this era of blockbuster film movie stars have struggled to stay in the picture, and certainly new ones have found it equally difficult to be noticed, but Timothee Chalamet is one of the few to have figured it out, and his Bob Dylan is a truly uncanny accomplishment, both in the music and in general. Roger Ebert's review of Walk the Line suggested he found Joaquin Phoenix indistinguishable from Johnny Cash, and that's a considerable exaggeration, but in Chalamet's case it isn't. Possibly this is because Bob Dylan famously isn't much of a singer (the one glaring omission of the movie is failing to acknowledge this reputation). It really doesn't matter. This is the central miracle that makes all others possible.
Walk the Line's Johnny Cash is here, as portrayed by Boyd Holbrook in hopefully what's finally his breakthrough role, a true creation is a career that's been floating just under wide recognition for years, including a standout performance in Logan, which like Walk the Line and A Complete Unknown, is directed by James Mangold, who between all those Wolverine movies, these biopics, and other material like Ford v Ferrari, has comfortably settled into one of my favorite and most reliable directors.
Edward Norton, once one of those late Hollywood leading actors but since settled into picking his spots in art films, inhabits Pete Seeger just as if, like everyone else Norton plays, is as comfortable being Edward Norton as it is watching him. At this point he's the closest we've really gotten to another Jimmy Stewart. Elle Fanning, Dan Fogler...But the biggest surprise is Monica Barbaro as Joan Baez, a true discovery. Joan Baez fans might quibble, but if A Complete Unknown has to crib from Walk the Line, then Barbaro fills out the June Carter role better than Reese Witherspoon, so effortlessly naturally it's a shock that she isn't already a star.
The film is otherwise Bob being Bob. I have footage of the Newport Folk Festival where Bob plugs in, so the trash being tossed at him visibly didn't really happen, but the effect is there, and it's Bob dealing with the consequences of being Bob, the way his relationships faulter, the way he can't understand what's so wrong about working on new material while crashing in someone's home instead of, y'know, paying attention to them...It's always the music. He may be uninterested in detailing his past, but for Bob Dylan, the future is ever full of the music that fills him.
Anyway, for my money, totally fascinating, engrossing stuff. These are maverick times. And as always Bob's the bard leading the way.
the story: A new pope is elected amidst desperate maneuvering between cardinals.
the review: It was only a couple days ago that I finally figured out the ending, and as such unlocked the whole movie, and now I'm quite happy to report my love for Conclave.
As a Catholic, it's always nice to see, in recent decades, any film that breaks through the mainstream tackling Catholic matters. Conclave was a modest success in theaters, but more importantly critics actually liked it, and have been including it among the best movies of 2024. I suspect for a lot of them understanding the movie takes a backseat to the spectacle, up to and including that ending, and for many Catholics the ending only fuels a controversy. Catholics will assume Conclave makes a mockery of the faith, and critics will assume it's all good fun and high theater. It's a bit deeper than that.
It helps to hang all this on the sturdy shoulders of Ralph Fiennes, playing the cardinal tasked with running the election process, and therefore finding himself in the middle of seemingly endless intrigue, from John Lithgow's cardinal who ends up positively Machiavellian to Stanley Tucci's cardinal, who sees himself as the vanguard against backward traditionalism. The fourth name actor in the ensemble is Isabella Rossellini as the nun tasked with keeping the proceedings running on a practical level, but who also finds herself unable to ignore the drama unfolding around her.
My original reaction to Conclave was that it was a wonderful reflection of the post-John Paul II papacy, the inability to escape his considerable shadow. On that score it still works nicely. Mostly, though, the whole thing is a metaphor about the massive tangle of politics our age seems thoroughly incapable of escaping, and the ending a direct reflection of its consequences.
To be more specific, the ending, in which the newly elected pope stands revealed as having by far the biggest scandal just waiting to be exposed and yet having seemed like the best possible candidate after everyone else was eliminated from contention...In the rush to disqualify each other, the cardinals didn't stop to consider what they were losing in the process, and what they get as a result.
I can't think of a much more relevant story for these times.
