By Jordi Batlle Caminal
A few years ago, Martin Scorsese raised eyebrows by disqualifying superhero epics arguing, among other reasons, their complete disconnection from the idea of auteur cinema: heavy artillery conceived by mega-producers where the figure of the director becomes as invisible as Claude Rains in the classic by James Whale. One can agree with him more or less (more rather than less), but it is clear that Scorsese knows how to go beyond controversial words and lead by example: The Moon Killers is exactly the cinema model that the director of Taxi Driver defends when he criticizes the pomp of Marvel or DC Comics; that is, that dazzling spectacle cinema, on a wide screen and with an author's signature that in distant times filmmakers like Anthony Mann (Cimarrón or El Cid) or David Lean (Lawrence of Arabia or Doctor Zhivago) gave us.
In two words: great cinema.
Those works usually lasted around three hours, and here Scorsese, as in The Irishman, far exceeds them. The long duration (again compared to the endless superhero sagas) is justified when it is necessary to describe a historical time, an environment and the complexity and evolution of characters and conflicts. The Assassins of the Moon is a river-film that requires maceration to understand its multiple tributaries. Inspired by a book by David Grann, it recounts a shocking episode that occurred one hundred years ago in a community in Oklahoma: the calculatedly Machiavellian murder of a handful of natives by white settlers. The reason, obviously, was the vile metal, power, since those Indians were the owners of those lands rich in oil.
The film is a mixture of a drama of denunciation, a devastatingly demystifying western (the portrait of the most rotten and evil America) and an epic and operatic story, directed by Scorsese with his feverish, masterful narrative pulse and, as usual, a superlative editing, dynamic and at times spasmodic, from his faithful Thelma Schoonmaker, who with him has already won three Oscars and for Killers of the Moon would deserve the fourth. And the jewel in the crown: the memorable composition of Lily Gladstone, the long-suffering native protagonist, even above those of DiCaprio and De Niro.
Por Philipp Engel
The ecological disaster has put in check the idea of man as the center of the natural order, and raises the question of greater harmony, at least on a theoretical or creative level, between the different species on Earth. From there come films such as the already mentioned Vesper (K. Buozyte and B. Samper, 2022), which took us to a post-apocalyptic future of wonderful mutant plants, almost without animals, or The Animal Kingdom, which tells us in the present tense of a alternative reality in which a small part of humanity has been half transformed into beasts. Meanwhile, the rest of society adapts, as if it were just another pandemic, or on the contrary, reacts violently, hunting down the faunal insurrectionists.
In this metaphorical context, which lends itself to various readings, Thomas Cailley focuses on a family, whose mother, literally turned into a lioness, has been confined in a center. The father (Romain Duris) looks for a way to be close to her, while the son (Paul Kircher, discovered in Dialogue with Life, by Christophe Honoré) longs for her and faces his own adolescent problems... Cailley debuted ago and in time with Les combattants (2014), a memorable romantic comedy about a boy who enlists in the army to follow a survivalist who has stolen his heart.
In this second feature, love focuses, above all, on the parent-child relationship, which reaches high levels of emotion. The humor persists at the expense of the security forces, personified this time by an Adèle Exarchopoulos with the stripes of a gendarme disappointed with her fate. But it's so subtle and francophone that it gets lost in the subtitles. Whether it provokes laughter or not, The Animal Kingdom is still a captivating fable, set in impressive natural settings and with special effects, recently awarded at the Sitges festival, that are as credible as they are poetic.
Por Philipp Engel
All Victorian mansions contain more than one family secret, there is a whole literature about it, and this elegant version of Uncle Silas, by Sheridan Le Fanu, somewhat minimized and adapted to the MeToo era, demonstrates it without needing to incorporate fantastic elements . The very lonely heroine (dazzling Agnes O'Casey) stands up to her perfidious uncle (David Wilmot), who has invaded her home, accompanied by a disturbing entourage, in order to snatch her fortune before she fulfills her promise. of age.
Por Philipp Engel
Tito Valverde is much more relaxed, has less hair, and looks more like a cathodic commissioner than Inspector Callahan. But, in this surprising debut that Alonso dedicates to his own grandfather, he remembers, saving distances, the Clint Eastwood of recent times, that of Mula or Cry Macho. The premise of the grumpy widower who rebuilds his life, at 74, with a wonderful María Jesús Sirvent, could have drowned in a puddle of cloying sentimentalism but, sober, austere and far from clichés, it is exciting.
By Salvador Llopart
How well Quim Gutiérrez looks in the empire shirt in this film of childhood, almost magical remembrances, in which the actor plays a French soldier of Spanish origin, displaced in Madagascar back in the seventies. The colonial period ends and we see – we judge – everything through the eyes of his son (Charlie Vause). The bubble inside is beautiful, like the island itself, and yet the childhood dream is haunted by omens. The political turn kills the illusion and undoes the enchantment.
By Salvador Llopart
Marisol Ayuso, María José Alfonso and María Luisa Merlo, Golden Girls of interpretation, put themselves at the disposal of Merche, the friend condemned by the disease, played with sense and sensitivity by Carmen Maura. Equivoque, in comedy, works if it is accompanied by a devilish rhythm. It is not the case. Not even the entry on the scene of Jon, a truck driver transformed into Merche, wonderfully played by Fernando Albizu, makes this comedy of good intentions catch fire.
By Jordi Batlle Caminal
Hideo Nakata, honored in Sitges last week, has always shown himself skilled at incorporating terror into everyday life, and here he extracts disquiet and disturbance from the garden where a dead woman's finger is buried. Linked to this plot, there is another one around a filmmaker, a curse and a pair of grotesque spiritualists that doesn't quite add up. It's a shame to see that Nakata from The Ring and Dark Water hasn't shined for a long time.
