These are the releases that hit movie screens this September 15:
By Jordi Batlle Caminal
The sun of the future is a shower of constant happiness for all lovers of Nanni Moretti's films, the film we have dreamed of in recent years. Because after many years in which the actor Moretti has assumed roles in various registers (The Son's Room, Habemus Papam, Three Floors...), here, as in Caro Diario and Abril, he is once again him, he and no one else but He is the center of the universe, the oracle that takes the temperature of the planet and guides us. Moretti speaks in the first person, confesses, preaches and describes the world from his untransferable vantage point. Now, on his walks around the city, he has changed the means of transportation (the electric scooter as a substitute for the vespa: the poster is already a warning for the “connaisseur”), but everything else remains the same as in the days of Expensive daily.
And what is everything else? Life, cinema, love, family, political commitment, songs (preferably the usual Italian song, but also Aretha Franklin in a glorious eccentric moment), nostalgia, melancholy, etc. First of all, the PCI, an immovable issue. In The Sun of the Future, Moretti himself shoots a film set in 1956 and focused on the Hungarian revolt and the entry of Soviet tanks into Budapest, and from this historical event he extracts a reflection on the drift of the party from then to today. . In a film full of quotes and cinematic references, there are brilliant notes about the filmmaker's ethics in this turbulent time, such as the speech about the gratuitous use of violence or the hilarious torpedoes launched at Netflix and its algorithms.
Two things are surprising in The Future Sun. One is the gradual transformation of Moretti throughout the story, from the bitter, disbelieving and mordant artist to the optimistic man who celebrates the simple fact of living. The other goes even further, because, in an hour and a half, The Sun of the Future resurrects the most admirable of all Italian popular cinema, in a coma for the last few decades: Risi, Comencini, Scola and, of course, Fellini, to who is clearly honored: the circus, the final fanfare... Are there traces of narcissism and rhetoric in Moretti? Yes, but we forgive him: his stature is already that of a giant.
By Salvador Llopart
Calparsoro's film has a moment that remains in the retina: Luis Tosar's walk, lined with explosives, along Madrid's Gran Vía. We had already seen the deserted Gran Vía in Amenábar's Abre los ojos. But Tosar's presence, with a remote entourage of law enforcement, while unoriginal, is a visually powerful moment. Of those who remain. Calparsoro has specialized in choreographing sublime moments. He has, as a director, his own visual universe, of leaden skies and rarefied narrative atmosphere. An operatic director, if you will. Capable of giving the environment tragic density. He knows where to place the camera and how to move it to make the show exciting.
That desire to be sublime once again dominates All the Names of God, an amphetamine adventure based on a solvent and imaginative script by Gemma Ventura. It tells the misfortune of Santi (Luis Tosar), a taxi driver who has the worst race of his life when he "coaches" a terrorist, still with a bloody shirt, after an attack at the Madrid airport. From there everything is possible: law enforcement forces on the hunt, terrorists on the counterattack, and the families of everyone, of victims and terrorists, moved by the situation. Tosar, with whom Calparsoro had already collaborated on a couple of occasions, is at the center of the drama. We are before the decent character, the hero despite his fragility. Just like the hard men, who embroiders them, Tosar embroiders here the tragedy of an ordinary man. But nothing ridiculous.
Not everyone else lives up to the greatness of Luis Tosar. If there is no greatness, if there is no action, if there is no opera, the performances, in Calparsoro's hands, tend to become stale, as sometimes ends up happening here. Like a shadow, the cliché stalks this film, just as the forces of public order stalk Luis Tosar's explosive walk along Madrid's Gran Vía.
Por Philipp Engel
The supine stupidity of the character played by Jorge Suquet and a false aesthetic like a decoration magazine make it difficult to get into this film for which Belén Cuesta joins the tradition of anguished pregnant women inaugurated by Mia Farrow more than half a century ago. But, once in the second film directed by the production company of El Orfanato (after the disappointing Dos), no matter how much the resolution of the plot is reminiscent of another recent Spanish film (we do not say which one so as not to give away clues) and its elderly to those in The Visit, by M. Night Shyamalan, we must recognize, among its clumsiness, successes such as the idea of exchanging houses taken to the extreme; suggestive touches of Black Forest folk horror, which expand the boundaries of the subgenre, and a semi-funny exploitation of local kitsch. It gives a bad vibe, which is appreciated, and the final fireworks are quite powerful and disturbing.
By S. Llopart
Commissioner Poirot faces a mysterious event - several impossible deaths - against the background, somewhere between magical and mythical, of Venice in the fifties, before mass tourism. Something as impossible and ghostly as the ghosts that haunt this new adventure of Agatha Christie's character, for the third time in the hands of Kenneth Branagh.
The British actor, in addition to giving his character a certain parody tone, directs the show. We are facing an odyssey of prodigies, with a supernatural background and a final explanation. The revelation is hasty, as always happens in this genre of "who did it?" I can tell you that he is not the butler, no; In fact, although there is a haunted house, there is no butler. Poirot is exhausted, and that is reflected very well in the tired eyes of the tired Branagh. Despite everything, the mystery party must continue.
Por Ph. Obstacle
A litmus test for the thousands of Anna Todd fans with the supposed finale of the franchise, which is not an adaptation of the prequel After 5: Before her, but rather it is part of the plot with a meta-literary twist, and nod to Harry Styles, the singer who inspired this post-Twilight saga born on Whatpad and turned into a best-seller. For the rest of humanity, even if you succumb to the charms of Tessa and Hardin (the shots of Langford's face are beauty) or empathize with the ghost of lost love that Fiennes-Tiffin sees everywhere, the film is experienced as a long wedding video (which could become art, although it is not the case), where the notion of consent, so necessary among today's teenagers, has sneaked in in a blushing way, as if to disguise the strong aroma of pink conservatism of the series, leaving Hardin as that bad boy, but so cute, who can be forgiven for everything.
By S. Llopart
If one were a conspiracy theorist, one would think that this is not a film: it is an exercise in agitation and propaganda at the service of dark political designs. But since the keys to French politics escape me, I am left with only what I see: a historical mystification of a dark chapter in the bloodiest history of the neighboring country. We are talking about the religious and royalist uprising of the Vandée in 1793 against the Revolution, triumphant ten years earlier. The result was what some historians define as the first genocide in modern history, with more than two hundred thousand corpses left on the battlefields. A dirty chapter in history that Paul Mignot and Vincent Mottez's film ennobles with the heroics of its protagonists and the eternal values (of France). It could be a bad episode of the History channel.
