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‘Ant-Man and the Wasp’ Is Delightful and Insignificant

It probably won’t be anyone’s favorite superhero film, or even their favorite Marvel film, but ‘Ant-Man and the Wasp’ is certainly one of the most fun.

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Superhero films are forever shuffling between two polar opposites. At one end of the spectrum is the dark, brooding savior, where at best you get The Dark Knight, and at worst, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. The other polar extreme is populated with films heavy on adventure and comedy, and light on stakes. The first Ant-Man was perhaps the best encapsulation of this type of comic film. It benefited from a strong cast led by Paul Rudd, one of the best comic actors of his generation, and its thrills were strictly modest, with only tenuous connections to the larger Marvel universe. Its sequel, Ant-Man and the Wasp, also fits squarely in this lighter category, although it’s a more assured and cohesive vehicle, free of the conflict that marred the original film’s production. It’s not something that most viewers will remember years down the line, but there’s also not a dull or useless moment.

If it feels like it’s been a while since we’ve seen Ant-Man — despite the onslaught of Marvel films — that’s because it has been a while (at least on the MCU timeline, which has averaged three films a year recently). Two years have passed since the events of Captain America: Civil War, in which Scott Lang (Rudd) fought alongside the Captain. That stab of conscience landed him on home arrest, with the threat of a 20-year sentence should he return to his superhero ways. Lang spends his days finding ever more elaborate ways to amuse his daughter while also trying to run his new security company with Luis (Michael Peña) in absentia.

Original Ant-Man Hank Pym (Michael Douglas) and his daughter, Hope (Evangeline Lilly), won’t even talk to him after his Civil War escapades. That quickly changes, however, when Hope becomes convinced that there might be a way to save her long-lost mother (Michelle Pfeiffer), who has been trapped for decades in the Quantum Realm, shrunken down to a subatomic size. Lang briefly ventured down to that miniature kingdom in the first film, and may have gleaned some knowledge of her whereabouts. Of course, not everyone wants to see them find her, including a mysterious suited stranger who can seemingly walk through walls (Hannah John-Kamen).

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Much of the first Ant-Man was animated by Lang’s love for his daughter and his desire to create a safer world for her. Ant-Man and the Wasp transfers that familial affection to Hope and her search for her absent mother. It would be totally normal to expect the film to mostly focus on Ant-Man, but Lilly’s Wasp is equally — if not moreso — important as Rudd’s character. It’s Lilly’s emotional journey, and Rudd is mostly there for comedic relief. Marvel films haven’t always had particularly great roles for women (see Pepper Potts), but recent entries have given them something closer to parity with their male costars. Ant-Man and the Wasp is the first Marvel sequel to so radically flip the script and alter its focus.

Almost everything in Ant-Man and the Wasp is breezy and delightful, but it may be so breezy that it just floats away and right out of one’s memory.

It’s a nice change. Lilly was one of the more interesting actors on Lost, but her career never really went anywhere until being revived in the Hobbit films and the first Ant-Man. She lacks the comedic skills that make Rudd so charming, but her steely determination suits the character well, and her chemistry with Rudd is spot on. Even though she spends a good chunk of the film wanting to bash his head in, the two are able to keep up a particularly effortless banter.

The first Ant-Man was famously taken away from its original screenwriter and director, Baby Driver’s Edgar Wright, and the resulting film seemed disjointed at times, with a number of jokes that simply didn’t land. It’s hard to tell if that was the result of Wright’s departure, or just a failure of his replacement, Peyton Reed, but the film was scattershot and wobbly, despite some fine performances. Ant-Man and the Wasp comes off as far more assured. Perhaps Reed and his bevy of screenwriters have finally gotten the hang of things, or maybe it just helps to be involved with planning out a film from the earliest stages. The jokes come faster and with a greater success rate, partially thanks to Rudd’s stronger delivery. There were moments in the original where he seemed ambivalent about how much humor Lang should display, but he has wisely chosen to go all in for the sequel.

Ant-Man and the Wasp also seems to have developed a visual style that sometimes eluded its predecessor. Reed is a great director of actors, and he can coax a nice screwball patter out of them, but some of his tableaus could be uninspired and pedestrian. This time he’s found a way to keep his camera moving and fluid, all while punching up the visual comedy. There’s an inspired chase scene through the hilly streets of San Francisco that owes a great debt to Peter Bogdanovich’s What’s Up, Doc?, though Rudd has taken Barbra Streisand’s role, and Lilly is the more straight-laced Ryan O’Neal.

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Almost everything in Ant-Man and the Wasp is breezy and delightful, but it may be so breezy that it just floats away, right out of one’s memory. The impact of Infinity War barely registers, and it’s not clear if any part of what happens here will be of significance in the resolution to the Avengers’ story. That’s not to say that Ant-Man needs to address weighty issues in his films, but the lack of real acknowledgment threatens to turn this into a trifle among its fellow superhero films. The great fault with many comic films is that they focus on villains and conflicts that are far too epic to do justice to. Ant-Man’s problem is that his villains and conflicts are far too insignificant for anyone to care about.

Yet even with its small stature, Ant-Man and the Wasp is thoroughly charming and enjoyable. It does what it sets out to do and does it admirably, even if it sets its sights a bit too low. It probably won’t be anyone’s favorite superhero film, or even their favorite Marvel film, but it’s certainly one of the most fun.

Brian Marks is Sordid Cinema's Lead Film Critic. His writing has appeared in The Village Voice, LA Weekly, The Los Angeles Times, and Ampersand. He's a graduate of USC's master's program in Specialized Arts Journalism. You can find more of his writing at InPraiseofCinema.com. Best film experience: driving halfway across the the country for a screening of Jean-Luc Godard's "King Lear." Totally worth it.

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Sundance Film Festival

Sundance 2020: ‘Shirley’ Is Another Triumph for Josephine Decker

Josephine Decker’s film dramatizes a turbulent period in Shirley Jackson’s creative live to startling effect.

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Shirley

Something is amiss from the opening moments of Josephine Decker’s newest feature, Shirley. A young couple, Fred and Rose Nemser (Logan Lerner and Odessa Young), are taking a train to Bennington College, where he’ll be teaching. Rose reads a recent issue of The New Yorker featuring Shirley Jackson’s now-classic short story “The Lottery,” dating the scene to 1948 or ’49. The story, about a (spoiler alert) woman who is stoned to death as part of a community ritual, doesn’t arouse the expected response in Rose. Rather than being horrified, she’s excited, even turned on by the tale, and she initiates a quick tryst with Fred out of sight of the other passengers. Like Rose, Decker seems thrilled by the most sordid and disturbing interpersonal relations — and by the film’s end, much of the audience will be too.

Though the film opens with Rose and Fred, Shirley is most concerned with the eponymous Jackson (Elisabeth Moss). Despite being a critically and commercially successful writer, she’s not considered much more than a faculty wife to her husband Stanley Hyman (Michael Stuhlbarg), a professor at Bennington and a respected literary critic. The Nemsers are set to move in with Jackson and Hyman for a short period until they’re able to find a place of their own in town. Stanley will mentor Fred, who will deliver some of his lectures in hopes of getting his own course load and, eventually, tenure. But from the start, Shirley has an unhealthy fascination with the couple, especially Rose. As she begins to plot out what will be her second published novel, Hangsaman, she begins to spy on the young woman, intruding on the most intimate moments of her life. At the same time, she absorbs herself in news articles about Paula Jean Weldon, a Bennington student who disappeared in 1946, and her interests begin to coalesce in a clear nod to Ingmar Bergman’s Persona (1966).

Shirley

Decker’s disorienting style, which animated much of Madeline’s Madeline, makes occasional appearances, but she’s more restrained in how she films her characters. In her earlier films, which she wrote by herself, her eye-catching and disorienting style was a way of making up for long sections with little dialogue, but that’s not necessary with Sarah Gubbins’ more traditional screenplay. Gubbins sensitively portrays Shirley’s life as an underappreciated artist and delves into the ways her work tears away at her personal life and her mental health. Her husband’s dalliances with his students and other faculty wives don’t help.

Moss and Stuhlbarg’s repartee and bouts of sadistic marital games will surely draw comparisons to the couple in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, but they have a more tender relationship than those famous bickerers. Stanley is condescending and even tyrannical at times when it comes to their personal lives, but he’s Shirley’s biggest champion and a believer in her literary greatness. Stuhlbarg makes it clear that the character has great affection for his wife, even if he chooses to have sex with anyone but her. Moss delivers another in a series of great performances that seem to be in dialog with her work for Alex Ross Perry in Queen of Earth (2015) and Her Smell (2018). Decker, Gubbins, and Moss all work together to create a portrait of an artist’s creative process, and we see how Shirley absorbs Rose and Paula Jean’s lives to inspire her fiction. So often, movies about artists merely gloss over the act of creation to focus on the most dramatic elements of their personal lives, which makes the art seem as if it miraculously came into being. In Shirley, we see the heartbreak and conflict required to create great art, or at least required to create Shirley Jackson’s art. Decker may have calmed down her frenetic style this time around, but it was only in service of her most compelling story to date.

The Sundance Film Festival runs Jan. 23 – Feb. 2, 2020. Visit the official website for more information.

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Sundance Film Festival

Sundance 2020: Ai Weiwei’s ‘Vivos’ Is a Somber Requiem for Democracy

Ai Weiwei’s newest documentary concerns the fate of 43 “disappeared” Mexican students, but it’s more concerned with the lives of their families than being a true crime procedural.

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Vivos

Ai Weiwei, the Chinese dissident artist who left his home country in 2015, has been making films for close to two decades, though he’s best known for his non-film art projects. That may have changed with his 2017 documentary Human Flow, about the global migrant and refugee crisis, which brought his work into multiplexes and arthouse instead of just museums. His newest feature-length documentary, Vivos, is his most direct and emotionally resonant film to date. It looks unsparingly at a humanitarian crisis that has dogged both Mexico and The United States in recent decades with a sustained fury that stays just below the surface, always present but never overpowering.

Vivos concerns the 2014 mass kidnapping of teaching students in Iguala, Guerrero, Mexico. The students, members of a rural teaching college, were first attacked by police officers during a protest. Police killed six people in the hail of gunfire and injured another 25. The fate of those 31 people is well-established, but the other 43 students were “disappeared” in the aftermath of the attack, never to be heard from again. A subsequent government-led investigation determined that local police, who were in cahoots with drug cartels, took the students into custody. The police handed the students over to the cartel membe3rs, who killed them, incinerated the bodies, and dumped the remains in a nearby river to be washed away. At the time, the government referred to this as the “historic truth,” a chillingly Orwellian turn of phrase. It both suggests the supposedly definitive answer was only a temporary explanation, while paradoxically establishing the explanation as a definitive matter of record. Outside investigators would later determine this narrative to be (at least partly) false; the timeline of when the students were believed to have been incinerated didn’t line up, and officials higher up the chain of command were believed to be involved.

Vivos

Vivos tells this story, in great detail and with enormous sensitivity, but it’s not a true-crime documentary. We don’t even get significant details about the kidnapping and the investigation until halfway through the film. Instead, he focuses on the families and loved ones of the abducted men. The bulk of the film examines their daily lives and how they struggle to find normalcy in the wake of a tragedy. Ai constantly finds a sense of stillness in his shots, as when he films his subjects in moments of contemplation, or rest. The slowed-down pace suggests how their lives have come to a halt with the loss of their sons. The film opens and closes with complimentary shots in which the camera moves slowly forward down a mist-shrouded road as it approaches a bend around a mountain. The images suggest the path those buses might have taken before the students were abducted. But the foggy air also can represent the cloud of lies and half-truths that will most likely prevent these families from knowing what really happened to their children.

If there’s one misstep, it’s in the film’s title: Vivos, meaning “alive” in Spanish. After the independent investigators determine that the “historic truth” is incomplete at best and a fabrication at worst, the families, many of which have become activists in the memory of their sons, become convinced that their boys are still alive somewhere. “Alive, they took them! Alive, we want them back!” they chant during their public demonstrations. The families, in their grief, hope against hope that the government had kept the students alive and hidden them away, an outcome that strains credulity and logic. If a final answer is ever delivered, it’s likely to be a heartbreaking rebuke of that hope, but Ai seems to sympathize with those hopes in a way that gives them fuel. It’s understandable to not want to take away the last bit of hope from people who have already lost so much, but that doesn’t excuse the move. Perhaps these families will be successful in reforming Mexico’s government, military, and police, or even the US drug trade and drug war policies that led to this bloodshed. But that final bit of false hope is just one more indignity for them to suffer.

The Sundance Film Festival runs Jan. 23 – Feb. 2, 2020. Visit the official website for more information.

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Sam Mendes Creates a Rare Cinematic Experience with ‘1917’

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1917 Review

War movies have been a constant trend in cinema since the beginning of film. From black and white propaganda pieces during World War I and II to grand, ultra-realistic, modern dramas like Saving Private Ryan, war films have intrigued filmmakers and audiences alike for over 100 years. There’s a long list of films that have succeeded in recreating the horrors of fighting on the frontlines while telling a captivating story of heroism. Telling an emotionally gripping tale combined with some visually stunning filmmaking, 1917 can now be added to that list, and is nothing short of an incredible achievement.

Directed and co-written by Sam Mendes, and starring Dean-Charles Chapman and George MacKay, 1917 tells the story of two British soldiers during World War I that are given orders to personally deliver a message to a battalion off in the far distance. The message: to call off an attack that will result in the death of thousands, including one of the soldier’s brothers, should they fail to make it in time. Early on the two soldiers walk swiftly through crowded trenches; one of them, dragging behind yells, “Shouldn’t we think about this?” The other doesn’t reply. There’s no time to think about it. He carries on forward without looking back. The two had just been given orders, and time is now their worst enemy.

It’s this sense of urgency and persistence that drives 1917. Every minute is critical, and every moment feels dire. The two soldiers constantly push forward despite the overwhelming odds, as the life of thousands are in the lone hands of these two young men. The threat of failure is real, and 1917 never allows the audience to forget that.

Chapman and MacKay give wonderfully human performances as the main protagonists, Lance Corporal Blake and Lance Corporal Schofield. The audience gets to know the two men through little bits of conversation amid all the tension of getting closer to enemy lines. Their deepest and darkest secrets are never revealed, yet their actions provide reasons to care about them. The two men have their differences, but it’s clear that they want to help each other see the mission to its end. Their loyalty to one another and to the mission relentlessly drives them forward, and ultimately makes it easy for the audience to hope these characters succeed.

What really sets 1917 apart from other war epics is the masterful directing by Sam Mendes. The film creates the illusion throughout that the audience is watching a single continuous shot. From the first shot until the last, the focus never strays from its protagonists, allowing the audience to experience every step as it’s taken. Aside from the characters moving into a dark trench or behind a tall structure, it can be really tough to tell just how long each take is; where the director says “action” and “cut” is blurred to a point of fascination here, and though audiences have seen prolonged shots of war in past films, this is on another level. Combined with some brilliant pacing and jaw-dropping action sequences, 1917 never loses grip of its audience, as everything is seen without pause.

It’s also worth noting that every shot is elevated by a phenomenal score by Thomas Newman (who has worked with Mendes before on Skyfall). It seems that the goal here was not only to increase the intensity and drama of each scene, but also to allow the audience to feel exactly what the characters are feeling at all times. Whether the soldiers are walking through crowded trenches, cautiously cornering buildings, or taking a brief moment to catch their breath, every bit of what they’re feeling and just how their fast their hearts are pumping is translated. The music always feels natural, even in its most dramatic moments, and it deserves high praise for complimenting Mendes’ story so well.

1917 is one of the most unique movie-going experiences in recent memory. It takes the war movie genre and does something no one has ever seen before, which is extremely difficult with so many memorable war films in cinematic history. With 1917 Sam Mendes has created an unforgettable experience that needs to be seen on the biggest screen, and it deserves to be ranked among the greatest war films of all time.

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