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‘Colossal’ Squanders a Neat Premise with Shoddy Filmmaking and Disastrous Writing



There’s a viable movie hiding somewhere in the central conceit of Nacho Vigalondo’s Colossal, but Vigalondo’s script and direction goes awry so early and often that it’s difficult to imagine an effective reconstruction. Reminiscent of previous quasi-indie genre-drama hybrids like Another Earth, which generated an entire, fully populated copy of Earth to merely, haplessly stand in for one woman’s grief, Colossal exploits the giant-monster-movie genre for a feature-length stab at pathos and social commentary with the tact and grace of a freshman short.

After a brief prologue, Colossal introduces us to Gloria (Anne Hathaway), an alcoholic thirtysomething New Yorker who failed out of a writing career and mostly slums around in her boyfriend’s (Dan Stevens) apartment and parties. Fed up with her cycles of substance abuse and deception, said boyfriend kicks her out, forcing her to move back to her parents’ empty, unfurnished home in the never-specified hamlet she’s from. Not long after she returns there, two key occurrences crop up: she reconnects with her childhood acquaintance, sad-sack bar owner Oscar (Jason Sudeikis), and news reports break of a giant, Godzilla-esque monster wreaking havoc on Seoul, South Korea. After examining her behavior, Gloria deduces that she is the creature; when she steps into a particular local playground at a particular time of day, she simultaneously manifests as the creature, with her haphazard drunkenness causing wanton destruction and countless deaths.

Within its first half-hour, Vigalondo’s script saddles Gloria with the responsibility of having claimed hundreds of lives, a realization that lands awkwardly for a variety of reasons. One of the most important is that Gloria is a feebly sketched figure whose motivations, personality, history, and peculiarities are totally unknown to us beyond the fact that she has a tendency to scratch her head (the tic that makes her notice her connection to the creature) and that she’s an alcoholic. We’re repeatedly informed that she used to be “a writer,” which is generally scriptwriter code for “this character’s occupation is irrelevant to this film,” just one of many missed opportunities to flesh out even two-dimensional characters.

Not too long after her realization that she’s been the direct cause of mass destruction, Gloria attempts to make things right with a peaceful gesture, which would seem to defuse the situation, until it becomes clear that Oscar shares Gloria’s supernatural connection to downtown Seoul’s unfortunate landscape. It’s when Oscar shows his true colours as a resentful, misogynistic figure that Colossal really begins to struggle to balance its many thematic concerns.

Is this a movie about Western conceptions of global calamity, wherein casualties afar are rendered as little more than numbers on a news ticker? Colossal doesn’t really allow for that reading, because we know almost nothing about Gloria or what led her to this relatively desperate place in life (which would help to account for a blinkered worldview), and not one South Korean citizen (beyond an incidental character in the insulting final scene) has even a speaking part, despite Seoul being the site of countless fatalities over the course of the movie. Nothing in Vigalondo’s script or direction suggests a shred of self-awareness about its attempt to get us to care about her plight while systematically ignoring or eliding the actual catastrophes she’s caused or associated with.

OK, so Colossal doesn’t work as social commentary on the subject of trivializing tragedy. Is there a thematic level on which it does function? Since it plainly doesn’t work as a movie about the corrosive effects of substance abuse (since Gloria and her troubles are so ill-defined), or as being about the perils of nostalgia (since, again, we learn nothing about Gloria’s childhood or her relationship with her hometown, her past, friends, or family), could it perhaps work as a movie about toxic masculinity? It comes closest on this level thanks to Sudeikis and his mostly quiet work establishing Oscar as a desperate figure in dim hope of deliverance from his trappings as a small-town loser. Still, Oscar feels more like a careful plot/theme construct than a flesh-and-blood person, a manifestation of contemporary fears of both the spooky Flyover State White Working Class and the Phony Nice Guy archetype. (Another weird, self-sabotaging quirk of this movie: despite his artificiality, Oscar is still a much better-developed character than Gloria, which renders the movie’s attempt to seem rousing or empowering deeply awkward.)

What, then, did Vigalondo think this movie was about? That’s the question that should leave most viewers mystified. The kaiju genre was born with Godzilla, a movie about the existential dangers of nuclear proliferation and the need for humanity to rise above mere international concerns in the hope of lasting peacea message inspired by a very real global trauma. Colossal attempts to remix the urban decimation that comes with kaiju territory in the service of a much smaller story about one woman’s struggle with a domineering, abusive asshole – but to what end? If it was to serve as a meta-commentary on the supposedly narrower concerns of millenials, Vigalondo fails, since Colossal doesn’t seem to think that anything matters beyond Gloria’s emancipation from the many awful men in her life.  A single depiction of the dead or wounded in Seoul might have done a lot to drive home some kind of satiric contrast, but Vigalondo keeps the entire affair insultingly bloodless. The result is yet another movie that attempts to “elevate” genre tropes in an attempt to make them palatable to folks who found Pacific Rim a touch gauche, only to wind up losing both the thematic potency and actual enjoyment inherent to the material it’s supposedly repurposing to higher ends.

At the risk of disparaging Colossal solely on social justice grounds, it’s important to note that Colossal doesn’t work on any detectable formal level. Its sequences of giant-monster-vs-giant-robot battle are purely secondary to their human corollaries, and those clashes lack any intensity. As a comedy (which it fitfully tries to be in its first two acts), it’s a total failure, eliciting chuckles only in the initial scenes of distant crowds cheering on Gloria’s monster. (This is especially disappointing since Vigalondo’s first feature, Timecrimes, was a darkly funny, economical take on time-travel tropes – a repurposing of genre elements that actually worked.) As a drama, it fails to engender any investment in the fates of its characters since they’re either deeply repellent or too ill-defined to elicit a reaction of any kind (Oscar’s local pals, played by Tim Blake Nelson and Austin Stowell, are particularly flat), and its pacing lags, especially its listless first act. As a sci-fi film, its approach to depicting the genre aspects of its premise are indifferent to the point of being insulting, and its creature designs are off-handed and nondescript. The sequence in which the nature of Gloria and Oscar’s metaphysical connection to Seoul is revealed is cartoonish in relation to the devastation they inflict on it, helping to underline the entire film as a misbegotten lark not worth taking seriously even as it demands that viewers do so.

What could have been a potent movie about emotional and physical abuse, or the corrosive effects of self-absorption, or a how we imagine ourselves as more consequential than we are to center our own anxieties and avoid serious self-examination, merely winds up feeling like just another ill-considered American movie in which a faceless, voiceless Other’s death toll accumulates without real consequence – except as it relates to one Westerner’s hurt feelings.

Simon is a roving writer and editor who has been crawling slowly Westward across Canada for the last decade. (He currently resides in Toronto.) He obtained a BFA in Film Studies from Concordia University in the spring of 2012 and a Graduate Certificate in Technical Writing from Algonquin College in 2015. He is a former co-host of the Televerse podcast. His favorite films include F for Fake, Brazil, Stroszek, The Fog of War, Grave of the Fireflies and In a Lonely Place. He can be found on Twitter (mostly yelling about far-left politics, ye been warned) at @hollowmines.

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‘Rojo’ Takes Carefully Composed Aim at Argentina’s Murky Past



Getting off to a creepy and crackling start, Benjamín Nasihtat’s Rojo can’t quite live up to its opening promise while admirably trying to navigate a muddied maze of vague suspicion around a small town in Argentina during the 1970s before the coup. Still, though the story bumps into a few dead ends before finally emerging into some light at the finish, exquisite compositions — punctuated by occasional bursts that mimic the time period’s cinematic style — and a quietly simmering performance from star Darío Grandinetti manage to keep things engaging enough throughout this low-key thriller.

Rojo vacation

After a mysterious opening shot in which an abandoned house in a pleasant neighborhood is calmly looted by various locals, Rojo directs our attention to a cozy, upscale restaurant where respectable lawyer Claudio sits alone, waiting for his wife, courteously acknowledged by other similarly well-off patrons. He draws the ire of another customer, who abrasively chides Claudio for occupying a table when he is not ready to order, thus depriving those who are. Pretending to take the higher road, Claudio gives up his seat, but can’t resist also giving this rude young man a lecture of his own — one that despite its refined vocabulary, smacks of hostile superiority. From there, an altercation ensues that will not only haunt Claudio for the rest of the film, but also stand for a certain societal rot that took over a country.

The sequence is chilling in its callousness, the way in which a person is removed from a restaurant — and a community — with nary a blink of an eye; soon, everyone is back to chattering away, enjoying their meals as if a mere pest had entered and was quickly shooed away. Beneath their civilized faces, however, their are subtle signs of deep unease. Rojo expertly creates a tension here that it will then go on to very slowly dilute, as more and more tangents are given prominence in an attempt to reinforce already clear themes without shedding new light on them.

Rojo locker room

The paranoia and guilt lurking beneath nearly every interaction in Rojo serves to bring attention to the various disappearances that take place and are alluded to throughout the story. That fear of being “disappeared” without a trace is a clear reference to the “los desaparecidos” — political dissidents from the era who either fled the country or were kidnapped and murdered in the wake of a military coup that wanted to silence opposition. The premise that one can suddenly say the wrong thing and summarily be erased from society while everyone looks the other way is an inherently scary one, and that pervading atmosphere goes a long way toward making Rojo highly watchable.

However, once the general idea is firmly and skillfully established, Rojo seems to have little place else to go with it. A subplot involving selling the house from the prologue is mildly interesting in how it portrays the opportunistic behavior that capitalized on atrocity, but the process eventually fizzles out. American rodeo cowboys pay a visit, alluding to U.S. involvement during the coup, but not much else. A trip to the beach perhaps shows a bit of the pressure that gets to those who have had to turn a blind eye for so long, but little else is garnered outside a stylish depiction of a solar eclipse that washes the screen symbolic red. A teenage romance seems like it’s reaching for something important to say about dominance and jealousy, but can’t come up with more than another disappearance — and of a character who might as well be a nobody regardless, for the few minutes they are on screen.

A missing doctor, a magician’s act, a church confrontation; the power of the vanishings is undermined somewhat by their frequency. But maybe that’s the point — that we all can be desensitized to injustice.

Rojo teens

Still, whether or not one finds meaning, it’s hard to take one’s eyes off such gorgeously composed images as Nasihtat has crafted here. Though its plot often seems to lack focus, Rojo still emits a feeling of pinpoint exactitude through pictures. Nearly every frame is a joy to examine, creating a palpable sense that angles and staging have been meticulously prepared to convey important information key to unlocking the script’s mysteries. Restrained use of zooms and freeze frames also help inject some period style into the proceedings, and can be effectively startling. Holding it all together though is the repressed performance of Darío Grandinetti, who masterfully finds the quiet fear and hypocrisy in a certain kind of ‘upright’ citizen. As the various pressures grow (including from a big-city TV investigator played by Alfredo Castro), will he be able to hold it together?

The payoff is a bit anti-climactic, but Rojo has already been trending that way since the beginning. Nevertheless, it does conclude on a more explicit note, and there is a great visual pleasure to be had from simply watching this story unfold in such sharp, capable filmmaking hands.

‘Rojo’ is now available on digital formats from 1844 Entertainment.

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‘Queen of Hearts’ is a Frank and Difficult Look at Sexual Desire

Trine Dyrholm is typically brilliant in Danish film ‘Queen of Hearts’ — playing an older woman embarking on an affair with her stepson.



Queen of Hearts

Queen of Hearts starts with a rather banal scene. Anne (Trine Dyrholm) walks through the woods with her dog. Her children are just outside her large, glass-heavy house. She goes inside, where her husband, Peter (Magnus Krepper), says police have called and he has to go. She looks outside at some barren trees, dramatic strings play, and the title credits come on; it’s a seemingly innocuous moment curdled into something far more ominous. 

This opening salvo with something moody and dark hiding within the banality and reliability of a simple family scene (later revealed to be in the future) sums up the Official Danish Best International Film submission Queen of Hearts as a whole. This is a film of bad decisions, loneliness, and creaky moral boundaries, interrogating the mores of modern womanhood against the backdrop of supposed domestic perfection. 

Our protagonist, Anne, is a lawyer who works with children who have been abused. She knows how to talk to young victims of rape and neglect, balancing a firm sense of what’s right with the necessary language to give these children hope. But she has difficulties switching from work to home, unable to give her twin daughters the affection they deserve. One way for anyone to switch off and focus on life outside of work, of course, is to engage in some form of intimacy; yet, her hypocritical, workaholic doctor husband has little time to give her any attention in the bedroom. 

When Peter’s teenage son, Gustav (Gustav Lindh), turns up to stay for the summer, Anne is immediately attracted to his moodiness and sexual swagger. Their slow seduction scenes seem to all come from different movies: porno (he suddenly comes out of the shower in the towel), summer indie drama (a scene in a lake with splashing water and an ecstatic soundtrack), and eventually horror (a writhing, overly staged sex scene in the dark that is extremely shocking in its frankness). 

These shifts in tone reflect the film’s queasy study in shifting sympathies, making Queen of Hearts a modern morality play baked in typically Scandinavian seriousness. Is Anne simply engaging in a harmless affair, rediscovering her long-dormant sexuality? Or is the age difference simply too far? With echoes of both The Hunt (2012) and the women-focused sex-dramas of Lars von Trier, it is sure to provoke a mixture of praise for its brazen female sexual gaze, and eventually disgust for where this gaze finally takes us. 

Queen of Hearts

Most of us assume that we are good people, even as we are engaging in less than savoury activities. It may look bad to people on the outside, but we have our reasons. The ever-reliable Trine Dyrholm turns in another mesmerising performance here, balancing her own lack of sexual self-confidence against her outwardly authoritative presence as a lawyer. Even if we cannot agree with what she does, Dyrholm successfully conveys her character’s complexity, making her sympathetic throughout. But just as we can never judge ourselves objectively, we can never know the ultimate effect our actions may have on others, especially in a dynamic such as this, leading to some bitter results. 

Queen of Hearts asks the viewer to never make assumptions, to think outside of clichés, and to really dig deep into the true heart of the matter. Director May el-Toukhy knows she has strong actors and a strong screenplay here, employing minimal tricks to just let them get on and really chew into the material. While unlikely to make it into the final Oscar shortlist, Queen of Hearts deserves a lot of credit for its utter brazenness and steadfast commitment to its difficult premise.

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‘Ford v Ferrari’ Drives Fast with Little Under the Hood

A classic Hollywood drama with fast cars and a stellar Christian Bale performance that feels great despite a lack of emotional substance.



Ford v Ferrari

Many directors always struggle with producers and other businessmen to retain their vision. What might work most for that vision may not be what focus tests and audiences have proven to enjoy, so the film gets reworked and reworked until it becomes a box office hit, and potentially retains a director’s intent. Ford v Ferrari doesn’t necessarily feel like that — this is a James Mangold film in many regards — but by the end of its story of vision and skill versus marketing and business agendas, Mangold’s latest wrestles with placing trust in an individual against an entire body of suits.

When Carroll Shelby (Matt Damon) is approached by Ford Motors to create a car fast enough to beat Ferrari at the 24 Hours of Le Mans (an annual racing event where drivers go all day and night around the same track), he is forced to fight tooth-and-nail to get the best driver for the job: Ken Miles (Christian Bale). Shelby’s fight is singular; he wants to win the Le Mans, and knows that Miles is the only one who can do it. Yet, Ford Motors is still a company with many eyes on them, and employing the hot-headed Miles as a driver could be disastrous. So begins a struggle for Shelby and Miles to have their desires met by a company looking at the bottom line. That struggle — one that underscores every decision made by the characters in the film — is what sits at the core of Ford v Ferrari, and keeps things interesting. Set that aside, however, and the film loses a lot of momentum.

Ford v Ferrari

Still, the racing will grip audiences throughout. The final Le Mans challenge runs for a decent portion of Ford v Ferrari and is engaging throughout, but there are several other races and practices where Mangold’s craftsmanship as a filmmaker shines bright. Miles sits in the driver’s seat of all of these moments, and Bale’s performance is never stronger than when his character has that need for speed. Miles is a passionate driver with pure intentions, and Bale gives him a lot of wit and heart in between huge swings of emotion. It’s a performance that stands tall but doesn’t distract, instead meshing extremely well with the action.

Meanwhile, the other performances are also solid. Matt Damon is very good in the role of Shelby, though his character is quite often reserved because he has to be. When you put him against Bale, however, it’s clear that Shelby pales to the race car driver’s fleshed-out character, as we follow the latter’s family, his rejections and successes, and his pure heart. In the backdrop is a wide array of supporting actors, including Caitriona Balfe as Mollie Miles, Josh Lucas as the thorn in Shelby’s side, Jon Bernthal playing a standard Jon Bernthal role, and Tracy Letts chewing up scenery whenever he can as Henry Ford II. Letts and Lucas in particular give great caricatured performances, planting Ford v Ferrari into a more standard Hollywood drama.

Ford v Ferrari

Largely that’s the problem: Ford v Ferrari is a technical achievement with some incredible craftsmanship and performances that just never feels as great at slow times as it does when it’s moving past 7000 RPMs. It has a need for speed, and the pacing shows that, but it also doesn’t really rise very high above what’s needed to please an audience. Mangold is great at deriving emotional substance out of a subject, but a lot of that in Ford v Ferrari is left on the shoulders of Bale’s performance. Instead, the film focuses heavily on the bureaucratic side of things, and how that hinders talented people from being who they are destined to be. While fun to watch, there isn’t much more that will have Ford v Ferrari lingering with audiences. Instead, this will be a movie that resonates with racing fans and those that struggle against restrictions, keeping general audience satisfied in their big Hollywood dramas for the time being.

Editor’s Note: This article was originally published on September 14 as part of our coverage of The Toronto International Film Festival.

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