A sentence I never imagined I would utter: Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom helped me to better appreciate Colin Trevorrow’s Jurassic World (2015). That’s not something I would have believed possible only a few days ago; that revival of Steven Spielberg’s wildly popular series, was littered with forgettable set pieces and derivative sequences, as well as homages to Spielberg that lacked his genius for compelling relationships and stunning visuals. But that film at least had a little heart, and it lucked out on a cast with enough chemistry to make up for Trevorrow’s clunky screenplay. In Fallen Kingdom, he and co-screenwriter Derek Connolly return, this time with J.A. Bayona directing. Though the new film is more stylish than its recent predecessors, Bayona can’t save Fallen Kingdom from the incredible dumbness of its screenplay.
In the aftermath of the disaster from Jurassic World, the strategy of the US and other world powers seems to be to just pretending it never happened. The remaining dinosaurs live out their lives on Isla Nublar, seemingly in some kind of homeostasis. That is, until a dormant volcano suddenly becomes quite active, threatening the monumental inhabitants of the island. In a sequence that’s particularly of the moment, members of Congress announce that their solution is to do absolutely nothing.
In the years since the destruction of the park, Owen Grady (Chris Pratt) and Claire Dearing (Bryce Dallas Howard) have cut off their hastily consummated relationship. She works as a lobbyist to spur on Congressional action to save the dinosaurs; he lives in a van. Their new lives aren’t particularly settled, and it takes only a tiny nudge to bring them back to the island. The great James Cromwell plays Benjamin Lockwood, the heretofore unmentioned partner of original Jurassic Park inventor John Hammond. The two men developed the cloning technology that made the park possible, and now he and his aide, Eli (Rafe Spall), hope to ferry away as many dinosaurs as possible before the island is engulfed in flames.
It’s fairly obvious that something will go wrong with this whole plan. Chances are you’ve already guessed some approximation of how this rescue mission will be bungled, which is the problem with Fallen Kingdom — every aspect follows a completely predicable schematic. Anyone who has seen Jurassic Park/World will see the twists coming a mile away. Bayona’s approach is to treat this iteration more like a horror film — in the spirit of Spielberg’s original — but along the way he, Trevorrow, and Connolly learn the worst lessons from the genre while making the characters embarrassingly empty-headed. It’s not that the audience has any special knowledge; Pratt and Howard are just playing total dunderheads.
Despite his inability to rein in the worst impulses of the writers, Bayona is a talented visual artist and responsible for the elegant look of the film’s final third, which transforms into a haunted house movie. He masterfully paints with shadows, but he lacks the sense of timing necessary to fully develop the suspense. Everything moves too quickly, rather than slowing down to create a sense of dread. This pacing problem is evident from the first scene. Like all the Jurassic Park films, this one also opens with a horror-style scene of violence, but every shot of it runs a second — or even a fraction of a second — too short. The too-quick cutting starts to add up, and when we arrive at what is supposed to be a suspenseful conclusion to the scene, it falls flat on its face. Not enough time has been spent to escalate the dread and suspense. The dramatic opening never has its intended impact, setting the film up on a disappointing note.
Anyone who has seen Jurassic Park/World will see the film’s twists coming a mile away.
Bayona isn’t just unable to build suspense when it’s most needed — he also allows Trevorrow and Connolly’s weak screenplay to corrupt potentially interesting new characters. Daniella Pineda, who was so vivacious in last year’s Mr. Roosevelt, plays a paleoveterinarian who is left with little to do and some truly horrible lines to spout out. She’s got undeniable charm, but she’s either forced to recite meaningless mush, or sidelined in favor of Pratt and Howard. Justice Smith provides some welcome comedic relief as a glorified IT guy who comes along on the mission, but the comedy mostly relies on him humiliating himself; he just becomes the guy who screams at every new shock, which quickly gets old. Least forgivable is James Cromwell’s introduction as a kind of John Hammond-lite. Cromwell is the sort of actor who can improve even terrible films, but his role in Fallen Kingdom is insultingly shallow and trivial. (For a display of his range, program a double feature of L.A. Confidential and Babe.) It’s stunt casting at its worst, but rather than showing off an actor’s skills, the point is merely to parade him around in front of the camera.
A popular sentiment among critics of Fallen Kingdom suggests that the filmmakers forgot what was so great about the original Jurassic Park. The actual problem is that they’re far too aware of what made it such a great film. Bayona steals a number of shots directly from the original, any of which would be a loving homage in isolation, but over the course of two hours they seem to suggest that he has run out of ideas. When the original film sees a velociraptor racing toward a child trying to hide in a kitchen cabinet, it’s genuinely exhilarating and frightening, but when Bayona copies that shot, merely transposing it to a dumbwaiter instead of a cabinet, it loses most of the shock and suspense. We recognize the shot as an update on Spielberg’s original, but it’s so faithful that we also know exactly how it will turn out. Bayona’s film turns into a kind of visual limerick, in which scenes rhyme with earlier ones from the Spielberg film. The problem with limericks is that their rhyme schemes are so simple that you can pretty easily guess what word they’ll rhyme next.
It’s clear from the ending of Fallen Kingdom that the next film in the series will at least offer something new. Fallen Kingdom tries to play it safe by aping the earlier films in the series, but like all copies of copies, it loses definition and barely resembles the original.
‘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.
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.
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.
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.
‘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 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.
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.
‘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.
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.
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.
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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