10th Annual Slip-Me-A-Mickey Awards™®

10th ANNUAL SLIP-ME-A-MICKEY™® AWARDS

The Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® awards are the final award of the interminably long awards season. The Slip-Me-A-Mickey™®, or as some lovingly call them, The Mockeys™®, are a robust tribute to the absolute worst that film and entertainment has to offer for the year.

Again, the qualifying rules are simple, I just had to have seen the film for it to be eligible. This means that at one point I had an interest in the film and put the effort in to see it, which may explain why I am so angry about it being awful. So, any vitriol I may spew during this awards presentation shouldn't be taken personally by the people mentioned, it is really anger at myself for getting duped into watching.

The prizes are also pretty simple. The winners/losers receive nothing but my temporary scorn. If you are a winner/loser don't fret, because this year’s Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® loser/winner could always be next year’s Mickey™® winner!! Remember…you are only as good as your last film!!

Now…onto the awards!

WORST FILM OF THE YEAR

Saltburn – This is a truly atrocious, artistically repugnant film that fails on every single level. The script is horseshit, the direction dogshit and the performances bullshit. A mountain of shit that high makes for a very odious movie.

Rebel Moon – A Zack Snyder Star Wars rip-off…what could go wrong? Well…apparently everything. One of the dullest and dumbest movies in recent cinematic history. But look on the bright side…a sequel is hitting Netflix in just a matter of months. Kill. Me. Now.

Ghosted – Chris Evans has the brains of a Tsetse fly and the charisma of a pencil eraser and Ana de Armas is a beautiful woman but very limited actress who needs to fire her agent immediately. The combination of these two morons matching dim-wits and tossing out flaccid one-liners in an action-rom-com is as lifeless and inert as a crippled eunuch’s loins.

Meg 2 – It’s tough to fuck up a giant shark movie, but the Meg 2 was able to pull it off…the key to their success? Removing the giant shark from the majority of the movie. Way to go you fucking numbnuts!

And the loser is…SALTBURN! I hated this movie. It is stupid and awful and putrid and pathetic. Anyone who liked Saltburn for any reason should be beaten to death with a sock full of month-old, frozen, elephant turds.

WORST PERFORMANCE OF THE YEAR

Adam Driver – Ferrari – Adam Driver is a favorite of many big-time filmmakers and has a cult-like following among fans. But the reality is that Adam Driver is a consistently shitty actor. This doughy, dork-faced doofus talks like Kermit and has the screen-presence of a tumbleweed wrapped a sheet of Saran-Wrap. In Ferrari Driver went full Father Guido Sarducci and managed to turn Enzo Ferrari into the Chef Boyardee of auto racing. He did the same to Maurizio Gucci in The House of Gucci a few years ago. Driver doesn’t just need to stop acting in Italian roles, he needs to stop acting.

Phoebe Waller-Bridge – Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny – Remember how charming and funny Phoebe Waller-Bridge was on Fleabag? I do…but barely. It is tough to remember after watching her suck all the life out of the most recent Indiana Jones movie. That Waller-Bridge has all the athletic grace of a baby giraffe with rickets doesn’t help her thrive in this action role.

Bradley Cooper – Maestro – Poor Bradley Cooper. Dude just wants an Oscar so he keeps making shitty movies about musical guys – first A Star is Born and now Maestro. This time in order to woo Oscar voters he wears “Jew-face” and turns the gay histrionics up to eleven. Yikes. Still doesn’t work. He so wants to be a great actor that he does nothing but ACT in these movies. He ACTS so much that he forgets to actually…you know…act. There’s not a single moment in Maestro where Bradley Cooper (or his co-star Carey Mulligan) seem like actual human beings…not good…not good at all.

And the loser is…ADAM DRIVER – FERRARI – Adam Driver is the 21st Century’s version of Elliot Gould…in case you’re wondering…that is not a compliment in any way, shape or form. On the bright side, in twenty years he can play one of the main character’s dads on a reboot of Friends.

WORST SCENE OF THE YEAR

Barry Keoghan fucking a grave – Saltburn – Yawn.

Barry Keoghan slurping jizz-soiled bath water – Saltburn – Cringe.

Barry Keoghan having oral sex with a menstruating woman – Saltburn – Eye-roll.

And the loser is…IT’S A TIE between all the try-hard, faux-edgy, god-awful scenes with Barry Keoghan doing vile shit in Saltburn. And the real loser in all of this is us – the poor bastards who watched this flaming fucking garbage pile.

MOST OVERRATED FILM OF THE YEAR

BARBIE– Barbie was a phenomenon. Barbie was a blockbuster. Barbie was a critical darling. Barbie was also a fucking atrociously awful movie. A two-hour corporate toy commercial infused with a toxic strain of toddler level feminism that left any person with half a brain in their head wanting to light themselves on fire, and any man with two-balls in their bag wanting to cleanse their palate by killing a Sabre-Toothed Tiger and then dragging some whiny plastic shrew by her hair back to his cave.

It is a testament to how mind-numbingly stupid our culture and populace has become that the insipid and insidiously imbecilic Barbie was so unabashedly celebrated and exalted as a great movie and a work of genius.

SPECIAL ACHIEVEMENT IN CINEMATIC MALPRACTICE

EMERALD FENNELL– Emerald Fennel won an Oscar for writing her first film Promising Young Woman. Upon further review that movie is garbage. Upon first view of Saltburn, it is an abysmal pile of amateur-hour excrement. Considering her track record, Fennel shouldn’t even be allowed to direct traffic, never mind a movie. She is an out and out cinematic charlatan who has only gotten a shot because of Hollywood’s post #MeToo addiction to elevating talentless female directors. She has earned this Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® award the hard way…by being devoid of any and all talent.

P.O.S. ALL-STARS

JONATHAN MAJORS– I really liked Jonathan Majors when I first saw him the in the film The Last Black Man in San Francisco. But he is the type of actor that the more you see him the more you see how hollow his work truly is. A perfect example of this is his most recent performance in the Marvel series Loki.

Majors is “acting” so much in this series it made my head hurt and my colon twinge. He is just so obviously desperate to show himself acting so that everyone can say, “wow…look at that guy’s acting!”

The result of all this is that Majors is a major disappointment as an artist.

He’s also a major disappointment as a human being as he got charged with some abusive shenanigans with a former girlfriend and then other former girlfriends came forward and said he was an aggressive asshole and on and on and on.

Then there were the tapes of him comparing himself to Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X. Good lord.

The bottom line is that Jonathan Majors’ career is, at best, comatose…at worst, dead on arrival. Marvel cut him loose and an arthouse film of his which had garnered some Oscar buzz was completely shelved and if it is ever released will be done so under cover of darkness.

On top of all that Majors gave an interview on Good Morning America that was so catastrophic as to be astonishing as he came across as a completely disingenuous and delusional sack of shit.

Good riddance Jonathan Majors…you will not be missed…but congrats on being a Piece of Shit All-Star.

LIZZO – This rotund retard was the point elephant for the media’s relentless “body positivity” movement. Everywhere you turned Lizzo was there front and center playing a flute or singing and dancing, all while wearing next to nothing with her gargantuan ass hanging out.

The reason Lizzo was shoved in our faces was because our culture and civilization is actively being subverted and our intelligence being assaulted. Up is now down, left is now right, and bad is now good.

The fact that Lizzo is so gratuitously grotesque is the point of it all. The truth is, and everyone knows this, that if you saw Lizzo in your bathroom at 3 in the morning, you’d think your house was haunted. Speaking of bathrooms, Lizzo is so fat she has to shit in the bathtub.

Now, despite the relentless comedic vitriol I am currently spewing at Lizzo, the truth is she should not be shamed for being fat, but she shouldn’t be celebrated for it either. The chances she will die young of a heart attack, diabetes, or choking on a ham sandwich, are astronomical, and we should not encourage her gluttony any more than we’d encourage someone else’s alcoholism or drug addiction.

Speaking of shaming, the reason Lizzo is one of this year’s Piece of Shit All-Stars is because she is being sued by her background dancers for…wait for it…“weight shaming” them. The dancers also alleged that Lizzo harassed them sexually, religiously, and racially. She’s also accused of disability discrimination, assault, false imprisonment, and creating a hostile work environment.

Lizzo sounds like her insides are as repulsive as her outsides…which is quite an accomplishment.

The good thing about all of these charges against Lizzo is that the media is no longer shoving her fat ass in our face and we no longer have to pretend this pig is a beauty queen. A win-win scenario for everyone.

JADA SMITH – Jada is a multi-time POS All-Star and she and her family are lifetime members of the POS Hall of Fame. So why is she on the POS All-Stars again? Well…because SHE IS A GIANT PIECE OF SHIT!

After all the hoopla and horseshit around Will Smith and the Oscars slap and all of that…Jada thought this year was a good time to put out a book and overshare with America about her entire sordid and supremely narcissistic life. I mean…who gives a fuck what she or her fruitcake husband or her truly repugnant children think or feel?

This irrelevant whore was out there shouting from the rooftops about how the love of her life was Tupac, and she basically publicly cuckolded and castrated her husband, and in doing so essentially ended his career…for that at least I’m grateful.

Jada’s addiction to the spotlight, despite her complete allergy to hard work and total lack of talent or skill, is a toxic mix, and the poor public who have her obnoxious, self-righteous posturing imposed upon us by a celebrity adoring media, are the ones who truly suffer.

The reality is that Jada is an absolutely awful person in every single way. My hope is that Will Smith grows a pair of balls and goes semi-O.J. on her by drowning her in a septic tank…at least then they’d become ever-so-slightly interesting.

P.O.S. HALL OF FAME

This year’s sole inductee is the grouping of…

BIDEN, TRUMP, AMERICA’S CORRUPT POLITICAL SYSTEM and THE AMERICAN VOTERS

I am certainly not the first person to say this but WHAT THE FUCK!?!?! There are like 350 million people in the United States and the best we can do for the job of President is these two decrepit dipshits?

Joe Biden is a geriatric, dementia-addled creepy-old man and corrupt swamp creature. It is painful watching him walk on television, never mind try and talk.

This ass-hat is such a limp-dick douchebag as to be astonishing. No one, and I mean no one, with whom I’ve spoken in the last four years has anything but contempt (and occasionally pity) for this incessant failure.

Speaking of contempt, on the other side of the aisle is Trump, who is a carnival barker, rodeo clown, reality television blow-hard and corrupt charlatan.

I don’t know anyone who is excited about this election or either of these candidates. It is a testament to how far along the fall of the American Empire truly is that the populace is simply resigned to the ruling class installing either of these shitheels in the presidential chair.

It’s important to remember that no matter who “wins” the election, nothing will truly change.

Trump is running as an outsider candidate who will drain the swamp, but the last time he was president he filled his cabinet and administration with the swampiest of swamp creatures.

Biden, of course, IS the swampiest of swamp creatures. This twat has never actually held a real job in his entire life. He’s been a politician his entire adult life, and is Trump’s equal, if not superior, when it comes to corruption.  

What you’re really voting for in this election, and all elections, is who will be cast as the lead in the role of President of the United States…a long running, very unpopular reality television show.

In the 21st century we have had a narcissist, silver-spooned, nepo-baby, mental-defective war criminal as president (George W. Bush), and then people elected a smooth-talking, narcissist, CIA created dummy-corp love-child (Obama), followed by a silver-spooned, narcissistic, reality-tv star (Trump), followed by dementia-addled, geriatric, corrupt swamp creature (Biden). This is a murderer’s row of dipshittedness…all of whom ruled with neo-liberal domestic policy and neo-con foreign policy…or as I call it – the worst of both worlds.

The fact that I found it impossible to even tolerate watching any of these fucksticks on television for more than two seconds is a pretty strong indicator that my bullshit meter is finely attuned and that my taste in humanity is much too sophisticated.

Which brings me to the American voters.

Look, I get it, people are stupid or exhausted or a combination of the two. They are also relentlessly propagandized and conditioned to be allergic to critical thinking. But the fact that we are quietly compliant while these two fucktards are hoisted upon us is a scathing indictment of the state of our union and our populace.

And don’t even get me started on the imbeciles and morons who actually buy into all this shit and are fervent supporters of either candidate. If you go to a rally for either one of these fucksticks, you should be lobotomized. Hell, if you even put a Biden or Trump sign in your front lawn, you should be institutionalized.

The bottom line is that regardless of who wins this year’s election, there is one thing we can count on and it is this…all of us will lose….THAT IS GUARANTEED!

And on that happy note…thus ends the Slip-Me-A-Mickey Awards™®!! I hope everyone enjoys the after-party and that I see none of the losers who these awards next year!!

Thanks for reading and we’ll see you next time…at the Slip-Me-A-Mickeys!!

 Follow me on Twitter: @MPMActingCo

©2024

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 113 - Saltburn

On this episode, Barry and I pour ourselves some bathwater cocktails and dance around our mansion in the nude as we discuss Emerald Fennell's new controversial film Saltburn. Topics discussed include the weirdness of Barry Keoghan, Emerald Fennell's major third act issues, and the cinematic skill of Linus Sandgren.

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 113 - Saltburn

Thanks for listening!

©2024

Saltburn: A Review - This Shit Sandwich Needs More Salt, Less Burn

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. Just an abomination. This movie is the cinematic equivalent of a lobotomy.

In the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day I had the great misfortune of having watched Saltburn, the new movie from filmmaker Emerald Fennell, which is currently streaming on Amazon Prime.

I decided not to write my review of Saltburn until after the New Year so as to not leave 2023, or enter 2024, with such a vile taste in my mouth, and to not subject you, my dear readers, to such potent negativity during what I hope was a joyous holiday season.

Well, now that I’ve officially published a positive review to open 2024 (of Michael Mann’s Ferrari), it’s time to get back and do the dirty work of sifting through the mountains of excrement that Hollywood shats upon us. At the bottom of that shit pile is the rancid turd known as Saltburn.

Saltburn is written and directed by Emerald Fennell. This is her second feature film as writer/director, the first being 2020’s Promising Young Woman, for which she won an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay.

Promising Young Woman was a movie about rape and fighting the patriarchy created during the height of the #MeToo mania and released in the wake of the 2020 election.

It was one of those movies that critics were afraid to criticize because its politics were “righteous”, namely that it was made by a woman and was a polemic against the patriarchy. Much to my embarrassment, even I succumbed to the moment and was muted in my criticisms of the film, and even went so far as to consider Promising Young Woman to be the first film for a promising young director (or not so young as the case may be).

To be clear, I liked the performances of Carey Mulligan and Bo Burnham in Promising Young Woman, but I did find the film’s third act to be so egregiously amateurish as to be catastrophic.

Upon rewatching Promising Young Woman in anticipation of seeing Saltburn, I came to clearly see that Fennell as a filmmaker is deeply, deeply flawed, and the trajectory of her career would only become clear once I’d seen her second feature.

And then I watched her second feature Saltburn…

Saltburn is the worst movie I’ve seen in maybe the last decade or more. It’s not satire, or parody, it’s simply an inane and inept attempt at drama, and it fails so miserably as to be astonishing, and frankly, embarrassing.

Saltburn is so bad I’ve been sorely tempted to encourage people to watch it just so I can commiserate with them about how awful it is.

The basics of Saltburn are thus…the film tells the tale of Oliver Quick (Barry Keoghan), a poor boy thrown to the uber-wealthy wolves at Oxford University in the Fall of 2006. Oliver is smart but a social outcast. He becomes infatuated with an impossibly handsome classmate, Felix (Jacob Elordi), who happens to be the member of an affluent and influential family.

Oliver then goes to great lengths to ingratiate himself into Felix’s life, and succeeds as he gets invited to Felix’s expansive family estate, Saltburn, for the Summer. Oliver then has to navigate the perilous minefield which is Felix’s wealthy family and friends.

I will stop there in describing the plot so as to avoid any spoilers in case you really, really hate yourself enough to want to watch this piece of shit.

All I’ll say is that the twists and turns in the plot are so ham-fisted it feels like it was written by a self-loathing, spoiled-rich, thirteen-year-old girl pouting in her mansion as she plays with Barbies, who is writing a story to try and stroke her fragile ego and to distract herself from the dull, pulsating pain and emotional roller-coaster of her first menstruation.

The film features some of the more ludicrous and repugnant “sex” type scenes you’ll ever see, one of which involves the previously mentioned menstruation…oh…and it also features enough shots of Barry Keoghan’s floppy phallus to last a lifetime.

The acting in Saltburn is rather rudimentary. Barry Keoghan, a talented actor, gives a rather rote performance as the creepy little weird guy, something he has played far too often in his short career.

Jacob Elordi is impossibly handsome as…the impossibly handsome Felix, but beyond that there’s not much going on there.

The only performance of note is Rosamund Pike as Felix’s mother, Elspeth. Pike sinks her teeth so deep into the bone of this painfully thin caricature, and is able, through sheer force of will and talent, to find life deep, deep in the marrow. Pike’s performance is so razor sharp it makes me wish she got a chance to play this role in a different, and much better, movie.

Just as with Promising Young Woman, the third act of Saltburn is apocalyptically awful. The film veers so far off the rails in the last forty-five minutes it is hard to even remotely comprehend the scope and scale of its failure.

Also difficult to comprehend is how anyone, be it producers, executives or actors, could read this script from start to finish and think, “yeah, this is a great idea!” The characters are all caricatures, the plot is absurd beyond belief, and the political/cultural sub-text is so tone-deaf and brain-dead it should be euthanized, or at a bare minimum, institutionalized.

The thing that became excruciatingly clear while watching the grueling two-hour-and-ten-minute Saltburn, particularly its egregious third act, is that Emerald Fennell is, like so many of the actresses-turned-directors who’ve been given a leg up in Hollywood in recent years - like Olivia Wilde and Elizabeth Banks, absolute fool’s gold.

Fennell has no idea what she is doing. She is an unserious, unskilled and untalented filmmaker, and no amount of wishful thinking or affirmative action Academy Awards will ever change that fact.

After watching Saltburn the trajectory of Emerald Fennell’s career has become exceedingly clear…odds are, simply because Hollywood is desperate for female directors, she’ll get another shot or two at a feature film, but in five years or so she’ll only be directing television…and in ten years she’ll only be directing commercials…and in fifteen years, she’ll be lucky to be directing traffic.

In conclusion, Saltburn is an absolute and utter mess of a movie. I watched this piece of shit so you don’t have to…and trust me when I tell, you really don’t have to.

 Follow me on Twitter: @MPMActingCo

©2024

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 94 - The Banshees of Inisherin

On this spoiler-filled episode, Barry and I get our Irish up and declare our blood feud as we discuss Martin McDonagh's Academy Award Best Picture nominee The Banshees of Inisherin. Topics discussed include the joy of confidently made quality films, the glorious cast and the impressive recent rise of Colin Farrell, and the undeniable darkside of Irishness. 

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 94 - The Banshees of Inisherin

Thanks for listening!

©2023

The Banshees of Inisherin: A Review – Journey to the Irish Heart of Darkness

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SEE IT. A flawed but well-written and well-acted dark comedic fable that speaks to our current hyper-polarized time.

The Irish are often caricatured by outsiders as a bunch of rosy-cheeked, pseudo-leprechauns blessed with a persistent good-nature and the relentless gift of the gab.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

The Irish are not jolly jig dancing leprechauns, they’re a complicated people inflicted with a deep-seated darkness and melancholy that confounds psychiatry and could swallow universes whole.

Yes, the Irish are blessed with the gift of the gab but they’re also cursed with the impulse to jab. Wherever two or more Irishmen are gathered, a fight is more likely than not.

Which brings us to The Banshees of Inisherin, the new dark comedic fable written and directed by acclaimed playwright Martin McDonagh which stars Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson, with supporting turns from Kerry Condon and Barry Keoghan.

The film, which is currently streaming on HBO Max, tells the story of Padraig (Farrell) and Colm (Gleeson), two men living on a small island just off the coast of civil war torn Ireland in 1923, as they navigate the end of their friendship.

The troubles (pun intended) start when Colm decides one day that life is too short to spend another moment in the presence of the dull and dim-witted Padraig. Fiddle-player Colm wants to leave his mark on the world by writing a great Irish song, and believes Padraig’s company is holding him back by taking up too much of his time. Colm would rather cut off his nose to spite his face than to spend another minute of his life chatting inanely with Padraig.

Padraig, who really is dull and dim-witted, is blindsided by this turn of events and simply can’t wrap his head around Colm’s behavior. Padraig is nice and only aspires to be nice, so Colm’s rather rude demand that they not be friends anymore is a shock.

The story of Colm and Padraig’s progressively uncivil civil war unfurls from there but I’ll refrain from sharing any more details to avoid spoilers except to say that things escalate to literally absurd extremes.

The Banshees of Inisherin has a lot going for it. For one, it is simply but beautifully shot, the setting is glorious and the costumes are sublime.

In addition, Colin Farrell gives a phenomenal performance as the doe-eyed dumb-ass Padraig. Farrell has discovered himself as an actor in recent years under the direction of both McDonagh and Yorgos Lanthimos (The Lobster and The Killing of a Sacred Deer). Hell, he was even terrific in the Ron Howard nothing burger that was Thirteen Lives from this past Summer.

Padraig’s character arc gives Farrell a great deal to sink his teeth into and he makes the absolute most of it. I would assume that an Oscar nomination is in his future and he’s definitely deserving of a win.

Brendan Gleeson too is superb as the determined yet despondent, gruff but good-natured Colm. Gleeson is a fantastic actor and the more we get to see of him the better. Make no mistake, The Banshees of Inisherin is Colin Farrell’s movie, but none of it is possible without the subtle and sublime work of Brendan Gleeson.

Kerry Condon plays Siobhan, Padraig’s sister and she is captivating as she perfectly captures the tortured and tormented existence of the Irish woman stuck on an isolated island with the hell that is Irish men.

Barry Keoghan gives an uneven but at times spectacular performance as Dominic, the lonely and desperate son of the local brutish policeman. Keoghan sometimes gets lost in histrionics, but when he slows down and stills himself, he is capable of immense dramatic power and that is evident in his work as Dominic.

I’ve enjoyed Martin McDonagh’s plays but I’ve not been a huge fan of films. I thought In Bruges (2008) was good but not that good, and found his most recent effort, Three Billboards Outside of Ebbing, Missouri to be a steaming pile of donkey shite.

The Banshees of Inisherin is by far his best film as it tells a bleakly funny, layered and complex allegory about the nature of men, Irish men in particular, and the perilously polarizing nature of our fractious time.

Men like Padraig and Colm, are designed to communicate shoulder-to-shoulder, whether it be in a foxhole, the fields, an assembly line or at a bar. Shoulder-to-shoulder. The problems start when Colm forces a face-to-face discussion, which is unnatural to men. When men are face-to-face, they’re squaring up to fight…and that’s what occurs with Colm and Padraig…and with all men who attempt to deny their masculine nature no matter how suffocatingly self-destructive it may be.

As for the more current notions addressed in The Banshees of Inisherin, the recent trend of celebrating the banishing of friends or family over the differing of opinions, is front and center.

Nowadays as a cold civil war rages in America, disagreement over politics, of all stupid, fucking useless things, is punishable by exile, which is lustily cheered on by the cacophony of clowns manning the echo chamber of social media.

Like Padraig I’m a dim-witted dullard, and like Padraig I’ve been cast out of the garden by friends. Unlike Padraig, I don’t give a flying fuck. Like Colm I prefer to be alone, and do not want to waste my time or disturb my peace with inane chit-chat with dopes, dipshits and douchebags.

This is part of the brilliance of The Banshees of Inisherin as Padraig and Colm are two parts of the masculine Irish psyche that are forever in and out of accord with one another. Colm’s newfound, fear-of-being-forgotten inspired ambition and Padraig’s yearning for comfort coupled with his fruitless hope to be remembered as nice, are the two clashing desires in the heart of all Irishmen, and maybe in all men.

Ultimately, what Martin McDonagh understands is that the thing to remember about the Irish is that they are the best friends and the worst enemies. They’re happy to talk your ear off or rip your head off, either one, you decide. They have short-tempers and long memories and they don’t hold grudges, they ARE grudges.

The Banshees of Inisherin understands all of that and all of the darkness in the Irishman’s heart, and that’s why it’s both amusing and gloriously insightful that this movie feels like a prequel to some epic grudge inspired feud that will burn the fictional island of Inisherin to the ground in the years and decades to come…which is a wonderfully Irish thing to do.

The Banshees of Inisherin is possibly the best movie of the year, but to be clear, it isn’t a great movie. It’s good, and interesting, and insightful, but it isn’t great. But in the current cinematic drought in which we suffer, I guess I’ll have to drink from the well of the pretty good while I dream of greatness past.

If you’re Irish or of Irish descent, you’ll probably recognize yourself in The Banshees of Inisherin. But regardless of your connection to the Emerald Isle, be forewarned, The Banshees of Inisherin is a subtle but dark…very dark…comedy. If that’s not your thing, then this is won’t be your thing.

©2022

American Animals: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SEE IT. A good but not great film, that insightfully diagnoses the American condition. 

American Animals, written and directed by Barry Layton, is based on the true story of a heist of rare books from the Transylvania University library in 2004. The film stars Evan Peters and Barry Keoghan. 

American Animals is a good, but not great film, that is fascinating because it accurately diagnoses and portrays what ails men in late stage American empire, namely the lack of meaning and purpose in their lives. 

Director Barry Layton takes this bizarre, real life story, and twists and turns it into a pseudo-Rashomon-eqsue documentary fiction piece of cultural criticism that resonates more thematically than in execution. 

Layton's sprinkles interviews with the actual people at the center of the real-life heist at Transylvania University in 2004 though out the film, which is a daring and interesting approach that works well. Cutting from the real Warren Lipka to Evan Peters playing Warren Lipka, makes for captivating cinema, and the truth is the real people often times seem more compelling than their fictional counterparts. 

Layton deftly weaves in all sorts of cultural commentary throughout the film, including a beautifully executed swipe at the Ocean's Eleven movies, which was so spot on in every single way I could barely contain myself. The fact that the female version of Ocean's Eleven, Ocean's Eight, was playing in the theatre right next door, only made Layton's jab all the more effective. 

The cast all do solid work, with Evan Peters and the always intriguing Barry Keoghan carrying most of the weight. Peters and Keoghan are, just like the real Warren Lipjka and Spencer Reinhard, an interesting pair as they are so mismatched one wonders why they would ever come together in the first place. 

Keoghan's penchant for playing odd ducks (he was marvelous in last year's The Killing of a Sacred Deer) is on full display in American Animals. Keoghan's Reinhard is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma, surrounded by desperate American angst. 

Peters' Lipka is a combustible concoction of resentment, arrogance and misplaced rage, who, unlike Reinhard, seems to have "Born to Lose" tattooed on his chest. Lipka might be the brains of the operation, and he also might be the balls of the operation, but the problem is he is severely deficient in both brains and balls. 

Blake Jenner and Jared Abrahamson play Chas Allen and Erick Borsuk respectively, and they do terrific work as well. While their characters are under written compared to Peters and Keoghan, both actors make the most of what is given them and add to the oddball mix of would-be heisters that seems so ill-conceived.

American Animals is less a heist movie, and more a commentary on the culture that loves and needs heist movies. For instance, both Reinhard and Lipka scour Hollywood heist movies in order to learn how to pull one off. While the heist is the main attraction, the more salient point on display in American Animals is the total lack of meaning in the lives of American men that lead them to be attracted to "heists" in the first place. 

Layton masterfully cuts to the bone of America and reveals the rot at its core. America is desperately and irreversibly in decline, and the American male is dying on the vine. One of the books the American Animals gang is trying to steal is written by Charles Darwin, which is ironic since these young men are symbolic of the fact that the American Male has evolved beyond his usefulness and is in fact, in a state of rapid devolution. As Layton exquisitely shows through the use of another of the books targeted by the heist, this one a collection of the works of John James Audubon, our current decadent age of the Flamingo has deluded American men away from their archetypal Hawk, resulting in a loss of connection with their true masculine nature.

In the end, as American men are taught to be Flamingos, they find that the Flamingo archetype does not resonate in their primal psyche, and so they try and reorient to their genetic, animalistic nature by overcompensating, which takes the form of violent or sexually aggressive behavior, in order to prove they indeed are not Flamingos, but really birds of prey…like the American Eagle. But the bad news is, that bird don't hunt anymore. The American Eagle has landed, had his wings and balls clipped and now clucks like a chicken and preens like a peacock. 

The American Animals on display in the movie American Animals are representative of the current state of the American Male and the desperate yearning for the a return of the endangered and nearly extinct Real American Man®™. The current American Male has been deconstructed, domesticated and emasculated. This is why gun violence (with gun as totem phallic symbol) is so prevalent, as are the use of viagra and pornography.

Masculine Nature has been overcome by too much Feminine Nurture, and when that balance goes out of whack the end the result is what is on display in American Animals, a bitter malaise and ennui leading to a misguided angry ambition, which will only further frustrate the American Male because he is now ill-equipped to express his rage in healthy and cathartic ways. 

For example, the real life events of American Animals take place in 2004, as the Iraq War raged half a world away. America lost that war because we are no longer the type of country that wins wars (we haven't won a war in over 70 years)…only the kind that talks loud enough to get ourselves into them. 

Lipka and Reinhard's motivation for the heist was the same thing that motivated men from Achilles to Chris Kyle over the centuries, they were ultimately searching for glory. Unlike Achilles and his ilk, Lipka and Reinhard also wanted a short cut to gaining wealth, which has become the new God of our age…and people think it will give meaning and purpose to their lives just like the old Judeo-Christian God gave meaning and purpose to people for two centuries. 

Enlisting and fighting in Iraq would maybe get Lipka and Rienhard some barstool glory, or a "thank you for your service" from some narcissistic poseur, but it could also get them killed or maimed for absolutely nothing, and it sure as hell wouldn't get them rich. So Lipka and Reinhard took another route…which is a much more typically modern American route than seeking glory on the battlefield, they took the route of Wall Street and Washington, they became thieves. The fraud/conman/thief is the archetype that resonates in our collective psyche right now, which is why we have the president, the politics, the economy, the media and the country we do. 

American Animals is fascinating for the themes it conjures and investigates, and although, like its characters, its artistic eyes are a bit bigger than its stomach, I found it to be a worthwhile cinematic endeavor. I thoroughly enjoyed American Animals and thought it was a very smart and insightful film, although never rising to the level of being a great one. 

If you want to see an accurate diagnosis of what drives late stage empire America, with its rampant opioid addiction, suicides, militarism, fraudulent economy, crumbling institutions, and spiritual decrepitude and dis-ease…then check out American Animals. If you prefer to be like a frog in boiling water and be oblivious to the growing heat around you…you might enjoy Hearts Beat Loud a whole lot more.

©2018  

The Killing of a Sacred Deer: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!!****

Estimated Reading Time: 5 minutes 17 seconds

My Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation : SEE IT. See it in the theatre but be forewarned…THIS IS AN ART HOUSE FILM THROUGH AND THROUGH…if your tastes run toward the more conventional, skip this movie because you will hate it. 

The Killing of a Sacred Deer, written and directed by Yorgos Lanthimos, is the story of Dr. Steven Murphy and his family as they grapple with a strange young man who has come into their life. The film stars Colin Farrell and Nicole Kidman along with Barry Keoghan, Raffy Cassidy and Sunny Suljic in supporting roles. 

The Killing of a Sacred Deer is Yorgos Lanthimos’ follow up to his extraordinary film The Lobster, which was a brilliantly absurdist and dark comedy from 2016. Unlike The Lobster, The Killing of a Sacred Deer, although it has funny moments, cannot in any way be described as a comedy, it is more a stylized mythological and psychological horror/drama. 

The Killing of a Sacred Deer is, like The Lobster, unquestionably an art house film and to those more inclined toward standard Hollywood fare it will seem impossibly avant-garde. I absolutely loved The Lobster (it garnered 6 nominations and one win in 2016 at the most prestigious cinema awards on the planet…The Mickey©® Awards…and ended up #4 on my top ten list for the year), but I know other people who hated it with a passion. I find Lanthimos' writing and directing style to be very original and tremendously effective, while others I know found it contrived and idiotic. 

The narrative of the film is very loosely based on a modern day re-telling of the Greek myth of Iphigenia, in order to not give anything away I won't go into detail about the myth of Iphigenia, and if you plan on seeing the film I recommend you skip reading up on it as well until after seeing the movie. The film also contains biblical references and metaphors ranging from the Garden of Eden to Cain and Abel to Abraham to the plagues of Egypt all the way up to the crucifixion. The film is also riddled with intriguingly meaningful symbols including watches (time and things going clockwise or counter-clockwise), pristine hands, dog walking and watering plants and even the Bill Murray movie Groundhog's Day. The film and its symbolism tell both a personal and collective story of karmic justice that contains a very subtle political and cultural message if you care to look for it (for instance, look at the film's poster at the very top of this posting…the curtained window of the room looks an awful lot like the World Trade Center…I have a definite opinion on the subject, but I will let the viewer determine what that may mean for themselves).

Yorgos Lanthimos has a distinct style to his direction of actors where he has them speak in an awkward, stilted and lifeless monotone. This acting style can be off-putting to some people, but Lanthimos deftly uses this approach as a commentary on the modern world and also uses it to encourage the audience to suspend their disbelief and embrace Lanthimos' created universe that is at once both very believable and entirely impossible. 

Colin Farrell has found a career renaissance working with Lanthimos (he won the incredibly prestigious Best Actor Mickey®© Award last year for The Lobster) and part of the reason for this is that he has mastered Lanthimos' unorthodox, uncommon, and almost inhuman, acting style. Farrell is an actor who was born blessed with a raging furnace of frenetic energy that emanates from his every pore on-screen. Most actors would kill to have what comes naturally to Colin Farrell. But what makes Farrell so good in Lanthimos' films is that he is forced to contain that signature frenetic energy to such a degree that it could dance on the head of a pin. This energetic concentration and containment allows Farrell to never have to contemplate whether he is being charming, good-looking, charismatic or funny, instead it allows him to just mechanically say the words he is supposed to say and mechanically move where he is supposed to move. Some actors, Colin Farrell included, find the blessing of their charisma and magnetism to be an artistic curse and so when those chains are removed, as they are in Lanthimos' unique acting style, the actor is then free to simply BE…and when Colin Farrell is simply "being", he is truly remarkable. 

What makes Farrell's performance in The Killing of a Sacred Deer so effective, is that his Dr. Murphy is dead-eyed and monotone going through the motions of his life…until he isn't. There are rare moments when the fire in Farrell's eyes returns and he is so filled with a palpable life energy that he literally shakes. The unleashing of Colin Farrell's natural power in those few moments are what make his performance, and Lanthimos' direction, so sublime. 

Much to my pleasant surprise, Nicole Kidman takes to Lanthimos' style with ease as well. The reason I was surprised by Ms. Kidman's adaptability to Lanthimos' style is that, similar to Colin Farrell and his natural frenetic energy, Nicole Kidman naturally emanates with a fragile, yet palpable humanity. In The Killing of a Sacred Deer, Kidman is able to contain her powerful but delicate humanity and embrace the stylized lifelessness of Lanthimos' approach. Kidman's performance is striking for its precision and meticulousness. Again, just like Farrell, there are specific moments when her humanity explodes through her lifeless veneer, and those moments are extremely dramatically satisfying and speak volumes to Kidman's skill and mastery of craft as an actress.

The supporting cast is stellar as well with Barry Keoghan in particular giving a stand out performance. Keoghan is creepy and compelling as a mysterious young man who starts at the periphery of the story but soon becomes its center. Keoghan's performance is seductive, menacing, magnetic and unnerving. The first time I saw Keoghan was this past summer in Christopher Nolan's Dunkirk, and after seeing his attention to detail and specificity in The Killing of a Sacred Deer, I look forward to seeing what lies ahead for him in his career. 

Raffey Cassidy and Sunny Siljic also do outstanding work in supporting roles as the Murphy children. Cassidy, in particular, does a solid job of creating a specific and multi-dimensional character where other actresses would have embraced the generic.

The Killing of a Sacred Deer, just like The Lobster, is not a film for everyone. I am someone who reeks of the art house, so it was right up my alley. Others with less adventuresome and more conventional cinematic tastes will probably dislike it a great deal. I believe that Lanthimos is a a true auteur  creating original and important films that are cinematically, if not revolutionary, then at least evolutionary. 

The Killing of a Sacred Deer is an admittedly weird, but fascinating and ultimately satisfying film that I wholly recommend to those daring enough and willing to make the leap into the deep, dark waters of the art house. If you love cinema, The Killing of a Sacred Deer is for you, and it is well worth spending the time and money to go see it in the theatre. 

©2017