Fever Dream (2021)

Direction: Claudia Llosa
Country: Peru / Chile / other

Fever Dream is the fourth feature film by Peruvian-born filmmaker Claudia Llosa (Madeinusa, 2006; The Milk of Sorrow, 2009) who was bold enough to adapt the intricate 2014 novel of the same name to the screen. On that account, she worked directly with the book’s author, Samanta Schweblin, who lent a hand in the screenplay.

Carrying a mix of spaced-out and mystified tones, the film depicts the intense relationship between two young mothers - Amanda (María Valverde) and Carola (Dolores Fonzi) - who see and treat their respective children in different ways. 

Amanda and her daughter Nina (Guillermina Sorribes Liotta) are spending a few days in a remote region where they meet Carola, a local woman who shows some reluctance in introducing them to her strange son, David (Emilio Vodanovich). Intriguingly, the film begins with Amanda in some sort of spiritual communication with David while being dragged into the woods, completely unable to move her body. 

Although shrouded in ambiguity, the film’s core and intentions are pretty clear as the lens gets sharper to identify both the artifice in human nature and serious environmental circumstances. The sensory visuals, well-tuned by the Spanish cinematographer Oscar Faura (The Orphanage, 2007; The Imitation Game, 2014), compensate the soporific narration that nearly turns Fever Dream into a one-note psychological drama. On the other hand, the restraint with which Llosa handles the story adds melancholy layers instead of the usual creepy scenes that commonly undermine this type of story. It kept me interested, leaving a slightly eerie impression in the end, but without hitting me profoundly.

Bergman Island (2021)

Direction: Mia Hansen-Love
Country: France / Belgium / other

The excellent writing and directorial skills of Mia Hansen-Love (Father of My Children, 2009; Eden, 2014; Things to Come, 2016) are put in effect again in her latest drama, Bergman Island, a sensitive if knotted fiction that chronicles the ebb and flow in the relationship of a filmmaking couple visiting the island of Fårö in Sweden - home of the masterful director Ingmar Bergman for many years. 

Leaving their daughter behind, Chris (Vicky Krieps) and the much older Tony (Tim Roth) try to keep up with work. Insecure about her ongoing script, she opts to decompress in the company of a young film student from Stockholm with whom she visits a few local places of interest. Conversely, the self-confident Tony is an accomplished filmmaker who, after giving a masterclass, experiences a boring touristic Bergman Safari. Moreover, she tells him everything about her work, whose narration he listens with indifference, whereas he is secretive about his. These aspects are indicative that the couple is gradually growing apart.

Hansen-Love manages to squeeze both honest emotion and romantic intrigue out of the plot’s provocative fuzziness. Immersed in its cinematic motivation and conducted from a feminine perspective, the story transcends linearity and jumps into the abstract when Chris discloses her script about a filmmaker called Amy (Mia Masikowsaka) who reunites with her long-time love interest (Anders Danielsen Lie) in Fårö, decades after their first affair.

The film doesn’t pursue sentimental paths. It’s all nuanced, carefully presented with duality - also an indispensable element in Bergman’s work - and it doesn’t really click at the first blush. However, after a while, this imaginative dance of characters and plot ambiguities produce the desired effect. It takes time to settle but it’s ultimately rewarding as you sense the pressure of having to go through a whole creative process, the volatility of romantic feelings and the shaky balance between family and professional duties. It’s all presented under the bright light that shines over this Baltic Sea island’s countrified landscapes.

The Swarm (2021)

Direction: Just Philippot
Country: France

The Swarm, the directorial debut of 39-year-old French filmmaker Just Philippot, causes some friction with a tale that transitions from innocuous suspense to a really sad tragedy. Even flawed, this reasonably disturbing horror film is worth a walk to the theater, presenting some ferocious images supported by a decent rural drama.

The screenplay by Jérôme Genevray - who came up with the original idea - and Franck Victor, centers on a single mother, Virginie Hebrard (Suliane Brahim), who starts breeding edible locusts to save her farm from bankruptcy. Locusts are known for causing damage to crops but, in the present case, they go after flesh and blood during a deadly infestation.

The Swarm’s female characters - Virginie and her dissatisfied daughter Laura (Marie Narbonne) - demonstrate to have a similar impulsive behavior, but the mother stretches it into insanity, sacrificing herself in bizarre ways as a means of financial stability. The film also says something about contemporary farming.

It’s well done, and the comparisons with Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds and David Cronenberg’s disturbing oddities are understandable, even if the film doesn’t really reach those superior levels. It’s one of those examples where the message and the execution go hand-in-hand with appreciable results.

Bye Bye Morons (2021)

Direction: Albert Dupontel
Country: France

The seventh feature from French writer-director Albert Dupontel (9-Month Stretch, 2013; See You Up There, 2017), who also stars alongside Virginie Efira and Nicolas Marié, is a goofy existentialist satire in desperate need of maturity. Although vivid in the dynamics and maintaining some interest in its inaugural part, the dramedy adheres to a screenplay with elements that have no real payoff, relying too much on the presumed comic chemistry between its co-stars.

It all begins when Suze Trappet (Efira), a terminally ill 43-year-old hairdresser, decides to go after the son she was forced to give to adoption at the age 15. Coincidentally, Mr. Cuchas (Dupontel), a savvy but overemotional security expert seems to have his days counted in the company he works for. Frantic, he decides to buy a gun but fails to take his own life. These embittered characters will bump into each other with some phenomenon. Yet, the story begins to descend into a vacuous state when they meet a blind archivist (Marié) who panics whenever the police is around.

It seems to me that the able cast certainly had more fun performing the scenes than the people watching them in the theater. Lacking ambition, Bye Bye Morons may be digestible if you just want to rest your brain with a sloppy melodrama, but it will be a disaster if you expect a clever plot with excitement and twists.

Slow Machine (2021)

Direction: Joe Denardo, Paul Felten
Country: USA

Slow Machine is a small, brazenly offbeat mumblecore film shot in 16mm and permeated with a mix of composed and experimental quirkiness. The idea matured in the mind of Paul Felten, who directed with Joe Denardo, and their risk-taking approach bore fruits. At certain moments, it feels like one’s watching an innocent Eric Rohmer tale distorted by the lens of David Lynch or Peter Strickland.

Set against the backdrop of New York City’s social and artistic life, the film investigates the life of theater actress Stephanie (Stephanie Hayes in her only second appearance on screen), whose brief, if deceitful, relationship with Gerard (Scott Shepherd), a NYPD counter-terrorism agent ends miserably. Tenacious male persuasion is everywhere, but Stephanie, who sees a possible life change in every person she meets, seems strong enough to deal with that fact. And that’s despite the traumas of her past. She also didn’t seem surprised with what she found when she moved into an upstate apartment filled with musicians. 

Mounted with oozy psychedelic zest and bursting with fragmented dialogues, the film transcends pastiche, being delivered with shades of satire in an act of cinephilic homage to the genre embraced. What the directors present here could easily have gone wrong, but an array of elements - from the performances to the narrative morphology to the power of every closeup - makes it ultimately satisfying. A peak is achieved during Chloe Sovigny cameo scene, and the film keeps surprising you whenever you think you know where the story goes. 

At its heart, Slow Machine is a character drama, but it’s also about the dynamics and strange encounters in the city of New York. If mumblecore is not your thing, just back off. If that's not the case, don’t sleep on this movie.

Labyrinth of Cinema (2021)

Direction: Nobuhiko Obayashi
Country: Japan

The idea for Labyrinth of Cinema, the swan song from the late Japanese helmer Nobuhiko Obayashi (House, 1977; Sada, 1998), was stimulating but the results, not always consistent over the course of its 179 minutes, may leave some viewers grappling with a sense of disarray. This is a direct consequence of the film being a mixed bag of ideas and genres (musical, romance, drama, animation, yakuza film and slapstick comedy are some examples) assembled with insouciant gestures and a frenetic pace. 

Guided by the poems of Chuya Nakahara, Obayashi found a jocular way to discuss serious matters, creating an anti-war manifesto that also shows his deep fondness for cinema. The first part was too pathetic and wacky to get my appreciation, but the film improves gradually, and despite prolonged beyond the reasonable, ends up within satisfying limits. 

Hence, we have heavy topics such as noxious patriotism, misogyny, the massacre of Okinawans by the Imperial Japanese army, guns vs. swords, numerous references to Japan’s warfare, and the Hiroshima atomic bombings, all contrasting with the beauty, power and magic of the cinema, often summoned through stylized images that resemble 3D collages.

There’s an experimental vein here that is more than welcome, but it’s not by chance that the word labyrinth is in the title. At least, it was all engendered with a better future in mind, which was Obayashi’s noble last wish and intention.

The Night House (2021)

Direction: David Bruckner
Country: USA

Rebecca Hall delivers a breathtaking performance in The Night House, a measured combination of mournful drama and psychological horror directed by Dave Bruckner (The Ritual, 2017) who worked from a screenplay by Ben Collins and Luke Piotrowski.

Carrying the film on her shoulders, Hall reflects the negative mental state of the protagonist, Beth, who deals with resentment, depression and shock after the unexpected death of her husband by suicide. She finds herself alone in the isolated house he built in the woods, descending into hell as she gradually unwraps uncomfortable facts about his recent past. Hurt but not defeated, and sometimes sarcastic, she proves to be courageous in the face of the supernatural forces that haunt the place, giving her nightmares.

Although the film may prevent greater involvement from the viewers - especially in its last third - it’s impossible not to admire how the film was mounted. A restless exercise that never really gets under the skin but gets us minimally interested throughout. This is far from something to be remembered but it will serve the ones intrigued by the forces of darkness and the inaccessible corners of the mind.

Titane (2021)

Direction: Julia Ducournau
Country: France

Titane is a shocker of a film, yet more dejected than astute. This French psychological body horror film seems self-satisfied about selling a paroxysm of violence and artsy gore and mixing it with a sense of emotional degradation. 

Julia Ducournau's sophomore feature - following the controversial Raw (2016) -  attempts an ambitious combination between the sci-fi horror of David Cronenberg, the neo-noir underworld of Abel Ferrara, the dark inner burdens of Nicolas Winding Refn and the maddening dysfunctional families of Takashi Miike. Not only the film fails to reach their qualities but also becomes ridiculous whenever it tries to alleviate the pressure accumulated by the two protagonists. They are sick, repulsive characters who bond at their own convenience. 

Alexia (Agathe Rousselle) is a nightclub dancer turned psycho killer who was implanted with titanium in her head as a result of a car accident, and Vincent (Vincent Lindon) is a delusional firefighter commander on steroids. As the police tightens the circle to catch Alexia, she finds the perfect hideaway by disguising herself as a man and assuming the identity of Vincent’s missing son. They play this stupid game for a while, but worse than that, she’s about to give birth to something grotesque, the fruit of a ludicrous sex episode with… a car?! 

Whether in agony or incomprehension, I resisted until the end, just to conclude that this indigestible film - assembled with an array of sordid, pretentious and imbecilic ideas meant solely to disturb.

Swan Song (2021)

Direction: Todd Stephens
Country: USA

The sough-after and prolific German actor Udo Kier is absolutely fantastic as Patrick Pitsenbarger, a flamboyant retired hairdresser and former drag performer who escapes an Ohio nursing home to do the make-up and hair of a famous ex-client who passed away. The socialite’s last wish urges him to look for the right products to perform the job in the small-town of Sendusky, and also gives him the opportunity to reconnect with old acquaints while visiting places where he used to hang out. 

This bittersweet account impregnated with queer nostalgia feels deliriously alive, if too mannered at times; but some memorable scenes - like Patrick's interaction with the new owner of his former salon, or the sensationally improvised extravaganza at the bar where he used to perform as a drag queen - remain with us long after the final credits roll. 

Although flawed in spots, the film provides a satisfying blend of unpredictable temper, nostalgia, pain, clemency and eccentricity. Writer-director Todd Stephens (who wrote and produced Edge of Seventeen in 1998) orchestrated all the moves with a tempered hand, consenting the story to range from acidic to provocative, poignant to sarcastic, passionate to satirical. This is his best film to date because, after all, the entirety strikes with a perfect desolation-risibility balance.

Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy (2021)

Direction: Ryusuke Hamaguchi
Country: Japan

This talky, almost action-less anthology drama film directed by the up-and-coming Japanese director Ryusuke Hamaguchi consists of three unconnected stories centered on female characters and their romantic dilemmas, choices, regrets, memories and feelings. 

It’s all quite captivating, even when something familiar is put in front of our eyes, as is the case with the first episode - titled Magic - in which a young model realizes that her producer and best friend is dating with her ex-boyfriend, whom she hasn't seen in two years. Despite that, will she act, moved by jealousy? If this is the most unexceptional story, the one that follows - Door Wide Open - is the most daring, mixing academic revenge and bitter romantic crush. Yet, the most extraordinary episode is the last one - Once Again - which, set in a technologically convoluted time, follows a woman who thinks she recognizes her teenage love when attending a High School class meeting in her hometown. All the stories’ conclusions are left open and shades of Eric Rohmer and Hong Sang-soo’s styles are detectable. 

Excerpts of classical piano music accompany this warming cinematic experience where apparently banal situations can lead to unpredictable outcomes. In a demonstration of grace and occasional wit, Hamaguchi reflects on the nonlinearities of love with an eminently companionable triptych that relies on engaging plots and a marvelous ensemble cast to succeed.

If you have a thirst for a pleasurable and quirky love story, this one offers you three refreshing gulps.

Coming Home in the Dark (2021)

Direction: James Ashcroft
Country: New Zealand

This New Zealander dark psychological thriller put together by debutant director James Ashcroft shapes a short original story written by Owen Marshall.

The plot follows Hoaggie (Erik Thomson), a school teacher who takes a road trip with his family to a remote, bucolic area. Once there, he’s confronted with the brutality of two insidious strangers - the garrulous and unpredictably violent Mandrake (Daniel Gillies); and the silent, watchful Tubs (Matthias Luafutu) - who might have not approached them by chance. 

Coming Home in the Dark is a brutal film, psychologically heavy and startlingly gripping. A slightly loopy take on a pugnacious machination of crime and punishment that hung in doubt from start to finish, rooting one's discomfort in the insensitive aggressors and their vicious actions as well as in the desperate victims. 

The tension builds in a slow boil and the film is powerful at times, but this impression becomes dangerously diluted with some less fortunate decisions preceding the ending. With that being said, Ashcroft, unafraid to take some risks, announces himself as one to watch. His work makes the most of the plot’s obscurities and limitations, and Gillies’ dedicated performance gives it a good extra push.

Flag Day (2021)

Direction: Sean Penn
Country: USA

Melodramatic and threadbare, Flag Day is another calamitous misstep (following the unbearable The Last Face) from actor/director Sean Penn, who stars here alongside his daughter Dylan. He follows a script by the brothers Jez and John-Henry Butterworth (they also wrote Fair Game, Edge of Tomorrow and Ford vs. Ferrari), which was based on Jennifer Vogel’s 2005 book Flim-Flam Man: The True Story of My Father's Counterfeit Life.

The classical music of Chopin accompanies Jennifer (Dylan)’s recollections of her childhood - brought up with a mix of sadness and nostalgia by the dreamy, Malick-like cinematography of Daniel Moder - but not even when Bob Seger’s "Night Moves" aims for happier times, we get the film to get better. The narrative gets inescapably trapped in the dramatic circles of the family that Jennifer’s obsession with the secret life of her criminal father (Sean), becomes indifferent, torpid and unsurprising.

The disappointing reconstruction of this erratic father-daughter relationship is crammed with depressing tones, miserable supplication and vain attempts to reach the viewers’ emotions. In fact, the breakdown scenes border the embarrassing, and if Sean gets away with his natural acting instincts, Dylan never impresses in her insincere wails. 

Therefore, there’s not much here to cling on to, and maybe Sean, who did some lovely work behind the camera in the past - The Pledge (2001) and Into the Wild (2007) are good examples - should really think about directorial retirement.

Dune (2021)

Direction: Denis Villeneuve
Country: USA

Dune, the famous science-fiction novel by Frank Herbert is so complex to adapt to film that even Alejandro Jodorowsky gave up while David Lynch was incapable of taking it to a superior level in the 80s. But now, the Quebecois director Denis Villeneuve, whose experience in the sci-fi genre spawned admirable works such as Arrival (2016) and Blade Runner 2049 (2017), was able to mount a galvanizing adaptation of the book with the right dark tone, impressive tech details and unpretentiously efficient imagery. 

Compellingly structured, the film entertains and intrigues with sober magic, ominous figures, prophecies and premonitory dreams, fierce battles and a systematic sense of danger that is enhanced by a superb orchestral score by Hans Zimmer, who turned down Christopher Nolan’s Tenet to compose for this one. The imagination of Villeneuve, who counted on the help of Eric Roth (Forrest Gump; Munich) and Jon Spaihts (Prometheus; Passengers) in the screenplay, benefited from a perfect casting and the laudably poised work of his visual effects team. Although the cast attacks their roles with matching intensity, Timothée Chalamet as the gifted Paul Atreides, and Rebecca Ferguson as his sect-member mother, deserve special mentions.

Wildly original and hauntingly familiar, this one is definitely less bizarre than Lynch’s version, finding room for amusing spectacle and profound intimacy alike. 

This is the first of a two-part adaptation, and I’m already eager for the other half to arrive. If you love to dive in fantastic space odysseys and imaginary worlds, go for it because it’s all done with that harmonious balance proper of the great filmmakers.

A Perfectly Normal Family (2021)

Direction: Malou Reymann
Country: Denmark

For her first directorial effort, Malou Reymann, whose film career began at a young age as an actress in Hella Joof’s 2009 drama Hush Little Baby, draws on her own personal story. She lived a completely ‘normal’ family life until the day her mother (Neel Rønholt) dropped a bomb by announcing she and her husband (Mikkel Boe Folsgaard) were divorcing because he had decided to go for gender transitioning and become a woman.

Unlike her older sister (Rigmor Ranthe), the 9-year-old Emma (Kaya Toft Loholt), a soccer girl with the soul of a fighter, faces greater challenges in fully accept this situation. The foursome attend therapy sessions that turn out to be more chaotic than helpful, and the family balance gets inevitably shaken up as flashbacks from happy times intertwine with the complicated new reality. 

A couple of dispensable scenes - especially the musical ones - and some other insisting on lightness when heaviness would be a more appropriate option, don’t obstruct the positive message to be delivered. It’s a tender treatment of a delicate subject that focuses on so many aspects: resolute self-acceptance, volatile adaptation phases, adolescent maturation, social discomfort and unconditional love. The family members take their time to grow, repositioning themselves without losing a bit of affection for one another. There's no histrionics here, just honest feelings and relatable concern.

The casting is decisive when it comes to this particular genre, and both the young lead actress and Folsgaard as the patient and caring Thomas/Agnete (we never catch a glimpse of indecision or regret in his eyes, and he sort of trusts time to heal things up) deliver wonderfully nuanced and totally believable performances.

Prisoners of the Ghostland (2021)

Direction: Sion Sono
Country: Japan / USA

Taking in consideration that Prisoners of the Ghostland arrives by the hand of Japanese director Sion Son (Love Exposure, 2008; Suicide Club, 2001; Cold Fish, 2010), who worked from a demented script by Aaron Hendry and Reza Sixo Safai, you should be more than prepared to find punishing environments, brutally insane characters, dark humor and gory scenes.

Admittedly, the film - Sono’s English-language debut - is a psycho neo-noir western with spectacular dystopian visuals, extreme plot absurdities (this is your chance to see a testicle exploding), deranged massive shootings and hyper-stylized Japanese sword fighting scenes, among other eccentric peculiarities. Another attraction is Nicolas Cage, who returned in big this year with Pig, but here seems to have extra fun as Hero, an imprisoned outlaw forced into an inescapable, dark region called Ghostland to rescue the Governor (Bill Moseley)’s missing granddaughter (Sofia Boutella).

More derisive than clever, the film manages to reach the minimum accepted levels of entertainment even without revealing a dash of emotion. The strongest aspect here happens to be the cinematography of Sohei Tanikawa, who had previously worked with the director in six of his works.

Wife of a Spy (2021)

Direction: Kiyoshi Kuroswa
Country: Japan

Yu Aoi and Issey Takahashi star in Kyioshi Kurosawa’s historical espionage drama, Wife of a Spy. They are wife and husband living in Kobe during WWII, an actress and an import/export businessman, respectively, whose marriage grows disgruntled after he takes a trip to Manchuria. She begins to suspect he has a lover there before considering he might be betraying the Japanese nation by spying for the Allies. Prior to these events, she reconnects with a childhood friend, Taiji (Masahiro Higashide), now a stern squad leader in the Japanese army. 

Director Kiyoshi Kurosawa (Tokyo Sonata; To the Ends of the Earth), who got a hand from emergent filmmaker Ryûsuke Hamaguchi (Drive My Car; Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy) in the screenplay, offers us an exercise in subtlety built with a striking cinematography by debutant Tatsunosuke Sasaki - stressed by a very beautiful work on the light department - and qualified set decorations and costumes. In spite of the qualified performances, one is given the impression that the packaging is more alluring than the contents since the filmmaking elegancy often takes up the emotional part of the story.

There’s a film inside a film - with references to the eternal Japanese filmmaker Kenji Mizoguchi -  that infuses a certain noir touch in the slow-burning intrigue. The characters’ ambiguous behavior plays a central role, and even if the film never materializes in a taut espionage thriller, it provides slick entertainment through baffling betrayals, conspiracy and some satisfying twists along the way. Actually, this period film works better if you think of it, not as a spy thriller, but as a story of love and sacrifice for a greater cause.

The Card Counter (2021)

Direction: Paul Schrader
Country: USA

Paul Schrader rose to prominence as a writer - with Taxi Driver (1976), Raging Bull (1980) and The Last Temptation of Christ (1988), all three directed by Martin Scorsese - as well as a director with Affliction (1997), Mishima: a Life in Four Chapters (1985) and First Reformed (2017). As a long-time adept of character studies, he returns with The Card Counter, a crime drama film centered on a lone blackjack gambler and former military interrogator, William Tell (Oscar Isaac), who links the gravitas of the casino world with the dark history of Abu Grahib. The idea is promising, the mood is appropriate and the acting is pretty decent, but still, the film is imperfect and uneven, presented with things that rubbed the wrong way. 

William’s past is furiously revived after he meets Cirk (Tye Sheridan), a young indebted man who seeks revenge from the cruel Abu Grahib officer who led his father, also an interrogator, to commit suicide. William had been trained and motivated by the same man, John Gordo (Willem Dafoe), who, unlike him, was never brought to justice for his actions. Hence, he kind of smiles at the idea of killing him. However, he decides not to take that step, but rather helps Cirk solving his problems, while embracing an unexpected romance with a gambling financier named La Linda (Tiffany Haddish). 

The film, drowsy in tone and slow in pace, reaches a ridiculous finale after showing a discouraging lack of nerve in the execution. In fact, the movie haunts us like a ballad whose tune you remember because its languor takes your energy away. Everything becomes off key in this story of guilt and redemption, which hits a few interesting notes without ever creating a satisfying melody. In spite of the misstep, Schrader remains a valid director, who can easily come up with superior stuff in the future.

The Power of the Dog (2021)

Direction: Jane Campion
Country: New Zealand / Australia / other

Immaculately crafted by New Zealander director Jane Campion (The Piano, 1993; Sweetie, 1989; An Angel at My Table, 1990), The Power of the Dog, a distinctive anti-western with an incredible cinematography and thoughtful moral considerations, is set with the perfect tone and towering performances. The film, based on the novel of the same name by Thomas Savage, stars Benedict Cumberbatch, Jesse Plemons, Kirsten Dunst and Kodi Smit-McPhee, but if the three former actors had previously demonstrated their acting qualities, the latter becomes the great revelation here, carrying the physical fragility and that strange, confident look that brings the necessary ambiguity to the picture.

Two brothers, Phil (Cumberbatch) and George Burbank (Plemons), run an ample Montana ranch with different visions and ambitions. Phil is harsh and does all the hard work, while George is more considerate of others, likes to dress well and live the good life. Little signs of tension exist between the brothers, but when Rose Gordon (Dunst), a widow who ends up drowning in booze, marries George and moves into the house with her sensitive son, Peter (Smit-McPhee), their peace is severely disturbed.

Campion is absolutely masterful in dissecting these characters subtlety, presenting their complex personalities, volatile relationships and personal struggles with an optimum mix of intensity and restraint. She fills this elegiac period piece with sensitive experiences to be lived in, rather than simply watched. 

It took me some time to conclude, especially due to the film’s deliberate pacing, that this is a nuanced, visceral epic tale more than just a relationship drama of striking specificity. One can only confirm that after watching one of the coldest film finales in recent times.

Divine Love (2021)

Direction: Gabriel Mascaro
Country: Brazil

Brazilian director Gabriel Mascaro deserved all the attention he got with his raw feature debut, Neon Bull (2015). Now, he returns with Divine Love, shifting his observant gaze from the Northeastern Brazilian rodeo to a sort of meditation on the limits of faith set in a near future.

The year is 2027 and the story, told by the voice of a child, focuses on Joana (Dira Paes), a devotee of Jesus Christ who works in the divorce department of a renewed Brazilian state, whose most important event is now the Party of Supreme Love instead of the Carnival. She and her infertile husband, Danilo (Julio Machado), are members of the support religious group Divine Love, which helps divorcing couples reconcile through prayers, rituals and partner swapping. Their motto is “Love doesn’t betray. Love shares.”

Joana is very happy with her work but lives dissatisfied with the impossibility of having a child. With the help of a Pastor (Emílio de Mello) who works in a public drive-through, and strengthened with her tremendous faith, Joana doesn’t lose hope. Actually, miracles can happen, but they have a consequence here. 

The give and take is well patented within a film that is at once straightforward and cynical. Maybe, the story spends too much time preaching, but Mascaro holds tight to his credo, aiming at the Brazilian conservatism with irony. Even with the two leads playing a perfect fiddle to one another, one finds some unnecessary repetition. Moreover, the fact that one is able to get the point soon before the film’s ending hampers Divine Love from stepping up. It's a tolerable effort, though, from a filmmaker with potentiality.

Cry Macho (2021)

Direction: Clint Eastwood
Country: USA 

I have much respect for Clint Eastwood and his work both as an actor and a director, but Cry Macho lacks all the possible and necessary nerve to become acceptable, mostly due to the abominable script by Nick Schenk, the screenwriter of Gran Torino (2008) and The Mule (2018), who adapted N. Richard Nash’s 1975 novel of the same name. The comparisons between the three cited movies are flagrant.

It’s a contemporary western drama film composed of farcical situations, one after another, that made me disconnect from the story at a very early stage. The nonagenarian Eastwood stars as Mike Milo, a former Texan rodeo star turned grieving alcoholic turned recovered horse breeder who accepts to help his ex-employer, the rancher Howard Polk (country musician Dwight Yoakam), reunite with his delinquent 13-year-old son, Rafo (Eduardo Minett). According to his dad, the latter is being abused under the supervision of his irresponsible mother (Fernanda Urrejola). 

Mike drives to Mexico City and manages to connect with the kid. Both embark on a colorless road trip back to the US, over the course of which I can’t point out one single scene that have worked in its plenitude. Each scenario feels totally fabricated, often overemotional and with tons of schmaltzy dialogue. Not to talk about the unflattering romance.

Eastwood should know his limits by now, and I can only encourage you to stay away from this lamentable misfire cooked with stale ingredients and weak performances in general.