Remembering Johnny Depp

The Cinema Le Champo sits on an indiscernibly pretty street in the Latin Quarter of Paris, near cafés with sidewalk tables, churches, grands boulevards. I noticed on my walk to the theater how consistent Parisian imagery is, and at times redundant—where one finds real-life paintings, one finds tourists. It is easy to feel like some of Paris’s creative energy has been stifled, by the incessant need to present history to new people, when the city can’t handle masses like New York or London. The former has admittedly been spoiled with arthouse venues (I hate checking Screen Slate’s daily newsletter because I’m frightened by how much I’m missing), but the Champo doesn’t belong with brownstones or high-rises. It’s probably better, in fact, than most Manhattan offerings, and unique in its exclusively vintage lineup. Save for three venues with which I’m familiar, Paris showtimes are reserved for new releases. 

The theater has been around for 80 years, and cinema is history, after all, best paired with more history. “Come to the Champo,” Truffaut would tell his friends, “I’m there every afternoon.”  One of the theater’s two screening rooms still employs a periscope projector, where the reel is reflected off mirrors and onto the screen.

A gentle crowd gathered for the Champo’s presentation of Dead Man, the 1995 Jim Jarmusch film, last Thursday. This group stayed for the credits, in the modest black box that lay behind the rather grand Art Deco façade, white and creamy and regrettably inedible. Perhaps I have been idealizing French culture for too long, but wouldn’t New Yorkers bustle off to their next commitment as soon as they knew they could recount Dead Man’s ending? Even Paul Dano’s post-Wildlife Q&A (one of several) played to a near-empty house at Lincoln Center last fall.

The more objectively striking difference between the Champo and its New York equivalents might lie in programming. Posters that line the exterior of the building advertise an upcoming screening of an old Woody Allen film. When I saw them, I was reminded of Catherine Deneuve’s defense of Roman Polanski, and the better defined lines that seem to exist in France, between art and artist. The face of the current Jarmusch retrospective is Johnny Depp, Dead Man’s protagonist, an actor embroiled in conflict with his ex-wife Amber Heard, who claims to be a victim of domestic violence. Depp has also been filing and settling lawsuits for management issues and financial troubles. I don’t mean to lump him and Allen together—one of the flaws of the #MeToo movement has been its amalgamation of a wide range of sexual misconduct—because Depp denies the abuse, and is suing Heard for defamation. But I did question, at first, the Champo’s decision to feature Depp so prominently in the promotion of a set of films for which he is by no means the defining actor.

 Or maybe he is. Am I about to write a love letter? Certainly not for the cadaverous, hard-metal Depp of 2019, but maybe for Dead Man Depp, in his role as accountant-turned-outlaw Billy Blake. Blake made me miss the younger actor, who surprised with his creative choices, and was a tasteful curator of personalities, rather than a guy in need of work. This Depp preceded the star that emerged from Pirates of the Caribbean, the multimillionaire with romantic French connections and a faux-European ambience, who bought a village near the Azure Coast and a tropical island, too, who was arguably corrupted by Jack Sparrow, because Jack Sparrow became a cash cow, and so Hollywood sought, with trademark desperation, to replicate his charisma, until demand ran dry.

Billy Blake peers out a train window at the beginning of Dead Man, on his way from Cleveland, Ohio, to Machine, a company town where he is to be employed. Depp’s expressions in this scene are familiar—the Willy Wonka gulps, the slightly downturned mouth and watchful eyes. Blake wears a tartan two-piece suit, round glasses, and a kind of half-top hat, easily distinguishable from the rags and wild beards of his fellow travelers, thus labeling him an outcast. When Depp arrives in Machine, he finds that his position has already been taken, and later that night, outside a bar, he attracts the attention of a woman selling paper flowers, naturally for his unassuming innocence, and maybe for his cheekbones. The woman, Thel, and Depp wind up in bed together, but then Thel’s husband returns (from a journey of self-reflection, it seems), and a shootout ensues, from which Blake is the lone survivor, now compromised by a bullet wound. Thel’s husband’s dad is Blake’s would-be employer, the robber baron of Machine, so Blake has a target on his back. He escapes into the birch woods and canyons of the Wild West, aided by a Western-educated Native American, Nobody, and two equine companions. The question of where Blake and Nobody plan to go is unclear, but they do go far, evading bounty hunters and the opportunistic civilians who have seen Blake’s face on wanted posters.

Dead Man is two hours long, and a man in front of me in the ticket queue lamented its unwatchability. “I’ve tried five times,” he said, “and each of those five times I’ve fallen asleep before it ended.” The man asked if there were other films from the Jarmusch retrospective playing that night, and he left when told there were not. Perhaps I tolerated the interminable stretches of silence and languid pacing because Depp featured in nearly every scene. He evolved from a hopeless tagalong to an able fighter, gunning down enemies but retaining his disconnect from this new environment, eternally surprised when a spontaneous decision yielded desirable results. Boyish satisfaction is on display in Depp’s later, more commercial films, but not as authentically as here. Embedded in Blake’s inexperience, too, is a melancholy, as if some part of him is aware of everything to come, the death and bloodshed necessitated by Westerns, or else because he remains affected by the unwanted attention he receives, first as a foreigner, and then as a fugitive.

This low-frequency sadness does not inhibit Blake’s affection for Nobody, with whom chemistry develops quietly and gracefully. My favorite scene from the film might have been the one in which Blake leans against a tree, weakened by his injuries, enveloped in a fur coat that might have been pilfered from Elizabeth Taylor’s wardrobe, lightning bolts painted on his cheeks. A fire crackles before him, and Nobody takes Blake’s glasses and wears them himself. Nobody thinks Blake will die, and leaves him by that tree, vision blurred and wounds festering, but before he does, we see Blake smile at him. There is camp in Depp’s demeanor here, in the way he has sidestepped machismo even as he outplays the opponents who exert it most forcefully, in the mischief with which he conveys gratitude, in his androgynous beauty, significant today, given that Depp is no longer young or beautiful.

When Blake found a dead deer and curled himself around it, painting a line down his nose with its blood, or when Blake cried on the boat making its way out on the Pacific Ocean, truly moribund after reaching the coast and the care of a Native tribe, I wanted to cry out in protest. Oh, what fame and fortune have done to Depp’s soul, so pure and untouched in this film! He has been one of the highest paid actors in the world for nearly twenty years. Maybe this complaining is belated at best, and probably misguided, because Depp is a movie star, and a potential asshole, and has long been both of those things, but you wouldn’t know it from how he moves and mourns in Dead Man. Now he needs a movie to make you forget it.

Fergus Campbell is a Culture writer and sophomore at Columbia College. 

"SPIDER-MAN: FAR FROM HOME" spoiler review

The latest Sony-Marvel collaboration, Spider-Man: Far From Home thwips into theaters this week, offering laughs, action, and some tingly nods to the future of the MCU. The vast amount of easter eggs and information shown here don't lend themselves well to a non-spoilers discussion, so beware ahead.

The MCU continues its breezy high-school approach with this film, offering viewers a fresh look at the future and past of this bustling universe. A silly, divisive 'in memoriam' opens the film off with comedy that remains throughout, although director Jon Watts tries to play up dramatic elements later on. Tony Stark is arguably a main character in this film even as a dead man, from his gift of EDITH ('even dead I'm the hero') to his birth of the Mysterio team. Marvel summarizes the entire Iron Man trilogy in this film, from supplanting disgruntled employees (Obadiah Stane and Mysterio's crew) to overcoming personal issues (Tony discovering a new element & Peter re-discovering his spidey-senses) to a villainous ruse ('hero' Mysterio and 'actor' Mandarin). Marvel has seemingly fully embraced the apprenticeship of Spider-Man and Iron-Man to my chagrin, although they execute it permissibly. Their reliance on Stark at this late in their historic success seems to display fear at a universe without him in it. It's disappointing that an iconic character with as much heart as Peter Parker is not interesting enough on his own, without the technological prowess of Stark Industries backing his adventures. Nonetheless, Watts & Co. do a very nice job with Far From Home—it's hard to not like this movie, as it commands your attention with laughs, twists, and very solid visual effects sequences. 

As good as the movie is, it is inevitably overshadowed by the terrific post-credits scenes, which I will break down in informal fashion:

1) Stark tower sold—the clear ownership change of the iconic Stark Tower is noteworthy for speculative fans. I believe it belongs to either: a) Oscorp (the proper intro to Norman Osborn / Sinister Six); b) Fantastic Four / Baxter Building. Marvel is incredibly sly and taciturn when it comes to details and foreshadowing, so I am eager to see how they weave this building into the future.

2) J Jonah Jameson = J.K. Simmons—the ultimate fan casting. After his memorable performance in the great Raimi trilogy, Simmons was a sore actor to replace for his boisterous portrayal of Jameson. Marvel was smart to bring him back with an Alex Jones-esque twist. I am excited to see how he figures into future installments and how his journalistic ethics play out. His backing of the conniving Mysterio was an insight into a potential Sinister Six battle—we have Vulture, Scorpion and likely Quentin Beck (he's not dead) already, with the character of 'Dmitri' in this film probably being Chameleon / brother of Kraven; we would only need Osborn to make a killer six...

3) Skrulls reveal—it seems like Nick Fury will be a galactic Avengers connection now. With the knowledge that Talos and his girl were Fury and Hill in this movie, one can question how long the real Fury has been away from earth: did he leave after Stark's funeral, or has he been gone since the events of Captain Marvel? I expect the Fury-Danvers dynamic will continue into the future, with Fury advising the new Avengers team as he is known for. 

Marvel continues to deliver fulfillment and surprises, which is what draws in the historic crowds. Far From Home is far from the MCU's best, but it doesn't have to be, as it is a friendly neighborhood film that gives audiences a delicious taste of what's next. 

Sean Kelso is the founder and editor-in-chief of Greyscale.

"ROCKETMAN" review

One problem with liking film criticism is that you spend hours reading reviews instead of going outside, or making a decent lunch, or watching movies and judging them yourself. I may be the only person in America who has not yet seen Bohemian Rhapsody, simply because so many critics said that the film dulled, sanitized and straight-washed Freddie Mercury’s life, that it was merely a feat of damage control following a chaotic production. This negative critical reception (and my abstinence) apparently went unnoticed, because Bohemian Rhapsody plowed on and on and on, first to glorious opening weekend box office, then inexplicably high international grosses, a Golden Globe for Best Drama, and two Academy Awards, off five nominations.

I am torn about the success. On the one hand, the Globes win was a return to form for the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, traditionally a voting body that gushes over star power in spite of mediocrity, but which has recently been rewarding good filmmaking. (It’s fun, on some level, to believe in the invincible industry establishment.) It was also nice that Bohemian Rhapsody succeeded in the Rotten Tomatoes era, when consumers see low scores on rating sites—whose aggregation processes are arguably flawed—and skip movies they probably would have liked. On the other hand, I believe and respect the critics—many of whom avoid pretension or pickiness—telling me that Bohemian Rhapsody wasn’t any good, so the film’s commercial explosion in the face of their dissuasion is kind of sad. Disney has built its Marvel empire out of indie directors’ visions, who they wouldn’t have hired without critics’ opinions.

What’s the relevance of all this to Rocketman, the new Elton John biopic? Well, the film is doubtless a reaction to Bohemian Rhapsody’s commercial performance, and that of recent music-driven hits, like A Star Is Born and The Greatest Showman. (The film’s director is Dexter Fletcher, who handled Bohemian Rhapsody after the departure of Bryan Singer.) There now seem to be enough films of the sort to constitute a subgenre, and Rocketman’s construction might signal the trends and formulas to come. Call it the Music-Video-As-Movie, that cinematic delicacy which strings together half a story in service of long montages, which audiences would sooner watch on YouTube as individual clips. A Star Is Born almost differentiates itself from this setup, except that its legacy has been boiled down to “Shallow” (whether belted in a parking lot or on stage). And I’m not defining the subgenre out of dislike—it can prove as much of an enjoyment as the best studio rom-coms and no more of a diversion than most superhero pictures—but Rocketman inevitably adheres to it, even if in the process the film finds ways to wedge in moments of queerness and weird excess and bliss.

These moments come, without exception, when the best songs play. John’s belly-flop into a swimming pool, a scene that dominated the film’s trailers, leads to a glorious underwater interlude, where he swims toward his younger self, who sits at a miniature piano in astronaut garb, strings flourishing to accent the half-tempo first verse of the film’s title song. Rocketman uses set pieces like the pool repeatedly—as it covers John’s childhood through the first decade or so of his career—to aestheticize the artist’s inner monologue, from the neglect he feels growing up to the sense he gains as a teenager of his own potential, to his emotional waywardness and suffocation in the midst of peak popularity. Though the visuals deliver, they also possess an annoying sense of self-satisfaction. I felt I could see Fletcher and the film’s crew patting themselves on the back for the tracking shots and spiffy choreography at a suburban carnival, for the levitation of the crowd during John’s concert at the Troubador in Los Angeles. Yes, these scenes struck me as unconventional, but only in the context of narrow studio standards. It doesn’t help that during press tours, in an exhaustive effort to emphasize the film’s differences from other biopics, the film’s cast and crew talked about how they “didn’t deal with the songs in a chronological order,” and that there were “elements of fantasy.” Revolutionary? I think not. Compound this rather overhyped uniqueness with the fact that so many aspects of the film scream tradition—the endless static establishing shots, the bluntly telegraphed motivations—and one starts to wonder what would happen if people like Sam Levinson and his Euphoria team had handled the reality-distorting sequences, what that freshness of perspective might look like.

The songs in Rocketman are actually sung by Taron Egerton, who hopes to vault onto the A-list with a role that has been publicized as if he already occupied it. “Taron Egerton is Elton John,” read subway posters from New York to Paris, in glittering caps-lock. The guy from...Eddie the Eagle, right? Egerton might indeed deserve to be boldface famous—in his performance, he emotes intensely, and with every gesture, from the small smiles to shoulder shrugs. You get the sense that this Elton John feels a whole lot, even if he’s not very different from the persona John has been constructing for decades. Egerton’s authenticity is somewhat undermined by his physical attractiveness, because the film depicts him as a victim, of romantic partners’ betrayals and general loneliness, but with that jawline, that muscularity, this is hard to believe. It’s easy to forgive, though, especially when John Reid looks like Richard Madden, spray-tanned to the point of Mediterannean-ish ethnic ambiguity, in strange contradiction with the real Reid’s English pastiness.

I think the structure and effect of Rocketman indicate two directions for the future of similar films, and they’re not mutually exclusive. The first is the inspirational-sports-drama direction, or that of unsuccessful Oscar bait: pair a historical crash course with good actors and gloss to hide the ugly stuff (or most of it). Yes, we see John swallowing a handful of pills and winding up in the hospital. Yes, we see Reid seduce him after a party at a Hollywood estate that looks like it was invaded by Urban Outfitters. But addiction is not one overdose and gay sex is not two men making out for thirty seconds before the camera tilts away from them toward the ceiling. I can imagine the Rocketman crew telling me the film is about suggestion, but I don’t buy it. Multiple displays of graphic passion or substance abuse or androgyny are needed before a film can claim to meaningfully serve the LGBTQ community.

The second direction is concerning in a way that extends beyond cinematic integrity on its own terms. Rocketman, as with Bohemian Rhapsody, serves ultimately as an advertising vehicle for a big brand—a famous musician’s content library—and while Freddie Mercury was not alive to inform his on-screen portrayal (Queen’s remaining members handled that), Elton John, intimately involved with the film’s production (and really, he couldn’t not be), exerted control over the final projection of his personality. It doesn’t feel right that we should see a star exactly as he wants us to, because when is such a depiction ever accurate? But Rocketman’s success, though far inferior to Bohemian Rhapsody’s, will now signal to producers and studio executives that the rules for that music-video-movie subgenre are now established, and should be followed. At least we can dance to hit singles while that happens.

Fergus Campbell is a Culture writer and sophomore at Columbia College. 

SXSW 2019 in review

Austin, Texas, the cosmopolitan state capital, plays host to the sprawling music, film and technology festival that is South by Southwest.

South by Southwest is, surprisingly, a lot like college. The ten-day festival behemoth, which runs in March in Austin, Texas, brings together individuals from all corners of the globe in the same way that a university does, but requires no application, interview, or test-taking (a student ticket will cost you around $400; regular prices run from $1300 to $1700). Downtown Austin transforms into what is almost a campus: the convention center, a quad-classroom hybrid, is flanked by chain hotels, which function as residence halls, not only because everyone staying at them is a festival-goer, but because many events take place in their conference rooms (think Lit Hum in Carman). Rainey Street is eerily evocative of Frat Row—the classic version, not Columbia’s—with historic buildings repurposed for enormous parties, big crowds and borderline alcoholics, plus gourmet food trucks. Oh, and Netflix is hosting, not Fiji. And they turned the basement into a “speakeasy” to plug their new Bonnie and Clyde film. And Father John Misty showed up for a surprise concert.

The decadence that streaming giants like Netflix and tech players like Amazon bring to the festival—fully themed promotional environments serving free food, wine, beer and merchandise—would on its own make for a worthy attraction. But these destinations are merely supplements to the main event: thousands, literally thousands of screenings, panels and workshops, themed to technology, music, and cinema. Over 100 films will screen at SXSW this year, the majority of which are world premieres. Around 2,000 acts fill the music schedule. Heavyweight politicians have already made appearances, from Beto to Warren to AOC, and Jeffrey Katzenberg and Meg Whitman, co-founder of Dreamworks and former CEO of eBay, respectively, unveiled new content for their mobile platform Quibi on the festival’s second day. To score a SXSW slot, as an entrepreneur, a filmmaker, a musician, is to put yourself on the map, if you aren’t already on it. South By is where Brie Larson starred in Short Term 12, which launched her career. Twitter essentially debuted here in 2007. Katy Perry leveraged a 2007 set to secure a record deal, and soon after produced a smash hit.

Amazon promoting its new series Good Omens with a pavilion that merges the Garden of Eden and the apocalypse.

CUFP flew to Austin for four days of the festival, surviving off minimal sleep, missing lunch to secure seats, grumbling about wait times and volunteer mismanagement when we were turned away from Us, and reveling in the endless supply of creativity, commentary and celebrity. We attended nine premieres, and many more conversations with journalists, actors, directors and talk show hosts. We tried out virtual reality and haptic sound technology, passed an unnoticed Shia Labeouf in a convention center hallway—he really isn’t famous anymore—and goggled over Willie Nelson, who sat in our row at a screening, but wasn’t on hand for a Q&A afterward. He lives in Austin, and likes movies set in Texas, which this one was.

The beauty of premieres is that we entered each theater without pre-settled determinations of the films’ quality, obtained from Rotten Tomatoes or Metacritic. The very critics who shape public opinion scribbled notes next to us, and they bore no impact on the films’ immediate responses, the hearty laughs and eagerness to enjoy, absent retrospective judgment. CUFP found something to like in almost everything we saw, even if the commercial prospects of some pictures may ultimately be hindered by critical drubbing. That said, we had favorites.

Yes, God, Yes and South Mountain were both narrative feature contenders, eligible for the Grand Jury prize, which rewards small-budget films from little-known directors and writers. The former concerned a Catholic high school senior’s experimentation with masturbation, and her experience at a school retreat. The latter exposed the cracks in a middle-aged woman’s marriage, as she spends the summer with friends and family in a bucolic region of upstate New Jersey. Women helmed both films, which complexify the female experience typically depicted on screen. In Yes, God, Yes, after accidentally viewing porn stills in an AOL chat room (the setting is turn-of-the-twenty-first-century), Alice starts to practice self-pleasure, using her mobile phone as a vibrator, while learning from teachers and counselors that sex with yourself is as much of a sin as sex before marriage. Though the script trips up over triteness more than once (we get the post-retreat inspirational speech), there are valuable insights into the struggle of deciphering, through conservative education and the confusion of young adulthood, what it means to be sexual as a woman, how talking about sex has for women necessitated whispers and a certain degree of self-abnegation, when men enjoy the benefit of open conversations about their hard-ons and fantasies. Lila, the protagonist of South Mountain, must process her husband’s affair, and in doing so make sense of her own sexual identity. She derives anguish from abandonment, but also liberation, seducing her daughter’s friend, and forgiving the man with whom she has spent decades, while also attacking his dishonesty. Lila is, in short, unpredictable. Talia Balsam, who plays her, displays a self-importance that limits her ability to excavate more meaning from the role, but the low-key fashion in which director Hilary Brougher constructs a network of relationships—between Lila and her cancer-stricken best friend, between their daughters—is notable.

The cast of Yes, God, Yes at a post-screening Q&A about the film.

These films will likely find distributors for indie releases later in the year, especially if they win the Feature Competition (they are running against eight other films), but as of now they remain festival exclusives, contained to Austin’s playhouses. That’s the case for Midnighters, too, a special category of festival entries reserved for twelve-o'clock showtimes. They deal in thrills, at least the ones that CUFP saw. Tales from the Lodge, about a group of friends who gather in a remote cabin and take turns telling scary stories, was mostly a flop, but an acting showcase. Boyz in the Wood provided us with a tour-de-force of editing, and presented a foursome of young boys—teenagers embarking on a hiking trip in the Scottish Highlands—that delighted with their raucousness and stupidity. An open casting call for the film resulted in unknown actors assuming the spotlight, but each of their inclinations toward earnestness, vulgarity and vulnerability suggested significant experience. Director Ninian Doff demonstrated little interest in developing the villains that motivate the boys’ journey, and the action gags grew repetitive as the novelty of rabbit-shite-induced acid trips wore off, but the “Boyz” emerged as a memorable crew, calling to mind those Trainspotting addicts, and individually established potential for future careers.

Important though it may be to gain a sense of new talent, and to support the platform that festivals like SXSW provide for discovery, CUFP did not sacrifice study time and a day of classes solely to feel like good people. We also came for the stars: Woody Harrelson, Kevin Costner, Jesse Eisenberg, Matthew McConaughey, Ethan Hawke, Olivia Wilde, Jason Sudeikis. We were on hand for these professionals’ project debuts, which comprised a small percentage of the total impact from household names. We missed Jordan Peele, Lupita Nyong’o, Charlize Theron, Seth Rogen. And that was during the days of our visit. For the entire week following our departure, SXSW will play host to dozens more prominent film industry guests.  

Jesse Eisenberg and Imogen Poots introduce their new film, The Art of Self-Defense.

From our survey of the movies on offer, though, we were able to make several judgments. One is that any inclinations of a second McConaissance were unfounded. The Beach Bum, Harmony Korine’s new feature, screened on Saturday, and expressed a gorgeous vision of ocean bohemia, Pirates of the Caribbean by way of reality television, inflected with visual cues from recent geographically-related masterworks Moonlight and The Florida Project. Unfortunately, McConaughey inhabits this vision. He plays Moondog, a drugged-up drifter who “belongs” in the Keys, but whose real home is Miami, where he depends on his wealthy heiress wife for financial security. Some form of McConaughey’s stoner persona was witnessed in Dazed and Confused, but in that film he was more of an enigma, fleeting and romantic, while The Beach Bum focuses too much of him. He does not evolve, instead shifting between two or three variations of the same slow-moving, quasi-enlightened emotional plane. The tragedy that splits the first third of the film from the second two is understood as a lazy narrative initiator, but then registers as a distraction, because McConaughey is barely affected by it. Korine writes his dialogue like it’s filler, so maybe Moondog would be more interesting if he had something to say. Maybe.

The Beach Bum director Harmony Korine joins stars Mathew McConaughey, Isla Fisher, Martin Freeman and Jimmy Buffet on stage at the Paramount Theater, after a screening of the film.

The Highwaymen, Netflix’s new period drama, brought Woody Harrelson and Kevin Costner to the Paramount Theatre, a short distance from the convention center. After a screening of the film, the two actors discussed their turns as legendary Texas rangers Frank Hamer and Maney Gault, who gunned down Bonnie and Clyde in Louisiana after a government-ordered manhunt. The film, directed by John Lee Hancock, succeeds mostly because of Harrelson and Costner’s star power, and with Dolby Surround Sound and a cacophonic full house, it was easy to buy into their antics. Netflix has improved its title intro, too, imitating Hollywood studios with a suitably grand expansion of the color spectrum animation it debuted online a month ago. A question for the dozens of company executives with reserved seats in the audience: do you really want your fancy title card on a four-inch phone screen?

The two films that stole CUFP’s weekend bookended that Highwaymen premiere. One was The Art of Self-Defense, directed by Riley Stearns, in which Casey (Jesse Eisenberg), a man violently mugged one night, signs up for karate classes at a Dojo, so that he can better protect himself. What starts out as a variation on Wes Anderson quirk—matter-of-fact dialogue, gorgeous color scheming—gradually and unexpectedly evolves into a dark exploration of masculine insecurities and cultish violence, as Casey learns from Sensei (who has no other name) and a band of dedicated senpai, but grows unnervingly obsessed. Stearns blends humor and terror masterfully, suffocating and isolating his characters, daring the audience to laugh and then making them pay for it. He is aided by Jesse Eisenberg, who expertly layers his trademark Zuckerberg-ian robotism with melancholy and naiveté.

Then there is Booksmart. Booksmart, you bubblegum pop dream of a movie. Perhaps it is because of high school’s lingering impact on the college consciousness that Booksmart resonated with CUFP so deeply, or because there were doubts as to whether first-time director Olivia Wilde could turn pre-festival buzz into concrete praise, and then she dropped a colorful, fully realized and wildly funny film, and decimated expectations.

Booksmart stars Kaitlyn Dever and Beanie Feldstein gush about their on-set experiences.

Booksmart revolves around Amy and Molly, two seniors who realize on the last day of school that they’ve spent the past four years pursuing Ivy League educations (Amy’s Columbia-bound) at the expense of their social lives. The solution: cover their losses in one night. The search for the cool kids’ party involves many detours and over-the-top supporting performances, with most young actors embodying conventional yet entertaining stereotypes. The film is influenced by a wide range of 20th-century cinema, from the teen-centric to the auteur-ish; Superbad and Clueless come to mind, of course (Booksmart is funnier than both of them), but in the Q&A Wilde cited The Big Lebowski as an influence, surely for the fantastical montages that interrupt the narrative to communicate Molly and Amy’s inner monologues. An ambitious long take at hot-boy-Nick’s mansion is reminiscent of Boogie Nights, and follows Amy underwater, out of a swimming pool, through a series of hyper-stylized rooms and back outside, onto the patio, where she delves into a heated argument with Molly. Wilde said stars Beanie Feldstein and Kaitlyn Dever nailed the shot after two tries.

The best part about Booksmart’s delightfully imaginative narrative flourishes are grounded by its script. The film’s screenwriters find sincere and understated avenues for conversations about female empowerment and depictions of queerness. Amy and Molly give each other hyper-complimentary, faux-argumentative pep talks whenever they get together. We watch as Amy awkwardly tries to have bathroom sex with another girl, but her gay identity isn’t reduced to a single existential struggle (hey, Love Simon), nor does it prevent the development of a dynamic friendship with a straight woman. Feldstein and Dever enliven these narrative nuances with their performances. Feldstein, who has graduated from Lady Bird sidekick to fully commanding lead, enriches Molly’s smart-girl shtick with wit and comic timing. Dever, playing Amy, is a hero, too, her doubt and self-deprecation beautifully intertwined, her level-headedness an added texture, not a bore.

All these films captured a moment in moviemaking notable for its inclusivity, but the films also lacked a thematic unity, which is actually what makes South By so exciting, in a cinematic sense and in the context of its broader lineup. CUFP felt so many different ways about what we saw, in an alarmingly concentrated period of time. Cultural overload proved a necessary consequence of our experiences. Trevor Noah and the Daily Show team made us laugh and cringe about the state of U.S. race relations; Kathy Griffin shocked with her acerbic brand of character assassination, which has been strangely shaped by the F.B.I. investigation of her now infamous beheaded-Trump post; Buzzfeed CEO Jonah Peretti supplied a somewhat unconvincing solution for internet evil; New Yorker staff writers made us hopeful about the state of meaningful journalistic criticism; Ethan Hawke endeared us with a sincere, albeit misguided, mantra of inherent human same-ness.

Our biggest takeaway from the festival is probably hope, as cliché as that sounds (and hypocritical, given the cheese-bashing above) if only because we were reminded of the prevalence of talent, and good ideas, and healthy discourse that obviously still exists in this country but which is remarkably easy to forget about. Attending the festival is a privilege, of course, one which CUFP was ecstatic and grateful to be afforded, but hey, student passes are cheap relative to the alternative, and you won’t be a student forever. And if you want to meet a presidential candidate and a tech billionaire and a movie star in the same day, you probably (definitely) won’t find another place where that’s possible. Just saying.

Jonah Peretti discusses Buzzfeed’s campaign to create an “ecosystem of good content” on the Internet, instead of trying to police bad content.

Jake Tapper moderates a conversation with Trevor Noah and the Daily Show team.

Kathy Griffin discusses her experience with ISIS accusations and criminal investigations, which erupted in the wake of a photo leak, which featured her holding a bust of President Trump’s head.

Fergus Campbell is a Culture writer and freshman in Columbia College. 

"Captain Marvel"—When the Marvel formula meets inexperience

The latest MCU blockbuster, Captain Marvel offers an interesting, albeit disappointing, entry to the superhero genre as an important introduction to a future leader. 

Captain Marvel has admittedly been the center of unjust controversy from alt-right users after some poor comments by star Brie Larson, but the film itself is far from perfect. Marvel took the risk yet again with big-budget newcomers for direction, giving the reins to Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck ("Half Nelson", "Mississippi Grind") who unfortunately weren't ultimately up for the task. The film tells the origin story of Carol Danvers / Captain Marvel (Larson) amidst the intergalactic Kree-Skrull war in the mid-1990's. Danvers begins as a confused warrior of the Kree Star Force led by Yon-Rogg (Jude Law), who crash lands on Earth and begins to unravel her identity. A young Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) soon teams up with Danvers to prevent the earth from alien invasion and danger posed by the Kree and leader of the Skrulls, Talos (Ben Mendelsohn). 

There is a lot to like with Captain Marvel. In expected fashion, Marvel hands Danvers story in an interesting way, with interjections of the past and present throughout the film, a la Nolan's Memento or Snyder's Man of Steel. The script and narrative are ingenious in the way they connect all 20 previous MCU films seamlessly, while feeling authentic rather than contrived. The handling of aliens in the film is adept as well, as they take a bold choice to portray them as innocent nomads in a direct confrontation of modern American immigration politics. Some action scenes and visual sequences are quite stunning, and the de-aging work done on Jackson and Clark Gregg as Agent Coulson are impressive and wholly-immersive throughout (although neither actor has really aged visually, anyway). The 1990's sets and costume design are true-to-life and dedicated, enveloping the film in reality. Ben Mendelsohn appears to have a blast in the film, delivering a memorable Pulp Fiction-esque performance as a charismatic 'bad-guy.' The overall narrative and structure of the film buoy it above total mediocrity, but several issues glare nonetheless. 

The character of Captain Marvel is sadly dull, which I blame on the inexperience of directors Boden and Fleck more-so than Larson. Larson's portrayal is wooden in the attempt to make her a stoic, independent woman, and her character is so powerful, the film loses all suspense in the story of an invulnerable hero (please fix this, Avengers: Endgame). When Marvel announced a high-caliber, Oscar-winner like Larson, I expected much more range and emotion to be exhibited, but frankly any established actress could have pulled off this dull iteration of Captain Marvel. The film lacks any pacing at all—scenes feel independent and action sequences are overdrawn and appear to be done by a different set director. Music in the film is used almost exclusively terribly, banging 90's references and feminist empowerment over the audiences head to oblivion. Whereas Guardians of the Galaxy used music as a narrative device in creative ways, Captain Marvel uses it solely for pop-cultural coolness and results in jarring sequences throughout. For a film which pays obvious homage to Star Wars, from the one-shots of characters piloting spaceships to the set design, it fails to portray it captivatingly on-screen, which leads to a terribly-lit climactic space fight scene. With Disney's ownership of Lucasfilm, you would expect them to send over some ILM visual effects artists to render sequences better in Captain Marvel, but that is not to be found here. 

While the film is sadly a low point for the greatness seen in the MCU thus far—as messy as Thor: The Dark World—Captain Marvel is perfectly fine overall. Larson's portrayal was bland, but that can be fixed in future installments (ie. 'Endgame') and the unique narrative lifts the film up nonetheless. This is an important film historically and is worthy of your attention, but I cannot veil my disappointment in Boden and Fleck's amateur handling of such a rich story. There's always tomorrow, however, and Marvel will surely learn from this and keep delivering timeless tales of heroism for the enthusiastic masses.

Sean Kelso is the founder & editor-in-chief of Greyscale.

"Aquaman" review — a joyous sci-fi flick that course-corrects the DC universe

Splashing into theaters on December 21st is DC's latest big-budget superhero film Aquaman, which delivers strong action, visual effects and a familiar, but reliable narrative sure to please the masses. 

Directed by James Wan (The Conjuring franchise, Furious 7), Aquaman stars Jason Momoa as the titular Atlantean Arthur Curry, amongst a tremendous cast including Oscar nominees Willem Dafoe and Nicole Kidman. The film follows Arthur in the events following Justice League, as he returns to his coastal home, avoiding the distractions of the modern world. He is soon visited by Mera (Amber Heard), an Atlantean princess & superhero who demands he come back to Atlantis to prevent Arthur's half-brother, Orm / Oceanmaster (Patrick Wilson) from declaring war on the surface world. After a brief and unsuccessful skirmish against Orm, Aquaman and Mera set out on an adventure across the seas to find the mythical trident of Atlan in an effort to unite all seven kingdoms and overcome Orm's dangerous plans. 

The DC Universe (DCU) leading up to Aquaman has had a tumultuous run, to put it mildly. Too often, they came across as a reactionary organization, announcing sequels and spin-offs to movies immediately after any social media buzz (ie. Birds of Prey, Black Adam, etc). Their response to Marvel's Avengers (2012), which grossed over $1.5 billion, was the measly Justice League (2017), which grossed $657 million—their lowest opening of any DC film at the time. Thus, one could argue that Aquaman had the most pressure to succeed and instill hope back in the DCU after the rejection of Justice League and the critical disconnect of all their previous films except Wonder Woman. James Wan's Aquaman goes back to the basis, delivering a solid and overwhelmingly fun superhero movie that bolsters strong performances and visual effects to set itself apart. Jason Momoa continues to have a blast on-screen, giving Arthur plenty of charisma and badass-ery to buoy the film. Amber Heard also delivers a career-best performance as Mera, giving her strength and intelligence unlike that of stereotypical female protagonists. Aquaman and Mera work together great, as Mera's intuition and problem-solving complements Aquaman's nonchalance. The extended cast is worthy of mention too, as Willem Dafoe (Atlantean scientist, Volko) and Nicole Kidman (Arthur's mother, Atlanna) give anchoring performances that elevate the film past safe cliches. Nicole Kidman takes the big-budget fiasco that is a superhero movie and grounds her performance in her indie background, offering tremendous emotion to the narrative that the DCU has lacked until this point. Patrick Wilson and the rest of the cast are serviceable actors here, delivering characters that neither elevate nor detract from the film's merits. 

While the cast lifts Aquaman past standard conventions, James Wan and the team behind the camera deserve most of the respect for the film's success. Seeing the trailers made me nervous for the amount of visual effects used in this film, reminding me of the reliance seen in the Star Wars prequels, but Wan uses his budget to his advantage and displays an immersive look at Atlantis. Everything from the bioluminescence of the architecture to the sophisticated cityscape make Atlantis real on-screen, which allows you to be fully transported to this zany adventure. Wan held nothing back with his vision here, showing off everything from drum-playing octopodes to man-eating sea monsters that fill up the film's huge battle sequences. The visual effects in Aquaman were clearly well-imagined before the film released, which says a lot compared to past DCU films (ie. Justice League) and it aids in bringing this narrative dynamism. There is some nice social commentary here, too, from man's pollution of nature to our tendency to isolate ourselves from neighbors, but none of it is truly emphasized, as the focus here is on having fun. 

While the film is very enjoyable to watch, it is not really anything original in the superhero genre, as Arthur Curry largely follows the stereotypical hero's journey. Orm's presence is neither menacing nor emotional, which was disappointing given the great development given to other characters like Kidman's Atlanna. Aquaman doesn't seem to want to be anything daring, as its clear narrative lends itself to paying homage to other films, like Indiana Jones, rather than standing on lone footing. So while Aquaman being an unoriginal concept in strict terms is disappointing to a devoted viewer, it is a big success for the DCU, which has struggled with defining itself and establishing a character fans can grab onto. I recommend seeing Aquaman on the biggest screen possible on opening weekend, since there is great fun to be had here in this film, which DC hopefully looks to for direction moving forward.

Sean Kelso (@SEANKELS0) is the founder & editor-in-chief of Greyscale.

"Wildlife" review—an intimate portrayal of a family in disarray

"Wildlife" is the latest work by Hollywood veteran Paul Dano in his directorial debut, offering audiences a glimpse at a 1960's American family breaking apart in a modern framework.

Dano displays many artistic sensibilities throughout "Wildlife" as a writer-director, concisely tackling themes of masculinity, femininity and the American dream in a tight narrative. "Wildlife" stars Jake Gyllenhaal and Carey Mulligan as Jerry and Jeannette Brinson, respectively, two parents struggling to make ends meet and raise their teenage son Joe (Ed Oxenbould). The story picks up in 1960's Great Falls, Montana, where the Brinson's have recently moved to get a job. Not long after, unfortunately, Jerry gets fired from his gig at the local golf club, throwing the family into fiscal turmoil. Out of pride and disgust, Jerry sets out on a dangerous job to extinguish fires in the nearby mountains, even with the terrible pay ($1 / hour) and the disagreement from Jeannette and Joe. The early departure of the father and husband from the picture sets "Wildlife" on a mysterious crash course that is a gripping look at how families deal with conflict. 

While the narrative is interesting enough, what sets "Wildlife" apart from traditional Oscar-bait / arthouse cinema is Dano's devotion to the characters and themes throughout. Jake Gyllenhaal delivers yet another impressive performance as a damaged Jerry Brinson who struggles to maintain his identity as a provider for his family as security seems to always evade his family's life. While his family is shocked by Jerry's decision to leave them early in the film to go fight fires, Gyllenhaal's solemn, yet evocative expressions display a wounded and masculine aspect of Brinson that compels him to leave. Since Jerry cannot provide direct financial security for his family after all the moving and new jobs, his choice to combat fires is his way of protecting the larger society and how he attempts to fill the void from a failed career. Carey Mulligan is equally impressive as Jeannette, a contemplative housewife who seeks to regain control of her life amidst the chaos imposed by Jerry's absence. Ed Oxenbould delivers a strong performance as the familial center of the narrative, displaying the innocent naiviety of youth. Mulligan and Gyllenhaal offer different, but honest portrayals of femininity and masculinity, as both pursue fulfilment amidst a crackling marriage. 

Atmosphere and the isolation of Montana provide depth to "Wildlife," as the desperation and pent-up energy felt by the characters are often displayed without conventional dialogue. Dano takes a very quiet approach with this film, which works due to strong performances by Gyllenhaal and Mulligan, along with the natural scenery and set design. The sweeping mountains and roaring fires provide thematic representations for the peaceful chaos experienced throughout the film. Setting the film in rural Montana establishes Jerry Brinson as an archetypical American Cowboy, who prefers the company of like-minded individuals and the thrill of exploring unmarked land away from traditional society. Although this film is adapted from Richard Ford's synonymous novel, the narrative penned by Dano and Zoe Kazan feels like an autobiography or documentary with its intimate, flawed characters. Destruction is a literal and symbolic theme throughout the film, as fires are inevitably a weaker threat to the narrative than the crumbling love shared by the Brinson's, which makes the story much more tragic and realistic. 

What Dano and the cast were able to accomplish here is commendable not only for the private, sometimes squeamish look at familial strife, but for imbuing it with iconographies of the American West and non-conventional marriage tropes. Dano, Gyllenhaal and Mulligan find a way to show the Brinson's as interesting and volatile partners who still embody respectable ideals of men and women, showing them as morally-gray individuals rather than Christ-like partners. This devotion to realism should give Dano, Gyllenhaal and Mulligan Oscar consideration, as the film is an accomplishment in simplicity, if nothing else. 

Sean Kelso is the founder & editor-in-chief of Greyscale.

"The Sisters Brothers" review — a unique, prescient reinvention of the Western

Amidst the pantheon of revered Western films, it can be difficult to stand out as original or worthwhile. "The Sisters Brothers," however, combines a lively script with an all-star cast and modern themes to overcome the normalcy associated with recent Western misfires. 

Based on the synonymous novel by Patrick deWitt, "The Sisters Brothers" follows the quests of Eli and Charlie Sisters (John C. Reilly and Joaquin Phoenix, respectively), as they are hired to interrogate an outlaw chemist (Riz Ahmed) who has a formula for illuminating gold underwater. The film is helmed by French director Jacques Audiard ("Rust and Bone," "Dheepan"), who brings a fresh lense towards the American iconography that lifts this film past traditional genre conventions. As Audiard's first English-language film, "The Sisters Brothers" is especially impressive, with its full-bodied performances and American themes, especially considering Audiard does not speak fluent English. 

Along with Audiard's attention to detail and character development, the performances from the notable cast enrich the film and its emotional resonance. Joaquin Phoenix (Charlie Sisters) is expectedly great as a violent, troubled drunkard of a hitman, while John C. Reilly (Eli Sisters) adds depth and comedy to his portrayal of a hitman. Riz Ahmed (Hermann Kermit Warm) proves he can perform amongst heavyweight actors, as his character is delightful and kind throughout the perilous film. Jake Gyllenhaal also adds weight and craftiness as John Morris, a detective hired to bring Warm to the Sisters Brothers. Phoenix and Reilly have the necessary chemistry as brothers, but the ensemble of Phoenix, Reilly, Ahmed and Gyllenhaal work surprisingly well and give a community dynamic to the story that the audience can associate with throughout the twists and turns of the story. 

While the direction and performances are notable, the hidden star of the film is the cinematography and natural landscapes throughout the adventure. "The Sisters Brothers" was reportedly shot across Spain, and it plays out as a tourist advertisement for their geography. From broad, sweeping mountains to calm rivers to peaceful prairies, "The Sisters Brothers" inspires viewers to embrace their inner animalistic desires and find oneself amongst the uninhabited parts of earth. Audiard juxtaposes these natural landscapes with modernization, as the Brothers travel in and out of established towns (ie. San Francisco), which encapsulates Manifest Destiny and mankind's eternal quest for territory. The pacing is solid throughout the film, except at the end, where the film seems to oscillate sinusoidally between conflict and reflection until its ultimate sweet conclusion.

"The Sisters Brothers" is not an 'Avengers' style cinematic event, but it is quite deserving of your attention. While it features stereotypical shoot-em-up gunslingers, the focus is never on those parts of the characters. The film is a clever exploration of the beloved American West and features a beating narrative filled with lovable hitmen and marauders. Each scene features a new vista of the American West amidst the California Gold Rush period, reinvigorating viewers with newfound appreciation for the natural world. Audiard instills likable qualities in the Sisters Brothers amidst their horrid acts, as they are offered the chance to exchange violence and regret for forgiveness and a sense of belonging. "The Sisters Brothers" is absolutely a 2018 film set in the mid-1800's, as modern society also grasps for identity amidst a changing, bustling country often filled with violence, hypocrisy and illegitimacy. The film tells us that change, however small, is possible for even the darkest souls among us, which is an uplifting idea to leave audiences with. 

Sean Kelso is the founder and editor-in-chief of Greyscale.

"AVENGERS: INFINITY WAR" review — An epic smorgasbord of emotion and achievement

After 10 years of superhero films and billions in revenue, Marvel has attempted and accomplished a monumental feat with "Avengers: Infinity War" never seen before on the big screen. 

"Avengers: Infinity War" is a seemingly-impossible venture directed by the Russo Brothers ("Captain America: The Winter Soldier," Captain America: Civil War") and stars nearly all the superheroes you could fit on a screen, from Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.) and the original Avengers to Star-Lord (Chris Pratt) and the Guardians of the Galaxy. The stakes on this film are galactic, as the Avengers face an insurmountable threat with Thanos (Josh Brolin), who seeks all six infinity stones to wipe out half of the galaxy in one fell swoop.

As the culmination of 18 films thus far, "Infinity War" had lofty expectations resting on Thanos and his narrative, and Marvel delivered in every regard. On sheer spectacle, "Infinity War" is a cinematic record for franchise union, combining the original Avengers, the Guardians of the Galaxy, Wakanda and new Avengers, such as Doctor Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch) and Spider-Man (Tom Holland). Besides the great difficulty in bringing so many franchises together, Marvel had to assure fans that 10 years of waiting was worthwhile for the Mad Titan, Thanos, especially after such compelling prior villains (Loki, Killmonger, Red Skull). Writers Markus and McFeely took a risk in their great devotion to Thanos' arc and motivation, but the extensive development and emotional performance by Josh Brolin yield one of the best super-villains in any comic book film ever (on the level of Ledger's Joker). Unlike the stereotypical villain, Thanos is well-grounded in reality, as an extreme planetary scientist devoted to universal balance. After he couldn't prevent his species from overpopulation, Thanos sees his mission as a noble crusader on behalf of the entire galaxy to keep them in harmony by decimating half of the population existing. His character is uniquely emotional, as his known ties to Gamora (Zoe Saldana) and Nebula (Karen Gillan) display his affections as an adoptive father. Thus when his extraordinary powers are on display and he starts wreaking havoc on the Avengers, the audience is fearful of their fate, as Thanos is adamant in his distorted ethics and terrifyingly capable of bringing about mass destruction. 

The performances and meetings in "Avengers: Infinity War" are what audiences have been yearning for for years, and they pay off in great measure. Seeing the Guardians of the Galaxy and their swashbuckling humor interact with Thor (Chris Hemsworth) and Iron Man was everything you could hope for. Seeing Bucky (Sebastian Stan) finally healthy and reunited with Captain America (Chris Evans) was a sweet and endearing moment. Watching all these unique personas mesh on-screen was a candy-land of excitement and spontaneity that only Marvel could pull off with 10 years of connection. In "Infinity War," the ridiculous stakes mean suffering and death for our beloved heroes, and all of the cast was up to the challenge of delivering heartbreaking performances. The visual effects and action sequences are equally commendable, as the Russo Brothers filmed thrilling set pieces in-camera, without any shaky footage to distract the audience. The great displacement across the universe throughout "Infinity War" was a refreshing thrill-ride, as audiences were exposed to an array of different landscapes as Thanos continued his journey for the stones. Thanos and his Black Order were beautifully rendered on screen and entirely believable, which added to the terror felt by the audience at their actions throughout the film.

My only complaint with "Infinity War" may not have been fixable, but it rested on the occasionally-sporadic tone shifts throughout the film. Some scenes quickly transitioned from an emotional death to another landscape or group entirely, leaving the audience stunned at the lack of time devoted to realizing what had previously occurred. Each character in the film has a unique personality, and the transitions between them was not 100% seamless. The adrenaline of "Infinity War" shields these brief tonal inconsistencies remarkably, as the breakneck pace of the film continues from start to finish, captivating audiences entirely.

Ever since "The Avengers" teased Thanos, I have been patiently waiting for Marvel to have their chance to give his mighty story justice and resonance to mass audiences. After seeing all of the individual successes of each Marvel franchise, I was very optimistic, yet apprehensive at the sheer scope of this film. I am relieved and overjoyed to say Markus & McFeely, the Russo Brothers, and Marvel crafted one of the most emotional cinematic roller-coasters I've ever seen. The ending alone was one of the most satisfying, yet devastating sequences in recent memory. Thanos exceeded all expectations, as Marvel respected his sheer strength and background, but shaped him into a deeply empathetic character audiences could relate with. "Infinity War" delivered everything it had to and more: a tight narrative, formidable villain, thrilling action and sentimental character journeys as a result of this 10 year extravaganza. Avengers 4 cannot get here soon enough.

Sean Kelso is the founder and editor-in-chief of Greyscale.