Small Axe 1: Mangrove (2020) | Directed by Steve McQueen

 5/5

Steve McQueen’s Mangrove, the first film in his Small Axe cycle of films exploring the Black West Indian community in London from the ’60s to the ’80s, is an exquisite, deeply moving, film filled with incredible performances. The very first thing that struck me while watching this was that this is exactly what we need in this moment – more films, more television, more works of art that show the police as bullies, as racists, as authoritarians who target Black and brown communities rather than the heroes they’re typically depicted as onscreen. It seems like a small thing, and yet, in showing the naked cruelty and the toxic masculinity that pervades law enforcement, McQueen draws direct parallels between police harassment in the late ‘60s and today, along with the protest movements in both time to seek change to such “wicked” justice systems as our protagonists describe it. For a film that tackles such weighty material, it’s a wonder that McQueen never lets it collapse under the burden of sorrow or rage or pain. He consistently manages to find moments of deep joy and connection for his characters and their community – and even moments of authentic humor. McQueen has always been a master of finding moments of visual poetry within his films, and here is no exception: a still shot of a colander rocking back and forth on the floor until it stops after police have torn apart a restaurant; the reflection of a protest leader in a window becoming a silhouette in the rain; and at the show trial of the Mangrove 9, the light that comes in from outside their holding cells – blinding, brilliant, rapturous. The story itself is moving and an important work that still has resonance for us here and now, but the way that McQueen tells this story is transcendent.

Boys State (2020) | Directed by Jesse Moss and Amanda McBaine

 4/5

Jesse Moss and Amanda McBaine’s Boys State is a captivating, if imperfect, documentary that examines the current state of American politics by examining the American Legion’s annual Texas Boys State conference, which gathers hundreds of teenage boys from across the state of Texas to build a representative government from the ground up. There’s much to appreciate about the film, and it is especially heartening to see the filmmakers actively look for participants who don’t fit the traditional white, ultra-conservative, hyper-masculine mode that so many of these teenage boys have embraced wholeheartedly. The film is at its best when it leans on its vérité roots and simply observes the proceedings – be it the campaigns for Boys State governor or the annual talent show. It’s at its worst and most predictable when it leans into the tropes of reality TV with its simplistic heroes and villains, the couch confessionals, the semi-staged shots for artistic effect, or the self-consciously ironic editing beats. That said, as imperfect as the film may be, the film’s central exploration of politics and the questions it asks about the ways this generation of youth is being shaped by the divisiveness and rancor of our political leaders is still of vital importance today. And if we’re showing our youth that power is the only thing that matters, what kind of lessons are we teaching them about public service and the common good? The film may not provide the answers, but it does ask us to reflect on the essential questions.

Where to Watch

Cuties ‘Mignonnes’ (2020) | Directed by Maïmouna Doucouré

 4.5/5

Maïmouna Doucouré’s Cuties (Mignonnes) is a powerful and emotionally moving film about Western society’s oversexualization of young girls that also manages to find genuine warmth and humor in the midst of this poignant tale of having the illusions of childhood fade away at much too early an age. That Doucouré manages to balance this all without ever letting the film become a dry, intellectual slog is something of a miracle. She has crafted such an incredibly honest and heartfelt narrative about what it is to be an eleven-year-old girl trapped between two very different worlds. Doucouré contrasts the restrictive and confining spaces in the apartment of her young protagonist’s family with the open and airy spaces she finds when she’s with her new friends. But then she tempers that visual freedom by creating a sense of danger and unease in these open spaces – whether through the use of abandoned train tracks running through the middle of a scene or a decrepit building that intrudes into the frame. Doucouré’s script captures all of the pain and humor and awkwardness of the pre-teen years, and then shows how much harder it is to navigate when you don’t have any parents to help you make sense of the hyper-sexualized images of women that you encounter everywhere. Trapped between a family with harsh and repressive gender expectations on one side and a society that is encouraging her oversexualization at such an early age, the film’s protagonist has to find a different path than the one her family or society have laid out for her. And Doucouré captures this in a denouement that is breathtaking and powerful.

Where to Watch

Time (2020) | Directed by Garrett Bradley

 5/5

Garrett Bradley’s Time is one of the most astonishing documentaries I’ve seen in the last year – a masterful use of the form. This film absolutely gutted me. The film follows Fox Rich, a woman struggling to raise her children and fight for the freedom her incarcerated husband, Robert. Bradley pairs footage that Rich filmed herself over the past twenty years with Bradley’s own contemporary footage, giving us a sense of the weight of time, of the lost time that this family has suffered due to Robert’s incarceration. We see the children – just entering kindergarten one moment, graduating from dental school or living as a sophomore in college the next – and we ’re made aware of the burden that families are made to bear due to the inequities in our criminal justice system. Bradley makes use of so many lovely poetic touches – from shots of the cardboard cutout of Robert that the family keeps with them, her framing of Fox and the rest of the family at key moments (especially at the end of the film), to her masterful use of archival material throughout the film. Bradley’s use structure is essential – she lets us know and come to care for the Rich family before we discover why Robert is in prison, building our empathy and forcing us to confront a broken justice system in a way that no narrative feature or standard documentary ever could. This is documentary filmmaking at its finest.

Bad Hair (2020) | Directed by Justin Simien

 3.5/5

Justin Simien’s Bad Hair is a deliciously campy, sharply political, incredibly fun horror satire. Simien is a filmmaker who wears his politics on his sleeve, and there’s something refreshing about how upfront the film is in its exploration of the ways white society forces Black women to conform to white beauty standards. The film is a pointed reflection on what it means to compromise in order to achieve success – especially in a culture that doesn’t believe you can succeed because your race and gender. The film’s texture and use of color and lighting helps set the ’80s horror aesthetic perfectly, and the jagged editing techniques – especially as the weave is being sewn in – work to amplify the terror and discomfort. The final act descends into a bit of a chaotic mess with plot holes that are never resolved in a fully satisfying manner, and the computer generated effects never have the weight and solidity you need to make the horror truly crawl under your skin. Still, it’s an enjoyable first foray into horror from Simien, and a great followup to his Dear White People film and TV series.

Where to Watch

Borat Subsequent Moviefilm (2020) | Directed by Jason Woliner

 4/5

Jason Woliner’s Borat Subsequent Moviefilm takes the techniques that Sasha Baron Cohen used in the first Borat film to uncover the racism and bigotry in average Americans and applies them to explore the deeply rooted misogyny and sexism across American society. In having the Borat character and his daughter, Tutar (played brilliantly by the incredible Maria Bakalova), navigate the expectations for young women in American society, the film provides cringe-worthy moments in real-life interactions with social media influencers, finishing school instructors, beauticians, and more revealing the depths of American misogyny – including a pastor at a crisis pregnancy center who is more concerned with stopping an abortion than he is in protecting a minor whom he is led to believe is the victim of sexual abuse. On the other hand, we’re also shown glimpses of genuine kindness and empathy, encouraging Tutar to push back against societal expectations. This all gives the film a more coherent focus than expected and provides some lovely moments between Cohen and Bakalova. The films is certainly not for everyone, especially considering just how uncomfortable so much about the film is for the comedy to the structure to the filming techniques. However, it is helpful to have reminders that the sexism and bigotry we have seen come to the surface in Trump’s America have long been baked into our country’s fabric and these sentiments have long been harbored by many of our fellow citizens. And every once in a while, we need a Borat to draw them out.

Where to Watch

Minari (2020) | Directed by Lee Isaac Chung

 4.5/5

Lee Isaac Chung’s Minari is a gorgeous and painfully honest film about the immigrant experience. So many of these stories romanticize the immigrant experience and the big dreams that cause families to seek out a better life. But Chung is a far more subtle and nuanced filmmaker. Drawing from his own experience as the child of immigrants, he clearly shows how the father’s stubbornness and pride, a mistaken belief that financial success will solve all of his family’s problems, leads to a willingness to lose his family for the sake of his dream. A lesser filmmaker would have drawn a simplistic hero/villain dichotomy here, but Chung allows for the messiness in family dynamics to be on full display, acknowledging the hurt and pain that can build up between spouses over the years due to unmet expectations, extreme poverty, and emotional withholding. And through it all, he never loses any warmth or compassion for his characters – in part because of the stellar performances of the entire cast. It is a little disappointing to see the film dip briefly into overwrought melodrama toward the end – everything else is so quiet and understated – but the film pulls back and manages to avoid falling into some of the pitfalls that the trope it embraced could have led to in its final moments. Even with that minor quibble, this is an astonishing film – one of the best of the year.

The 40-Year-Old Version (2020) | Directed by Radha Blank

 5/5

Radha Blank’s The 40-Year-Old Version is an absolutely brilliant comedy – one of the most effortlessly charming films of the year. On the one hand, it’s a biting satire of the ‘poverty porn’ white audiences and producers want from Black artists. And yet, in the midst of the satire, there’s an honest exploration of what it means to find your voice as an artist when everyone around you is encouraging you to compromise. Blank also looks at the ways that refusing to face loss and grief can hold us back and acknowledges the struggle to break through as an artist once you reach middle-age. Blank takes these themes and weaves them together into a richly layered narrative without a wasted moment. The fact that Blank, playing a fictionalized version of herself, allows her character to be as broken and dysfunctional, as selfish and hurtful as she is at points in the film, is a testament to her honesty as a filmmaker and performer. Her use of 35mm, black-and-white film is gorgeous, capturing a warmth and texture in every scene, while still allowing for a world that has lost its inspiration – with color only punctuating in brief bursts as she envisions the play she’s trying to write or as she remembers her mother’s art. And as she turns to hip-hop as a form of uncompromising self-expression, not only is the music fantastic, but the film avoids falling into the easy clichés of the traditional musician narrative. Blank is a phenomenal filmmaker, crafting a delightful film that manages to subvert narrative expectations, while still managing to be a crowd pleaser.

The Invisible Man (2020) | Directed by Leigh Whannell

 4/5

Leigh Whannell’s The Invisible Man is a chilling and deeply effective horror film that remains far more grounded and naturalistic than the genre often allows. Whannell’s use of empty space and static shots to build tension is especially masterful – there are sequences in the first half of the film that will undoubtedly stand alongside the great moments in horror. By reframing the narrative as an exploration of abusive, controlling relationships and the ways abusers gaslight and isolate their victims, the film takes on additional modern resonances that are extremely satisfying, and it’s especially nice to see the film situate us in the viewpoint of Elizabeth Moss’s character, rather than that of the titular ‘monster.’ It’s also nice to see such an honest depiction of the way wealthy men (and tech bros in particular) use their money and privilege to isolate themselves from the consequences of their toxic masculinity. Moss is excellent, of course, but the entire cast turns in stellar performances. There are a few predictable plot beats throughout that feel more perfunctory than inspired, and Whannell doesn’t quite stick the landing as well as he seems to think he does, but it’s still so satisfying to see a horror film exploring ideas and issues as deftly as this one does.

Nomadland (2020) | Directed by Chloé Zhao

 5/5

Chloé Zhao’s Nomadland is an exquisite, gorgeous film about those who have fallen through the cracks in America’s hyperactive capitalist society and a quiet meditation on mortality and our connections with one another. Francis McDormand gives an astonishing performance, blending seamlessly with a cast of primarily non-traditional actors playing themselves, sharing their own stories of escaping crushing poverty or being driven to life on the road out of necessity and lack of work and opportunity back home. These monologues from people sharing their real-life experiences are some of the most moving, emotionally powerful moments in the film. Zhao matches these beats with moments of visual transcendence and wonder as her camera takes in the vast expanse of the American West, juxtaposed with the concrete images the poverty and hardship that comes with life in a van – whether that’s defecating into a bucket or the only source of heat coming from the soft blue glow of a propane stove. And while the film never pushes its message of politics, class, or the predations of capitalism, those concerns are never far from its mind. It’s a rich, masterful work from a filmmaker at the top of her craft and a performer who continues to excel in all she does. The film is deeply moving, reminding us of what it means to be connected to one another, wishing us well until we’re able to see each other “down the road” once again.