The Machine That Kills Bad People (1952) | Directed by Roberto Rossellini

 3.5/5

Roberto Rossellini’s The Machine That Kills Bad People is way more fun than I expected it to be. A parable about the selfishness and corruption of humanity – and the perils of self-righteousness, the blending of fantastical elements with some of Rossellini’s neorealist approaches to filmmaking creates a charming and delightful bit of magical realism. The practical effects are a real treat here, and the ways in which our protagonists goes about ridding his small town of “bad people” is absurd and hilarious. The final moments, while they might cause some to conclude that the film is just a trifle, are the perfect button to wrap up this little fable of greed and zealotry. It may not be one of Rossellini’s masterpieces, but it is exceedingly charming.

Defending Your Life (1991) | Directed by Albert Brooks

 4.5/5

Albert Brooks’s Defending Your Life is such a lovely and charming film. I’m a sucker for after-life comedies, and I was absolutely enthralled by this one from beginning to end. I loved the way Brooks takes the standard character he plays – usually the smartest and sharpest character in the room – and removes some of the bite to make him a person in search of, not only constant validation from others, but also, the path of least resistance in every aspect of his life. The structure is so precise, allowing us to follow him along on his journey and be with him in his corner so that by the time we see how destructive his habits really are, we’ve grown to truly care for him and root for his growth. Meryl Streep is fantastic – in the hands of a lesser performer (and a lesser writer/directer), her character would only serve as a function of the plot. But here, she’s a fully inhabited character that is essential for us to care about Brooks’s journey to self-discovery. It’s a truly beautiful film – sharp without ever becoming acerbic, hopeful without ever becoming cloying. A truly lovely and astonishing work.

Where to Watch

Half a Loaf of Kung Fu (1978) | Directed by Chen Chi-hwa

 3.5/5

Chen Chi-hwa’s Half a Loaf of Kung Fu is an effortlessly charming, delightfully silly martial arts spoof that is a joy to watch from beginning to end. Even in this early outing, Jackie Chan’s skills as both comedian and physical performer are unparalleled. As a hapless (and even hopeless) student of kung fu, you can still see the discipline and grace in Chan’s pratfalls and physical comedy. The fact that all the gags and bits are shoehorned into a somewhat generic narrative is beside the point. It never takes itself too seriously and constantly undercuts any pomposity that might accidentally sneak in. The final fight sequence is glorious, with one incredible moment after another that continues to delight and astonish. These early Jackie Chan films may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but if you’re willing to give yourself over to stylistic excess and over-the-top comedy, they are so much fun to watch.

Where to Watch

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.

Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020) | Directed by Cathy Yan

 4.5/5

Cathy Yan’s Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) is a gleefully anarchic treat with some of the most inventively staged action sequences I’ve seen in a comic book film. Yan has complete mastery over the tonal shifts that would be fatal in a lesser filmmaker’s hands – playing into and subverting comic book tropes with reckless abandon. The range of narrative devices the film plays with – from Margot Robbie’s pitch-perfect turn as our unreliable narrator, to the contrasting genre styles of the supporting casts’ narrative arcs, to the delightfully absurd digressions and shifting timelines and running gags. The performers are all fantastic, and it’s nice to have a female-led comic book film in which the camera doesn’t leer at our protagonists for the entire running time. Like Yan’s first feature, the brilliant Dead Pigs, Birds of Prey is ultimately about the question of whether or not everyone is selfishly out for themselves, or whether we can ever learn to trust one another. But like Dead Pigs, it’s a film that is infused with so much buoyancy and joy from beginning to end.

Where to Watch

The Lovebirds (2020) | Directed by Michael Showalter

 3/5

Michael Showalter’s The Lovebirds is fine – a perfectly innocuous film about a couple learning that, maybe, the rough edges in their relationship are actually what makes them stronger. And it’s all wrapped up in the trappings of a ‘90s action-comedy – a genre for which I have a particular weakness. The narrative holds together well enough for the genre, and I especially like some of the ways they undercut their own plot mechanics and reveal the absurdity of the situation. But Showalter isn’t particularly adept at weaving together the action and mystery elements with the romantic comedy elements. The jarring tonal shifts leaves the entire enterprise weighed down by a slough of mediocrity. And as charming as Issa Rae and Kumail Nanjiani can be – as clever as their dialogue can be from time to time – they spend so much of their energy improvising in muddled and formless scenes, more interested in finding the next zinger than they are in telling a coherent story or giving us fully developed characters. The film isn’t terrible – it’s mildly diverting and fun. But with a cast and filmmaking team this talented, it should have been so much better.

Bill & Ted Face the Music (2020) | Directed by Dean Parisot

 4.5/5

Dean Parisot’s Bill & Ted Face the Music is a film that could have simply coasted along on Gen-X nostalgia to make a little extra money, and yet, it is so much better and more emotionally satisfying than I ever expected it to be. Yes, the time and space shenanigans are convoluted and make no sense if you’re trying to keep track of cause and effect and alternate timelines. But this is a Bill & Ted movie. You’re not here for a physics less. And sure, the pacing feels a little disjointed and breathless at times. But they manage to make breathlessness work in their favor as the film counts down the minutes until the end of the world. The film’s real strength lies in the juxtaposition of its dual narratives – one in which Bill and Ted run into darker and darker versions of themselves, the other in which their daughters try to help out by assembling the greatest band of all time (literally). The film’s lighthearted exploration of the unrealistic expectations we put on ourselves as artists to create masterpieces with each and every work is especially poignant. It’s a charming, generous film that moved me, brought me to tears, and took me completely by surprise.

Where to Watch

Tesla (2020) | Directed by Michael Almereyda

 4.5/5

Michael Almereyda’s Tesla is an ethereal, idiosyncratic, and otherworldly biopic that explores the life and work – and obsessions – of Nikola Tesla. While the techniques Almereyda employs here might not necessarily be a great fit for every biopic, there is something invigorating about the ways he takes such a usually dry and stale genre and breathes new life into it through such highly theatrical, anachronistic, and metafictional touches. The use of laptops and digital projectors by an onscreen narrator who both tells the story and fact-checks any bits of fictionalization that creep in are lovely touches. And taking an otherwise minor character in Tesla’s life story and giving her the reigns (along with making sure we know about her own hopes and dreams) keeps the film from turning into the rote “great man” narrative that can be so tiresome. Almereyda’s use of rear projection with period photographs for many of the sets gives the film its ethereal quality – and the central performances by Ethan Hawke and Kyle MacLachlan are really stunning. While most Tesla biopics make Edison an unredeemable villain, MacLachlan brings a sadness to the role the arouses our empathy, even as we see his machinations for what they are. And there’s nothing quite like watching Ethan Hawke as Nikola Tesla singing a karaoke version of “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” against a neon pink background while staring directly into the camera. All of these stunning experimental elements work together to highlight Tesla’s inability to connect with others and and his desire to take the visions of the future he saw in his head and make them real.

Troop Zero (2019) | Directed by Bert and Bertie

 3.5/5

Bert and Bertie’s Troop Zero is a surprisingly moving and unexpectedly sweet film tinged with loss, grief, and the desire for community and connection. It’s always a delight to see a family film that challenges the stereotypical norms of gender, class, and race and encourages children toward greater empathy and tolerance of those don’t fit into society’s rigid boxes of conformity. While the film has your standard quirky, indie-comedy visual vocabulary, there are some lovely and unexpected narrative beats that keep it continually engaging. The performers are all genuinely charming, and you can’t really go wrong with Viola Davis. It’s a film that especially feels resonant during this time of distancing and tech-mediated connection, as we all proclaim “I’m here!” to one another along with the film’s lovable troop of misfits and outcasts.

An American Pickle (2020) | Directed by Brandon Trost

 2/5

Brandon Trost’s An American Pickel is a comedy with so much promise that is squandered on a narrative that never fully commits to any of the 15 different directions it tries to take and stumbles so terribly in the final act that there’s no possibility for it to recover. While it hits all the beats of a traditional Seth Rogan bromance, the connective tissue that gets us from beat to beat is missing, leaving the entire experience unsatisfying. And then there are these feints into Being There territory – the moments they almost pull off a great satire on American politics and what it means to confront the ugliness of American history – but the filmmakers are never willing to commit to a theme or an idea and see it through to the end. The final attempt at pathos and heart-tugging is manipulative, cloying, and unearned – ripping us out of the story they’ve been trying to tell. Yes, there are a few sweet moments and bits of humor scattered throughout, but it’s a deeply flawed film that could had the potential to be so much more.