After playing in limited release since late fall, the Swedish import Let the Right One In makes its way to the shelves this week. Ranking in my top five films from last year (with Wall-E, The Dark Knight, Slumdog Millionaire, and In Bruges), this horror film did remarkably well for its distributor Magnolia, and it's already been chosen for an American remake. But please, please don't wait for 2010 for the English-language redo that is almost sure to lose the heart, mood, and beauty of the original.
Alternately chilling, hilarious, and sweet (sometimes even in the same scene), Let the Right One In centers on pre-pubescent Oskar, a boy living in a snowy Swedish suburb. Brutally bullied by his schoolmates, Oskar finds solace in a single friend: his new neighbor, Eli, who looks like a 12-year-old girl, but is actually an ageless vampire. Eli gives Oskar the strength to stand up to his classmates, making Let the Right One In an engaging coming-of-age tale that is as much a film about friendship as it is about Eli's incredible thirst for blood.
If horror films don't normally rise to the top of your queue (or even if you keep pushing them back in favor of Apatovian comedies), don't fear Let the Right One In. There's violence and blood, but the overall mood is not one of terror. It's surprisingly moving and entirely original, not at all to be confused with last fall's other teen vampire film, Twilight.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Watchmen
Like most of the other fangirls (and boys), I wanted to feel pummeled by Watchmen. Somewhat unrealistically, I had hoped that the film would leave me feeling sore from a punch to the gut, just like the graphic novel did. And while Watchmen features plenty of violence, I left surprisingly unscathed and almost unimpressed.
I say "almost" because there are some amazing moments in Zack Snyder's film, especially in the first few scenes. The moment of Comedian's (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) murder is incredible, due in part to the excellent acting by Jeffrey Dean Morgan of Grey's Anatomy fame (does the man always die?!?) as well as the brutal ballet that precedes the actual death. The opening credit sequence establishes the world of Watchmen in a gorgeous way as the photography-in-motion action interacts perfectly with the text of the title and credits. There are scenes that fit perfectly with my memory of the source material, particularly the genesis of Dr. Manhattan, aka Jon Osterman (Billy Crudup).
As a whole, the acting swayed me, with Morgan in particular creating a marvelously human (and not a little flawed) Comedian. Jackie Earle Haley, a former child actor best known for his masterful return as a pedophile in Little Children, is chilling as the vigilante hero Rorschach. Those who were freaked out by Heath Ledger's turn as the Joker have much to fear in Rorschach, and he's (kind of) one of the good guys. Haley's Little Children costar Patrick Wilson is perfectly bland as Dan Dreiberg, aka Night Owl II. That sounds like an insult, but his all-American good looks and normal-guy persona fit well with the Dreiberg character.
Watchmen is the third film from director Snyder, who cut his sharper-than-sharp teeth on gorefest (and solid remake) Dawn of the Dead and fight-filled action hit 300. And like those two films, Watchmen is visually audacious and never lacks in style. It also features more of Snyder's romance with violence, crafting each scene with such loving care that it almost contrasts with the bashing and gnashing onscreen. But it's becoming more and more clear: Snyder can't direct a scene that doesn't have any action in it. If it's just talking, watch as things fall flatter than Dr. Manhattan's abs, and wait for the incredibly loud music to cue you in to start watching again.
The soundtrack is one of Watchmen's greater failings. With the exception of the use of Bob Dylan's "The Times They Are A'Changin'" in the title sequence, each classic song from Simon & Garfunkel's "The Sounds of Silence" to KC & the Sunshine Band's "I'm Your Boogie Man" serves to take the audience out of the moment, distracting them from the action at hand.
And while Morgan, Haley, Wilson, and even Crudup are well-suited to their parts, Matthew Goode and Malin Akerman drain every scene they're in (when they have to actually act, and not just look pretty and powerful). Both of them have turned in watchable performances before--Akerman in a variety of comedies, most of them bad, and Goode especially lives up to his name when he plays against type in The Lookout--so the problem may not just lie in their acting abilities but in the casting itself.
The screenwriters behind the film do deserve credit for distilling such a complex work into such a relatively short film (it runs 2 hours and 40 minutes, but feels remarkably fast). The plot of Watchmen isn't your standard superhero film, which is certainly one of its assets. The setting is an alternate 1985, where masked heroes are a normal--if recently outlawed--part of society. Nixon is still president, thanks to a law abolishing term limits, and the Cold War is reaching a fever pitch with everyone dreading a fast-approaching nuclear war. In this tense atmosphere, aging hero the Comedian is murdered, and another "hero," Rorschach, begins to suspect that his death is part of a conspiracy to eliminate all of his former contemporaries: the superhuman Dr. Manhattan, Nite Owl II, Silk Spectre II (Akerman), and Adrian Veidt aka Ozymandias (Goode).
There are elements here of the conpiracy film, murder mystery, thriller, action, and horror, thanks to the very graphic depictions of violence. Watchmen is almost unspeakably bleak film that doesn't comment favorably on humanity. Like the residents of Gotham City in last summer's superhero hit The Dark Knight, the citizens of Watchmen's New York are getting the hero they deserve. The grimy, crime-ridden city is well-matched in its heroes, who are largely human and far from perfect, blurring the lines between good and evil.
Watchmen has earned some criticism for being too complex, but its lack of black-and-white simplicity (even watered down from the subtlety of the graphic novel) makes for fascinating, viewing. Like its heroes, Watchmen is massively flawed, but that makes it all the more interesting to watch.
I say "almost" because there are some amazing moments in Zack Snyder's film, especially in the first few scenes. The moment of Comedian's (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) murder is incredible, due in part to the excellent acting by Jeffrey Dean Morgan of Grey's Anatomy fame (does the man always die?!?) as well as the brutal ballet that precedes the actual death. The opening credit sequence establishes the world of Watchmen in a gorgeous way as the photography-in-motion action interacts perfectly with the text of the title and credits. There are scenes that fit perfectly with my memory of the source material, particularly the genesis of Dr. Manhattan, aka Jon Osterman (Billy Crudup).
As a whole, the acting swayed me, with Morgan in particular creating a marvelously human (and not a little flawed) Comedian. Jackie Earle Haley, a former child actor best known for his masterful return as a pedophile in Little Children, is chilling as the vigilante hero Rorschach. Those who were freaked out by Heath Ledger's turn as the Joker have much to fear in Rorschach, and he's (kind of) one of the good guys. Haley's Little Children costar Patrick Wilson is perfectly bland as Dan Dreiberg, aka Night Owl II. That sounds like an insult, but his all-American good looks and normal-guy persona fit well with the Dreiberg character.
Watchmen is the third film from director Snyder, who cut his sharper-than-sharp teeth on gorefest (and solid remake) Dawn of the Dead and fight-filled action hit 300. And like those two films, Watchmen is visually audacious and never lacks in style. It also features more of Snyder's romance with violence, crafting each scene with such loving care that it almost contrasts with the bashing and gnashing onscreen. But it's becoming more and more clear: Snyder can't direct a scene that doesn't have any action in it. If it's just talking, watch as things fall flatter than Dr. Manhattan's abs, and wait for the incredibly loud music to cue you in to start watching again.
The soundtrack is one of Watchmen's greater failings. With the exception of the use of Bob Dylan's "The Times They Are A'Changin'" in the title sequence, each classic song from Simon & Garfunkel's "The Sounds of Silence" to KC & the Sunshine Band's "I'm Your Boogie Man" serves to take the audience out of the moment, distracting them from the action at hand.
And while Morgan, Haley, Wilson, and even Crudup are well-suited to their parts, Matthew Goode and Malin Akerman drain every scene they're in (when they have to actually act, and not just look pretty and powerful). Both of them have turned in watchable performances before--Akerman in a variety of comedies, most of them bad, and Goode especially lives up to his name when he plays against type in The Lookout--so the problem may not just lie in their acting abilities but in the casting itself.
The screenwriters behind the film do deserve credit for distilling such a complex work into such a relatively short film (it runs 2 hours and 40 minutes, but feels remarkably fast). The plot of Watchmen isn't your standard superhero film, which is certainly one of its assets. The setting is an alternate 1985, where masked heroes are a normal--if recently outlawed--part of society. Nixon is still president, thanks to a law abolishing term limits, and the Cold War is reaching a fever pitch with everyone dreading a fast-approaching nuclear war. In this tense atmosphere, aging hero the Comedian is murdered, and another "hero," Rorschach, begins to suspect that his death is part of a conspiracy to eliminate all of his former contemporaries: the superhuman Dr. Manhattan, Nite Owl II, Silk Spectre II (Akerman), and Adrian Veidt aka Ozymandias (Goode).
There are elements here of the conpiracy film, murder mystery, thriller, action, and horror, thanks to the very graphic depictions of violence. Watchmen is almost unspeakably bleak film that doesn't comment favorably on humanity. Like the residents of Gotham City in last summer's superhero hit The Dark Knight, the citizens of Watchmen's New York are getting the hero they deserve. The grimy, crime-ridden city is well-matched in its heroes, who are largely human and far from perfect, blurring the lines between good and evil.
Watchmen has earned some criticism for being too complex, but its lack of black-and-white simplicity (even watered down from the subtlety of the graphic novel) makes for fascinating, viewing. Like its heroes, Watchmen is massively flawed, but that makes it all the more interesting to watch.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Coraline
There's no way I would have been allowed to watch Coraline in my cloistered childhood. The eerie poster alone would have sent my parents hunting for the safe, brightly colored haven of Disney, movies where parental lookalikes don't attack their children and hands stay attached to their owners. Which seems a bit boring, but that's what safety is all about. After all, I had nightmares after seeing Harry and the Hendersons, so I have to admit that perhaps my parents had some idea what they were doing. But I digress...
Based on the novel by Neil Gaiman, the stop-motion film Coraline belongs on the hallowed shelf right next to The Wizard of Oz and Spirited Away. It's a children's fantasy that would make Lewis Carroll, Terry Gilliam, and the book's author, the twisted genius Gaiman, proud. This is a gleefully, hilariously dark film that enjoys playing in the shadows, and it isn't afraid that it might send some children running for the exits.
Coraline (voiced by Dakota Fanning) is the only child of a mother and dad (Teri Hatcher and John Hodgman) who spend their days creating a gardening catalog. Buried in their work, her parents consistently tell her to go away, that is, when they're paying any attention to her at all. But Coraline has their new apartment to explore: a rickety, Victorian-style house that also is home to two retired actresses (Jennifer Saunders and Dawn French) and a Russian man (Ian McShane) who is training his mice in a circus. She also befriends a neighbor boy, but she tires of his constant chatter. When she discovers a hidden door that takes to to a shiny, new apartment that looks like hers--only better--and a new mother and father, who look like hers--only better--Coraline is tempted to stay for awhile. But her "other mother" (Hatcher again)--though a good cook who actually pays attention to Coraline--may have more sinister ideas in mind than just stuffing Coraline full of hearty food. More plot and visual details might spoil the fun, but Coraline is a jaw-dropping delight that I was more than a little sad to see fade to black.
Though the term "stop-motion animation" may spark memories of childhood viewings of Gumby, Selick's ambitious work is so refined that it could stand against any of Pixar's computer-animated offerings. The visuals are seamless, not to mention incredibly inventive and visibly painstaking in their construction. Huge amounts of effort went into the production, and it's obvious in every frame. It's not a stretch to call Coraline a work of art, but that's not to say that it isn't incredibly entertaining as well.
Based on the novel by Neil Gaiman, the stop-motion film Coraline belongs on the hallowed shelf right next to The Wizard of Oz and Spirited Away. It's a children's fantasy that would make Lewis Carroll, Terry Gilliam, and the book's author, the twisted genius Gaiman, proud. This is a gleefully, hilariously dark film that enjoys playing in the shadows, and it isn't afraid that it might send some children running for the exits.
Coraline (voiced by Dakota Fanning) is the only child of a mother and dad (Teri Hatcher and John Hodgman) who spend their days creating a gardening catalog. Buried in their work, her parents consistently tell her to go away, that is, when they're paying any attention to her at all. But Coraline has their new apartment to explore: a rickety, Victorian-style house that also is home to two retired actresses (Jennifer Saunders and Dawn French) and a Russian man (Ian McShane) who is training his mice in a circus. She also befriends a neighbor boy, but she tires of his constant chatter. When she discovers a hidden door that takes to to a shiny, new apartment that looks like hers--only better--and a new mother and father, who look like hers--only better--Coraline is tempted to stay for awhile. But her "other mother" (Hatcher again)--though a good cook who actually pays attention to Coraline--may have more sinister ideas in mind than just stuffing Coraline full of hearty food. More plot and visual details might spoil the fun, but Coraline is a jaw-dropping delight that I was more than a little sad to see fade to black.
Though the term "stop-motion animation" may spark memories of childhood viewings of Gumby, Selick's ambitious work is so refined that it could stand against any of Pixar's computer-animated offerings. The visuals are seamless, not to mention incredibly inventive and visibly painstaking in their construction. Huge amounts of effort went into the production, and it's obvious in every frame. It's not a stretch to call Coraline a work of art, but that's not to say that it isn't incredibly entertaining as well.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Confessions of a Shopaholic
In the current economic climate, it'd be easy to rail against conspicuous-consumption champion Confessions of a Shopaholic. The film attempts to be a cautionary tale against spending more than you can afford, but it spends its entire 100-minute run time hypocritically celebrating Sex and the City-level spending and fetishization of designer labels. The makers of Shopaholic should certainly feel guilty for the product they've made, but not for its message; they should regret making such a truly awful film.
Wedding Crashers' Isla Fisher stars as Rebecca Bloomwood, a girl with high heels and a low credit rating thanks to her shopping addiction. To get an in at Vogue stand-in "Alette," Becky takes a job at a financial magazine, writing a column about saving. With a debt collector trying to sniff out her designer perfume, Becky tries to keep her financial foibles a secret from the rest of the world, especially her charming new boss, Luke Brandon (Hugh Dancy). But how can she behave when shiny new toys beckon?
Shopaholic does have one thing going for it: its cast. Buoyed by the bouncy Fisher as the titular addict, this comedy features a list of recognizable faces as long as its heroine's credit card bill: Hugh Dancy, Kristin Scott Thomas, Krysten Ritter, John Goodman, Joan Cusack, Fred Armisen, Lynn Redgrave, John Lithgow, Leslie Bibb, Julie Hagerty, etc. But almost everyone's part is small, perhaps the problem of cobbling together a single script from two novels by Sophie Kinsella, Confessions of a Shopaholic and Shopaholic Takes Manhattan. The transition to film is a shaky one; the first book's London setting becomes Manhattan, and it loses a bit of its luster in the process (though perhaps this sometimes Anglophile and current New York resident finds that the move hits a bit too close to home). The worst addition? Ridiculous talking mannequins that tempt Becky into buying. They're silly, out of place, and poorly done. I expect better effects from a movie produced by Jerry Bruckheimer of all people.
Another of the film's faults is that many plot elements are glossed over, particularly Becky's romance with Luke. She gushes over a pair of Pucci boots far more than she does her potential beau, and there's the problem with calling Shopaholic a romantic comedy: there's far too little love here for that distinction. But for that matter, there's also far too little comedy, which is especially surprising given the level of talent here.
Wedding Crashers' Isla Fisher stars as Rebecca Bloomwood, a girl with high heels and a low credit rating thanks to her shopping addiction. To get an in at Vogue stand-in "Alette," Becky takes a job at a financial magazine, writing a column about saving. With a debt collector trying to sniff out her designer perfume, Becky tries to keep her financial foibles a secret from the rest of the world, especially her charming new boss, Luke Brandon (Hugh Dancy). But how can she behave when shiny new toys beckon?
Shopaholic does have one thing going for it: its cast. Buoyed by the bouncy Fisher as the titular addict, this comedy features a list of recognizable faces as long as its heroine's credit card bill: Hugh Dancy, Kristin Scott Thomas, Krysten Ritter, John Goodman, Joan Cusack, Fred Armisen, Lynn Redgrave, John Lithgow, Leslie Bibb, Julie Hagerty, etc. But almost everyone's part is small, perhaps the problem of cobbling together a single script from two novels by Sophie Kinsella, Confessions of a Shopaholic and Shopaholic Takes Manhattan. The transition to film is a shaky one; the first book's London setting becomes Manhattan, and it loses a bit of its luster in the process (though perhaps this sometimes Anglophile and current New York resident finds that the move hits a bit too close to home). The worst addition? Ridiculous talking mannequins that tempt Becky into buying. They're silly, out of place, and poorly done. I expect better effects from a movie produced by Jerry Bruckheimer of all people.
Another of the film's faults is that many plot elements are glossed over, particularly Becky's romance with Luke. She gushes over a pair of Pucci boots far more than she does her potential beau, and there's the problem with calling Shopaholic a romantic comedy: there's far too little love here for that distinction. But for that matter, there's also far too little comedy, which is especially surprising given the level of talent here.
Monday, February 16, 2009
The Class
Ably blending fact and fiction, the French drama The Class takes a real teacher and nonprofessional young actors and creates a true-to-life story. Director Laurent Cantet (Heading South) and actor/co-screenwriter Francois Begaudeau crafted the bones of the story based on Beaudeau's own novel about his experiences as a teacher. Then through workshops and improvisation with their teen actors, they chronicle life in a junior high classroom.
Begaudeau stars as Francois, a teacher in a school in a difficult part of Paris. Francois doesn't seem to be trying to have his students make intellectual leaps and bounds; instead, it's all about baby steps and just trying to survive the year with the frequently trying teens. Though there are good, hardworking members of the classroom, many of the students, especially Souleymane (Franck Keita), push Francois until he finally cracks, creating a rift in the classroom that pits him against his students.
Shot to resemble a documentary, The Class is alternately inspiring and heartbreaking. But those hoping for a French version of Dead Poets Society or Dangerous Minds will be surprised by the decidedly realistic, almost impossibly tough picture of a classroom presented here. There aren't any grand epiphanies where all the students suddenly realize the value of learning. Instead, The Class shows that even with the best of intentions, teachers sometimes can't create happy endings for all their students.
Begaudeau stars as Francois, a teacher in a school in a difficult part of Paris. Francois doesn't seem to be trying to have his students make intellectual leaps and bounds; instead, it's all about baby steps and just trying to survive the year with the frequently trying teens. Though there are good, hardworking members of the classroom, many of the students, especially Souleymane (Franck Keita), push Francois until he finally cracks, creating a rift in the classroom that pits him against his students.
Shot to resemble a documentary, The Class is alternately inspiring and heartbreaking. But those hoping for a French version of Dead Poets Society or Dangerous Minds will be surprised by the decidedly realistic, almost impossibly tough picture of a classroom presented here. There aren't any grand epiphanies where all the students suddenly realize the value of learning. Instead, The Class shows that even with the best of intentions, teachers sometimes can't create happy endings for all their students.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
He's Just Not That Into You
He's Just Not That Into You is like P.T. Anderson for morons. An elaborate flowchart could be constructed to map the ways that each character is connected, since there seems to be a link between everyone in the film (she works with him, and he's married to that girl, and she is friends with so-and-so, etc.). Director Ken Kwapis (the unwatchable License to Wed and the awesome The Office) even--coincidentally--casts Anderson favorite Luis Guzman in a small role, which is undoubtedly the highlight of the film. But that's where the similarities end. Somehow HJNTIY isn't even an especially bad film, though it sure is a dumb one.
Based on a self-help book (which was based on an episode of Sex and the City), this romantic comedy boasts a ridiculous number of stars: Jennifer Connelly, Jennifer Aniston, Ben Affleck, Bradley Cooper, Ginnifer Goodwin, Justin Long, Drew Barrymore, Kevin Connolly, Scarlett Johansson, and, umm, Kris Kristofferson. Each of the major characters is experiencing a romantic crisis: one is tempted to cheat, another wants to marry her long-time boyfriend, while one girl (the adorable Goodwin) just wants to find the one, even if she has to resort to cringe-inducing tactics. Every situation is a cliche (though that does seem to be part of the point), and everything wraps up exactly how we might guess it will. There are some pleasant surprises in the dialogue, but the cast is far better than the material here. There were moments where I was watching Jennifer Connelly on screen, thinking, "This poor woman has won an Oscar."
Ultimately, HJNTIY offers no wisdom on the state of male and female relationships, which considering its source material seems at once incredibly ironic and entirely appropriate. It tries to say something transcendent about love, but it says nothing other than, "Women are stupid. Especially when it comes to relationships." Each of the women in the film as as though they're entirely brainless when there's a man involved. I'm not saying that it's entirely unrealistic, but my complaint is that there doesn't seem to be any alternative. There's not a woman who seems to keep her head here. The worst thing? Women in my theater were eating it all up like a post-break-up pint of Ben and Jerry's.
Based on a self-help book (which was based on an episode of Sex and the City), this romantic comedy boasts a ridiculous number of stars: Jennifer Connelly, Jennifer Aniston, Ben Affleck, Bradley Cooper, Ginnifer Goodwin, Justin Long, Drew Barrymore, Kevin Connolly, Scarlett Johansson, and, umm, Kris Kristofferson. Each of the major characters is experiencing a romantic crisis: one is tempted to cheat, another wants to marry her long-time boyfriend, while one girl (the adorable Goodwin) just wants to find the one, even if she has to resort to cringe-inducing tactics. Every situation is a cliche (though that does seem to be part of the point), and everything wraps up exactly how we might guess it will. There are some pleasant surprises in the dialogue, but the cast is far better than the material here. There were moments where I was watching Jennifer Connelly on screen, thinking, "This poor woman has won an Oscar."
Ultimately, HJNTIY offers no wisdom on the state of male and female relationships, which considering its source material seems at once incredibly ironic and entirely appropriate. It tries to say something transcendent about love, but it says nothing other than, "Women are stupid. Especially when it comes to relationships." Each of the women in the film as as though they're entirely brainless when there's a man involved. I'm not saying that it's entirely unrealistic, but my complaint is that there doesn't seem to be any alternative. There's not a woman who seems to keep her head here. The worst thing? Women in my theater were eating it all up like a post-break-up pint of Ben and Jerry's.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Medicine for Melancholy
It's hard to talk about Barry Jenkins's Medicine for Melancholy without talking about race. The subject pervades the film from start to finish, mostly in its dialogue. But to boil Medicine for Melancholy down to simply "the black indie film" does the film more than a bit of disservice. Jenkins, his small cast--basically just The Daily Show's Wyatt Cenac and newcomer Tracey Heggins--and crew have crafted a fine, dialogue-based film that should shame the proponents of the mumblecore mini-movement. Those films are supposedly about talking, but there's nothing that's really said.
Medicine for Melancholy begins with Mycah (Cenac) and 'Jo (Heggins) waking up together after an alcohol-fueled night in a San Francisco apartment. Though 'Jo is content to never know her bed partner's name, Mycah prods the reluctant woman into breakfast, then a trip to a museum, and so on. Awkward silences begin to move into a spirited push and pull, though 'Jo is frequently ready to bolt. But a warm chemistry pervades their interactions, even as their differences--Mycah is consumed by issues of race, while 'Jo dwells less on this aspect of her identity--become ever more obvious.
Medicine for Melancholy has the feel of a Before Sunrise or a In Search of a Midnight Kiss; there's unease and sweetness and reality in the way that Mycah and 'Jo relate, and it's tough for the audience not to root for them to end up together. But while most similar films focus solely on the will-they-or-won't-they aspect of the central pair, Medicine for Melancholy is about more than just this could-be couple. Race figures prominently, of course, but so do issues of class and housing. One scene stands out: the director captured the conversation between city residents at a housing rights forum. At first, this moment seems out of place, but the dialogue here fits nicely with the idea that San Francisco itself is a character in the film, and one that's in danger of being irrevocably changed as a result of gentrification.
Jenkins's film also distinguishes itself with its look. Other films that are this small frequently sacrifice style for dialogue, but Medicine for Melancholy is gorgeously shot. D.P. James Laxton earned a nod at the Spirit Awards for his cinematography, and he and the director desaturated the film in post-production, giving it a perfectly muted look that separates this from other warmly hued films about the West Coast City. Even at first glance, Medicine for Melancholy isn't quite like other films in its subgenre, and a closer look reveals that Jenkins has set his film apart even further with its authentic-seeming dialogue that feels like you're overhearing two intelligent people who are just discovering each other.
Medicine for Melancholy begins with Mycah (Cenac) and 'Jo (Heggins) waking up together after an alcohol-fueled night in a San Francisco apartment. Though 'Jo is content to never know her bed partner's name, Mycah prods the reluctant woman into breakfast, then a trip to a museum, and so on. Awkward silences begin to move into a spirited push and pull, though 'Jo is frequently ready to bolt. But a warm chemistry pervades their interactions, even as their differences--Mycah is consumed by issues of race, while 'Jo dwells less on this aspect of her identity--become ever more obvious.
Medicine for Melancholy has the feel of a Before Sunrise or a In Search of a Midnight Kiss; there's unease and sweetness and reality in the way that Mycah and 'Jo relate, and it's tough for the audience not to root for them to end up together. But while most similar films focus solely on the will-they-or-won't-they aspect of the central pair, Medicine for Melancholy is about more than just this could-be couple. Race figures prominently, of course, but so do issues of class and housing. One scene stands out: the director captured the conversation between city residents at a housing rights forum. At first, this moment seems out of place, but the dialogue here fits nicely with the idea that San Francisco itself is a character in the film, and one that's in danger of being irrevocably changed as a result of gentrification.
Jenkins's film also distinguishes itself with its look. Other films that are this small frequently sacrifice style for dialogue, but Medicine for Melancholy is gorgeously shot. D.P. James Laxton earned a nod at the Spirit Awards for his cinematography, and he and the director desaturated the film in post-production, giving it a perfectly muted look that separates this from other warmly hued films about the West Coast City. Even at first glance, Medicine for Melancholy isn't quite like other films in its subgenre, and a closer look reveals that Jenkins has set his film apart even further with its authentic-seeming dialogue that feels like you're overhearing two intelligent people who are just discovering each other.
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