A BIG BOLD BEAUTIFUL JOURNEY (2025)

Some doors bring you to your past. Some doors lead you to your future. And some doors change everything. In this whimsical adventure, Sarah and David meet at a wedding and, through an unexpected twist, embark on a magical journey that allows them to revisit pivotal moments from their lives, reflect on the present, and perhaps reshape their futures.

A Big Bold Beautiful Journey is a film that certainly lives up to part of its title: it is undeniably beautiful. Directed by Kogonada, whose meticulous visual style has been admired in earlier work, and written by Seth Reiss, the film offers a strikingly crafted aesthetic and a cast of actors capable of great performances. Colin Farrell, Margot Robbie, and Phoebe Waller-Bridge lend their star power, while Benjamin Loeb’s cinematography creates imagery that is often stunning. Yet despite these strengths, the film struggles to provide a story or characters that feel truly alive. What results is a film that looks distinctive and occasionally charms, but ultimately leaves little to hold onto.

The story follows David (Colin Farrell) and Sarah (Margot Robbie), two strangers who cross paths at a wedding. When their plans are disrupted by car trouble, they end up at a surreal car rental agency staffed by eccentric employees (Kevin Kline and Phoebe Waller-Bridge). Here, they are given a vehicle with a mysterious GPS that directs them to unexpected destinations. Waller-Bridge’s comedic flair and Kline’s dry eccentricity hint at an offbeat tone that could have carried the film in unexpected directions.

At each stop, they find magical doors that lead them back into significant moments from their pasts; childhood memories, old relationships, and unresolved regrets. The idea of revisiting one’s personal history through literal doorways is immediately evocative, a metaphor ripe with dramatic and emotional potential. In theory, it is an imaginative way to explore how past experiences shape the way people love, commit, and connect.

The film begins with promise. The rental agency scenes are quirky and entertaining, setting up the sense that we might be in for a gently surreal romantic comedy.  However, once David and Sarah’s journey begins, the tone becomes uneven. The narrative drifts between lighthearted comedy, sentimental romance, and heavy-handed drama without ever finding balance. Instead of a gradual blending of moods, the film jolts from one register to another, leaving individual scenes underpowered. What could have been whimsical feels contrived, and what could have been poignant feels overstated.

A central weakness lies in the characters themselves. David is portrayed as a lonely man still longing for connection, while Sarah is sketched as a charming yet commitment-averse beauty. Their reluctance to open up to one another forms the heart of the story. Yet these traits remain surface-level.

The revelations provided by the magical doors are too simplistic to resonate. Sarah’s fear of love is reduced to the trauma of losing her mother and an abusive father. David’s trouble with relationships is explained away as his preference for the chase rather than true intimacy. These explanations are presented as defining psychological truths, but they feel thin; neatly packaged rather than authentically human.

The lack of depth affects the central romance. Farrell and Robbie are both strong actors, but the script does little to support them. Their chemistry sparks occasionally, but it rarely feels convincing. Robbie shoulders much of the emotional work, while Farrell’s David comes across as underwritten, and the final film climax feel inorganic and unearned. Without fully realised characters, it becomes difficult for the audience to care about whether the two end up together.

The film’s structure compounds the problem. Rather than allowing viewers to uncover meaning alongside the characters, the screenplay insists on spelling everything out. Each stop on the journey is explained, each revelation clearly labelled. Characters narrate what they are seeing and feeling, even when the images already make this plain. They tell the audience who they should feel, and it is abundantly clear when those feelings don't match up.

This redundancy slows the pacing and undercuts any sense of discovery. The best films invite their audience to interpret and connect the dots, but A Big Bold Beautiful Journey appears reluctant to trust viewers with that freedom. As a result, much of the story feels padded and predictable. By the time the film reaches its final act, the destination has long been obvious.

It is worth emphasising, however, that the film is visually accomplished. Kogonada’s precise framing and Benjamin Loeb’s cinematography create images that are at times breathtaking. The sets have a theatrical quality, and the surreal conceit of magical doors is realised with polish. For those who appreciate visual craft, there is much to admire here.

Strength of the visuals unfortunately highlights the weakness of the storytelling. The compositions may be beautiful, but when paired with dialogue that is stilted or expository, they lose their power. Rather than deepening the film, the imagery often feels ornamental; lovely to look at, but not supported by the emotional content required to make it meaningful.

Among the cast, the supporting roles provide the most entertainment. Waller-Bridge’s offbeat performance as the car rental clerk injects humour that feels genuinely playful. Kevin Kline’s understated mechanic adds warmth and eccentricity. These smaller moments suggest what the film could have been if it had leaned more confidently into its whimsical side.

By its conclusion, A Big Bold Beautiful Journey resembles less a sweeping romantic odyssey than a lightly sketched therapy session. The characters confront their baggage, but in ways that feel formulaic and emotionally muted. The film gestures at profundity, but rarely achieves it.

There are still moments to appreciate; a few poignant flashbacks, the occasional laugh, and striking visual flourishes. For some viewers, particularly those drawn to gentle romances or imaginative premises, the film will offer pleasures. But for many, it will feel like a missed opportunity; a beautiful shell without enough inside to make it memorable.

A Big Bold Beautiful Journey is in NZ cinemas from September 18, 2025
Find your nearest screening here

Review written by Alex Moulton

TOGETHER (2025)

Years into their relationship, Tim and Millie find themselves at a crossroads as they move to the country. With tensions already flaring, an encounter with an unnatural force threatens to corrupt their lives, their love and their flesh.

Michael Shanks’ new film Together offers a chilling yet surprisingly tender look at the gradual breakdown of a relationship. It blends psychological drama and body horror in a way that feels both uncomfortable and deeply recognisable. Anchored by real-life couple Dave Franco and Alison Brie, the film tells the story of two long-term partners navigating both emotional stagnation and supernatural consequences. On the surface, it’s about a couple whose bodies start to fuse together after a strange encounter in a rural cave. But underneath, it’s an exploration of what happens when two people stay together not out of love, but out of habit and dependency.

Tim and Millie have been together for around a decade. That sort of time brings with it history, shared memories, and deep emotional ties. But it also brings a slow evolution, sometimes in different directions. At the beginning of the film, they’re making a big life change, moving from the city to a small town so Millie can take up a teaching job. Millie is thoughtful and grounded, while Tim is a drifting musician still chasing a dream that never quite materialised. He doesn't drive, doesn’t have much of a plan, and relies heavily on Millie to get to and from his gigs. It's not just inconvenient; it's symbolic of the imbalance between them.

Millie, ever patient, is growing weary. It’s clear she cares for Tim, but her energy is running out. Their communication is brittle and half-hearted, and at times they appear more like cohabitants than romantic partners. This shift in tone is felt right from their awkward farewell party, where Millie proposes to Tim in front of their friends. He reacts poorly, frozen with discomfort, a moment that casts a long shadow over the rest of the film.

What follows is a slow, uncomfortable spiral into something far more disturbing. During a hike, Tim drinks from a strange pool of water in a dark cave. Rather than falling ill, he begins to experience horrifying changes. Without clear explanation, his body starts seeking union with Millie’s. Shanks avoids over-explaining the supernatural elements, leaving the audience to interpret the cave and its curse as metaphors rather than concrete threats. What’s more important is what these transformations reveal about the characters and their bond. The body horror is not just for spectacle. It visualises the creeping, unspoken co-dependence that has quietly taken root between them.

The physical merging of Tim and Millie is grotesque and intimate in equal measure. It reflects the way long-term relationships can blur personal boundaries. When two people are together for so long, it can become difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins. That blurring, in Together, becomes literal. The horror here is not just in the loss of bodily autonomy, but in the realisation that neither Tim nor Millie seems able to function without the other.

Shanks maintains a steady tone throughout the film, favouring slow-burn tension over big shocks. There are only a few moments of truly graphic horror, and many of the more disturbing transformations are kept just out of view. This may frustrate fans of high-intensity body horror, but it serves the story’s emotional core. What’s truly frightening isn’t the gore, but the quiet collapse of a once-loving relationship.

The performances carry much of the emotional weight. Brie captures Millie’s exhaustion and frustration with nuance, showing a woman trying to stay supportive even as she doubts her choices. Franco brings depth to Tim, whose flaws are evident but understandable. His lack of ambition and direction are not just personal failings but signs of unresolved grief and low self-worth. Together, they create a dynamic that feels both deeply familiar and increasingly unsettling. They don’t hate each other. In fact, there’s still affection there. But they’re clearly no longer in sync, and neither of them knows what to do about it.

The film draws attention to shifting gender roles in subtle ways. Millie is the provider, emotionally and financially, while Tim stays at home and drifts. Their conversations about intimacy and support reverse the expected norms. Millie asks for physical connection while Tim looks for emotional reassurance. These switches are not presented as flaws but as symptoms of a relationship that has been quietly breaking under pressure.

The horror elements, supported by a mix of practical and digital effects, are handled with surprising restraint given the subject matter. Credit goes to the effects team for creating believable moments of body transformation without overwhelming the emotional beats. The rural setting is used well, giving a sense of isolation that mirrors the characters’ emotional distance from their old lives; and from each other.

Where the film falters is in its final act. After spending most of its runtime establishing atmosphere and emotional depth, the film tries to deliver a more traditional conclusion. It attempts to explain the supernatural elements in a straightforward way, resolving questions that might have been better left ambiguous. The ending also leans into familiar genre tropes, which feels out of step with the more grounded, psychological tone of the earlier scenes. While it doesn’t ruin the film, it does soften its impact.

Still, Together remains a compelling entry into the body horror genre because it uses its supernatural premise to say something very real. It is about how relationships change over time, and how people often stay together not because of love, but because of fear; fear of change, fear of loneliness, or fear of failure. These are uncomfortable truths, and Shanks presents them with honesty and care.

The choice to focus on emotional horror over shock value makes the film feel more grounded, even when things get bizarre. It encourages viewers to reflect on their own relationships and how easy it is to become stuck in routines that no longer serve anyone. By the time the credits roll, the horror of the story is not just in the grotesque merging of flesh, but in the idea that love alone may not be enough to hold two people together.

Together is not a perfect film, but it is a thoughtful and quietly disturbing one. It speaks to anyone who has felt trapped in a relationship that once brought joy but now brings confusion. With strong performances and a clear thematic vision, it leaves a lasting impression; not because of what you see, but because of what you feel.

Together will be released in NZ cinemas from July 31, 2025

Review written by Alex Moulton

QUEER (2024)

In 1950s Mexico City, an American immigrant in his late forties leads a solitary life amidst a small American community. However, the arrival of a young student stirs the man into finally establishing a meaningful connection with someone.

Luca Guadagnino’s Queer is an evocative yet uncertain adaptation of William S. Burroughs’ semi-autobiographical novel. It is a film that captures the raw emotions and alienation at the heart of its source material but struggles with cohesion, often feeling like a series of fragmented vignettes rather than a fully formed narrative. While it boasts stunning cinematography, a deeply immersive atmosphere, and a striking lead performance from Daniel Craig, Queer ultimately falls into an ambiguous space—partly an exploration of desire and addiction, partly a surreal fever dream, but never quite a satisfying whole.

Set in post-war Mexico City, Queer follows William Lee (Daniel Craig), a self-destructive expatriate wrestling with addiction, isolation, and an unreciprocated obsession with the enigmatic Allerton (Drew Starkey). Lee, a stand-in for Burroughs himself, is a character defined by yearning—an outsider looking in, unable to bridge the emotional gap between himself and the object of his affections. Guadagnino excels in capturing this alienation, making the city feel at once vibrant and suffocating, a backdrop for Lee’s spiraling descent into self-loathing and delusion.

However, the film struggles to give this longing a clear emotional arc. Lee’s infatuation with Allerton is evident, but the film keeps their dynamic at arm’s length, rarely allowing for the deeper psychological exploration that might have elevated their interactions beyond surface-level tension. Instead, Queer drifts between scenes of desire, rejection, and hazy self-destruction, painting a compelling mood but never fully engaging with the deeper existential questions raised by Burroughs’ writing.

Craig’s portrayal of Lee is a departure from his usual roles, showcasing a raw, stripped-down performance that anchors the film. He fully embodies Lee’s instability, delivering a character who is both pathetic and painfully relatable. His erratic energy, shifting between desperate charm and simmering rage, makes him an engrossing presence, even when the script doesn’t quite know what to do with him.

Drew Starkey’s Allerton, however, remains something of an enigma. The film, like the novel, presents him more as an idea than a fully developed character—an object of obsession rather than a person in his own right. This lack of depth makes it difficult to fully invest in the relationship at the story’s core. While this may be intentional, highlighting the asymmetry of their connection, it also leaves much of the film feeling emotionally hollow.

One of Queer’s greatest strengths is its visual and atmospheric richness. Guadagnino, alongside cinematographer Sayombhu Mukdeeprom, crafts a world that is both dreamlike and tactile. The film’s Mexico City is a landscape of smoke-filled bars, sun-drenched streets, and dimly lit rooms steeped in loneliness. Every frame is meticulously composed, evoking a sense of timelessness that enhances the film’s melancholic tone.

However, while Queer is visually captivating, its storytelling is less assured. Guadagnino has never been a director particularly concerned with traditional narrative structures, but here, the lack of cohesion feels more like an oversight than an artistic choice. The film drifts between moments of surrealism and grounded drama, sometimes to great effect, but often at the expense of narrative clarity. The final act, in particular, leans into abstraction in a way that feels less like an intentional crescendo and more like an unraveling of the story’s already tenuous structure.

Queer resists conventional storytelling. Guadagnino seems caught between honoring the fragmented nature of the source material and trying to shape it into something more traditionally cinematic. The result is a film that often feels unsure of itself—committed to Burroughs’ themes but hesitant to fully embrace his chaotic, free-associative style. Queer occupies an in-between space. It captures the mood and essence of Burroughs’ world but never fully commits to either realism or abstraction. This hesitancy makes the film feel oddly restrained, as if it is holding back from diving into the true depths of its protagonist’s psyche.

The film’s sound design and score further enhance its hypnotic, immersive quality. Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross provide a haunting soundtrack that oscillates between jazz-infused melancholy and eerie electronic pulses, underscoring the film’s shifting tones. The use of ambient noise—whispered conversations, the hum of neon signs, the distant echoes of the city—adds to the sense of isolation and disorientation that permeates the film.

Yet, while the film’s sonic landscape is beautifully crafted, it sometimes feels more effective at setting a mood than driving the story forward. Like much of Queer, the music and sound design contribute to an overall aesthetic experience rather than a tightly woven narrative.

Queer is an undeniably beautiful and emotionally raw film, but it remains frustratingly elusive in its storytelling. Guadagnino has crafted a visually stunning meditation on alienation, longing, and self-destruction, yet the film never quite finds its footing in terms of narrative clarity. Daniel Craig delivers one of his most vulnerable performances, elevating the film even when the script falters. However, the lack of a strong emotional arc and the fragmented nature of the storytelling prevent Queer from being as powerful as it could have been.

For those willing to embrace its dreamlike pacing and elliptical structure, Queer offers a haunting, melancholic experience. But for those looking for a film that fully engages with Burroughs’ themes in a cohesive and impactful way, it may feel like an incomplete exploration—compelling in moments but ultimately uncertain of how to translate its source material’s complexity into cinematic form.

Queer is coming to Aotearoa NZ cinemas April 3, 2025

Runtime: 136 minutes
Classification: TBC

HEART EYES (2025)

For the past several years, the "Heart Eyes Killer" has wreaked havoc on Valentine's Day by stalking and murdering romantic couples. This Valentine's Day, no couple is safe.

Heart Eyes, directed by Josh Ruben and written by Phillip Murphy, Christopher Landon, and Michael Kennedy, dares to do something different. It attempts to mix the light-hearted charm of a romantic comedy with the blood-soaked thrills of a slasher film. Starring Alex Walker, Lauren O'Hara, and Latham Gaines, this Valentine’s Day horror-romcom hybrid aims to appeal to both lovers of romance and fans of horror. However, while it shows flashes of creativity and entertainment, it ultimately struggles to fully engage with either genre, leaving audiences with an uneven but amusing watch.

The story revolves around a serial killer known as “Heart Eyes” who terrorises couples each year on February 14th. Hot on his trail are detectives Jeanette Shaw (Jordana Brewster) and Hobbs (Devon Sawa), who are racing against time to catch the maniac before more lovers fall victim. Heart Eyes sets his sights on Ally (Olivia Holt), a pitch designer nursing a broken heart, and Jay (Mason Gooding), a charismatic freelancer brought in to rescue her failing campaign. Their awkward yet charming meet-cute is rudely interrupted by the arrival of the killer, throwing them into a frantic fight for survival.

As they navigate one deadly encounter after another, their flirtatious banter continues to bubble beneath the surface. It’s a clever attempt at maintaining romantic comedy beats within the high-stakes tension of a slasher film. However, the film’s focus on Ally and Jay leaves little room for the classic “whodunnit” suspense that often defines a good slasher. With a limited pool of suspects, the mystery surrounding Heart Eyes’ identity fails to gain any real traction.

Heart Eyes sets out to be both a romantic comedy and a slasher film, but it struggles to find the right balance. On one hand, it leans heavily into the familiar beats of rom-coms—embarrassing meet-cutes, playful banter, and even a quirky wardrobe montage. These moments work well, largely thanks to the chemistry between Holt and Gooding. Holt’s portrayal of Ally brings a likeable, plucky charm, while Gooding’s Jay is effortlessly charismatic. Their blossoming romance is believable and genuinely fun to watch, anchoring the movie with a light-hearted, feel-good energy.

On the other hand, the horror elements often fall flat. While the film doesn’t shy away from bloodshed, it doesn’t quite deliver the tension or fear expected from a slasher. Heart Eyes himself has a memorable design—a twisted, Voodoo doll-inspired mask that is both creepy and playful. Yet, his presence never feels truly menacing. The kills are gory but lack impact, mainly because the story is so focused on the two leads that the supporting characters feel disposable. As a result, Heart Eyes is left without any truly shocking or emotional kills, reducing his threat level significantly.

This uneven approach also extends to the overall tone of the movie. The light, humorous dialogue between Ally and Jay frequently undercuts any sense of peril, which may leave horror fans disappointed. In one scene, they narrowly escape Heart Eyes only to resume their flirtatious banter moments later. It’s entertaining, but it makes the horror feel like an afterthought.

While Holt and Gooding carry the film with their charm, some of the supporting cast are unfortunately underutilised. Devon Sawa’s Detective Hobbs, in particular, feels like a missed opportunity. Introduced as a seasoned investigator on the trail of Heart Eyes, his character never gets the depth or screen time needed to make a significant impact. Similarly, the whodunnit element is brushed aside too quickly, denying the audience the fun of trying to piece together the killer’s identity.

The film also misses the chance to fully explore its setting. It cleverly uses Valentine’s Day—a holiday ripe with romantic clichés and heightened emotions—as a backdrop, but it doesn’t push the concept far enough. Unlike other Valentine’s Day slashers like My Bloody Valentine, which leaned heavily into the holiday’s iconography, Heart Eyes only scratches the surface. A funfair scene, for example, feels disappointingly underutilised, relying on standard horror tropes like dark corners and jump scares rather than playing with the setting’s romantic potential.

Heart Eyes is at its best when it leans into the absurdity of its premise. The opening sequence is a standout—a brutal yet darkly funny take on influencer culture that sets the tone for a film unafraid to poke fun at itself. It’s a shame the movie never quite reaches that same level of inventiveness again. Most of the horror sequences are confined to a single location or rely on a repetitive weapon choice, which limits the creativity of the set pieces.

The film’s attempt to parody both rom-coms and slashers is admirable but uneven. It often feels more like an homage to genre classics rather than a fresh take. For example, it frames scenes just like a traditional romantic comedy—complete with the classic airport chase—but then abruptly shifts to horror with bloody deaths and brutal chases. This sharp contrast is jarring, and while it’s meant to be playful, it sometimes comes across as disjointed.

Heart Eyes deserves credit for trying something new. Merging romantic comedy with slasher horror is no easy task, and it’s rare to see a film attempt this blend so boldly. While it doesn’t always succeed in creating a cohesive experience, it’s still entertaining enough to keep audiences engaged. The charming performances from Holt and Gooding, combined with Josh Ruben’s playful direction, make for an enjoyable, if flawed, Valentine’s date night option.

Ultimately, Heart Eyes is a film caught between two genres, never fully committing to either. It has the heart of a romantic comedy but the blood of a slasher, and while this ambitious experiment doesn’t always hit the mark, it offers a fun and occasionally thrilling ride. For those looking for a unique twist on Valentine’s Day viewing, Heart Eyes is worth a watch—just don’t expect it to deliver fully on either the romance or the horror.

Heart Eyes was released in NZ cinemas on February 13, 2025

THE BEAST (2023) [NZIFF]

As artificial intelligence reigns, emotions have become a threat; to get rid of it, Gabrielle must purify her DNA by diving back into her past lives; she finds a great love there as well as a bad feeling.

Bertrand Bonello’s The Beast is a complex and highly stylized sci-fi melodrama-romantic-horror film that delves into themes of existential dread, love, and fear. Inspired by Henry James’s 1903 novella The Beast in the Jungle, the film explores the lives defined by the fear of an ever-looming catastrophe. 

The Beast follows Gabrielle (Léa Seydoux) as she engages in a process of biological purification in 2044 Paris, allowing her to revisit past lives. The narrative oscillates between three timelines: Paris in 1910, Los Angeles in the present, and Paris in 2044. In each era, Gabrielle and Louis (George MacKay) are lovers who can never fully reconnect, their interactions pervaded by a sense of doom and existential dread.

The 1910 episode is a highly stylized period piece shot in 35mm, capturing the essence of a historical drama. Here, Gabrielle is a frustrated pianist and a creature of the salon, living in a time of technological threats and natural disasters, including the famous floods that temporarily turned Paris into a Venice-like city. The present timeline, portrayed in a nearly square format, introduces Gabrielle as an exploited actress in Los Angeles, where modern forms of male wickedness, such as incel culture, come into play. The futuristic Paris of 2044 is depicted with a protracted tempo, creating an atmosphere of tension and anxiety.

At its core, The Beast is an exploration of existential dread and the human condition. The film is as much about the awful things that don’t happen as it is about the catastrophic events that do. It delves into the universal anxiety that defines our existence, using Gabrielle’s journey through past lives as a metaphor for the fear of love and the terrors of possibility.

Bonello’s narrative is structured with deliberate bewilderment, creating a challenging and perplexing cinematic experience. The film blends sci-fi intrigue, lavish period drama, and heart-pounding thriller elements, resulting in a disjointed narrative that often feels like three separate films crammed into one. This nonlinear storytelling may initially confuse audiences, but it serves to underscore the themes of time, desire, and self-destruction.

Gabrielle and Louis’s relationship is central to the film, portraying a love that transcends time yet is perpetually doomed. Their yearnings for connection manifest differently across the timelines, reflecting the evolving nature of desire and the impact of technological advancements on human relationships. The film tackles modern issues such as incel culture and narcissism, suggesting that these are byproducts of the digital age’s pervasive loneliness and confusion.

Symbolism abounds throughout The Beast, with references to Madame Butterfly, the foreboding presence of pigeons, and the haunting melodies of Roy Orbison’s Evergreen. These elements weave a thematic thread that ties the different timelines together, yet the film remains enigmatic, oscillating between surrealism and introspection.

Bonello’s direction, combined with an elaborate yet muted sound design, creates an atmosphere of almost unrelieved tension. The film’s pacing beguiles, moving with a protracted tempo that keeps the audience on edge. The 35mm period piece of 1910 and the nearly square format of 2044 Paris enhance the visual storytelling, reflecting the different eras' distinct aesthetic and emotional tones.

The elaborate sound design plays a crucial role in maintaining the film’s tension, with moments of relief coming in the form of screams or dramatic on-screen happenings. This meticulous approach to sound and visual composition ensures that The Beast keeps its audience off-balance, constantly challenging their perceptions and expectations.

The Beast is a gallantly romantic and dangerously obsessive journey into past lives, conceived with an unfathomable respect for the analogue mess of human emotion. Bonello poses multiple questions on desire, dehumanization, and free will, creating a film that is both intellectually stimulating and emotionally unsettling. The dialectic between forgiving and forgetting is central to the narrative, staged with a tension that blurs the boundaries of reality.

The film’s depiction of 2044 Paris as a glitchy, terminally online, and achingly isolated world resonates with contemporary anxieties about technology and human connection. Louis’s character, an “incel” stewing in his sense of injustice, adds a layer of discomfort, reflecting the darker aspects of modern male wickedness.

The Beast is a lengthy film, with slow, sunken scenes that sometimes overcomplicate the narrative. However, this deliberate bewilderment is part of its charm, drawing viewers into a labyrinthine exploration of the human condition. It’s a film that fascinates as much as it confounds, leaving a lasting impression even when it’s deeply uncomfortable.

The Beast is a challenging and ambitious film that pushes the boundaries of genre and narrative structure. Bonello’s exploration of existential dread, love, and fear, combined with his unique cinematic techniques, make for a perplexing yet profoundly engaging experience. While it may not be for everyone, it is a film that will stick with you, provoking thought and reflection long after the credits roll.

The Beast is one of 105 films screening as part of the Whānau Mārama New Zealand International Film Festival (NZIFF)

The full programme of 2024 films is outlined here.

Tickets can be booked online at www.nziff.co.nz

CHALLENGERS (2024)

Tashi, a former tennis prodigy turned coach, turned her husband into a champion. But to overcome a losing streak, he needs to face his ex-best friend and Tashi's ex-boyfriend.

Luca Guadagnino’s film Challengers delves into the world of tennis but uses the sport as a metaphor for deeper themes of desire, ambition, and power. The film, penned by Justin Kuritzkes and featuring stars Mike Faist, Josh O'Connor, and Zendaya, goes beyond the tennis court to explore the intricate and intense relationships among its main characters. This review unpacks the various layers of the movie, highlighting its complex narrative, character dynamics, and artistic elements.

Challengers is not your typical sports drama. While it revolves around the lives of professional tennis players, the game serves as a backdrop for a more profound exploration of human relationships and desires. The film moves back and forth in time, chronicling the lives of Patrick (Mike Faist), Art (Josh O'Connor), and Tashi (Zendaya). Patrick and Art meet at a tennis academy at the age of twelve, forming a friendship that is both intense and competitive. They start their careers on the tennis circuit as the duo "Fire and Ice."

The narrative introduces Tashi, a promising tennis player headed to Stanford, who becomes a pivotal figure in both their lives. The film navigates their early careers and the evolving dynamics of their relationships. Art, initially a shy and sweet kid, blossoms into a champion under Tashi’s guidance, while Patrick, a more flamboyant character, capitalizes on his rising fame. Despite the shared goal of tennis success, their motivations differ, with Tashi's passion for the game driving Art’s ambition.

At the heart of Challengers is the complex relationship triangle among the three characters. Tashi is portrayed as a strong and confident woman whose passion for tennis transcends her relationships with Art and Patrick. Zendaya excels in the role, especially in scenes where her character’s determination and allure are vividly displayed. Her early appearance on the tennis court, exuding confidence, sets the tone for the infatuation and competition that follows.

The film subtly addresses the sexual tension between Patrick and Art, which is a constant undercurrent. Their relationship, though seemingly platonic, is charged with unspoken lust and rivalry. Tashi’s presence adds another layer to this dynamic, serving as a catalyst for both connection and conflict between the two men. Guadagnino’s provocative staging and the non-linear narrative thrust viewers into various moments of this intense love affair, often leaving them to interpret unspoken emotions and desires.

Guadagnino’s direction, paired with Sayombhu Mukdeeprom’s cinematography, captures the raw emotions and intensity of the characters’ interactions. The tennis scenes are shot with a unique tenacity, employing bird’s-eye views, racket-mounted cameras, and shots mimicking the perspective of a tennis ball. These techniques immerse the audience in the action, making the matches more than just a backdrop but a reflection of the characters’ internal struggles.

The film’s visual symbolism is also noteworthy. The use of phallic imagery—hot dogs, bananas, and churros—subtly hints at the underlying sexual tension and the inevitable culmination of the characters’ desires. This predictability, however, doesn’t detract from the film’s allure but rather enhances the viewer's anticipation of the unfolding drama.

The score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross is a significant element that ties the film together. The relentless, thumping beat, supplemented by violin flourishes and vocal samples, creates an almost hypnotic rhythm that aligns with the film’s pacing. The techno and electronic influences are unexpected for a sports drama, yet they add a unique layer of intensity and modernity to the film. Guadagnino’s choice of score aims to make the audience want to dance, mirroring the pulsating energy of the characters’ lives and relationships.

Challengers is not just a film about tennis; it’s a deep dive into the complexities of human desire, ambition, and power dynamics. The sport serves as a metaphor for the push and pull of the central love triangle, with each serve and volley representing the characters' emotional exchanges. The film’s non-linear structure keeps the audience engaged, constantly shifting between moments of tension and tenderness.

The performances by Faist, O’Connor, and Zendaya are compelling, bringing depth to characters that might otherwise feel distant due to their complexities. The sexual flirtation, competitive spirit, and unspoken lust among the trio create a palpable tension that drives the narrative forward.

Guadagnino’s provocative direction and Kuritzkes’ intricate screenplay, complemented by Mukdeeprom’s immersive cinematography and the unique score by Reznor and Ross, make Challengers a multifaceted film. It challenges viewers to look beyond the surface of a sports drama and delve into the underlying themes of human connection and desire.

Challengers is a film that resonates on multiple levels. It uses tennis as a metaphor to explore deeper themes, making it more about the characters' internal games than the external sport. Guadagnino’s masterful storytelling, combined with stellar performances and innovative cinematic techniques, ensures that Challengers leaves a lasting impression on its audience.

Challengers was released in NZ cinemas on April 18, 2024

FLY ME TO THE MOON (2024)

 

Marketing maven Kelly Jones wreaks havoc on launch director Cole Davis's already difficult task. When the White House deems the mission too important to fail, Jones is directed to stage a fake moon landing as back-up.

Directed by Greg Berlanti and written by Keenan Flynn, Rose Gilroy, and Bill Kirstein, Fly Me to the Moon is a cinematic exploration of the 1960s Space Race, entwined with conspiracy theories and a dash of romance. The film stars Scarlett Johansson, Channing Tatum, and Woody Harrelson, and centres around an attempt to sell and, if necessary, fake the moon landing. With a blend of historical drama and light-hearted comedy, the movie offers a unique take on a pivotal moment in history.

Set during the height of the 1960s Space Race, Fly Me to the Moon follows NASA's launch controller (Channing Tatum) as he navigates the complexities of launching Apollo 11. To garner public and government support, a savvy marketing specialist (Scarlett Johansson) is brought in. Her mission is twofold: to generate excitement for the launch and to stage a backup fake landing in case the mission fails. The tension between the pragmatic NASA controller and the charismatic marketing expert forms the crux of the narrative.

Scarlett Johansson shines in her role as the marketing specialist. Her portrayal of a 1960s con artist is both convincing and engaging, capturing the era's spirit with her charm and moxie. Johansson's character is resourceful and determined, making her a compelling counterpart to Tatum's more stoic and single-minded NASA director. Their dynamic, filled with playful antagonism, is one of the film's highlights.

Channing Tatum, however, appears less suited for his role. As a former pilot turned NASA launch controller, Tatum's performance is somewhat one-dimensional. His physical appearance and demeanour do not fully convey the gravitas and experience expected of a key figure in one of history's most significant scientific endeavours. While he brings a certain earnestness to the role, it often falls flat compared to Johansson's vibrant energy.

Woody Harrelson, playing a super-secret, all-seeing, all-hearing government agent, adds a quirky element to the film. His character, though somewhat outlandish, provides a touch of unpredictability and humour, contributing to the movie's light-hearted tone.

Fly Me to the Moon struggles to find a perfect balance between comedy and drama. While it has its humorous moments, it doesn't quite qualify as a full-fledged rom-com. The comedic elements are subtle and often overshadowed by the film's dramatic aspects. This tonal inconsistency might leave some viewers unsure of what to expect.

Despite this, the film succeeds in creating a tangible and almost believable narrative that intertwines historical events with conspiracy theories. The notion of faking the moon landing, while far-fetched, is presented in a way that feels plausible within the film's context. This blend of fact and fiction adds a layer of intrigue, keeping the audience engaged.

One of the standout aspects of Fly Me to the Moon is its depiction of the Apollo 11 launch. The build-up to the launch and the eventual liftoff is shot with a sense of awe and wonder that resonates deeply. The film effectively captures the monumental nature of the event, reminding viewers of the sheer magnitude of the accomplishment, even 55 years later. These scenes are visually stunning and emotionally impactful, providing some of the most memorable moments in the film.

While Fly Me to the Moon is an entertaining popcorn flick, it struggles to leave a lasting impression. The film's reliance on star power—particularly Johansson and Tatum—might draw viewers, but it also detracts from the potential emotional depth. One can't help but wonder if a cast of lesser-known actors might have allowed the story to resonate more profoundly.

Moreover, the film's predictability is a drawback. Aside from Harrelson's eccentric character, the plot follows a rather conventional route. The romantic tension between the leads is formulaic, and the resolution of their conflicts feels somewhat anticlimactic. The film flits along, providing light-hearted entertainment but failing to deliver any significant surprises or emotional highs.

Fly Me to the Moon offers a nostalgic and visually captivating look at the 1960s Space Race, infused with a mix of humour and drama. Scarlett Johansson's performance is a highlight, bringing life to the film's historical and conspiratorial elements. However, Channing Tatum's lacklustre portrayal and the film's overall predictability prevent it from being truly memorable. It remains an enjoyable watch, especially for those interested in the era or the conspiracy theories surrounding the moon landing, but it falls short of becoming a standout piece of cinema.

Fly Me To The Moon is in NZ cinemas from July 11, 2024

ANYONE BUT YOU (2023)

Despite an amazing first date, Bea and Ben's initial attraction quickly turns sour. However, when they unexpectedly find themselves at a destination wedding in Australia, they pretend to be the perfect couple to keep up appearances.

In the enchanting realm of romantic comedies, Anyone But You, helmed by director Will Gluck and penned by Ilana Wolpert and Will Gluck, takes audiences on a whimsical journey through the intricacies of miscommunication and pretence. Sydney Sweeney assumes the role of Bea, while Glen Powell portrays Ben, creating a magnetic on-screen dynamic that infuses the film with energy and charm.

A distinctive feature of the film lies in the authentic chemistry shared between Sweeney and Powell. Their on-screen connection is so compelling that the orchestrated plot twists, meant to introduce tension, come across as somewhat conspicuous and forced. The duo's magnetic presence elevates the film, drawing viewers into the amusing escapades that unfold.

Anyone But You endeavours to inject a contemporary and inclusive essence into the traditional rom-com narrative, featuring an interracial queer couple and a Black family. However, these characters often serve more as narrative catalysts than fully fleshed-out individuals. While the film earnestly aims for inclusivity, the characters' roles appear somewhat tokenistic.

The narrative intricately weaves a tapestry of relationships, misunderstandings, and familial dynamics. Bea, a law school dropout, and Ben, a charismatic stock trader, find their lives entwined after a transformative one-night stand. The ensuing complexities lead them to feign a romantic connection for the sake of a family wedding in Australia, resulting in a backdrop of delightful chaos.

Yet, the film navigates a delicate balance between an abundance of plot twists and a lack of rational problem-solving. The characters' dilemmas could be easily resolved with a moment's reflection, introducing an element of frustration to an otherwise light-hearted storyline.

Anyone But You wholeheartedly embraces the timeless tropes of romantic comedies, immersing itself in the dance of love, misunderstanding, and reconciliation. The film's success hinges on its ability to enthral the audience with silliness and over-the-top clichés, creating an entertaining and engaging viewing experience.

Unfortunately, the supporting characters remain one-dimensional, serving more as plot devices than evolving into fully realized individuals. This lack of depth in the ensemble cast diminishes the overall impact of the film, leaving much to be desired in terms of a well-rounded and relatable supporting cast.

Despite its imperfections, Anyone But You excels as a delightful escape into the world of fun and whimsy. The film's charm, wit, sincerity, and emotional moments, coupled with the picturesque subtropical setting, contribute to its breezy and enjoyable nature.

The movie positions itself as a modern interpretation of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, adding an intriguing layer to the narrative. Glen Powell's portrayal of Ben, a character with flaws and a partial awareness of his shortcomings, injects unexpected humour into the story. Sydney Sweeney showcases her talent for physical comedy, enhancing the film's comedic elements.

Anyone But You fulfils its promise of R-rated entertainment, delivering amusing and increasingly ludicrous sequences and nudity. Powell and Sweeney infuse a fiery energy into their characters' journey from disdain to affection, providing a refreshing twist to the traditional rom-com storyline.

The film's reliance on rom-com clichés proves to be both a strength and a weakness. While some clichés seamlessly integrate into the narrative, thanks to a self-aware perspective, others verge on the cringe-worthy. The introduction of a battle of the ages adds complexity, creating a blend of moments that resonate and others that fall flat.

Anyone But You shines with its vibrant and energetic presentation, complemented by the undeniable attractiveness of the main couple. The film's predictability doesn't hinder its watchability, as it is enhanced by a surprising dose of charm and emotional depth, particularly in Glen Powell's performance.

Anyone But You emerges as a delightful rom-com that skillfully weaves humour, romance, and absurdity. While facing stumbling blocks in certain areas, the film's overall allure and the captivating chemistry between its leads make it a worthwhile addition to the romantic comedy genre.

Anyone But You is in NZ cinemas from December 26, 2023