“Blitz” A review.
Steve McQueen’s heartfelt war drama struggles to cut through the noise When discussing his latest work, McQueen keeps highlighting his interest in portraying the truth behind British mythology. Well-known for adapting historical horrors with both tact and thrill, the director tackles what may be his biggest fictional project to date. The result is a deeply earnest f ilm about family and community that struggles to walk the line between epic and bloated.
Taking place during the titular Blitz, the German bombing campaign against British cities in the 1940s, we meet George (Elliot Heffernan), a mixed-race boy living with his white mother, Rita (Saoirse Ronan). When London is deemed no longer safe for children, George is separated from his mother and forced to evacuate to the countryside. Unhappy about being taken from his home, George begins a journey back to the city. We follow both mother and son navigate 1940’s London, encountering both kindness and hostility in the collapsing city.
The film follows an almost adventure-like structure, with every interaction George and Rita have with London unveiling a new aspect of the city. In his search for truth, Mcqueen uses his wartime setting to reveal the cracks and crevices of British Society. The consciously active inclusion of black, brown, and Asian communities challenges the perception of the “British” in Bellic storytelling while managing to prevent the film from feeling like a history lecture. Through George’s young perspective, we unveil the cruelest and most selfish parts of society and its capacity to love, unite and support. McQueen’s handling of this thematic juxtaposition saves the film from total tonal dissonance, with an intimate moment such as an embrace by the piano from grandfather, mother and son, feeling as epic as a nerve-racking bombing sequence.
However, it is ultimately due to this massive scope that the film doesn’t seem to round off all its ideas. As George’s journey gets increasingly melodramatic, almost bordering on the over-the-top, Rita’s storyline appears to get quietly sidetracked in favour of epic set pieces. With an uneven third act and a massively underwhelming use of Harris Dickinson, the film feels disjointed and inconclusive. Saoirse Ronan brings a level of maturity and gravitas to her role, which works to distract the audience from the fact that aside from being a “good mother” and “likes to sing”, we know very little about Rita. The scenes featuring Rita by herself tend to feel aimless, even more so when directly compared to the amount of traumatic experiences George packs in this 2 hour run time.
There lies the film’s biggest fault, its eagerness to pack so much in. Even the choice of having two co-leads, instead of committing to focus exclusively on George’s perspective, ends up acting to its detriment in its emotional conclusion. While in the hands of a lesser filmmaker, the movie would run the risk of feeling uncertain and generic, McQueen’s style injects the film with enough heart, personality and purpose. From vibrating party sequences reminiscent of Lovers Rock (2020) to dramatic set pieces that feel organic and easy, McQueen knows his strengths and plays to them. It is his heartfelt atmosphere and defined perspective that saves the film from being a complete disjointed mess.
In conversation with Malcom Washington- “I had to let go of apprehension…Their stories would live no more if I did
While the modern Hollywood star seems terrified to acknowledge any sort of family relation, as if this revelation would instantly discredit their work and ruin any credibility as an artist, Malcom Washington’s earnestness is refreshing. When sitting down for a chat with him on his LFF debut, Malcom Washington (33) embraces his family legacy in his debut feature, about intergenerational trauma.
In Hollywood, talent often runs in families. The Washington family is a prime example of this phenomenon, with each member carving out their own niche in the entertainment industry. Obviously, everyone knows legendary actor Denzel Washington, but there's also son John David’s on-screen success in movies such as “Tenet” (2020) and “Blackkklansman” (2018), Olivia’s theatrical work in “Slave Play” (2024 West End production), and most recently Malcom’s debut as a film director. The adaptation of August Wilson's play "The Piano Lesson" serves as a testament to the family's collective artistic prowess.
An adaptation of the 1990 Pulitzer winning play by August Wilson, the film blurs the lines between family drama and ghost story. Set in 1936, Pittsburgh, “The Piano Lesson” follows the lives of the Charles family in the Doaker Charles (Samuel L. Jackson) household and an heirloom. This family piano documents the family history through carvings made by their enslaved ancestor. The movie is centered on arguments between brother Boy Willie (John David Washington), who’s eager to sell the piano so he can buy a piece of land, and sister Bernice (Daniel Deadwyler), who refuses to do so.
Adapting a Pulitzer Prize-winning play by one of America's most celebrated playwrights is no small task, but the first-time director jumps into the project confidently. “‘I’m just the guy for the job.”, Washington stated when the August Wilson estate offered him to develop the adaptation. From anyone else this comment would come off as smug. But considering Denzel Washington’s connection to Wilson’s work (most notably winning a Tony for the 2010 Broadway production of “Fences”, and later directing its film adaptation), his plays have become as much part of the Washingtons’ legacy as of Wilson’s himself. The responsibility to carry this towering legacy could scare off other newcomers, but not Malcom. After all, the ever-resonant themes of Wilson’s plays are interwoven in his heritage.
Maybe the only other person as closely linked to Wilson’s work, is Samuel L. Jackson. Originating the role of Boy Willie in 1990, Jackson now takes on the role of Doaker Charles, uncle to the main sibling duo. Jackson is also one of the many actors from the 2022 Broadway revival of the play who are reprising their roles in the film, such as John David Washington and Ray Fisher.
When asked about Jackson’s involvement, Malcolm tells a story about a trip to the Pittsburgh library to research Wilson’s collection. “[I found] a letter Samuel L Jackson wrote to august Wilson, talking about what this opportunity meant to him. And you can tell when you’re reading it that it is a young man speaking to the giant, and now I am here, a young man speaking to a giant, now talking to him about being in the movie and what the role means.”
The archival process in preparation for the film creates a touching link between the older and younger generations. Malcolm's ability to guide these performers in the transition from stage to screen helped them to modulate their performances for the more intimate medium of film. In fact the sole newcomer to the cast is the wonderful Deadwyler, who acts as the emotional center of the film, powerfully balancing between stern and sensitive. Deadwyler’s inclusion provides the film with a female lens that is not often explored in stories about family heritage.
“When I started the movie, it was about father and son, but halfway through, I w as like, there's a mother and daughter thing going on here, and that was quite important.” When tackling themes such as intergenerational and racial trauma, as well as family legacy, Washington understands that it is not enough just to scratch the surface.
He recalls a childhood anecdote about how his mother, who grew up in North Carolina, would make mud pies with the state’s characteristic red dirt. This story bleeds into the film in a scene where Boy Willie remembers a conversation he had with his father about the power of acquiring land, while they both soak their hands on the ground. “There’s always relation to the land, land is the thing they fought over, bled over, died for.” Washington, pulling from his mother’s experience, brings an almost delicate sensory perspective of physical land- which is traditionally explored as a masculine theme.
Washington cites Gil-Scott-Heron’s poem “On Coming from a Broken Home” as inspiration. The final phrase of the poem (“Women have guided my life, But because of them– I am a man, God bless you mama– and thank you”) could well serve as the film’s testimony. As the credits roll, Washington dedicates the film to his mother. He actively turns the film into a family affair. He allows himself the agency to create that familiar comparison with nuance and care, before the public is able to do so itself.
When asked about carrying his family legacy as it pretains to the film Washington thoughtfully responds: “Not only is it something you cant run away from, but is actually something that is holding you up. And people might know who your dad is and might know who your mom is, but they don’t know who your grandfather was, and that’s the person who made them possible. So are you gonna dishonour that man?”
The most striking element of The Piano Lesson is its atmosphere, the genre-bending score, the characters' connection with nature, and the intimacy of the Charles household. This is thanks to the director choosing to inform his decisions not only from his experiences, but the experiences from generations before him. Malcom Washington carries his last name with such eloquence and grace, that it makes you wonder: Why is it that family lineage is so desperately concealed in Hollywood nowadays? and, What kind of stories could we get if creatives weren’t so afraid to acknowledge their own history?
Who can afford magical realism? A review of Andrea Arnold’s “Bird”
Andrea Arnold’s latest film is steered by a sense of wonder one does not find in your typical family drama. The story of a young girl on the brink of coming of age navigating a hostile family life in north Kent, “Bird” (2024), is anything but one-dimensional.
Throughout her career, Arnold has often been pigeonholed as a social realist. Although her skills as a director shine in social realism, reducing her to that label would be an unfair oversimplification of her talents. Whether it be hazy Americana in “American Honey” (2016) or documentary filmmaking in “Cow” (2021), Arnold’s strengths lie not in a particular genre but in the sensitivity of her storytelling. Her newest entry continues this exploration by dipping into magical realism as she questions who we allow the fantastical.
Despite being widely popular in literature, magical realism has yet to find a defining identity in cinema. Now, the pioneering texts of the genre, such as “100 Years of Solitude” (1967) or “Like Water for Chocolate” (1989), may be remembered for their fantastical occurrences but are deeply grounded in the economic and political conflicts that our characters live in. This quality has often been absent in many film iterations of the genre.
Aside from “Pan’s Labyrinth” (2006), arguably the genre’s most successful cinematic example, magical realist films don’t seem interested in exploring the political tension between fantasy and reality that has characterised the genre since its inception. Films such as “Birth” (2004), “Midnight in Paris” (2011), and “Birdman” (2014) all neglect this aspect to instead focus on the magical as it pertains to character studies, usually centering on affluent protagonists. As a result, magical realism, as a film genre, has morphed and diverted from its literary counterpart. No longer are these stories led by passion-fueled characters living on the margins of society, but rather actors or housewives quietly struggling to resolve internal conflicts. Despite this, there has been little debate over calling the films above works of magical realism. Yet, conversations about “Bird” seem hesitant to acknowledge its fantastical elements, even though the film shares more in common with the genre’s original sentiment than many of the previously mentioned.
Following 12-year-old Bailey (Nykiya Adams), as she lives with her caring but chaotic single dad Bug (Barry Keoghan) in a squat in Gravesend, north Kent. We see how her fractured home life is transformed when she encounters Bird (Franz Rogowski), a mysterious stranger looking for someone from his past. Arnold paints a portrait of Bailey’s life where teen gangs, hallucinogenic frogs, violent stepdads, and magical birds all fit in.
Abandoned buildings and grey roads act as the characters' playgrounds. Throughout most of the film, Arnold’s hand-held, almost documentary style invites us to hop on the back of Bug’s electric scooter and be part of the town. Where parents casually snort lines in front of their children, and injustice is seen as something that one “sorts” through their own will. Where kids have been left behind by the systems in place, and so are briskly pushed into adulthood. But also, where Bailey encounters acts of kindness, be it some period cramp medication given by Bug’s fiancé, a favour from her half-brother’s friends, or even sympathy from a mysterious stranger. Arnold harkens back to the fundamentals of magical realism- the interplay between harsh conditions and fantastical release. The socioeconomic effects on the community at hand are never explicitly stated but are always lingering in the character's interactions. These tensions almost act like a contradicting dichotomy and inform the story's magical elements. The fantastical doesn’t act as an escape from the harsh reality Bailey is living through but a direct manifestation of her desires for freedom and adventure as she confronts more adult responsibilities.
The magical moments are deeply connected with themes of nature that run throughout the film. The peaceful moment out in the field, before Bailey meets Bird, is anticipated by a myriad of winds blowing back and forth. The way Arnold heightens the natural elements through sound design and cinematography integrates the magical with the natural. Franz Rogowski's masterful physicality throughout the film also looks to imitate nature. We catch glimpses of Bird standing on the building's terrace as he walks back and forth through the railing. The natural world not only mixes in with the fantastical but even acts as a spiritual guide or “guardian angel” for Bailey. The British lower class has largely been portrayed as dull, urban, and grey in media. So, Bailey’s access to nature and magical interactions with Bird almost seem like a privilege. These aspects of Bailey’s life don’t fit in with the societal narrative assigned to her. Arnold’s subversion of these norms is refreshingly humanising.
Arnold’s impeccable tact in telling stories about working-class England does not come from her films’ grittiness or likeliness but rather from a keen interest in capturing life in all its complexities. When light and darkness coexist, so can the real and the fantastical. “Bird” reclaims magical realism to the system’s outcasts, granting a sense of release and wonder to the marginalized. No longer viewing the magical as a commodity only the privileged can enjoy.
The American tourist and Sebastian Silva’s depiction of “the other”.
With the growing trend of movies and TV shows satirizing the exuberant lives of the obliviously wealthy, it is no wonder we’ve also seen a surge in the examination of the Tourism industry. The most obvious example is the HBO show “The White Lotus” (2021-), following the vacation of rich Americans and their individual relationships with the staff of the fictional hotel chain. “Triangle of Sadness” (2022) could also fit into this category, taking place largely in an exclusive cruise full of excentric caricatures of the upper class. However, when examining the subject of tourism in cinema, I can’t help but bring up a personal favourite: “Crystal Fairy and the Magical Cactus” (2013). The film, directed by Sebastian Silva and starring awkward it-boy Michael Cera, is not only a hilarious exploration of the stereotypical image of the American tourist but also an originally nuanced portrayal of the Latino perspective.
In a cultural landscape where everybody is eager to classify directors and their work, there seems to be little mutual understanding of what being a Latino filmmaker entails. A lot of this confusion may be attributed to the unclearness of what the term even refers to, as the concept of Latin America as a political and geographical entity exists primarily in comparison to the US. When examining the Latin American community on its own, these 21 countries are not really bound by race, language or religion. In fact, education in Latin America does not consider itself the same continent, with most schools teaching North, Central and South America as different regions. Because of this it has been harder to characterize what Latino identity is, instead of what it isn’t. This may be why Chilean writer and director Sebastian Silva seems removed from conversations around Latino filmmakers, stating in an interview in 2013 that he views himself as an outsider in Chile, having moved at the age of 18 and writing a large part of his work in English. This exclusion may be due to Silva’s work not being widely popular, with most of his releases receiving limited distribution, or because it does not present themes that the are immediately associated with “Latino Filmmaking”.
The concept of “otherness” has plagued Latino narratives in cinema, whether it is the fetishization of exotic and passionate lovers or, more recently, immigration stories, where the ever-looming threat of deportation reminds the audience that the characters are not welcomed in their environment. Silva’s “Crystal Fairy and the Magical Cactus”, and his most recent release “Rotting in the Sun”(2023), don’t fit into these standards at first glance. Still, the films both rely on this same idea of “the other” to drive their central conflicts while bathing themselves in an ever-present detachment that turns the trope so often used against Latinos on its head.
“Crystal Fairy and the Magical Cactus” is a road trip movie following Jamie, who, while visiting Chile, accidentally invites an eccentric girl, Crystal Fairy, to join him and his Chilean friends to look for a hallucinating cactus. Throughout the journey, Crystal Fairy gets on Jamie’s nerves as he relentlessly cheats and fights anything and anyone standing in the way of him finding this magical cactus and achieving spiritual enlightenment. Silva’s newest feature, “Rotting in the Sun”, features self-inserts from both writers, Sebastian Silva and Jordan Fisherman. While on a trip to Mexico City, Jordan searches for Sebastian in hopes of working together and hooking up with him. The ket-fueled journey takes a twist when, halfway through the film, Sebastian dies, leaving his Mexican housekeeper, Vero, to deal with Jordan’s aggressive demands and suspicions. Though widely different, the films share a signature anxiety-driven comedic edge that stems from the leads incessant desire to get what they want.
Both of Silva’s films centre on American characters inhabiting an environment where it is obvious they do not belong, despite how oblivious they may be to this fact. Aside from the language barrier, there’s a clear sense of transactionality that characterizes Jamie and Jordan. Their unshakeable determination to use their surroundings to further their individual goals makes them unable to truly achieve the sense of acceptance and belonging they so clearly crave. Of course, this dynamic between outsiders and their Latin environment is the main source of cringe comedy that characterizes both features, but it also serves as a critique of the often exploitative nature of the American individualism complex. The capitalistic need to gain access to the best experiences, to produce the best content, and to distinguish oneself from the rest only leads to further alienation, whether one realizes it or not.
Perhaps one of the most telling moments of this disconnect comes from the scene in “Crystal Fairy and the Magical Cactus”, where the travellers are looking for the titular character in a park. Struggling to find her in the middle of the crowd, Jamie tells his Chilean friends to “look for a white girl,” leaving them even more confused than before as they also think of themselves as white. Although it works as a throwaway line, as soon after Crystal Fairy gets into a discussion with some beggars, it encompasses the constant feeling of disconnection at the heart of both films. Like many people living in Latin America, the Latino characters in Silva’s stories are not aware of their inherent otherness until a foreigner explicitly states it. It is this imposing of a political identity, a label, to characters that do not exist in those terms. One could argue that the Chilean characters in “Crystal Fairy and the Magical Cactus” are underdeveloped and lack their own individual identity as opposed to Jamie or Crystal. However, I believe it’s the simplicity of the three brothers that makes them instantly sympathetic in comparison to their American counterparts. Silva is inviting an American audience to not only reflect on its own abrasiveness and ignorance but to put themselves in the shoes of Latinos, to view themselves as the “other.” In Silva’s work, the viewer joins the Latino characters in observing the tasks and adventures of the American through a mostly passive perspective. There’s a lingering sense of unimportance coming from the attitudes of these characters. At the end of the day, the Americans will go back home. They’ll post their trip on social media, brag at parties about their transcendental experiences, and tell people about how much they loved taking the bus in South America; meanwhile, the people they left behind will continue living their lives with little to no change.
The dichotomy between the tourists and the locals in Silva’s work results from the former's failure to experience Latin America as anything other than extraordinary. As we, the audience, laugh at the American's constant attempts to achieve self-actualization in faraway lands, we grow accustomed to the environment's charmingly dull atmosphere. It is the privilege to be regular that Silva brings to its Latino characters, to be viewed as the norm. Maybe it is the filmmaker’s same refusal to represent a community that allows for an authentic Latin perspective, gaining the power to view the other rather than being observed ourselves.