Ah, rafraîchissant… It's nice that, in the era of constant remakes, corporate behemoth Disney is actually getting it right. Honestly, they don't have a choice: Disney’s classic stories and characters are too close to our hearts, too important in our collective culture. So thankfully, director Bill Condon delivers with Beauty and the Beast, the latest in Disney's reimaginings of classic fairy tales. He and writers Stephen Chbosky and Evan Spiliotopoulos do the story and the original movie justice, never subtracting from the fantasy or the magic, just adding another chapter. They got the tone just right, leaving me with a smile from the first musical number onward.
​
As soon as that famous Disney logo with that famous song ended, I was immediately swept up in the stunning visuals of the film. They were opulent and lush all around, every detail helping to transport you, putting you back in that place of childhood when it wasn't so hard for you to commit fully to the imagination, to believe in the unbelievable. Moreover, the music was great (of course), with the immaculate vocals and the grand choreographed performances of the songs really being the foundation of the film. You could tell who was a classically-trained singer and who was not (looking at you EW), but all did beautifully well, culminating in a symphonic feast that matched the feast of the visuals.

And the actors were all sooo good… I absolutely loved the Gaston (Luke Evans) of the first half of the movie and his meilleur ami Le Fou (Josh Gad). Evans and Gad had so much fun with the characters, with Evans causing viewers to fall in love with the infamous villain. He’s almost too lovable, in that it causes his inevitable downfall to not feel quite cathartic enough. And it was so nice to laugh, with Gad hitting the comedic marks just right even in the midst of grand musical numbers. And the entire animated furniture ensemble shined through the CGI, particularly with Ewan McGregor as Lumière charismatically leading one of the best numbers of the film in “Be Our Guest.” It’s too bad we weren’t treated to more of Audra McDonald’s striking soprano in her role as Madame Garderobe, though.

The storytellers decided to add the backstory of Belle’s mother, which was a nice addition, though only a minor plot point that solely serves to help foster Belle's love for the Beast. And speaking of… I really feel that we don't have enough time with the Beast to really fall in love with him (much the opposite of Evans’ magnetism as Gaston). At the end, we only root for him because we know to from our familiarity with the original tale, not because the movie earns it by the end. In fact, the characters of the move’s namesake were some the least interesting characters of the entire film. It didn’t pose a huge problem while watching, but Emma Watson and Dan Stevens were certainly upstaged, as it were. The latter simply suffered from a lack of time to develop enough impact and depth in the character, while I would argue that the former was miscast in the role; not elevating the character, or selling the character’s storied adventurousness, headstrong and witty nature, or edge.  And while I’m complaining, I wish there was a larger presence of the French language in the film; it would have helped ground the sense of location, and really would have just felt more right. 

However, in the end, all the components of the film, while feeling a little rushed, really worked together to feel completely lovely, fantastical, and truly magical. The film takes viewers on an emotional journey, moving me to the brink of tears more than once. Moreover, the core of the story is so timely, delivering a powerful and pertinent message: it's what's on the inside that counts. No matter someone's exterior or past or even current situation, you can always connect, always feel, and always love, past difference, past hatred, past judgment. It was beautiful and simple, magical yet real, reminding us that human nature is often the most monstrous when steeped in hatred instead of understanding and love.

Rating: A-

But you're not well, yet...
​
Gore Verbinski leaves his viewers with an overwhelming sense of sickness in his latest feature, A Cure for Wellness. He, along with writer Justin Haythe, pull us into this world where wellness is a lie, but everyone is sick, and they manage to deeply unsettle viewers in the process with an end that rattles the bones.

We are introduced to the stunningly visual world of the film as it opens, looking up at the shadowy towers of New York City: the city is dark and murky, almost taking on a grayish-green sickly hue, with an ominously slow-moving and steady camera. We see an overworked businessman suffer from a heart attack, which immediately sets the tone for the film: something is off about this dense and depressing world. 

Soon thereafter, we meet Lockhart (Dane Dehaan), a 20-something yopro with a healthy amount of ambition and an ego to match. The company (some Wall Street money tyrant) that he works for is about to undergo a merger, but there are some irregularities in the books and they need a scapegoat; therefore, they send Lockhart to the Swiss Alps to retrieve Pembroke, the company's CEO, from a “wellness center” that he went to after suffering a mental breakdown. After arriving in Switzerland, bringing Pembroke back proves more difficult than he thought, and Lockhart becomes trapped in the uncannily too tranquil center. 

The film is a slow burn, very gradually building up. You seem suspended in most of the second act, floating around (not unlike the septuagenarians of the center), knowing there is some direction that you're supposed to be going in somewhere, but not quite sure what that direction is or how you're going to get there. Verbinski builds upon the psychological aspect of this thriller well: he plants little moments and signs in that suspense of the second act where the audience grips the edges of their seats. We know Lockhart needs to leave, and we know that he knows it, too. We can feel the actual time passing, creeping by as we lose a sense of time in the story, just as the patients do. We feel that ever-desired-yet-maligned sense of dread, but it’s so subtle and expertly done.

The actors do incredibly well in enriching this ominous world. Mia Goth steals scenes away as Hannah; she is completely believable as a prepubescent teen and plays the uncanny innocence of the only child at the wellness center excellently. Jason Isaacs gives Volmer a quietly mysterious elegance. Dehaan somehow makes an entitled prick likeable. Lockhart is, after all, the character with which we're positioned; we have little else to root for, but like him, we know something is wrong and sinister behind the idyllic scenery of the center. We begin to lose trust in our window into the story, just as he begins to waver in trust of his own mind, as well. He’s determined to finish his task, and his entitlement leads him to believe that he'll get exactly what he wants. A bit of sad backstory and past trauma give him just enough motivation to pique his interests and suspend his fears for just a second and agree to treatment after he is interestingly diagnosed with the same disease as the rest of the center’s patients, a move that later proves to be fateful.

Even our antagonist is potentially just as interesting as any other main character. We just aren’t ever awarded the privilege of exploring this character deeply, or much at all, which is disappointing. We are mostly limited to Lockhart’s point of view, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing; it just ends up feeling like a missed opportunity to add dimension to a character that could do wonders with it. He’s like Colonel Hans Landa or Hannibal Lector: if Verbinski gave him a little more to work with, the character could just sing. It almost feels like a few hard cuts had to be made in the edit that ultimately subtracted from the gradual build and intricacy of the story. Adding to this point: Hannah’s plotline is somewhat underdeveloped. It needs a little more time and attention in order for the story to really gel at the end.

Of course, it all eventually comes to that inevitable head, and it’s just so right; it’s definitely psychological, yet incorporates just enough violence and shock-factor to provoke a truly earned visceral reaction in viewers. We get the sensation for which we’re looking, and then we’re left questioning our values, our trust, everyone. You walk out of the theater not sure of what you just saw, still suspended in the wading tank of the movie, and seeing the world as a little darker, a little more unwell.

Rating: A-

Are you familiar with the quadratic formula (or any formula, quite frankly)? You know how it’s always the same? And how it never changes? And yeah, a, b, and c can be different each time, but the formula is still used for the same thing. And it always does the same thing. You pop new numbers in the same spots, but it still looks the same. You still recognize it as the quadratic formula and always will. This movie feels like that: like the filmmakers entered new values for a, b, and c in the same formula and cranked out yet another solution for x, that while not being an identical solution, is still pretty much the same thing. It’s still x equals some zero, or in this case, some run of the mill standard R-rated Hollywood comedy.

Richie Keen’s Fist Fight depicts mild-mannered high school English teacher Andy Campbell (Charlie Day) attempting to just make it through an outrageously chaotic senior prank day on the last day of the school year. Amidst budget cuts and a bevy of genitalia-themed pranks, Campbell manages to get fellow teacher Ron Strickland (Ice Cube), who happens to be the most feared person at the school, fired. Strickland then challenges Campbell to a fist fight after school, a piece of news that spreads through the school and town like wildfire. At that point, Campbell has to decide whether to keep being nice or to nut up and fight Strickland.

So, it was funny. And the fight was pretty epic…

Ah, it’s just that we've all seen something like this before: it feels the same, formulaic, unsurprising, unchallenging, uninspiring, inoffensive (even despite all the genitalia humor). It wasn’t trying to reinvent the wheel or do much with said wheel at all.

Within all that formulaic stuff, the filmmakers did manage to include some good jokes that did incite genuine laughter in the audience. I mean, when you cast Tracy Morgan (in his first role after his tragic car accident, btw), you’re bound to have at least a few funny moments on hand. In fact, all of the cast was good (I mean, when are any of these guys not?!). I love seeing Charlie Day let loose (well, and yell and be emotional and generally picked on and walked all over, ya know, all those things that make him lovable), and Jillian Bell as guidance counselor Holly was a riot (and quite disturbing…). Still, the characters were all one-dimensional, with even Campbell’s arc feeling under-realized and under-thought. And Strickland as super self-serious borderline bully was painfully uninteresting.

So, with its too tidy ending and all, Fist Fight will leave warmish fuzzies in your heart and give you a few laughs, but it can’t do anything more for you than that. You could see every plot point and story moment from a mile away, but I guess that doesn't mean that moments like that haven't worked before. And if that's all the filmmakers were trying to do, then they were successful. So here we have it: it’s not fresh, it’s not horrendous. It’s using all that has come before it, that has passed for passable comedy before. It’s x= Fist Fight. 

Rating: C

“I think, therefore I am.” M. Night Shyamalan certainly meditated on this statement while conceiving his latest project, Split. The film immediately jumps into the story: three teens, friends Claire (Haley Lu Richardson) and Marcia (Jessica Sula), and troubled outsider Casey (Anya Taylor-Joy) are kidnapped after Claire’s birthday party. Their captor (James McAvoy), takes the girls back to his secret lair, a windowless room with an unusually tidy bathroom. 

Later, we learn through psychiatrist appointments that the girls’ captor is Kevin, a young man with a past filled with childhood trauma that is the root for his Dissociative Identity Disorder (previously known as multiple personality disorder). Kevin has 23 different identities, with the dominant identity being Barry; however, recently other “repressed” identities have been taking him over. The girls meet these repressed identities, including Dennis, Miss Patricia, and 9-year-old Hedwig, all of whom tell the girls that they are special food for “The Beast,” a mysterious previously unknown 24th identity.

Overall, the film is ripe with instances of style for style’s sake, and its story feels very clunky: Casey has several intermittent flashbacks, revealing her to also have sustained serious childhood trauma and have learned how to hunt wild game, a skill that comes in handy in her current situation. Meanwhile, the other two girls attempt a few harried escapes only to be quickly foiled, while Casey takes a more cautious approach. The captive/escape plot is unsurprising and familiar. Cliché and heavy reliance on unnecessary exposition undermine any real sense of suspense. The ‘mental illness as horrific’ trope is initially uninteresting and uncomfortable, and the story is heavy-handed and prescriptive, hinging upon Kevin’s psychiatrist’s, Dr. Fletcher’s (Betty Buckley), belief that people with DID can, somewhat supernaturally, change completely in physicality with each different identity- a literal manifestation of mind over matter. Moreover, most of the characters are superficial and boring. The captives, aside from Casey, are given no depth, acting purely as means of raising the stakes for Casey’s escape. 

McAvoy’s performance, however, lifted the entire film. He was excellent, truly selling the character and making each identity special and believable, even occasionally transforming between identities from line to line, his entire face seeming to shift in structure. The audience spends quite a bit of time with Kevin, getting a tiny window into his perspective and world. Each of his personas are more interesting than any other character; in fact, I was somewhat disappointed that we don’t meet more of the 23.

There are a couple of good twists in the film (Shyamalan does have a reputation to uphold, after all). The first one is good and truly surprising, while the last major twist serves as just another schlocky way to further hammer in the aforementioned message and mask an otherwise dull ending. All of this leaves Split having the ingredients for a thought-provoking horror flick or psychological thriller, but never quite gelling into something great. 

Rating: C+/B-

​David Yates’ The Legend of Tarzan tells the story of John Clayton III's (Alexander Skarsgård) return to Africa, after leaving for a life with his wife Jane (Margot Robbie) in London, in order to save the people of the Congo from King Leopold's tyrannical drive to conquer and colonize their land. American diplomat Dr. George Washington Williams (Samuel L. Jackson) acts as a catalyst in John's decision, convincing John to let him join in on the trip in order to investigate the possibility of a slave trade taking place on Belgium's behalf (despite the transatlantic slave trade having just been outlawed). 

The film opens with extreme wide shots displaying the magnificence of the Congolese jungle. We enter into the story with Leon Rom (Christoph Waltz), an official sent by King Leopold II of Belgium to find and acquire rare diamonds from a certain part of the Congo at any cost. The world is interestingly steely blue and dusty gray, all the colors muted, as if masked by fog.

In fact, the cinematography was one of the most striking aspects of the movie. The African landscape and lush jungle began in muted, cold, crisp hues at the beginning of the film, then took on life and more vivid color once John and Jane entered and engaged with the landscape. This change in look and feel marks a distinct difference in the way the different characters interacted with their surroundings, symbolizing the joy and fullness of life that comes with respect for animals and the wild, and the harm and danger that come with the opposite. The camera was also often in interesting places, giving perspective from unique angles and with unique movement, and there was surprisingly deft use of soft focus. Altogether, the film was really good looking. 

The main thing that seemed to be lacking: the story. The story, in a way, seemed, while not an afterthought, certainly not at the forefront to me. The film is absolutely immersive and pulls the viewer in with the wonder, deep rooted motivations, and majesty, despite the story being slightly convoluted. However, this choice to prioritize an overall feeling over story could possibly be reminiscent of the wild and wildlife: a lot is unsaid, but much more is felt.

The film does manage to honor the classic film and story: throughout the film, John has flashbacks to his childhood, which act as a retelling of that classic story, providing background on not only his character, but Jane's, as well. Yates also seems to try to enter some subtle commentary on the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church during the time: certain people identifying with a religion with core values rooted in love, peace, and kindness somehow found a way to enact some of the deepest cruelty in history. Rom, in brilliant characterization (and with a brilliant performance from Waltz, as per usual), always carries a rosary with a cross with him, using it to protect himself, but also enact physical harm on others. This acts as a personification of the hypocrisy of the time, and speaks even to contemporary hypocrisy: using a symbol of love to hate. 

All and all, The Legend of Tarzan is an entertaining watch. It pulls you in, makes you feel, and honors the original classic while still attempting to push Tarzan into a contemporary and relevant space. It is holding back something, though: a more polarizing message, deeper characterization, more time in the landscape with the animals, a fearlessness maybe? Something… Essentially, the film is perfectly fine.

Hey, at least it’s not a total bust.

Rating: B

​The first Monday in May: one of the days of the year that the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City is always closed and the name of Andrew Rossi's insightful documentary detailing the creation of the Met’s Costume Institute’s most successful fashion exhibition to date, last year’s China: Though the Looking Glass.

The film opens on the 2015 Met Gala’s red carpet, an annual event intended to raise the entire year’s funds for the Costume Institute; it is slow and ethereal, suspending us in the intersection of the worlds of fashion, celebrity, and art. It is here where they introduce to what seems like the central question of the film: should fashion be considered art?
The film makes its case, arguing fashion as art, following a chronological structure as they count down to the Met Gala and the exhibit’s opening and following the Costume Institute’s curator Andrew Bolton through the curative process of this year’s exhibition. It’s not fast paced, but not slow, either, almost like how you would move through museum, examining each piece, then leisurely stepping to the side while still full of intent.

Despite the fact that the filmmakers seemed to set the story in the film up as if they were arguing fashion as art, I would argue that they were, in actuality, arguing fashion as relevant, as legitimate, as important. And I would argue that they succeeded in just that.

They demonstrated how fashion is a springboard for conversation and thought by using it to organically explore several weighty topics, including the expansion of the definition of art, stereotypes, racism, gender inequalities, shifting gender roles, globalization, sexuality, the power of media, celebrity culture, and more, constantly weaving in and out of the central storyline in several different directions. However, even in all of the deviations, the film never lost focus; the filmmakers always brought it back, always connected each storyline and topic in a successful and effective way. Some of the film’s strongest points even came from the deviations: a powerful direct contrast of Anna Wintour and the 'dragon lady' stereotype demonstrating the empowerment of women in fashion, a brief fashion biography of Bolton in which he leads the audience to reflect on, as he did, the “power of fashion to confront gender and sexuality,” a dissection of “Orientalism” in the West. Each topic has a purpose and a direct link to fashion as a whole and the exhibition specifically.

The film ends with a significant amount of time spent at the year’s Met Gala, returning to the red carpet, allowing the audience to revel in the pomp and spectacle of the event. We follow not only several celebrity guests as the walk through the exhibit for the first time, but also Bolton, in a grand, yet elegant, cinematic moment as he walks through the space of his creation, his obsession for the past eight months. It is a triumphant moment, the entire sequence of events portrayed in the movie leading up to this event concluding in splendor and completeness. 
​
The First Monday in May used a cultural event that some could render insignificant and instead proved its relevance by exploring several substantial and culturally relevant subjects, a technique that could cause others to lose focus, but instead was handled here with deftness and care. The filmmakers prove that fashion is more than just fancy, a vapid commodity that says nothing of value about the world we live in. They never lose focus, but instead prove that fashion has the power to incite meaningful and necessary discourse in a way that touches all everyday each time they get dressed.

Rating: A