Disobedience (2018)

The latest film from director Sebastian Lelio, Disobedience offers much promise, but fails ultimately to deliver in many ways. 

 Ronit (Rachel Weisz) returns to her hometown of London after learning of the death of her father, Rav Krushka, a prominent rabbi. She stays at the home of her old friend and mentee of her father's, Dovid (Alessandro Nivola), and his wife, her old friend, Esti (Rachel McAdams). When they were much younger, Ronit, Esti, and Dovid were apparently very close, and the film gradually reveals that Ronit and Esti were once lovers. For a reason that is never revealed, Ronit left London for New York ostensibly to pursue a career as a photographer, but there was evidently some calamitous event that precipitated this decision. Eventually, as the film meanders into the second act, Ronit and Esti's former passion blossoms, leading them into a brief affair and a tumultuous climax - or, at least it builds to a climax. As to whether there is any true pathos, I'm afraid the film misses the promise of its second act. 

The film opens with Rav Krushka giving a sermon in a synagogue in which he discusses the importance of a relationship between a man and a woman. He collapses just as he starts getting more passionate about heterosexual relationships, signaling his imminent demise. During this prologue, I was intrigued by the introduction of the many prominent themes of the film, namely sexuality, homophobia, and Judaism. The fact that he dies while expressing these views so passionately is a metaphor for the archaic nature of such beliefs. Perhaps a bit heavy-handed, the scene does set the tone effectively for the "disobedient" behavior we're about to enjoy. After this prologue, though, the film slows considerably to the point where there is little reason to want to pay attention. 

The color palette is rather gloomy throughout the entire film, focusing on black, brown, and grey - no color. I suppose this choice was to underscore the gloominess of the situation, but I found it hard on the eyes. It's difficult not to compare this ashen palette with the glorious photography of Call Me By Your Name, which is without question one of the most beautifully shot films of the past twenty years. Yet, Disobedience's drab colors only reinforce the drabness of the story and characters. 

The only character who felt like an actual person and for whom I had at least a mild interest was Esti, played admirably by Rachel McAdams. Truly caught between two worlds, Esti is an Orthodox Jew married to a rabbi who has forced herself to deny her true sexuality and personality. Her pain felt palpable, and I empathized with her. 

Ronit, however, was about as fascinating as watching water boil. Her character did little besides whine, smoke, and attempt to look cool by adopting an aloof smugness. She doesn't really do anything, and I never found her motivations believable, much less clear. The daughter of a rabbi who has abandoned her religion is an appealing trope, but not executed well here at all. 

Equally dull is Dovid, whom the writers clearly could not decide whether to portray as a hapless goody-two-shoes or a complete dirt bag who forced a woman to marry him. Unevenly written, he's also flat-out boring. His decision in the final sequence, which I won't reveal, makes little sense given his actions up to that point of the film. 

There is one long, long, long sex sequence in the middle of the film in which Ronit and Esti finally fulfill their passion. It was perhaps the most graphic sex scene I have ever seen: it actually shows mutual masturbation, cunnilingus, and snowballing. Yes, snowballing. The "dribbling," let's just call it, kept going and going and going. I could hear people recoiling in the theater; as for me, let's just say I didn't touch my Coke for the rest of the movie. 

I'm all for sex in a movie (I'm a Ken Russell fan, for crying out loud), but this was too pornographic. It actually surpassed the infamous peach scene in Call Me By Your Name. I see no reason to depict fluids in a movie, especially so realistically. Besides grossing me out, it actually annihilated what I believe was the true intention for the sequence: to depict a beautiful moment between two women who love each other deeply and have been forced apart because of culture. I'm paraphrasing, but the late, great Australian author Colleen McCollough had a simple rule for writing sex: if you want to make it romantic, focus on the emotion; if you want to make a horror scene, focus on body functions to the most clinical detail. Although she was referring to literature, this same principle can be applied to film. The sex in Brokeback Mountain is sexy because we can't see every biological detail of Jake Gyllenhaal's and Heath Ledger's bodies; instead, we feel the palpable tension and attraction the men share. Disobedience has almost no passion, but leaves absolutely nothing physical to the imagination (and I mean nothing). 

The film briefly picks up in the second act when Esti is caught kissing Ronit and her life seems to spiral out of control. One old bitty tattle-tales to Esti's school where she teaches young Jewish girls, and her job appears to be in jeopardy. Her husband (and Ronit's old buddy) learns of the affair, too. For a moment, the film picks up some momentum as the conflicts explode. The film does not sustain this momentum, though, and instead piddles out into a didactic and even more boring third act. 

I hate being told what to think when watching a movie, and the final monologue Esti has when she asks her husband for her freedom was so on-the-nose politically that I found it underwhelming. Real people's speech is messy and imperfect; Esti's monologue is so perfect that it feels like it came straight out of a play written by an undergraduate women's studies major. I love me some girl power, but this speech was just silly and felt completely out of character. 

That being said, I appreciate what Lelio was trying to accomplish both in the final monologue and with the film itself, even if it bored me to tears. It's important to note how rare it is to see mainstream A-listers like Weisz and McAdams starring in a Jewish lesbian romance, and for that I give the movie a little more credit than it probably deserves. 

But only a little.

Grade: C-

Black Panther (2018)

Last night, I finally participated in American pop culture and watched Black Panther. Despite the talent involved and the box office records, the film itself is rather lackluster and ultimately underwhelming. 

I want to preface this review with two admissions: 1. I know almost nothing about the Black Panther comic books and 2. I loathe Marvel films. In fact, many of my complaints actually apply to the entire Marvel franchise, so bear with me. 

Truly, the most important aspect of this film is that African American children finally have a superhero. It is absurd to the point of obscene that it has taken Hollywood this long to produce a superhero movie with a predominately black cast and black heroes. Yet, finally Black Panther is here. I have been touched by all of the images on the Internet of young black children doing the Wakanda Forever pose, and I am glad this source of inspiration exists. Chadwick Boseman (representing SOUTH CAROLINA!) is well cast as the titular character, T'Challa, and and the supporting actors, particularly the women, were equally well-suited to their roles. In fact, one of the thrills of watching this film is its terrific principle black cast: Boseman, Michael B. Jordan, Lupita Nyong'o, Angela Bassett, Forest Whitaker, Sterling K. Brown, Danai Gurira, Daniel Kaluuya, and more. The only main white actors are Andy Serkis (who was almost impossible to understand through his manly grumbling) and Martin Freeman. Seeing so much talent involved was exciting, and I hope that Hollywood realizes people want to see more casts like this. 

The problems with this film, however, are far beyond the issues of casting. Ryan Coogler is one of my favorite emerging directors, but it was clear that Disney was in complete control and smothered whatever creativity he wanted to bring to the film. The greed that has infected Disney, while in addition to being an abomination of everything Walt Disney stood for, is also their greatest liability. It's as if there is a checklist of elements each Marvel film is required to include--a formula, if you will--and this formula truly tainted what could have been an interesting and impactful film. 

There were a few sequences in which Coogler clearly was allowed to infuse the film with his own style, but those sequences are fleeting at best. The action sequences in Marvel films are usually filmed before a director has even been hired, and it shows in this movie. I felt profound disappointment in the action after seeing what Coogler achieved in Creed, which had some of the best boxing choreography in the entire Rocky franchise. Here, the action is messy and almost impossible to see. The CGI looks spongy and hurried, as if one is watching a cheap video game. 

One aspect I wholeheartedly condemn is how grossly sanitized the production is, both regarding the violence and the sex. 

This film is incredibly violent: people shot in the head, impaled with spears and swords, stabbings, throats cut, bombs--you name it. Yet, there is not one drop of blood. I realize the movie was made with children in mind, but to portray violence as bloodless--as clean--is not only dishonest, but a dangerous message for children (and adults). It shows that violence is passive, without consequences, and even fun. I've come to view Marvel films in general as methods of indoctrination, all of them aiming to teach children that violence is the ultimate clean fun. As Chris Pine pointed out, the concept of an infinity war is disturbing and sadly much in line with our country's current values. Considering the target audience is kids who either are too young to remember 9/11 or weren't born yet, this portrayal of violence and war should give us all pause. 

The sexuality in Black Panther was even more sanitized--to the point where it was non-existent. Curiously, there are a number of sequences in which we see T'Challa and Killmonger (yes, that is the villain's name in another example of subtlety) shirtless, which made me think about the portrayal of black bodies in American film. Hollywood almost never portrays black people as sexual, and at first I found Black Panther's depiction of Chadwick Boseman and Michael B. Jordan as sex symbols to be refreshing. Yet, there is nothing sexual about their characters. I wasn't even aware that Lupita Nyong'o's character was the girlfriend until late in the movie--not because of subtlety, but because of this prudish, sanitized portrayal of sex and desire. There isn't even any sexual tension. Am I arguing for explicit sex scenes in a children's movie? Of course not. As with "clean" violence, though, this clean sex is not at all honest. Let's face it: most children's movies have some kind of sexual chemistry--even 101 Dalmatians. But to portray sexual tension as something that is too prurient for children while bombings, shootings, stabbings, and hand-to-hand combat are not is yet another creepy form of indoctrination: get kids comfortable with clean violence and sexless sex. What could possibly go wrong?

I did enjoy some of the side characters, the little sister especially. Yet, there is no character development. In fact, none of them even feel like real characters with flaws, quirks, or motives. To be fair, though, most comic book movies are like this, so this is (again) more of a critique of Marvel movies in general.

The one character I actually found interesting was the villain, Erik Killmonger. Michael B. Jordan is a fine actor, and his was actually the best performance in the movie. His character, ironically, has the purest motives, and he is the only one with sincere passion or any actual inner conflict. I did appreciate the film's brief comment on the differences between African and African American, and was impressed to see Coogler bringing the racial violence of Oakland in 1992 into the story. Yet, this was a missed opportunity. This movie is about as subtle as a sonic boom and as nuanced as a video game. I would have liked to see these themes developed more, as Coogler has demonstrated he can clearly do, but this is a Marvel film....

All in all, Black Panther felt like yet another cheeseburger on the Marvel McDonald's assembly line, which saddens me. I appreciated the things Disney allowed Coogler to do, but I wish he had been allowed to make his own movie without Marvel Studios and a deranged and greedy Mickey Mouse hyperventilating down his neck. 

Grade: B-