Pugh, Garfield overcome Live’s gimmick
It’s fortunate director John Crowley has Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield in his new film We Live in Time. Though its story goes down a well-worn path, we’re invested in the outcome thanks to the genuine, poignant work the duo delivers. Their ability to bring forth intimate details about their characters not contained in the script speaks to their keen insight of human nature. This proves to be the key to this film’s success as our emotional investment in the characters is sound enough that we overlook a needless gimmick Crowley employs.
Tobias and Almut (Garfield and Pugh) encounter one another not in a meet-cute, but in a violent collision. She hits him with her car when he aimlessly wanders into busy London traffic, he first laying sight on her once he regains consciousness in the hospital. It’s an awkward encounter to be sure, yet an obvious spark exists between the two, one that is fanned when Almut invites Tobias to the restaurant she presides over as chef. The meal is a success, which leads to an impulsive act or two that results in him waking up in her bed the next morning.
What ensues is a whirlwind romance, one replete with its ups and downs, resulting in a tumultuous relationship that at times finds each of them questioning the sacrifices each makes so that it might endure. This comes into sharp focus when Almut is diagnosed with cancer, testing the couples’ love and devotion in ways they had not anticipated. This does not prevent them from having a child, a little girl named Ella (Grace Delaney) who is the light of their lives, the glue that binds them through the rough patches.
While I have laid all of this out in sequential order, Crowley chooses to eschew this traditional approach, going up and down the narrative timeline throughout. A scene from late in their relationship is followed by a sequence showing us how they first met, only to be followed by another far in the future dealing with their daughter and their attempt to tell her Almut is ill. There is seemingly no rhyme or reason for this approach, the technique yielding no shocks or twists. Instead, you find yourself trying to puzzle out just when in their relationship a given scene is occurring by looking at Pugh’s everchanging hair style.
This approach does nothing but call attention to itself, yet there are just enough authentic moments to salvage Live from the melodrama trash heap. A scene in which Tobias and Ella shave Almut’s head, the parents making a game of this somber moment; Tobias crashing a baby shower so he can make an anguished but earnest apology to Almut; when Tobias learns Almut has been lying to him regarding her job: and the birth of Ella in a gas station bathroom – all of these scenes are rendered with a sincerity that transcends the hoary conventions of the plot, the two leads connecting with the viewer in an intimate, genuine manner that’s all too rare.
In the end, the work of the two leads makes Live worthwhile. I was convinced I was watching two people fall in love as well as weather their unjust fate. And while the plot may be filled with hard-to-swallow moments, the duo’s graceful, subtle work makes them go down easy. It’s a testament to their hard work that I was genuinely moved, rather than rolling my eyes in disbelief. In theaters.
Finn drowns Smile 2’s potential
Eschewing the notion that less is more with a vengeance, Parker Finn’s Smile 2 is everything his surprise 2022 hit was not. Loud, bloated and gratuitous, the sequel stumbles into the trap so many films of its kind fall victim to. What made Smile one of the best horror entries of the last decade was its intimate examination of one character’s battle with depression and denial. It worked because its narrative was focused, its theme timely and it treated its subject with the respect it deserved.
To his credit, Finn continues to put issues of mental health at the forefront in the follow-up, the devastating toll of fame as well as the effects of paranoia the theme. Skye Riley (Naomi Scott) is a pop star who has withered in the spotlight, substance abuse having led to a car accident that killed her boyfriend (Ray Nicholson) and put her own life in jeopardy.
However, she’s on the comeback trail, doing the talk show circuit to humble herself in front of her fans and ask forgiveness, mounting an extensive concert tour as well. Her mental state is tenuous, while the pain from her previous injuries is recurring, so much so that she visits her former dealer, Lewis (Lukas Gage). This is when things go horribly awry, as he passes on a demonic entity that feeds on anxiety and fear. It gains strength by causing the host to hallucinate violent, stressful episodes, only seen by that person.
It’s an intriguing premise, one used to great effect in the first film, but which is overdone this time around. The visions Riley is subjected to increase in their violence and explicitness to the point they become a hindrance to the story. These sequences go on far too long, but worse, they increase in frequency. Clocking in at over two hours, Finn shoots himself in the foot by belaboring this conceit, putting his heroine through the ringer so often that it slows the film to a snail’s pace. Obviously, this is counterintuitive where building suspense is concerned, impatience setting in long before the ridiculous climax takes place.
Special mention must be made of Scott, who is incredible as the troubled young woman, desperately trying to salvage her life and sanity. On edge throughout, her descent into madness is palpable, our sympathy with her from the first moment to the last. It’s obvious Finn has plans of making Smile into a franchise, what with the audacious ending to 2. Here’s hoping he rights the ship to focus on the need for mental health awareness and treatment rather than pandering to the gorehounds in the audience. He’s proven he can make a thoughtful, meaningful horror film, more of which are needed in the sea of dross that floods the genre. In theaters.
Woman offers different perspective on serial killer genre
At times disjointed but still compelling, Anna Kendrick’s directorial debut, Woman of the Hour, examines the fate of four women at the hands of serial killer Rodney Alcala. The results of the encounters vary but the trauma inflicted on each permanently affects them all, none of them left unscathed by this monster in men’s clothing.
Alcala became known as the Dating Game Killer, having appeared on the show in 1978. It’s unknown how many women he had killed before then, though some estimates put the number at nearly 100. It is here that he crosses paths with struggling actress Cheryl Bradshaw (Kendrick), who’s only on the show because her agent convinces her it would be good exposure. That she manages to choose Alcala as her date among the three eligible bachelors shows how charming he could be.
Kendrick employs flashbacks and flashforwards throughout, showing us Alcala’s encounters with other victims. He’s portrayed as a cypher, a manipulative, cold psychopath whose joy in killing is obvious, Daniel Zovatto’s portrayal of him a chilling piece of work. No background is provided regarding his childhood, no traumatic incidents are cited as being formative events in his becoming a killer. He is seen as nothing more than a predator, hiding in plain sight – which is to the point of Ian McDonald’s taut script.
The fact that a witness to one of his previous killings is ignored when she spots him on the game show and the revelation that many other women’s concerns about him were ignored, speak to rampant sexism in police forces of the era. This is the true tragedy of the piece, as it becomes obvious that lives could have been saved had these women’s warnings been heeded.
Kendrick is assured behind the camera, the film moving at a decent pace, her camera movies kept to a minimum, never distracting and always serving a purpose. Most importantly, her point of view is always that of the victim, their terror and helplessness stressed time and again to horrific, infuriating effect.
What with the popularity of true crime stories, Woman of the Hour is necessary viewing for fans of the genre. It manages to satisfy the perverse curiosity surrounding these kinds of events and those who perpetrate them. But more importantly, its portrayal of women who refuse to be victimized is essential, providing profiles in courage that serve as vivid examples of survival after trauma. Streaming on Netflix.
This article appears in Sheriff’s department hiring under scrutiny.
