Maestro (2023)
Director: Bradley Cooper
Screenwriter: Bradley Cooper, Josh Singer
Starring: Bradley Cooper, Carey Mulligan, Matt Bomer, Maya Hawke, Sarah Silverman, Sam Nivola

When On the Waterfront opened in 1954, its score gained just as much critical praise as any other element of the film – which isn’t a light feat considering it won eight Oscars. Amazingly, it would remain Leonard Bernstein’s only contribution to cinema. At least, his only contribution that was intended to be part of a film – the music he composed for West Side Story is probably some of his most iconic work, but it was composed for the stage rather than for the screen. For a character as big as Bernstein with a mark on American culture of similar stature, it’s amazing to think that it has taken this long for his second mark on cinema to be made.

Bradley Cooper writes, directs, and stars in Maestro as the man himself. Cooper’s belief in his own ability to multitask is clearly quite strong, and its strength is only matched by his ambition to make a film that spans a life as long and as rich as Bernstein’s. We meet him as an old man who has already done it all, and then we take a step back into his mid-twenties in the early 1940s.

Maestro is a rare case in which style becomes substance. Bradley Cooper’s performance as Bernstein changes to fit each historical era that the film visits – he is more stagey and theatrical in the 40s, and looser and, seemingly, more improvisational in the 70s. It’s not only Cooper’s performance that changes – the cinematography changes to suit the era it’s portraying in more ways than just the use of black and white footage for the older sequences.

As Bernstein himself ages with constantly shifting makeup and facial prosthetics, the look and feel of the world around him informs us as to when it is all taking place by becoming a part of the era it’s portraying. When it’s showing us something from the 40s, it could easily be dropped into a Charlie Chaplin film, whereas the shots that take place in the 70s could be mistaken for Deliverance. In the few glimpses we get into the 80s, it has the atmosphere of a cheesy Miami-set disposable action movie.

The only aspect that isn’t changing and reinventing itself throughout is Felicia, Bernstein’s wife portrayed by Carey Mulligan. Mulligan’s performance is in such stark contrast to Cooper’s that it accentuates both of their characters – Felicia is caring and stable while Leonard is passionate and erratic. They aren’t compatible as lovers, but they share a warmth towards each other that neither takes for granted.

Bernstein is such a flawed character that, if it wasn’t for Felicia’s stability beside him, it would be hard to empathise with why he makes such chaotic life choices at every available opportunity. Maestro never advocates for those choices or attempts to put Bernstein in a light that he isn’t worthy of – it’s as critical of him as it needs to be – but seeing how quickly his personality and his life can change does go some way to creating some relatability for how he could become so self-destructive. A kind light is encouraged by the wealth of context that we’re afforded.

Of course, Maestro isn’t breaking new ground in telling quite a personal story in contrast to an otherwise well-crafted public image. Tár even beat it to be the first one about a conductor to be released in the 2020s. The best comparison for Maestro, however, is probably in something it’s the opposite of, The Greatest Showman. They’re both films about Americans who broke new ground in their respective eras – the former as the first American to lead a symphony orchestra and the latter as the American (P. T. Barnum) who popularised the circus. What makes Maestro and The Greatest Showman so different, though, is that Maestro never attempts to glorify its subject under the pretence that his achievements should outweigh his character. It celebrates his art while retaining the integrity of his flaws.

What it all amounts to is a biopic that is long overdue but served well by its existence now that it is finally here. Bradley Cooper has managed to make Maestro a thoughtful depiction of Leonard Bernstein’s life and character, but also of the world that shaped him and the people who were around him for it all.

Score: 17/24

Written by Rob Jones

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First Man (2018)
Director: Damien Chazelle
Screenwriter: Josh Singer
Starring: Ryan Gosling, Claire Foy, Ethan Embry, Ciarán Hinds, Jason Clarke, Kyle Chandler, Corey Stoll, Patrick Fugit

First Man, the 2018 mid-budget Universal release from Whiplash and La La Land director Damien Chazelle, will be about the most divisive movie of the year when 2018 comes to a close, owing much of this to its detachment of visual ecstasy from its understated means of progressing its narrative, and the contrast between its phenomenal score and Ryan Gosling’s almost non-acting form of lead performance. But let’s make one thing clear: if you’re going to see a movie about landing on the moon, this probably isn’t the one for you.

Damien Chazelle’s visual palette in First Man is one likened by many to that of Christopher Nolan’s in Interstellar – that being that it’s beautifully shot, spectacularly computer generated and presented almost as if at a distance from the parts of us that feel emotion, specifically that of empathy – and while this mild back-handed compliment does hold credence, the jobs that both directors did on their respective space voyaging movies owe a lot more to the work of Stanley Kubrick on 2001: A Space Odyssey as opposed to one another, with Chazelle’s offering actually surpassing Nolan’s in terms of total commitment to the iconography and themes of Kubrick’s legendary work – in First Man space is unfamiliar, not at all sympathetic, it doesn’t take sides and it is entirely unforgiving. This is absolute praise: First Man at times looks like Kubrick himself made it.

Powered on by a clear front-runner for Best Score this coming awards season (as composed by regular collaborator Justin Hurwitz), Chazelle creates a sense of dread and underlying anger beneath the wonder of space exploration, of finding out what’s on the moon. The human sacrifice of NASA’s ultimate pursuit is presented as if a common occurrence, with the characters themselves allowed zero respite before their next attempts at advancing their prospects. At no time is the feat of this movie’s central protagonist – the first man on the moon Neil Armstrong (Gosling) – celebrated or championed, it is instead only presented as if through a non-judgemental eye, with the focus instead shifting onto the themes more central to this particular story: honour, obsession, isolation and most potently, fulfilment.

First Man is not a movie about the space race, or even so much about landing on the moon, but is instead a picture about obsession and the white man’s pursuit of absolute fulfilment, a micro-expression of America’s vision of itself as a deeply distressed but never reluctant hero; an honourable quiet man that attempts to suppress its historic anguish and instead only pursues greater meaning. Gosling’s Neil Armstrong is America itself in this most American of tales, the movie offering a posthumous look at the development of the country throughout the 20th century, though notably only doing so through a lens as tilted as that of space-race propaganda and one as equally centred on the white middle class.

At the hub of that work is Ryan Gosling who leans into the angst-ridden aspects of his star persona almost entirely here, while ditching so many of the heart-throb aspects that have made him such a watchable performer in recent years, including in his past collaboration with Chazelle on La La Land. Never has Gosling seemed so plain, though there are nuances to his performance that are so well timed it’s barely noticeable that minutes have gone by with little to no reason to care for his character. Even while stripping himself of so much that is worth identifying him with, there remains a watchability about Gosling, a presence that drags this movie somewhere close to a force for empathy despite some rather large missteps in character creation and the way some scenes are thrown in only to remind us of his humanity; scenes that clearly feel out of place due to their obviously negative impact on the pace of the film.

It is either as a side effect or entirely because of this that Gosling’s co-star Claire Foy seems so identifiable as the lead’s on-screen wife, and that her performance particularly stands out. Consistently, hers is the role we look to as a viewer to see evidence of love, pain and sadness, and it is therefore through her eyes that we truly see Neil Armstrong, it is through her eyes that we come to understand the immensity of the astronaut’s pursuit of greater and greater exploration. Foy is sensational in the supporting role, providing all she needs to and more as a strong, stubborn, of-her-era housewife who maintains a strong upper lip and quietly controls her household while remaining entirely at the mercy of her husband’s professional decisions. Her fragility beneath the power is what truly brings the performance home, as there remains something so human in her every action that she is an entirely unmissable aspect of the picture.

In a sense, First Man presents the central relationship of these two characters, and the temporariness of the NASA working family, as if that of an army squadron, with the wives staying at home and anticipating the worst, dreading a knock on the door and attempting to raise their children in as safe of an environment as possible. Technologically, Chazelle’s work with cinematographer Linus Sandgren also reinforces this, with a 16mm and 35mm lens operating to present the movie’s most intense shaky-cam moments that have more in common with the grainy opening of Saving Private Ryan than anything from a space movie like Apollo 13, while the landing itself was shot in beautiful iMax that truly showed off the size, scope and wonder of the moon and space while also effectively reinforcing how truly baron both are. The transition from tight, personal shots that are filled with Gosling’s presence to ones that have a massive scope is a jarring one, but it works for the picture by reinforcing the magnitude of the achievement and how truly scary achieving it must have been, working at least from within the camera as a true force of empathy for the Armstrong character and truly driving home his sacrifices.

This isn’t a film with a clear political message as regards the space race or conspiracy theories, but it is a truly American movie clearly misjudged by the anticipatory masses after the trailer failed to showcase the American flag on the moon. It’s a beautifully constructed piece of visual cinema with a score perhaps more sensational than any other in recent years, a deeply intrinsic and personal work (akin to that of Chazelle’s debut feature Whiplash) that uses the sheer depth of space as a tool to look deeper into Armstrong’s journey and thus ourselves. This movie won’t be for everyone, and criticisms of it failing to acknowledge the wider context of the space race or American society at the time are totally valid when judging the picture on its directness, but just as Whiplash wasn’t about Jazz, First Man isn’t about the moon landing so much as it’s about Armstrong personally or America as a nation looking back on itself. While it isn’t an audience-pleasing action-adventure with an uplifting undercurrent as could have been suggested by its subject matter, it is a superb piece of art from a director who’s quickly establishing an ouevre of intimate and astute works; a strong and powerful piece that may be better remembered moving forward than it has been at the time of its release.

20/24

The Post (2018)
Director: Steven Spielberg
Screenwriters: Liz Hannah, Josh Singer
Starring: Meryl Streep, Tom Hanks, Alison Brie, Carrie Coon, Bruce Greenwood, Tracy Letts, Bob Odenkirk, Sarah Paulson, Matthew Rhys, Bradley Whitford

In an era of press embargoes and Fake News, legendary director Steven Spielberg has assembled one of the most Spielbergian cast of all time to bring the true story of the Washington Post’s publishing of Vietnam War secrets into the spotlight; the director’s latest attempt to tackle the controversial new-age nationalism sweeping his home country and engulfing world news. American darlings Meryl Streep and Tom Hanks lead the ensemble cast for a drama so rooted in truth that it abandons obvious extravagance to focus its tightly knit story on the nuggets of wonder we can find in the pursuit of truth, those we consider to be truth seekers, and the very idea of truth itself. Along with Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, this may be the most relevant film of this awards season.

Like many a recent Spielberg film, there is an indication in The Post that the director is preaching his beliefs a little too loudly and a little too often, an aspect of his 21st century oeuvre that has brought somewhat diminishing returns in his less mainstream releases. It’s a point that is fundamentally built into the fabric of The Post from its very base, and it is through this very clear and definitive presentation of ideology that the film is likely to rub some people the wrong way while remaining an important and timely film to others. Regardless of the political and/or moral beliefs likely to be brought to the film from the increasingly scrutinised presentations of the press and high ranking government officials in the real-world, it seems clear in this film that Spielberg does somewhat objectively handle the content with a conviction less brash than in releases like War Horse (2011) or Lincoln (2012), telling with his camera a story that, when compared to his other directorial releases, is much like the film’s lead character – quieter, more composed, and quite obviously morally adept.

Visually, The Post is a film connecting two clearly defined aesthetic sensibilities, the combination of which have become the calling card to Spielberg’s recognisable style. On one hand there is the beautifully photographed and almost grainy presentation of long, standing shots intersected with important visual indicators that create an unparalleled classic look, while on the other hand there are era-defining camera movements and a sort of visual flair more often associated with the high quality blockbuster fare of Spielberg’s now forty plus year career. It’s a marriage of styles that gifts the film a distinctive look that brings about true moments of understated awe but ultimately leaves the film – in terms of its aesthetics at least – never truly feeling like one thing or another, as if lost in a middle ground not quite able to satisfy the screenplay’s need and demand for complete visual immersion. As a result, the film remains distant as if an exercise in observation as opposed to one attempting to include or be a source of empathy, a cleverly written and terrifically acted stage show that you have to watch from the stands.

This is, of course, not necessarily a new factor as regards the watching of Spielberg films, as the director has never been one to shy away from reminding you he’s there, whether it be the use of prolonged and momentum-shifting shots or the Classic Hollywood inspired editing techniques such as cross fades and wipes. In The Post, there are some sequences from the very top of Spielberg’s artistic arsenal in these respects, with a number of notable sequences earning the distinction of being some of the better directed moments in film from the past 12 months. In many ways, this film feels like an exercise in spotting the very best moments of an incomparable filmmaker and, though these moments seem to be sporadic, they remain important not only to the art of the film but also to the reception of it.

At the centre of the film’s might and force however, remains the duo of central protagonists played by Meryl Streep and Tom Hanks. Even Spielberg, a director straddling the line between style and substance, was conscious enough of the power of his cast to gift them the resources (shot length, framing, scene pacing, etc.) needed to perform to the incredibly high standards we’ve become accustomed to. Streep in particular is fascinating to watch as she personifies the continued existence of workplace sexism with an astute power and confidence that seems plighted by the prejudices of her time; she’s a woman attempting to gain comfort in her own power and responsibility but ultimately struggles with the idea of realising her own potential. The actress, nominated for several acting awards this season, plays Kay Graham, the heir to The Washington Post, who is terrifically well written by screenwriting duo Liz Hannah and Josh Singer but is encapsulated by the acting decisions of Streep herself, with the actress shining particularly brightly when asked to portray shock and disgust through the guise of polite acceptance. Hers is an acting powerhouse unlike any female actor in the history of cinema and is one that needs a talent the level of Tom Hanks to oppose her when she’s performing to such a level.

Hanks is particularly strong in The Post, revisiting the techniques of some of his more astute performances to bring a sense of almost unrelenting conviction to a character who was of course demanding of such. In many ways, Hanks’ character – newspaper editor Ben Bradlee – is the mirror image of Streep’s Kay Graham in this film, presenting a kindness and compassion through the underlying anger and strict principle of his desire to be the source of a greater truth. Bradlee’s journey is representative of the compassionate man’s journey through changing times as regards gender roles, just as Graham’s is representative of the aspirational woman’s journey, an aspect of Hannah and Singer’s written work that elevates the film beyond a simple recounting of events and into a strictly modern ideological environment; an aspect of their work encapsulating of their overall ability to contextualise the story and bring about a source of emotional attachment.

Working just as hard from an emotional and ideological perspective is John Williams, the composer of the film’s beautifully written score; a soundtrack of tension underpinned by wind instruments more typically associated with American national pride. Williams is legendary for producing scores encapsulating of a “we can do better”, or “look at how great we’ve been” attitude across the works of Spielberg in particular, and in The Post this seems to be at the forefront of his music, reinforcing the very nature of the story’s ultimate goal: to present the truth seekers and barrier breakers as the ultimate patriots to the American flag and, indeed, the American dream, regardless of the current trend to denounce such people as trouble makers or liars in the current political landscape.

The Post is, then, a true-to-life film telling the story of an important moment in America’s history that beautifully unravels into a challenge towards contemporary ideologies and trends. The film itself is of the highest quality in many technical aspects, with the cast – particularly Streep and Hanks – doing a phenomenal job at presenting the hardships of their characters’ decisions and ultimately the state of the patriarchy, but the picture does remain distant from true involvement courtesy of Spielberg’s visual choices and the way in which some aspect of the story are presented with quite broad strokes. There are so many film industry professionals working at the very top of their game on The Post yet it remains somewhat outside the realm of greatness, so although John Williams’ score, the lead performances and the screenwriting deserve a lot of recognition, the film as a collection of these elements fails to move outside of the realm of something-to-look-at and therefore never engages emotionally in quite the same way as is the case with many a Spielberg release or 2018 Oscars front-runner. Watching The Post is like witnessing the printing of a newspaper, fascinating but somewhat removed from your involvement.

18/24

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Spotlight (2016)
Director: Tom McCarthy
Starring: Mark Ruffalo; Michael Keaton; Rachel McAdams; Liev Schreiber; John Slattery; Stanley Tucci.
Plot: The true story of how the Boston Globe uncovered the massive scandal of child molestation and cover-up within the local Catholic Archdiocese, shaking the entire Catholic Church to its core.

It is often said that for a drama to be truly impactful it must be relevant to the contemporary landscape of its culture and be of exceptional quality. What Tom McCarthy and company have created is just that; a tour de force of shock, horror, empathy and emotion that engages in a way that goes beyond the cinema and into the dark reaches of your thoughts before bed. Spotlight may well be the greatest of all of 2016’s Oscar nominated movies.

Based on the true story of the Boston Globe newspaper’s uncovering of a mass of child molestation in Boston’s Catholic Church, this Josh Singer (The Fifth Estate) and Tom McCarthy written movie presents the journey of four of the newspaper’s journalists, known as the ‘spotlight’ team, as they search for facts and tackle legalities in their pursuit of informing the public of the 7o-plus high ranking church members who molested local youths. It is both a moving and thought provoking destination piece that doesn’t get bogged down in personal stories (love interests, personal distress, and so on) but instead focuses entirely on the story that is being uncovered and the ways in which the Pulitzer Prize winning team come to get it out to the public. Although a dismissal of the personal with regard to any drama’s story telling would usually lead to a complete lack of connection between a movie and its audience, Singer and McCarthy have cleverly constructed a screenplay that feels so communal that you can’t help but to will on its heroes whilst knowing very little about them simply because you want the truth to be outed as much as they do; because you want the faceless villains of the piece and those who protected them to be exposed. In correspondence with this, the script is air tight with almost zero occurrences of time wasting or gap filling that I could argue should have been left on the cutting room floor, making for a tense and thrilling watch without seeming overly long courtesy of a stretched run-time that could have become exhausting given its demand on the viewer, as was the case with its Oscar nominated counterpart The Revenant.

Perhaps just as intelligently, McCarthy’s team selected an ensemble cast of top actors and recognisable faces that helped to make each of the characters feel identifiable beyond the limits of the incredibly focused script, and every one of them delivered work of the highest quality.

The Oscar nominated Mark Ruffalo was the movie’s standout performer, delivering a performance that was a transformation from many of his usual characters yet remained in the confines of believability. The most impressive aspect of his portrayal was the alteration to the rhythm of his speech as it made the usually tonal Ruffalo sound like a completely different person. This, when combined with his off beat twitches and stutters, presented a reporter who was borderline obsessed with his investigation and entirely married to his work, and was without a doubt the best supporting performance I’ve seen out of this year’s Supporting Actor nominees (including Tom Hardy whom I found to be incredibly good too).

Rachel McAdams and John Slattery both gave typically good performances without being stand-outs, while Michael Keaton was very good in his identifiable yet authoritative role as the leader of ‘spotlight’. It was, however, the work of Liev Schreiber and Stanley Tucci that truly grabbed my attention beyond that of Mark Ruffalo, as each man delivered subtly courageous performances in roles with little screen time that worked to entice and provoke an emotional attachment to the wider themes and stories of the movie that go beyond that of the uncovering of the script’s centerpiece tragedy. Tucci’s character was written in such a way that his lovable and identifiable star persona was in keeping with, and was played with the subtlety it required. What Schreiber offered as a strong-willed yet incredibly polite and quiet man was almost entirely different to those roles he has excelled in, in the past. This made for a surprising and admirable performance that helped to boost the quality of the film as an overall presentation and ultimately made his character, who could have been vilified in the script and most certainly will be vilified by portions of the audience opposed to the themes of the film, a likable and respectable character; something that helped to keep the focus of the script’s criticisms on that of the Church and its unlawful members as opposed to Schreiber’s ‘outsider’ character.

Much of the quality of the finished film has to go to its authorial director who was clearly involved in most of the major aspects of the movie. McCarthy, whose back catalog includes the critically panned ‘The Cobbler’ starring Adam Sandler, handled the severity of the true story with humility and respect both in his writing and in his presentation of the picture, and he undoubtedly got the best out of his talented cast. Even in moments of nostalgia, such as how journalists had to work with archivists instead of accessing old press clippings and reports over the internet in 2001, McCarthy was subtle enough to not present this in such a way that made you smile at how far we’ve come or long for those ‘good old days’ to be back, but instead used them only to illustrate how much more difficult the characters’ tasks were at the time. Similarly, the way he handled the movie’s timeline crossing the events of 9/11 was respectful yet remained out of the main focus of the movie and was evidence of a focused and inspired filmmaker making some of his best work.

Perhaps just as importantly, the director’s collaborators seemed to be entirely dedicated to his message and the true story they were presenting. Boston looked beautiful, the office settings looked used and creative, and the actors themselves were dressed and ‘designed’ in such a way that made each of them different to their usual selves while not overstepping the mark and taking attention away from what was being produced. Similarly, the score was somewhat subtly remarkable, issuing reminders of the evocative story rather than provoking emotion on its own. These things, and the ways they were put together by the director, made for a surefire Oscar nominee that I can only liken in its evocative nature and overall quality to The Theory of Everything from 2015’s Oscar Race.

In general terms, this film’s large and culturally significant scope of tackling Pedophilia in the Catholic Church was eye opening and obviously of incredible importance to those not yet knowledgeable about such matters, and while criticism is bound to be fired at it for its rather one sided presentation and the ways in which it comes to be a message of vilification regarding the entirety of the Catholic Church and not just the actions of those in the Boston area over the quarter century between 1975 and 2000, Spotlight must be considered the best of all of this year’s Oscar front-runners in most categories for its combination of respect, humility and passion in all sectors, with fantastic career defining performances in front of the camera and some sensational work behind the camera. Tom McCarthy’s Spotlight is impactful and moving, and certainly one of the best movies released this decade.

23/24

Best Film – The Revenant

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Outstanding British Film – Brooklyn

Film Not In the English Language – Wild Tales

Best Short Film – Operator

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Best Animation – Inside Out

Best Documentary – Amy

Best Short Animation – Edmund

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Best Director – Alejandro G. Iñárritu (The Revenant)

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Best Actor – Leonardo DiCaprio (The Revenant)

Supporting Actor – Mark Rylance (Bridge of Spies)

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Best Actress – Brie Larson (Room)

Supporting Actress – Kate Winslet (Steve Jobs)

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EE Rising Star Award – John Boyega (Star Wars: The Force Awakens)

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Original Screenplay – Tom McCarthy & Josh Singer (Spotlight)

Adapted Screenplay – Adam McKay & Charles Randolph (The Big Short)

Outstanding Debut By A British Writer, Director, or Producer – Naji Abu Nowar (Theeb)

Outstanding Contribution to British Cinema – Angels

Costume Design – Jenny Beaven (Mad Max: Fury Road)

Makeup & Hair – Mad Max: Fury Road

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Cinematography – Emmanuel Lubezki (The Revenant)

Editing – Margaret Sixel (Mad Max: Fury Road)

Special Visual Effects – Star Wars: The Force Awakens

Best Production Design – Colin Gibson; Lisa Thompson (Mad Max: Fury Road)

Sound – The Revenant

Original Music – Ennio Morricone (The Hateful Eight)

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Fellowship Award – Sir Sydney Poitier

Award Wins: 

5 – The Revenant
4 – Mad Max: Fury Road
2 – Star Wars: The Force Awakens
1 – Amy
1 – The Big Short
1 – Bridge of Spies
1 – Brooklyn
1 – Edmund
1 – The Hateful Eight
1 – Inside Out
1 – Operator
1 – Room
1 – Spotlight
1 – Steve Jobs
1 – Theeb
1 – Wild Tales