Underwhelming. Sam Mendes’ Empire of Light tries to be too many things, and winds up being none of them sufficiently enough. Furthermore, it’s a story out of time that would have played better had it come out 30-40 years ago. Moreover, it’s poorly paced, and Olivia Coleman’s Oscar-reaching performance is simply not enough to save this film that so desperately desires your affection. Is it a story about the challenges of a mixed race couple in the 1980s? Is it a story about the love and healing nature of cinema? Is it a story commenting on and challenging ageism in romance? Or, is it a story about trauma and mental illness? It’s all of those subjects–and–none of those. None of them effectively enough, anyway.
A romance develops in a beautiful old cinema on the south coast of England in the 1980s.
In an age in which mixed-race couples are increasingly common, movies about the healing power of cinema have been done–and much better (ie Cinema Paradiso), and films about mental illness are common, the story that needed to be the central focus was the one on ageism in dating. And yet, that subplot takes the furthest backseat to the others. Empire of Light never lands on any one outside/action story paired with an inside/emotional story. Neither does Coleman’s character effectively go though a growth arc–she is largely the same at the end of the movie as she is at the beginning–save the healing power of cinema (which isn’t her chief struggle).
This film stands as another example of a director with an idea(s) that should have worked with a screenwriter, because any screenwriter with his/her weight in salt would’ve cautioned Mendes against the plethora of subplots and inner-needs. A closer look at this film suggests that Mendes desired to create this generation’s Cinema Paradiso, but the movie simply doesn’t deliver on that theme or subplot. Like with all the other themes and motifs, the narrative feels desperately forced. I’ll leave you with this: where the film does excel.
Empire of Light ‘shines’ best through the brilliant eye of director of photography Roger Deakins. It’s because of his incredible talent that the film looks as gorgeous as it does. Furthermore, the setting and production design shine brilliantly. I wish that the outside/action story included the renovation of the older auditoriums and ballroom. Would’ve made for a fantastic manifestation of one of the inside/emotional stories.
Ryan teaches Film Studies and Screenwriting at the University of Tampa and is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Interested in Ryan making a guest appearance on your podcast or contributing to your website? Send him a DM on Twitter. If you’re ever in Tampa or Orlando, feel free to catch a movie with him.
Thoughtful exterior, vapid soul. A gorgeous-looking film that fails to deliver any substantive meaning or motivation behind anything that occurs in this ominous snoozefest. The Banshees of Inisherin is another 2020s cinema example of what happens when filmmakers fail to follow screenwriting conventions like a clearly defined external goal for the central character, supported by an internal need or motivation, and clearly defined opposition to the external goal. Furthermore, “a [day] in the life of…” is neither a plot nor a goal. The first act of the film holds hostage nearly half the screentime. And when something finally happens, the motivation behind it lacks any logic or rational reasoning. The outside/action story is nearly non-existent. Filmmakers should remember that a film can have depth, dimension, and deeper meaning BUT those layers should never take the place of a clearly defined linear or nonlinear plot map. Diegetic accessibility is important, even in more thoughtful films. Undoubtedly, this will become one of those films that pretentious cinephiles defend by the cliche “you just didn’t get it.” While the film looks gorgeous and the attempt to parallel the civil war between two (former) friends to the real-world Irish Civil War of the 1920s is intriguing, writer-director Martin McDonagh struggles to establish a plot to support the story he wants to tell. None of the characters are likable nor are the performances exceptional. Extreme/manic behavior does not a compelling character make. In many ways, this film reminds me of a more coherent The Lighthouse. So, if you enjoyed The Lighthouse, then you may enjoy this movie. The Banshees of Inisherin feels like a vanity project that means something to the filmmaker, but holds little value or meaning for the audience. Contrary to the accolade associated with this film, it is one of the most boring break-up movies ever made.
Ryan teaches Film Studies and Screenwriting at the University of Tampa and is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Interested in Ryan making a guest appearance on your podcast or contributing to your website? Send him a DM on Twitter. If you’re ever in Tampa or Orlando, feel free to catch a movie with him.
A phantasmagorical cautionary tale on the cruel predictability of the human condition that’s told through a beautifully orchestrated symphony of exploitation, deception, and just desserts, wrapped in a delicious neo-noir film. In the second big screen adaptation on the 1946 novel by William Lindsay Gresham, del Toro certainly applies his particular cinema stylo to Nightmare Alley, yet delivers a motion picture that stays true to its roots in film noir. Gresham’s book and Edmund Goulding’s critically acclaimed 1947 adaptation are the perfect source material for del Toro’s penchant for dark fantasies. But what this film allows for del Toro to do, that he hasn’t done before, is direct a neo-noir, complete with all the tropes and stylistic conventions. And he’s recently announced that there is a grayscale version of the film, which I will want to check out soon. Del Toro’s update to the dark dale explores characters that are impacted by vicious business practices built around exploitation and deception. Audiences will simultaneously find the story and performances, by the lead and supporting cast, both alluring and repulsive.
In 1940s New York, down-on-his-luck Stanton Carlisle (Bradley Cooper) endears himself to a clairvoyant and her mentalist husband at a traveling carnival. Using newly acquired knowledge, Carlisle crafts a golden ticket to success by swindling the elite and wealthy. Hoping for a big score, he soon hatches a scheme to con a dangerous tycoon with help from the mysterious psychiatrist Lilith (Cate Blanchette) who might be his most formidable opponent yet.
Much like we witness sleight of hand in the carnival acts managed by Willem DaFoe’s carnival barker character, del Toro himself is a master magician. Teaching film history as part of my cinema studies classes reminds me every semester of how the world thought of film as the work of a magician, and I love just how many layers of magic we have within this marvelous motion picture. Just as various characters are playing on the predictability and fears of the audiences within the film, del Toro is toying around with our perceptions of what is really going on. The art of misdirection and illusion is alive and well in Nightmare Alley. Unlike most of del Toro’s previous films such as Pan’s Labyrinth and The Shape of Water, there is neither a monster, in the conventional sense, nor mystical or supernatural dimension in this film other than the magic and mentalism of the metaphoric monsters in the film.
Taking place in the early 20th century at the time when carnival sideshows, with their seemingly endless variety of oddities (still a fun attraction at modern day fairs and carnivals), dotted the rural landscapes, this film is populated with characters that have in one way or another experienced some form of trauma that has prompted them to find solace or absolution in their (exploitive) work as a sideshow performer. And our central character of Stanton (Bradley Cooper) is of no exception. Following the dumping of a dead body and setting a house in an idyllic setting ablaze, Stanton joins a seedy carnival. Although we are never given explicit details as to why he did what he did, it works perfectly because we don’t always need to know what a character’s motivation is. This unknown makes them more terrifying and unpredictable.
From what I have read, there are a few changes from the book that del Toro made in this adaptation, and for all the better! One of these changes is not spending too much time on Stan’s backstory. We learn and see just enough to keep his history ominous–he keeps this film lean. Far too often, nowadays, writers and directors feel compelled to psychoanalyze and delve into all the reasons for immoral or unethical behavior, and somehow try to rationalize and explain. This explanation removes a significant degree of threat. All we need to know is that a trauma affected Stanton to the degree that he killed the source of the trauma in order to start a new life. And the same could be said for other characters and their respectful traumas. But for all their baggage, this ragtag group of sideshow acts forms a close-knit community.
Without getting into specifics, the story follows the character (negative) growth arc model, which is very much in line with many film noir motion pictures. Furthermore, del Toro includes the iconic femme fatale (in the form of Blanchette’s character) and a villainous mob-like boss that is not to be trifled with. Nightmare Alley embodies a cynical soul, which is often a characteristic of film noir. This cynical nature demonstrates two or more opposing forces that are opposite sides of the same coin, both equally corrupt. As Stan is refining his skill and showmanship for what would become his high society headlining mentalist act, he receives a dire warning not to do the “spook” show because it leads to a dark path, a path on which the actor starts to believe his or her own lies.
Through lead characters Stan and Lilith, we witness two strong-willed, cunning individuals that are equally master manipulators. There are few things more dangerous than a con-artist who believes their own spiel, and del Toro takes that dynamic to its inevitable conclusion. While the level of violence and gore in this film are rather subdued compared to his other work, when the gore hits, it HITS! There is one scene in particular that is reminiscent of the Pale Man scene in Pan’s Labyrinth. When you hits all the tropes necessary for a neo-noir, you can then bend the conventions a little in order to maintain your authorship of cinema. For fans of Sunset Boulevard (my pick for greatest film of all time), you will also love the rich character-driven conflict.
The film can be read as a cautionary tale on various systemic societal constructs and practices that prey on the most vulnerable. And many that ascribe to applied postmodernist worldviews, will find this resonating in the film. However, it can also be read through the lens that individuals may find themselves ripe for the picking to be a carnival’s next “geek” by intentionally making decisions that lead them to the carnival barker’s office. When you are in this weakened state, there are systems that will swallow you whole. So, I feel that it’s the opposite: a cautionary tale on what happens when we lead a humanist or nihilistic life; furthermore, this film is a fantastic metaphor on reaping what you sow. If you sow deception, eventually you will reap deception by (1) being deceived by someone or (2) maybe even deceiving YOURself by beginning to believe your own lies. The systems are a symptom of the broken world in which we live, a broken world whose source is, at the end of the day, a heart problem.
Ryan teaches American and World Cinema at the University of Tampa. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Interested in Ryan making a guest appearance on your podcast or contributing to your website? Send him a DM on Twitter or email him at RLTerry1@gmail.com! If you’re ever in Tampa or Orlando, feel free to catch a movie with him.
Visually stunning, but narratively confused. From Benh Zeitlin, the writer-director of the Beasts of the Southern Wild, comes Wendy, a reimagining of Wendy from the J.M. Barrie classic Peter Pan. While this film does touch on and integrate the beloved themes of the story of the boy who wouldn’t grow up, the themes lack consistency because the plot is all over the place. Clearly this film is a passion project of Zeitlin’s that undoubtedly contains ample meaning behind every scene; unfortunately, that meaning and purpose are largely lost upon the audience due to the complete chaos that unfolds from beginning to end, a chaos for which you will likely need a dramamine. You still get the exploration of the idea of neverending childhood, but the plot and dialogue posit far too many questions that seldom get answered through diegetic exposition. The references to the Peter Pan, with which we are far more familiar, will bring a smile to your face and serve as motivation to keep going on this journey, but those are few and far between. And when we do get a familiar reference, it’s completely changed. For example, “when the first child laughed for the very first time, the laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and that was the beginning of Mother.” No, you didn’t misread that quote from the movie, instead of the laugh being the origin of faeries, it is the origin of the protector of the unnamed island that serves as our Never Neverland. In some ways, Mother is a Tinkerbell like character, but in the form of a giant fish-like creature. Ultimately, this film appears to be confused as to what it wants to be. A lot of heart-felt ideas, but poorly executed.
Just who is the audience of this film? It’s too edgy for kids but not edgy enough for adults; furthermore, the allegorical themes are difficult for adults to understand, let alone children. Adults will be able to identify the commentary on what’s lost and gained on the journey from child to adult, but everything else is lost in the wandering plot and story. So what does work? The cinematography and score are both outstanding! Truly this is a beautiful film that contains thoughtful artistic elements that will capture your imagination–but then give it nothing to do. In terms of the child actors, every performance is great! I was thoroughly impressed with the level of actor talent across the board. In particularly, our two lead characters Wendy (Devin France) and Peter Yashua Mack) deliver excellent performances. One thing is for sure, there is a lot for audiences to unpack here, but this reimagining of Wendy and Peter Pan will likely leave most audiences unsatisfied and disappointed.
Ryan teaches screenwriting at the University of Tampa. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Interested in Ryan making a guest appearance on your podcast or contributing to your website? Send him a DM on Twitter or email him at RLTerry1@gmail.com! If you’re ever in the Tampa area, feel free to catch a movie with him!
R.L. Terry ReelView 
