Review: Shirley

by Chris Feil

Josephine Decker’s Shirley opens with the false optimism of young love with a couple in the mold of American idealism. Over the film’s volleying and spry 107 minutes, Decker curdles it with subversion by focusing on their dismantler: the genius writer Shirley Jackson, played by Elisabeth Moss.

The couple at the center, Rose (Odessa Young) and Fred (Logan Lerman), arrive in a college town already imbalanced, favoring the advancement of his studies over her own. Fred is under the leadership of writer and professor Stanley Hyman (Michael Stuhlbarg), the husband of Jackson, with Rose and Fred taking up residence in their booze-drenched home. The young couple disrupts their existence with tranquility and squareness, but Rose’s curiosity and oppression halts a patch of writer’s block for Shirley. The film crescendos with the status quo of the campus upper crust, Rose’s intoxication with Shirley, and the wringing of Shirley’s next masterpiece.

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Review: The High Note

by Chris Feil

Are VH1 Movies That Rock still a thing? The kind of movie that the VH1 programming gods connected through the vague thematic tissue of music, casual comfort viewing meant to be consumed on repeated Sunday afternoons, structured flawlessly to pause for snack breaks? It’s as if those gods had carved The High Note from gold for how much the film embodies that vibe.

The film centers around a music icon Grace Davis (Tracee Ellis Ross) and her assistant Maggie (Dakota Johnson). As Grace attempts another relaunch of old music, Maggie’s music producer ambitions clash against Grace’s tried-and-true formula for success - and the star’s wariness that her assistant might be using her coattails. But Maggie begins to grow her producer chops (and a little romance) with a fledging singer songwriter (Kelvin Harrison Jr.), and struggles to balance her goals with her loyalty to her demanding boss within an uncrackable industry...

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Review: Military Wives

by Chris Feil

Much of the newest film from The Full Monty director Peter Cattaneo, Military Wives, follows the mold of that effort that made him an Oscar nominee. It’s an emotionally effective ensemble portrait of blue collar Britain, with unseasoned performers finding a renewed sense of community through performance. Good times, neatly plotted setbacks, and reconciliation within family units are had by all. It even ends on an iconic disco track, but this time with even more charmingly awkward dancing.

However, Military Wives is more defined by its modesty than its showmanship, lovely and satisfying but without much in the way of complication or embellishment. Even as it follows the formula, it downplays much of its musicality and emotional grace notes when you expect it to soar. Comfort classic status is sadly averted due to its lower register, and yet it still fulfills most of what you crave in a film such as this.

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Review: How to Build a Girl

by Chris Feil

Beanie Feldstein has spent her time in coming-of-age comedies sharing the screen, whether in a tandem spotlight in Booksmart or stealing scenes in smaller doses in Lady Bird. With Coky Giedroyc’s early-90s-rock infused How to Build a Girl, she gets her own showcase this time. While the actress makes good on her potential to carry her own vehicle, the film itself offers more modest results.

From Caitlin Moran’s popular and semi-autobiographical novel, Feldstein stars as Johanna Morrigan, a teenage music obsessive and writer with dreams outsized to her family’s low income. After an embarrassing public attempt at sharing her writing, she adopts a brash exterior as Dolly Wilde to pursue a journalism career and sexual liberation. As she is confronted by the ingrained sexism of a male dominated industry, Johanna develops Dolly’s voice into caustic extreme to establish herself, reaping success through persona. But the self-reinvention that was once an escape from her perceived weaknesses quickly becomes a wedge between her passion and her true self.

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Review: Liberté

by Chris Feil

Cineastes missing human touch might find an antidote in Albert Serra’s Liberté, another gallery-ready period piece from the Catalan filmmaker. The film is a barrage of increasingly queasy, bewigged kinky fumblings in the woods with the director audaciously exploring the repetitive nature of lust.

Set just prior to the French Revolution, Liberté opaquely follows a set of libertines who have been banished from the king’s court. Opening on the fringes of a forrest at dusk, the voice of one of them describes the public torture and dismemberment of a prisoner in brutal detail. The story goes beyond the biologically possible, the telling centering as much on the violence as the response from those who witness it. “The crowd enjoyed the show,” he muses, “and you know, I have a taste for these things.” As this grotesque story preambles for the audience, the film's extremity is as much about voyeurism to the act as the act itself.

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