Category: 2023

James Gunn | 2hr 29min

There is a sharp irreverence baked into the Guardians of the Galaxy series which goes beyond tension-diffusing quips thrown together in a writer’s room, or facile jabs at a super villain’s ridiculous comic book name – though no doubt it has featured its own fair share of both in the past. James Gunn’s greatest strengths are as a director of weirdos and misfits, often allowing him an escape from the typical studio trappings of restricted artistic control. His great success with The Suicide Squad in 2021 has rocketed him right to the top of the DC Films hierarchy just as his time with Marvel Studios is coming to an end, though with a farewell as playfully spectacular as Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3, there may be some concerns as to whether this move into producing might hold him back from a more hands-on approach. He might not be the next Terry Gilliam or Steven Spielberg, but his cartoonish eccentricity and creative reign over blockbusters certainly puts him in the lineage of both, injecting mainstream movie culture with his own colourful sense of humour.

What one might not be so prepared for when entering the most recent instalment of the Guardians of the Galaxy franchise is just how painfully brutal it is, introducing a new group of ragtag oddballs in tragic counterpoint to Peter Quill’s team. While they set off on a mission to save a wounded Rocket, his comatose mind is reliving his past as an animal experiment. Gunn, being a self-proclaimed fan of the 1932 horror film Island of Lost Souls, wears his influences very clearly on his sleeve. The High Evolutionary is the Doctor Moreau of this story, cruelly mutating lower life forms into bizarre humanoid figures, and essentially positioning himself as their God. Lylla, Teefs, and Floor are the disformed mutants produced in the rejected Batch 89 alongside Rocket, whose extraordinary intellect makes him a reluctant accomplice to the High Evolutionary in his mad experiments.

These flashback sequences mark some of the most visceral scenes of Volume 3, turning Rocket into as sympathetic a character as a CGI raccoon can get. If there was ever a song to underscore his own self-loathing and trauma, then Gunn does well in expressing it through Radiohead’s acoustic version of ‘Creep’, accompanying him through a series of tracking shots in the film’s opening as he saunters through the team’s headquarters.

On an even broader level, Gunn’s development of his entire ensemble also deserves recognition. With an alcoholic Quill grieving the loss of Gamora, Drax getting in touch with his paternal instincts, Nebula completing her redemption arc, and Mantis finding new companions in a trio of unseemly monstrosities, only Groot is really left with little growth of his own in this film. Still, where each are left by the end of Volume 3 is perfectly fitting, lining up with the most gratifying needle drop of the series since ‘Come and Get Your Love’ and earning the shift from late twentieth century music into the 2000s.

More than just a talented writer of quirky outsiders, Gunn backs up his characters with a peculiar cinematic style that has always been well established in the Guardians of the Galaxy series, yet still competes with fellow Marvel directors Ryan Coogler and Taika Waititi in terms of pure visual audacity. Perhaps the trademark slow-motion walk is a bit played out at this point, but the production design during the extended heist scene within the Orgosphere, the biotic headquarters of the High Evolutionary’s nefarious operations, is quite easily a stylistic highpoint of the film. As Quill and his gang descend in a technicolour assortment of spacesuits and explore its fleshy interiors, Gunn lets loose with a string of amusingly bizarre set pieces, turning everything from the staff uniforms to the vibrant architecture into warped, Cronenberg-adjacent visions of whimsical body horror. It is hard not to wonder what Gunn might be capable of should he craft an entire film around such daring aesthetics.

As it is, there is still a lot in Volume 3 which expands it to a bloated two-and-a-half hour run time, including the introduction of the largely functionless Adam Warlock. This has less to do with Will Poulter’s amusingly airheaded spin on the comic book character, and more to do with his relative disconnection from the narrative. That said, Gunn still finds ripe opportunities to centre him in visual gags, paying homage to Michelangelo’s ‘The Creation of Adam’ in one scene that clearly parallels Noah’s Ark, and later awkwardly hanging him on the edges of a group hug. For all its flaws, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 rarely lets its humour get in the way of its character drama, and vice versa. As far as storytelling in the Marvel Cinematic Universe goes, this fine tonal balance and stylistic playfulness makes it a terrific send-off to the franchise’s most colourfully eccentric series.

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 is currently playing in theatres.

Brandon Cronenberg | 1hr 58min

When Brandon Cronenberg first lands us on the fictional Pacific Island of Li Tolqa in Infinity Pool, there is an eerily oppressive atmosphere running through its bright, luxurious settings. Much like Midsommar, we might assume that the horror of this location lies in some dark secret kept by the locals who wear grotesque masks and warn tourists not to leave the compound. Our introduction to the resort even comes through a series of upside-down tracking shots, tumbling us above pools, huts, and hotels with no sense of spatial orientation, and thereby evoking Gaspar Noé’s own dizzying camerawork. We are right to be unsettled about these vague suggestions of evil lurking on Li Tolqa, yet Cronenberg pulls off a chilling subversion of our expectations in his reveal of its true source – not the residents who are simply trying to live ordinary lives, but the tourists who exploit its laws and culture for their own destructive, hedonistic pleasure.

Among the most recent batch of visitors is James, an American writer who is on holiday with his wife Em, yet quickly grows attached to another guest claiming to be a fan of his work. Mia Goth continues her streak of brilliant horror collaborations here as the eyebrow-less, English-accent Gabi who sinisterly draws James deeper into a conspiracy that seeks to tear away his humanity, and who is gradually revealed to be a leader of sorts within a small cult of wealthy tourists.

Instrumental to her reign of terror on Li Tolqa is a local law protecting foreigners from capital punishment. If they are sentenced to death, then they can instead have a clone of themselves produced and let them be executed in their place. The first time James undergoes this process following an accidental hit-and-run, there is a spark of fascinated horror in his expression as he watches his double stabbed multiple times in the belly. From there, he finds his transition into Gabi’s inner circle an uneasy yet slippery slope, meeting a cabal of fellow vacationers who visit Li Tolqa every year to commit heinous crimes, and use the suffering of their own clones as a disturbing form of entertainment.

Cronenberg’s overarching metaphor may not be particularly subtle, but it is overwhelmingly visceral – the abuse of others inevitably leads to the dehumanisation of oneself, and once those self-preservation instincts are destroyed, a primal, deranged masochism takes over. Through its vacation setting, Infinity Pool even takes on a satirical edge in its depiction of Western tourists turning foreign destinations into their own personal playgrounds, holding reckless regard for local customs and citizens. In retrospect, perhaps those warnings to avoid leaving the heavily guarded compound aren’t there to protect the guests, but rather to contain them like wild animals.

Of course, with the science-fiction concept of cloning in Infinity Pool comes philosophical questions of identity, as several times we are led question whether it is actually the ‘originals’ being sacrificed rather than the artificial doubles who continue to live in their place. Cronenberg does not so much provide firm answers here than leave it as an uncomfortable possibility in the back of our minds. He especially uses this uncertainty to pull the rug out from under us in one scene when he leads us to believe the original versions of Gabi’s crew are being executed, only to reveal their actual selves in the audience cheering at their own demise – though even here, there are still doubts as to which characters are the ‘real’ ones.

On more formal level, the possibility that these tourists are copies of copies distance them even further from their humanity. At a certain point, the grotesque masks that they steal from locals and wear during their crime sprees become truer representations of their inner selves than their actual faces, transforming them into misshapen, demonic figures engaging in violent felonies, depraved orgies, and illegal drugs. Infinity Pool’s expressionistic visual style is fairly front-loaded with its vibrant neon lighting, but at the height of the hallucinogen-fuelled debauchery later in the film, Cronenberg lets loose on his nightmarish, mash-up montages, forcing us so deeply into James’ dazed mind that his and new friends’ contorted masks seem to come to life.

These frenzied nightmares of technicolour lens flares and surreal, unfocused imagery aren’t solely reserved for James’ drug-induced visions either, as the cloning procedure similarly warps his perceptions of reality through distorted visual sequences. In doing so, Cronenberg draws a formal connection between both dehumanising experiences, ripping James from his old life of stability and into a helpless, primal state. The appearance of one clone who has reverted to his most basic animal instincts supports this notion even further, and by the time James has completely submitted to Gabi’s Freudian mother figure, it is evident that he has hit the point of no return.

Much like Cronenberg’s previous film Possessor, there is a despairing cynicism which guides Infinity Pool through to its ambiguous end, dooming characters to meagre, joyless existences. Without the sweet release of death, this ongoing self-destruction becomes an endless loop of psychological corruption, as wretchedly consistent as the seasonal cycles that entice the same degenerate holidaymakers back to Li Tolqa every single year. For those who have already destroyed everything meaningful in their own lives, there is no such thing as home – just the invasion and obliteration of everyone else’s most sacred, personal spaces.

Infinity Pool is currently playing in theatres.

M. Night Shyamalan | 1hr 40min

At their weakest, M. Night Shyamalan’s high-concept thrillers fall prey to uneven, contrived plotting before whimpering out with underwhelming twists. Maybe then it is his decision to remain relatively faithful in adapting Paul Tremblay’s novel The Cabin at the End of the World which makes his most recent psychological horror such an engrossing moral dilemma of apocalyptic proportions. There is a translation that takes place from page to screen here which effectively keeps this single location from growing too inert in its staging, making Knock at the Cabin feel both arrestingly claustrophobic and dauntingly cosmic in its stakes. As a result, this home invasion story also feels entirely fresh in its setup, taking us right to the edge of Armageddon without leaving its surrounding rural forest.

The arrival of four mysterious strangers at the isolated holiday cabin where Eric, Andrew, and their daughter Wen are staying brings with it the ultimate ‘trolley problem’ – to avert the end of the world, one of them must kill another as a willing sacrifice. If they refuse, their small family will be the only ones left alive as the sole survivors. Each time they say no, another plague will be unleashed across the Earth, and though it quickly becomes evident to us that this is not a hoax, these young fathers remain wilfully obstinate.

As both slowly crack under pressure, Jonathan Groff and Ben Aldridge do well to carry the emotional drama of this predicament, poignantly considering the implications it holds for their futures. Even greater still are the performances delivered by the four visitors, each being strangers reluctantly bound together by visions of the future. Rupert Grint is volatile as the gruff ex-convict Redmond, while Abby Quinn and Nikki Amuka-Bird offset his malice in the much kinder roles of Adriane and Sabrina. Dave Bautista quite easily steals the spotlight as the gentle giant Leonard though, leading the crew with pained obligation. At times, that doleful acceptance of his own God-given duty is even more compelling than the central dilemma itself, as in his character we see the inevitable endpoint of both Eric and Andrew’s journeys. If they are men gradually learning to accept responsibility, Leonard is a man who has already been there and shouldered that burden.

Within Shyamalan’s tight framing and low angles, Bautista’s large stature often fills entire shots, bringing an imposing physical presence to his monologues that wistfully consider their destiny and onus as a collective group. In shallow focus close-ups too, he and his co-stars talk right down the lens of the camera, and Shyamalan relishes the opportunity here to push his style in uneasy directions as his canted angles start tilting their faces off-centre. The consistency of this aesthetic is admirable, turning what could have been flatly staged conversations into riveting confrontations, evidently inspired by Jonathan Demme’s intimate direction of the anxiety-inducing meeting between Clarice and Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs.

When the camera moves out into wider shots, the remote cabin proves to be a marvellously atmospheric set piece too with its giant bookcase and wooden interiors. There is taut tension here built into Shyamalan’s Hitchcockian camera movements and visual blocking alike, using the entire widescreen canvas to play out the nerve-wracking dynamics between victims and captors.

Quite simply, this is easily some of Shyamalan’s best direction, pulling together these elements into a singularly focused tension that rarely slips. Even here though, it is not without flaws. Flashbacks to Eric and Andrew’s past bring little besides additional character information that could have been more succinctly woven into the present-day plotline, and there is still the odd passage of needless exposition present that compromises the narrative momentum.

Still, this makes for a captivating 100 minutes of horror storytelling, getting under our skin with existential threats posed in Bautista’s calm, gentle manner. Between Eric and Andrew, we see two sides of humanity – one that submits to mistrustful cynicism, and a more selfless recognition of the pain that such wilful disbelief may inflict on others. Like so many of Shyamalan’s films, it is an expression of spiritual faith, accepting a greater purpose that is as equally mortifying as it is essential to human existence. By wrapping this up in such a sharply composed style, Knock at the Cabin lets us feel both the wondrous significance and disturbing fragility of human life on a grand, existential scale.

Knock at the Cabin is currently playing in theatres.