From the outset, Teaches of Peaches pulls no punches. The documentary is as raw and unfiltered as the artist herself, providing an intimate look at both the public persona and the private individual. Through a combination of archival footage, interviews, and behind-the-scenes glimpses, viewers are taken on a journey that spans Peaches’ entire career, from her early days in Toronto’s indie music scene to her rise as a global icon of gender fluidity and sexual empowerment. The film is anchored by Peaches’ own voice, with candid reflections on her journey, the struggles she’s faced, and the triumphs she’s celebrated. There’s a palpable authenticity in her narration, as she recounts the challenges of breaking into a male-dominated industry and the personal sacrifices she’s made along the way. The film also features interviews with Nisker’s boyfriend, Ellison Renee Glen, AKA Black Cracker, who discusses the ups and downs of their relationship; former collaborator Chilly Gonzales who recounts their formative time their experimental band, The Shit; and Leslie Feist, who was Nisker’s roommate as they both worked on their albums Monarch and The Teaches of Peaches. Feist also discusses how she was one of Peaches’ crew on stage as well as providing backing vocals on The Teaches of Peaches.

One of the film’s greatest strengths is its ability to convey the sheer force of Peaches’ artistry. The documentary showcases her legendary live performances, which are a mix of punk rock energy, theatricality, and unabashed sexuality. The documentary splices both archival footage of performances from twenty years ago and those performed on the anniversary tour. These performances are not merely concerts but statements—loud, brash, and impossible to ignore. The film captures the essence of what makes Peaches a trailblazer: her commitment to pushing boundaries, both sonically and socially.

In a time when the music industry often tries to box artists into marketable categories, Teaches of Peaches serves as a powerful reminder of the importance of artistic freedom. Peaches has never been one to conform, and this documentary stands as a testament to her refusal to be anything other than herself. The documentary also delves into Peaches’ influence beyond music. She has been a crucial figure in the discourse around gender and sexuality, often challenging traditional norms and encouraging others to embrace their identities fully. These themes are discussed with interviews with Shirley Manson of Garbage, who was also a trailblazer for women in the music industry.

Teaches of Peaches is not just a documentary; it’s a celebration of an artist who has never stopped teaching us how to embrace our true selves, unapologetically and without reservation. It’s a film that, much like Peaches herself, refuses to be boxed in or easily categorized. For fans of Peaches, this documentary is a must-watch, offering a deeper understanding of the woman behind the music. For those unfamiliar with her work, it serves as an eye-opening introduction to one of the most important and influential artists of our time. While the film is currently making its rounds in the film festival circuit with no concrete release date, fans can look forward to watching Teaches of Peaches sometime soon.

The post Canadian Electroclash Icon Peaches Profiled in Raw, Unfiltered, and Celebratory Documentary ‘Teaches of Peaches’ (FILM REVIEW) appeared first on Glide Magazine.

If you’re wondering why a documentary on Lee Fields is necessary, look no further than the first five minutes of Faithful Man. “That’s why they call it the human race, it’s a race. Not against each other but a race against time” explains Fields in the opening scene of his doc. This quickly transitions to Fields in his natural habitat, performing on stage. The 70-something-year-old can still move and that is showcased throughout this film. Tidbits of his life and past intertwined with his present, which sees Field at the pinnacle of his career. Like any good documentary, everything here is covered. From the artist’s move to New York City at 17 to the small tastes of success he tasted in the 70’s, and his inevitable and well-deserved success story after signing to Daptone Records. It is a heartwarming tale that showcases exactly what could happen with the right amount of talent and a restless drive to immortalize your creativity. 

The documentary dives into the many pitfalls of the music industry as well. At the height of his success, the world was introduced to disco. Soul was pushed to the side and Fields was left without gigs and a way to pay bills. This feels like a pivotal part of Fields’ story and the documentary does a great job of exploring the in-between period. We have music and art from the times Fields found himself on top of the world, a small window into his mindset during these times. The era of his life between the 90s and his work with Daptone is a void in Lee Fields’ legacy. Thankfully, the documentary does a great job of exploring those lost years while showcasing the influence Fields continues to hold over soul music. 

Lee Fields: Faithful Man explores a dedicated artist who never lost faith in himself and in turn, held faith in a world that had ultimately dismissed him. That is the hidden message underneath the stunning performance footage and emotional storyline. Fields never stopped dreaming of music and that level of passion exudes when you hear him discuss even the simplest of musical concepts. His love for art is on full display in this documentary as the directors do a fantastic job of diving deep into Field’s life and exploring the nuance of his love for what he does. 

Lee Fields: Faithful Man is a story of triumphant, and suffering, and how expressing those emotions can make for the best art. Lee Fields is a living legend, the flowers he is being given not only for the powerful soul music he continues to create but for the dedication he showed to the genre and music as a whole. Seeing the musical world paying back one of its brightest yet most overlooked stars is sensationally enticing and well-deserved. Lee Fields: Faithful Man is set to be released on all major TVOD on February 27, you can preorder the film here: https://tv.apple.com/us/movie/lee-fields-faithful-man/umc.cmc.48i24zve8uo0nu9f5xgyriqro

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And, in another fitting (but less morbid) bit of continuity, this concert took place just five days after the one proffered for 2019’s installment of the annual event, at Giants Stadium in East Rutherford, New Jersey. On the first night at the Palace 9 Cinema in South Burlington Vermont, the sequence of events didn’t quite pick right up where it left off a few years ago, but that was a good thing. 

In contrast to the strain imposed on the theater’s sound system in prior years (due to the source recording?), even before the volume went up about a half-hour in, the stereo separation was quite well-defined, as was the depth and expanse of the audio. 

Fully comparable to the mix on any other Dan Healy recording for the group, so too was the video direction in keeping with previous work by Len Dell’Amico, the overseer of multiple such films devoted including Truckin’ Up to Buffalo and Dead Ahead. With the exception of some gratuitous zooming late in the three hours, the video was as well-paced as the setlist itself.

Over a wide range of originals interspersed with a Bob Dylan tune and a blues came colorful image overlays to the actual footage of “When I Paint My Masterpiece,” Willie Dixon’s “Wang Dang Doodle”. But such scattered insertions from Candace Brightman’s lighting at the show were only somewhat intrusive; on the contrary, the emergence of marching bears drew a good laugh from the audience and there was an equitable proportion of screen time for everyone in the band. 

Naturally, the late guitarist and titular leader of the group commanded the most attention, and rightly so. Garcia’s shoulder-length shock of gray-white hair gave him a leonine appearance and his burly build rendered his presence all the more imposing, even if it did hearken to the physical downturn of his later years (an apt comparison: 1989’s Crimson White & Indigo). 

In another marked difference from the aforementioned companion piece video of this same year, Garcia sang and played with more than just a modicum of vigor throughout. He broke his stoic, nay somber, expression only a couple of times to smile, but his beaming visage was all the more striking when it did appear, even if when soloing, his fixed concentration on what he was doing went uninterrupted. 

Jerry was, in fact, enjoying himself quite a bit, as was keyboardist/accordionist/vocalist Bruce Hornsby. The pair exchanged a couple of knowing grins, sadly recalling the former’s lost repartee with the deceased Brent Mydland, but more importantly, even as the guitarist ever-so-carefully and precisely picked his way through “Crazy Fingers,” his kindred spirit’s piano playing actually gained some positive spontaneity by navigating material with which he wasn’t wholly familiar. 

In keeping with the Grateful Dead’s customary approach to performing at this stage of their three-decade history, the first set allowed the group–seven in number with both Vince Welnick and Hornsby in tow–to flex its muscles and warm up. Noticeably digging into the groove of “Shakedown Street,” the unit’s more intricate, extended improv on “Let It Grow” foreshadowed the braver segues from “Playin in the Band” to a genuinely majestic “Terrapin Station:” the ensemble purposefully lingered on those changes to prolong the rare sensation for themselves and the audience. 

Were it not for Bob Weir’s frenzied take on “One More Saturday Night” (befitting the date and day of the week), the slow but steady “Black Peter” might then have derailed the septet’s momentum and the denouement of the second set (its commencement mercifully not delayed with an intermission at the movie house). 

But as Garcia sang the song, in much the same doleful tone he would often apply to “Wharf Rat” at such junctures, the number he composed with Robert Hunter for Workingman’s Dead echoed as something of a hurtful harbinger of things to come for himself in just a few short years.  

More tangible in the Green Mountain movie house than it might well have been in the Chicago stadium some thirty-two years prior, the drama was palpable, but not overly so during the course of this entire ‘Meet Up At The Movies.’ Any implicit suspense went uninterrupted by ‘short subjects’ consisting of chief archivist David Lemieux’s overly-effusive intro on film and the short interval publicizing the release of the mammoth 1973 box Here Comes Sunshine. 

With attendance somewhat sparse in this South Burlington multiplex–a fair estimate is between thirty and forty devoted souls, a number surely exceeded at the Saturday screening–the attendees were surprisingly reserved as well.  A smattering of applause arose after the high-spirited opening of “Hell In A Bucket,” but the response was minimal from that point on, relegated to only a muted recognition for the “Dark Star” jam and the encore of The Band’s “The Weight.” 

It’s hard to know then, what those present took away from the experience of this early summer evening. But that’s only a direct reflection of the generally impassive demeanor of the Grateful Dead themselves while on stage on film: compared to Phil Lesh and Bob Weir,  drummers Bill Kreutzmann and (especially) Mickey Hart were positively animated.

 At this juncture of their career, however, the logistical challenges of touring, especially in the immediate wake of the mainstream popularity of “Touch of Grey,” reportedly evoked some rightful ambivalence in certain quarters of the Dead organization. Still, observing these weathered psychedelic warriors during most of the moments they played and sang, even during “Drums” and “Space,” such a sensation instantly dissipated, as did any thoughts along the lines of ‘What if…?’

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As the sequence of events behind the creation of Neil’s Harvest album unfolds in generally chronological order, virtually none of the content is framed in such a way to clarify what’s happening. Granted, there are subtitles identifying most of those individuals who appear in the movie, like pianist/arranger Jack Nitzschke, a collaborator of Young’s since the latter’s Buffalo Springfield days, and recording engineer/producer Glyn Johns, of Beatles, The Who, and Eagles studio fame.

But there is no introductory content to explain how the seeds of Young’s breakthrough recording were sown when the Canadian was in Nashville to appear on Johnny Cash’s TV program. Neil himself does share those pertinent details in a radio interview near the end of Harvest Time, but at that point, the activity that arose from the serendipitous event has already played out: the assembly of the band dubbed ‘The Stray Gators,’ the recording in the barn at Young’s Broken Arrow Ranch plus further sessions in London and New York, then back to Music City.

Nevertheless, there’s plenty of footage in Harvest Time that’s engrossing on its own terms. For example, the panoramic shots of the California ranch are borderline breathtaking from each and every angle: all the various mentions of the locale over the years barely hinted it was such a vast estate. Meanwhile, the image of Neil lying in an open field, listening to music he just recorded, is altogether delightful: more barn anyone? Taken together, such shots constitute a living reaffirmation of the relish Young is taking in his new home and the independence its purchase symbolized for him at the time (and no doubt still does).

Work in England with the London Symphony Orchestra is the most captivating passage in the film. Dialogue between Young and his accompanists, particularly conductor David Meecham, is quite clear-cut as they exert effort to master the arrangement and performance of “A Man Needs A Maid,” and then “There’s A World.” The progress is self-evident there too, whereas with Neil and the quintet back on the West Coast, multiple takes on “Words” seem as aimless as they are turgid.

Aficionados of Young, as well as music lovers so inclined, may nevertheless be fascinated to watch the musicians at such moments. Likewise, the footage depicts Young laboring on vocals in the studio with Crosby, Stills, and Nash (in various combinations). But with the only transitions between segments of Harvest Time limited to what appears to be clumsy and/or random edits and splices of the celluloid itself, no real drama ensues over the duration of the film. 

Intervals in which Young’s interview by the camera crew are thus only mildly interesting. He’s oddly guarded in his responses most of the time, though his declaration of contentment near the movie’s end is touching. Otherwise, Neil’s nonchalant, self-effacing description of himself as a ‘rich hippie’ speaks–or at least suggests– volumes about the direction(s) he would pursue in the wake of his mainstream success. 

Anyone who’s seen other cinematic efforts of Young’s, such as Journey Through The Past or Human Highway, may not be all that surprised at what seems to be a deliberately rough execution of a fairly simple narrative. And, as has so often been the case with this idiosyncratic artist over the course of his career, he has refused to prettify the results of his concept. As a result, for the casual viewer of Harvest Time, the effect may be somewhat less than compelling (or edifying), either in a single sitting or in repeated ones.

Not surprisingly, though, the limited theatrical screenings of the movie were scheduled to coincide with the release of the 50th Anniversary Edition of Harvest. That box set actually includes this film in its entirety (minus the intro shown only in movie houses), so in that context, Harvest Time makes much more sense, at least in marketing terms (in comparison to other more confounding moves Young has made in recent years with his archive releases). 

Still, while it will still take more than just a modicum of effort to grasp the logic behind the film or rationale for the public offerings, how propitious is it for attendees to subsequently be able to own the aforementioned box set and, by dint of the multi-media therein, piece together what Neil Young leaves partially perplexing in Harvest Time.

The post ‘Harvest Time’ Gives Viewers Engrossing Footage Of Artist’s Breakthrough 1972 Recording (FILM REVIEW) appeared first on Glide Magazine.

The thing about Paul Thomas Anderson is that his talent is so great that even his bad movies are, well, pretty good. His technique and craft are such that his worst movie still has plenty worth noting and considering. Inherent Vice was, by most accounts, not a great movie. And yet there was something about his style that made it, if nothing else, interesting to watch. 

Licorice Pizza, the auteur’s latest, is a far better movie than Inherent Vice (which I guess isn’t saying much) and a far worse movie than the rest of his canon. It lacks the gravitas of There Will Be Blood; the pathos of Boogie Nights; the sheer bizarre interest of Magnolia. And yet, disappointing as that was, it’s hard to deny the movie its charms, few as they might be.

Largely plotless, Licorice Pizza plays out as a series of interconnected, slice of life vignettes about child actor-slash-entrepreneur Gary Valentine (Cooper Hoffman, son of late actor Philip Seymour Hoffman) and the woman he has a crush on, Alana (Alana Haim). Together and separate, the two navigate the simpler world of 1970’s Los Angeles searching for some semblance of love and meaning in their day to day.

The film has a kind of haphazard construction, often feeling as though the scenes that comprise it were ideas for scenes that Anderson had no other use for. There’s little narrative throughway between the scenes as they exist, to the point where, by the end, it kind of just feels as though they’re stacked on top of each other, precariously balanced to ensure the film meets its runtime. 

That said, there’s no denying that the scenes are all extremely well written and performed. Haphazard and slapdash though it often feels, Hoffman and Haim both give standout introductory performances that each deserve awards. Haim, especially, carries the emotional weight of the film, proving herself to be a talented multi-hyphenate who is just as intoxicating on screen as she is behind the guitar or keyboards. And Hoffman very often displays hints of the charm and talent of his father, no small feat to be sure.

Still, it’s difficult to get over the fact that the narrative thrust that does exist in Licorice Pizza is a love story between a 15-year-old boy and a 25-year-old woman. Watching the film, I kept wondering how it would be received had the roles been reversed and I can’t really imagine a film being given this much acclaim had this been the case. The love story is presented as tender and nostalgic, but it’s also undeniably creepy and uncomfortable. Which would be fine had the film acknowledged this fact. But it does not. Instead, it just lingers there, hovering over the narrative like a dark, pedophilic cloud.

Beyond that, the film also does precious little to justify its narrative decisions. Gary, for example, is left pretty unexplored. We’re given no reason why or how he’s a star and it plays almost no role in his character. So, too, with his entrepreneurial endeavors. They just seem to exist as an excuse for Anderson to play around in a late-70s sandbox. Look! He’s selling water beds! Remember water beds? That’s cool huh? And hey! Here’s a pinball arcade? Remember those? It’s the 70s!

Taken individually, the scenes that makeup Licorice Pizza are all intoxicatingly cinematic, but the sum of these scenes adds up to nothing special. Even with the great dialog and amazing performances (including a brief, glorified cameo from Bradley Cooper that is earning Oscar buzz), there’s just not enough there to make it entirely worthwhile. Ultimately, the whole thing is about as appetizing as the title and, like licorice, leaves a bad flavor in its wake.

Licorice Pizza is now playing in theaters everywhere.

The post ‘Licorice Pizza’ Can’t Carry Weight Of Its Parts (FILM REVIEW) appeared first on Glide Magazine.

It’s difficult to make a compelling narrative from terrible people. We tend to want to like our protagonists and watch them succeed. Constructing a story from awful people we want nothing to do with and whom we hope to fail takes a special kind of talent that’s rare to come by. Which is the bread and butter of Sean Baker’s career. 

Baker makes films exploring the sides of American society we tend to, at best, ignore. The characters that populate his stories as the forgotten, the butt of every joke, and the dirty mass of hard luck and bad decisions that we use as cautionary tales. In his hands, however, we find the basic humanity and commonality that unites the lowest with the rest of us. 

Red Rocket, the latest from the director of The Florida Project, is, perhaps, the zenith of the writer/director’s character study attempts so far. Here, he has created a character that is all at once so despicable and so charming that we can’t help rooting for him or hating ourselves when we do. It is a bitterly funny, verité look at the lives of those we would dismiss as white trash.

Simon Rex stars as Mikey Saber, a down on his luck porn star who returns to his tiny hometown of Texas City in an attempt to reconcile with his estranged wife and mother-in-law (Bree Elrod and Brenda Deiss). With nothing to his name, he attempts to hustle up enough money to earn his way back into the adult film elite (or, at the very least, scam his way back into his wife’s life). He thinks he’s found just what he needs in donut store employee/high school senior, Strawberry (Suzanna Son). Hoping he’s discovered the next big star in adult entertainment, he’s just got to earn enough to get back to Los Angeles, a prospect made difficult by the fact that everyone hates him.

Rex, a former VJ turned C-lister following a 90’s porn scandal of his own, is as shockingly amazing as Mikey. Growing up in Texas, I’ve met no shortage of failed-dream hustlers struggling to try and break out of their small town. Rex (as with Baker’s script) captures this dynamic beautifully. This is a guy doing the best he can to build bridges out of the burning mass of wood he left last time he was in town, preying on the weaker and simple-minded with surface-level charms meant to mask his predatory designs.

Mikey’s quick-talking hustle is equal parts horrific and hilarious; Baker’s script paints a picture of a guy who is, ultimately, just too stupid and lazy to get what he wants from life, even though what he wants is objectively awful. In Rex’s hands, we’re able to see past the pathos of the character and into his humanity, allowing understanding and empathy with his trashy plight.

While not as good or compelling as The Florida Project, Red Rocket feels like an interesting companion to that film. Both take us deep into the humanity of the forgotten rejects of society, showing us a side of life we so often try to deny and hide ourselves from. Though at times it is a deeply uncomfortable prospect, Baker forces us out of our comfort zones in order to craft a tale that allows us to see ourselves in those we would scoff at and ignore. It’s an interesting and amazing tight rope that Baker is walking, and let’s just hope he keeps walking it for as far as it can take him.

Red Rocket is now playing in theaters everywhere. 

The post ‘Red Rocket’ Finds Empathy for the Ignored Masses (FILM REVIEW) appeared first on Glide Magazine.

Strictly speaking, no, we did not need another Matrix.

That’s arguably been true since 1999 when the first movie came and blew everyone’s minds with its reality-bending story, mind-melting effects, and evolution of the cyberpunk aesthetic that felt perfect for the turn of the century milieu in which it existed. The next two movies kind of proved that assertion, with The Matrix Reloaded and The Matrix Revolutions sinking deeper and deeper into a quagmire of needlessness that sullied the reputation of the first, groundbreaking film.

And we are, two decades later, and another Matrix to talk about. Just as much as the previous two entries into the franchise, there’s no real reason for The Matrix Resurrections to exist. Yet, unlike the movies directly preceding it, this film remembers that The Matrix, with all its philosophy and pondering, was meant to be fun.

Which isn’t to discount the philosophy and pondering inherent in the original film. You can’t really separate the narrative from the questions it’s trying to ask. But most people can’t stomach philosophy in major doses. It helps to make it entertaining. The sequels leaned too hard on convoluted narratives and silly premises and, unfortunately, missed the boat.

Which I guess makes The Matrix Resurrections the second-best movie in the series, not that this means much. The goodwill built by the first movie was pretty swiftly destroyed by the next, so much so that, these days, the second two movies are rarely talked about and have yet to be given a critical re-evaluation. But maybe that’s unfair. And maybe that’s the best thing Resurrections could do for the franchise.

Director Lana Wachowski, who co-wrote the film with David Mitchell and Alexsander Hemon, has, yes, resurrected The Matrix, crafting a film that’s part sequel, part reboot, and part remake in order to bring The Matrix into a new era and give it new relevance. It is, put simply, the sequel to The Matrix that we always deserved.

In this version of the story, Thomas Anderson (Keanu Reeves) is a successful video game developer who, two decades ago, rose to fame with his beloved trilogy, The Matrix. Now his studio’s parent company, Warner Brothers, is forcing him to make a sequel, which they plan to do with or without his help. Meanwhile, in the real world, Captain Bugs (Jessica Henwick) is searching for Neo, the former hero of humanity who is said to have been Resurrections in the matrix. 

This setup is an interesting way to explore the concepts of reality that the first film toyed with all the way back in 1999. Anderson has spent the last decades of his life fighting against mental illness and the belief that his game world was real and actually happened. The Warner Brothers nod is a nice meta-acknowledgment of the circumstances surrounding the development of this film and leads to some interesting analysis of not only what The Matrix is but also how it’s remembered. This creates a recursive look at the original movie, the franchise, and its appeal that forms the foundation of the new story.

And it somehow all works. Sure, it’s not as mind-blowing as the original and there is a definite feeling of futility about its existence, but Wachowski (working here without her sister Lily) somehow manages to make a film that is both nostalgic and new all at once. As tired as we all are of remakes and reboots, it makes a kind of sense that The Matrix would find a way to do to it that acknowledges that fact and subverts the standards.

As much as it doesn’t need to exist, The Matrix Resurrections embraces its position and makes a movie that’s entertaining and updates the narrative for a new age. There are a billion different ways that this could have gone, most of them disastrous. Instead, Wachowski manages to thread the need to create a movie that’s both fun and respectful of its lineage without feeling too terribly needless. Update, reboot, sequel…whatever you want to call it, The Matrix Resurrections is still a pretty good time at the movies. The Matrix Resurrections is now playing in theaters everywhere and is available to stream on HBOMax.

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The one thing you know for sure when going into a Guillermo Del Toro film is that he does not give a fuck about the standards of cinematic convention. He, perhaps more than any other filmmaker working today, makes movies precisely for an audience of one. Whether or not anyone is on board with him beyond that is none of his concern.

This is probably about what you can expect from a guy who crafted a beautiful love story between a deaf woman and a fish (and won Best Picture for it) and realized the dream of an elevated superhero story decades before the concept was part of the cultural discourse. Del Toro is a filmmaker of singular vision and we’re all just lucky that his vision is so damn brilliant.

So it is with his latest work, Nightmare Alley. Based on a book of the same name by author William Lindsey Gresham (which was previously filmed in 1947 by director Edmund Goulding), del Toro has created a work of powerful vision and vibrant humanity. Haunting and glorious, the film represents a bold direction for a filmmaker who thrives in playing in untapped sandboxes.

Bradley Cooper stars as Stanton Carlisle, a man on the run from his past and the law by taking work with a traveling carnival. Happy with grunt work, he soon learns the tricks of mind-reading trade, becoming something of a talented spiritualist in the process. With big dreams, he and fellow carnie Molly (Rooney Mara) strike out on their own with a mentalism act, conning crowds with deft displays of spiritual conning. Soon, however, the pair runs into Dr. Lilith Ritter (Cate Blanchett), a psychologist with some tricks of her own who seems determined to knock Stan down a few pegs. 

A carnival is the perfect setting for a director like del Toro. Under his vision, the old-timey carnival is brought to vivid life. You can almost smell the popcorn and taffy wafting through the screen as the director takes us through the bevy of attractions of rides. He’s helped in his efforts by one of the best support casts assembled in recent memory, including Ron Perlman, Willem Dafoe, and Toni Collette. The carnival imagery is strong and intoxicating.

That said, del Toro’s real talent is in creating human stories. Whether it’s making us believe in the romance between a woman and a sea creature or making us believe that a young girl is escaping fascism through a fairy tale world, del Toro makes movies that, for all their darkness and bold imagination, focus on humans and human issues. Nightmare Alley is no different.

Del Toro and co-writer Kim Morgan have concocted a brilliant, noir-tinged script that ultimately explores the darkest corners of the human soul. Cooper does a phenomenal job of piercing this heart of darkness, giving us an incredible view of the highs and lows of human existence. Much has already been made of his brief performance in the upcoming Licorice Pizza, but here we see Cooper at his absolute best. 

At times, Nightmare Alley feels like a timeless classic from a bygone era of filmmaking. Del Toro pulls equally from the golden age of film now and modern techniques, creating a uniquely gorgeous film that revels in its artistry. While it probably won’t convert any del Toro naysayers it is sure to give fans everything they want from a del Toro film. Shock, despair, beauty, and brilliance, Nightmare Alley never stops delivering on its promises.Nightmare Alley is now playing in theaters everywhere.

The post Guillermo Del Toro Returns with Stunning ‘Nightmare Alley’ (FILM REVIEW) appeared first on Glide Magazine.

It isn’t difficult to understand why director Steven Spielberg wanted to remake West Side Story. The original film adaptation of the Steven Sondheim musical is, perhaps, one of the most influential movies of Spielberg’s generation. That film, from directors Jerome Robbins and Robert Wise, set a gold standard for both musical films and film in general that has been upheld for 60 years now. Spielberg, easily the most influential and consequential director of his generation, was probably the man best equipped to pull it off. If anyone was going to top that 1961 version of West Side Story, Spielberg was gonna be the guy to do it.

That’s certainly his intent with his vision of West Side Story, though I can’t quite say he succeeded in his aim. What he has succeeded in is capturing the spectacle of the musical experience, crafting a grand, massive scale extravaganza that recalls the golden age of the Hollywood musical. Taken on its own, absent any consideration of the original film, that means that Spielberg’s vision of the classic tragedy is a great entry point for potential newcomers to the tale of Tony and Maria. 

At least in terms of spectacle. There’s no denying that Spielberg knows how to finesse spectacle into something extraordinarily cinematic. Spectacle is what Spielberg does best. That translates well into the massive song and dance numbers that define much of West Side Story. Classic numbers like “Dance At the Gym” and “America” are envisioned and executed brilliantly. “Gee Officer Krupke,” meanwhile, might be the best version of the scene ever presented. No doubt, West Side Story is often a joy to watch.

But the heart of the story, the young love felt between Tony (Ansel Elgort) and Maria (Rachel Zegler) is what truly makes West Side Story such a memorable tale and, unfortunately, doesn’t work here. Well, mostly it’s Elgort. The Baby Driver star never quite manages to make Tony’s feelings for Maria seem genuine, making for a stiff performance that doesn’t sell the central conceit in a meaningful way. As a result, the rest of the film is dragged down, often to the point of tedium.

Which is difficult to reconcile with the vision Spielberg has for the film as a whole. The director teases out the changing face of New York City as a kind of wasteland caught between the world as it used to be and the world that it’s becoming. That creates an interesting subtext to the story beyond the racial strife that’s been central to West Side Story since its debut on Broadway. It gives the audience plenty of beautifully shot urban landscapes to enjoy and makes the tension between the Jets and the Sharks all the more palpable.

It’s just a shame that it all outshines the love story that sets the story in motion. Zegler is great as Maria, playing up her young naivete and all the foolishness of young love. This is truly a star-making turn for the actress, who has already been cast as Snow White opposite Gal Gadot’s evil queen in the upcoming live-action remake of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. As her singing voice proves here, she’s more than capable of handling the strains of that role and should be able to write her own ticket going forward.

So, too, with the rest of the supporting cast, all of whom do their level best to steal every scene they’re in. Riff, played by actor Mike Faist, is especially charismatic. So much so that I couldn’t help wondering how the movie would feel if Faist and Elgort switched roles. The actor brings new depths to Riff, suggesting a deeper pathos than was seen in the 1961 film. And so it goes with Ariana DeBose, who plays Anita. She charms her way through every scene she’s in, making her one of the film’s highlights.

It’s a shame, however, that Elgort shows so little chemistry with Zegler. The foolish love of Tony and Maria is the heartbeat of the show, and Elgort does so little to make us believe his love is real. Couple that with a third act that drags itself slowly to its conclusion and it’s hard to think of a reason one might choose to watch this version over the classic version.

Which, in the end, is the heart of the problem. While beautiful to look at and offering an enjoyable spectacle, it’s never quite clear that there’s any real reason for this film to exist. Other than, of course, that Spielberg wanted it to. That might be reason enough for Hollywood, but West Side Story never manages to make that same case to us, the audience.

West Side Story is now playing in theaters everywhere.

The post Steven Speilberg’s Take On ‘West Side Story’ Falls Short (FILM REVIEW) appeared first on Glide Magazine.

The last couple of decades have really forced a reconsideration of what the western is as a genre. As we creep further and further into the 21^st century, so, too, has the genre progressed. Once firmly set in a world pre-Civil War, the modern western finds itself creeping into the 20^th century, where cars and electricity sit side by side with horses and cowboys.

It’s a curious effect that, while making perfect sense, does speak to how we mythologize the past. Moreover, it speaks to what the western actually is. Gone are the days of intrepid cowboys and sheriffs; of wagon trains and raids. Once the genre of action and revenge, the modern western, with its values shifting into a new century, is contemplative and human.

This is surely the case for The Power of the Dog, the latest film by director Jane Campion (The Piano). Based on the 1968 novel of the same name by Thomas Savage, the film is a slow-paced, deliberate film that bears little in common with the western films of old. Eschewing the action and tropes that defined the genre in decades past, the story is one of human psychodrama and the push-pull of competing influences.

Benedict Cumberbatch and Jesse Plemons star as brothers Phil and George Burbank, respectively. Having run a successful ranch for years, Phil has no time for anyone outside of his family and immediate sphere of influence. Instead, he uses his domineering personality to keep the world at bay as tp try, as best he can, to live the way he was taught. His world is threatened, however, when George meets and marries Rose (Kirsten Dunst). Distrusting his brother’s new wife, Phil engages in psychological torture in an effort to drive her and her son Pete (Kodi Smit-McPhee) away. As his abuse escalates, Pete must find a way to rescue his mother that also keeps her happy.

The Power of the Dog is a film that is deeply, starkly human. Campion, who also adapted the screenplay, is known for works that are powerfully contemplative and rich with emotion. You’ll find no change here. Filled with beautiful scenery and gorgeous shots, Campion has crafted a poetic tale of human connection and misery, deepening the sense of awe that the modern western film inspires.

Cumberbatch shines as Phil Burbank, bringing the same sort of detestable asshole energy she brought to Sherlock Holmes without any of Sherlock’s inherent likability. He’s an emotional brute, bullying and terrorizing his way to success without much thought for the consequences. The actor manages to encapsulate a certain brand of toxic masculinity in a way that’s almost fun to watch. Through him we see the innate terror Phil feels about his dying way of life. He’s a bully, yes, but Cumberbatch doesn’t shy from the internal helplessness that motivates his behavior.

Plemons and Dunst, while less memorable, complement Cumberbatch well, bringing Campion’s epic vision to life. While both characters could have used a bit more screentime to really nail home the abusive terror of Cumberbatch, they each bring their best to the roles. Dunst, especially, portrays the slow descent of Rose’s madness well, capturing the nuance of subtle abuse in ways that most movies ignore.

Though far from perfect, The Power of the Dog continues the intriguing trend of modernizing the western and bringing new angles to the genre. While some audiences might balk at the film’s slow and deliberate pace, Campion has managed to capture the raw, human intensity of Savage’s novel and bring it to a vivid and beautiful life. The Power of the Dog is now available on Netflix.

The post ‘The Power of the Dog’ Brings New Angles To The Western Genre (FILM REVIEW) appeared first on Glide Magazine.