Vinicius8

I don't like making comparisons but I can't help it when the whole reason I even put this nice little flick on my TV, by means of streaming services, was another movie I really loved. "Past Lives", written and directed by Celine Song, is one of the most beautifully romantic films I've ever watched. When I heard she was writing and directing another project, I tried (but ultimately failed) to contain my excitement and created high expectations for "Materialists".

But being concocted by the same creative mind is not the only reason I compared the two. Both stories are about love triangles (seems like a recurring theme, I wonder why). Anyhow, it's hard to not think of one, watching the other, despite, all things considered, being very different films. But are these differences in "Materialists" for the best or not? By the title of this review, you can guess.

So, what's the issue? First and foremost, I want to be very clear that I am an aware human being and I can comprehend that not every film is or needs to be "Casablanca" (which I didn't like all that much, but that's a conversation for another time), and in spite of any shortcomings, films as entertainment have their value. "Materialists" never aims at greatness, so it's not fair to judge it by the wrong metric. It appears to be a movie that is content with being an easy, digestible watch for a majority of audiences. It has an all-star cast, it plays out like a standard rom-com and most conflicts are satisfyingly resolved.

But despite its commercial appeal, it's not an entertaining movie - it wasn't funny and it wasn't romantic either. It has some of that indie, dialogue-heavy New York style, but without the nuance or complexity that makes these types of films so endearing. The dialogue in "Materialists" mostly feels like exposition where the characters literally say what they think and express what the conflict supposedly is, without actually having to construct said conflict through plot and interactions. It's a cheap cop-out that feels even cheaper because the solution to these conflicts is always pretty clear (money or love, oh which is more important, dear reader?) and they are presented in a way that lacks any subtlety ("Materialists" is literally the movie's title, for Gosh's sake). On top of that, characters don't have any real clash of ideas and ideals. They mostly agree with each other on every front (with a few exceptions), so there goes conflict again. Then, the main character, Lucy, goes on long winded monologues where she just states the most teenager angst-ridden, emo-lyrics stuff about relationships and it's all portrayed in such a way that it's meant to seem deep and philosophical, with a disembodied narration, a lowkey soundtrack and a montage of scenes from a marriage (literally, not the film or subsequent mini-series that I haven't watched - and I mean I haven't watched either of them).

If you're feeling curious, here are the literal lines from the most egregious example of this type of scene:

"One day, for no reason in particular, you two will start to hate each other. You'll resent each other, you'll take each other for granted. You'll stop having sex, somehow manage to make a couple of kids. And then you'll get sick of each other, and one of you will cheat on the other. And then you'll fight. At first, not in front of the kids, but then in front of the kids. And then you resent the kids for seeing you fight. And then you file for divorce, and you fight about who owns what and who gets the kids until it's all over."

I can't help but think that this monologue was a nod to blink-182.

But to not say that it's all terrible, there is one scene I did love. Lucy is sitting in front of her boss, talking about her doubts concerning her career. Through a window, in the background, we see the company's other workers celebrating something. The conversation continues between Lucy and her boss in the foreground. The movement and noise coming from the other room grows louder, reaching its epitome when the door is opened and a multitude of women invade the room, interrupting Lucy's conversation, to announce that one her colleague's client has engaged in lieu of said colleague's matchmaking efforts. Lucy doesn't stand up nor turns around to acknowledge the presence of the women. The camera, suitably, doesn't include the others in the shot, cutting their faces from view. The scene ends with Lucy leaving the office.

This was a clever scene. It wasn't showy and it perfectly captured the character's inner turmoil with the discrepant scenario. Unfortunately, it was the only such scene in the entire movie. Oh, well. It is what it is. If you don't compare it to Song's "Past Lives", it's an alright feature. But if you do, and I can't help but compare, it's quite the ghastly achievement. Oh, well.

"Anora" is a movie written, directed, produced, and edited by Sean Baker. It tells the story of the titular character's (that goes by Ani) relationship with a wealthy playboy (Vanya) whose father is a powerful Russian oligarch.

Ani is tasked with taking care of Vanya during his visit to the strip club she works at, due to the fact that she speaks a bit of Russian. Their time together keeps getting prolonged due to Vanya's disposition to continuously pay Ani, deepening their bond and, conversely, resulting in dire consequences.

Like all of Baker's works, "Anora" too delves into the lives of a marginalized segment of the north-american population and explores themes contingent on their personal and social context. Although sex-work is a common theme on Baker's films, it is never about a faceless group and generalizations about their situation. Anora has a name and a face and the movie is clearly about "a" sex-worker, not "any" sex-worker, despite the fact that Ani could be Any one of these very real people (if you get what I'm saying). But first and foremost, she is Ani, and we watch as Ani navigates the encroaching chaos surrounding her disruptive relationship with Vanya.

Some people have noted that this movie is, among other things, about class struggles and although it's possible to see it that way, it's wrong to assume Vanya is simply a caricature of the "rich white kid", just as it's wrong to assume Ani is a caricature of the "traumatized sex-worker". If you pay enough attention, your patience will be rewarded and you'll be met with characters with much more to offer than simplistic tropes.

Sean Baker is a humanist through and through, and "Anora" is no exception to his masterful collection of works. It captures reality through a subjetive lens, structuring the film in a manner that evokes in us an experience not too dissimilar from that of Ani. It's intelligent, creative and arresting. For what it aims to be, it's a perfect accomplishment.

Read my complete (psychological) analysis on Medium @vpedrotti.

"Better Man" is a surprising flick.

Not because of the monkey, the effect of that gimmick wears off pretty quickly. Although it is surprising how fast I became accustomed to the singing chimpanzee and how invested and heartened I got by the story.

But even though all of that is true, the main motive for my astoundment was how honest the movie was.

"Better Man" gives us a very raw look into Robbie Williams life, flaws and all. Actually, his flaws are what's under the spotlight. Even the choice of representing himself as an ape reflects that. At the beginning of the movie, Robbie's voice-over explains to us that we are about to see how he sees himself.

William's suffered from eating disorders, self-image problems and a multitude of mental health and drug related issues. "Better Man" doesn't shy away from the various factors that forged this hellish psychological landscape and offers us interesting insight into the life and mind of an artist that, on top of all that, also suffered from "fame".

Despite this, I found the movie to be an assault on the senses. It's too much all the time, with brief moments of rest inbetween. After the story picks momentum, it doesn't stop. Conversations mend with narration. Each event unravels into the next. An emotional moment turns into song and it never lets up. At 2 hours and 15 minutes runtime, it's a very tiring ordeal. Nonetheless, it's narratively cohesive and it makes sense to be like this. It even makes sense that the film offers us zero introspection. It's all a fitting portrayal of the person it aims to represent on-screen and consistent with its objective of entertaining audiences. It's just a shame it didn't reach one.