joshteggert
Joined May 2012
Welcome to the new profile
Our updates are still in development. While the previous version of the profile is no longer accessible, we're actively working on improvements, and some of the missing features will be returning soon! Stay tuned for their return. In the meantime, the Ratings Analysis is still available on our iOS and Android apps, found on the profile page. To view your Rating Distribution(s) by Year and Genre, please refer to our new Help guide.
Badges8
To learn how to earn badges, go to the badges help page.
Ratings1.2K
joshteggert's rating
Reviews36
joshteggert's rating
Revenge stories are the archetypal foundation of the over-saturated "celebrity-with-a-gun-and-a-mission" brand of cinema. 'The Rhythm Section', which features Mark Burnell who wrote the book this film is based on as its screenwriter, sees Blake Lively as the distraught and downtrodden Stephanie Patrick, seeking vengeance for the death of her family in an airline crash which isn't what it seems. Director Reed Morano tries to convince us that this film is something more, something deeper than just the typical personal journey towards retribution. Yet 'The Rhythm Section' ultimately fails to find its own rhythm in amongst all the chaos and confusion.
The film's first act is slow but grounded, laying the foundations of the story adequately enough to propel the narrative forward. We open with Stephanie, who has resorted to drugs and prostitution in the years succeeding the crash. But after a journalist comes to her with information suggesting it wasn't an accident, she seeks the help of a man known only as B (Jude Law) to exact revenge on those responsible for her family's death.
Lively does a sound job of portraying this tortured soul but isn't allocated half as much time as necessary to really get to know the character. Superficiality and convenience take precedence instead; Stephanie's backstory is reduced to a series of what seem to be phone-camera montages of her late family, plonked carelessly into the narrative as flashbacks. To make matters more artificial, she manages to transform from a heroin addict into a trained - if heavily flawed - assassin in just 8 months, which demands significant suspense of disbelief (and not in the fun way that the 'John Wick' franchise requires with all its brilliant, hyperbolised killing-sprees).
'The Rhythm Section' also lacks any sort of style or finesse. Admittedly, it's well shot - there is a stimulating car chase scene executed in one take - but for a revenge film such as this to be so brief with its action, it must make up for in character development and flair. Morano can't quite tune the film with enough precision to elevate a derivative and predictable plot structure and doesn't deliver on the hinted psychological impacts this lifestyle might have on someone who is clearly hanging on by a thread.
The film, therefore, is as muddled and out of its depth as its central character - a serious story which is difficult to take seriously. Despite the author of the book penning the screenplay, 'The Rhythm Section' is a protracted ride which plods awkwardly towards an obvious conclusion, rarely swaying from the confounds of its self-imposed cliché-fest.
The film's first act is slow but grounded, laying the foundations of the story adequately enough to propel the narrative forward. We open with Stephanie, who has resorted to drugs and prostitution in the years succeeding the crash. But after a journalist comes to her with information suggesting it wasn't an accident, she seeks the help of a man known only as B (Jude Law) to exact revenge on those responsible for her family's death.
Lively does a sound job of portraying this tortured soul but isn't allocated half as much time as necessary to really get to know the character. Superficiality and convenience take precedence instead; Stephanie's backstory is reduced to a series of what seem to be phone-camera montages of her late family, plonked carelessly into the narrative as flashbacks. To make matters more artificial, she manages to transform from a heroin addict into a trained - if heavily flawed - assassin in just 8 months, which demands significant suspense of disbelief (and not in the fun way that the 'John Wick' franchise requires with all its brilliant, hyperbolised killing-sprees).
'The Rhythm Section' also lacks any sort of style or finesse. Admittedly, it's well shot - there is a stimulating car chase scene executed in one take - but for a revenge film such as this to be so brief with its action, it must make up for in character development and flair. Morano can't quite tune the film with enough precision to elevate a derivative and predictable plot structure and doesn't deliver on the hinted psychological impacts this lifestyle might have on someone who is clearly hanging on by a thread.
The film, therefore, is as muddled and out of its depth as its central character - a serious story which is difficult to take seriously. Despite the author of the book penning the screenplay, 'The Rhythm Section' is a protracted ride which plods awkwardly towards an obvious conclusion, rarely swaying from the confounds of its self-imposed cliché-fest.
Robert Eggers is a relatively new face on the film scene, known for his divisive if utterly enthralling first directional feature, the supernatural period horror 'The Witch'. The release of his second film, 'The Lighthouse', solidifies Eggers' prominence as a contemporary pioneer of the modern horror genre, a film that blends its technical intricacies remarkably to create a tantalising viewing experience which progressively consumes itself and the viewer in a dark and haunting uncovering of the human condition.
'The Lighthouse' is set in the late 19th century and follows two lighthouse keepers on a remote island who start to lose their sanity when a storm leaves them stranded. Shot in 35mm black and white film with a 1.19:1 aspect ratio, the film stars Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson as the two leads, an ingenious coupling with a tremendous end product. 'The Lighthouse' is a uniquely unsettling, thoroughly mesmerising cinema experience, one which manages to not only call into question the sanity of the characters involved but strains the mind of the viewer in precisely the same way.
By far the greatest achievement of Eggers' film is its technical aspects. It's shot in a way that makes it look and feel like it's come straight from the 1910s, the aspect ratio and monochrome palette intending to induce a similar sense of claustrophobia as endured by its characters. Yet the inclusion of Mark Koven's score along with some stunning composition from cinematographer Jarin Blaschke implements a notably modern aesthetic and aura, generating a disconcerting intermingling of old and new, reflecting the conflict between its two leads. A lot of 'The Lighthouse''s resonance stems from the allure of its composition; despite its absence of colour, the exactitude of the cinematography means there is never a dull moment.
As with 'The Witch', the dialogue is fascinating. Penned by Eggers and his brother Max Eggers, the screenplay floats along seamlessly, like a sailor out at sea. Yet at every corner, a new storm erupts as a plateau of fresh and challenging new developments emerge progressively, allowing the dialogue to shift wondrously between tranquillity and electrifying intensity.
The true impact of 'The Lighthouse', however, would be unattainable without the flawless execution of both Dafoe and Pattinson. Given such exquisite material to work with, Dafoe and Pattinson stretch the bounds of their acting abilities to extraordinary lengths. Dafoe is a bewitching consistent, the true on-screen tour de force delivering some of the most hypnotic monologues ever to grace cinema with enrapturing conviction. All the while, Pattinson is an absorbing presence operating as the bridge between characters and audience with his gradual descent into madness. The slow-burning nature of the film is channelled through the equivocality of Pattinson's character; Eggers chooses not to explicitly define the temperament of the pair's insanity until very late on, which makes the more supernatural facets of the film even more spellbinding.
Nerve-wracking to devastating effects, and far from any sort of convention, 'The Lighthouse' is unlike any other film. Robert Eggers' latest is immersive, transfixing and enchanting from the offset, a must-see film of this year for its sheer quirkiness, beguiling setting, and outstanding lead performances.
'The Lighthouse' is set in the late 19th century and follows two lighthouse keepers on a remote island who start to lose their sanity when a storm leaves them stranded. Shot in 35mm black and white film with a 1.19:1 aspect ratio, the film stars Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson as the two leads, an ingenious coupling with a tremendous end product. 'The Lighthouse' is a uniquely unsettling, thoroughly mesmerising cinema experience, one which manages to not only call into question the sanity of the characters involved but strains the mind of the viewer in precisely the same way.
By far the greatest achievement of Eggers' film is its technical aspects. It's shot in a way that makes it look and feel like it's come straight from the 1910s, the aspect ratio and monochrome palette intending to induce a similar sense of claustrophobia as endured by its characters. Yet the inclusion of Mark Koven's score along with some stunning composition from cinematographer Jarin Blaschke implements a notably modern aesthetic and aura, generating a disconcerting intermingling of old and new, reflecting the conflict between its two leads. A lot of 'The Lighthouse''s resonance stems from the allure of its composition; despite its absence of colour, the exactitude of the cinematography means there is never a dull moment.
As with 'The Witch', the dialogue is fascinating. Penned by Eggers and his brother Max Eggers, the screenplay floats along seamlessly, like a sailor out at sea. Yet at every corner, a new storm erupts as a plateau of fresh and challenging new developments emerge progressively, allowing the dialogue to shift wondrously between tranquillity and electrifying intensity.
The true impact of 'The Lighthouse', however, would be unattainable without the flawless execution of both Dafoe and Pattinson. Given such exquisite material to work with, Dafoe and Pattinson stretch the bounds of their acting abilities to extraordinary lengths. Dafoe is a bewitching consistent, the true on-screen tour de force delivering some of the most hypnotic monologues ever to grace cinema with enrapturing conviction. All the while, Pattinson is an absorbing presence operating as the bridge between characters and audience with his gradual descent into madness. The slow-burning nature of the film is channelled through the equivocality of Pattinson's character; Eggers chooses not to explicitly define the temperament of the pair's insanity until very late on, which makes the more supernatural facets of the film even more spellbinding.
Nerve-wracking to devastating effects, and far from any sort of convention, 'The Lighthouse' is unlike any other film. Robert Eggers' latest is immersive, transfixing and enchanting from the offset, a must-see film of this year for its sheer quirkiness, beguiling setting, and outstanding lead performances.
'Star Wars'. The name itself signifies the very definition of a cross-generational symbol of hope. But recently, sentiments have become more binary; amongst fans, 'Star Wars' films either provoke a tremendous, post-Battle of Endor-esque sense of jubilation or cause an outburst of hatred and dismay comparable to the destruction of Alderaan. To reflect on this final instalment, we must look back to the very beginning of this epic journey.
The original trilogy, initiated by 1977's ground-breaking 'Star Wars: A New Hope', saw an unlikely figure 'rise' to become the galaxy's greatest hero. The triumph of the Light Side. The subsequent prequel trilogy, concluding with 'Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith' in 2005 (creator George Lucas' final film in the franchise), outlined the downfall of a prophesied beau idéal to the temptations of evil. The triumph of the Dark Side. Two binaries, manifested in the iconic Binary Sunset scene in 'A New Hope', but together futile without an ultimate balance.
Enter, the sequel trilogy. The films that were meant to bring definitive balance to the force; to its dedicated fan base still divided over the quality of the films outside of the originals; and balance between all things, regardless of any positive or negative traits. Say what you will about 'Star Wars: The Last Jedi', but it made monumental steps towards fulfilling this notion, emphasising - as 'A New Hope' did all those years ago - that heroes can come from anywhere, and familial accomplishments are irrelevant on the path to becoming a true hero. 'Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker' is not this hero; it is the antithesis of everything 'Star Wars' has come to represent, and what's more, it is also a bad film.
The script is preposterously spasmodic. Written by director J.J. Abrams and Chris Terrio, this is unquestionably Abrams finishing what J.J. started. It's uneven, incoherent with its predecessors - especially with Emperor Palpatine's (Ian McDiarmid) sudden and contrived return - and far too hasty to get off the mark, barely stopping thereafter to catch a breath. There is no balance here, only a monstrosity of a plot based entirely around convenience.
Characters and their subsequent arcs are therefore decimated by the narrative's lack of fine-tuning; The struggle between the Light and the Dark Side within Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) - the personification of this omnipresent moral entanglement - is reduced to superficiality; he's no longer that lost, conflicted young man audiences instantly connected with in 2015's 'Star Wars: The Force Awakens'. Instead, he's either one or the other. Light or Dark. Binary.
There are some saving graces, however, and not the ones you might have expected. C-3PO is one of the strongest aspects of this film (yes, seriously). The irritating, loquacious, odds-obsessed buzzkill is used to perfection here and receives a surprisingly gratifying redemption for all those times he's been an exasperating dead-weight. Furthermore, 'The Rise of Skywalker' certainly looks spectacular, and it's impossible not to be energised by the resilience of the protagonists, coupled with John Williams' marvellous score. It's moving at times, yet not to the degree we've come to expect.
Thematically, the final instalment of the "Skywalker Saga" shoots for the stars but hits a Palpatine-shaped asteroid just out of orbit. It was never the destiny of 'Star Wars' to continue this Light versus Dark skirmish because good and bad coexist within everyone - a message that this trilogy has done so well of accentuating. 'The Rise of Skywalker' tackles this idea in the most negligent way possible, and never escapes the self-inflicted tractor beam of its misjudged principals.
'The Rise of Skywalker' is a bitter disappointment. But you were the chosen one, Abrams. It was said that you would destroy the haters, not provoke them. Bring balance to the franchise, not leave it in darkness.
There is no balance. Only the inevitable feud that this finale is going to incite online.
The original trilogy, initiated by 1977's ground-breaking 'Star Wars: A New Hope', saw an unlikely figure 'rise' to become the galaxy's greatest hero. The triumph of the Light Side. The subsequent prequel trilogy, concluding with 'Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith' in 2005 (creator George Lucas' final film in the franchise), outlined the downfall of a prophesied beau idéal to the temptations of evil. The triumph of the Dark Side. Two binaries, manifested in the iconic Binary Sunset scene in 'A New Hope', but together futile without an ultimate balance.
Enter, the sequel trilogy. The films that were meant to bring definitive balance to the force; to its dedicated fan base still divided over the quality of the films outside of the originals; and balance between all things, regardless of any positive or negative traits. Say what you will about 'Star Wars: The Last Jedi', but it made monumental steps towards fulfilling this notion, emphasising - as 'A New Hope' did all those years ago - that heroes can come from anywhere, and familial accomplishments are irrelevant on the path to becoming a true hero. 'Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker' is not this hero; it is the antithesis of everything 'Star Wars' has come to represent, and what's more, it is also a bad film.
The script is preposterously spasmodic. Written by director J.J. Abrams and Chris Terrio, this is unquestionably Abrams finishing what J.J. started. It's uneven, incoherent with its predecessors - especially with Emperor Palpatine's (Ian McDiarmid) sudden and contrived return - and far too hasty to get off the mark, barely stopping thereafter to catch a breath. There is no balance here, only a monstrosity of a plot based entirely around convenience.
Characters and their subsequent arcs are therefore decimated by the narrative's lack of fine-tuning; The struggle between the Light and the Dark Side within Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) - the personification of this omnipresent moral entanglement - is reduced to superficiality; he's no longer that lost, conflicted young man audiences instantly connected with in 2015's 'Star Wars: The Force Awakens'. Instead, he's either one or the other. Light or Dark. Binary.
There are some saving graces, however, and not the ones you might have expected. C-3PO is one of the strongest aspects of this film (yes, seriously). The irritating, loquacious, odds-obsessed buzzkill is used to perfection here and receives a surprisingly gratifying redemption for all those times he's been an exasperating dead-weight. Furthermore, 'The Rise of Skywalker' certainly looks spectacular, and it's impossible not to be energised by the resilience of the protagonists, coupled with John Williams' marvellous score. It's moving at times, yet not to the degree we've come to expect.
Thematically, the final instalment of the "Skywalker Saga" shoots for the stars but hits a Palpatine-shaped asteroid just out of orbit. It was never the destiny of 'Star Wars' to continue this Light versus Dark skirmish because good and bad coexist within everyone - a message that this trilogy has done so well of accentuating. 'The Rise of Skywalker' tackles this idea in the most negligent way possible, and never escapes the self-inflicted tractor beam of its misjudged principals.
'The Rise of Skywalker' is a bitter disappointment. But you were the chosen one, Abrams. It was said that you would destroy the haters, not provoke them. Bring balance to the franchise, not leave it in darkness.
There is no balance. Only the inevitable feud that this finale is going to incite online.
Recently taken polls
72 total polls taken
