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8/10
High Alps Drifter
3 November 2021
While Andreas Prochaska's film is set in the Austrian Alps, all other elements of The Dark Valley are familiar. And the familiarity accounts for much of what is good about it.

Highly acclaimed in Europe where it garnered many German Film Awards, the movie failed to impress the few American critics who viewed it: a half dozen Rotten Tomatoes scores average an unimpressive 33 percent. It's neither as good as the German awards indicate nor as bad as its RT score suggests.

The best influences on The Dark Valley come from the cinematography of decades old westerns-particularly that of Vilmos Zsigmond for McCabe and Mrs Miller. Like Zsigmond, cinematographer Thomas Kienast presents leaden cast snow laden exteriors shot under overcast skies that contrast with warm hued interiors, and the images of both photographers appear to be illuminated by ambient light. Diffuse light falls on the broad snowy landscapes cut by dark veined ridges and spotted with deep brown clusters of buildings. Some of Kienast's interiors feature soft golden light emanating from lamps and candle flames which falls on the source sides of faces, receding into gradients of shadow opposite the light. Pale daylight, starkly framed in rectangular windows, backlights characters or dimly seeps inside to enable the viewer to discern people and features of the rooms. Yet not a single shot has the viewer straining to see in the near blackness that too many filmmakers present as realism.

Kienast, like Zsigmond, makes the cold a constant presence that in this film is utterly intrusive. There are no warm baths or comfortable spaces; curls of white drift from noses and mouths inside as well as out, making the constant discomfort of the characters palpable. A particularly notable white wisp rises from the brass side panel of a rifle as a warm shell is ejected.

Outside the cold is scarcely bearable. Stiffened hands struggle to grasp shotgun shells; faces reddened by the wind are tightened into grimaces.

The white of the snow also serves to intensify the violence, succeeding in making the effect of gunfire disturbing. Heavy splashes of blood pool and sink into the white and red spatter fans in awful droplets: deep red near the corpse, a tone of pink farther away The award winning production design is also first rate. The assortment of weapons, the overcoats and dresses, the tableware and more are not only authentic but exhibit use and wear.

While assessing performances in a dubbed version is difficult, Sam Riley presents a cool controlled reserve like Eastwood's Man with No Name while eschewing that actor's snarls. The principle antagonist as played by Tobias Moretti is effectively menacing. As in films like High Plains Drifter, most of the cast has little to do but appear belligerent or cowed, and this group does both quite well.

The plot is only mildly compelling: yet another young stranger gradually reveals himself as a man thirsting for revenge. And some of the protagonist's decisions are boneheaded for one who exhibited stealth and skill in the early reels. In one late scene, he has the entire array of villains at gunpoint and shoots no one. Another flaw is the use of pop rock in portions of the movie which is irritatingly anachronistic and adds nothing.

Watch for the action and the remarkable ambiance that so immerses the audience that we feel the bite of the wind and sting of the snow, smell leather and dank wool.
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6/10
Dazzling Visuals; Dull Drama
1 October 2021
This film offers astonishing photography: soap bubbles look like iridescent lobes, butterflies and moths are presented like stunning neorealist paintings-the pigment scales on wings, delicate antennae, infinitesimal hairs are all rendered with clarity that will elicit gasps. There is also a series of images that morph from one of the protagonists into a cloud of fluttering butterflies of variegated hues segueing into what might be the greatest montage ever edited. Super closeups of wings flash at increasing speed, leaving the viewer overwhelmed by beauty. Complimenting the superb entomological photography are sweeping shots of lush gardens and vine covered chateau walls. We're this not enough, the interiors in soft intimate lighting would earn due praise.

And praise the film has garnered with many top critics assigning The Duke of Burgundy perfect scores. Yet with the feast of visual delights the film serves a story that is as dull as a tarnished penny. The lesbian couple repeat a kind of ritualized dominant and submissive behavior scene after scene with scant variation. The encounters are separated by repetitious scenes of entomology lectures.

The only portion of this movie that breaks the wearying dreary repetition is a visit to a woman who crafts fetish devices. This breaks the monotony, but it's difficult not to laugh during an exchange. When the submissive partner is disappointed to exasperation at learning that the equipment she desires cannot be fabricated in time for her birthday, an alternative is suggested. The character flashes with delight of the substitution: "how about human toilet?" The sensual scenes are my no measure engaging or erotic. Sure, the filmmaker is presenting the subject in a manner that forbids prurient interest. But it's difficult to think of a film in which the physical expression of affection is so boring. The relationship is static until the very end when one of the women becomes overwrought for reasons that the audience is unable to divine.

The exhilarating beauty of the photography serves to point up the colorless plot.
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Midnight Mass (2021)
6/10
Confounding Contradictions
30 September 2021
There are many laudable elements in Midnight Mass-strong performances, intriguing characters, and a bleak setting in which the viewer is immersed. By the time this limited series concludes, a number of descriptors are apt-turgid, confounding, dull, frustrating, and inconsistent.

It starts well. Plot lines extend and branch, then branch again. There are two primary stories: a guilt wracked alcoholic, recently released from prison for the vehicular manslaughter.of a teenaged girl has returned to his family home on remote Crockett Island; the return of Riley Flynn (Zach Gilford) coincides with the arrival of a young priest (Hamish Linklater). Flynn is received with anxious affection by his mother (Kristin Lehman) while his guilt is exacerbated by the resentment of his father (Henry Thomas). Father Paul, meanwhile, establishes personal connections through soft spoken comments about faith and energizes his congregation with rousing sermons.

The character arcs are intriguing. Father Paul and childhood sweetheart Erin Greene (Kate Siegel) work to dispel Flynn's self-recrimination and cynicism about a loving deity. And there is mystery about the priest. While the the faith of his congregants.steadily deepens, people begin to see inconsistencies in the story he presents to explain his replacement of his long serving predecessor.

As the character development builds, juxtaposing views on the nature of God and the meaning of human suffering are presented. The piety of Father Paul battles the scornful doubt of Flynn through intelligent layered dialogue. Too soon this strength of the program becomes a weakness. Well written as they are, every character from the principles to the minors has a soliloquy about her of his past or long ruminates on the justice of the cosmos. There are more set speeches in the first four episodes (and they keep coming; boy, do they keep coming) than in any four of Shakespeare's most soliloquy-heavy plays. This would be forgivable if Midnight Mass moved forward in its explorations of devotion and denial. The occurrence of a series of seeming miracles supports the trajectory. But when dark supernatural elements emerge, all the compelling questions are deposited on the shoreline like the dozens of reeking cat corpses that wash up on Crockett Island after a storm.

Character motivations which appeared pure do not merely become dubious, they become confounding. Even more irritating is the development of the horror elements. A central and essential tenant of a horror story is that the established nature of the monster must remain consistent. If a diabolical being can subsist on food, it cannot later subsist on only on blood.

While we can remain patient through the dense speeches in the first half of the series, when the characters continue to soliloquize as action becomes the driving force, the speeches become annoyingly interruptive. The constant insertion of prolonged commentary becomes analogous to a streaming service glitch: right in the middle of a scene, the screen freezes and the dreaded slow moving circle appears.

Astonishingly, the dynamic denouement is delayed by a discourse on the meaning of life and the nature of the universe.

Series creator Mike Flanagan gives us theological and philosophical inquiries that Marlowe and Milton might have admired and on the pages of his script pours pitchers of fake blood from a second rate horror film. It's as if he yielded creative control to a high school student who thinks graphic novels are better than the the best of Poe. The ghastly particulars tumble from the terrible to the laughable. Characters die horrifically. Then they come back to life-to die horrifically again.. . To come back to life again.

Midnight Mass is a gothic cathedral with a theme park ride screeching down the aisles.
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7/10
Cheap Chills: John Moxey's Directorial Debut is an Atmospheric American Gothic
2 September 2021
Constrained by a low budget, John Moxey and production designer John Blezard created a cluster of battered clapboard buildings, pumped billows of synthetic fog, and lured the audience to Whitewood, Massachusetts, a hamlet accessible only by a tortuous wood lined road. In the 17th century the denizens of Whitewood burned the witch Elizabeth Selwyn. (No, witches were not burned in New England, they were hanged. But a writhing woman bound above a stack of lumber is far more cinematic.) The burning scene is a dynamic set piece. Selwyn, her hair hanging in disheveled wavy locks, is centered in the middle ground while a blazing torch dominates the left foreground. Cut to a series of closeups-upturned faces (all decidedly unpleasant) animated with contempt and fear. Then, upward from the perspective of the mob, a portrait of the witch framed by tendrils of flame. The aquiline features of Patricia Jessel flash with rage as the flames close inward. Shouting her allegiance to Lucifer as rain drenches her hair, her expression changes to one of joyous defiance.

When Moxey returns the viewers to the 20th century, the face of Professor Driscoll (Christopher Lee) fills the screen. He repeats the cries of the Puritans, "burn, witch, burn, witch, burn, witch, burn" before a circle of students gathered for a seminar in his living room. Driscoll's impassioned lecture inspires one of his students to begin research on the site of the execution.

Nan Barlow (Venetia Stevenson) steps shin-deep into swirling white vapor and gazes around Whitewood. Great clouds of white hang between the buildings, masking gaps in the set. The fog serves Moxey in another way: it presents the suggestion that the witches who now control the town have produced the shrouds of clouds to hide Whitewood from the outside world.

Ms Barlow enters the lobby of the Raven's Inn, a dimly lit space where the silence is brocken only by voices and the heavy ticking of a clock. Within the gloom, Stevenson's platinum blonde hair is luminous while she addresses her hostess, Mrs Newliss (Jessel). In this incarnation, the veteran stage actress speaks in soft enchanting tones. Yet every subtle smirk and slightly raised eyebrow conveys notes of delighted malice. A lovely sacrifice has been delivered.

Stevenson adeptly presents herself as an inquisitive young woman delighted by the prospect of studying the locale while her view is obscured by a trusting ingenuousness. This latter trait proves to be so dominant that Nan makes choices that Siskel and Ebert long ago characterized as "too stupid to live." When eerie chants rise faintly from the floor of her room, Nan just has to explore-even though she must proceed through a passageway of blackened brick.

Before the doomed beauty is descends to the passageway, Moxey uses Stevenson to introduce some salacious moments that are more laughable than compelling. When Ms Barlow slips out of her dress, she is wearing a bustier. Huh!

Moving forward much like Psycho, which was realeased at about the same time, Nan's brother (Dennis Lotis) traces her path to the wicked place.

The older Barlow's investigation is a compelling and elicits increasing concern for his safety and.heightening hopes that he can by some means deliver Whitewood from evil. The tension is adeptly increased by the cinematography of Desmond Dickinson, featuring groupings of livid faces delineated by deep shadows. As the movie progresses toward a conclusion, the chanting of the witches becomes as chilling as New England fog. The fortunes of.the good rise and fall and rise again in the tension of the final fabulous minutes.
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The Delivered (2019)
8/10
Gentle Light Illuminates a Life of Toil and Repression
28 August 2021
The light that falls on John Lye's farm is diffuse, a gentle glow that passes through mist, It enters widows, softly illuminating Fanny Lye as she attends to household tasks. The imagery presented by director Thomas Clay and cinematographer Giorgos Arvanitis recalls paintings of Millet and Vermeer. While Millet's laborers sow the fields in ways suggesting contentment, and Vermeer's women appear touched by grace, the toils of Fanny (Maxine Peake) are attended by neither sentimentality nor joy.

Any sense of contentment is dispelled by an expository voice over and revelatory closeups. Fanny kneels on a hardwood floor as John lashes a switch across her back, her hands rigorously twist cloth in a wash basin. And the lovely woods and hills that surround her do not indicate an insular existence as much as an isolated one. There are no sign lines of the world beyond the stands of the trees and crests.

When youthful strangers, Thomas (Freddie Fox) and Rebecca (Tanya Reynolds) arrive, they assimilate into the family, bringing touches of levity to the Lye's young son Arthur and glimpses of liberation to Fanny. Both are interrupted by corporal punishment whenever John's notions of decorum are disturbed.

Rebecca lightens some of Fanny's burdens and Thomas emits whips of sensuality, these supported by the slow glide of Arvanitis's camera through the kitchen window to the exterior. As the fields of vision expand so, too, does the prospect of Fanny's freedom. Arvanitis also enables the audience to watch the characters like a stealthy observer, employing takes that gently pass around trees and structures to unimpeded views of the men felling trees and the women completing chores. The graceful movement of the still cam incrementally exposes challenges to John's constrictive Puritan values.

Ideologies eventually clash.

The competing perspectives, each supported by scriptural passages, struggle for dominance, the power shifting like the fortunes of the forces still fighting to control post civil war England. The battle illustrates a harsh truth: once any dogma takes control, ugly aspects of self righteousness and revenge are manifested.

In witnessing the struggle, Fanny is mostly silent as Peake's expressive face registers inner conflict, tightening at the possibility of pain for John or Arthur and relaxing at the prospect of freedom. As John, Charles Dance subtlety indicates his emotions in ways indicative of his mastery of screen acting-a slight tuck of the chin conveys disapproval, a quick blink, fear. Fox is best when his Thomas cajoles and charms, less so when he is charged with emotion. Reynolds adeptly projects both rustic ingenuousness and joyful licentiousness.

Beauty is present throughout the film. The first image of Rebecca is a closeup of her eyes, large and soft as those in a da Vinci portrait. And the pastoral beauty of the surroundings is consistently present. When violence intrudes, it plays out both suddenly and through gruesome struggle, unnerving audiences largely inured to depictions of injury and death. If Fanny's liberation is to come, barriers can be breached only by destruction and agony.
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