lobotomychic

I was frustrated by the lack of context. Despite the centrality of language as self-conscious, discourse, and deliberation, there is no clear sense of ground-breaking radicality given the lack of contrast and the absence of any emotional build-up. The movie throws us into a lively discussion where every woman is strikingly lucid, articulate, and speaks freely of her mind with unshakable conviction. This in itself is hard to square with their misguided view on religiosity and spirituality. The lack of context also undermines the merit of their discussion as showcasing ''the women's long-suppressed wisdom, their long-stifled self-consciousness, their hitherto-unrecognized eloquence, their self-creation.'' (Richard Brody, 2023) Their discussion undoubtedly oozes wisdom, self-consciousness, eloquence, and self-creation, perhaps too much so. But without context, this abundance of wisdom and eloquence, out of thin air, lacks emotional and intellectual gravity and moral seriousness.

The premise that these women must choose between survival and spirituality (Justin Chang, 2023) is unsound. These are not the options. Their understanding of religious piety and what constitutes reverence are based purely on the men's version, designed for brainwashing, intimidation, and control. The stakes are undoubtedly high, but the core of their struggle is for freedom, independence, agency, self respect, not survival. But the movie has little to say about what the choice really is between. What must the women leave behind were they to leave, and what makes it difficult for them to let go? What does it mean to love and care about one's abuser? Why is it terrifying to leave? What shaped their fear? And what does it mean to stay and fight, beyond choosing the certainty of a colony they know (but also hate)? The discussion of justice is also strikingly absent, though there is some superficial mentioning of forgiveness and how it must come spontaneously and with some distance. Does forgiveness render justice unnecessary? Why does leaving sound like a defeat? What makes it not defeat, or rather the opposite of defeat? Someone mentions that leaving is not fleeing, but the conversation ends there.

The gap between the particulars of their debate and the premise makes it rather unsatisfying and almost frivolous. The premise is life and death; their real choices are between the emotional certainty (and thus comfort) in continued conformity and subjection, AND self liberation through either violence or departure. The rich empowerment that lies in the third choice is phrased as choosing forgiveness over revenge, which entirely circumvent what I believe to be the most worthy theme, that is, the moral strength required of one in making the decision to leave.

Film critic Peter Bradshaw, while lamenting that "film's rather abstract conversation doesn't convey much in the way of urgency or specificity," concedes that "there is a sustained moral seriousness in Polley's work, a willingness to confront pain." Yet the movie is more evasive about the central struggle than taking it head on. I find myself in more agreement with Roger Ebert's Sheila O'Malley, who writes that "while the debate is fascinating in its particulars-and could be used as a model for debate practice-there's something rather formal in the result, betraying the artifice of the original source. The women in Bolivia were heroic for coming forward to testify against their rapists (men they knew) in court, and in so doing they broke with every tradition they knew. They put themselves 'beyond the pale' of their own conditioning and told their stories in front of the world. Their act took tremendous courage. Toews' made-up debate seems like an intellectual exercise in comparison." And sadly not even a rigorous or invigorating one.

Plaza is a wild card. She takes risks. Her deadpan delivery can be hilarious, but it can also be unsettling. She shifts it depending on the story's context. Her performances in "Ingrid Goes West" and "Black Bear" show her willingness to travel in some very dark waters, as well as her openness to playing "unlikeable" or at least "difficult" characters. Like Kristen Wiig, Plaza has carved out her own space in which to operate. She doesn't seem beholden to the industry and its demands as other more mainstream actresses do. She feels free enough to produce something like "Emily the Criminal," devoting herself to a first-time director. This speaks to her belief in the project, and also what she is interested in as an actress. This is not ingratiating material, and she is not "ingratiating" in it.

-- Sheila O'Malley, Roger Ebert

With almost documentarylike impassivity, Ford and his cinematographer, Jeff Bierman, scrutinize Emily with neither sympathy nor censure, her close-ups flickering equally between anxiety and resolve. And by situating the character among many drawn by desperation to scams like this, "Emily the Criminal" plays less like a lecture on the evils of capitalism than a darkly demented workplace drama, a cry of outrage from those forced to choose between legal enslavement and illegally obtained freedom.

-- Jeannette Catsoulis, The New York Times

It's a genre movie with its feet firmly on the ground, small in scale and tight in focus ... If Ford doesn't quite stick the landing - a late-stage backstory reveal is pretty limp, the final scene a little underwhelming - the journey there is more than worth it, an on-form Plaza drawing us close even when he briefly loosens his grip.

Benjamin Lee, The Guardian.

Knightley and Ruffalo are nicely natural as the increasingly idealistic musos who discover that a song can save your life, their streetwise story mutating into an anti-establishment fairytale with added exhaust fumes.

-- Mark Kermode, The Guardian

Greta may not be the new Joni Mitchell, but she becomes a sort of Good Witch of the West Village. She not only revives Dan's career, but also sparks his reconciliation with estranged wife Miriam (Catherine Keener) and bitter teenage daughter Violet (Hailee Steinfeld). This would be preposterous if not for the vivacious Knightley, an irresistibly watchable force of nature ever since Bend It Like Beckham. The music industry, like girls' soccer, can't help but be overwhelmed. Benevolent Greta teaches Violet about boys and clothes, and even enlists her to play a guitar solo. The girl holds back for nearly the whole song, apparently intimidated, but then just in time picks up her guitar and nails it. It's a moment that, like the movie itself, is both laughable and sweet.

-- Mark Jenkins, NPR

Money and ambition constitute an awkward subtext in "Begin Again." Gretta has strong, not entirely persuasive opinions about authenticity and integrity, which Dan, at once a dreamer and a hustler, both mocks and respects. The film's ideas about how musicians make their living are more than a little disingenuous. The bright line it wants to draw between passion and commerce is perpetually blurred

Despite the unaffected acting, the characters are less individuals than axioms, and their relationships are carefully graphed to yield predictable emotional results.

-- A. O. Scott, New York Times.