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Much like everyone who has to deal with Keith in the film, it's very easy to not give him the inch of good faith or attention that he'll surely stretch to endless sputtering tangents. But each time I re-engage with this film, I'm more struck by how Keith is basically the only character driven by legitimate sensitivity or responsibility. Making a sock puppet show for a crying woman is a dumb idea, especially when the only scenario he can conjure is a clearly lived awkward encounter from his job, but it does show a base motivation of caring about another person's feelings and wanting to do something positive about it, which is something basically no one else is willing to do for him. Trying to get the desk woman at the computer cafe to call his roommate, Charles, to remind him to pay their electric bill is stupid in such a specific, "people will only believe me if I lie" mindset that shows a certain sort of neurosis that hits very close to home. And yet there is the basis of a responsible idea there, he did need to get Charles to pay the electric bill and clearly talking to him didn't work.

What's most interesting about all this is, in almost all of his interactions, Keith's always trying to narrativize his life to other's to establish commonalities or understanding. Whether it's about his father's heartattack, how he couldn't cry as a kid, how he vowed to never be "the giving tree", it's striking how legitimately ingenious these connections are when you can translate past his stuttering syntax. It's no surprise Joe Matt's Peepshow was Bronstein's main inspiration for this film, with obsessive-verging-on-destructive introspection being such a guiding force. So it's telling that Keith's most cogent scene in the movie is the scene where he's talking to his therapist, someone whose sole responsibility is just hearing him out. But even that scene presents another level of nuance, where Keith seems unable to process the straightforward questioning of the therapist regarding the story of his parents arguing, where his response seems to grasp at what he thinks the therapist wants to hear instead of encouraging further probing into his own perspective on the situation.

I think this ties into Keith's largest flaw (and really a crux of the problems of everyone in this movie and beyond) being his inability to meaningfully consider and internalize the perspectives of other people. His boss doesn't want to hear him sputter out a bunch of apologies and tells him this directly, but Keith persists with it anyway because to him he's doing "the right thing". And that's indicative of his whole broken communication approach, his stuttering is from trying to explain a hundred things simultaneously that, laid out all on paper, would get his point across properly. But by failing to understand the mechanisms of how people conduct dialogue and consider the person he's talking to, he's left to flail in his own world. But it also wouldn't kill people to hear him out at least a little bit, or at least establish definite boundaries. Like the clearest example of this is during Keith's manic episode at the end with his wary friend Sandy, where Sandy says "I'll give you two minutes", and of course Keith starts sputtering as he has been the entire scene, then Sandy immediately cuts him off to get into a physical altercation. It's like c'mon man, Keith's clearly going through some stuff there, if you just let him sputter on for a few minutes I like to think it'd at least help him sort whats bouncing around in his head and hopefully calm down a bit. But with Keith, where does it end? You let him come to your room to grab his badge (that he almost 100% left there intentionally), then next thing you know he's skimming your toothpaste and crashing your Buster Keaton watch. In this crazy, "your place is not Fort Bragg" state, who knows what he'd do? Damn, communication's tough.

And then there's Charles, who has a much more approachable syntax, but it's like man, screw this guy. His screwup with the electric bill and deflection of blame during the confrontation with Keith, like how scummy can you get. But then, during the job application and LSAT scene, I start to kinda feel for the guy. I don't know what goes into a Hollandaise sauce on the spot. And the scene with the fellow test taker in the stairwell, it's like he's constantly trying to find any "in" to have a comfortable convo with this guy by constantly changing what he's saying to try and parrot "yes and" the other guy, who's giving him nothing. And sure it's kind of spineless, but like, with someone you've just met, I've done that before. It's like you just wanna have a chill moment with this dude after a stupid test, why not try and establish some common ground. And what's that other guy's deal anyway, with the constant stonewalls and mocking? "In the middle of this ontological, epistemological crisis, your safety net is Trizzlers"? So what if it is! Then he steals his walkman! Was he just being a jerk and depriving bro of his "safety net", or did he realize "that actually sounds pretty good"?

See, these are the types of questions great art should inspire. I don't get any defined "Frownland Ending Explained" answers, I just get a fresh perspective on stuff that hits real for me. Keith stumbling and snotting around that party at the end? I've felt that. I hope Keith will be ok. I think he will, maybe with a better roommate.

I'm overjoyed that the culmination of tumblr, electroswing, post-Cartoon Network, Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends aesthetics resulted in something this loving, musical, and expressive.

Helluva Boss has some great moments but has large swaths that don't resonate much with me, but here everything miraculously clicks. The web of backstories and plotlines are all juggled surprisingly deftly with a great balance between intimate character moments and larger scale worldbuilding (something I've always struggled with in these sorta fantasy shows but I think flows in a very engaging way here), the characterizations are all handled with real sensitivity (and with fitting nuance given the central conceit of the show), and ill go out on a limb and say all the musical segments do wonders for me (the recasting of the voice cast with seasoned musical theater veterans was an essential choice in this regard).

Ive been thinking lately about how i used to lay in the back of my parents car during road trips and close my eyes and imagine these rly vivid music videos in my head while shuffling Beatles songs on my MP3 player, usually focused on characters from MLP or Ruby Gloom, and have lamented that I haven't been able to do that in years. The other day I was chillin listening to Tricky's "Suffocated Love" and I saw this whole Hazbin Hotel lookin music video in my head so vividly jus like when I was a kid, and for that alone I'm deeply grateful for this show.

Sure it's a very easy thing to dunk on, but as a cultural object for someone who grew up watching ridiculous amounts of cartoons, this has been exactly the shot of inspiration I've needed at the start of the year.

Incredible, what I knew as "the Club Penguin beer commercial war movie" is actually imbued with deep emotions and nuance that hit deep in ways I couldn't have expected.

I was walking into this worried this'd be a "wages of war" film judging by the synopsis, but instead it just uses that as a jumping off point towards a very nuanced study of alienation (maturely presented without solipsism) and gettin back in tune with yourself to open up to others (ala I'll Be Seeing You).

It's very understated in both its animation (the warm laserdisc rip couldnt help but remind me of the similarly warm hazy imagery of Bobby's Girl, another beautiful underrated OVA with a good bit of overlap in appeal imo) and sound design (which reminded me of Digimon Hurricane Touchdown weirdly enough, along with the strangely abstract Americana of the whole thing) to bend what was evidently a limited budget to something that draws out great aesthetic sensitivity. This same astute minimalism is reflected in the focus on small meaningful gestures (the shot of Mike's sister watching Mike leave near the beginning of the film was just the tip of the iceberg of the film's consistently impressive emotional restraint) which is both unexpected and an achievement with character designs this simplistic.

The use of music in this flick floored me too. The naive lyrics to the fuzzy 80s pop tunes earlier on cant help but bring a dumb lil smile to my face, and the "Sweet Memories" scene is deeply affecting to me in ways I can't describe.

A quote that kept coming to my mind watching this film is Cassavetes lamenting that "not enough films are concerned about the dreams of women". A major guiding motif to this film is about the dreams that everyone possesses as individuals and their value as motivating forces, and it's a really inspiring worldview. Even the de-facto "villain" of the latter portions of the film is just misguidedly driven by the dream that his life will be better with material wealth. Mike himself just dreams of meaningful connection with others, but due to his own insecurity from the trauma he's suffered he's stuck in a behavioral cycle as a wanderer. Somebody call Vincent Gallo and ask him why he ripped off Penguin's Memory: A Tale of Happiness for Brown Bunny.

The context of the characters feelings and lives spills out beyond the confines of the film to create a tapestry of repressed and misguided feelings and layered double+ entendres of words words words.

If that interests you I wouldn't recommend reading further as this is a movie that could surprisingly lose some of its first impact with spoilers, but I would implore you to read Ball's "manifesto" for the film's script that he posted on his website as it is a great primer for the film's specific wavelength.

Ball's structuring of a number of the film's interactions as bait-and-switches of preconception, especially early on, is a very perceptive re-tooling of the way dramatic films operate as to reach towards the greater nuance of real individuals. That's why I think this is a film you can potentially "spoil", because the way the reveals work in the film make you question your own conclusions you may jump to about individuals. You won't "get" a real person fully just from the way they look and the first few things they say when you meet them, the intricacies and contradictions can only be attained by breaking thru the masquerades and put-ons people adopt in specific social contexts. These characters don't even "get" each other despite their seemingly intimate familiarity, so we're left tracing them jumping from game to game and put-on to put-on in desperate attempts at meaningful, cathartic connection.

This is something that shows up a great deal in Cassavettes' work, which you dont have to look hard to see influencing this film (it can be easy to see this as Faces but with the encroaching grain replaced with jagged pixel artifacting, "I Dream of Jeannie" replaced with a house song based around a weather forecast sample, and a distinct lack of phrases like "that's how you get your jollies"), but Id argue a) its an important enough aim to not be limited to one American artist and b) Ball asserts his own structuring and aesthetic sensitivity in a way that's uniquely his own (Cassavetes was never as conscious with his setups-payoffs as this film is, which brings the effect of making the recontextualization of words n gestures have greater influence in this compared to Cassavetes' comparatively straightforward language, which is obviously still affecting in its own way). Ball remains incredibly perceptive throughout on how to make sequences striking, like in the conscious framing of objects like phones, martini glasses, or lamps in a shot to make the mundane evocative in their specificity (reminds me of another recent independent Ball (Kyle not David) film, Skinamarink, and also interesting to consider the film's use of the weather forecast song which is itself concerned with the repetition and deconstruction of a menial everyday detail), or the precise use of jump cuts to shake up the perception of a scene and draw sensitivity to minute aspects of a performance.

It goes without saying that to pull this off requires great faith in the actors involved, and Ball's faith was decidedly well placed as the performers here are so consistently open and responsive you can receive a great deal of gratification just studying the performers eyes and body language in any given scene. Admittedly, and maybe its just the cheap camcorder look of the film, the performances did feel a little stilted or "amateur" to me in the first scene, but in hindsight this is clearly conceptually intentional, as the characters themselves are "performing" as we find out later.

"It's a party!!"

PS: Due to my internet-addled brain, the low-budget, male-female dynamics of this movie can't help but remind me of The Room (even down to the surprise birthday party latter portions), and it got me feelin sad when I realized The Room has and continues to be shown in packed theaters, while this has received basically no distribution and has like 30 views on here 24 years after its release. I get it, Wiseau funny man and "oh hi mark" and you aren't gonna fill a midnight screening for the earnest emotional relationship portrait movie. But this is a movie with a lot more to unpack than a lotta similar movies from the same era and beyond and I think it could really find a receptive audience if given the chance. I found this, as I think the few else who have, thru Ray Carney's gushing, and I love Ray Carney but the guy ain't for everyone and I think the movie could reach a lot further than, you know, people willing to read Ray Carney.

A miracle testament to the compulsion, craft, and sacrifice required in meaningful creative expression. Articulate, specific, and deeply felt while simultaneously concise and wholly unpretentious.

Actors, directors, editors, producers, even financiers are shown to be roles with potentials for excellence and passion in their own ways which deeply affect the subsequent work (srsly what portraits of creativity give credit to the financiers that take the leaps of faith that let the things get made in the first place). Accident and spontaneity are shown as inseparable parts of the creative process. Introspection and personal insights are shown to be the key to resonant art. These are very astute observations about filmmaking that I have heard echoed many times in interviews with my favorite artists, and to see them reflected in this random anime movie is so crazy to me. That's to say nothing of the tour de force the editing segment of this film is, which has a specificity that I could not be more grateful for.

For all the beautiful and astute things it has to say, it really is the energy and enthusiasm of this film that makes it so infectious and inspiring. Crazy what happens when you abandon ego and actually put unabashed artistry ahead of your own petty hangups (this being made in the same industry that produced Belle is some twist). Of course this all got wasted on animefan mouthbreathers, but this is the type of thing to blow the right minds in the coming years.

The negative flip-side of Evangelion 3.0+1.0, as it represents the exploitation of arbitrary preconception as a way towards propping up notions of the importance of oneself over others (i.e. Thinking you're the main character of reality and your problems are more important than others, therefore living with the intent of propping up these selfish delusions rather than treating others with equal respect as a fellow individual.)

Every element of Belle props up the protagonist as the most important person in the universe. She has a backstory that is easily taken as tragic so her problems are immediately given paramount importance over others. Her "true self" in the virtual world is a beautiful goddess, while everyone else is represented as cartoonish caricatures. Everyone who opposes her is an irrational, irredeemable villain to be defeated.

This is the fundamental root of human evil. The notion that you are more important than other people, that your place in the universe is of greater significance, is what causes someone to harm, assault, or kill someone else when they have become characterized as the enemy to what is of cosmic importance (you, not them). It causes you to make the environment uninhabitable for others, it causes you to live your life with paramount concern for your own immediate gratification rather than towards improving circumstances for yourself and others.

This film is taking a traditionally un-cinematic concept, being the day-to-day life of a woman that is unremarkable under the accepted lens of filmic characters, and putting a spotlight on her life in an ingeniously cinematic way.

The way this was done surprised me though, as I expected a sort of "leave the camera running" style to dominate this film, but the editing is incredibly conscious and lean throughout. Each shot contains an explicit idea (including many that are structured with clear conceptual intent [i.e. The film opening with a detached depiction of Jeanne's sex work followed by a long unsexualized depiction of her nude in the bath strikes me as a way to establish the idea of Jeanne as a multi-faceted woman rather than the archetypical house mom image that may have been established if the film had opened with the following sequence of kitchen and house work], and even in a very "setup-payoff" way to establish the repetition meant to be induced by the movie's later sequences, that indicates careful choreography while still feeling naturally realistic) that is expressed for its full conceptual weight and moved between briskly, which makes for an engaging and consequently cinematic presentation. This is really a crazy accomplishment, because what Akerman does here is not bend the film's depiction to match the accepted language of what's cinematic, but rather etch out a new language of her own to naturally bring out the cinematic draw of her subject. The gratification inherent in the simple processes of Jeanne's chores, brought out both visually and aurally through the untraditionally lowkey yet visually pleasing camera placements and the textured sound design (that the viewer develops a great sensitivity to over the course of the film due to it being the most interesting dynamic element of focus for a great deal of scenes), brings a continually rewarding process in engaging with the film (at least the first 2 hours or so) that has brought to light the cinematic value in a real world subject that is representative and insightful to a great number of people who were previously undepicted with this much focus.

The last hour or so of this was tougher for me to engage with since I thought the gratification was ingrained in the film's concept, but then I realized the film was now trying to capture a whole other side of this portion of human experience. The gratification is supplanted by a frustration that becomes an incredibly astute depiction of a sort of "I can fix this" spiraling behavior (sometimes you just gotta stop trying to pick up the screeching asthma baby), and specifically is so impactful due to the audience having seen these tasks done successfully just prior (and also Akerman's choice to only bring out the closer, table-level shots at this point to bring out a basic yet effective representation of her heightened "blinders on" focus). This type of small "potatoes are ruined and I can't write this letter to my family member" frustration is a core part of modern human experience that is basically impossible to be represented without this minimalist presentation drawing out intense sensitivity to these little problems.

And again, getting acclimated to this notion of the last portions depiction of frustration left me feeling whiplash'd by the ending. I think it's an essential sequence though because the act of violence represents a lapse into traditional cinematic subject matter. That's the one scene that would be considered important enough to be in a traditional film, and yet its immediately combated with a slow, intangible realization of feeling awful.

PTA, in his characteristically deeply felt way, translates Gary Goetzman's overzealous anecdotes and spirit through his own insight into the 1970's (and beyond) San Fernando Valley, honed through his own nostalgia and cultural obsessions, in a period piece perfectly optimized for emotional resonance.

Every sequence is so lean and lasts just long enough to find an evocative image, phrase, or feeling before flitting elsewhere, in a similar vein to a distant memory (a presentation fitting for a film conceived out of hazy recollections from Goetzman and Anderson himself from 50 years ago). This does come at the sacrifice of accepted "narrative cohesion" and forgoes the traditional techniques meant to establish broad audience understanding (which is why I would highly recommend some of the associated press for this movie to get a better understanding of PTA's approach and the real life basis of the film, particularly Alana Haim's conversation with John C Reilly and some of the podcasts, such as the Bill Simmons and Increment Vice ones, on the excellently curated Xixax TV youtube channel), but in return is a bullseye specificity that I have seen rivaled by few films this side of the Safdie brothers in the past few years.

There are conceivably no other contemporary performers who could lead this piece the way Cooper Hoffman and especially Alana Haim (without a doubt the performance of the year) do, and PTA's aesthetic sensibility continues to surpass expectations with each film. He loves these people, these sounds, and this place, and if you're on the right wavelength he's damn sure by the end you will too.

Armstrong's gone and made a *movie* movie, which happens to be Letterkenny as written by Philip K Dick. It's as scattershot and prone to whiplash as that comparison implies, but it is all bound by Armstrong's intense commitment to his deeply felt anxieties and singularly honed visual sense, as well as incredibly sensitive performances all around from an exceptionally chosen cast (all anchored by Paul Sparks' fierce and nuanced central depiction of repression and paranoia). The film succeeds as an exceptional character portrait of a man trapped in the ideals of a bygone era, with evocative techniques ranging from abstracted genre iconography to visual metaphors to communicate this struggle in a way that is truly invigorating to witness.

It continues in the vein of Armstrong's prior feature in emphasizing emotional sense over the tenets of a conventional narrative, but for conscious viewers in search of something authentically fresh with earned emotional resonance, I implore that this is a film not to be missed.

An abject failure of curation for artistic expressions of considerable importance due to stifling presentation. Where Jazz on a Summer's Day provides a confident, clear preservation of timeless artists for each viewer to draw their own inspiration, Summer of Soul squanders any opportunity for resonance through its disorienting overediting, distracting narration, and contemporary reaction shots meant to disrespectfully choreograph audience response. No sense of performance or place can be established since not a single song is presented in its entirety without being interrupted by frustratingly repetitive voiceovers or cutaways (the butchering of Sonny Sharrock's performance is particularly egregious, especially considering the voiceover laments the censoring of black art that's confrontationally emotive while silencing a mindmelting guitar solo). This belies a lack of faith on the creators' part in footage that clearly functions exceptionally on its own.

Please, please, please let this footage be available on its own. It deserves a great deal better than this.

There is commendable material in this film: Ali Liebert is a strong screen presence and effectively grounds each scene she's in, and some sequences, such as the ghost farewell scenes near the end of the film, convey an unguarded and inspiring emotionalism that's executed with surprising conviction. On the whole, I find it admirable to try and craft something this strangely ambitious in its time-jumping structuring and (in its strongest portions) go-for-broke earnestness as a debut.

However, I think writer/director/star Troy Ruptash succumbs to insecurity in presenting this vision. This is best exemplified in his performance, which feels choreographed in his held glances, deflections, and outbursts as an emulation of depictions of grief he has seen in previous media rather than a personal sensitivity on his part. This feeling comes about due to his performance alternating between two extreme registers of closed off denial and mania, which both feel unrealistic and make his progression, which is the backbone of the film's structuring, come across as feeling arbitrary rather than cathartic. This insecurity in presentation is further reflected in the film's cinematography, which jumps from car commercial gloss in the flashback and nature sequences, to arthouse textural closeups, to conventional shot reverse shot in dialogue sequences on a dime. This contributes to the feeling that the look of the film was more dependent on thinking "what would a professional movie do" on each specific sequence rather than preserving a cohesive aesthetic perspective overall. The film's worst tendencies come to a head in the war flashbacks, which succumbs to the most basic "serious war film" cliches which I also fear try to "elevate" the central emotional arc by exploiting preconception rather than through the conviction the film's best sequences convey (and brings closer to reality the terrifying notion that Passchendaele is the most influential Canadian film ever made). For Ruptash to use his sensibility to the best of its potential going forward, I would recommend dialing back his ambitions a bit and honing in on something smaller that he has direct, compulsive insight into. This will allow him to ensure each piece of his work is in tune with that guiding sensitivity, and remove the feeling of insecure emulation and disjoint that this work can suffer from. I also think this film's worst parts come from a fear that a wider audience may lose the interest to take the film seriously. If Ruptash can abandon those notions and collaborate with people with like-minded sensibilities and compulsions, a much more effective work will result.

Overall though I'm happy to see something I can write at this length about coming out of my old hometown of Vegreville, and for a debut's worst flaw to be insecurity is definitely not the worst case scenario. I hope Ruptash can find a stronger individual sensitivity in his next work as well as the courage to embrace his best tendencies.

My problem with 2001's position as one of the pinnacles of film as an artform is that, under how I understand the difference between "art" and "escapism" is, it is not widely engaged with as a piece of art.

I believe that, to differentiate a work of great art from a work of great escapism, art should preserve individual insight. An analogy for this would be, if someone were to consciously stare at and analyze trees for hours and hours of their life, they would gain a sensitivity to the features of trees. They would have a broad context for the various bark colors and textures, leaf shapes, branch positions, etc. That would inform their opinion on the aesthetic value of particular trees. If this person were to paint a picture of what they consider to be the ideal tree, they would be drawing on this sensitivity and insight in their portrayal. The painting allows for this insight to be preserved for other people to draw on, so they can learn from this distilled portrayal and don't have to spend the hours analyzing trees to know which aspects are important aesthetically. To this effect, I feel great artists distill their individual experiences and sensitivity towards relationships, filmic techniques, aesthetics, etc. To be drawn on by others outside their individual experience.

This is different from effective pieces of escapism, which has the goal of satisfying primal and emotive urges. Escapism can be extended to include mediums such as rollercoasters or games, which are ineffective at preserving individual insight but are more effective at providing entertaining experiences. Film is the medium closest to straddling the line between "art" and "escapism", as it is great at preserving life experience and aesthetics, but through effectively emulating experience it can also act as satisfying escapism. These two modes of engaging with film are not exclusive, a film can articulate a great deal while being primally engaging, but I believe films that work far better as escapism while articulating little have been touted as major works even when discussing film as an artform.

The way I feel like the majority of people engage with a film like this is to sit around and feel deep while pontificating about humanity in these broad, imprecise terms that is distanced from any grounded principles that people can internalize to their day-to-day life or personal passions. If you look at a great deal of the reviews for this film, they talk about the experience of watching the film, rather than talking about what the film has articulated to them in any specific terms. This is more consistent with 2001 being an effective piece of escapism than an insightful piece of art, and yet it is constantly touted as the pinnacle of film as an artform. This, coupled with my own lack of relation to the films aesthetics (which I believe is weak in distinctly "filmic" aspects, such as editing and composition, that is typically overlooked due to the set designs) and themes (which I believe paints humanity much too broadly and vaguely to speak to anyone as an individual), leads me to rail against this film as I think it's indicative of the thought fallacies of modern film culture.

This film focusing heavily on an underground lifestyle of drug use and debauchery when also trying to provide representation of an under-represented and easily misunderstood group enforces negative stereotypes through establishing a distancing effect in the majority of the audience.

The protagonist of the film being subject to unimaginable trauma and serving as a cipher in an Oedipus story exacerbates this distance and creates troubling parallels between trauma and gender non-conformity. This functions as a poor choice when considering any potential audience for this movie:

1) Audiences unfamiliar with this sort of trauma now can relegate their thoughts on this sort of gender orientation as being due to trauma which they cannot relate to and contributes to the protagonist manifesting as an unfamiliar "other", which is something the film should be moving away from if it is meant to provide an empathetic window into a group outside mainstream society.

2) Audiences that have experienced any sort of similar trauma in the past will be propagated negative thought complexes of futility through the film's commitment to its nihilistic perspective.

The "on-the-street" interviews, which are a fantastic idea in concept as they provide a direct view into real gender non-conforming individuals, are incredibly non-probing and insubstantial. This could act as an essential document of positive representation if it was given sufficient attention and letting the subjects express their feelings about their sexual choices, mainstream society's view of them, and what they feel positive representation would be. Instead we are left with "why are you gay"-tier sketches that, in a skeptical audience, could easily read as the central subjects being vacuous rather than the filmmakers.

The film's constant self-references are another contribution to distance and read as the film being insecure in its own content. There is value in postmodern works questioning the machinations of media and communication. However, for these techniques to be utilized so heavily in a film that should ideally establish an understanding towards a marginalized group, these effects work counter to these goals. In particular the sequences focusing on the arthouse filmmakers and associates, involving drug use and sexual debauchery, can be read either as an aggrandization of this behavior as a way towards liberation (which I view as a very destructive perspective) or a critique. As a critique it fails due to failing to provide a nuanced perspective on the central failings of the group or suggest any potentials for improvement (compare the methods utilized in Godard's La Chinoise as an example in which this critique could work positively). Surprisingly, the most substantial perspective offered in the film is provided in an incredibly short sequence involving a violent revolutionary, which provides a very convincing, although admittedly basic, justification for violent political acts when justified by logical context. However, this aspect of the film is given minimal focus, and it is a shame the same thoughtfulness could not be afforded the film's main focus.

I do not want to create the impression that every instance of positive representation needs to explicitly subvert stereotypes or pander to accepted norms of mainstream behavior, as I think the only base criteria for positive representation is encouraging a fundamental empathy. However, I think my central problem with this film is that, through the distancing effects outlined in this review, it becomes more akin to a freak show than an opportunity for understanding. A freak show is not an example of positive representation as it upholds peoples preconceptions that these marginalized groups exist outside of relatability. There was an opportunity for a landmark of queer cinema in this film, but it failed due to insecurity in its own subject matter.

An exhilarating bullseye of music and spirit and a masterwork in aesthetics and observation.

Absolutely not a minute is wasted. Every decision of whether to show the performers, the audience, or the moments where it cuts to different scenes around the neighborhood (which could each function as a perfect short film on their own) all feels cohesively motivated in serving as a perfect testament to universal human joy and enthusiasm for creative spirits. The eye for capturing people in unguarded, emblematic moments serves as a fantastic precursor to Monterey Pop and Woodstock (as well as Neil Young's Weld but people aren't ready for that conversation yet) and its spirit was later taken to great effect by Jonathan Demme.

I get the sense that a great deal could be written about the larger cultural contexts that contributed to an object this pure and awesome being preserved, but for me its most inspiring as a testament to sensitive and committed people being on their absolute A-game for every aspect of production. This includes the people behind the camera having an acute sense for the perfect moments and angles to capture (and the showcase of lighting perfection from shot to shot, especially in such a free-form documentary setting, is absolute insanity), to the people responsible for the preservation of the film itself being so rich and beautiful, to the editors having an exacting sense of rhythm and kineticism (and making consistently creative and surprising choices among what must have been an intimidating amount of fantastic footage to curate), to the performers who each and every one of them manage at least one spellbinding and memorable moment (Anita O'Day being a total BEAST of a performer, Chuck Berry using a clarinet player to stunning effect, and Satchmo ascending to god form and winning music are just some of my favorites and I'm sure you'll have your own because every performance serves as a unique, full expression).

I cannot overstate what a revelation this film is, from the performances themselves to the cutaways to the life surrounding the festival, these are transcendent moments that form this fusion of music and image that feel like all of human existence was made in order to converge to this place and time, which is now available immaculately forever.

A deeply felt, passionate, insightful, AIRTIGHT parable of what it means to transcend mortality through mythos and inspiration (be it through the gamble, craft, or art).

The most essential director's commentary this side of The Brown Bunny. I also highly recommend Josh & Benny Safdie's accompanying interviews and Q&As on Youtube, many of which do well to highlight their pure empathy, enthusiasm, and tenacity that place them among the pantheon of timeless, essential artists.

Like Howard and all other great icons, they are the opal, and will continue to live through the inspiration they sow in sensitive individuals for as long as they are remembered.

This is not about a woman with "mental illness". This is about a woman who does certain things out of love and enthusiasm, but does so outside social norms. This is about a man who does certain things out of confusion and frustration, but whose actions have already been seen and understood in the wider culture.

This does not make her or him "bad people" or "crazy". Ideally these people should be made to understand their shortcomings and the ways in which their actions make others feel. However these are difficult things to communicate, and it's much easier to damn someone than to try and create a dialogue. Some people need external systems to help themselves. In this case Mabel didn't. To quickly slap a label on something instead of consciously confronting the larger context is dangerous.

Why do we castrate ourselves to manufacture an image? To act out of pure passion and let strong emotions free is not something to be weary of or condescend to. Of course there should be a conscious element to ensure we are aware that our passionate actions are not harmful to others, but there should also be a conscious element in our reactions to passionate actions. If we let our first impressions guide our ideas about people and the things they do, both parties are then confined in an isolated box and meaningful communication is impossible.

Films are a method of communication. It is up to filmmakers to articulate ideas, which can be aesthetic or intellectual.

What preconception does is gives filmmakers a shortcut. It's like the use of stock phrases or buzzwords in a conversation. They can be used to establish a common basis, which can then be continued from tangentially to communicate something new. However, if they are relied on heavily they can be used to cover up a lack of substance to be communicated.

Ari Aster is a filmmaker who operates entirely in preconception, without anything being taken further on his part to articulate anything new. Every work starts out with something taboo or seductive ( grieving, breakups) and goes through the most obvious, surface level aspects of these topics and iconography of the central genre trappings both ineffectively, and while refusing to articulate anything that could allow for any form of progression.

His films are successful because Aster has a strong interest in the primal, emotive aspects of film. The films he's enjoyed have a strong initial impact, and even if they've articulated something meaningfully in another aspect he has ignored it in favor of the initial emotional response. His films are inoffensive and operate within the expectation of both a work of "art horror" and the work of an "auteur talent" that the emotional response is not overridden.

We need to look deeper than this initial emotional response if we want film to be a meaningful method of communication. This is especially important since film requires a greater investment both financially and in terms of external involvement than other mediums. To base our opinions, and therefore popular canon, on pure initial emotional response, we misdirect our attention and potentially deprive more articulate filmmakers the opportunity to express themselves.

Until First Light is a startlingly realized and articulate work from an incredibly unlikely place. I had the opportunity to see it at its Albertan premiere in 2018, and the film has stuck with me like few others.

The film follows a simple narrative of a man stuck in limbo, returning to his family's farm after the suicide of his brother. We are guided through the protagonist's quiet ruminations as he comes to grips with his grief and uncertainty in deciding whether to stay on this farm filled with memories or return to his detached urban life. The film has a clear respect for audience perception and patience, and its earnest presentation sidesteps the condescending pretense and disconnect that has descended like a plague on modern independent films. We see the protagonist go through mundanities such as preparations for his brothers funeral and farm errands, which the director said during the post-showing Q&A were filmed with non-actors in those respective professions. Because the film's sense of place and local color is clearly deeply understood, these sequences always feel purposeful in tone-setting and outlining the slow-paced life the protagonist is uncertain to embrace. Admittedly this slower pace may be alienating to some viewers, but if you're willing to let a film's atmosphere wash over you these sequences will feel incredibly refreshing.

The film's atmosphere is obviously hugely bolstered by director Kyle Armstrong's immaculate visual sense. After seeing this film, I was compelled to view some of Armstrong's earlier shorts such as Magnetic Reconnection, and it is clear that he has an incredible understanding of the power of lighting, color tones, and even digital manipulation. Also Armstrong's immense reverence for the Albertan landscape, highlighted by the stunning prairie shots here in Until First Light and the mesmerizing aurora borealis footage in Magnetic Reconnection, has made my home province look the best it has since Days of Heaven. There are short experimental dream interludes in this film that would make me weary if I were to read them on paper, but Armstrong's command of visual texture and flow make these sequences true showstoppers. The fact that they are perfectly placed in the film's narrative, articulating the protagonist's frustration and fear, is a true revelation. For a filmmaker with Armstrong's background in documentary and experimental film, to appropriately integrate these influences into a narrative work is the sign of a strong auteur.

The central performances serve the film incredibly well. Darren Frank's suitably stoic demeanor has an underlying nuance that seems in perfect symbiosis with the film's quiet nature. Another standout for me was Meagan McKague as the protagonist's romantic partner who is mainly seen in flashbacks. There are clear opportunities for overacting that would be pitfalls for less conscious actresses, but she has the sense to play her scenes in a lower emotional register and integrates seamlessly into the film's tone.

The only thing I found the film to suffer from were a few sequences that felt at odds with the rest of the film's naturalism, in particular the conversations involving the protagonist's mother at the dinner table, as well as the scene with the protagonist's sister near the film's end. The abstract dialogue felt like something out of a more stereotypical indie work, that I felt lacked the film's deeply felt understanding.

Overall, though, to see a new director operate in such a singular, earnest manner feels unparalleled in contemporary film. Combined with Armstrong's conceptual approach and ability to conjure such arresting imagery and atmosphere, I think we are witnessing the beginning of a major cinematic visionary. I'm incredibly excited to follow Armstrong's work in the future!