Pjtaylor-96-138044

This classic Spike Lee joint depicts rising racial tensions rippling through a community as the interior design of family-owned Italian restaurant sparks controversy among its some members of its almost all-Black clientele. Set during a record-breaking heatwave, the piece bounces around the different inhabitants of a single block as they spend their time trying to cool off. Do The Right Thing (1989) is perhaps Lee's most famous effort, and it's one which encapsulates everything that makes him stand out as a filmmaker. Its vibrant direction, well-observed writing, political theming, ensemble acting, and overall sense of urgency make it easy to recommend but difficult to describe. It's a potent piece that balances comedy with tragedy, luring you in to its deceptively uneventful narrative while providing just enough hints of unrest that an explosive finale feels inevitable. Cutting to the core of American racism, the feature depicts the ways in which even all-Black neighbourhoods can fall victim to systematic discrimination and injustice, how one small mistake can spell doom for an entire group of people at the hands of those meant to protect them. It's excellent at evoking a sense of time and place, and its 'hangout' vibe never threatens to outstay its welcome despite necessitating a slower, less propulsive plot. It's a really confident and important picture that's never content to paint things in black and white, while also never being shy about its intended meaning and its anger at the situation most Black Americans still find themselves in to this day. It's striking just how similar the events of this are to real-life tragedies we see time and time again in the modern day, reinforcing that these evils have been sadly happening again and again and again. We need films like this to remind us of that, and to keep us striving for a time when such things are a remnant of the past. This movie is iconic for a reason: it's really good.

'Nickel Boys (2024)' is a drama about two teenagers incarcerated at a notorious juvenile reform centre. Set mostly in the 60s against the backdrop of the civil rights movement, the piece remains relatively subdued in its exploration of race, racism and the way in which America never lets anyone forget the colour of their skin. The abuses committed against those at Nickel Academy are often kept off screen (or even outright implicit), but they're no less shocking or upsetting because of it. While there is an argument to be made that the film could've been been more explicit so as to hammer home the evils perpetrated at the real-life institution it depicts, there's also an argument to be made that putting its most despicable moments on the periphery mirrors the way in which everybody seems to know about these things but nobody is willing to do anything about it. Plus, its restrained approach purposefully never allows us to see what its characters don't, and it also allows the knowledge of these insidious events to gnaw away at us because were never sure if they're happening just outside our field of view. It goes hand-in-hand with the experimental way in which the movie is crafted, which informs every aspect of its production. It's mostly shot from the point of view of its two core characters, literally letting us see what they see. By extension, it aims to let us feel what they feel, alternating between their perspectives at key points in the narrative so that we can see their reactions to key moments as filtered through the other person's experience. It's essentially 'Peep Show (2003 - 2015)' if it was an experimental, emotionally affecting, quietly devastating feature about finding friendship while facing racism, injustice and systematic abuse. Ironically, though, the affair's attempt to put you in the headspace of its players and align your emotional journey with theirs is the very thing that distances you from them somewhat. Its form matches its function in theory, but it often clashes with it in execution. A lot of the story plays out almost as vignettes, lending it a bit of a stop-start pacing and - in conjunction with its core cinematography concept - an often ethereal atmosphere that makes you feel like you're floating through the experience - perhaps even witnessing it from a timeless, pseudo omniscient point of view - rather than, well, experiencing it alongside its characters. That probably doesn't make sense, but the feeling it inspires is difficult to describe. Furthermore, the inability to see both main characters on screen at the same time does sometimes dampen the impact of their most crucial scenes. Some of the twists on the formula don't work quite as well as they should, even if they are still interesting in their own right. Still, its unique approach to its storytelling is ultimately a net positive. It creates a very distinct, surprisingly gentle atmosphere that certainly has a specific effect. It's hard to explain how it makes you feel, to be honest. The feature really creeps up on you, its moments of beauty compounding its underlying sense of tragedy and its stretches of pure brutality. It's a very affecting experience and I wouldn't be surprised if it left many people a teary-eyed mess. It's a confident and original effort that's surprisingly devastating and will likely stay with you for quite a while after it's over.

Bird (2024) is a pseudo kitchen-sink drama with a dash of magical realism peppered throughout its third act. Focusing on a twelve-year-old girl who lives with her self-centred father, the film depicts a grounded view of what it's like to live in poverty. While it doesn't shy away from the bleaker aspects of its setting, it also makes a point of showcasing the beauty that can be found in even the darkest of places. It cuts away to its most serene moments during its most traumatic segments, implying that its protagonist is using memories of better times as a way of coping with what she's experiencing. It's a gentle experience when it needs to be, oddly life-affirming in its own down-to-earth way. It's also pretty upsetting at times. The prevailing emotion it provokes isn't sadness or pity, but rather a sense that everything will be okay. Shot almost entirely handheld with a tactile quality to its imagery (including a frame with purposeful fraying and other artifacts at its periphery), the feature feels like something shot by one of its characters, and not just during its 'vertical' segments its protagonist has supposedly captured herself. Although it's quite long, it remains engaging for its majority. Once you've settled into its relatively slow pacing, it's difficult to imagine it moving any quicker than it does; its every moment is purposefully crafted to evoke the feeling that you're a fly on the wall, steadily becoming more accustomed to - and invested in - the lives of those you bear witness to. At the same time, the movie puts you in the headspace of its lead character and ties your experience directly to her point of view. It's a finely tuned balance that somehow manages to make you feel like subject and observer all at once. The naturalistic aesthetic extends to all aspects of production, including the grounded performances which feel incredibly true-to-life. First-time actors do just as well as recognisable veterans; everyone disappears into their role. It's a really cohesive, tangible experience that feels very well-observed. It immerses you in a very specific time and place and culture, all while telling a touching tale and making several unexpected decisions. It's the sort of thing that makes you smile even when it's at its most stressful simply because it's so assured. It's really effective, and quietly beautiful in its own way. It's a distinct, immersive and enjoyable affair.