Anatomy of a Fall (2023)

 

You shouldn’t need to watch the brilliant Anatomy of a Fall (original title: Anatomie d’une chute) to realize that trials don’t truly determine guilt or innocence. They tend to be more about whose story is more plausible or possible. Take it from someone who’s been called for jury duty far more than I deserved. This film – made by French filmmakers, but featuring French and quite a lot of English – winds up being as much of an examination of a marriage as an attempt to determine whether or not someone is responsible for a person’s death. What is most unsettling is that the film doesn’t provide a necessarily clear answer to the questions that it raises.

The scenario that begins the film is relatively simple. A famous writer, Sandra Voyter (the sublime Sandra Huller), is being interviewed by a young woman, but her husband is playing very loud and quite annoying music upstairs. The couple’s son, who is visually impaired, leaves with his guide dog (a delightful animal performance, frankly) to go for a walk in the woods near their isolated cabin home. It’s very difficult for the two women to continue talking, so the interviewer leaves. Sandra goes to lie down. When the son returns from his walk, he discovers his father dead in the snow. Whether he has fallen or been pushed is not immediately apparent.

What follows is an interesting examination of what might be considered evidence of an accidental death or suicide or murder. Much of the evidence that the police investigators gather is, frankly, rather inconclusive. It doesn’t completely look like his death is an accident, but where is the definitive proof that Sandra is responsible? She hires a French attorney, an old played by the impossibly handsome Swann Arlaud, to represent her since she’s German and needs someone who is more fluent in French than she is. She prefers using English since that was the “common” language she and her French husband used.

Sandra’s trial occurs a year after the fall, and it features several reenactments of what happened or what might have happened. Of course, it’s not easy to know whether what we’re seeing in the reenactment is what truly happened on not. We do get to hear an audio recording of a fight from day before the husband’s death. Apparently, their relationship had deteriorated so much that he had begun recording their conversations – no, that’s not odd behavior at all on his part, is it? A lot gets revealed during that audiotape. For example, we learn that the father is responsible for the son having optic nerve damage since he wasn’t taking care of the boy like he was supposed to. Sandra, as you might expect, was very upset at the time.

We also learn that Sandra is bisexual and had an affair with a woman during her marriage. This was apparently an area of serious contention between the couple, and he seems to have attempted suicide by overdosing on aspirin six months earlier. The audiotape of the argument shows just how relentless the deceased was in discussing what was making him unhappy. She was a successful writer, but he never seemed to be able to finish his work. She even took an idea of his and turned it into a book, and that no doubt made him even more jealous. He’s clearly frustrated with some of the choices that he’s made – or, at least, that is what we interpret from the flashback of the argument. Again, we do have to wonder if what we’re seeing is a completely accurate representation.

We do get some of the usual courtroom antics. The prosecutor is particularly tough on Sandra and the others who give testimony. He keeps raising scenarios that are plausible or possible or maybe even likely, but again, where is the evidence? Each side has their own “experts” to explain such matters as what the blood splatter reveals. That portion of the movie is really quite intriguing to watch since it does replicate rather accurately how the different sides often try to tear down the case being built by the opposition.

Sandra, however, is very tough. She’s also very smart and always has another take on what an alternative perspective on the evidence could be. She remains mostly calm and composed during the testimony, and she doesn’t back down when challenged. The audiotape reveals that she was the same way when arguing with her husband. The tricky part of playing the role of Sandra, which Huller does so masterfully, is that you have to seem both innocent and guilty at the same time. We’re constantly having to reassess what we know or what we think we know about what happened on the day of the fall and even throughout their entire relationship.

The trial depends, ultimately, on the testimony given by their son, Daniel (Milo Machado-Graner in a remarkable performance for such a young actor). He comes to a realization during the trial, and his testimony is central to the outcome. We see him in profile quite often during the trial sequences, as if to suggest that he keeps changing sides in his mind as to what to believe, and we see several moments where he interacts with his mother. It’s tough to determine, really, just how affectionate she is with him, but she does break down when he asks her to leave their home for the weekend so that he can think before his testimony. It’s a heartbreaking moment because she doesn’t know what he’s thinking at that point or what he will say. Which of those things most upset her is impossible to determine.

The performances in Anatomy of a Fall are all first-rate, and the screenplay keeps us guessing. The story goes that the film’s director and co-writer, Justine Triet, would never tell Huller whether or not her character was guilty, leaving her to perform the role with a high level of ambiguity. We as viewers have that same ambiguity. When the film ends, we’re not sure if justice has been served or not, but perhaps we remember that trials don’t always end with justice truly being served anyway.

Oscar Win: Best Original Screenplay

Other Oscar Nominations: Best Motion Picture of the Year, Best Achievement in Directing (Justine Triet), Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role (Sandra Huller), and Best Achievement in Film Editing

American Fiction (2023)

 

The central character in American Fiction is a writer and literature professor named Thelonius “Monk” Ellison, played by Jeffrey Wright. He’s placed on leave after offending students with discussions of race – well, the students seem to be offended by Ellison’s frankness and honesty regarding race, and that’s enough for the administrators to suggest that he take some time off from teaching and perhaps see his family back in Boston. The trip provides a series of revelations for Ellison. He learns that his latest book won’t get published because it’s apparently not “black” enough – whatever that means – but what is getting published by black authors is filled with stereotypes that seem to pander to the lowest expectations of white audiences. He starts having a rather powerful existential crisis.

In addition to his career woes, his beloved sister Lisa (played by the delightful Tracee Ellis Ross, who departs from the movie far too soon) dies from a sudden heart attack, and he must assume some of the caretaking duties for his aging mother (Leslie Uggams in a standout performance that should have gotten more awards attention). He’s likely to get little help from his brother Clifford (Sterling K. Brown), a plastic surgeon whose wife has just left him because she discovered that he’s gay. Ellison also begins a flirtation with Coraline (Erika Alexander), a woman who lives across the street from his mother’s home, but Coraline’s relationship status is, as they say, complicated.

That would be a lot for any one character (or real person) to handle, but American Fiction isn’t just interested in what happens to the people. It’s a very intriguing consideration of art versus commerce, of what you have to do in order to get your work published and into the hands of the public. After watching a packed seminar with the successful author Sintara Golden (Issa Rae), whose book is entitled We’s Lives in Da Ghetto, Ellison decides to write the worst possible book that he can imagine, a book filled with offensive stereotypes and language, and he uses the pen name of Stagg R. Leigh rather than his own name. If you know your musical history, you should be familiar with some of the implications of Ellison’s choice of pen name.

Of course, it sells. My Pafology (the book’s initial title, misspelling included) quickly becomes his most successful book, and he’s stunned that audiences are buying it in such huge numbers. The film seems to suggest that white audiences, in particular, seek out “black books” that represent the kinds of stereotypes that these readers feel are authentic. What is real, though, and what is authentic, in a world of fiction? Why do some books break through, and why do they sell when more artful books don’t? They’re all interesting questions that the film raises, but it doesn’t try to answer all of them, perhaps so that we as viewers can begin to examine our own predispositions when it comes to what we read.

One of the funniest sequences involves a film producer named Wiley (Adam Brody) trying to buy the rights to the book even before it’s been published. Ellison, thinking he can stop the craziness before it goes to far, changes the title of his book to Fuck. Even that isn’t enough to deter Wiley; he is willing to spend whatever it takes, it seems, to obtain the book, but he does want to meet the author, Stagg R. Leigh, in person first. Watching Wright, who has displayed such calm throughout all of his character’s setbacks, suddenly trying to pretend like he’s a gangster who’s on the lam provides some of the sharpest and funniest satire in the movie. He even becomes the subject of an FBI search as a result of some of the interviews he’s given as Leigh.

Another standout sequence involves both Ellison and Golden being asked to serve on the jury for the New England Book Association’s Literary Award, and if that organization’s name doesn’t suggest just how white such juries have tended to be, wait until you see the actual members of the jury. They themselves are some of the most hilarious stereotypes of the apparently well-meaning but still pandering white writers and readers. Fuck gets submitted for consideration, and now Ellison has to judge his own work. His conversations with Golden during the discussions over which book to award are very interesting because they reveal that both authors are figuring out ways to navigate what is expected of them as authors who are black and authors who want to be successful.

The film’s ending is a rather intriguing one. Wiley and Ellison are having a discussion over how the film version of the book should end, but the worlds of fiction and reality are quickly becoming blurred. In a sense, though, they’ve been somewhat blurred throughout the film. The film seems to be asking the same questions of its viewers as the plot has been asking about readers. How do you make a film that will reach a wide audience? Do you have to pander to stereotypes, or can you try to achieve something more artful? Looking at box office numbers each week might give you the answer if you’re interested in making money, but American Fiction asks what kind of cost is involved in just doing the work in order to make a lot of money.

What emerges from this film is an intriguing examination of the power that the liberal white elite still maintain over the world of publishing (and entertainment, more generally). The screenplay, which deservedly won the Oscar, was adapted from the novel Erasure by Percival Everett. It provides a showcase for some of the most talented actors working in film these days, and it makes (or should make) us think about our expectations regarding art and who makes it and how they are allowed to use their talents. It’s a fascinating film.

Oscar Win: Best Adapted Screenplay

Other Oscar Nominations: Best Motion Picture of the Year, Best Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role (Jeffrey Wright), Best Performance by an Actor in a Supporting Role (Sterling K. Brown), and Best Achievement in Music Written for Motion Pictures/Original Score

Dune (2021)

Dune is a science fiction/fantasy film that is operating on a scale grander than almost any other movie these days. Almost every aspect of the film is spectacular (as in being a spectacle to watch); the costumes, the production design, the cinematography, the special effects are all first-rate, and they must have been quite astonishing on a big screen. Many of us has to watch it on our televisions at home during the days of the pandemic, but doing so didn’t fully detract from the awe-inspiring imagery that Dune displays.

By the way, I guess we are probably supposed to be calling this film Dune: Part One now instead of Dune, but it was mostly advertised at the time as just the single-word title. I don’t particularly like when filmmakers retroactively decided that the name of their film is something different from what it was called when it was initially available. Yes, I’m referring to people like the makers of Star Wars (1977), who now insist that it’s Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope. No, it’s not, and Dune is not going to become Dune: Part One in the minds of many viewers (like me).

The 2021 film (not to be confused with the 1984 film of the same name) engages in a lot of world-building. I’ll not be completely able to summarize the plot given how dense and detailed it is, and so many small details are so intriguing to observe that probably aren’t truly essential to the plot. In a sense, it’s a film about colonization and who has the rightful control or ownership over a desert planet named Arrakis. It’s home to this spice that’s very valuable, one that’s harvested for its hallucinogenic properties as well as its uses in traveling from planet to planet. Very versatile stuff, it seems. The spice seems to be embedded in the sand of the desert and has to harvested by being vacuumed up. Inhaling the stuff all the time makes the eyes of the native people of Arrakis a lovely shade of blue.

The Emperor – why is it always an emperor in these science fiction films? – gives Oscar Isaac’s Duke Leto Atreides control of the planet as a replacement for the evil and scheming Baron Vladimir Harkonnen (Stellan Skarsgard, looking rather disgusting in an enormous body suit). Of course, it’s all a bit of a set-up for an invasion by Harkonnen’s armies, and the Duke has to sacrifice himself in an attempt to get rid of the Baron. This is probably where many people start nodding off. Honestly, it’s all rather silly, isn’t it? Different groups want control of the planet, including the native Fremen (make of that name what you will…). There are so many betrayals and suspicions that it’s hard to keep track of what’s going on unless you are a hardcore fan of the Frank Herbert novel upon which the movie is based or you take very good notes as the story progresses.

The Duke’s son, Paul (Timothee Chalamet, whose gorgeous hair deserves an Oscar on its own), starts to work with the Fremen to help them regain control over their planet. He’s gifted with mental (and spiritual) powers that allow him to see visions of the future, and he’s not particularly excited about some of the bloody war imagery that keeps popping up in his head. He also keeps seeing Zendaya, who plays the character of Chani, a Freman who shows up near the end of the film. It seems that Paul is some sort of prophesied “chosen one” (be wary of the appearance of anyone called that!), and he has to take some time to convince the others that he’s truly not just interested in becoming the new duke and taking over Arrakis.

Rebecca Ferguson plays Lady Jessica Atreides, Paul’s mother who taught him the ways of the Bene Gesserit, a society of women led by someone called the Reverend Mother (again, be very wary…). The powers that Paul possesses are meant to be reserved just for women, and Lady Jessica has violated the initial prophecy by giving birth to a son instead of a daughter who would then give birth to a son who would then be the prophesied chosen one. Right. There’s a lot of mythology to absorb here. I couldn’t necessarily remember all of the twists and turns that the plot takes, and I don’t know how faithful it is to the original novel, but you can certainly sense that the film is commenting on bigger issues here. You don’t center your story around a character who’s supposed to be a savior without trying to suggest something about saviors more generally.

What I kept coming back to instead of the specifics of the plot was the imagery, the very beautiful scenes that have led this film to be compared to Lawrence of Arabia and The English Patient in terms of its look and its large scope. The pace is rather unhurried, so we have time to learn how the suits worn by everyone in the desert really work. It’s kind of fascinating to contemplate the engineering it would take to convert sweat into water for staying cool. The slower pace of the film also helps to build tension, so that when a giant sandworm erupts from underground, it takes on even more resonance visually.

Dune features a lot of famous actors, but many of them don’t survive Part One. I mean, this is a movie that includes performances by Jason Momoa and Charlotte Rampling, Javier Bardem and Josh Brolin, and seemingly hundreds of others. Chalamet is good as always in the central role of Paul, and Isaac brings his usual charm and skill to the role of the Duke. It would have been nice to have seen more of Zendaya’s Chani during the film; she’s really just there as someone from Paul’s future, and we have to wait until Part Two for her to have a more fully realized character.

Speaking of Part Two… I have seen it, yes. It didn’t necessarily make anything clearer. I even rewatched Part One before going to see Part Two, and a second viewing still left me disoriented at times from trying to recall who was who and which side they were on. I don’t know that such considerations are really the key to the success of the first film, though. Epics tend to be a success if they blend the large picture and the small moments, when they attempt to make a grander statement rather than ensure that we understand each detail along the way. In terms of just sheer moviemaking skill, Dune is a stunning epic.

Oscar Wins: Best Achievement in Sound, Best Achievement in Visual Effects, Best Achievement in Production Design, Best Achievement in Music Written for Motion Pictures/Original Score, Best Achievement in Film Editing, and Best Achievement in Cinematography

Other Oscar Nominations: Best Motion Picture of the Year, Best Achievement in Makeup and Hairstyling, Best Achievement in Costume Design, and Best Adapted Screenplay