Love is an equation. Marriage is a business transaction. Oscar-nominated filmmaker Celine Song’s sophomore feature, “Materialists,” explores modern dating culture’s most pressing questions in nostalgic rom-com fashion. In a capitalistic, increasingly digital social environment, what makes a romantic partner valuable? 

Song’s silver screen debut, “Past Lives,” was an immediate standout of 2023, eventually scoring two Oscar nominations and squeezing into a competitive Best Picture lineup. Also distributed via indie powerhouse A24, the film established Song’s writing wizardry — a yearning, delicate exploration of love and destiny set in America’s urban heart.

“Materialists” is a fluid progression for Song — another earnest expression of romantic tension captured with grace and warmth, nestled in the bustling Big Apple. But like the many candidates we browse through on online dating platforms, “Materialists” doesn’t quite check all of a desperate single’s boxes. It’s not as tight or transcendent as “Past Lives,” bogged down by a hit-or-miss lead performance and unsubtle messaging. Still, Song’s layered dissection of modern love is a crowd-pleasing, winning equation, delivering a deeply emotional, thoughtfully written glimpse into the most broadly relatable human conditions. 

“Materialists” presents an easily intriguing premise, following a young, confident New York City matchmaker realizing a complex love conundrum of her own. After scoring her ninth marriage with Adore Matchmaking, dating guru, Lucy (Dakota Johnson) runs into Harry (Pedro Pascal), a handsome, mega-rich, practically perfect romantic pursuit. Moments later, her broke, aimless ex-boyfriend John (Chris Evans) reappears, tossing Lucy down a complicated internal quarrel with self-worth, materialism and superficial value. 

Song’s script is simple, tender and moving, with an effortless ability to wring the heart. In the digital age, dating is an equation littered with dangers, uncertainties and a shocking lack of humanity. The green flags we seek out via dating apps and matchmaking services distract us from the mysterious and indecipherable reasons behind true love. Here, Song contends this is a chosen reality, and can be avoided based on our choices and ideals. The arbitrary worth we place on people cannot stem from material value or on-paper perfection. If that inexplicable bond is absent, lasting love is impossible. 

This thesis is immediately apparent and beaten to a pulp through the “equation” and “transaction” descriptions. While Song’s thoughtful, contemplative words leave plenty to chew on between the lines, her overarching lack of subtlety and unpredictability can grow repetitive. 

Johnson is a divisive actress, often criticized for her distant “too-cool-for-school” persona. Her delivery here is as stiff, rigid and unnatural as ever, as if Song’s script is holding her hand and cheering her on with each line. There are moments, particularly those removed from her dynamic with Evans, where her performance became distracting. Still, her emotionally detached and aloof ways work in “Materialists” much better than in other films, primarily because of Lucy’s character. A hot-shot matchmaker who tinkers with people’s lives and views individual qualities as a checklist is, after all, understandably cold and removed from genuine human emotion.

Pascal is serviceable, solidly inhabiting the suave and magnetic Harry. His character is more than meets the eye, unearthing interesting questions surrounding male loneliness and unrealistic body standards. Harry is a man who has come so far, achieved every dream, every material reward in the book, and still feels empty and hopeless.

It’s Evans who steals the show with his strongest performance to date. John is a dejected, tired man, grappling with terrible pay and filthy roommates — a man who checks very few boxes in a matchmaker’s algorithm. But it’s these flaws that make him human; it’s these imperfections that keep him grounded. Evans pours his heart out on screen, delivering a vulnerable, confident performance. Despite John’s circumstances, he’s a shining ray of hope, ousting Lucy’s cynicism. He’s Song’s vessel for humanity in a superficial world. 

While not as quietly brilliant as “Past Lives” or as funny as a traditional rom-com, “Materialists” reinforces Song’s presence as one of the finest voices in film — a messy, heartfelt portal into the pitfalls of modern love. 

Popcorn rating: 4/5 bags of popcorn

The post Love, flawed: Celine Song’s ‘Materialists’ finds humanity in a superficial world appeared first on Daily Emerald.

Love is an equation. Marriage is a business transaction. Oscar-nominated filmmaker Celine Song’s sophomore feature, “Materialists,” explores modern dating culture’s most pressing questions in nostalgic rom-com fashion. In a capitalistic, increasingly digital social environment, what makes a romantic partner valuable? 

Song’s silver screen debut, “Past Lives,” was an immediate standout of 2023, eventually scoring two Oscar nominations and squeezing into a competitive Best Picture lineup. Also distributed via indie powerhouse A24, the film established Song’s writing wizardry — a yearning, delicate exploration of love and destiny set in America’s urban heart.

“Materialists” is a fluid progression for Song — another earnest expression of romantic tension captured with grace and warmth, nestled in the bustling Big Apple. But like the many candidates we browse through on online dating platforms, “Materialists” doesn’t quite check all of a desperate single’s boxes. It’s not as tight or transcendent as “Past Lives,” bogged down by a hit-or-miss lead performance and unsubtle messaging. Still, Song’s layered dissection of modern love is a crowd-pleasing, winning equation, delivering a deeply emotional, thoughtfully written glimpse into the most broadly relatable human conditions. 

“Materialists” presents an easily intriguing premise, following a young, confident New York City matchmaker realizing a complex love conundrum of her own. After scoring her ninth marriage with Adore Matchmaking, dating guru, Lucy (Dakota Johnson) runs into Harry (Pedro Pascal), a handsome, mega-rich, practically perfect romantic pursuit. Moments later, her broke, aimless ex-boyfriend John (Chris Evans) reappears, tossing Lucy down a complicated internal quarrel with self-worth, materialism and superficial value. 

Song’s script is simple, tender and moving, with an effortless ability to wring the heart. In the digital age, dating is an equation littered with dangers, uncertainties and a shocking lack of humanity. The green flags we seek out via dating apps and matchmaking services distract us from the mysterious and indecipherable reasons behind true love. Here, Song contends this is a chosen reality, and can be avoided based on our choices and ideals. The arbitrary worth we place on people cannot stem from material value or on-paper perfection. If that inexplicable bond is absent, lasting love is impossible. 

This thesis is immediately apparent and beaten to a pulp through the “equation” and “transaction” descriptions. While Song’s thoughtful, contemplative words leave plenty to chew on between the lines, her overarching lack of subtlety and unpredictability can grow repetitive. 

Johnson is a divisive actress, often criticized for her distant “too-cool-for-school” persona. Her delivery here is as stiff, rigid and unnatural as ever, as if Song’s script is holding her hand and cheering her on with each line. There are moments, particularly those removed from her dynamic with Evans, where her performance became distracting. Still, her emotionally detached and aloof ways work in “Materialists” much better than in other films, primarily because of Lucy’s character. A hot-shot matchmaker who tinkers with people’s lives and views individual qualities as a checklist is, after all, understandably cold and removed from genuine human emotion.

Pascal is serviceable, solidly inhabiting the suave and magnetic Harry. His character is more than meets the eye, unearthing interesting questions surrounding male loneliness and unrealistic body standards. Harry is a man who has come so far, achieved every dream, every material reward in the book, and still feels empty and hopeless.

It’s Evans who steals the show with his strongest performance to date. John is a dejected, tired man, grappling with terrible pay and filthy roommates — a man who checks very few boxes in a matchmaker’s algorithm. But it’s these flaws that make him human; it’s these imperfections that keep him grounded. Evans pours his heart out on screen, delivering a vulnerable, confident performance. Despite John’s circumstances, he’s a shining ray of hope, ousting Lucy’s cynicism. He’s Song’s vessel for humanity in a superficial world. 

While not as quietly brilliant as “Past Lives” or as funny as a traditional rom-com, “Materialists” reinforces Song’s presence as one of the finest voices in film — a messy, heartfelt portal into the pitfalls of modern love. 

Popcorn rating: 4/5 bags of popcorn

The post Love, flawed: Celine Song’s ‘Materialists’ finds humanity in a superficial world appeared first on Daily Emerald.

Love is an equation. Marriage is a business transaction. Oscar-nominated filmmaker Celine Song’s sophomore feature, “Materialists,” explores modern dating culture’s most pressing questions in nostalgic rom-com fashion. In a capitalistic, increasingly digital social environment, what makes a romantic partner valuable? 

Song’s silver screen debut, “Past Lives,” was an immediate standout of 2023, eventually scoring two Oscar nominations and squeezing into a competitive Best Picture lineup. Also distributed via indie powerhouse A24, the film established Song’s writing wizardry — a yearning, delicate exploration of love and destiny set in America’s urban heart.

“Materialists” is a fluid progression for Song — another earnest expression of romantic tension captured with grace and warmth, nestled in the bustling Big Apple. But like the many candidates we browse through on online dating platforms, “Materialists” doesn’t quite check all of a desperate single’s boxes. It’s not as tight or transcendent as “Past Lives,” bogged down by a hit-or-miss lead performance and unsubtle messaging. Still, Song’s layered dissection of modern love is a crowd-pleasing, winning equation, delivering a deeply emotional, thoughtfully written glimpse into the most broadly relatable human conditions. 

“Materialists” presents an easily intriguing premise, following a young, confident New York City matchmaker realizing a complex love conundrum of her own. After scoring her ninth marriage with Adore Matchmaking, dating guru, Lucy (Dakota Johnson) runs into Harry (Pedro Pascal), a handsome, mega-rich, practically perfect romantic pursuit. Moments later, her broke, aimless ex-boyfriend John (Chris Evans) reappears, tossing Lucy down a complicated internal quarrel with self-worth, materialism and superficial value. 

Song’s script is simple, tender and moving, with an effortless ability to wring the heart. In the digital age, dating is an equation littered with dangers, uncertainties and a shocking lack of humanity. The green flags we seek out via dating apps and matchmaking services distract us from the mysterious and indecipherable reasons behind true love. Here, Song contends this is a chosen reality, and can be avoided based on our choices and ideals. The arbitrary worth we place on people cannot stem from material value or on-paper perfection. If that inexplicable bond is absent, lasting love is impossible. 

This thesis is immediately apparent and beaten to a pulp through the “equation” and “transaction” descriptions. While Song’s thoughtful, contemplative words leave plenty to chew on between the lines, her overarching lack of subtlety and unpredictability can grow repetitive. 

Johnson is a divisive actress, often criticized for her distant “too-cool-for-school” persona. Her delivery here is as stiff, rigid and unnatural as ever, as if Song’s script is holding her hand and cheering her on with each line. There are moments, particularly those removed from her dynamic with Evans, where her performance became distracting. Still, her emotionally detached and aloof ways work in “Materialists” much better than in other films, primarily because of Lucy’s character. A hot-shot matchmaker who tinkers with people’s lives and views individual qualities as a checklist is, after all, understandably cold and removed from genuine human emotion.

Pascal is serviceable, solidly inhabiting the suave and magnetic Harry. His character is more than meets the eye, unearthing interesting questions surrounding male loneliness and unrealistic body standards. Harry is a man who has come so far, achieved every dream, every material reward in the book, and still feels empty and hopeless.

It’s Evans who steals the show with his strongest performance to date. John is a dejected, tired man, grappling with terrible pay and filthy roommates — a man who checks very few boxes in a matchmaker’s algorithm. But it’s these flaws that make him human; it’s these imperfections that keep him grounded. Evans pours his heart out on screen, delivering a vulnerable, confident performance. Despite John’s circumstances, he’s a shining ray of hope, ousting Lucy’s cynicism. He’s Song’s vessel for humanity in a superficial world. 

While not as quietly brilliant as “Past Lives” or as funny as a traditional rom-com, “Materialists” reinforces Song’s presence as one of the finest voices in film — a messy, heartfelt portal into the pitfalls of modern love. 

Popcorn rating: 4/5 bags of popcorn

The post Love, flawed: Celine Song’s ‘Materialists’ finds humanity in a superficial world appeared first on Daily Emerald.

Love is an equation. Marriage is a business transaction. Oscar-nominated filmmaker Celine Song’s sophomore feature, “Materialists,” explores modern dating culture’s most pressing questions in nostalgic rom-com fashion. In a capitalistic, increasingly digital social environment, what makes a romantic partner valuable? 

Song’s silver screen debut, “Past Lives,” was an immediate standout of 2023, eventually scoring two Oscar nominations and squeezing into a competitive Best Picture lineup. Also distributed via indie powerhouse A24, the film established Song’s writing wizardry — a yearning, delicate exploration of love and destiny set in America’s urban heart.

“Materialists” is a fluid progression for Song — another earnest expression of romantic tension captured with grace and warmth, nestled in the bustling Big Apple. But like the many candidates we browse through on online dating platforms, “Materialists” doesn’t quite check all of a desperate single’s boxes. It’s not as tight or transcendent as “Past Lives,” bogged down by a hit-or-miss lead performance and unsubtle messaging. Still, Song’s layered dissection of modern love is a crowd-pleasing, winning equation, delivering a deeply emotional, thoughtfully written glimpse into the most broadly relatable human conditions. 

“Materialists” presents an easily intriguing premise, following a young, confident New York City matchmaker realizing a complex love conundrum of her own. After scoring her ninth marriage with Adore Matchmaking, dating guru, Lucy (Dakota Johnson) runs into Harry (Pedro Pascal), a handsome, mega-rich, practically perfect romantic pursuit. Moments later, her broke, aimless ex-boyfriend John (Chris Evans) reappears, tossing Lucy down a complicated internal quarrel with self-worth, materialism and superficial value. 

Song’s script is simple, tender and moving, with an effortless ability to wring the heart. In the digital age, dating is an equation littered with dangers, uncertainties and a shocking lack of humanity. The green flags we seek out via dating apps and matchmaking services distract us from the mysterious and indecipherable reasons behind true love. Here, Song contends this is a chosen reality, and can be avoided based on our choices and ideals. The arbitrary worth we place on people cannot stem from material value or on-paper perfection. If that inexplicable bond is absent, lasting love is impossible. 

This thesis is immediately apparent and beaten to a pulp through the “equation” and “transaction” descriptions. While Song’s thoughtful, contemplative words leave plenty to chew on between the lines, her overarching lack of subtlety and unpredictability can grow repetitive. 

Johnson is a divisive actress, often criticized for her distant “too-cool-for-school” persona. Her delivery here is as stiff, rigid and unnatural as ever, as if Song’s script is holding her hand and cheering her on with each line. There are moments, particularly those removed from her dynamic with Evans, where her performance became distracting. Still, her emotionally detached and aloof ways work in “Materialists” much better than in other films, primarily because of Lucy’s character. A hot-shot matchmaker who tinkers with people’s lives and views individual qualities as a checklist is, after all, understandably cold and removed from genuine human emotion.

Pascal is serviceable, solidly inhabiting the suave and magnetic Harry. His character is more than meets the eye, unearthing interesting questions surrounding male loneliness and unrealistic body standards. Harry is a man who has come so far, achieved every dream, every material reward in the book, and still feels empty and hopeless.

It’s Evans who steals the show with his strongest performance to date. John is a dejected, tired man, grappling with terrible pay and filthy roommates — a man who checks very few boxes in a matchmaker’s algorithm. But it’s these flaws that make him human; it’s these imperfections that keep him grounded. Evans pours his heart out on screen, delivering a vulnerable, confident performance. Despite John’s circumstances, he’s a shining ray of hope, ousting Lucy’s cynicism. He’s Song’s vessel for humanity in a superficial world. 

While not as quietly brilliant as “Past Lives” or as funny as a traditional rom-com, “Materialists” reinforces Song’s presence as one of the finest voices in film — a messy, heartfelt portal into the pitfalls of modern love. 

Popcorn rating: 4/5 bags of popcorn

The post Love, flawed: Celine Song’s ‘Materialists’ finds humanity in a superficial world appeared first on Daily Emerald.

In 2017, Swedish-Lebanese filmmaker and videogame designer Josef Fares took the gaming world by storm. Instead of merely announcing Hazelight Studios’ upcoming title, “A Way Out,” like any independent studio head might, Fares capitalized on his snippet of The Game Awards screen time, blurting, “F*** the Oscars,” live on air to millions of fans.

Such an aggressive ad-lib would cost most people an invite back. But Fares’ enigmatic presence, underscored by a quick-witted confidence and flaming gaming passion, quickly captured the industry’s heart.

Delightfully, it isn’t all bark and no bite. Fares’ viral antics define only a fraction of Hazelight’s greatness, responsible for a growing catalog of boundary-pushing, consumer-friendly releases.

In 2021, Fares and team permanently etched themselves in gaming history, accepting the coveted Game of the Year recognition for their innovative co-op romp “It Takes Two.”

Sporting a bolstered budget and widespread visibility, Hazelight launched its biggest game to date, “Split Fiction,” on March 6. Just like “It Takes Two,” the game is an action-packed split-screen co-op platformer filled to the brim with ingenious level design and limitless creativity. It requires only one party to purchase for local/online cooperation.

Astonishingly, “Split Fiction” is even bigger, bolder and better than “It Takes Two,” pushing modern co-op gaming to awe-inspiring heights. Scattered with endless mechanics, fluid controls, stunning environments and unfathomable gameplay diversity, Hazelight’s brainchild is the gaming experience of the year and a bonding exercise like no other.

The game places players in control of aspiring genre authors Mio (science-fiction) and Zoe (fantasy), sweetly named after Fares’s real-life daughters. The two cross paths at Rader Publishing, invited by CEO J.D. Rader to participate in an experimental simulation that transports writers into their submitted stories. Things quickly go haywire. Mio and Zoe become encased in a glitched iteration of the simulation, bridging worlds from their lifetime story concepts. As the narrative progresses, Rader’s sinister intentions unravel. He’s trying to steal their ideas. Somehow, some way, the duo needs to escape the simulation and vanquish Rader’s threats.

“Split Fiction” is defined by fast-paced versatility and endless ideas. One second, Mio and Zoe are swerving through a futuristic metropolis on a motorcycle; the next, they are gliding atop dragon companions overlooking majestic castles. The game introduces brand-new mechanics within each chapter, offering Mio and Zoe separate powers, weapons and forms.

The only constant is a base move set featuring a double jump, sprint, dash and grapple, rendering constant movement fast, fluid and fun. I cannot locate an instance where navigation felt frustrating or burdensome.

The game doesn’t mind switching things up in the blink of an eye, even changing the player’s point of view frequently. It’s loaded with boss fights, mad dashes and clever puzzles that question the limits of what’s possible — an unending gift of unpredictability that refuses to lose your attention.

As Mio and Zoe teeter back and forth through sci-fi and fantasy worlds, they are exposed to “side stories,” which are optional but unmissable gameplay sections. Unlike the primary levels, the side stories aren’t confined to time or completion. Many stem from Mio and Zoe’s childhood or build off past creative flutters. One sees the duo waddling around as pigs; another switches to a hand-drawn art style. Not only are they a lovely break to the main story, but they further saturate the game with insane gameplay gimmicks and vibrant environments.

Speaking of vibrancy, “Split Fiction” is so densely gorgeous and detailed that I’m perplexed at its ability to run so smoothly. It’s even more impressive considering the sheer amount of grand-scale imagery littered throughout. Every inch of this thing pops with color and beauty. Especially given the game’s sprightly, non-stop pace, it’s important to stop and smell the roses every now and then to appreciate the visuals.

Narratively, “Split Fiction” is run-of-the-mill but serviceable. Rader’s dealings represent the hollow creativity and exploitative nature of generative AI. While it’s a tad on the nose, the unsubtle messaging is as critical as ever. Mio and Zoe are likable protagonists and apt vessels for the game’s main draw: gameplay. Their dialogue is often cliché, even annoying at times, but their strangers-to-best-friends dynamic is wholesome and holds a surprising emotional punch. By the end, I felt connected to each of them, despite only playing as one of them.

The cherry on top, the final sequence, is an otherworldly achievement. I could not make heads or tails of it. I cannot fathom how they pulled it off. I cannot wait to play it again.

What Fares and Hazelight Studios have done — and continue to do — is dream their ideas into reality. They have reached the pinnacle of fun. “Split Fiction” isn’t just a game; it’s an opportunity to get closer to someone you hold dear. Don’t wait up.

The post Hazelight’s “Split Fiction” elevates co-op gaming to towering heights appeared first on Daily Emerald.

A young dreamer named Elwood Curtis stares intently at his Black reflection in an electronics shop window as a row of small televisions broadcast Martin Luther King Jr.’s speech. Still living under the Jim Crow laws in Tallahassee, Florida, with his nana, Elwood envisions a brighter future — his studious mind is a potential catalyst for the progress ahead.

Years later, staggered by an abhorrent miscarriage of justice, Elwood is shipped to Nickel Academy, where he strikes an immediate bond with fellow Black teenager Turner. As America ventures deeper into the stars above, Elwood and Turner are beaten and overworked, forced to sit in silence as dozens of Black bodies are wordlessly lost six feet under Nickel’s grounds. Despite Turner’s persistent cynicism, opting to accept America’s barbarity, Elwood still believes in the prospect of change.

In his narrative feature debut, director RaMell Ross stitches together a harrowing chronicle of friendship, hope and the mirage of progress. Ross and cinematographer Jomo Fray frame each scene from the first-person perspective of their co-leads, intimately immersing viewers in the haunting beauty of a devastating story.

The experimental presentation of “Nickel Boys” is what sets its beauty apart from other projects of similar nature. It’s the first of its kind. Every shot is delicate, precise and elegant enough to tell a short story all on its own. It’s hard not to feel viscerally conjoined to Turner and Elwood’s surroundings because every subtle movement, expression, plant and ray of light is captured affectionately. Every emotional punch, whether joy, devastation or horror, feels doubly intense and affirming.

The sound design morphs a visual feast into a sensorial experience. Music, peaceful ambiance and blaring silence are interlaced together expertly. The slightest sounds are made loud because our view lies so close to the characters’ ears, conducted with a level of thoughtfulness and detail rarely achieved on screen. No sound goes unheard.
The score mixes angelic jazz and ethereal melodies with eerie orchestral piercings. A soft sense of hope and freedom is replaced by confined dread and despair.

Ethan Herisse and Brandon Wilson are excellent as Elwood and Turner. Herisse plays Elwood as reserved, stubborn and intelligent, while Wilson plays Turner more freely and confidently. Their precious dichotomy is the only slice of liberty and normalcy the two have to grasp. I especially love how both personalities rub off on each other by the end.

The standout performance comes from Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor as Elwood’s nana. Her sweetness and enthusiasm are painfully obscured by grief and the grim injustice that’s befallen her grandson — something she can’t help but blame on herself.

“Nickel Boys” concludes with a soul-stirring montage, juxtaposing cosmic scientific breakthroughs with the backward cruelty of Nickel Academy. The silence emanating throughout the theater was quite possibly the most deafening noise I’ve ever heard. It’s one of those films that is so stunning and contemplative that the tears don’t flow until well after the credits roll.

If it weren’t for its well-deserved inclusion in the Best Picture category at this year’s Oscars, I fear “Nickel Boys,” just like the challenging atrocities it so boldly illustrates, would go largely unnoticed by general audiences.

Popcorn Rating: 5/5 bags of popcorn

The post ‘Nickel Boys’ review: RaMell Ross’s transcendent debut illuminates the mirage of progress appeared first on Daily Emerald.

Amidst a bizarre and unpredictable awards season, one passionate fanbase is jumping for joy. Legendary Brazilian director Walter Salles’s latest feature, “I’m Still Here,” made a last-minute push at the coveted Best Picture lineup, barely squeezing into a contentious 10-film slate.

An adaptation of Marcelo Rubens Paiva’s 2015 memoir of the same name, the film details the harrowing arrest and disappearance of former Brazilian Congressman Rubens Paiva, played by Selton Mello. Upended with the fallout in their Rio de Janeiro home, his wife Eunice, played by Fernanda Torres, and their five children fight for justice.

Though many pundits predicted Torres’s nomination for Best Actress following her surprise Golden Globes victory in January, the film’s inclusion in the Best Picture category spawned out of thin air. Whether the Academy’s passion trickled down from Torres’s Globes speech or elsewhere, the nomination was single-handedly pioneered by the online campaigning of the Brazilian faithful.

Brazilian native Marcelo Kertész, who has lived in the United States with his daughter, UO student Ana Kertész, for 10 years, was pleasantly surprised by the film’s international recognition. “It felt like winning the World Cup,” Marcelo Kertész said.

The father-daughter duo leapt at the opportunity to experience the film together upon a Friday night premiere at Metro Cinemas in downtown Eugene. With its fresh Oscar nomination spiking global box office turnout, there wasn’t an empty seat in the house.

“This is a story that I was familiar with growing up,” Marcelo Kertész said. “It is a privilege to bring my daughter to see it.”

Though Ana Kertész was born in São Paulo, she has lived in America for most of her life. The film’s staunch roots in Brazilian history, explicitly shedding light on the corrupt military dictatorship of the 1970s, offer her and unfamiliar audiences across the globe a lens into a significant period.

“The film being brought into the world, to people who aren’t Brazilian with no background in Brazil’s history, is really interesting,” Ana Kertész said. “I was trying to catch things I didn’t fully understand. It was interesting to see how they would adapt it to make sense to the rest of the world.”

Despite the pressure of adapting such a consequential true story, Salles succeeds through delicate care for the source material.

“It was such a beautiful film,” Marcelo Kertész said. “It’s hard to tell because we’ve all heard about it for years; it must be special and well done.”

Ana’s biggest takeaway: “Seeing Brazil.” She added, “It was a gorgeous movie.”

“I’m Still Here” paints a vivid portrait of family, place and period, exacerbating the shell-shocking grief present throughout the back half of the film. Salles offers an intimate realization of a lovable, tight-knight family, immersing us in their glamorous, beachside life before stripping us dry.

Each character is devastatingly performed as their innocent zest for life is tested at the hands of corruption and loss. Torres gracefully commands the ship in a largely gentle performance. Her grief is concealed in favor of her childrens’ security, who rely on her presence for a pinch of normalcy and comfort. Her subdued nature occasionally breaks free into pure despair.

The film’s visual makeup is as tender and fragile as its heavy source material, capturing the sun-soaked environment of 1970s Rio de Janeiro and the dull stillness of tragedy. Snippets are framed as glistening memories caught on an old film camera, contributing to the authenticity of its presentation. This family’s story is real, and it feels unequivocally so.

“I’m Still Here” probably won’t win Best Picture — it might go home empty-handed — but its presence in awards conversations remains abundantly meaningful. With more eyes on Salles’s work, more moviegoers can experience a slice of Brazil and its challenging history — that kind of exposure is what makes awards shows worth it.

The post Brazilian Best Picture surprise ‘I’m Still Here’ arrives in Eugene theaters appeared first on Daily Emerald.

In one blissful moment, two exhausted lovers embrace their newborn; the next, a heated argument over treatment proceedings. If there was ever a film surgically stitched together to make you cry, it’s “We Live in Time.” Director John Crowley takes two of Hollywood’s most charming Brits and weaves us through their converging lives, sharply juxtaposing the euphoria of romance and the destructiveness of cancer.

It might piggyback off of Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield’s undeniable chemistry, but A24’s latest is another success — a warm, meandering traipse through three stages of a couple’s absorbing relationship.

When an up-and-coming chef, Almut (Pugh), runs over a recently divorced man, Tobias (Garfield), a chance magnetic connection takes shape. Through years of romance, parenthood and sickness, the two must decide how to spend their fleeting moments together.

The film’s defining gimmick is its fragmented structure, swiveling back and forth between three distinct chapters of its central relationship. At first glance, this persistent time travel felt aimless, even random. But as we get to know our leads, trudging deeper beneath their vanilla surfaces, the film becomes more coherent. Though falling in love, pregnancy and cancer are frequently explored in media, “We Live in Time” contextualizes each within Almut and Tobias’s perspective on time — one trying to preserve it and the other making the best of it.

Garfield turns in another layered, expressive performance. His eyes are sprinkled with tears for much of the film, whether out of anger, joy or sadness. A down-on-his-luck divorcee morphs into the sweetest partner and father. Even when he’s clearly in the wrong, you can’t help but trust and admire his stance. Pugh is even more impressive, getting to work with more explicitly loud and devastating material by way of pregnancy and cancer. There’s one unforgettable scene in a gas station bathroom where her chops are on full display. I can not stress enough how vital the performances are to this movie’s watchability; it simply does not work without them.

Visually, I felt disconnected from “We Live in Time.” It’s a sad story, and I assume the filmmakers intended to have it look as gloomy and mundane as life, but a lack of visual personality beyond commonplace color motifs didn’t wow me. It doesn’t look bad, not even remotely, but I expect more from an A24 film in the looks department.

Bryce Dessner’s score, however, was an excellent mood-setter. His twinkly, soft melodies support the film’s wide range of emotions, energizing the emotional highs and sobering the lows.

“We Live in Time” might not be the freshest take on romance, but its stunning star performances and moving, non-linear exploration of time are enough to piece together a win for A24. With Garfield and Pugh at the helm, you really can’t go wrong.

Popcorn Rating: 4/5 bags of popcorn

An exhausted Uber driver picks up a murderous one-star client. A bloodthirsty dog eagerly awaits the arrival of a no-good mailman. The world slowly materializes into a banana hellscape. At the 9th-annual 72-Hour Horror Film Competition, gruesome scares, shocking twists and absurd comedy met no creative bounds.

A 35-film slate of independent, locally produced short films played at Eugene’s Art House from Oct. 25 through Halloween. Each entry was scripted, filmed and edited within a designated three-day time frame and featured a mandated prop and line of dialogue. Despite varying levels of filmmaking sophistication, ranging from amateur to professional, each participating team delivered an imaginative horror experience.

While some films solely relied on typical horror tropes, namely gore, supernatural occurrences and experimental effects, others dipped fully into satire. While it might not have been the scariest night at the movies, the theater was more often than not exploding with laughter.

In the first film, “One Star,” the designated prop — a banana — immediately became apparent, acting as a prisoner’s gag. Throughout the night, bananas became a comedic throughline, typically playing a significant role in each plot. They are chucked, mashed, eaten and used as weapons. Anything you can dream of, Eugene’s filmmakers thought of it.

Every entry delivered an enticing line of dialogue: “Look what your brother did to the door.” Scratch marks, dripping blood and raunchy drawings are but a few of the brother’s curious antics. While some used it as a throwaway, others found innovative ways to weave the required line into the script — a fun parameter that cleverly linked each project together.

My favorite of the night, “Truant,” is a haunting critique of AI, particularly AI art. When three roommates discover an internet platform that can conjure a non-existent person, it produces slightly exaggerated, distorted images of their faces. Suddenly, they disappear out of thin air, lost in the aether. Not only does the film warn of the perils of AI, but it also criticizes AI art’s creativity-destructive effect.

Another standout, “Don’t Look,” was the most technically impressive of the night, sporting an eerie, dark-blue color palette and careful editing. The famed brother from the aforementioned mandatory line plays an ominous figure wreaking havoc in a house — his mother, slowly toiling away in the basement. If only it could have traveled beyond the competition’s designated runtime.

Returning for seconds, it was “Don’t Look,” filmmakers Michael Rucker, Mari Kenney and Jay Court’s second consecutive year entering a film in the festival after discovering the event on social media. Each a seasoned filmmaker, the team appreciates horror for the blood.

“Horror gives you a chance to toe on the dark side of things, the tension and the madness,” Rucker said. “Also, it’s fun and cheap to make.”

It was the trio’s first time viewing the other entries since the competition began, and they were excited to survey the field.

“I’m overwhelmed by the sheer talent and people coming together as a community,” Kenney said. “We’re all a bunch of horror nerds; we love this stuff; let’s fucking go!”

Suffice it to say they’ll attend this time next year for more silver screen spooks, and you should too.

Whether lauded for its gritty, superbly crafted reinvention of the comic book film or ridiculed for its shallow glamorization of incel culture, 2019’s “Joker” became a viral staple of discourse. Director Todd Phillips’ divisive interpretation of “The Clown Prince of Crime” scored a night-topping 11 Oscar nominations, earning Joaquin Phoenix a well-deserved trophy for Best Actor.

While I found “Joker” neither a masterpiece nor a disaster, its exhausting, inescapable online discussion dampened my excitement for a sequel.

When I caught word that “Joker 2” would feature musical elements, with Lady Gaga added to the mix as Harley Quinn, I was reinvigorated for a new installment. At the very least, such an ambitious curveball would produce something novel.
Unfortunately, “Joker: Folie à Deux” is nearly unwatchable and a pointless slow burn. Despite maintaining its predecessor’s impressive visual personality, an awkward bridging of depressing crime thrills and theatrical musical performances culminates in a massive misfire. Catering to neither the original’s fanatics nor its critics, this one won’t be so divisive.

The story picks up within the confines of Arkham State Hospital, where Arthur Fleck/Joker is struggling with his dual identity. When he stumbles upon Lee Quinzel — a fellow psychopath — the two sprout a budding love. Meanwhile, Fleck grapples with his fate while defending his innocence in a monumental murder trial.

Don’t get me wrong: I love a good musical. The existence of song and dance within the movie isn’t what deters it from success. The issues lie in the presentation.

Half the songs are conducted as delusions, staged as fantastical glimpses into Arthur’s mind. These productions fare better because they pull the characters out of their blatantly non-theatrical environment. Gaga sounds fantastic, and Phoenix pulls his weight. It’s the other batch of songs, those that remain in reality, that sound dreadful. From the sound mixing to the vocals, each number feels distractingly out of place — and there are many of them.

Even worse, the film only works slightly better when there’s no singing involved. Lawrence Sher’s cinematography is well-executed and sometimes gorgeous. Hildur Guðnadóttir’s musical score, which earned her an Oscar last time, is still beautiful and haunting. But the film’s snail-like pace propels the story along with little attention to thrill. There simply isn’t much that happens in this movie; outside of its bizarre choices, it’s a tedious watch. To top it all off, the ending renders the entire film utterly pointless.

I can’t complain about Phoenix’s non-musical performance. He remains unwaveringly committed to this role, providing Joker with his trademark sociopathic demeanor. Gaga’s performance didn’t work as well, mainly due to her character’s lack of depth.

But enough of my thoughts. What does the general audience think about this musical sequel?
When Broadway Metro patron Ava Coleman heard the “Joker” sequel would be a musical, she was intrigued.

“Let’s hear it — slay girl. Let’s see how it goes,” Coleman said. Her out-of-theater thoughts: The first one was better, and the music was unnecessary and out of place. “It didn’t make a lot of sense,” Coleman said.

Her partner, Brian Prior, remarked on the peculiar combination of depressing crime thrills with music. “It was strange through and through,” Prior said. Although noting the musical announcement as a reason to see it, Prior expressed his qualms with the numbers. “It wasn’t super manicured,” Prior said. “[Gaga] did great. [Phoenix] less so.”

Popcorn Rating: 2/5 bags of popcorn