PRESENCE
Business partners Jennifer and Samantha are invited on a weeklong yachting voyage with a potential investor. Jennifer begins to have strange dreams, and it becomes clear that she may have brought something else with her.
I’ve been sitting on my thoughts about this film for two days now. If I’m being completely honest, I think PRESENCE plays like a rushed prequel to a horror franchise. All the elements are in place for some seriously scary storytelling. Yet somehow, I was left with more questions than answers.
Writer-director Christain Schultz gives us a damaged lead in Jennifer. She has emotional trauma that feels unresolved, even in the final moments. I wanted specifics, other than everyone around her referencing a “breakdown in New York.” Jenna Lyng Adams has moments of badassery, but they are few and far between (no fault of her own). I was also slightly confused about the dynamic of Jennifer and Sam’s relationship. At first, I thought they were lovers. It was a bit messy. Schultz and co-writer Peter Ambrosio ultimately make Jennifer a victim, even though I believe the intention was a reclamation of power through supernatural forces. I’m unclear whether this was an editing issue or a script issue. 
I must say that the performance of Dave Davis is my favorite part of the film. Davis gives depth to the building mystery, in some moments with nothing but a panicked stare. His intensity immediately reeled me in, calming me during my desperation to make sense of the plot. I would watch an entire film about his journey with the Presence. That’s the story that hooked me instantly.
Overall, PRESENCE got me revved up with slick visuals but never satisfied me with its overall arc. I don’t need it spelled out because the bones are there. I was looking for a further explanation of “why” all around.
Home videos, Tess’ narration, and Liv’s diary entries comprise a narrative that looks and sounds like so many young people. The doc plays out in two distinct halves; before and after. My Sister Liv begins with Tess telling the audience Liv’s story. The second is Tess and their mother’s emotional devastation and how the pandemic rolled into their already heavy grief, with videos of Liv replaced by videos of Tess. Then zoom discussions of Tess speaking with young people Liv’s age and mental health professionals, expressing similar feelings, coping mechanisms, causes, and statistics. 
Diana’s integration into the family lands somewhere between awkward and essential. Husband Felix and young daughter Roberta (they call her Bobs) are caught in the middle, allowing for gaslighting from Felix and growing distrust from Bobs. Add in the class distinction with Christine and her family living in a lavish mansion, while Diana arrives with nothing but a single suitcase, mostly filled not with clothing. Writer-director Lorcan Finnegan utilizes flashbacks of Diana’s life to illustrate the glaring contrast. Little by little, the audience begins to piece things together, but not before being disturbed by the effects of Diana’s folk healing methods.
As the story progresses and the truth reveals itself, your view of each character shifts. Eva Green plays Chrissy with both a manic and ruthless angle. She is a master at living inside the skin of a character, and Christine is no exception. Chai Fonacier is Diana. This juicy role allows us to see Fonacier’s massive range. I would watch her in all the things, as they say.
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Chris Zylka‘s vulnerability is award-worthy. The performance reminds me a lot of Cooper Raiff in 
Benson and Moorhead’s use of science is a running theme in their films. It is always clever. In SOMETHING IN THE DIRT, history and math (specifically the Pythagorean theory) are quite literally written on the walls. The quick-take editing holds your attention like a vice with a mix of home videos, documentary-style sit-down interviews, visuals of whatever topic Levi and John reference, and handheld cinematography allow the audience to teeter on the edge of doc and sci-fi narrative. This is what Benson and Moorhead do; keep you on your toes from start to finish.
17-year-old Paul and his young comrades enthusiastically join the Western Front in 1918 under the guise that they will return to a hero’s welcome. The reality they are about to enter is far from ticker tape parades and medals. It is the unforgiving and bloody trench warfare of WWI. German director Edward Berger’s All Quiet on the Western Front is a breathtaking retelling of the classic 1928 novel by Erich Maria Remarque.
The unfiltered brutality of war, shocking imagery, nothing is sugarcoated. Felix Kammerer stars as our young lead Paul. The film follows his journey from enlisting by lying about his age to the day the war officially ended. Fear is the dominant feeling that runs through the narrative. The class and rank of soldiers is a striking contrast, highlighted by scenes of prideful general sitting safe in high mansions while young men and boys get slaughtered. The film opens with some of the bluntest scenes of warfare that left my jaw on the floor. 
James Friend‘s exquisite cinematography encompasses stunning framing, detailed close-ups, and natural lighting. The choice to do hand-held places the audience on the ground with the cast. It’s dizzying at times, but that’s the point. In the still moments, I found myself saying out loud, “Wow, this is beautiful.” The score is its own entity. Jarring, often electronic-sounding horn melodies and sharp state drum rhythms usher impending menace. It will be a travesty if it doesn’t get noticed during awards season.
Demi Moore plays upstairs neighbor Maureen. She’s a hot pink and animal print-drenched eccentric woman and the perfect influence on Suze, giving her permission to let go of her inhibitions. Karl Glusman is Teddy, a member of The Young Gents with an eye for Arthur. Glusman nails the classic greaser role, adding a relentless sensuality to his words. He is fantastic. 
The score is brilliant, with a mix of bass plucking, bongo drums, and saxophone wails. Short bursts of choreography smartly encapsulate the mood and era. The sets are deliciously accentuated with neon-colored everyday objects, black light hues, and engulfing blues and magenta. Everything sort of glows like a live-action comic book.
Abigail Fuller’s short film Shepherd’s Song contemplates Earth’s interconnectedness through the eyes of California grazier Jenya Schneider. Climate change threats in the west frequently come in the form of severe droughts and wildfires. Jenya and her partner Jack have chosen a cyclically beneficial lifestyle for the Earth, their clients, and themselves. Four hundred ewes, recycled fencing, and unrelenting passion comprise their venture. Grazing becomes a service to the land, and the sheep produce wool and lanolin. The science behind grazing done right shows the value to the ecosystems it serves. It’s healing the land.
A beautiful score by Serena Goransson moves from subtle to soaring as the film progresses. It feels perfect. Carmen Delaney’s mix of handheld and drone cinematography gives the audience an idea of the landscape scale against Jenya and Jack’s figures through the mountainous grasslands. It is stunning. SHEPHERD’S SONG is part climate film, part nature film, and all heart. We can all learn a whole lot from Jenya and Jack. They are showing the world how to repair the damage we’ve done, one area of grassland at a time.
Paula Gallego plays Marta and brings everything we need from sass to “final girl” greatness. Her chemistry with Ramiro Blas takes you by surprise. It is one hell of a pairing. Speaking of Ramiro Blas, as Blasco, he manages to be slimy and loveable all at once. There’s a reason he won The Grimm Reaper award for Best Actor. You’ll love to hate him and hate and love him. 
The legwork done by these women is mindblowing. The all-hours phone calls, the messages, the threats, and the intimate and honest way they approached anyone connected with Miramax and The Weinstein Company. The film conveys the emotional exhaustion of it all. Story after story of similar allegations and subsequent NDAs sucker punch you, over and over. As these cases now play out in real-time, it is fascinating to witness how to reach a victim and what compels an enabler. One particular detail I found interesting was Weinstein’s obsession with whether the team had spoken to 
Carey Mulligan
Jafar Panahi travels to a border town in order to direct a movie remotely. The actors and film crew are across the border and are taking directions via Zoom. As Panahi struggles to get the film finished he becomes involved with two sets of lovers, two of the actors, and two people in the village where he is staying. Both pairs want to flee to somewhere safe, something that might not be possible
This time out Panahi has made one of his most affecting films. Forget his personal situation, this story of life in a small town and in a repressive country will leave you shattered at the end. Panahi is juggling a lot of balls in the air and manages to manipulate them perfectly. First, we have his situation which is basically hiding out in a small town to make a movie he shouldn’t be making. In showing us what it takes to make his film we see how the small minds of the village express an openness that really isn’t. there This ties into the story of one of the couples, a doomed romance Panahi captures in a photo, that everyone wants to see, but which he deletes and denies having. It seems the young woman has been promised since birth to someone she doesn’t love and that someone needs proof to hurt the girl’s true love. At the same time, the lead couple in Pahani’s film is making a film based on their lives and their efforts to flee to the West. However, the need for official documents complicates things. All of the threads end in darkness for the characters and soul-searching for the audience.
The era jokes and visual cues are kickass. Wyatt says, “Penis wrinkles,” a phrase I know from my first feature film in theaters, E.T. High five for the obscure homage. Also, the fact that I can remember the lyrics to, “Hey Girl,” days later, says a lot. 
Mark Rylance
Tora the Trucker Cat, truck driver David, and girlfriend Destiny travel together from state to state for months. Tora has a leash to explore national parks and a seat in David’s backpack when she needs a break. Tora has become the focus of David’s newfound photography skills. She’s a bit of a celebrity that’s allowed David to express himself in ways he never thought possible.
Sir Anthony Hopkins plays Paul’s grandfather, Aaron. Hopkins nails the role with charm and grace. He is a crucial moral compass for Paul but is also part of the broader problem. Gray explains how this microcosm of one family is just as relevant today, stating that one can be oppressed and still be an oppressor. This idea is never more true as we watch Paul begin to understand white privilege while simultaneously wrestling with his desire to be an artist and feeling unsupported, behavioral acting out, and the subsequent physical discipline.
Let me explain why the cast’s explanations became of great significance. The most successful aspect of Gray’s script is the nuance in character building. These are not sugar-coated versions of people, but characters in volatile times, racially and economically. Their flaws are exponentially recognizable, regardless of the year. Armageddon Time could be happening right now. The cynical nature of history and generational trauma will have audiences’ hearts in their throats, shaking their heads in shame for much of the film. Therein lies the film’s strongest achievement.
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