Year of release: 2019 Directed by Chuck Konzelman and Cary Solomon. Starring Ashley Bratcher, Brooks Ryan, Jared Lotz, Emma Elle Roberts, Andee Grace Burton, and Robia Scott.
Orson Welles famously said that the two things he always found laughably fake when depicted on screen were sex and prayer. Unplanned, being a Pure Flix production, obviously has no scenes of realistic or unrealistic sex. However, it does feature several scenes of prayer, which in my opinion showcase the wisdom of Welles’ statement.
The most preposterous prayer scene comes at the film’s climax, when members of 40 Days for Life pray over a container of aborted fetus parts about to be disposed, which is crosscut with Planned Parenthood clinic director Abby Johnson having her breakdown after witnessing an abortion firsthand, which ultimately led to her becoming a leader in the pro-life movement. It is such a neat and tidy culmination to the story threads that it feels more contrived than anything else, and the actors’ delivery of the lines with their hands outstretched makes the prayer seem like a sort of incantation, which is proved to work by the crosscutting to Abby.
That moment isn’t any less on the nose than the rest of the movie, but it probably best summarizes the weaknesses of the latest film from the makers of God’s Not Dead. Unplanned isn’t nearly as atrocious as the former movie from writers Chuck Konzelman and Cary Solomon, who also direct this time, but a similar preaching to the choir and lack of subtlety significantly undermines this film as well.
Unplanned tells the story of Abby Johnson (Ashley Bratcher) who went from being Planned Parenthood’s employee of the year and director of their clinic in Bryan, Texas to pro-life activist after she witnessed an ultrasound guided abortion. After an opening scene celebrating Abby’s picturesque family life with her husband and daughter—setting an unmistakable tone that this is a pro-life Christian film—the next scene is a depiction of that turning point in Abby’s life. Then the film flashes back eight years to show how she got there.
As a woman who undergoes a drastic conversion, Bratcher gives a fine, mostly believable performance. The conversion narrative is substantially weakened not only by opening the film with the catalyst for it, but also by the incessant voiceovers, reminding us roughly every five minutes that the conversion is going to happen. It is clear that Konzelman and Solomon do not trust their audience or their material and feel obligated to tell the easiest story for their target audience to hear, despite Abby’s voiceover to the contrary.
The movie is not completely devoid of merit. The lighting and cinematography are well above the average faith-based production. Two scenes stand out in particular for landing the dramatic punch that the filmmakers blatantly wanted the entire film to have. One is a flashback to Abby’s first abortion in college where the disorientation of the procedure to the recovery room is conveyed through skilled lens, lighting, and editing choices. The other is a scene when Abby lies about the blood on her sneakers to her daughter Grace (Andee Grace Burton) to the disapproval of her pro-life husband Doug (Brooks Ryan). The shot reverse-shot confrontation punctuated with the sound effects of Abby removing said sneakers is undeniably well crafted and underscores the moral seriousness the rest of the film could have had.
The flashback structure does not work on a purely dramatic level, because it gives away the denouement of the story from the beginning. When the movie attempts a flashback within a flashback, presumably before Abby started volunteering for Planned Parenthood her junior year of college, the timeline quickly becomes muddled, and it is not clear whether she had two abortions, a one-year marriage, and a divorce while in college before she started working at Planned Parenthood or after that time.
Dramatic license is obviously going to be taken in any adaptation of a true story, and I do not begrudge the filmmakers for streamlining events or choosing more dramatically exciting alternatives (such as taking the injunction Planned Parenthood filed against Abby all the way to a trial). However, enough events seriously stretch credibility (e.g. there is hardly any conflict between Abby and her staunchly pro-life parents over working at Planned Parenthood, Abby picks at a dissembled fetus seeing its human form but later is traumatized by the human-like features of an ultrasound picture of a fetus) that I several times questioned the reliability of Abby’s narration.
One thing I am truly surprised to read in praise of the film from pro-life circles is the “sympathetic” portrayal of Planned Parenthood employees. They are all either sneering, predatory, malevolent witches (such as Abby’s boss Cheryl, played by Robia Scott) or well-meaning, but naïve and moronic enablers of said witches. The best comparison I can think of would be to imagine a film about the sex abuse scandal that portrayed all Catholics as falling into one of those two categories. Would anyone say such a portrayal is respectful or sympathetic?
The movie is very slightly more successful in its challenge to the pro-life movement, depicting two instances of violence and harassment from pro-lifers. However, it immediately suggests that such antics are from fringe lunatics who are in no way a natural extension of the rhetoric of the movement as a whole, while simultaneously trotting out right-wing talking points (George Soros! Liberals only say they want to reduce the number of abortions) that were used by pro-life leaders to elect a sex predator who dehumanizes women, immigrants, and refugees much in the same way abortion dehumanizes the unborn.
I’ve heard accounts of pro-choice viewers watching Unplanned and changing their mind on abortion. Not to belittle those claims, but this movie so relentlessly preaches to the choir that I would be shocked if it changed anyone’s mind regarding abortion, unless they were already on the fence about it. I’ve seen more than one pro-choice viewer say it inspired them to donate to Planned Parenthood.
If one believes abortion is the termination of a human life, then the movie’s depiction of that will probably be a powerful and horrific reminder of the value of all human life. If not, those scenes will probably come across as cheesy CGI. Given how contrived the rest of the film is, it would be hard to argue with anyone who feels that way.
Personal Recommendation: C
Year of release: 2018 Directed by Leena Pendharkar. Starring Vivian Kerr and Anthony Rapp.
In some ways, Scrap is an extended trailer, a hint of a feature film to come that will hopefully be equally thoughtful and compassionate. At the same time, as a twenty-minute short it functions well as a brief window into a couple days in the life of a homeless woman.
Beth, played by scriptwriter Vivian Kerr, lives out of her Prius while desperately driving to various job interviews in the LA area while hiding the state of her life from her brother Ben (Anthony Rapp) and her daughter Birdy (Skylar Hill) who has been staying with her uncle. Additionally, Beth travels from neighborhood to neighborhood to find a place to park her car and sleep in the back seat where she won’t be harassed.
Reasons for harassment include a vandal smashing her car window to take some of her possessions and threats to call the police under the assumption that she must be a prostitute. Those assumptions reflect the overwhelmingly disparaging view that many people take toward the homeless, concluding that they either deserve it or must be drug addicts, sex workers, or some other group of people often branded as “lesser.”
Indeed, Beth herself is not free from those prejudices, as she works diligently to make sure her daughter, her brother, and his wife do not find out about her living situation. Her own self-shame adds another layer of difficulty to her life, and the film is honest about how difficult it can be to overcome such prejudices, even when they affect one as directly as Beth.
How long Beth has been homeless and searching for a job while her daughter lives with her brother is unclear. The story presented in the film feels entirely like a middle act with more backstory and a subsequent act to come when it is adapted into a feature film later this year—hence my calling it an extended trailer above. It is still very effective, with that middle act tightly told, moving from introducing us to Beth to building tension in the job interviews and altercations to the final exchange with her brother.
In their brief amount of screen time Kerr and Rapp convincingly portray a supportive yet not entirely close brother and sister, both of whom care about one another but are unsure how much to ask of the other. There is a natural chemistry between Kerr and Rapp, which should translate smoothly into a longer version of this story.
Scrap succeeds both as a promise of that feature length version, but also on its own both as a means of raising awareness for the homeless and as a challenge to reexamine any prejudices that we may harbor toward them.
Year of release: 2019 Directed by Jordan Peele. Starring Lupita Nyong’o, Winston Duke, Shahadi Wright Joseph, Evan Alex, and Elisabeth Moss.
Vague spoiler warning
There is a piece by John Cage titled Credo in US. Whether Cage meant the last word of that title to be an emphatic declaration of me and you or an abbreviation of United States is deliberately ambiguous. Given the time he composed the piece and his own politics, it is quite possible that he intended a double meaning for the title.
I think Jordan Peele is attempting a similar wordplay and political commentary with his second feature, Us. I say think, because there are so many ideas in the film that it is difficult to know exactly what it is about, and there are enough twists to the story that more than one interpretation is possible.
One of the twists is particularly aggravating, because first of all, it’s obvious and something that any relatively knowledgeable viewer will be considering throughout the movie. It occurred to me as a possibility in the second scene. Secondly, that twist completely contradicts earlier scenes, making certain actions completely unbelievable. Finally, it undermines the entire story by suggesting several possible interpretations, which are ultimately meaningless, because it fails to change anything regarding who is inflicting the horror on whom.
One of the more credible interpretations of Us is that it is an indictment of capitalism’s dependency on classism and enslaving the working class. If that is the movie’s thesis, then the final twist makes sense since it seemingly implies the identity of two characters makes no difference, because they’ve been inevitably pitted against one another by capitalism’s economic injustice. However, if that is a correct interpretation, then it seriously undercuts the horror, because it retroactively makes it impossible to care about either character.
The characters themselves, excepting a few scenes of clichéd horror film stupidity, are wonderfully written and even better acted. Lupita Nyong’o is absolutely phenomenal as a nervous wife and mother, haunted by a nightmare she experienced at a fair as a little girl. In her second role as a sinister doppelgänger, she conveys the desperation from a lifetime of suffering and enslavement superbly. Winston Duke provides both comic relief and support as her husband, and Shahadi Wright Joseph and Evan Alex make an endearing pair of siblings.
The snobby white neighbors are far less interesting as characters, but as the mother of that family Elisabeth Moss creates a memorable and compelling version of a shallow, first-world white woman with first-world white-woman problems. She is an excellent foil to Nyong’o, especially when it seems that the film is going to be about the differences between white and black Americans and the ways that each is socially allowed to respond to threats and discomfort. After the plot goes around several sharp turns, her presence in the film makes less sense, but she still has some great scenes of unadulterated body horror.
One of those scenes involves a pair of scissors that will unquestionably be one of the most memorable film scenes of 2019, even if that scene has no explanation and seemingly serves the plot in no discernable way. I certainly have no objection to great scenes that have no dramatic purpose (flamethrower guitar in Mad Max: Fury Road, anyone?), but Us is laboring so hard to have a point or several in nearly every scene that the imagery comes across as baffling, because almost everything about the film is inviting comparison as some sort of allegory.
The opening title card references the underground network of railways that runs through much of America. The 1986 Hands Across America frames the film in a way that invites a cross-examination of the way our country has long functioned. References to the judgment in Jeremiah 11:11 appear throughout the movie. It is clear that the film wants to question and critique the network that much of the U.S. has been built on, but it’s not really clear what that critique is and whether its focus is racism, classism, materialism, or all of the above.
Us is a movie in which if you excerpted any individual scene, you would see excellent acting, skilled directing, good pacing, and a great atmosphere of tension skillfully infused with bits of comedy. And yet, the whole is distinctively less than the sum of its parts. Nonetheless, the parts are good enough that the film remains a fun and diverting ride as long as you don’t expect too much cohesion at the end.
Personal Recommendation: B-
Content advisory: Some gruesome violence and its aftermath, moments of horror and suspense, and occasional rough language. MPAA rating: R
Suggested Audience: Teens and up with discernment
Year of release: 2019 Directed by Sandra Winther.
The subtitle of Pope Francis’ encyclical Laudato si’ is “On care for our common home.” That entire phrase, but especially the last three words, are put into relief by Lowland Kids, a documentary short about the effects of climate change on Isle de Jean Charles, off the coast of Louisiana, and the inhabitants thereof.
In twenty minutes, director Sandra Winther introduces us to teenage siblings Juliette and Howard, shows us the beauty of the home they have known for most of their lives, and raises awareness for the necessity of relocation since the island will inevitably be flooded in the coming years due to rising oceans. Winther’s concise approach to the documentary allows her to convey a community that feels familiar by the film’s end, which makes the impending loss of their home more poignant.
Bird’s eye shots of Isle de Jean Charles alternate with boating trips and the teenagers strolling along the water to show the beauty of the island. These are contrasted with the destruction wrought by hurricanes, a reminder that one day the floods from the storms will not recede. Through the interviews, the inhabitants communicate a clear love for their home and express regret that Juliette and Howard will probably be the last kids to grow up there.
We learn that Juliette and Howard lost their parents at a young age, and they have been raised by their uncle with help from the tight-knit community of Isle de Jean Charles, where everyone is either friend or family—both of whom should help one another, and this community does. It is a beautiful example of the Catholic Church’s teaching on the principle of solidarity. That solidarity is what the teenagers know they will have to cling to when they move to a new home.
As discussion of relocating from Isle de Jean Charles emerges toward the end of the film, one man realizes that this will make them refugees, even as he admits it challenges his understanding of the word. At a time when other refugees have been in the news, it is an interesting word choice, but an accurate one that conveys the plight that comes from abandoning one’s home, regardless of the reason.
In Lowland Kids, that reason is climate change. Since the earth is our common home, not only should its care be all of our concern, but aiding anyone who finds themselves displaced should be as well. Lowland Kids does not function as an alarmist call to action, but more powerfully as a brief window of empathy into the life of an overlooked community imminently affected by climate change. Whether we respond as if we are members of that community as well is what the film invites us to consider.
Year of release: 2018 Directed by Yorgos Lanthimos. Starring Emma Stone, Rachel Weisz, Olivia Colman, Nicholas Hoult, and James Smith.
The first time I watched The Favourite, around thirty minutes into it, I gasped and turned to the friends I was watching it with, unable to believe what I was hearing and seeing. The compiled score had begun employing an organ piece, one that I knew and loved: “Jesus Accepts His Suffering” from La Nativité du Seigneur by Olivier Messiaen.
At this point in the plot, Queen Anne (Olivia Colman) had decided to attempt suicide, because her sufferings were beyond endurance since her favourite lady in waiting, the Duchess of Marlborough Sarah Churchill (Rachel Weisz), had left her alone for too long to run the state.
I cannot think of a more perfect musical commentary on the vanity, shallowness, and manipulative character of the Queen as portrayed here. It was at that moment that I knew I was going to love this film.
Given my past experiences with Greek director Yorgos Lanthimos, my love for The Favourite is surprising. Dogtooth remains one of the five worst films I’ve ever seen; I hated it so much I resolved to skip The Lobster until two friends said it was their favorite film of 2015. After hating that, I was going to skip The Killing of a Sacred Deer until I acquired a screener by chance, so I watched it, and while it was the first time that I thought Lanthimos allowed his absurdism to be a little bit playful, I still found the overarching misanthropy tiring.
However, The Favourite is different. For one thing the outside influences of screenwriters Deborah Davis and Tony McNamara mitigates Lanthimos’ tendency to bludgeon his morbid jokes to a point well beyond death. The historical setting also makes this much easier to swallow as a cautionary tale about the dangers of vanity and envy as depicted through the corruption of the early eighteenth-century British court.
The vanity of Queen Anne makes her a Lear-like figure, wanting to be loved but mistaking flattery for love. Her tragic arc mirrors his in a totally expected way. I even described this to a friend as King Lear retold as a dark comedy from the perspectives of Goneril and Regan. Here, those two characters are Lady Sarah Churchill (Weisz) and her cousin Abigail (Emma Stone).
The defining characteristic of envy, as distinct from jealousy, is the inability to be happy for another’s good fortune. As the two ladies in waiting vie for the favouritism of the Queen, they become obsessed with their own success to the point that the other becomes a threat who must be eliminated. It’s a backstabbing story that Rachel Weisz has fittingly compared to All About Eve.
Instead of being set in a dog-eat-dog world of show business, The Favourite ruthlessly critiques the political world of Queen Anne’s court for being the same. The historical basis for the film is the transfer of power in Parliament from the Whigs to the Tories toward the end of her reign. England’s two-party system emerged during Queen Anne’s reign, and the inevitable reality of a two-party political system is that one side’s success means the other’s misfortune. The envy between the two women plays out on a less personal and more political level between the leader of the Whigs, Lord Godolphin (James Smith), and the leader of the Tories, Mister Harley (Nicholas Hoult), as both Sarah and Abigail form alliances to their advantages.
The reality of two women manipulating a power system designed by and for men is that they must work behind the scenes while letting the men think themselves still in charge. It takes a toll on the female characters, which can be seen by the absence of any Cordelia-like character in this twist on King Lear, since this sort of world has no place for such kindness, as Sarah warns Abigail in an early scene. The cost of navigating such a world comes to a climax when the results of Abigail’s nastiest act are crosscut with a debauched party among the foppish men of the court.
Naturally, sexuality features prominently into the attempts to control and use other people. In a world where the wisest choice is first and foremost staying on your own side, using people as sexual objects to get ahead makes perfect sense. Both Abigail and Sarah exploit the loneliness of Queen Anne through intimacy, compounding their envy. Abigail’s desperate state began because she was sold into an abusive marriage by her drunken father, and she reverses that fate through a second marriage which culminates in an hilariously loveless wedding night.
However, as caustic as the humor is throughout the film, there is real sympathy for all three women and their misfortunes. Queen Anne lost seventeen children, and Olivia Colman achieves incredible pathos in her portrayal of the monarch in the midst of the absurdity of the court. When Sarah is forced to reckon with the consequences of her envy, Rachel Weisz brilliantly depicts an unrepentant woman who has lost the only life she has known. As Emma Stone’s Abigail absorbs the manipulative mentality of the court, she transitions from wishing to better herself to harming others in a way that evokes pity for the other two women who grew up in such an environment.
If anyone is unfamiliar with the British history that forms the basic plot points of the story, the fantastic compiled score hints at the eventual outcome. Didascalies, a minimalist work by Luc Ferrari consisting of only two pitches occurs at two crucial moments, linking the characters who most deserve one another. Messiaen’s La Nativité features prominently whenever Queen Anne makes a decision that changes her relationship with her two ladies in waiting, usually because she believes she is the center of the universe. As a means of suggesting the one character who is gradually falling out of favour, three increasingly ominous organ pieces by J. S. Bach, who is notably different from the other composers, serve as underscoring for significant events affecting her.
There’s a fine line between tragedy and comedy, and The Favourite walks both sides of it, acknowledging the absurdism of the decadent British court and its cruelty while not shying away from the destruction wrought by both.
Personal Recommendation: A
Content advisory: Several sex scenes (mostly out of frame), nudity, harsh obscenities, gruesome aftermath of an injury, animal cruelty, and abusive behavior throughout. MPAA rating: R
Suggested Audience: Adults with discernment