Photographs by SAM SHAW Words by GISELE SCHMIDT & GARY OLDMAN
The love of Sam Shaw’s photographs begins with Gary’s admiration for the films of John Cassavetes, the grandfather of independent American cinéma vérité. Gary is a self-described Cassavetes junkie. Having had little exposure to Cassavetes’ work prior to the start of our relationship, Gary immediately introduced me to several of his films. But what was it about Cassavetes that Gary found so undeniably fascinating? His style. Cassavetes dared to capture what other filmmakers would overlook: raw humanity and the chaotic nature of life. Cassavetes broke the rules of traditional filmmaking and his unconventional storytelling refused to tie up loose ends for the sake of providing the audience with a happy ending. Cassavetes took one look at Hollywood’s formula and threw it all away! Cassavetes’ influence is abundantly evident when one views Gary’s masterpiece, Nil by Mouth. Much like Cassavetes, Gary wrote, directed, financed and produced his film to depict a messy but emotionally honest story, not compromising his artistic vision for commercial appeal. But how does all of this bring us back to Sam Shaw?
Well, Cassavetes and Sam were best friends, colleagues, and collaborators. Shaw was an advisor on Cassavetes’ first film, Shadows (1959), and later went on to produce many of Cassavetes’ films including Husbands (1970), A Woman Under the Influence (1974), The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (1976), Opening Night (1977) and Gloria (1980). A producer, sometimes production designer, publicity and advertising campaign contributor, and later a filmmaker in his own right, Sam never gave up his first love of photography and remained the specials photographer on set.
Gary’s favourite Cassavetes film is Husbands, so naturally, the second photograph he had me track down for his collection was of Peter Falk, Ben Gazzara and John Cassavetes during its filming. We are so grateful to the Shaw Family Archives, who so graciously opened their vault of Sam’s personal prints and allowed Gary to acquire a sequence of five photographs, culminating in the image at the top of this page, which was used for publicity on the release of the film.
Sam’s photographs embrace independence and encourage spontaneity. Shaw wasn’t looking for the traditional ‘perfect’ shot. Shaw’s images can be raw, have blurred focus, with skewed perspectives, but they are undoubtedly beautiful, innovative and real. They capture the perfect but fleeting moment that only a click of the shutter can provide. How can one not laugh at Brando pulling a face? Or be charmed by Marilyn waving hello? Or be transfixed by the angle of the shot of Loren snoozing under the hair dryer with Shaw’s self-portrait reflected in a mirror in the bottom corner? With his artistic composition and his journalistic instinct, Shaw’s images are uncharacteristically Hollywood; what Cassavetes did for film is what Shaw did for stills photography. What a legacy!
Shaw’s career spanned six decades and there was never a day that his two beaten-up Nikon cameras weren’t at the ready dangling from his neck. His photographs graced the covers of LIFE, Look, Paris Match, the Daily Mail, Der Stern, Harper’s Bazaar and countless other publications. He captured images of everyone from those mentioned above to Elizabeth Taylor, Audrey Hepburn, Charlie Chaplin, Frank Sinatra… The list goes on and on and on. His photographic archive covers a variety of his interests: cinema, music, theatre, literature and the arts, as well as social and political activism, and it is preserved and promoted today by his children and grandchildren through the Shaw Family Archives.
If you drive north from San Francisco on the 101, the impressive engineering feat of the Golden Gate Bridge is a postcard view that wows. But further north, nestling among the rolling countryside and a carpet of trees, lies another architectural feast for the eyes – one that seems plucked straight from a sci-fi movie. With its cerulean domes, scalloped roof, textured spire and clean lines, Marin County Civic Center in San Raphael recalls the architecture of Jabba’s Palace in Star Wars: Return Of The Jedi and the roofline of Naboo in The Phantom Menace. As large as any palace and situated in the dip between golden hills, you could almost believe that this mid-century complex housing the county’s hall of justice, library, post office and administration buildings might be expecting a visit from C-3PO and R2-D2, or hosting a celebration parade presided over by Padmé Amidala.
Marin County Civic Center in San Raphael recalls the architecture of Jabba’s Palace in Star Wars: Return of the Jedi and the roofline of Naboo in The Phantom Menace
That’s no coincidence – long-time Marin resident George Lucas conceived and filmed his Star Wars films in the surrounding area (the Ewoks made their home in the redwood forest north of the site), and his creative hub, Skywalker Ranch, sprawls nearby. But his first brush with the centre came in 1970, when the fledgling filmmaker created a future dystopia in THX-1138 and used the municipal buildings as interior and exterior locations for his debut feature film. Self-described as a ‘frustrated architect’, Lucas may not have been good enough at maths to create bricks-and-mortar designs, but as a celluloid world-builder his vision shaped cinema and popular culture. Perhaps his shoot in Frank Lloyd Wright’s truly visionary space was more influential than merely kicking off an interstellar career.
Lucas isn’t the only filmmaker to be struck by the futuristic splendour of the building. When scouting for a place to represent the near-future headquarters of Gattaca for the 1997 film of the same name, director Andrew Niccol chose the roof and the library of the centre to convey the sense of order, precision and sterility of eugenics. Many visitors now recreate the arrival to work for Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman as they enter the hushed building and take the escalator up through the oval rotunda. And perhaps one of sci-fi’s leading lights, Philip K Dick, was inspired by the symmetry and style of the place – he visited the police department in 1971 to report a robbery at his house, fearing the CIA had ransacked his safe. The Marin County Civic Center would not be out of place in one of his bestselling books.
It would have likely pleased Wright to know his work caught the imagination of those looking to the stars – he conceived his building to withstand the test of time but also mature into the environment, planning trees that would not reach their full potential until long after he was gone, and designing structures that would require materials not yet available to him while he sketched. In this way, Wright was something of a time traveller himself – projecting into the future as he conceived the structure in 1958.
Despite his fame and reputation, Wright had not been the first choice to create the campus in San Raphael when the original courthouse burned down and needed replacing. Land was bought in 1956 and a selection committee looked at the submitted work of 26 architects (Wright refused to compete). Wright had featured on the 1957 New Year’s Day cover of House Beautiful magazine and committee member Vera Schultz and planning department head Mary Summers campaigned to offer the job to him without a submitted plan. In March 1957, he was lecturing at nearby Berkeley and was convinced to visit the proposed site. Gazing across the view from a jeep parked on the highest hill, he apparently could envisage a design immediately and took the commission. He was 90 years old and still inspired. ‘In Marin County you have one of the most beautiful landscapes I have seen,’ he said. ‘Here is a crucial opportunity to open the eyes not of Marin County alone, but of the entire country, to what officials gathering together might themselves do to broaden and beautify human lives.’
He certainly brought beauty to the valley – designing a 580 ft-long administrative building connected to an 880 ft-long Hall Of Justice and lozenge-shaped library, juxtaposed in classic Wright vernacular by a 172 ft-tall spire (that he erroneously told officials was a vital radio mast in order to get around height laws). His domes were intended to be gold to reflect the surrounding grassland; his interiors boasted his trademark ‘Cherokee red’ in lacquered doors and walls lining circular atriums; his floors custom tiles and terrazzo. His designs were organic rather than stoic and he incorporated literal organic architecture, planning a line of pine trees surrounding the site that would naturally die off to reveal slower growing native oaks over decades. And he predicted our reliance on the car, conceiving three arches in the building so that citizens could drive through the heart of county matters.
Wright died in 1959 before ground was broken in 1960, but his vision was brought to life in his absence and in accordance with his dream of a community environment that reflected the natural world around it. Interior woodwork and furniture designed by Wright and Aaron Green was fabricated locally at the San Quentin and Soledad Penitentiary wood shops. The gold dome was given a sustainable life with a switch to a material that would not tarnish, the blue of it (chosen by Wright’s widow, Olgivanna) reflecting the skies above. Future additions (such as the jail completed in 1994 from Wright’s designs) also reflect his theme of circular spaces, orbs, spheres, arcs and arches. All very celestial, contributing to the sense of entering a beautiful spaceship or intergalactic palace when crossing the threshold.
The civic buildings are always open to the public and would-be Naboo and Gungans wanting to admire the calming campus can do so on a weekly guided tour (Fridays at 10.30am) or self tour via the campus’ app. Perhaps the next-generation’s sci-fi disruptor will be inspired to dream of new worlds gazing through its domed skylights or ascending the escalator through the rich, red concentric circles of the atrium.
Photographs and video by MARK READ Marin County Civic Center. 3501 Civic Center Drive, San Rafael, CA 94903, United States.www.marincounty.org
Few cities come wrapped in as fine a cloak of glamour as Italy’s lady of the lagoon. Venice is a place of remarkable beauty and splendour, alive with a history that is openly apparent in its canals and churches, museums and monuments. But for the best part of a fortnight at the end of every summer, this European aristocrat becomes even more chic – via the Venice Film Festival, which brings many of cinema’s biggest actors and filmmakers to its door. The fun and games take place all over the city and its islands – but, most notably, in the grand hotels where the A-list comes to stay and play…
1. THE CIPRIANI If you are looking for a hotel that encapsulates the sophistication of Venice, you need only cast your eye across the water from central San Marco to the nearby island of Giudecca. There, it will alight on the Cipriani – the gorgeous daydream of a hideaway that may be the city’s most exclusive. It has always been a perfect creation – conceived in 1958 as an escape from it all by the chef and hotelier Giuseppe Cipriani. He knew what he was doing, crafting an accommodation masterpiece that was – and still is – an oasis removed from both the tourists who crowd into Venice, and the general commotion of the film festival. But it is not so far removed as to be aloof or impractical. There it rests, at the eastern corner of Giudecca, peering across the lagoon at the belltower of St Mark’s Basilica, just a five-minute ride away by water taxi.
It’s also exceedingly luxurious – both inside, where its chandeliers of Murano glass all but make for an art museum of themselves, and out. The Palladio Suite is the jewel of the 79 sumptuous rooms, a space with 180-degree views of the lagoon, a private dock entrance, a terrace with a plunge pool, and scurrying clouds painted across its ceiling. It is not the only grand space. Somehow, in a city so busy, Cipriani found room to install an Olympic-sized salt-water swimming pool and tennis court. Both have been enjoyed over the years by a cavalcade of talent: Sophia Loren, Yves Saint Laurent, Cary Grant, Burt Reynolds and Catherine Deneuve, to name just a few. Those premiering films on the Lido often make the ‘Cip’ their home, bobbing across the water in Venice’s trademark polished-wood water taxis, or eating shellfish at Il Porticciolo, an oyster bar at the water’s edge. The hotel’s Cip Club, a wooden terrace with breathtaking views of Saint Mark’s, is a delightful place to wind down and make deals. And there are opportunities for relaxation too, at the house spa, which sits within the Casanova Gardens – so-named because the great Venetian lover used to stroll and woo within them.
Cocktails are a firm tradition in the Cipriani’s world. Giuseppe was also the brains behind the famous Harry’s Bar (see opposite page), while George Clooney, a regular guest, helped to create the Buona Notte (a mix of vodka, lime, fresh ginger, cane sugar, bitters and cranberry juice) and the Nina’s Special (a combination of elderflower and passionfruit, named in honour of his mother) on prior stays. Hollywood Authentic’s founder also has a drink named after him; ‘The Greg’ is a bowl glass filled with ice and prosecco. Saluti!
2. THE HOTEL EXCELSIOR One hotel has always stood at the epicentre of the Venice Film Festival – acting as its official venue since the inaugural event in 1932. But then, the Excelsior can trace its tale back even further than that. It formally opened its doors in 1908, amid the optimism of the Belle Époque – the period of good times that preceded the First World War.
It does not sit among the bridges and palaces of fabled San Marco – instead, it waits on that long barrier island, the Lido, facing the Adriatic. Its location has always served the festival well, softening the cut and thrust of the event with sea breezes, golden beachfront views and a landing jetty slap-bang next to the festival’s premiere cinema. This formula has worked since 6 August 1932, when the original festival began with a screening, out on the terrace, of the horror classic Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, with Fredric March in the dual title role. There have been plenty more star guests in the subsequent decades – such as Winston Churchill, and the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, who slumbered in its spacious rooms. Appropriately, there have been plenty of visits by Hollywood royalty as well – Ingrid Bergman, Marlene Dietrich, Greta Garbo, Clark Gable, James Cagney and Joan Crawford all enjoyed scarcely needed beauty sleep under the Excelsior’s cupola-dotted roof. Nowadays, many of the festival’s contemporary artists enjoy the Moorish-design balconies during stays and junkets.
The hotel is so embedded in movie culture that it has appeared on camera pretending to be somewhere else. When Robert De Niro’s New York hoodlum eats out at a Long Island seafood restaurant in Once Upon A Time In America, he is, in fact, enjoying the pleasures of the Sala Stucchi – one of the Excelsior’s most feted dining spaces.
3. GRITTI PALACE Like the Cipriani and the Excelsior, the Gritti Palace’s location is both desirable and on the water – but, in this case, on the north edge of the Grand Canal, in the core of the medieval city. Formerly the Palazzo Pisani Gritti, a stately mansion originally constructed in the 14th century, it still bears the name of its most famous resident, Andrea Gritti, the nobleman who held court as the Doge (Prince) of Venice between 1523 and 1538. He is not the only power player to have slept here. In the near-130 years since the palazzo was converted into a hotel (in 1895), the likes of Grace Kelly, Humphrey Bogart and Charlie Chaplin have all checked into its ornately decorated rooms (82 in total, including 10 suites), as well as Ernest Hemingway – always a man with good taste in accommodation. And the hotel became a cinematic star in its own right in Woody Allen’s romantic caper Everyone Says I Love You – the actor-director’s typically anxious New Yorker attempting to woo Julia Roberts, who is staying in the Gritti’s Hemingway Suite.
More recently, the property became a safe haven for Tom Cruise, who was in Venice when the Covid pandemic struck in March 2020, while doing the groundwork for Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One. He made the wholly understandable decision to lock down in the city at the Gritti Palace. Why wouldn’t he, when the Riva Lounge, a grand terrace with one of the best views of the Grand Canal, awaits?
As writer W Somerset Maugham observed: ‘There are few things in life more pleasant than to sit on the terrace of the Gritti when the sun, about to set, bathes in lovely colour the Salute.’ Its green marble and antique mirrored interior makes for one of the most beautiful bars in Italy. Order the dry martini (Hemingway’s favourite tipple while staying) from the bespoke martini cart, and relax.
4. HOTEL DANIELI The regal Danieli has been a supremely distinguished spot on the Venetian map for more than 700 years. Set just around the corner from St Mark’s Square (with a rear facade that overlooks the quayside of Riva degli Schiavoni), its location is also superb. It encompasses another 14th-century mansion, the Palazzo Dandolo. And as with the Gritti, its name harks back to a genteel former resident – Giuseppe Dal Niel, a wealthy 19th-century local, who went by the nickname “Danieli”. It was he who purchased the property in 1824, restored it lavishly, and began its transformation into a hotel. It now houses the renowned Gritti Epicurean School and the Explorer’s Library, a sacred space for bookworms, with its collection of rare tomes.
Danieli would surely be thrilled that his passion project is still so revered exactly two centuries later. Charles Dickens, Peggy Guggenheim, Leonard Bernstein, Marcel Proust and Honoré de Balzac, as well as Steven Spielberg, have all crossed the threshold. It is a star location for The Tourist and the Venetian segment of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.
It is also one of the sites to have helped to cement the alliance between Venice and James Bond – a union that began with From Russia With Love in 1963, and continued with 2006’s Casino Royale. However, it was neither Sean Connery nor Daniel Craig who strolled through the Danieli on celluloid. Its Suite del Doge (royal suite) housed a spot of horseplay between Roger Moore and Lois Chiles in 1979’s Moonraker.
If you can tear your eyes away from the fondant of a balustraded internal staircase in the lobby, check out the photos of another noted guest – Elizabeth Taylor and her Pekingese pups arriving for one of her many stays.
HARRY’S BAR A true Venetian icon, the bijou Harry’s Bar was opened in 1931 by Giuseppe Cipriani, 27 years before he dreamt up his hotel. He named it after an American tourist, Harry Pickering, to whom he lent money to while working as a bartender at the Hotel Europa. Pickering later returned to Venice with the repayment and more; enough cash for Cipriani to open his own establishment. It is a watering hole where two indulgent traditions were born. In 1934, Cipriani paired champagne and white peach juice to produce the Bellini, a refreshing delight of a drink that many festival-goers will be familiar with. And in 1963, Venetian countess Amalia Nani Mocenigo requested a light snack, adding that her doctors had instructed her not to eat processed meat. In a moment, Cipriani had invented beef carpaccio, complementing the thin slivers of pink flesh with lemon juice and salt.
To sip a Bellini, in trademark stemless glasses, at the wooden bar is to follow in the footsteps of Ernest Hemingway, Truman Capote and Maria Callas.
DA IVO RESTAURANT George Clooney held his stag do this at this cosy San Marco trattoria with cheery red tablecloths, specials chalked on a gilt-framed blackboard, and its own gondola stop. With good reason. The menu takes in oysters and delights such as duck pasta, octopus ragu, Granseola crab and the Venetian desert, Sgroppino – whipped lemon sorbet, prosecco and vodka with a dash of Calvados, designed to ‘untie a little knot’ after over-indulging. Which you surely will.
Photographs by RICK O’BRIEN Words by ABBIE CORNISH
My ongoing culinary explorations have led me to some of the finest Mexican restaurants, challenging the notion that the best Mexican food must be street food – simple, inexpensive and casual. While the vibrant flavours of a roadside taco stand are undisputed, there is a different kind of allure in the upscale dining experiences offered by places like Quetzal, located in Toronto, Canada, helmed by Chef Steven Molnar.
Upon entering Quetzal (named after the resplendent national bird of Guatemala, distinguished by its brightly coloured tail feathers), guests are enveloped in a warm sensory charm. Centred around an open fire, the whole kitchen vibrates with the energy of the flame.
Quetzal is cosy and inviting. The space is well designed and custom fit to perfectly handle the heat and smoke from the open fires that burn all evening. After service, the crew swiftly packs down and the remaining red-hot embers are placed into a large kiln. The same embers are used to light the next day’s fire. There’s something lovely about this. As practical as it may be, the process feels spiritual and ritualistic.
It’s comfortable here. The vibe is relaxed and friendly. Chef Molnar is centre stage, accompanied by an array of characters who are more than adept in the kitchen. The service is prompt, knowledgeable and attentive – and everyone is happy.
Quetzal celebrates regional Mexican cuisine, inspired by traditional flavours and cooking styles, all prepared over a 28 foot-long open wood fire. Traditional moles, salsas and little-known ingredients are infused with an abundance of local produce making for a one-of-a-kind, elevated dining experience. Since assuming the role of head chef in 2019, Steven Molnar has spent years honing the craft of wood-fire cooking. His exploration of Mexican cuisine, in conjunction with his unique culinary background, has helped solidify Quetzal’s reputation as one of the premier dining destinations in Toronto, earning it a deserved Michelin Star. And this year, the restaurant ranked #12 in the 2024 Canada’s 100 Best restaurant list.
Here you can enjoy a very affordable and delectable tasting menu or order à la carte. The tasting menu ($125 CAD) is of exceptional value. Each course was a celebration of refined craftsmanship, marrying traditional flavours with modern dining standards. The pièce de résistance of the evening was undoubtedly the whole fish (whole Sea Bream with salsa roja and salsa cruda), perfectly seasoned and served with petite, soft, handmade tortillas. This dish alone encapsulated the perfect balance that high-end Mexican cuisine strives for.
Some of my other favourites that evening were the ensalada verde, with baby gem lettuce, Cookstown radishes, sunflower seeds, toasted sesame, chayote, poblano kosho and trout roe. Simple but with a little Chef Molnar twist on it, a gentle touch of bitter and sweet, a combination that Molnar does well in a variety of dishes. A unique style that is a delight to the taste buds. I also loved the dry-aged amberjack aguachile, which is accompanied by pasilla and chickpea miso, rhubarb juice, jicama, amaranth, habanero, scallion oil and white soy. And the memela is absolutely delicious: a traditional masa, made with homemade corn dough using a cónico azul that comes from Puebla, stuck with cheese that is crafted in-house, called quesillo. The quesillo is long and pulled in strands, looking almost like a ball of yarn. On top is a salsa de chile morita, made from very small chillies that are both floral and smoky. And speaking of smoky, here we also have a smoked shiitake mushroom conserva, some mizuna, papa chicharron and grilled runner beans. So good! Another notable dish is the bone marrow and wild Argentinian shrimp. Such a great combination. I loved getting my hands dirty with this one!
The desserts are well worth indulging in. I particularly loved the coconut nicuatole. It’s the signature dessert here and has been on the menu since day one. Coconut milk and coconut cream are blended with leftover masa from the kitchen. After that, the combo is cooked down into a silken custard texture and whipped. It’s then served with pineapple compressed with hibiscus syrup, mezcal, meringue and mint. It’s memorable, that’s for sure.
With an extensive beverage menu, including an incredibly long wine list and many delicious handcrafted cocktails, Quetzal also makes for a great watering hole. Wine pairing is priced at $100 CAD per person. I thoroughly enjoyed the pairing, definitely worth it. Though I have to say the highlight for me was the ‘No Heather, It’s Heather’s Turn’ cocktail, also known as ‘The Green Heather’. This cocktail is made with agua santa mezcal, pisco, pineapple, green sauce, celery bitters and lime. It’s fresh yet savoury, a perfect cocktail in my opinion.
Critics often argue that Mexican cuisine should stick to its roots, emphasizing accessibility and straightforwardness. However, chefs at top-tier establishments like Quetzal are proving that Mexican food can also thrive in a fine-dining context. They reinterpret classic dishes using high-quality ingredients and sophisticated techniques, presented with artistic flair. This approach doesn’t just transform the ingredients; it elevates the entire dining experience, offering a new perspective on traditional Mexican flavours.
The culinary world is inherently about evolution and personal expression. Fine-dining Mexican establishments contribute to this diversity, allowing both chefs and diners to explore and appreciate the cuisine in novel ways. The journey through such meals is more than just eating; it’s an immersive experience that respects the past while boldly embracing the future.
Photographs by RICK O’BRIEN Words by ABBIE CORNISH Quetzal is located at: 419 College St, Toronto, ON M5T 1T1, Canada. The restaurant is open from Wednesday to Sunday, accepting reservations and walk-ins from 6:00pm to 10:00pm, and can be booked on Open Table. quetzaltoronto.com
Much like Disney + show The Mandalorian immerses you back into the Star Wars universe, so Alien: Romulus is a film that deep dives you into the world that began with Ridley Scott’s 1979 sci-fi/horror masterpiece Alien. Directed by Fede Álvarez (Don’t Breathe), this takes place between the events of Alien and James Cameron’s 1986 sequel Aliens, as the Weyland-Yutani Corporation deal with the fallout of the creature that wreaked havoc in the Nostromo ship, killing all but warrant officer Ellen Ripley in Scott’s original movie.
Here, Álvarez selects a young cast as his leads, led by Priscilla star Cailee Spaeny, who plays Rain, a young woman entombed in W-Y’s Jackson Star’s Mining Colony. With her is Andy (Industry’s David Jonsson), an android she treats as her brother. Rescued by Rain’s father, Andy’s only directive is to keep Rain safe. But things change when youngsters Tyler (Archie Renaux), his sister Kay (Isabela Merced) and fellow renegades Bjorn (Spike Fearn) and Navarro (Aileen Wu) approach Rain with a plan to escape the colony.
Desperate to jet off to a faraway planet, the gang can only do it with the help of some cryogenic pods that will put them to sleep for the 9-year journey. Fortunately, a nearby derelict space station that’s just been found has the requisite equipment. But it just so happens that this giant vessel, with its bays named ‘Romulus’ and ‘Remus’, is overrun with facehuggers – the skittery, spider-like blighters that use humans as incubators to give birth to the Aliens. Soon, this heist becomes a terrifying matter of survival. Álvarez doesn’t just offer up another tale of extraterrestrials devouring their prey, although there is plenty of that, including one spellbinding scene involving gravity and the creatures’ acid blood. Instead, the script expands on the universe first conjured by Dan O’Bannon in his script for the original Alien, notably exploring the ruthless machinations of “the company”, who will go to any lengths to research these creatures – the so-called “perfect organism”.
A resourceful Spaeny is a marvellous alternative to Sigourney Weaver, who played Ripley across the first four Alien movies. But alongside her, the cast is fresh and exciting, particularly Jonsson, who plays Andy superbly (going from timid to something more sinister). Visually, the film neatly captures the worn-down look of the Alien films, thanks to production designer Naaman Marshall, while Benjamin Wallfisch’s throbbing score is propulsive. The best blockbuster this summer, Alien: Romulus is also the best Alien movie in nearly forty years.
From Queen Elizabeth I to Bob Dylan in his electric era to The Lord of the Rings’ ethereal Galadriel, two-time Oscar-winner Cate Blanchett can do no wrong. And so she proves again in Eli Roth’s Borderlands, a rambunctious adaptation of the popular videogame series from Gearbox Software.
It’s not often that the chameleon-like Australian star graces blockbusters, although she was glorious as a Russian villain in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull and Hela in Marvel movie Thor: Ragnarok. Here, guns at the ready, she’s Lilith, the red-haired anti-heroine at the heart of this madcap sci-fi that owes a lot of its energy to another MCU title, Guardians of the Galaxy.
Set in a decaying futuristic far-away world, Lilith is a lone wolf bounty hunter who gets hired by Atlas (Édgar Ramírez), the head of a sophisticated weapons company, to find his daughter. Affectionately known as Tiny Tina (Barbie’s Ariana Greenblatt), this girl has been kidnapped by one of his own men, Roland (Kevin Hart).
After a little arm-twisting, Lilith jets off to the dilapidated Pandora, a planet she knows from her own murky past, where she soon locates her target. Trouble is, Tina doesn’t want to go home – what with her father desperate to use her to help locate something only known as The Vault.
With Lilith, Tina and Roland joining forces, they’re accompanied by a robot named Claptrap (voiced by Jack Black) and the musclebound Krieg (Creed II’s Florian Muneanu), as they progress through Pandora. Much in the way a gamer might pick their way through levels, there are keys to collect and puzzles to solve.
Director Roth (Hostel, Thanksgiving) and his team do a fine job of recreating Pandora in all its grimness, a planet that is over-populated by marauding psychos and creatures known as Threshers. There’s even an appearance by Jamie Lee Curtis as a scientist who lends a helping hand, as this ragtag group look to survive this hot toxic mess.
Along the way, there are some exhilarating action scenes – not least one race through Pandora’s rocky roads that puts a new definition on the phrase ‘monster truck’. Intriguingly, comic star Hart plays it straight as the hardcore action hero, something he pulls off with aplomb, while Greenblatt has a field day as the explosive, dynamite-chucking Tiny Tina. Best of all, Blanchett is on fire as Lilith – yet another killer role to add to her considerable collection.
In 2008 Fremont, teen Chris Wang (Izaac Wang) is living his summer before he starts high school in a liminal space; vacillating between friendship groups, loathing/loving his older sister, desperate/terrified to have his first kiss, rejecting his heritage but ultimately comforted by it. As he negotiates his world via MySpace, his flip phone and house parties, Chris tries on identities. He’s ‘Dìdi’ at home to his mother and grandma, ‘Wang Wang’ who ‘Wu-tangs’ his spliffs to his bros, a boy who likes chick-flicks to the object of his affection, ‘Asian Chris’ to a skate group he attempts to befriend as a videographer and all manner of hateful names to his screaming sis who’s about to leave home for college. All he really wants from his summer is for his mum to stop being ‘so Asian’ and his crush, Madi (Mahaela Park), to be his girl. But inopportune erections, friendship wipeouts and drunkenness are going to cause acute embarrassment and failure…
Developed by writer/director Sean Wang as part of the Sundance Institute film programme and winner of the audience award at this year’s festival, Dìdi is a semi-autobiographical confection loaded with equal parts nostalgia and cringe. Based on Wang’s own upbringing (his real-life grandmother plays Dìdi’s), it’s a study of teenage awkwardness through a lens of compassion that evokes comparisons with Bo Burnham’s Eighth Grade. But it’s also a film that explores the immigrant experience in America via Chris’ interactions with his mom (played with beautiful subtly by Joan Chen). A woman bringing her children up alone with a judgey mother-in-law and broken dreams of her own, Mrs Wang reacts to everyday racism where Chris does not, eats her Big Mac with a knife and fork despite his admonishments and delivers a heartfelt, tender affirmation of him at his lowest point that recalls the tear-inducing speech from father to son in Call Me By Your Name. In this way, Wang’s film absolutely sings to those who will recognise the signifiers of Chris’ specific time and place (Livestrong wristbands, indigo braces, AOL, watching Superbad at pool parties) but will also chime with parents who have endured the cruelties of bratty teens in any era. Equally, the visceral feeling of self-consciousness and angst as an adolescent is one that is (painfully) universal.
Sweet and salty in equal measure, Wang’s expertly curated time-capsule serves as a poignant reminder to parents and children alike that everyone of every generation is simply trying their best to grow into their own approximation of a decent adult. And that that journey is a life-long one.
Hugh Jackman and Ryan Reynolds have been playing social media frenemies since their characters met in 2009’s X-Men Origins so it was only ever a matter of time before the duo did their faux sniping and trash-talking on the big screen. Obviously, since X-Men, Deadpool and Wolverine have been through the wringer, both narratively and corporately – with the ‘Merc With The Mouth’ staging a rebirth driven by Reynolds and Wolverine popping his clogs in James Mangold’s elegant send-off Logan in 2017. Now, Deadpool’s shepherd, Reynolds, is going to assume audiences rocking up for a third instalment of R-rated humour and violence will be up to speed in Disney’s takeover of Fox, comic book lore and the personal lives of its stars – ‘I’m telling Blake’ he says of his real-life wife, and makes cracks about Jackman’s divorce. Like Deadpool himself, this mash-up is fast, loose and takes no prisoners.
So where do we find Wade Wilson this time around? In a pre-title sequence that sets the tone, Deadpool is digging up Wolverine’s grave, breaking the fourth wall and swearing up a storm when he only finds his adamantium skeleton. This soon leads to bloody hell and an explanation; in an exposition-heavy flashback (which Deadpool naturally acknowledges) we discover that the TVA (seen most prominently in the Loki TV series) are messing with timelines again, forcing Deadpool to try to set the universe right by hopping the multiverse and interacting with variants in each dimension. That means multiple versions of Wolverine (all grumpy and soused), Deadpool (Dogpool, Lady Deadpool and more) and alt-universe superheroes cameoed by famous faces. At the heart of the matter is the timeline junkyard, ‘the void’, presided over by Emma Corrin’s Cassandra Nova – a baddie with links to Charles Xavier, the ability to stick fingers into brains and a kick-ass wardrobe. Unwillingly, Wolverine must accompany Deadpool on a journey that takes in forgotten superheroes, self sacrifice, ironic needledrops, slo-mo team-ups and a lot of dick jokes to find peace.
Though the uninitiated might struggle to get every in-joke zinger and easter egg, Marvel fans will enjoy the ride, perhaps obeying Deadpool when he instructs them to use their ‘special sock’ for some of the frenetic action set pieces. No spoilers, but the cameos are genuinely thrilling callbacks, a fight in a minivan is a cracker (complete with a Greatest Showman hat-tip), Matthew Macfadyen is Tom Wambsgan-witheringly excellent as a TVA suit, the chemistry between Reynolds and Jackman genuinely heartwarming and the end credits BTS and EPK footage a true nostalgia hit. And though there’s numerous digs about Jackman coming out of Wolvie-retirement, the gravitas and soul he brings to proceedings is the true heart of the piece and warrants the grave robbing. (Of course, any tear in the eye is dissipated by Deadpool criticising an oiled up, topless Jackman for getting out his ‘greasy tits’.)
Juvenile, daft, irreverent and sentimental, Deadpool is a messy riot. As the boy themselves say; ‘Let’s f***ing go!’
The latest retro refit of a beloved blockbuster taps into the wins of Top Gun: Maverick – not least in harnessing the star wattage of Hangman himself, Glen Powell, to fuel a sexy, entertaining big screen ride designed for the IMAX wow-factor, that you won’t regret spending cash on.
Capitalising on the verve he also displayed in Hit Man, Powell arrives on-screen as a fully formed movie star here – all cocky swagger, dazzling smile and palpable chemistry with Daisy Edgar-Jones – as a cowboy (literally and figuratively) storm chaser, Tyler, who pops fireworks into the eye of tornadoes for his YouTube channel. He’s as loud as his Western shirts and seems to have little care for the destruction and danger these weather events pose to the inhabitants living in their shadow in Oklahoma. He’s the nemesis of a sober scientific team led by Javi (Anthony Ramos) who has co-opted his former classmate, Kate (Edgar Jones) to help in locating twisters in order to study them. Kate’s in a spin of her own having survived a deadly T5 tornado five years earlier which killed her partner and friends in the process of trying out an experiment to stop the storm from raging – but she’s also preternaturally gifted at sensing where and when a twister will land.
As the two teams (hedonistic youtubers vs ethical scientists) try to outsmart each other to get tornado gold, a love triangle forms between Tyler, Javi and Kate, and a film that on the surface is about thrilling audiences with big stunt pieces and effects, begins to explore who the real victims are of cynical capitalism and lack of investment in economies and communities in the path of destruction. A neatly executed bait’n’switch shows the bad guys aren’t necessarily who we might think…
Minari director Lee Isaac Chung takes up Jan De Bont’s baton from 1996’s Twister (though no flying cows in this one), bringing a gentle authenticity to the Oklahoma people he sketches and a no-holds-barred approach to the action. Like Maverick, Twisters succeeds in landing the emotional journey and investment in character as well as the heart-quickening set pieces that are so furious it’s like spending time in a tumble dryer. Each action sequence ups the ante until a moment set in a cinema (Ha! Of course!) leaves both cast and audience hanging on by their fingertips – breath snatched by the physical and CG effects, but also caring for the outcomes of the characters. It’s a disarming and polished combination that seems to buck the algorithm and gives Twisters the edge on being just another big budget disaster blockbuster cashing in on legacy IP.
‘In this business,’ reads the opening quote by Bette Davis, ‘until you’re known as a monster, you’re not a star.’ In Ti West’s slasher trilogy closer (which began with X and continued with Pearl), that correlation between audience appetite for depravity and the ruthless ambition required for climbing the Hollywood ladder is explored via eighties video nasties and lurid headlines. Seeing the two previous films West has made with his star, Mia Goth, isn’t a requirement to get into the scuzzy, febrile vibe of this installment but there are delicious easter eggs and call backs for those who’ve made the multi-era journey.
For the uninitiated, X followed a 1979 porn shoot gone bloodily wrong when Pearl, the elderly owner of a Texas farm preys on the cast and crew including Maxine Minx (Goth). Pearl tracks the titular character in her youth (Goth), transmuting from WW1-era farm girl to killer. Now, we reunite with Maxine (Goth) trying to outrun her past in 1985 Hollywood where moral panic about movies and music is at a hysterical high, and serial killer the Night Stalker casts a violent pall over the city. Hoping to transition from adult to mainstream movies, Maxine auditions for a horror sequel directed by Elizabeth Debicki’s helmer just as a venal PI (Kevin Bacon) starts tailing her and her friends begin to be butchered…
The most gleeful and self-reflexive of the trilogy, Maxxxine is filthy-gorgeous and neon-drenched, loaded with Hollywood hat-tips to movie lore and iconic flicks. Theda Bara, the Hollywood sign, Chinatown, Psycho, Mann’s Chinese Theatre, the Hollywood Forever Cemetery, Universal’s backlot, the good cop/bad cop, psycho-biddy and the last girl tropes… all are woven into a winky, trashy celebration of the dream factory and the VHS era. The horror is squelchy, lurid, daft (balls are skewered, heads popped), the performances equally ripe.
Bacon is a hoot as a Jake Gittes-lite gumshoe with a Southern accent oozing molasses (who later oozes in a mischievously horrible way) while Debicki and Lily Collins lean into cliches of ballbusters and starlets. But the film belongs to Goth, strutting through every scene with a killer wardrobe and attitude for days. A woman with ‘monstrous’ ambition who talks about fame in terms of simply working hard, Maxine is a trope and a timeless truism. Those background billboards asking for the ‘X Factor’ and the nods to tinseltown cults, audience prurience and the career-making power of scandal are as relevant today as they were in ‘85. It’s a film like the one Dibicki’s director is making: A B-movie with A ideas.
