Gen V

From Roger Ebert: https://www.rogerebert.com/streaming/gen-v-the-boys-prime-video-tv-review-2023

Gen V

Superhero fatigue has finally hit mainstream audiences in the last couple of years. Abysmal box office numbers and critical work about the failings of many franchises have begun to strike. But, one IP remains in the good graces of of fans and critics alike. Since its inception in 2019, Prime Video’s “The Boys” has achieved something other superhero films or TV shows have not: engaging criticism about the genre it's bound to.

When it was announced that there would be a spinoff of "The Boys," fans and critics alike were wary. Not only is a spinoff something that other superhero IPs have often failed at, but this one would also focus on young adults at a university. The coming-of-age genre is not necessarily something superhero IPs have done well (remember Hulu’s “Runaways” adaptation?). Would the creators lose sight of what they’re attempting to critique? The answer, thankfully, is no.

“Gen V” begins with a young girl—later revealed to be the child version of the show's main character, Marie Moreau (Jaz Sinclair)—getting her period for the first time. She’s confused by the event and is even more so when her blood begins to float as if the substance has a mind of its own. Things get weirder (and more violent) from there, culminating in a brutal and shocking introduction to Marie and “Gen V” as a show.

Thankfully, the surprises don't stop there. We follow an older, traumatized Marie in a mundane life that she desperately longs to escape. A way out comes in the form of an acceptance to Godolkin University School of Crimefighting, a school that specifically houses students with super-powered abilities.

"Gen V" reveals the messiness of young adulthood, basking in displays of drunken mistakes and glimpses of bodily fluids. At its core, though, “Gen V” draws viewers in with a mystery at the center of its story. Late one night, Marie sees security personnel employed by the university take an erratic young man - later revealed to be named Sam (Asa Germann), who ends up becoming an essential character in the story - into their custody. Thinking nothing of it, she lets it go until other events cause her and her new friends to believe this isn't an isolated incident and perhaps these students aren’t the ones causing harm.

Later, after a public student death and a subsequent cover-up, Marie quickly becomes a hero in the public eye. She rises in the ranks at school and outside of it, becoming the first freshman on the school’s power ranking roster. Shining through the cameras and makeup, though, Marie must question her integrity as she knows that she's not the hero the school is making her out to be. Guided by the hand of Superintendent Indira Shetty (Shelley Conn), Marie must attempt to free herself from the clutches of those who wish to control her.

“Gen V” masterfully juggles its laugh-out-loud comedy and biting critiques with its more serious moments, becoming a show about young people rectifying or trying to recover from the mistakes of the adults in their lives. Each character is haunted by the shadow their parents have left them in, whether intentionally or not, and ultimately, the show attempts to allow them to escape it. Slowly but surely, each character wrenches themselves from the clutches of their past until they can become freer versions of themselves and build the new family they have longed for.

The chemistry between the group is fantastic, and as the season goes on, disdain for each other unravels into a bond that each of them desperately needs. Two standouts are Emma (Lizzie Broadway), Marie’s roommate, and Andre (Chance Perdomo), the wingman for Golden Boy (Patrick Schwarzenegger), the top-ranked student at Godolkin University. In the first episode, both Emma and Andre appear as if they will strictly remain sidekicks, but quickly, the two become essential to not only the story “Gen V” is trying to tell but the new family these characters find themselves in. With the power to get as small as a pinkie finger and the power of magnetism manipulation, respectively, these two don’t initially stand out amongst the other powers "Gen V" is showing off. However, the actors provide some of the series' best and most emotional work.

Whether it's the handful of charismatic characters or an abrupt cut-to-black followed by a Hole needle-drop, it's clear from the first episode that fans of "The Boys" are in good hands. What could have been a catastrophic spin-off instead establishes that this may be the sole superhero franchise that still understands what its viewers want. Nor is “Gen V” completely bound to its predecessor; it can exist separate from “The Boys” and its characters. Sure, there may be a glimpse of Homelander and a slightly jarring cameo from another hero later in the season, but what makes this show great is that anyone can enjoy it. “Gen V” is a fun and biting coming-of-age drama—it just happens to be full of superheroes.

The Imitation Game (2014)

from the New York Times: https://www.nytimes.com/2014/11/28/movies/the-imitation-game-stars-benedict-cumberbatch.html

The Imitation Game

By A.O. Scott

“The Imitation Game” is a highly conventional movie about a profoundly unusual man. This is not entirely a bad thing. Alan Turing’s tragically shortened life — he was 41 when he died in 1954 — is a complex and fascinating story, bristling with ideas and present-day implications, and it benefits from the streamlined structure and accessible presentation of modern prestige cinema. The science is not too difficult, the emotions are clear and emphatic, and the truth of history is respected just enough to make room for tidy and engrossing drama.

An Alan Turing biopic is, all in all, a very welcome thing. Chances are that you are reading this, as I am writing it, on a device that came into being partly as a result of papers Turing published in the 1930s exploring the possibility of what he called a “universal machine.” His decisive contribution to the breaking of the Nazi Enigma code gave the Allied forces an intelligence advantage that helped defeat Germany, though the extent of his wartime role was kept secret for many years. The secret of his homosexuality was revealed when he was arrested on indecency charges in 1952, caught up in a Cold War climate of homophobia and political paranoia and subjected to the pseudoscientific cruelty of the British judicial system.

“The battle of the British geniuses” is one of the themes that has emerged from this years Oscar race, for this year there are two biopics about two ingenious English men. One is the “Imitation Game” starring Benedict Cumberbatch, which tells the story about Alan Turing, a brilliant mathematician who cracked a seemingly impenetrable Nazi code, known as enigma, only to be persecuted for being gay. The other is “Theory of Everything,” starring Eddie Redmayne as the astrophysicist Stephen Hawking, in a film that focuses largely on his 30-year marriage to his indomitable wife Jane, played by Felicity Jones. Both films are in the running for best picture nods, and both leads - Mr. Redmayne and Mr. Cumberbatch - are projected to be nominated for best actor. This has raised the specter that, for Academy voters, the films might in effect cancel each other out, by dint of their roughly similar themes. Adding a further twist, Mr. Cumberbatch played Stephen Hawking, in a BBC television production in 2004. Both of their characters also find indefatigable support in exceptionally bright women - in the “Imitation Game,” it is the character played by Keira Knightley, and in Theory of Everything, Ms. Jones. OF course there are differences between the two. “Imitation Game” is more of an ensemble piece, and “Theory of Everything” a story of a couple whose relationship ultimately runs its course. Mr. Cumberbatch’s Turing is cut off from others by both his homosexuality - which was illegal at the time - and his inability to read social cues. As Hawking, Mr. Redmayne undergoes an astonishing physical transformation as he bodies is increasingly paralyzed by ALS. And, for both actors, the challenge was to reach beyond these impediments to reveal the inner emotional life of each man.

All of this is a lot for a single movie to take in, and “The Imitation Game,” directed by Morten Tyldum from a script by Graham Moore, prunes and compresses a narrative laid out most comprehensively in Andrew Hodges’s scrupulous and enthralling 1983 biography. The film interweaves three decisive periods in Turing’s life, using his interrogation by a Manchester detective (Rory Kinnear) as a framing device. Turing tells the investigator — who thinks he is after a Soviet spy rather than a gay man — about what he did during the war. Later, there are flashbacks to Turing’s school days, where he discovered the joys of cryptography and fell in love with a slightly older boy named Christopher Morcom.

The adult Turing is played by Benedict Cumberbatch (his younger self is Alex Lawther), expanding his repertoire of socially awkward intellectual prodigies, real and fictional. What has made Mr. Cumberbatch so effective as Sherlock Holmes and Julian Assange — and what makes his Alan Turing one of the year’s finest pieces of screen acting — is his curious ability to suggest cold detachment and acute sensitivity at the same time. If he did not exist, 21st-century popular culture would have to invent him: a sentient robot, an empathetic space alien, a warm-blooded salamander with crazy sex appeal.

His Turing, whom the film seems to place somewhere on the autism spectrum, is as socially awkward as he is intellectually agile. He can perceive patterns invisible to others but also finds himself stranded in the desert of the literal. Jokes fly over his head, sarcasm does not register, and when one of his colleagues says, “We’re going to get some lunch,” Turing hears a trivial statement of fact rather than a friendly invitation.

“The Imitation Game” derives some easy amusement from the friction between this “odd duck” and the prevailing culture of his native pond. The film’s notion of Britain — not inaccurate, but also not hugely insightful — is as a land of understatement, indirection and steadfast obedience to norms of behavior that seem, to a fiercely logical mind like Turing’s, arbitrary and incomprehensible. At Bletchley Park, the country estate where teams of linguists and mathematicians are working under military supervision to break Enigma, he is seen as stubborn and arrogant. The head of Bletchley, Commander Denniston (Charles Dance), finds him insufferable, as does Hugh Alexander (Matthew Goode), the suave, clever playboy who runs the Enigma project until Turing, with an off-screen assist from Winston Churchill, displaces him.

The Bletchley section, enlivened by the indispensably charming Keira Knightley as Joan Clarke, the only woman on the Enigma team, is the heart of the film, though it is also the most familiar and in some ways the least challenging part. (Earlier dramatizations include Hugh Whitemore’s play “Breaking the Code” and Michael Apted’s silly, Turing-free 2002 movie “Enigma.”) Mr. Tyldum, a Norwegian filmmaker perhaps best known for the slick thriller “Headhunters” (2012), orchestrates a swift and suspenseful race against the clock with a few touches of intrigue and ethical uncertainty. Mark Strong pops out of the shadows now and then as a silky, cynical MI6 spymaster, perhaps the only person in the British political establishment who fully appreciates Turing’s oddity and his genius.

“The Imitation Game,” meanwhile, settles for a partial appreciation. Turing’s sexuality is mystified and marginalized, treated as an abstraction and a plot point. There is no sense that, between his chaste, intense and brief passion for Christopher and the anonymous encounter that led indirectly to his arrest, love, sex or romance played any significant part in Turing’s life at all. Mr. Hodges’s biography, threaded with quotations from Walt Whitman, gives eloquent and sensitive testimony to the contrary. For their part, the filmmakers, though willing to treat Turing as a victim of bigotry and repression, also nudge him back toward the closet, imposing a discretion that is at once self-protective and self-congratulatory. It’s not that we need to see him having sex — the PG-13 rating must be protected, I guess — but that a vital aspect of his identity and experience deserves more than a whisper and a wink.

The film’s sexual politics may be musty and retrograde, but in other respects, it is very much a document of the present. There are lines of dialogue that sound either anachronistic or — it may amount to the same thing — prophetic. It is thrilling and strange to hear the words “digital computer” uttered a half-century before any such thing existed, and when Turing says “think differently,” it is impossible not to hear a grammatically fastidious premonition of the once-ubiquitous Apple advertising slogan. Another sentence — a slightly clumsy invocation of the power of imagination — is repeated three times and sounds each time as if it had been plagiarized from a TED talk.

More fundamentally, “The Imitation Game” is a parable of disruption. It not only provides an origin myth for the digital age, but it also projects the ideology of the present back into the past. Turing, an eccentric visionary stuck in an organization that is bureaucratic, hierarchical and wedded to tradition, is an apostle of innovation. Commander Denniston lectures him about the importance of “order, discipline and chain of command” for the war effort, but the solving of Enigma decisively rebuts this old-fashioned notion. The strategic acumen of generals and the tactical valor of soldiers is incidental. What won the war was data, and the heroes were the tech guys (and the one woman) who worked late, snacked freely, fiddled with crossword puzzles and geeked out over a piece of hardware that looked like a giant toy. Hut 8 at Bletchley Park serves as a prototype for the corporate campuses of Apple, Google and Facebook.

Just a few years ago, this film might have felt radical and counterintuitive, like a daring, inspired leap from one era to another, or an excavation of the hidden history of the present. Instead, it has the shiny, hollow ring of conventional wisdom. It’s kind of perfect, and also kind of stale.

from Roger Ebert: https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/pain-hustlers-movie-review-2023

Pain Hustlers (2023)

by Robert Daniels October 20, 2023






It would be significantly easier to write about “Pain Hustlers” if it bordered some extreme of either great or terrible, good or disappointing. Instead, director David Yates’ star-powered opioid exposé is simply a boring chronicling of Liza Drake (Emily Blunt), a determined single mother whose marketing tactics sparked an epidemic. By playing with formalism, using faux documentary, and cranking out hedonistic scenes of excessive drug taking and partying, Yates aims to blend “Erin Brockovich” and “The Wolf of Wall Street.” But the director’s filmic language never offers quite enough sex, quite enough excess, quite enough of capitalism’s depravity. “Pain Hustlers” just doesn’t know how to commit.

Yates teases: He opens his film on a staged black and white documentary as a brash Pete Brenner (Chris Evans) explains his shock and disappointment that Liza would betray him. She begins as a mystery woman, an unlikely mother with a GED education who brought down an empire. When Yates switches away from the in-film documentary to the semi-fictional (“Pain Hustlers” is an inspired adaptation of Evan Hughes' non-fiction work The Hard Sell), world of the picture, Liza is living in her sister’s basement with her mother (Catherine O’Hara). During the day, she takes her rebellious daughter Phoebe (Chloe Coleman) to school; at night, she works as an exotic dancer at a strip club.

Wells Tower’s congested screenplay, a work of saucy punchlines left to sour, concerns the desperation Liza feels: Not only have Liza and Phoebe been evicted from her sister’s garage, but Phoebe is battling seizures stemming from a lethal medical condition. The pair move to a motel whose noisy environment and loud environment also carries the potential of future episodes. Liza needs a break, quick. It arrives when Pete appears at her strip club. They begin to talk. He likes her tenacity; she sees an easy customer. An impressed Pete offers her a job, promising her six figures in her bank account before the end of the year. If that sounds too good to be true, it is. Pete works for a floundering pharmaceutical startup founded by Jack Neel (Andy Garcia). They sell fentanyl, a drug they promise isn’t addictive and works better and quicker than the usual pain relief provided to cancer patients. A competitive market of other pharmaceutical companies, who keep doctors from prescribing the company’s medication, is the only reason they haven’t gotten off the ground. Still, for Liza, working on commission is better than nothing.

Blunt is really the only reason to watch “Pain Hustlers.” She gives a game performance, but poor creative decisions undermine her, like ill-considered freeze frames and unnecessary uses of voiceover. As a character, Liza is also too simplistic. Through her grit, she gets a doctor to sign a prescription for fentanyl (the doctor gets a kickback; the startup gets the upfront money; she receives a percentage). Once she gets one doctor hooked, Liza and Peter go about paying other doctors to switch over to prescribing their drug. The company quickly grows, and Liza rises from the motel to a swank condo within six months, with Phoebe attending an expensive prep school. Business is so good that not only does Liza buy her mom a new car, but she gives her a job at the startup, too. Liza succeeds because of her dedication: She truly believes she’s helping people in pain, and in some way, she connects their suffering with her daughter’s seizures. Blunt understands that throughline, pulling it out but never explicitly showing that undercurrent.

Outside of Blunt, no one else exceeds the daft material. When Evans first turned skeevy in “Knives Out,” the subversion of his Captain America image worked. But after “The Gray Man,” dipping back in the well here is overkill—especially because Pete is the weakest iteration of that character type. Evans is wasted in “Pain Hustlers,” with few memorable emotions and even fewer admirable quips. Garcia is mostly an afterthought; O’Hara appears stuck in quicksand. Snap, chemistry, verve, whatever you want to call it, is lacking with this ensemble.

Likewise, the visual and sonic language flops. Yates tries to pull off several dizzying montages of unrestrained partying, greed, and opulence without the panache to make them stick. We’ve seen Martin Scorsese do this so much better, with greater precision, with an alluring flair for the intoxicating elements of a frenzied and craven environment. In Yates’ hands, the same techniques and scenes of zealot capitalists cheering for cash at any cost feel desperately composed rather than uniquely edgy.

“Pain Hustlers” is better at understanding sincerity. Scenes where Liza sees former friends become addicts off her drug when the living speak about the loved ones they’ve lost to overdose, allow the film to find sure, empathetic footing. Unfortunately, there aren’t enough of those scenes. Yates is caught between critiquing the inhumanity of this startup and luxuriating in its gaudiness.

Fair Play (2023)

from Roger Ebert: https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/fair-play-movie-review-2023

Fair Play

by Marya E. Gates


After its splashy debut at Sundance in January led to a pricey acquisition by Netflix, Chloe Domont’s high finance romantic thriller “Fair Play” finally made its international debut at TIFF. The (mostly) two-hander, about the implosion of a secret relationship between two hedge fund analysts, has lost none of its urgency in the interim, largely because of a barn burner of a performance from Phoebe Dynevor and writer/director Domont’s impregnable vision.

We first meet Dynevor’s Emily, an analyst at a cutthroat New York financial firm, with her back turned to the jubilant attendees of a party. She’s out on a cold ledge alone, smoking a cigarette. Quickly, she’s joined by Luke (the always alluring Alden Ehrenreich), her co-worker and covert live-in lover. He whisks her into the party—his brother’s wedding—where his uncle calls her the “prettiest girl in the room,” then dashes off before Luke can say she’s much more than that. Emily is clearly not comfortable in this world, but her chemistry with Luke is off the charts. Before long, they’re in the bathroom having sex, her menstrual blood staining their wedding clothes. A ring tumbles out of his pocket, a hasty engagement is made, and their passion ignites.

The next day, the two awaken on their apartment floor, where they landed after more lovemaking. It’s 4:30 a.m., and the two are in lockstep as they prepare for the day, making coffee, getting dressed in their perfectly fitting power suits (and Em’s six-inch heels), only parting ways as they head to the train, a tactic to hide their relationship—which is against company policy—from the rest of the office. They’re equals at the firm, ambitious analysts, hungry for a promotion. When one of the portfolio managers quits in a theatrical and physical rage that results in a call to security, they’re both eager to take his place. Em hears a rumor it will be Luke, but when the opposite comes true, their carefully calculated careers—and romance—slowly go off the rails.

With subtle changes in dialogue and striking visual cues, Domont’s tightly structured script and deft direction show this relationship’s eventual total destruction. When Em is first called up at 2 a.m. to learn the news of her promotion, Luke stays up until she returns, worried she may have been assaulted. Later, he turns this on its head, accusing her of sleeping to the top. That first morning, the lovers were entwined as they slept together; in the next, they sleep rigidly in their beds, then Em alone on the couch, until one morning, Luke is nowhere to be found. Their rift becomes a literal chasm.

Scattered throughout "Fair Play" are breadcrumbs about Em and Luke's economically divergent backgrounds. They’re both Ivy Leaguers, but she’s from Long Island and got there through a scholarship. Once she entered the job market, she had to field sexism in ways Luke would never understand. Until he starts to weaponize this very sexism to undermine her. When Luke takes a course by a motivational speaker who barely hides his misogynistic techniques, he uses his newfound tools to take her down a peg. At one point, Luke says she dresses “like a cupcake,” a neg that needles her to start second-guessing not only her wardrobe but her business instincts as well.

Although they can both technically do this job and are equally committed to doing the work, it’s clear early on that her instincts, coupled with her work ethic, make her a better employee. And yet Luke clings to a sense of entitlement as if he’s owed this job and this life because he’s wanted it so badly for so long. This kind of entitlement is a luxury for Em, who has worked her ass off for as long as she can remember.

Along with her insightful examination of office politics and sexism, Domont also explores the dynamics at play in their relationship sexually. At first, their passion and carnal lust are equal; they’re partners in each other’s pleasure, with Luke going down on Em. But as her star rises at work, his resentment manifests in impotence, later in the power of withholding sex, and finally in force. Though the metaphor is occasionally heavy-handed, it's effectively employed to show how male violence is weakness, not strength.

Ehrenreich tackles Luke’s arc from supportive partner to maniacal foe with aplomb, but this is Dynevor’s film from start to finish. Her strength comes mostly from her reserve in public, only letting Luke see the looser her. But as the stress at work and home mounts, she must find ways to charm all the men in her life—without ever letting them know it.

Throughout most of the film, Dynevor holds her body rigid, towering in her sleek yet uncomfortable heels, only allowing her emotions to show in brief flashes of anger, joy, or stress across her face. This control over her expressions becomes harder as Luke’s behavior becomes increasingly erratic. Yet, even as she projects one version of herself, Dynevor's breakout performance shows the strain that this double identity takes on her through just a deep breath here, a hidden look of sorrow there, or a slight tremble in her response to a co-worker.

Em eventually lets loose in a fiery speech and scene that borrows heavily from the George Cukor classic “Gaslight,” starring Ingrid Bergman. Fans of that film that has launched a million misinterpretations will enjoy Domont’s steady grasp on how the phrase is not just rooted in a generic manipulation of someone’s reality but also the power dynamics of a couple and their private and public perceptions. Domont’s homage, in dialogue and blocking, is far more earned than most modern evocations of the term (which is, interestingly, never uttered in "Fair Play").

Domont’s perfectly calibrated script occasionally veers into the overly theatrical, its grand monologues and rigid back-and-forth dialogue not helped by the film’s limited and repetitive settings. However, her thrilling mastery of slow-burn tension, insightful examination of power dynamics in business and personal relationships, and creation of exceptional performances prove Domont to be a director with a singular voice.

Young Frankenstein

from Roger Ebert: https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/young-frankenstein-1974


The moment, when it comes, has the inevitability of comic genius. Young Frederick Frankenstein, grandson of the count who started it all, returns by rail to his ancestral home. As the train pulls into the station, he spots a kid on the platform, lowers the window and asks, "Pardon me, boy; is this the Transylvania Station"?

It is, and Mel Brooks is home with "Young Frankenstein," his most disciplined and visually inventive film (it also happens to be very funny). Frederick is a professor in a New York medical school, trying to live down the family name and giving hilarious demonstrations of the difference between voluntary and involuntary reflexes. He stabs himself in the process, dismisses the class and is visited by an ancient family retainer with his grandfather's will.

Frankenstein quickly returns to Transylvania and the old ancestral castle, where he is awaited by the faithful houseboy Igor, the voluptuous lab assistant Inga, and the mysterious housekeeper Frau Blucher, whose very name causes horses to rear in fright. The young man had always rejected his grandfather’s medical experiments as impossible, but he changes his mind after he discovers a book entitled How I Did It by Frederick Frankenstein. Now all that’s involved is a little grave-robbing and a trip to the handy local Brain Depository, and the Frankenstein family is back in business.

In his two best comedies, before this, “The Producers” and “Blazing Saddles,” Brooks revealed a rare comic anarchy. His movies weren’t just funny, they were aggressive and subversive, making us laugh even when we really should have been offended. (Explaining this process, Brooks once loftily declared, “My movies rise below vulgarity.”) “Young Frankenstein” is as funny as we expect a Mel Brooks comedy to be, but it’s more than that: It shows artistic growth and a more sure-handed control of the material by a director who once seemed willing to do literally anything for a laugh. It’s more confident and less breathless.

That’s partly because the very genre he’s satirizing gives him a strong narrative he can play against. Brooks’s targets are James Whale’s “Frankenstein” (1931) and “Bride of Frankenstein” (1935), the first the most influential and the second probably the best of the 1930s Hollywood horror movies. Brooks uses carefully controlled black-and-white photography that catches the feel of the earlier films. He uses old-fashioned visual devices and obvious special effects (the train ride is a study in manufactured studio scenes). He adjusts the music to the right degree of squeakiness. And he even rented the original “Frankenstein” laboratory, with its zaps of electricity, high-voltage special effects, and elevator platform to intercept lightning bolts.

So the movie is a send-up of a style and not just of the material (as Paul Morrissey’s dreadful “Andy Warhol’s Frankenstein”). It looks right, which makes it funnier. And then, paradoxically, it works on a couple of levels: first as comedy, and then as a weirdly touching story in its own right. A lot of the credit for that goes to the performances of Gene Wilder, as young Frankenstein, and Peter Boyle as the monster. They act broadly when it’s required, but they also contribute tremendous subtlety and control. Boyle somehow manages to be hilarious and pathetic at the same time.

There are set pieces in the movie that deserve comparison with the most famous scenes in “The Producers.” Demonstrating that he has civilized his monster, for example, Frankenstein and the creature do a soft-shoe number in black tie and tails. Wandering in the woods, the monster comes across a poor, blind monk (Gene Hackman, very good) who offers hospitality and winds up scalding, burning, and frightening the poor creature half to death.

There are also the obligatory town meetings, lynch mobs, police investigations, laboratory experiments, love scenes, and a cheerfully ribald preoccupation with a key area of the monster’s stitched-together anatomy. From its opening title (which manages to satirize “Frankenstein” and “Citizen Kane” at the same time) to its closing, uh, refrain, “Young Frankenstein” is not only a Mel Brooks movie but also a loving commentary on our love-hate affairs with monsters. This time, the monster even gets to have a little love-hate affair of his own.

George Harrison: Living in the Material World

from Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Harrison:_Living_in_the_Material_World

George Harrison: Living in the Material World is a 2011 documentary film co-produced and directed by Martin Scorsese, based on the life of musician George Harrison, former member of the Beatles. The film's release was coordinated with both a companion book and an album of Harrison's demo recordings. The film earned Emmy Awards for Outstanding Directing for Nonfiction Programming and Outstanding Nonfiction Special.
Premise

The film offers a biographical perspective on the life of musician George Harrison, from his early life in Liverpool, the Beatlemania phenomenon, his travels to India, the influence of Krishna Consciousness movement in his music, and his relevance and importance as a member of the Beatles. It consists of previously unseen footage alongside a wide range of interviews, including Olivia and Dhani Harrison.

After Harrison's death in 2001, various production companies approached his widow Olivia about producing a film about her late husband's life. She declined because he had wanted to tell his own life story through his video archive. Upon meeting Scorsese, she gave her blessings and signed on to the film project as a producer.

According to Scorsese, he was attracted to the project because "That subject matter has never left me...The more you're in the material world, the more there is a tendency for a search for serenity and a need to not be distracted by physical elements that are around you. His music is very important to me, so I was interested in the journey that he took as an artist. The film is an exploration. We don't know. We're just feeling our way through."

Throughout 2008 and 2009, Scorsese alternated working between Shutter Island and the documentary. Scorsese, his editor David Tedeschi, and a small army of researchers spent five years assembling interviews, music, film clips, photos, and memorabilia.

The documentary premièred at the Foundation for Art and Creative Technology in Liverpool on 2 October 2011. It was shown on HBO in two parts on 5 and 6 October 2011 in the United States and Canada and as a two-part Arena special on BBC Two on 12 and 13 November 2011 in the United Kingdom. It was first theatrically released in Australia on 20 October 2011

Paddington (2014)

from the Paddington wiki: https://paddingtonbear.fandom.com/wiki/Paddington_(film)

Plot

A grainy film shows a British explorer, Montgomery Clyde, who travels to Darkest Peru and discovers a new species of bear. Clyde befriends the two bears he finds and learns that they are able to grasp the English language. He leaves the country and goes back to his family in England, gifting his explorer's hat to the bear he has named Pastuzo.

Years later, a young bear in Darkest Peru announces that it is Marmalade Day. Him and his guardians, Lucy and Pastuzo, spend the day making marmalade. During the night, the three bears feel tremors and head towards an emergency bunker on the forest floor. Pastuzo doesn't make it, and the two other bears find his body in the morning, when the tremors have stopped. The younger bear is sent away on a cargo ship to London.

Finding himself lost and alone at Paddington Station, he begins to realize that city life is not all he had imagined - until he meets the kind Brown family, who read the label around his neck (which reads 'Please look after this bear. Thank you.') and offer him a temporary haven. It looks as though his luck has changed until this rarest of bears catches the eye of a museum taxidermist named Millicent Clyde.

Paddington, with the aid of Mrs. Mary Brown, searches for the explorer who came to Darkest Peru. He accidentally floods and sets fire to the Browns' house, and is criticised by Mr. Henry Brown, who thinks Paddington is a bad influence on Judy and Jonathan.

Paddington leaves in shame and looks for M. Clyde at every address that Mrs. Mary Brown could find. He finally finds Millicent Clyde, who says that the explorer was her father. She takes Paddington to the Natural History Museum, where she works as a taxidermist. She reveals to Paddington that she resents her father for not obtaining a specimen of Paddington's species when he went to Peru. Her family lost status and was relegated to a lower class in society. Millicent tells Paddington that she plans to correct her father's mistake and stuff Paddington so her father's discovery can be immortalised in the museum.

Mr. Curry warns the Browns of Millicent's plan, and they rush to the museum to save Paddington. They cause a power outage and help Paddington escape from Millicent's office. They meet on the roof where Millicent intercepts them. Paddington surrenders and asks for one last request - to eat a marmalade sandwich. Millicent grants his request and he throws the sandwich at Millicent, causing a flock of pigeons to fly at her and cause her to almost trip over the edge of the roof. Millicent regains her balance and prepares to tranquilize Paddington when Mrs. Bird, drunk on rum, bursts through a trapdoor which pushes Millicent off the roof. Hanging onto a flagpole far above the ground, Millicent is weaponless and defeated.

Paddington is welcomed into the Brown household as a new member of the family. Millicent is sentenced to community service at a petting zoo, her worst nightmare. Paddington writes to his Aunt Lucy, elated that he has finally found a home where he belongs.