Category: Film

REVIEW: Mickey 17

Chloe Huang Leave a comment

In 2019, when Parasite captivated both audiences and critics, it became an instant classic. While the film awards season is often unpredictable and sometimes controversial, Parasite triumphed with three Oscars—four if you count the Best International Feature Film award for South Korea—and made history as the first non-English language film to win Best Picture. Director Bong Joon Ho accepted his awards and set the stage for what would come. With this remarkable achievement behind him, Bong faced the daunting challenge of creating a film that could meet the high expectations following the success of Parasite. 

Enter Mickey 17. The film follows Mickey Barnes (Robert Pattinson), a failed macaron shop owner who escapes his bloodthirsty loan sharks by signing up for a space colonization mission. The expedition, led by failed congressman Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo), aims to establish a human settlement on an icy planet called Niflheim. With no valuable skills to indicate on his application,  Mickey takes on the role of an “Expendable,” a job where his sole purpose is to die. Again and again. 

Body reprinting technology restores Mickey Barnes (Robert Pattinson) after dying

 

Equipped with technology that allows his body to be reprinted and his memories backed up onto a storage device, Mickey acts as a test dummy for the scientists on board. A rapid-fire montage throws us into the numerous deaths Mickey has undergone with forceful brutality as he repeatedly inhales viruses so the scientists can figure out a vaccine and are exposed to harmful levels of radiation to study how it impacts the human body.  In other words, he’s a lab rat modified with the wonders of technology. It’s with this concept that the movie blasts off, throwing us into the captivating realms of science fiction and the potential future that awaits us. It creates the question of to what extent people in power treat those below them as disposable, all in the name of pursuing a better future that doesn’t encapsulate everyone. 

Another standout thread in Mickey 17 is how it bluntly immerses the audience in the reality of American politics and the distinct privilege possessed by some, even in outer space. With cult-like followers sporting red caps, a flair for bravado, and a close brush with political downfall, Mark Ruffalo’s character, Kenneth Marshall, unmistakably echoes a certain president. Interestingly, the film wrapped production around 2023—meaning that many of its eerily familiar political parallels emerged before some real-world events had even unfolded; Director Bong Joon Ho has stated that Marshall was not explicitly modeled after Trump, yet the similarities are hard to ignore. However, the film’s political commentary extends far beyond American politics. Much like its exploration of humanity, ethics, and mortality through the concept of body printing, Mickey 17 also delves into themes of power, herd mentality, and righteous superiority. History is connected, is what seems to be the theme. 

Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo) and his wife, Yfla Marshall (Toni Collette)

All in all, Bong Joon Ho takes on a lot with Mickey 17. It’s wholly experimental, blending genres and tackling weighty concepts while maintaining a sharp sense of humor. Yet, rather than fully immersing itself in science fiction, the film uses the genre as a platform for political commentary, often making its speculative elements feel secondary. With so many ideas in play, it can be difficult to focus on just one and they become generalized. In comparison to Parasite, Mickey 17 is more of a chaotic rollercoaster, but one that remains deeply enjoyable in its tumult. It confronts viewers with the darker sides of reality, caricaturing figures and traits in a way that teeters between humor and discomfort. And, like Parasite, it retains Bong’s signature artistic flair. Mickey 17 is not Parasite, and it never will be. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing and I’m looking forward to all the wonderful, thought-provoking films he’ll make. 



REVIEW: Casablanca- The Movie

vprayag Leave a comment

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched Casablanca, but seeing it on the big screen at Kochoff Hall on February 25th felt like experiencing it for the first time. There’s something about watching a film like this with an audience—hearing the collective sighs, the quiet laughter, the weight of its most powerful moments settling over the room. No matter how familiar I am with it, Casablanca always manages to reveal something new.

Set in the early years of World War II, Casablanca follows Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart), an American expatriate who runs a nightclub in Vichy-controlled Morocco. Rick projects an air of detached cynicism, famously claiming, “I stick my neck out for nobody.” But beneath his indifference lies a man who has been burned by love and betrayal—someone who once believed in causes greater than himself and has since chosen to look out only for number one. To me, Rick symbolizes pre-war America, reluctant to get involved in a fight that seemed distant, but ultimately unable to avoid the pull of history.

That pull arrives in the form of Ilsa Lund (Ingrid Bergman), the woman who once shattered Rick’s heart. She walks into his bar with her husband, Victor Laszlo (Paul Henreid), a leader in the anti-Nazi resistance. Ilsa and Rick’s reunion is filled with longing and regret, but it quickly becomes clear that her presence is about more than lost love. Victor needs exit visas to continue his fight against fascism, and Rick is the only one who can help.

Ilsa has always been one of the most fascinating characters to me. She’s not just torn between two men—she’s torn between her heart and her duty. With Rick, she found passion, but with Victor, she finds purpose. What’s remarkable about Victor is that he sees Rick and Ilsa’s connection and never lets jealousy cloud his mission. He knows that the fight against tyranny matters more than his personal feelings, and he trusts Ilsa to make the right choice. That kind of maturity is rare in love triangles, and it’s one of the reasons this story feels so timeless.

In the end, Casablanca isn’t just a love story—it’s about standing for something bigger than yourself. The film builds to one of the most famous scenes in cinema history: Rick, despite having every reason to hold onto Ilsa, chooses to help her and Victor escape. He understands that their fight is more important than his happiness. “The problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world,” he tells her. It’s a heartbreaking moment, but it’s also the ultimate act of love—not just for Ilsa, but for a cause greater than either of them.

Watching Casablanca that night, I was reminded of why it remains one of the greatest films ever made. It’s not just about romance or war—it’s about resilience, sacrifice, and the choices that define us. And every time I hear “As Time Goes By,” I know I’ll keep coming back.

REVIEW: The Godfather

vprayag Leave a comment

I watched The Godfather for the first time at Kochoff Hall in the University Center on the Dearborn campus. I went in knowing its legendary status, but I wasn’t prepared for how much it would pull me in.

More than just a crime film, The Godfather is a story about power, loyalty, and fate, explored through the journey of Michael Corleone, played by Al Pacino. At the start, Michael is an outsider to his family’s crime empire, led by his father, Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando). Unlike his brothers—hotheaded Sonny (James Caan) and the weak-willed Fredo (John Cazale)—Michael is a decorated war hero with no interest in the mafia. At his sister Connie’s (Talia Shire) wedding, he arrives in uniform, already set apart. When he tells his fiancée, Kay Adams (Diane Keaton), “That’s my family, Kay. It’s not me,” I believed him. But as the film unfolds, it becomes clear that no matter how much he wants to stay out, he can’t escape.

Michael’s turning point comes when a rival, Virgil “The Turk” Sollozzo (Al Lettieri), orchestrates an assassination attempt on Vito. When Michael visits his injured father in the hospital, realizing he’s unguarded, he takes his first step into the family business. But it’s the restaurant scene—where Michael kills Sollozzo and corrupt police captain Mark McCluskey (Sterling Hayden)—that changes everything. The tension was unbearable, and when he finally pulled the trigger, it felt like a moment of no return. From then on, he wasn’t just protecting his family—he was becoming his father’s successor.

After fleeing to Sicily and experiencing love and loss, Michael returns home to take over. Sonny has been killed, Vito is aging, and the family needs leadership. At first, it seems like he will follow his father’s code of loyalty and restraint, but by the time we reach the Baptism Scene, Michael is something else entirely. As he stands in church renouncing Satan, his men carry out brutal murders on his orders. The contrast is chilling, and it cements him as the new Godfather, willing to do whatever it takes to secure power.

The final scene, where Kay watches as Michael’s men close the door on her, was haunting. The man who once wanted nothing to do with his family’s crimes is now its most ruthless leader. Unlike Vito, who believed in loyalty, Michael’s rule is colder, more absolute.

Watching The Godfather that night, surrounded by others equally engrossed, made the experience even more powerful. It’s not just a movie about organized crime—it’s a tragedy about transformation. Michael’s descent feels both shocking and inevitable, leaving one question lingering: was he forced into this life, or was he always destined for it?

REVIEW: Flow

Madi Hammond Leave a comment

Some call it a film for children; others criticize it as lazy and aimless storytelling. Some even find it boring. But after watching the animated film “Flow,” I can see why it has captivated audiences worldwide. 

“Flow” follows a cat trying to survive in a post-apocalyptic world where the water is continuously rising. The film’s protagonist, simply known as Cat, must work together with a group of animals to stay alive, including the Labrador, the Lemur, the Capybara and the Secretarybird. 

The film’s plot is loose and meandering, reflecting its unconventional creation process. Director Laila Bērziņa chose to forgo traditional storyboarding and worked without any deleted scenes, allowing the narrative to develop organically. This stream-of-consciousness approach lends the film a natural and almost dream-like quality that some viewers may find aimless. Yet for others, it’s this unpredictability that makes “Flow” feel so authentic, like a visual diary rather than a structured story. 

One of the most striking elements of “Flow” is its complete lack of dialogue. Instead, the film relies entirely on music and sound to convey emotion and progress the plot. The absence of spoken words forces the viewer to pay attention to the soft, pastel visuals in order to keep track of what is happening. This makes it impossible to absentmindedly scroll on your phone — you have to be present. The score, composed by Latvian musician Ilze Kalniņa, heightens the immersion with its haunting melodies. Through this unique combination of visual storytelling and sound design, “Flow” proves that a film doesn’t need dialogue to be moving.

The animation style of “Flow” is just as unique as its storytelling approach. Entirely created using Blender, a free and open-source graphics software, Flow stands as a testament to the power of independent animation. The decision to use Blender not only gave the film its signature fluidity and hand-crafted feel, but also demonstrated how accessible tools can produce Oscar-winning results.

The film’s critical success is undeniable. It won the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature and Best Original Score, impressively beating out Disney’s Inside Out 2 and Studio Ghibli’s Kaze no Uta. These wins marked Latvia’s first-ever Oscars, and the country erupted in celebration of the country’s recognition. Latvians hailed “Flow” as a victory for both the nation and the animation team.

Despite being an animated film, and therefore often perceived as child-oriented, “Flow” resonates with audiences of all ages. Its mix of tension, tenderness and visual beauty makes it not just a film to watch but a film to experience. While it might not appeal to everyone, “Flow” undeniably pushes the boundaries of what animation can achieve and challenges us to see storytelling through a new lens.

REVIEW: Mary Poppins

Sappy Leave a comment

I had fond feelings but not much memory of Mary Poppins (1964), so when the Michigan Theatre showed this iconic, classic film, I was excited to re-explore the magical wonders and musical adventures the movie took me on in elementary school. At first, I feared the story would be too childish to enjoy, but I had a rather pleasant experience even as an adult.

The story takes place in early 20th-century London and around Jane and Michael Banks, the troublesome and ill-mannered children of George and Winifred Banks. Though wealthy and of respectable status, George and Winifred are emotionally distant parents. After Jane and Michael keep chasing away the nannies Winifred hires, George decides to take matters into his own hands and find the strictest nanny possible. Against his expectations, Mary Poppins arrives and immediately captures the innocent hearts of Jane and Michael with her rosy cheeks, magic items, and mysterious background. With Bert, a cheerful and kind street musician who works multiple odd jobs, Mary Poppins brings the children on unimaginable journeys while instilling discipline and moral principles through fun songs. Though written for children, the musical quality and melody of the songs in Mary Poppins, such as “A Spoonful of Sugar,” “Feed the Birds,” and the legendary “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” captivate audiences of all ages.

I was most surprised by Mary Poppins’ stoic, strict, and prideful personality because I imagined a nanny to possess a more soft-spoken and gentle quality. However, actress Julie Andrews’ portrayal of confidence and quiet kindness brought to life the perfect nanny for Jane and Michael, who did not have a consistent adult figure in their lives. In contrast to Mary’s authoritative demeanor, Dick Van Dyke’s character, Bert, is goofy and nurturing in his own way. His Cockney accent and regular fourth-wall-breaking antics bring a lighthearted energy and make each scene more immersive.

I can see why this movie made such a deep impression on me as a kid. For younger audiences, Mary Poppins is a film that fosters imagination in the mundane scenes of daily life, inspires hope for a more exciting future career, and helps children identify the simpler joys in even doing chores. On the other hand, for adult viewers, this movie serves as an example of good parenthood and an exploration of family dynamics, specifically highlighting how misunderstandings and emotional neglect can influence children. This thematic element encourages adult viewers to evaluate the method and significance of nurturing emotional bonds within their own families.

Although the storytelling starts strong while setting the scene and introducing the main characters, the plot grows frustratingly slow without much character development or world-building, which is when I had to remind myself that children are the target audience. Even though this movie does not demand a re-watch, Mary Poppins deserves its name as a beloved classic and enjoyed best as a leisurely, nostalgic experience.

REVIEW: Babygirl

Abigail Goodman 1 Comment

O Nicole Kidman, what can’t thou do? What heights canst thou not reach?

In Babygirl, Dutch director Halina Reijn is intent on liberating us unenlightened Americans from the shackles of shame and fear. Her modus operandi is to throw us headfirst into a world of dominance and submission, of power-plays and betrayal. Without pitch-perfect performances from Kidman and her costar, the sizzling Harris Dickinson, Babygirl would flatten into cheap comedy. Yet against all odds, this movie works, turning us on and teaching us a lesson all at once. 

It takes a special type of plot to have several people in the audience walk out halfway through the movie, one of them muttering “disgusting…” under her breath. Babygirl is sure to be repulsive, even offensive, to some people. The movie follows Romy Mathis – girlboss CEO of a robotics automation company, mother to two well-adjusted teenagers, and wife to an adoring husband (Antonio Banderas). Yet something is off in this charmed life. In the very first scene, Romy, after faking an orgasm with her husband Jacob, tragically and hilariously runs to another room and masturbates to cheap Internet porn. Romy has love and riches, but is hiding a shameful secret that is ruining her life: she craves submission in the bedroom. Samuel (Harris Dickinson), an enigmatic intern at her company, quickly sniffs this out. He draws her into an affair that she can’t resist, and the film snowballs from there. 

Although Babygirl received generally positive reviews, the negative feedback tends to point out that actually, Romy and Samuel are villains. “In a real-life scenario, Samuel would have been instantly fired,” says the Standard. The Guardian notes that as Romy conducts her affair, “Her poor husband…is left wrangling the kids and trying to direct his latest off-Broadway show.” NPR laments that the film “…feels out of touch with our post-MeToo era.” This criticism misses the point. Babygirl is a work of fiction, not a documentary. Its purpose is to lead us out of the noose of shame and into the open air of pleasure. 

For this reason, the scenes featuring only Romy and Samuel are the lifeblood of the film. In their first rendezvous, Samuel is unsure of himself but organically comfortable with giving orders. Go stand in the corner. Get down on all fours. Eat this strawberry-flavored candy out of my hand. “You’re mine,” he says without words. The scene is a potent mix of awkwardness and passion. It works because Samuel is neither a sadist nor a douchebag. Unlike the infamous Christian Grey, who “likes to whip little brown-haired girls like you because you all look like the crack whore—my birth mother,” Samuel wears his power well. Samuel knows what he’s doing. 

In another scene, a nervous Romy invites her lover to a fancy hotel room. She follows his directions, taking off her dress and getting on her knees in front of him. The scene changes, and suddenly it is Samuel performing for her, swaying to George Michael’s “Father Figure” as Romy’s eyes follow his body. This is the female gaze at its best, and Samuel is its perfect recipient. Here is someone comfortable in his own skin. Here is someone who knows that what he puts out will be well-received. Reijn’s talent is channeling just the right combination of danger and allure. Beauty, power, dominance – it doesn’t take much to convince the audience that these are virtues to be admired.

There are certain aspects of this movie that I think are superfluous. Reijn alludes to Romy’s childhood, which was apparently full of cults and gurus, in engineered EMDR therapy sessions. Romy’s assistant ends up discovering the affair and extorting Romy for a promotion. There is a girl-boss final moment that feels contrived. None of these B-plots are necessarily bad, but they’re a distraction from the central theme: what Romy wants and what Samuel can give. 

When the pair are inevitably caught, culminating in a violent altercation between Jacob and Samuel, Jacob is distraught that his wife would be enraptured by such cheap thrills like submission. “Female masochism is nothing but a male fantasy,” he mutters through tears. “No, you’re wrong. That’s a dated idea,” says Samuel, to the man he has just cuckolded. The people agree, Harris Dickinson. Give the people what they want.