Category: Film

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. 

REVIEW: Blue Velvet

Abigail Goodman Leave a comment

When I was 15 years old, my life changed forever when my dad took me by the shoulders, looked me in the eye, and said “Watch Blue Velvet. Trust me.”

At the moment, I wasn’t quite aware that he was prompting me to watch a two-hour psychosexual meditation on the dark underbelly lurking beneath society’s surface, featuring sado-masochism, drug-addled perverts, and erotic blackmail. But watch it I did. Then I closed my laptop and stared up at the ceiling for an hour contemplating my newly-lost innocence. 

David Lynch, the celebrated director of Blue Velvet who recently passed away at the age of 78, was a giant of filmmaking. In movies like Blue Velvet, Mulholland Drive, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, and Eraserhead, Lynch introduced audiences to revolutionary ways of seeing the world. I always suspected that Lynch was some kind of hologram placed on Earth by an advanced alien species, hovering somewhere between genius and madness, meant to transport us mortals into a higher plane of existence. His filmmaking talent even added a word to our lexicon – “Lynchian” – meant to connote surrealism that uses a dreamlike aesthetic to expose malice, absurdity, or hypocrisy in society. This “uncanny valley” quality that Lynch’s films embodied earned him a cult following as well as mainstream appeal. 

Nowhere are these Lynchian elements more at play than in Blue Velvet, released in 1986. The film features Dorothy (Isabella Rossellini), a battered woman blackmailed into sexual slavery by the sadistic Frank (Dennis Hopper). In an ironic twist, Frank’s games reveal masochistic urges repressed deep in Dorothy’s psyche. She is simultaneously repelled and titillated, expressing these conflicting emotions by initiating a sadomasochistic relationship with the clean-cut Jeffrey (Kyle MacLachlan), who is ashamed of his urges but drawn to the alluring older woman. The three characters – Frank, Dorothy, and Jeffrey – exit society’s confines and enter a lusty place of debauchery and degeneracy. 

Through colorful metaphors, a haunting score, and cast members that are clearly willing to bare all for the sake of art, Blue Velvet earned its place in film history. The marriage of surrealism and erotica, tragedy and eros, death and love – these are philosophical concepts that artistic leaders have wrestled with for millennia. More recent films featuring BDSM dynamics, like Secretary, Fifty Shades of Grey, and Babygirl, can only aspire to the emotional power that Blue Velvet oozes. Each scene is perfectly calibrated to press the audience’s buttons. So enduring is the film’s appeal that the Michigan Theater specifically chose to play it to honor Lynch’s legacy. This type of masterpiece earns either one star or five stars, but nobody leaves the theater without an opinion. 

There is only one filmmaker who can somehow master horror, erotica, surrealism, and mystery all at once. That man is David Lynch. In my opinion, to even write a traditional film review of his work is to diminish his genius. So I will leave it at that – anyone who hasn’t watched Blue Velvet is missing out. 

REVIEW: Disfluency

Madi Hammond Leave a comment

What are disfluencies?

My first question about the film “Disfluency” was answered within the first ten minutes: they are “natural interruptions in the smooth flow of speech”—the “uhs,” the “ums,” the “sorries” that fill the gaps in our conversations. It’s a fitting title for a film centered on Jane (Libe Barer), a linguistics student who unexpectedly fails her final class during her senior year of college.

Embarrassed and adrift, Jane retreats to her Michigan hometown for the summer, living with her parents and older sister, Lacey (Ariela Barer), while completing an independent study to earn her final credits. But Jane isn’t the same person her family remembers. Haunted by PTSD after a sexual assault at the start of the semester, her focus unraveled, and failure followed. Her sadness and withdrawal are apparent to her family, but Jane struggles to share her experience. Instead, she eventually opens up to her neighbor, Amber (Chelsea Alden), whom she’s teaching sign language. Through this unexpected connection, the pieces of her trauma slowly surface.

Few movies have moved me to tears quite like “Disfluency.” Maybe it was the achingly familiar depiction of a Michigan summer—its bittersweet nostalgia and quiet moments of reflection. Maybe it was the intimate setting of the Michigan Theater, where the small audience heightened the film’s vulnerability. Or maybe it was Libe Barer’s raw and nuanced performance as Jane—a character so painfully real in her silence, resilience, and search for understanding.

The film’s use of linguistics adds layers to Jane’s story. After a childhood accident left her temporarily unable to speak, she learned sign language, and now offers to teach Amber, whose son is deaf. Language becomes a means of connection but also a symbol of Jane’s struggle to reclaim her voice. In moments of panic or flashbacks, Jane repeatedly says “sorry” or “um”—the very disfluencies referenced in the film’s title. The movie skillfully parallels this linguistic thread with the experience of survivors grappling with whether and how to share their stories. Though the motif at times feels a bit overt, its exploration of the fragility and power of communication is profoundly moving.

Visually, the film portrays PTSD with a raw and creative intensity. Through sudden flashes of string lights, cuts to a theater stage, and fragmented jumps in time, director Anna Baumgarten captures how trauma unpredictably intrudes into Jane’s reality. These moments, disorienting yet poignant, mirror the mental landscape of someone navigating PTSD. In her Director’s Statement, Baumgarten shares that “[i]t was born out of my own experience struggling with imposter syndrome and PTSD in the aftermath of sexual assault during my senior year of college.” This personal connection resonates throughout the film, grounding it in authenticity and empathy.

The heart of the movie lies in its depiction of relationships, particularly the dynamic between Jane and Lacey. Played by real-life siblings Libe and Ariela Barer, their bond feels natural and layered, moving effortlessly between playful banter and profound conversations. The film takes its time to find its footing, but once it does—about twenty minutes in—it becomes an emotional force, drawing the viewer deeper into Jane’s story.

I do wonder how the film resonates with viewers who don’t share my personal connection to Michigan summers. For me, the setting’s familiar warmth heightened the emotional impact, amplifying the quiet moments of reflection and nostalgia. But even without that shared backdrop, the film’s raw portrayal of PTSD and resilience is bound to leave an impression.

Disfluency had only a brief screening at the Michigan Theater but is now available for digital viewing on various platforms. If you’re craving the warmth of summer amid the chill of winter—or simply want to experience a devastatingly honest and beautiful story—I can’t recommend it enough.

REVIEW: Gladiator II

Abigail Goodman Leave a comment

Gladiator II is not my Roman Empire. The much-anticipated sequel to Ridley Scott’s Gladiator, released in 2000 to an enraptured audience, is deficient in almost every respect. From meandering plotlines to undeveloped characters, Gladiator II will have audiences on the edge of their seat – ready to get up and leave. 

While Gladiator saw Maximus Decimus Meridius – an exiled Roman general – reduced to slavery, forced to serve a corrupt emperor, and on a noble quest to avenge his murdered family, Gladiator II sees Lucius Verus Aurelius – the exiled Prince of Rome – reduced to slavery, forced to serve corrupt twin emperors, and on a noble quest to avenge his murdered family. Yet where the first Gladiator lived up to its promise of grandeur personalities fighting a larger-than-life battle, Gladiator II falls short. Paul Mescal (a grieving Lucius), Pedro Pascal (the Roman General Acacius), Connie Nielsen (Maximus’s former lover Lucilla), and Denzel Washington (the delightfully conniving Macrinus) are all phenomenal actors. But they cannot make up for a script that has no idea where it’s going. 

Director Ridley Scott seems determined to recreate the magic of the first movie, yet turns his all-star cast into Atlas, holding up a failing plot on their backs. Dialogue veers off into the melodramatic, especially when it comes to Lucilla, who apparently has no role in this movie except to stand around looking beautiful and sad. Twin emperors Geta (Joseph Quinn) and Caracalla (Fred Hechinger) giggle about like two spoiled, all-powerful drag queens, but do little in the way of meaningful development or emotional depth. The most tragic of all is Mescal, who spends much of the film glowering into the distance and changing deeply-held beliefs on a whim, depending on what a stagnating plot needs him to do. 

Nor can extravagant fight scenes and wild plot twists make up for the lack of any emotional core. Scott leans heavily on CGI in his Colosseum – great white sharks, rings of fire, and whatnot – but I heard more suppressed laughter in the theater than oohs and ahhs. Scenes that were meant to spark tears were forced into the plot too quickly without the necessary suspense, attempting to break tension that just wasn’t there. I’ll withhold the two major plot twists for the sake of spoilers, but even Washington, playing a former-gladiator-turned-master with big ambitions, is not given the proper tools to make his character work. Crucial scenes were either introduced too quickly, giving me whiplash, or drawn-out excruciatingly slowly, making me yawn. 

I’m not saying that Gladiator II doesn’t have entertaining moments, but you would be better served re-watching the original. Because without a strong sense of direction, Gladiator II’s Rome is pure clownishness.