Look, going in I had no idea how gay The Limehouse Golem was going to be. I always love it when that happens.
When a major criticism of your charitable awareness and outreach program is that it is too self-serving, it might not be best to make a film which seems to validate all those critiques. The conversation around Al Gore don’t really seem to have changed in any meaningful way since the release of manbearpig back in 2006. You can find articles and comments online why it’s an unfair narrative; one cooked up by the right-wing and their associate deniers to easily invalidate his actions without even acknowledging the science. It’s probably best to ignore it, make the film that you wanna make.
It’s been fun watching internet film contrarians talk about this movie. Mostly it’s reddit that comes up with all the worst takes but I’ve seen some actual respectable critics come up with some real strange criticisms. The best garbage I’ve read over and over again is that this film romanticises self harm. It’s about this girl Maddy whose immune system is so dysfunctional that to even leave her treated, airlocked, aseptic house would mean serious illness, possibly death.
See I guess it goes like this. David Leitch co-directs John Wick (uncredited though) with Chad Stahelski. Around the same time Charlize Theron is coming off filming Mad Max: Fury Road and now she got the hard proof of her action chops she moves into production of an adaptation of The Coldest City, a passion project that she’d been chasing for a while. She poaches Leitch from John Wick 2 and the two projects start shooting within basically a month of each other. They’re like legitimately, duelling pictures.
When I left the screening of Detroit I felt sick. Katheryn Bigelow’s exploration of the killings in the Algiers Hotel during the Detroit race riots of 1967 seems pretty much designed to do that. It’s so unflinching and brazen in its depiction of the brutalisation and murder of its characters that it just pulls a reaction out of you. It ain’t hard to feel emotional and exhausted when a film puts you against the wall for two hours with a gun to your back. It ain’t hard to generate empathy when the faces of these great actors are slick with blood and tears. It harder to turn that into something, make the sorta film that’ll turn that empathy into meaning.
Somewhere downhill, a short distance away, the men are talking. Their voices tickle the edge of our comprehension. “What are they talking about?” someone asks, “Were you told?” “They’re talking about whether to hang Stephen Meek.” A slight pause, the women on the bluff go back to collecting their kindling. The camera lingers on this image for a while. Later on, we will find out how that discussion in the valley went, one of the men will relay proceedings to us, and we trust that he is being truthful. For now, there’s work that needs doing.
There this thing which happen when comedians create autobiographical material and then cast themselves in it. Like, it’s an extension of everything they put up on stage, the way they turn experiences into stories, how their life is deliberately distorted around this stage persona they create. Everything around a comedian has to turn into comedy. Otherwise it never happened. It’s where the power of confession comedians comes from, the most unexpected thing we could possibly see on the stage is life.