Comedy
Between The Temples (15)
Review: It’s OK to be loud, and to be sloppy. So says grief-stricken 40-something Ben Gottlieb (Jason Schwartzman), the ambling, self-destructive hero of director Nathan Silver’s gently paced comedy drama as he struggles to reconnect with humanity in the aftermath of his novelist wife’s death. In a morbidly amusing early scene, Ben lies down in the middle of a busy road and calmly waits for an oncoming truck to run him over. When the driver hits the brakes in good time, Ben urges the vehicle to “keep going” and fatally crush him into the asphalt.
Co-written by Silver and C Mason Wells, Between The Temples charts Ben’s haphazard and appealingly sloppy journey to self-healing in the company of his former music teacher, played with scene-stealing vibrancy by Carol Kane. She is impeccably matched with Schwartzman and the two actors jive sweetly in warm, tender and wryly amusing scenes like when Ben explains that he is a cantor at his synagogue and former educator Ms O’Connor mishears and enthusiastically responds: “That’s so interesting because I’m an Aquarius!” Stars certainly align with these central roles – two people in transitional phases of their lives, both widowed and dealing with trauma, who draw strength from each other as they traipse along the same rocky path.
Ben (Schwartzman) is supposed to be the cantor at his local synagogue in New York, leading the congregation in song and prayer under Rabbi Bruce (Robert Smigel) and fulfilling his remit to get “Jews in the pews”. Unfortunately, since the death of his wife, Ben has hit a psychological roadblock and cannot comfortably raise his voice in exultation. He wallows in grief and self-loathing under the roof of his two mothers, Meira (Caroline Aaron) and Judith (Dolly De Leon).
They try to coax him out of a rut while the rabbi matchmakes Ben with his actress daughter Gabby (Madeline Weinstein) in the hope that a new romance might rekindle the cantor’s lust for life. That spark is provided, unexpectedly, by Ben’s primary school music teacher, Carla O’Connor (Kane). She was denied her bat mitzvah as a child by Russian communist parents and hopes Ben will teach her readings from the Torah. Ben becomes joyfully fixated on Carla and devotes all his time to helping her prepare for the coming-of-age ceremony.
Between The Temples relies on a classic screwball comedy trope: unleashing an emotional whirlwind on an uptight, guarded character, who simply needs to let go. Schwartzman allows himself to unravel on screen with occasionally hilarious consequences while Kane fizzes in every scene. Screen chemistry between the pair surprises and delights like a mouthful of popping candy. Silver quietly observes without manipulating our emotions or his characters’ delicately intertwined fates.
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Thriller
Blink Twice (15)
Review: Forgive or forget? Actress Zoe Kravitz’s bold directorial debut picks its poison and drinks it to discomfiting excess, spewing a ball of righteous rage at misogyny and egregious abuses of power through the lens of a twisted psychological thriller that will inevitably be anointed this year’s Get Out. Co-written by the actress and ET Feigenbaum, Blink Twice leans heavily into skin-prickling horror in a fraught second half that explores the devastating ripple effect of trauma in the aftermath of the MeToo reckoning.
“Forgetting is a gift,” repeatedly claims Channing Tatum’s tech company demi-god. Kravitz’s fiance is cast effectively against type, weaponising his charm against co-star Naomi Ackie’s giddily starstruck waitress, who yearns to be seen in a world where social media elevates a person’s perceived worth (a viral video of Kravitz’s musician father exercising in the gym in leather trousers appears briefly).
Forgetting is not an option with Blink Twice, which plays out gender warfare on multiple fronts such as older men scolding arrogant pretenders to their white privilege (“Sip it, the wine’s older than you!”) or women competing against each other for a wealthy man’s gaze. Kravitz relishes trippy close-ups (the film opens on the glistening scales of a sun-grazing lizard) and her distinctive visual style makes every narrative red flag, foolishly ignored by the characters, glisten like freshly spilt blood.
Frida (Ackie) and roommate Jess (Alia Shawkat) wait tables at an annual fundraising gala dinner hosted by charming billionaire Slater King (Tatum), who hopes the public display of philanthropy will underline his recent headline-grabbing apology for shameful personal conduct. Following the dinner service, Frida catches Slater’s eye and he whisks the roommates away to a private island.
They are joined by his entourage comprising right-hand man Vic (Christian Slater), cancelled sitcom star Tom (Haley Joel Osment), professional chef Cody (Simon Rex), dotcom wunderkind Lucas (Levon Hawke), Hot Survivor Babes reality star Sarah (Adria Arjona), app designer Camilla (Liz Caribel) and stoner Heather (Trew Mullen). Frida and Jess embrace the psychedelic drug-fuelled hedonism but something is dreadfully off-kilter in paradise and guests will lose much more than access to their mobile phones.
Taking its title from a visual cue to indicate you require help, Blink Twice careens towards a sickening and bloodthirsty conclusion with directorial brio and an overtly menacing score courtesy of composer Chanda Dancy. By design, the script withholds character back stories until a big reveal, which limits total emotional engagement, but Ackie and Tatum are well-matched and Geena Davis is delightful as Slater’s scatty personal assistant. Welcome the comic relief to dissipate tension because it’s fleeting. Storytelling hammer blows weaken in terms of believability once the initial shock has worn off but Kravitz swings big and when she does connect, the repulsion and indignation are visceral.
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Horror
Cuckoo (15)
Review: Besides a melodic name derived from the male bird’s singsong call and a predilection for roosting in pendulum-driven wooden clocks, cuckoos are notable for belonging to a small group of brood parasites that lay their eggs in the nests of other species. While most of us wrestle with nature versus nurture, members of cuculus canorus rely on the good nature of neighbours and rivals to nurture their young. German writer-director Tilman Singer explores this mercenary approach to parenting in a warped horror thriller set in the Bavarian Alps, which ruffles the audience’s feathers until delirium manifests on screen in a hail of bullets.
Cuckoo tantalises and befuddles for its opening hour, spinning an otherworldly mystery from domestic disharmony. Singer’s script embraces an appealing and undated throwback aesthetic that extends to soundtrack choices and the use of retro technology at pivotal junctures (one character reminisces to messages stored on an answering machine’s tape cassette). Hunter Schafer’s compelling lead performance includes multiple emotional breakdowns on screen in disarming close-up, replete with snot and tears.
She treats the madness swirling around her character with utmost seriousness and nearly convinces us to do the same. A Sapphic romance is undernourished and surplus to narrative requirements but does provide another potential victim of macabre misfortune to exhibit on a Bavarian mortuary slab. Visual effects are predominantly physical and accomplished in camera, complemented by creepy and immersive sound design.
Following the death of her mother, teenager Gretchen (Schafer) begrudgingly moves to the grounds of Resort Alpschatten to live with her father Luis (Marton Csokas), stepmother Beth (Jessica Henwick) and half-sister Alma (Mila Lieu), who does not speak. The relocation is connected to the construction of a hotel complex masterminded by Herr Konig (Dan Stevens). Gretchen agrees to work on reception to earn money to finance her secret escape.
The teenager’s disorientation is exacerbated by a series of strange occurrences, such as female hotel guests vomiting in reception and the appearance of a hooded figure (Kalin Morrow). A dishevelled detective named Henry (Jan Bluthardt) discloses that the mysterious hooded woman is connected to at least one murder in the region and Gretchen joins a stakeout to catch the prime suspect in the act.
Cuckoo is a trippy fantasy that slaloms towards ridiculousness at considerable speed, diminishing any spine-chilling thrills to brief shudders of pleasure. Schafer puts her stricken heroine through the emotional wringer while Stevens walks a tightrope between blue-eyed menace and Teutonic buffoonery, compounding the disorienting tonal shifts. Singer’s picture goes cuckoo and hopes we’ll buckle up for a bumpy ride.
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