Jared Mobarak

Sable becomes a nexus point of preservation and destruction. Lucas captures it all as data while Mills unleashes the artistry of those numbers courtesy of sight and sound. Beauty lives in death. Suffering is born from life. Everything is connected.

A lot happens during the course of director Matthew Pope and co-writer Don M. Thompson’s Blood on Her Name … too much. This can prove problematic for what starts as a simple plot before things start turning convoluted real quick thanks to new revelations shedding light upon secrets and lies. Surprisingly, however, that perpetually escalating noise is justified.

The film most likely work better for those with knowledge of the Ivory Coast and its tumultuous twenty-first century history, but that doesn’t mean those like me who are ignorant to that strife outside of what Lacôte and Roman provide can’t still enjoy the magic on display.

It helps, too, that the music is good (Kat and Bastian sing a lot, each song being plot-specific considering they’re writing about their love and its demise), the integration of social media effective (Kat’s life is online and Charlie still uses a flip phone), and the inclusion of Lou and the kids as a way to see both Kat’s and Charlie’s hearts beautifully tears down their defenses as well as ours where accepting this “whirlwind” (it is months, not days) at face value.

The dread becomes so palpable that the implausibility of a wooden door with three tiny locks somehow containing the Devil actually proves itself scarier as a result.

By fast-forwarding through the initial carnage and fallout of what civilization’s destruction wrought, Mendoza is able to create a fresh environment of extremes.

Faison’s performance in the role is not one to be forgotten either. He’s playing a man with obvious psychological trauma, but never in a cartoonish way. There’s a brilliant authenticity to how he shifts his vocals depending on who he is talking to too.

By letting the cast improvise their reactions through the lens of their experiences, Esparza finds truth instead. By highlighting Bleechington and Williams’ performances, he exposes how injustice is the new “normal” and how the consequences of one’s misfortunate reverberate well beyond him/herself.

Rather than have the plot manipulate his characters, Johnson lets them manipulate it. That’s an extremely rare Hollywood feat.

Everything has a purpose, from the deer whistle to a clearing of bleached white skulls, as modern medicine diagnoses that which our minds can safely process while our eyes warn us about how much worse things might be outside the realm of science.

This is a very personal story to Marder and it shows in the intricate ways he uses sound to place us within Ruben’s plight.

So much of Concrete Valley adopts a quiet, almost off-putting awkwardness that you’ll either embrace or not.

The whole therefore hinges upon Fishback’s performance and she assuredly carries it upon her shoulders.

Stefan Forbes has thus found himself at a Holy Grail nexus point with Hold Your Fire—his subject matter exists at a literal crossroads wherein the “us” and “them” are equally to blame, its complexity demanding the realization that “them” is a construct for violence.

Right when I was ready to resign myself to the thought that Revenge simply started too strong to maintain itself, Fargeat brought me back from the brink with a tense labyrinthine conclusion making use of its locale and blood as plot propulsion.

I was entertained and perplexed in a way that seemed intentional — my confusion a result of Naishtat giving his audience the credit to read into things with their own historical and political interpretations.

Its characters are unforgettably batty yet impressively noble...sympathetic yet fierce.... And their actions consistently achieve dramatic merit despite always culminating with a joke.

Shinkai’s film opens up from cute stranger-in-a-strange-body antics and expands into a philosophical and metaphysical parable about fate.

[Lane] proves yet again that nobody can tonally marry edification and entertainment onscreen so effortlessly. It’s masterful.

Schaad really ensures that we’re seeing beyond the surface. We’re experiencing the characters, their respective journeys, and their somber realizations that some incongruities can’t be fixed with a Band-Aid.

Cervera’s feature debut is an accordingly powerful depiction of motherhood’s oft-overlooked cost.

Norton is wonderful in the role, lending it a vulnerability that shines through the stoic nature of a man doing his best to show no fear.

The film becomes a document of Ola’s lost innocence, hardening her to the reality that faith only gets us so far.

Its content, humor, and heart all merge to deliver a piece with the potential for cult appeal that transcends the act itself. It’s a treatise on America, the blurred line between taboo and cruelty, and our collective fear of real individuality despite claims by both sides of the aisle to foster freedom. The outcasts get their day.

Akl provides the scenario a keen insight that only someone going through the same push and pull as the characters could.

Its parts recall many later works as diverse as Trainspotting and The Ring, its depiction of addiction and stasis leading us towards a legitimately brilliant ending that brings the whole thing into meta territory with its film-within-a-film coaxing us to enter the fray ourselves.

It’s a captivating experience with wonderful displays of heart and humor, but I must question some of its execution.

Demon becomes a siren to never forget the past or the many bodies left on battlefields of horrific wars. No matter how civilized or at peace we are now, history will always haunt us.