The horror, the horror

 

We seem to be now in an era of the offspring of legendary directors somewhat taking over the reigns from their parents. Sofia Coppola is making way more films than her very famous Dad. Ghostbuster's helmer Ivan Reitman's son Jason has become an Indie darling.

Then there is Brandon Cronenberg. Yeah...

"Pops" Cronenberg, like him or lump him, has been one of the most interesting film-makers of the late 20th, and early 21st Century, with such early entries as Scanners, and later ones such as the amazing A History of Violence or Eastern Promises. "L'il" Cronenberg seems determined to one-up Pops, as was demonstrated with the Andrea Riseborough starrer Posessor.

Now we have Infinity Pool. Oh, man. Reviewers I quite admire have zeroed in on the Horror aspects of Infinity Pool, and it is, in parts, horrific. But it is also a real head trip, and kind of a Sci Fi piece, as much as it is a Horror film.

The plot involves a Privileged couple -- played by Alexander Skarsgård (James) and Cleopatra Coleman (Em) -- vacationing at a posh resort, in an Anonymous Mediterranean country. Where the title Infinity Pool comes in is not immediately clear, as this resort doesn't have one. An Infinity Pool, that is. What it does have is a lot of seemingly bored American and European tourists, just hankering for some blood-letting to alleviate their boredom. No problem.

Or, is it? Coming home from an against-the-rules excursion to a beach, slightly tipsy, at night, our Heroes run over a local citizen and, rather than attending to the person they continue back to the resort. Bad choice, as the next morning, the local Constabulary comes a-knockin', arrest James and take him to a strange holding cell where they make him an offer he literally can't refuse. Since said Citizen died, James is guilty of Manslaughter, and will have to be executed. But, if he pays them a lot of money and they will make a Body Double (Doppelganger?) that can be executed instead.

Sound like fun? Well, stay tuned, because what seems like a good idea at the time (who wouldn't use an ATM-generated wad o' Euros as a Get out of Jail Free Card?) turns out to be, well, not very nice. I don't know what is more horrifying (or gross), watching James' Golem (in the Jewish Doppelganger sense) be created in what can only be described as a soup of vomit, or James and Em having to watch him plead for his short life, whilst being executed.

And here is where it gets interesting. Was it the Golem who bit the dust, or James? It is not actually clear, and as the rest of the film descends into a kind of Lord of the Flies chaos of murder and body horror, this thread remains its primary through line. If it is James that is killed, then there are a bunch of Golems running around the resort, if not, what is the morality of killing a vomit soup-generated Golem?

Not that the film cares that much about morality. With skillful story-telling, some interesting camerawork and good SFX "Kid" Cronenberg produces a tale that is truly unlike anything Dad ever did. Or, for that matter, many other directors have done. Perhaps the last reel of Alex Garland's deeply disturbing Men.

Great Cinema, but not for the faint of heart.

The British have this "sad man comes to the end of sad life/career" genre nailed

 

For more than one reason, this lovely, yet melancholy drama staring the incomparable Bill Nighy reminded me of Goodbye, Mr. Chips. Mainly because the British seem to have cornered the market on films about (white) men coming toward the end of their days and wondering whether its all been worth it.

Maybe not cornered, as America's Mr. Holland's Opus, for which Richard Dreyfuss received a best actor nod, reminds one of Chips. And in both films -- not in Living -- the main character is reminded by those around him that his life hasn't been meaningless.

No such luck in Oliver Hermanus's spare, yet spiritual entry. Nighy plays Mr. Williams, the dry, somewhat distinguished head of a small department of a small local government who one day is seemingly not surprised to discover he has six months to live. I say not surprised because Williams appears to be living in a state of decay, like an old Oak that has stopped growing long ago. He receives the terminal verdict from his Doctor much like he might receive the news of a no confidence vote in the Prime Minister. I think the Brits call it a "stiff upper lip". I just call it sad.

The only question for Mr. Williams, besides whether he will even tell his mildly estranged Son that he is dying, is how he will live out the last few days of his washed out existence. Enter Government Department underling Margaret Harris, played beautifully by Aimee Lou Wood, who is just young and naïve enough to still have a joie de vivre that we wonder whether Williams ever had. A chance meeting with Harris outside of his office, along with a trip to one of the few British seaside towns that still hasn't decayed into irrelevance (Brighton?) and Williams decides, yes, his last few months will have meaning.

That's it, its that simple. Yet this seemingly small drama is writ in Mock-Heroic Epic scale, due to Nighy's Oscar-nominated performance and the sure-handed direction of Hermanus. Williams decides that he will accomplish one meaningful thing as he heads toward the last waiting room: build a playground in a dirt-poor section of London.

We learn in the first reel that that building this playground would be easier than winning World War II given the Kafka-esque bureaucracy in which Williams and his nearly anonymous group of co-workers labor. Yet Williams's determination to conquer this mendacity as an analog to giving his own seemingly sad life meaning is a battle hard won. How this plays out using a clever flash-back technique (yes, its not a spoiler to say that Williams dies half-way through the film) is quite something.

The music and cinematography contribute mightily to the tone of the film which is, as I have said, beautiful and melancholy. Or beautifully melancholy. Not sure which. Kind of like a Radiohead song.