Available for home viewing: Molly’s Game ★★★½

When it comes to using dialogue as a mechanism to drive a movie, few (not named David Mamet) are better than Aaron Sorkin with his rat-a-tat-tat approach and ability to craft monologues as living things. After having had a hand in writing some of moviedom’s most memorable screenplays (A Few Good Men, The Social Network, and Steve Jobs, among others), Sorkin is making his directorial debut with Molly’s Game, an adaptation of the true-life (with names changed) memoir of "Poker Princess" Molly Bloom. In true Sorkin style, the movie is all about the nonstop dialogue, which pours out at a mile-a-minute but, as a result of the way the words flow (not to mention the skill with which they are delivered), they function as momentum builders rather than verbal diarrhea.

Molly’s Game has its share of flaws. The structure, which bounces back-and-forth across a couple of time frames (with numerous flashbacks thrown in for good measure), is needlessly tortured. A crucial conversation late in the proceedings, while providing the necessary catharsis, feels like a too-facile way to resolve a lifelong conflict. And there are times when Sorkin accelerates so quickly that details fly by (many of which are highlighted by on-screen markers) before we can process them. (Most deal with how hands are won and lost in various poker games.) Nevertheless, the level of energy is so relentless that it’s difficult not to be caught up in the current and swept along. Combined with Jessica Chastain’s ferocious lead performance and strong supporting turns by Idris Elba (finally getting a role worthy of his talent after the consecutive duds of The Dark Tower and The Mountain Between Us) and Kevin Costner (who has re-invented himself now that the spotlight is no longer so bright), the screenplay and direction keep the viewer engaged for the full 140-minute running length.

As we learn through flashbacks accompanied by detailed voiceovers, Molly (played mostly by Chastain, although Samantha Isler takes over for her as a teenager) was once a talented skier with Olympic aspirations. Driven by her perfectionist father, Larry (Costner), she seems destined for greatness until a freak accident brings her athletic career to an end. Following that, rather than throwing herself into law school, she takes some time off "to be young in someplace warm." That "someplace" is Los Angeles where, through a series of coincidences, she ends up running high stakes poker games for big spenders — actors, moguls, and sports stars. For many years, Molly is able to operate unobstructed until she runs afoul of the ambitions of "Player X" (Michael Cera), a client who wants preferential treatment, and finds herself forced to relocate to New York. There, she rebuilds her empire but, instead of catering to stars, she rubs elbows with anyone who has a lot of money. That attracts the attention of the Russian mob, the American mob, and the FBI. By the time Molly realizes her peril, she’s so deep into drug addiction that she has lost her focus and the results are brutal.

The second timeline happens more than two years after her empire has collapsed. Broke and facing indictment and possible prison time, she approaches attorney Charlie Jaffey (Elba) for representation. Although initially reluctant to become involved with someone with such a "colorful" reputation, he is able to look behind the tabloid headlines and discover that, although Molly can’t pay his retainer, she is deserving of his services. She tells him her story and he agrees to help her although she proves to be one of those clients who rarely takes her lawyer’s advice.

Chastain gets several Sorkin-scripted monologues and delivers them with the passion and tenacity of a lion ripping apart a fresh kill. Costner and Elba get their moments as well, with the latter’s speech about why the prosecutors should "do the right thing" being a perfect clip to show by anyone needing to defend Elba’s acting credentials. It’s all good stuff, delivered by a director who knows how to get the most out of performers speaking his words. Sorkin and Chastain are a perfect match — she knows what he’s after and delivers in spades (clubs, hearts, and diamonds as well).

Superficially, Molly’s Game might seem to be about poker, but that’s really just the glitzy backdrop against which the action occurs. It’s also a way to contrast the lifestyle and culture of "glamorous" Los Angeles with "gritty" New York. The movie’s themes relate to addictions of various sorts: gambling, drugs, and (as Larry explains it) having power over powerful men. Sex rarely comes into things because there’s neither time nor space in Molly’s life for a libido. She’s too busy popping pills, downing them with booze, and lording it over her clients. The players, for their part, are too focused on losing six-figure pots to care about how much cleavage their hostess is (or isn’t) showing.

Sorkin’s structure neuters the potential for dramatic tension. From the beginning, we know what’s going to happen with Molly. There’s no surprise about where things will end up and how they get there. In her first conversation with Charlie, which occurs early in the proceedings, she sums up the entire 2003-2013 portion of the movie. That puts the onus on the dialogue and character building to keep us engaged. Those are Sorkin’s strengths and he plays to them.

Molly’s Game is opening into a cultural climate ripe for a character like this. Molly is strong and self-sufficient. Driven by her addiction to "having power over powerful men", she forges her own empire and, when it crumbles, she refuses to sell her principles for better treatment or a more favorable plea bargain. She’s the perfect antidote to a post-Weinstein Hollywood, the response to ego-fueled male entitlement. Sorkin doesn’t have a crystal ball and didn’t know what loomed ahead when he was making Molly’s Game but the timing couldn’t be better for this movie or Chastain’s career.

Available for home viewing: Downsizing ★★½

For a movie about small people, Downsizing certainly thinks big … too big, perhaps. Director/co-writer Alexander Payne has done such a good job of world-building that there are far too many ideas, subplots, and opportunities for one two-hour film to contain and the sense of truncation becomes constraining. (A TV-streaming mini-series à la Westworld might have been perfect.) Unfortunately, the primary story Downsizing elects to follow turns out to be rather unremarkable. The character arc of Paul Safranek (Matt Damon) lacks verve and, although some will appreciate the low-key denouement, the film as a whole exudes unfulfilled potential and the ending provokes little more than a shrug of the shoulders. I cared less about the resolution of Paul’s story than was needed for the movie to succeed.

The movie opens at an unspecified future date. Scientists in Norway, having determined that overpopulation is the greatest threat facing humankind, devise a way to miniaturize living creatures. Five years later, a pioneer team, led by Dr. Jorgen Asbjornsen (Rolf Lassgard), have set up a commune for small people. It becomes a major news story and, when we first meet Paul at an Omaha bar, he is amazed. Ten years into the future, "downsizing", as the process has become known, is an increasingly popular option for cash-strapped middle-class citizens seeking to stretch their money. Although scientists initially envisioned downsizing as an environmentally friendly lifestyle (a five-inch person has a vastly smaller carbon footprint than a full-sized individual), one dollar in the "big world" is worth orders of magnitude more in the "small" one. So many people are transitioning in order to lead a life of luxury.

Paul and his wife, Audrey (Kristen Wiig), decided to make a plunge when their mortgage application is rejected due to a poor earnings-to-debt ratio. They learn that their assets — all $150,000 of them — will be worth more than $12 million in "Leisureland." So they take the leap but, when Paul awakens, he learns that everything didn’t go as expected. Instead of living in the lap of luxury, he’s forced to rent an apartment living beneath the obnoxious Dusan Mirkovic (Christoph Waltz) and take a job for a cleaning service run by Vietnam refugee Ngoc Lan Tran (Hong Chau), who was forced by her government to undergo the downsizing process.

It would be easy enough to dismiss Downsizing as an adult version of Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, but that would be unfair. The only elements the films share is the shrinking aspect. Downsizing isn’t an adventure film — it’s a serious movie dealing with serious issues. Environmental irresponsibility and climate change are both on Payne’s mind. He also has an ax to grind about the current culture of consumerism. Downsizing, like many sci-fi/fantasy movies, is political.

The movie’s most obvious flaw — and it’s a huge one — is that, after establishing everything and introducing the characters, it doesn’t seem to know what to do with the vast canvas. So it paints a small picture, using only a fraction of the available real estate, and doesn’t do enough to engage the viewer. The first 45 minutes of Downsizing are brilliant. The final 90 minutes are mediocre at best and there are times when things sputter and seem not to have a clear direction. Eventually, we figure out that Downsizing is about Paul’s existential journey, but he’s not the most dynamic of characters. The only thing that works is his relationship with Ngoc Lan Tran, and that’s in part because (despite caricature elements like her broken English) she’s a more interesting person than he is. The movie is already spinning its wheels when Payne decides to toss in an "end of the world" scenario. It’s either poorly thought-out or poorly explained (difficult to ascertain which is the case) and introduces a lot of head-scratching questions. The ending is muted and anti-climactic.

For Payne, whose precise, incisive efforts have included Sideways and Nebraska, Downsizing may be his most serious movie to date — and his least effective. Although it doesn’t abandon satire altogether (there are biting cameos by Neil Patrick Harris and Laura Dern), most of Paul’s journey is presented without tongue in cheek. There are occasions when Payne remembers to inject a little comedy into the dialogue (one example being when two characters banter about what kind of "fuck" they had) but the initially playful tone turns dour and the preaching grows louder. This is partly intentional — the more we learn about the world of the downsized downtrodden, the more apparent it becomes that the process hasn’t wiped away class struggles and income inequality — but it’s also a result of the lack of narrative momentum.

As Downsizing progressed, I realized that I wanted to learn more about just about every character in the film except Paul. Damon’s earnestness, which was an asset in The Martian, does nothing here. He and actress Hong Chau exhibit chemistry but it’s not enough to keep Downsizing from capsizing. The fundamental miscalculation is thinking that Paul’s story is sufficiently interesting to captivate a viewer. There are some fantastic things happening in Downsizing. It’s a movie of big concepts and bigger aspirations. Unfortunately, the central character is as small figuratively as he is literally, and that limits the movie’s capacity to enthrall and engage.

Available for home viewing: Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle ★★★

Every year, there are a handful of pleasant and unpleasant surprises in the world of film. Count Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle among the former. A tremendous improvement over the tepid 1995 original, this quasi-sequel brings humor, fun performances, and a canny understanding of late 1990s-style video games to a party that never takes itself seriously. Although the Rock flexes his biceps and exudes charisma, Kevin Hart does the kind of comedy he excels at, and Karen Gillan kicks ass as solidly as Black Widow, the show-stealer is Jack Black, whose gender-confused wilderness explorer is not only consistently funny but represents a smart bit of acting.

Guns ‘n’ Roses reference aside, this new Jumanji opens with a prologue that begins where the previous film left off, with the troublesome board game half-buried in sand on a nameless beach. After being found and brought home by an unsuspecting man for his son, the boy, Alex Vreeke (Mason Gussione), puts it aside. After all, it’s 1996 and no one plays board games anymore. He’s into video games. Jumanji, apparently recognizing this, transforms itself into a cartridge for a SNES-style console. Alex is intrigued, starts it up, and realizes he probably shouldn’t have done that…

Skip ahead 20 years. Four random high school students — geek Spencer Gilpin (Alex Wolff), football player Fridge Johnson (Ser’Darius Blain), hot babe Bethany Walker (Madison Iseman), and mousey Martha Kaply (Morgan Turner) — are serving detention cleaning out a basement. There, they find the Jumanji video game and, as a way to kill time, they begin playing. Like Alex, they are physically pulled into the game, where they assume the avatars they have chosen. Spencer becomes muscle-bound archeologist Smolder Bravestone (Dwayne Johnson). Fridge loses "two feet" of height as Smolder’s sidekick, the diminutive "Moose" Finbar (Hart). Martha jumps way up on the hotness scale as Ruby Roundhouse (Gillan). And poor Bethany transforms from a svelte, curvy blond girl into a pudgy middle-aged man, Professor Shelly Oberon (Black).

It doesn’t take long for the characters to figure out that they’re playing Jumanji for real and that they have limited lives before it’s "game over" and winning requires progressing through increasingly difficult levels, solving riddles, and eventually battling the Big Boss. Their ultimate nemesis is the bad-to-the-bone Van Pelt (Bobby Cannavale), the only returning character from the first Jumanji (although played here by a different actor). Welcome to the Jungle has fun with the tropes and limitations of SNES-style console games, including clunky dialogue-exposition, limited player interaction with game characters, and bizarre strengths and weaknesses. Because the characters all start out with three lives apiece, we get to see each of them die at least once, sometimes in amusing ways.

The original Jumanji was an intriguing idea, poorly developed and executed. Welcome to the Jungle corrects many of the problems of its predecessor and provides the viewer with a better overall two hours of entertainment. Credit director Jake Kasdan (son of Lawrence) with keeping things moving and getting the best out of his four leads. The movie struggles a little with pace early on but the "real world" first 15 minutes are necessary to introduce the characters and make their contrasts with their avatar-selves interesting and amusing.

Part of the fun of watching Welcome to the Jungle is seeing the actors play their roles off-key. This is particularly true of Johnson and Black. Both are believable as people uncomfortable in their own skins. Black’s impersonation of a girl is equal parts hilarious and spot-on and Johnson has no trouble poking fun at his image by displaying mannerisms associated with a lack of self-confidence. The chemistry among the actors is evident and translates (at least in part) to their real-world counterparts.

When Jumanji came out, the quality everyone mentioned was the special effects. In the early CGI era, this was touted as being a visual smorgasbord. The reality fell short of the hype. The effects work in Welcome to the Jungle is more effective because it’s less ostentatious. The animals are believable because they are no longer the point of the movie. Likewise, the action sequences are effective because they play off standard video game elements while never lasting for too long.

Jumanji has been given an unenviable availability date, becoming available for home viewing around the same time as The Last Jedi and in large part vying for the same viewing audience. I would recommend not passing over the former film in the rush to see the latter. Star Wars might be a far more significant franchise than Jumanji but I can make a compelling case that Welcome to the Jungle is a more fun film than The Last Jedi. At the very least, I can say I had a good time with this incursion into a Raiders of the Lost Ark-influenced comedy/adventure world.

Available for home viewing: I, Tonya ★★★

At first glance, I, Tonya might seem to be a darkly comedic satire of tabloid journalism excesses as seen through the prism of one of the 1990s sleaziest headline-grabbing stories. However, the film, as directed by Lars and the Real Girl’s Craig Gillespie from a screenplay credited to Steven Rogers, works on a different level, illustrating the tragedy underlying a farrago of criminal incompetence. Margot Robbie’s dynamic performance plays into both aspects of the movie — she delivers one-liners with vigor while allowing us to see a character forged in the fires of brutality lit by a self-absorbed mother (Allison Janney) and an abusive husband (Sebastian Stan).

What we remember about the early 1994 incident is straightforward: a group of thugs associated with skater Tonya Harding (Robbie) attacked Harding’s chief competitor, Nancy Kerrigan (Catlin Carver), with the goal of breaking her leg. The assault failed in its ultimate goal (Kerrigan’s leg was merely bruised), and Harding’s potential involvement became tabloid fodder. Any short-term gains, such as Harding’s capturing the U.S. title, were soon wiped away and her disappointing eighth place Olympic finish capped a tumultuous career. But in I, Tonya, we get (as Paul Harvey was fond of saying) the rest of the story.

Fair warning: the movie is presented from Harding’s perspective and she purportedly was a consultant. Undoubtedly, the story as told from Kerrigan’s perspective would have a dramatically different flavor. But I’m reviewing I, Tonya not I, Nancy. The movie shows the building blocks that went into constructing the trailer-trash public personality we came to know as "Tonya Harding." Her mother is a cold monster who drives her daughter using physical coercion and psychological abuse. Her husband, Jeff Gillooly, the architect of the attack on Kerrigan, uses her as a punching bag. In one of the film’s most memorable lines, Tonya opines that Kerrigan was hit once and it became a major news story but she (Tonya) was hit daily and no one took notice. Her lower-class, "unwholesome" background is taken into account by the judges when they score her performances. Despite technical excellence on the ice (she was the first female skater to land a triple axel in competition), she is graded on a curve because the profession doesn’t want her to be the "face of the sport." They greatly prefer Kerrigan.

Although the surface tone adopted by I, Tonya is breezy and cheeky, there’s a lot going on beneath the facade. The faux documentary approach, which allows fourth-wall breaking and razor-sharp asides, allows the movie to jump around a little in time. But, when the screenplay isn’t poking fun at various flunkies and their actions, it provides a window into the sad, lonely, affection-starved life of the main character. I, Tonya doesn’t court our sympathy so much as it encourages our understanding. No one is going to condone what happened to Kerrigan and, whether she knew about it in advance or not, Tonya cannot be held blameless, but Gillespie’s account argues that there were two victims in this incident.

I, Tonya features several standout performances and the makeup-costume corps deserves praise for the transformation of recognizable actors into doppelgangers of their real-life counterparts. Robbie, following in the footsteps of the many dazzling stars who have allowed themselves to be deglamorized when demanded by a role (often while in pursuit of an Oscar nomination), embodies Harding — heart, soul, and profane mouth. Robbie’s performance is on a level where I wouldn’t quibble with any awards acknowledgements. In the supporting category, Janney’s interpretation of Tonya’s mother is so terrifyingly real that it’s impossible not to be mesmerized and horrified that such a woman could exist. Mommy Dearest, anyone? Finally, Stan is a mirror image of the real Gillooly.

Black comedies are difficult to do right, in large part because the tone becomes a high-wire act between pathos and humor. I won’t argue that Gillespie always finds the perfect balance and there are those who will argue that Tonya’s character comes across as whitewashed. However, although curiosity about "the incident" may draw us to the film (something openly acknowledged during one of the fourth wall-breaking voiceovers), I, Tonya holds our interest by exposing the falseness and commercialism of Olympic-level skating competitions and illustrating how the perseverance shown by Tonya is perceived not as an asset but a character flaw. The film’s strength is that it does more than simply make us laugh.

Available for home viewing: Novitiate ★★★

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Novitiate is the even-handedness with which it treats religion in general and 1960s era Catholicism in particular. Set mostly within the confines of a convent, the feature debut of writer-director Margaret Betts takes pains to neither demonize nor lionize cloistered existence. The film presents the nuns — from the Reverend Mother (Melissa Leo) to the protagonist, a novitiate named Sister Cathleen (Margaret Qualley) — as people with their own inner insecurities and conflicts. From sexual attraction-frustration to spiritual uncertainty, a wide variety of crises are examined. All of this happens against the backdrop of initiating the Vatican II reforms, which the Reverend Mother believes will destroy the church she loves. As a side-note, Novitiate has a rare distinction: almost the entire cast and crew is female, with nearly every major behind-the-scenes role (director, writer, producers, cinematographer, and editor) filled by a woman. Given the strong female voice of the story, this would seem to be an ideal approach.

In 1954 at the age of 7, Cathleen is taken to church by her agnostic mother, Nora (Julianne Nicholson), for the "experience." Cathleen is fascinated and finds the experience positive. Five years later, she is offered a scholarship to attend a local all-girls Catholic school. By the time she’s ready to graduate at the age of 17, she has decided to become a nun — much to Nora’s despair. She enters a convent and passes through a period of postulancy, confirming the legitimacy of her calling, before becoming a novitiate. As she prepares to take her final vows, Cathleen struggles with matters of faith and develops an intimate relationship with another sister, Emanuel (Rebecca Dayan), while becoming one of the Reverend Mother’s favorites.

The film’s emotional component comes from Cathleen’s experiences and struggles. This is not like The Magdalene Sisters, the 2003 film set in a 1960s Irish girls school (run by nuns and priests) that focused on the brutalization of women in a strict Catholic environment. Even the sternest character in Novitiate (the Reverend Mother) is developed beyond the level of a stereotype, being shown to have a human soul capable of good and ill. At one point, in a voiceover, Cathleen gives an impassioned defense of why she has chosen the life of a nun, acknowledging what most people think about cloistered women while explaining that her reason is that she fell in love … with God. The ugly relationship of her parents has something to do with it as well. With their interaction as a model for marriage, one can understand the appeal of celibacy.

As strong as Cathleen’s story is, arguably the most unique aspect of Novitiate relates to the impact of adopting Vatican II reforms on the convent. The scene in which the Reverend Mother reads a letter describing the changes illustrates the sense of betrayal felt by the nuns in the room (and perhaps, by extension, across the world), especially the older ones. While Vatican II was applauded by most Catholic laypeople and garnered a mixed reaction from priests, this is the first time I can recall having seen a dramatization of its impact on nuns.

Qualley gives a breakthrough performance as Cathleen — a young woman whose initial pure faith is put to the test when she suffers doubt and finds herself attracted to another sister. The lesbian angle is not overplayed. The sex scene is brief and discreet and leaves much to the imagination. This isn’t about reinforcing stereotypes. Qualley and her partner in the relationship, Dayan, play the "romance" believably. Meanwhile, Leo (force of nature that she is as an actress) makes the Reverend Mother a commanding presence.

By avoiding the temptation to rail against religion and instead offer an introspective and respectful look at it, Novitiate becomes that rare thing: a movie willing to show the flaws of Catholicism without dwelling on its negatives. It understandably won Margaret Betts a Special Jury Prize for Breakthrough Director at the 2017 Sundance Film Festival. With an appealing cast and a fly-on-the-wall perspective, Novitiate offers an absorbing two hours.

Available for home viewing: Phantom Thread ★★★

Phantom Thread, Paul Thomas Anderson’s follow-up to 2014’s Inherent Vice, feels a little like a mash-up of Bergman and Hitchcock without the verve of the latter and the subtleties of the former. What begins as a stately costume drama set in the world of ‘50s London couture turns into a twisted psychosexual story of jealousy, power, and co-dependency. Unfortunately, to get to the psychologically complex parts of Phantom Thread, it’s necessary to wade through nearly an hour of background and character development that seems more like Masterpiece Theater than Mystery!

For Daniel Day-Lewis’ final acting job, he gives it his all, playing fashion designed Reynolds Woodcock as a tightly-wound ball of impulses, quirks, and foibles. An impatient perfectionist, Reynolds is prone to angry outbursts, lives an ordered life, and dislikes surprises. He can be passionate but is more often cold and condescending. He lives with his sister and partner, Cyril (Lesley Manville), who protects him from distractions, cleans up his messes, and provides a buffer between him and anything or anyone who threatens to puncture the bubble in which he works and creates. Day-Lewis brings Reynolds to life with every shade of gray imaginable — in one scene we sympathize with him then, moments later, we despise him.

Into his life comes Alma (Vicky Krieps), a waitress who catches his eye one day when he’s out having breakfast. They banter, he invites her to dinner, and soon she has moved into his house and is functioning as muse, model, and lover. Their relationship slowly deteriorates as Alma becomes more aware of Reynolds’ "fussiness" and is unable to chip away at the bond between him and Cyril. But Alma isn’t like the many other women Reynolds has bedded and turned away. She’s made of sterner stuff and, after the failure of a romantic attempt to move their relationship forward, she tries something bold that reveals darker aspects of both their personalities.

The second half of Phantom Thread is fascinating and riveting as Anderson peels back the oh-so-proper veneer of Reynolds and Alma’s relationship. This is as warped a love story as one is likely to find and it leaves the viewer questioning what these two feel for one another. There’s nothing simple in how they interact and Cyril is never too far away to stir the pot. Often, Alma’s greatest struggle in attracting Reynolds’ attention is eroding his sister’s influence. This becomes a long-term battle that at times seems unwinnable.

As with most character-based dramas, acting is critical and, although Day-Lewis takes top crown, he is ably supported by Manville and the much younger Krieps. Krieps underplays Alma, making her often seem tamer and less determined than she is. As the movie advances, the character develops a creepy aspect that belies our initial impression of her as naïve and besotted.

Anderson, as is his wont, allows the movie to flow at its own pace. He won’t be hurried and, as a result, watching Phantom Thread requires a degree of patience. I’m not knowledgeable about fashion in general and ‘50s fashion in particular but I was fascinated by all the little details Anderson reveals during the course of the film, such as how small tokens and trinkets can be sewn into seams without anyone knowing about them. Verisimilitude is a hallmark of Anderson films and it’s as evident here as it was in the vastly different Boogie Nights and Inherent Vice, both of which effectively captured the time and place in which they occurred.

Phantom Thread is an art-house film for those who love acting showcases featuring minimal storylines that focus more on character interaction than narrative thrust. It starts slowly but eventually develops into something that is in equal parts fascinating and disturbing, and leaves an impression that doesn’t evaporate once the end credits have rolled.

Available for home viewing: Lady Bird ★★★

Lady Bird, the solo directorial debut of actress Greta Gerwig, is the intimate coming-of-age story of a young woman from Sacramento, California, who believes the world is happening out there while she is trapped in a dead-end existence. Highlighted by an awards-worthy performance by Saoirse Ronan and structured around a light, witty script by Gerwig, the movie delivers a well-targeted snapshot of a year-in-the-life of an ordinary high school senior.

Christine McPherson (Ronan), who prefers to go by the name of "Lady Bird" (and takes pains to correct anyone, including her mother, who uses her given moniker), believes she is living an uninteresting life in the most boring place on the planet. She dreams of going to a "liberal college out East" but, when she voices her hope of Yale, her guidance counsel laughs out loud. Lady Bird might have gumption but she’s lacking in the grade department. She and her mother, Marion (Laurie Metcalf), both strong personalities, get along like oil and water. Her relationship with her father, Larry (Tracy Letts), is more affectionate but he has lost his job, putting the already cash-strapped family under a financial cloud. Meanwhile, Lady Bird decides to try out for a musical but most of the drama occurs off-stage when she starts seeing her first-ever boyfriend, the too-perfect Danny (Lucas Hedges). She makes a push into the "in" crowd by befriending Queen Bee Jenna (Odeya Rush), but that ultimately goes about as well as one might expect.

Gerwig’s voice, known from past projects (mumblecore and other), is so strong that we can hear her speaking through Ronan. It’s a little like when Woody Allen directs a younger "stand-in" for himself. Her off-screen relationship with Noah Baumbach has been creatively fruitful for both of them. Although she has frequently been called his muse, his influence can be seen in the structure and script even though his name doesn’t appear in the credits. Like Baumbach’s recent fare, Lady Bird is a character-based piece with a light tone that allows opportunities for drama and humor. Unlike Baumbach’s films, however, the perspective is decidedly female.

The central relationship is that of Lady Bird and her mother. There’s love there but it’s buried under layers of friction and bitterness. In the opening scene, the two are in a car together and an argument becomes so heated that Lady Bird opens the door and jumps out rather than continue to engage Marion. She wears a cast through most of the movie. Key scenes late in the proceedings offer a window into the depth of feeling that exists — but those are established and executed in ways that are neither mawkish nor overly melodramatic.

Many vignettes are too precise not to be genuine, opening up the question of the degree to which Lady Bird is autobiographical. There are some obvious parallels. Gerwig, like Lady Bird, was raised in Sacramento. (The movie was filmed on location and is as much a love letter to the city as any of Woody Allen’s pictures are of New York.) Also like the character, she went to an all-girls Catholic school and moved to New York to attend a liberal arts college.

Lady Bird has its share of memorable moments. One in particular has Lady Bird and her best friend, Julie (Beanie Feldstein), snacking on (unconsecrated) communion wafers while discussing masturbation. Another occurs during a pro-life assembly when Lady Bird makes her feelings known about the speaker. One of the film’s most relatable moments comes in the wake of Lady Bird’s first sexual encounter.

There’s nothing new or insightful about Lady Bird except perhaps the acknowledgment that the tribulations of adolescence are universal. The lead character is easy to relate to because of the precision of Ronan’s unaffected performance and the care with which the screenplay was written and developed. Every incident in Lady Bird’s life will be familiar to most readers in a general sense but the power of the movie comes through the details. Lady Bird is an original creation and comes to life in such a vivid fashion that we are enmeshed in her life. The production argues that a meaningful film doesn’t have to be about some great or historical personality — an ordinary person can be just as compelling and, in this case, she is.

Available for home viewing: Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri ★★★★

"Raped While Dying", "And Still No Arrests", "How Come, Chief Willoughby?"

The text of those three billboards establishes a narrative but, although that’s the starting point for Martin McDonagh’s stellar Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, it doesn’t hint at the film’s eventual trajectory, which takes the viewer on a dizzying ride through dark comedy, wrenching tragedy, shocking moments, karmic twists, and redemption. Last year didn’t offer anything close to the experience provided by this movie which effectively traverses a high wire between comedy and tragedy and does so without a safety net. Outside the Coen Brothers, it’s hard to find a filmmaker with that skill and with this production, McDonagh has placed himself in august company.

In Bruges put McDonagh on the map. Seven Psychopaths, although uneven, was not to be dismissed lightly. Three Billboards, however, has exceeded all expectations. McDonagh hasn’t just gotten better, he has rocketed into the stratosphere. Having won two Oscars, another 104 film awards and 193 additional nominations, it’s hard not to believe that Three Billboards isn’t on a fast track to some kind of film immortality.

The movie is about the evolution of characters — three in particular — and to describe where they end up would spoil the process of discovering how they change and the elements that contribute to who they are. All is not as it seems when the unsmiling, no-nonsense Mildred (Frances McDormand) pays a local advertising man, Red Welby (Caleb Landry Jones), a tidy sum of $5000 to rent the billboards and put up her message. The recent rape and murder of her teenage daughter, Angela (Kathryn Newton), weighs heavily on her and the police’s inability to find a credible suspect curdles her view of them as lazy and racist. Those charges perhaps apply to one officer, the inept but morally twisted Dixon (Sam Rockwell), but not to the Chief Willoughby (Woody Harrelson) named in Mildred’s third billboard. Willoughby is a loving family man who, despite a penchant for profanity and a bleak sense of humor, seems to be as morally upright as they come. Mildred’s erection of the billboards spurs a forceful backlash. As a priest explains, while the community is "100 percent behind her" in her quest to bring her daughter’s killer to justice, they resent her latest action because it besmirches a good man’s name.

Acting is without question one of Three Billboard’s many strengths. It’s hard to single out who leaves the strongest impression: the always amazing McDormand as a woman fighting her personal demons while struggling to keep it together for the sake of her son (Lucas Hedges) and the memory of her daughter; the underrated Rockwell, who has never given a bad performance and excels with the range demanded by Dixon, who functions at various times as clown, coward, and criminal; or Harrelson, who uses his natural charm and likability to make Chief Willoughby seem like a pillar of decency. (All three were justly nominated for Oscars with McDormand and Rockwell winning.) Gray areas abound in all of the characters and the actors traverse them without losing focus or intensity. There are some strong, effective supporting portrayals as well: Abbie Cornish as Willoughby’s wife, Anne; Peter Dinklage as the "local dwarf" (who has one short-but-powerful monologue); Jones as the representative of the ad agency that owns the billboards; and John Hawkes as Mildred’s ex-husband.

Tone isn’t merely important to Three Billboards, it’s critical. Stripped of sentiment, the movie uses a hard-hitting dramatic style to advance the story. There are gut-punches aplenty and more than a few of the plot points aren’t expected. This isn’t a mystery, a whodunnit?, or a procedural. It’s a character-based piece that looks deep into the human soul and finds shadow and light. It makes an argument for redemption that some might reject but does so in a compelling manner. And, despite all the misery, it uses dark comedy to keep the proceedings from becoming too morose. Roger Ebert once stated that any subject matter can be used to comedic effect if the practitioner is skilled enough. McDonagh is skilled enough.

One of the salient differences between a great movie and one that is "merely" very good is how deeply the movie implants itself in the memory. Are you thinking about it an hour after it finishes? A day? A week? First impressions are often good indicators of a film’s power but it sometimes takes time to marinate. Three Billboards lingers, not only because of the richness and complexity of the characters but because of the choices McDonagh makes in bringing this story to the screen. His approach is specific and uncompromising. It’s not safe. Approached with lesser actors or a wavering confidence, the result could have been deemed an "interesting failure." But there’s not a whiff of failure about this movie. The best movie available for home viewing this year? Could be. If not, it will certainly be in the conversation

Available for home viewing: Darkest Hour ★★★

Last year was a good one for movies related to the 1940 evacuation from Dunkirk. Combined with Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk (about the actual events) and Lone Scherfig’s Their Finest (about a clumsy propaganda film made about the situation), Darkest Hour completes a triangle that offers a reasonably comprehensive perspective regarding one of the most celebrated military actions of World War II. This film, made by celebrated director Joe Wright from a historically-based screenplay by Anthony McCarten, looks at the events of May 1940 from the pinnacle of the British political machine. As Hitler’s troops roll across France, heads roll in Westminster with Neville Chamberlain (Ronald Pickup) resigning in favor of the rough, unpredictable, and not always likable Winston Churchill (Gary Oldman). Darkest Hour then follows Churchill’s first 2½ weeks in office as he forges alliances, makes enemies, and sometimes looks like he won’t survive to see the end of the month let alone the end of the war.

Oldman’s portrayal of Churchill is among the best to reach the screen. With the help of makeup, Oldman immerses himself so deeply in the role that the actor disappears. In achieving this, the actor puts himself alongside Brian Cox in Churchill (tremendous performance, mediocre movie) and Timothy Spall in The King’s Speech (possibly the best-ever screen interpretation of the former PM). Darkest Hour’s supporting cast is strong, including Lily James as Churchill’s personal secretary, Elizabeth Layton; Kristin-Scott Thomas as his wife, Clementine; Pickup as Neville "Appeasement" Chamberlain (the role was originally intended for John Hurt, but he died prior to the start of filming); Ben Mendelsohn as the stuttering King George VI (interesting to compare his version to Colin Firth’s); and Stephen Dillane as Viscount Halifax (quite a contrast to Stannis Baratheon).

Darkest Hour features no war scenes but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any combat. For Churchill, the House of Commons is his battlefield. His war strategy — the opposite of Chamberlain’s patient, diplomatic approach — is met with a mixture of skepticism and hostility. Churchill receives a boost when the king rejects the "peace at all costs" solution favored by Chamberlain and Halifax but Churchill still faces obstacles. The United States refuses to break its neutrality to help out England. France is collapsing and the U.K.’s army appears to be trapped. Churchill’s greatest weapon in this time of crisis is his oratorical skills, which he deploys on more than one occasion.

Wright is known for long takes and innovative angles. He reminds us of this with his opening shot, an ambitious one that starts at the ceiling of the House of Commons before descending to ground level and approaching the speech-maker from the side. This is perhaps the showiest piece of cinematography in the film but it’s not the only time Wright punctuates a scene with a flourish. His style is the antithesis of the quick-edit approach favored by many directors. There are times when he goes more than a minute without a cut. He prefers dazzling with camerawork than with editing.

Historically, the movie is mostly accurate, although the acrimony among the trio of Churchill, Chamberlain, and Halifax is amped up to increase the dramatic tension. There’s little doubt, however, that Churchill’s early tenure was rocky and that he was in danger of losing the Prime Minister’s position not long after being offered it. Dunkirk was as much his salvation as it was that of the British army. Had the rescue not happened, the war would have gone very differently.

Although the majority of Darkest Hour focuses on Churchill the politician, it takes a little time to introduce us to Churchill the man. He could be stubborn, pugnacious, and downright despicable. We see his ugly side when he first meets Elizabeth and nearly frightens her away with a vicious (and undeserved) diatribe. His relationship with his wife, Clementine, works because she can match him with vigor, vinegar, and spirit. Yet, when he needs her, she’s by his side, soothing and supporting.

By giving a portrait that’s richer than the one in history books and by sticking close to the factual record, Wright is able to avoid the pitfalls that doomed the year’s other drama about the former Prime Minister, Churchill. Although the time frame is different (that one took place much later in the war), many of the intentions are the same. Darkest Hour is easily the better movie. World War II students will appreciate its attention to detail and the way it shows how close the world came to disaster even before the blitz began. Casual movie-fans may find a few surprises in the narrative. Everyone, however, will be awed by Oldman’s uncanny transformation and the way he brings back to life an icon who has been dead for more than 50 years.

In the minority on Milos

Milos Forman, the Czechoslovakian filmmaker who died yesterday at the age of 86 following a short illness, will be regarded by most for three films he made between 1975 and 1984 — One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Hair and Amadeus. These, however, are not my favorite Forman films.

These three have something in common and it’s that commonality that has always bothered me. All three were stage productions before Foreman committed them to the big screen and I have always preferred the stage versions of these works over the cinematic ones. I thought the stage production of Cuckoo’s Nest had a bite that was missing from Forman’s version, which tried too hard, I thought, for sentimentality.

It’s interesting to note that the part of Randle Patrick McMurphy (played by Jack Nicholson in Forman’s movie) was played by Kirk Douglas when the play premiered on Broadway in 1963. Douglas retained the rights to make a movie of the play for almost a decade, but when he was unsuccessful in his attempts, he gave the film rights to his son, Michael, who managed to hire Forman on the cheap because the director’s previous film, Taking Off, had been a major commercial bomb. Michael wanted to recast his father in the lead role, but Kirk, by that time, was considered too old for it, so it went to Nicholson. The play had an off-Broadway revival in 1971 with Danny DeVito playing Martini, the role he also played in the film.

There was much to like about Foreman’s Amadeus, most notably the performance of F. Murray Abraham, but I absolutely despised Thomas Hulce in the title role and Elizabeth Berridge as his wife irritated me no end. (In the stage production I saw in 1980, those two parts were played by Tim Curry and Jane Seymour.) The less said of how badly the original stage musical version of Hair was butchered on film the better.

That’s not to say I didn’t appreciate Foreman. I’m only saying my favorite Forman films came at the beginning of his career: Loves of a Blonde (1965), an Oscar-nominee for best foreign language film; The Fireman’s Ball (1967), a satire on East European communism that was banned for many years in Forman’s home country; and even his first American film, the aforementioned Taking Off (1971) about a suburban couple whose teenage daughter runs away from home, a film that was panned by most critics.

I also harbored a certain respect for his efforts to film Ragtime, a novel that, when I read it, thought would be impossible to adapt to film, and The People vs. Larry Flynt.

Available for home viewing: Murder on the Orient Express ★★★

Like most Agatha Christie stories, Murder on the Orient Express is all about the "whodunnit?" Once that question has been answered, there’s little reason to revisit the story. Christie never cared much about character development and her main detective, Hercule Poirot, was a two-dimensional sketch of early 20th century intellect and masculinity. (She actually grew to hate the character over the years, calling him, among other things, a "creep" and "insufferable", despite continuing to write about him.) Therefore, Kenneth Branagh’s workmanlike interpretation of the tale will be met with different reactions from those who are familiar with the ending and those who aren’t. It makes a big difference.

This represents the fourth time a major adaptation of Murder on the Orient Express has been mounted. The first, a 1974 motion picture featuring Albert Finney as Poirot, was well-received and highly regarded. In 2001, a poorly-reviewed contemporary version aired on CBS-TV with Alfred Molina in the lead. The long-running ITV Poirot series with star David Suchet tackled the novel in a 2010 episode. Curiously, the most famous Poirot prior to Suchet, Peter Ustinov, never appeared in any version of Murder on the Orient Express, despite reprising the detective’s role six times. Branagh therefore steps into well-worn shoes and, although his performance here is no match for Ustinov or Suchet (the latter of whom is universally regarded as the inimitable Poirot), it stands alongside the others.

The cast is star-studded, which means that, although there are a lot of famous faces, no one except Branagh gets more than a few scenes and/or lines. The movie, like the book, is plot-centric and, because so little effort is placed on character development, it’s less than an actor’s clinic despite the "who’s who" aspect of the cast. The list of suspects includes Judi Dench, Derek Jacobi, Michelle Pfeiffer, Daisy Ridley, Olivia Colman, Willem Dafoe, Josh Gad, Penelope Cruz, and a few "lesser" known performers rounding out the rogues’ gallery. Johnny Depp plays Edward Ratchett, the unlucky victim, so his screen time is over before the first half hour comes to a close.

Haris Zambarloukos’ evocative cinematography meshes well with Branagh’s decision to use 65 mm cameras (the first time he has done so since Hamlet). This allows for a more epic "feel" to the visuals even when seen on a home television screen. He often uses long takes, especially early in the movie for the characters’ establishing shots (either in the station or aboard the train, where he pans along the length looking through the windows from outside). Period detail is excellent and there are times when it’s possible to imagine being aboard a luxury train wending its way through the cold, snowy mountains on the route between Istanbul and Paris. Patrick Doyle, who has done his best work as a composer when paired with Branagh as a director, modulates his occasionally overbearing tendencies and produces an effective score.

The movie opens at the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem where Poirot exhibits his skills as a detective by solving a particularly nettlesome crime. He then boards the Orient Express when his presence is requested in London and intends to use his time aboard the train as a mini-vacation. It turns into one of his most difficult cases when one of the passengers is murdered and everyone in the car is a suspect. With the train stalled because of an avalanche, Poirot conducts his investigation.

Branagh’s interpretation draws on aspects of many of his predecessor’s performances and, although the character’s pomposity is used for semi-comedic purposes in the early scenes, the tone becomes increasingly serious as the details of the case are unveiled. Aspects of Christie’s original were loosely inspired by the Lindbergh kidnapping. This isn’t surprising since the infamous crime occurred in 1932 and Christie wrote Murder on the Orient Express about a year after that. The movie’s ending, although mostly faithful to the book, skews toward the way the Poirot TV series addressed the moral conundrum.

For those who don’t know the ending, Murder on the Orient Express represents a gripping mystery told in a classic style with enough "detecting" to allow the viewer to guess along with Poirot about who may be guilty. There’s a lot of exposition; at times perhaps too much. It can be difficult to keep the cast of characters straight and even more of an exercise to piece together how they fit into a larger picture. Nevertheless, the big reveal is as impactful as ever. Those who are aware of the killer’s identity will be less engaged. Still, there are pleasures to be had: Branagh’s performance, the set design, the camera work, and the tight pacing.

This movie is an odd choice for Branagh; Christie’s straightforward, no-nonsense prose is in many ways the antithesis of the Bard. It has, however, been decades since Branagh has tackled Shakespeare for the screen. In the interim, he has moved to other properties, most recently making a live-action version of Cinderella after providing entries into the Thor and Jack Ryan franchises. Murder on the Orient Express reunites him with three actors from the "Branagh troupe": Dench, Jacobi, and Gerard Horan.

Perhaps the most welcome thing about Murder on the Orient Express is the big-budget foray into a genre that motion pictures have all-but-forgotten: the classic murder mystery. The film isn’t too long to wear out its welcome and there’s something impressive about being surrounded by such impeccable detail and so many familiar faces. Although the film will work considerably better for newcomers to the story, there’s enough here to appeal to veterans. And, although Branagh is no Suchet, he’s good enough for us to accept him, if for only two hours, as one of Agatha Christie’s two celebrated detectives.

Available for home viewing: Daddy’s Home 2 ★★½

The similarities between Daddy’s Home 2 and another recent release, A Bad Moms Christmas, are striking. Not only are the two films sequels to successful first installments but they follow the similar template of bringing back the most popular elements of the first movie, stirring veteran actors into the mix, and finishing everything off with a big kumbaya moment. Okay, so the main characters in A Bad Moms Christmas are women while they’re men in Daddy’s Home 2. And the former is considerably more ribald than the latter (although neither is "clean" enough to qualify as a "family film"). But both releases feel like they were cut from the same cloth.

Bad Moms did well at the box office but Daddy’s Home did even better. The producers, not wanting to mess with a successful formula, brought back the essential creative team behind the first film: writer/director Sean Anders and his screenplay partner, John Morris. The story told in the 2015 movie, about the rivalry between step-dad Brad Whitaker (Will Ferrell) and real/divorced dad Dusty Mayron (Mark Wahlberg), hit the sweet spot for many viewers. When the sequel starts, Brad and Dusty are best buds. They live close to one another and their kids play together. The only flaw in the web of congeniality is that Brad’s wife, Sara (Linda Cardellini), and Dusty’s wife, Karen (Alessandra Ambrosio), don’t get along. Then along comes Christmas and, as always at that time of the year, relatives arrive. In this case, it’s Dusty’s (uninvited) Type-A pop, Kurt (Mel Gibson), and Brad’s (invited) touchy-feely father, Jonah (John Lithgow). With all that oil and vinegar mixing, there’s bound to be some separation — especially when the extended family heads off on a Christmas vacation where they are joined by Karen’s ex-husband, bulky bad-ass Roger (John Cena).

Although the cast is populated by several "name" stars, Daddy’s Home 2 is at heart a Ferrell film. The humor is in his wheelhouse. It includes a lot of over-the-top physical comedy and a tendency to stick with a joke after it has reached its maximum potential. Wahlberg appears more comfortable playing this material than he did in Daddy’s Home but there are still some awkward moments. Lithgow exudes a certain weaselly subservience as Brad’s father. Unsurprisingly, the standout is Gibson. Rather than ignoring the ignoble aspects of the veteran actor’s offscreen persona, the screenplay allows them to inform the viewer’s impressions of Kurt. For his part, Gibson plays this like he might portray Martin Riggs (the anti-social Lethal Weapon version — not the "softened" one from the sequels) 30 years older … and he’s not too old for this shit. Gibson steals scenes seemingly without trying. It’s inspired casting and reminds us of the magnetism he once commanded.

Daddy’s Home 2 is episodic and, to that extent, it recalls National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, even going so far as to visit similar territory (the outside lighting disaster, the tree-cutting disaster, etc.). All that’s missing is Randy Quaid. Seen as a pure holiday comedy, Daddy’s Home 2 works fine. It doesn’t redefine the genre or do anything outlandish. It’s outrageously safe and careful not to offend (or at least not too much). There are more chuckles than good, hearty guffaws so the movie is made more for those who laugh easily. Dramatically, it’s largely a failure. Oh, it wants us to care about these characters and their relationships but they’re so underdeveloped and reliant on inexpert contrivances that I was uninterested in whether relationships were healed.

Like A Bad Moms Christmas, this is an opportunity for an alternative to the bigger, louder likes of Thor: Ragnarok and Justice League. It’s not going to win any awards but there are worse ways to get some cheap laughs and the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes with any rendition of "kumbaya."

Available for home viewing: Call Me By Your Name ★★★

Call Me by Your Name, the latest film from Italian director Luca Guadagnino, is a study in mood and emotion. It’s about living in the moment and capturing that moment. It’s about using the canvas of film to convey to the viewer the inner feelings of the characters. Call Me by Your Name is short on dialogue and long on emoting. It’s a story of first love: impossible, impermanent, and passionate. It’s about crossing thresholds, rejecting societal conventions, and allowing the heart to overrule the mind.

The film is set in the north of Italy during 1983. Guadagnino perfectly captures the lazy, hazy rapture of an endless summer, reminding us of simpler days when vacations were adventures and escapes, freed from structure and regimen. The romance that develops between Oliver (Armie Hammer) and Elio (Timothee Chalamet) couldn’t have happened at any other time or in any other place. Same-sex relationships were outside norms in this era but, away from the centers of intolerance, the romance is allowed to develop: halting and uncertain at first, with missteps and miscommunications, then with all the explosive power of water gushing through a breached dam.

Elio is a 17-year-old American who has accompanied his father (Michael Stuhlbarg) and mother (Amira Cesar) to their villa in Italy, where they spend every summer. (When asked, "What’s there to do around here?", Elio responds, "Wait for summer to end.") His father, an archeology professor, recruits a new assistant annually. This year, it’s a mid-20s American, Oliver, who’s blessed with good looks and no shortage of confidence. Elio, whose interactions with his semi-girlfriend, Marzia (Esther Garrel), are on their way toward a mutual loss of virginity, is initially irritated by the arrival of the "usurper." (Oliver is taking over Elio’s room.) Gradually, however, he becomes interested. It takes a long time, however, before both young men recognize that their feelings are reciprocated.

Call Me by Your Name is about the attraction between male characters, neither of whom self-identifies as gay. Falling in love with Oliver doesn’t prevent Elio from furthering his sexual explorations with Marzia and Oliver has an "on-again, off-again" thing going on with a woman back home. For these two, however, the chemistry is overwhelming and, once they set aside their misgivings, the sparks ignite. Guadagnino films the sex scenes with restraint (he cuts away to a window at the moment of consummation), emphasizing sensuality over raw sexuality. (One can argue that he takes an opposite approach to the one employed by Abdellatif Kechiche in Blue is the Warmest Color. This is closer to Andre Techine territory.) To the extent that we’re privy to it, the sex (both male-male and male-female) is fairly unremarkable, putting aside for the moment the indignities suffered by a peach.

The screenwriter is James Ivory, who established himself while working with Ismail Merchant during the 1990s (Howards End, The Remains of the Day). As is true of many of Ivory’s films, the narrative crawls at a glacial pace, demanding a degree of patience. Call Me by Your Name is never in a hurry to get anywhere and, although that feeds into the lazy summertime atmosphere Guadagnino pursues, it also demands the viewer’s surrender to the languorous pace. Call Me by Your Name is constructed as a series of moments and there are occasions when its tangents (the extraction of a statue from its watery grave, a discussion about the merits of Bunuel) become tiresome.

Although Hammer is best-known for prominent roles in action/adventure fare (The Lone Ranger, The Man from U.N.C.L.E.), this is a bold career move (although arguably no bolder than the one made by Heath Ledger when he appeared in Brokeback Mountain). Freed from Hollywood expectations, he is allowed to show depth and range he hasn’t previously exhibited. He displays strong chemistry with his younger co-star, Chalamet (who has a supporting role in another significant film from last year Oscar contender, Lady Bird), whose awkwardness contrasts with the aura of confidence exuded by Hammer. Stuhlbarg, also in The Shape of Water, remains largely in the background until he gives an impassioned speech to his son about the importance of embracing pain. (One that weirdly echoes something William Shatner said in Star Trek V: "Pain and guilt … They're the things we carry with us, the things that make us who we are. If we lose them, we lose ourselves. I don't want my pain taken away! I need my pain!")

Guadagnino has spoken about taking a Before Sunrise approach to the story by revisiting the characters in several years’ time for a sequel. Although Call Me by Your Name is nothing like Linklater’s trilogy, which was grounded in conversation and dialogue, the fascination would be the same: revisiting characters in a different setting to see whether the intense passion of a brief interlude will resurface. There’s less ambiguity about the future at the culmination of Call Me by Your Name than there was at the end of Before Sunrise, but the idea of revisiting Oliver and Elio six or seven years later is no less intriguing. It’s easy to believe that this love story hasn’t written its final chapter.