Guy Lodge: Last News

Guy Lodge Film Critic Queer history is an act of excavation. Telling stories about the LGBTQ+ community — and of transgender people in particular — necessarily requires sifting through archives that are outright hostile to those they document. In “The Stroll,” a new HBO documentary directed by Kristen Lovell and Zackary Drucker, the filmmakers excavate decades’ worth of images to tell the story of trans sex workers in the Meatpacking District of New York City. Ostensibly a slice of local history of an increasingly gentrified city that sees marginalized folks as handily disposable, “The Stroll” is an empathetic portrait of a community still fighting for its own survival. The film opens on footage of a young Lovell, taken from the 2007 doc “Queer Streets,” in which she speaks about how she first turned to sex work to make money — more money, in fact, than what she made at her day job. Her eyes are a bit glazed and she keeps looking away: ashamed, perhaps, of what she’s matter-of-factly describing. We then witness the filmmaker, all these years later, assessing those shots in an editing bay where she further explains how she was likely on cocaine when she had cameras following her close to two decades ago.

Manori Ravindran Executive Editor of International Christian Petzold’s Silver Bear winner “Afire” has received a new trailer. The drama follows writer Leon (Thomas Schubert) and photographer Felix (Langston Uibel) who are surprised by a mysterious young woman named Nadja (Paula Beer) staying as a guest at Felix’s family’s holiday home by the Baltic Sea. Nadja distracts Leon from finishing his latest novel and, with brutal honesty, forces him to confront his caustic temperament and self-absorption. As Nadja and Leon grow closer, an encroaching forest fire threatens the group. Meanwhile, tensions escalate when a handsome lifeguard and Leon’s tight-lipped book editor also arrive.

Guy Lodge Film Critic Films about fictitious great writers often stumble when it comes to the character’s actual writing: Viewers must suspend disbelief that a lofty literary reputation has been built on the purplest of screenwriter-devised prose. A blackly comic melodrama in which writerly ego, ambition and insecurity do increasingly destructive battle, “The Lesson” gets around that trap by folding questions of authorship into its arch country-house mystery: Who is writing what, and to what extent it matters, are the questions that keep director Alice Troughton and screenwriter Alex MacKeith’s mutual debut feature interesting, even as it slides into occasional, overheated cliché. When the film’s own words don’t quite pass muster, however, a tight, tony ensemble of actors gives them some polish and punch. A big, ripe turn by Richard E. Grant — as a celebrated British novelist looking to emerge from a gloomy hiatus with one more masterwork — represents the chief selling point of this low-key Tribeca premiere, though as his wary potential protégé, it’s Irish up-and-comer Daryl McCormack (fresh off his BAFTA nomination for “Good Luck to You, Leo Grande”) who carries the bulk of the film in quieter, wilier style. With a chablis-dry Julie Delpy playing intermediary in their passive-aggressive duel, this U.K.-German co-production is the kind of accessibly upscale fare more frequently served to its target audience in another European language; Bleecker Street will release it Stateside.

Guy Lodge Film Critic “She’s 100% a professional, and this is a great night for professionals,” said the actor Juliet Mills as she accepted Glenda Jackson’s first Best Actress Oscar on the absent winner’s behalf at the 1970 Academy Awards. On the face of it, it sounds an oddly impersonal thing to say in the circumstances — almost as if Mills knew nothing of Jackson, and opted for the vaguest praise possible. (In fact, it was probably a veiled dig at that year’s Best Actor winner, George C. Scott, who had rather more acrimoniously declined to attend the awards.) It proved, however, a rather apt way for Jackson, then 34, to be welcomed into Hollywood’s inner circle. A proudly working-class Brit who didn’t look or act (on screen or off) like the blushing English roses typically imported from across the pond, Jackson had markedly more interest in being a professional actor than in being a movie star. That spared her, even as she racked up assignments and awards, much of the fuss and frippery associated with A-list status — going to the Oscars included. (She was a no-show each of the four years she was nominated, but did turn up once to present Best Actor. A pro indeed.) And when, in middle age, she tired of acting altogether, she quit as unassumingly as she arrived — instead entering British politics with a sense of liberal-minded duty uncommon in the ranks of celebrities-turned-statesmen.

Elsa Keslassy International Correspondent Sapan Studios and IFC Films have acquired U.S. rights to “The Pot-au-Feu,” Trần Anh Hùng’s (“The Scent of Green Papaya”) lush gastronomy-themed romance which competed at the Cannes Film Festival and won best director. The movie is headlined by two of France’s biggest stars, Juliette Binoche and Benoit Magimel, who won this year’s Cesar Award for “Pacifiction.” “The Pot-au-Feu” was produced by Olivier Delbosc at Curiosa Films and is represented in international markets by Gaumont.  The movie is one of the first titles co-acquired by Sapan Studios and IFC Films as part of their output deal. Sapan Studios is a new TV and film production/distribution company run by former AMC Networks CEO Josh Sapan.

Guy Lodge Film Critic By the brazenly esoteric standards of Argentine director Lisandro Alonso, his last feature “Jauja” was virtually a concession to the mainstream. A lushly shot 19th-century historical drama led by Viggo Mortensen, it was — until a typically disorienting coda — close to linear in its colonialist-quest narrative, even as it moved in slow, ever-widening circles, and duly became Alonso’s most widely released film to date. Nine years later (the longest gap yet in a career taken at his own pace), Alonso’s follow-up “Eureka” playfully appears to mock whatever tentative gestures “Jauja” made toward accessibility: A glisteningly opaque meditation on Indigenous living that refracts viewers’ interpretations as it repeatedly switches gear, focus, locus and story, it’s a film built to frustrate those who don’t succumb to its oneiric spell, not that it especially imparts its secrets to those who do.

Guy Lodge Film Critic In “La Chimera,” the ancient past nestles mere inches below the surface of the present, eventually breaking above ground and disrupting, if not the space-time continuum, the more mundane order of things. The borders between life and death feel similarly frictious and permeable, as if we could merely visit one from the other, as easily as sleeping and waking. Arthur (Josh O’Connor), the wandering Brit at the center of Alice Rohrwacher’s marvelously supple and sinuous new film, is accustomed to such limbo states. So are admirers of Rohrwacher’s filmmaking, which, in this eccentric, romantic tale of competing grave-robbers in Central Italy, touches the transcendental without diving into the outright fabulism of 2018’s “Happy as Lazzaro.”

Guy Lodge Film Critic Before you ask, yes, Lou Reed’s rock standard “Perfect Day” does indeed make an appearance in Wim Wenders’ “Perfect Days”: on the protagonist’s stereo as suitably ideal sunlight pours into his small, neat Tokyo apartment, before swarming the soundtrack as we head out into the city on a calm weekend afternoon. If that sounds a little obvious, basic even, said protagonist Hirayama — a mellow, soft-spoken toilet cleaner beautifully played by Kōji Yakusho — would probably agree with a shrug. He’s into simple pleasures, not deep cuts. His solitary life is built around the things that make him happy and the work that keeps him solvent. He’s not inclined to wonder what other people make of it. Wenders’ film, in turn, is sincere and unassuming, and owns its sentimentality with good humor.

Guy Lodge Film Critic All of life, including death, is in the lengthy, unbroken shot that opens Thien An Pham’s bewitching debut feature “Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell.” We begin on the sidelines of a local soccer match in Saigon’s city center, observing the play from a cool distance before following a shuffling mascot, dressed in a wolf suit, to the adjoining bar. There, crowds watch a 2018 World Cup fixture while a group of young men, turned from the TV, drink and discuss matters of faith, existence and ennui. Thien (Le Phong Vu) is quiet and morose, only half-invested in a conversation already beset with distractions: the sales pitch of a bubbly beer rep, the burst of a sudden summer thunderstorm, a metallic screech and grim thump as the camera again drifts serenely over to reveal the aftermath of a fatal motorcycle crash. In the ensuing rhubarb of bystander concern, Thien stays put.

Guy Lodge Film Critic It’s 11 years since Anurag Kashyap’s electrifying five-hour crime opus “Gangs of Wasseypur” jolted Cannes audiences, triggering renewed global interest in Indian genre cinema and vaulting Kashyap to auteur status with several subsequent films granted A-list festival premiere status — even if none quite matched his breakout feature for ambition or execution. Following a run of lower-profile potboilers in a range of genres that saw him through the pandemic era, Kashyap’s elaborately conceived, brashly violent policier “Kennedy” aims to return him to the art-pulp elite, starting with an obliging premiere slot in Cannes’ Midnight section. The result is a declarative but somewhat disappointing return to underworld territory. Enlivened by some propulsive action, a hip-hop-inflected song score and a combative streak of anti-institutional protest — in a COVID-era context that proves one of the script’s more interesting specifics — “Kennedy” is ultimately weighed down by hit-or-miss performances and convoluted plotting that isn’t always ahead of its own twists. Internationally, the film is likely too lurid for crossover arthouse interest, though it would be a good fit for major streaming platforms.

Guy Lodge Film Critic In the rose-gray light of dawn, Juliette Binoche strides through a verdant kitchen garden, wearing a straw hat as wide and undulating as an ocean wave. She plucks a majestically large, gnarled celeriac from the earth and sniffs it deeply and fondly, as if inhaling mythical ambrosia, and takes it back to the house. This is how Tràn Anh Hùng’s “The Pot au Feu” opens, which is to say on a note of sensory reverence and a hint of kitsch, in knowing thrall to one of the less pretty vegetables in nature’s cornucopia. There are people — this critic included — who will watch this scene and immediately sense with a hungry tingle that the film to come has been made expressly for their palate, and there is everyone else. “The Pot au Feu” is not for everyone else, and that’s just fine.

Guy Lodge Film Critic On the mean streets of Casablanca dartingly navigated in “Hounds,” all life is shown to be casually disposable; an actual human body, however, is another matter. Taking place over one sleepless night of mounting misfortune in the Moroccan metropolis, writer-director Kamal Lazraq’s first feature is a trim, unsparing crime tale that pits social desperation against a nagging spiritual conscience. Its gig-economy gangsters may follow almost any grisly orders for a quick buck, but are equally bound to Muslim creeds and customs, glumly shrugging off any disparity between these two authorities. Following an impoverished father-son duo as an ostensibly rote criminal errand goes bloodily awry, the film is briskly told and humidly atmospheric, though a little tonal variation wouldn’t have gone amiss amid an overriding air of hardscrabble, stomach-knotted discomfort. As its central crisis deepens and darkens, Lazraq’s script keeps teasing a gear-shift into mordant farce to which it never quite commits, leaving both the characters and the drama a bit stymied. Still, this is a notably punchy debut, both visceral and confidently cavalier in its depiction of everyday underworld brutality, with a sharp, streetlit sense of place — and just enough genre-film vigor to hook distributor interest after its Un Certain Regard premiere at Cannes.

Guy Lodge Film Critic Anyone seeking to describe “How to Have Sex” for potential American viewers is liable to land on the term “spring break” in the process: It is, after all, a story about hard-partying teenagers heading to a sunny coastal resort for several nights of boozy, horny, wholly unsupervised antics. Yet the teens here are British, the destination one of those grisly Mediterranean club hubs geared entirely toward British tourists, and the partying so distinctly British in its aims and etiquette that the translation hardly applies. The vacation presented here is as much like a quintessential spring break as Molly Manning Walker’s fresh, head-turning debut debut feature is like Harmony Korine’s “Spring Breakers” — superficially similar in its pile-driving social chaos and eye-searing fluorescent visuals, but with a very different, damaged heart beating underneath it all.

Guy Lodge Film Critic The new boy doesn’t get a name, and he doesn’t give one. Arriving at an isolated orphanage in rural South Australia in the early 1940s, he’s taken in with brisk kindness by the two nuns who oversee the place, but privileges like names are for children a little further along in their understanding and acceptance of this establishment’s firm Christian principles: Until he’s ready for baptism, the shirtless, mostly wordless Aboriginal newcomer will be acknowledged but not identified. It’s a limbo state that evocatively represents the tension between Australia’s Indigenous population and even the most notionally inclusive of their colonizers; in Warwick Thornton’s thoughtful magical-realist fable “The New Boy,” spiritual differences aren’t treated with violence, but echo bloody territorial conflict just the same.

Guy Lodge Film Critic “Does everyone have to be a hero?” The question comes from thirtysomething art teacher Samet (Deni̇z Celi̇loğlu), burst out in frustration in the heat of an intense argument with his fellow educator and would-be girlfriend Nuray (Merve Di̇zdar), as they disagree over just how, or how much, any individual is obliged to contribute to society. It’s a familiar cry from a male protagonist in a film by Turkish director Nuri Bilge Ceylan, even if it hasn’t ever been worded quite so directly: “About Dry Grasses,” his long, languid but slowly captivating ninth feature, is merely his latest work to examine man’s right, for better or worse, to be selfish, to be an anti-hero, to crave attention and isolation all at once, and to talk about it all night long.

Guy Lodge Film Critic The story template of “Homecoming” is a standard one: Years after an unexplained trauma, a family returns to the place they once called home, where hidden truths come to light and bitter conflicts arise over the course of one seemingly idyllic summer. Yet for all the secrets and lies that shape the narrative of Catherine Corsini’s straightforwardly told but consistently intriguing new film, its most interesting tensions often emerge from things its characters already know, even if they haven’t acknowledged them out loud. For Black single parent Khédidja (Aïssatou Diallo Sagna), arriving at the Corsican birthplace of her children after 15 years away, disinterring a buried past throws her maternal insecurities into sharp relief; for her teenage daughters Jessica (Suzy Bemba) and Farah (Esther Gohourou), what revelations the trip yields only underline their respective senses of not-belonging in their own small family.

Guy Lodge Film Critic Appealing a conviction for two murders he insists he didn’t commit — while candidly, even proudly, admitting to multiple armed robbery charges — French activist turned criminal Pierre Goldman refuses to call any witnesses in his defense. “I’m innocent because I’m innocent,” he says flatly, rejecting the idea that testaments to his character and conduct have anything to do with it, and professing himself “disgusted” by courtroom pomp and theatricality. Except Goldman knows the power of fiery rhetorical speechifying when it suits him: In “The Goldman Case,” Cédric Kahn’s formally restrained but ultimately electrifying dramatization of a trial that gripped and divided France in 1976, that canny inconsistency is but one unexpected fold in a courtroom drama that finds equal intrigue in legal order and human chaos.

Angelique Jackson CAA has signed filmmaker Charlotte Regan for representation. Regan made her feature debut with “Scrapper,” which premiered at this year’s Sundance Film Festival, winning the World Cinema Dramatic Grand Jury Prize. The Londoner wrote and directed the film, starring Harris Dickinson and newcomers Lola Campbell and Alin Uzun. “Scrapper” follows Georgie (Campbell), a dreamy 12-year-old girl who lives happily alone in her London flat, filling it with magic. Suddenly, her estranged father (Dickinson) turns up and forces her to confront reality. In Variety’s review, film critic Guy Lodge described the dramedy as a “sweet, pastel-colored spin on British realism.” He wrote: “Tracking the gradual but inevitable thawing of relations between Georgie and the estranged father who breezes back into her life, Regan’s debut rehashes a host of familiar elements from assorted kitchen-sink dramas and dysfunctional parent-child stories, painting them colorfully enough that audiences won’t mind the odd bit of rust.”

Nick Vivarelli International Correspondent Film Movement has acquired North American rights to Spanish writer-director Estibaliz Urresola Solaguren’s “20,000 Species of Bees,” a tender drama about growing up trans that recently won a Berlin Film Festival Silver Bear. The New York-based distributor is planning to roll out this topical title — in which the child protagonist explores her gender identity — in U.S. theaters in late 2023, followed by a wide release on all leading home entertainment and digital platforms. The announcement was made by Film Movement president Michael Rosenberg and Jennyfer Gautier, the head of international sales of Paris-based distributor Luxbox.

Guy Lodge Film Critic An unusual credit appears at the beginning of “Twice Colonized,” Lin Alluna’s candid documentary portrait of Greenlandic lawyer and activist Aaju Peter, and it belongs to the film’s subject-star herself. “Lived by Aaju Peter” runs the text, and while that phrasing might initially seem a cute quirk, it proves fitting enough as Alluna’s camera follows her for seven years: In that time, Peter has an awful lot of difficult living to do, as she navigates personal tragedy and domestic abuse while making a name for herself as an outspoken campaigner for the rights of her fellow Inuit and other Indigenous people. “Twice Colonized” doesn’t treat her personal life as a background to her professional one, or vice versa. Rather, the film holds both narratives in balance, each informing the other, and both equally essential to understanding this defiantly singular woman.

Guy Lodge Film Critic “Carmen” didn’t begin life as an opera: French Romantic writer Prosper Mérimée conceived this tale of Spanish passion and tragic jealousy in 1845, thirty years before his compatriot Georges Bizet brought it into its best-known, aria-rich form. But it’s a story that thrives on operatic delivery, hinging on emotions so large and loud they beg to be sung at the top of one’s lungs. That makes it the opera that filmmakers can’t leave alone, even as they tend to switch out the music: Its screen interpretations range from Otto Preminger’s Broadway-rooted “Carmen Jones” to Jean-Luc Godard’s daring, Beethoven-infused “First Name: Carmen” to Robert Townsend’s Beyoncé-starring “Carmen: A Hip-Hopera.” With the plainly titled “Carmen,” ballet star and first-time feature director Benjamin Millepied joins that club, mostly eschewing song in an attempt to conjure the material’s intensity through dance. He is only intermittently successful.