Sad memories are the worst kind. Of all the memories, these are the ones that can flip the switch of a day at a moment’s notice. It could be the waft of a familiar fragrance once worn by a significant other who has since left your life. Or it might be a forgotten song that pops up on a playlist, instantly transporting you to the time and place you first heard it. Or perhaps it’s a photo, once a bookmark now wedged between a pair of books, that falls to the floor when reorganizing a room and evokes a memory you weren’t prepared to face on a particular day. If we could rid ourselves of our sad memories so that we no longer need to experience the pain associated with them, would we? Some of us would do this in a heartbeat, while others would never choose to do something so drastic. Most of us lie in between, and our resiliency to these emotional triggers places us somewhere along that spectrum. Michel Gondry’s (The Green Hornet, Be Kind Rewind) universally revered cult classic Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
In my two most recent reviews (Little Children, Ammonite), I sang the praises of Kate Winslet, calling her the world’s most talented movie actress over the last 25 years (1995-2020). With seven (soon to be eight with Ammonite) Oscar nominations, only Meryl Streep (11) has more during that time. I almost ventured to say that she hadn’t taken on the wrong role then, but then I remembered that she lent herself to the Divergent series, which I do not fault. Though a movie such as Divergent does not need an actress of Winslet’s caliber to be successful, it is an opportunity to earn a lucrative payday. As a result, this allows her to take on roles in more independent projects. With that said, I may have jumped the gun a little in my reviews of Little Children and Ammonite. I was unaware that Roger Michell’s (My Cousin Rachel, Changing Lanes) melodramatic Blackbird would soon water down her stellar filmography.
Little Children is a somewhat misleading name for a movie that doesn’t have much to do with children or anyone physically small. While a couple of kids are in this movie, they are non-descript and serve as props more than anything else. The leads are all middle-aged adults, though their undisciplined and erratic behavior suggests they are anything but. The protagonists act as entitled brats, while the antagonists are fundamentally flawed. It becomes apparent that we are on a collision course between all involved in a film whose setting is present-day New England, but that very well could be in any town in America.
Ammonite, Francis Lee’s (God’s Own Country) tells the familiar of something uniting us all: the internal need to find human connection, even when we externally live a life that suggests otherwise. We often seek out other humans to fulfill some of our needs inside of us, though we often have different capacities. As I write this review during the Coronavirus pandemic, this innate truth could not be more evident. The main difference between now and the past is that we can connect with others through face-to-face video technology, phone calls, text messages, email, social media, and other platforms. But in 1840 Europe (the time and setting of Ammonite), the person had to be physically near you, outside of the occasional letter that might or may not arrive in the mail. There certainly is real-time interaction if you and the other person are in the exact location. Our connections also aren’t authentic, and we live a fabricated existence because it beats being alone. So when we can connect with someone (on whatever mutually agreed upon level), it quickly becomes something we don’t want to let go of. And that is essentially the story of Ammonite.
If you watched season 1 of HBO’s True Detective and you were as much of a fan of the six-minute single-shot shootout scene that ended episode four’s (titled Who Goes There) as I was, you might just very well like John Hillcoat’s (The Road, Lawless) underappreciated Triple 9. Likewise, if you watch Game of Thrones and found the intense battle between the Jon Snow led wildlings and the white walkers at the end of season five, episode eight (titled Hardhome) as the best single scene in the history of the show, you might just very well like the star-studded Triple 9. If I had trusted my instincts and not those of the critics, I would have been able to appreciate this gem of a popcorn flick on the big screen. Instead, I let the movie pass through the theaters, knowing I would see it eventually at home, but convincing myself that, despite the awesome previous, I would be disappointed by this movie. One of my colleagues at work recently asked why I hadn’t told her to see Triple 9, knowing that it was a movie right up my wheelhouse. She was really the first person I actually knew who had seen the movie. So I feel obligated early on in this review to match this movie with an audience that can best appreciate it. If you like the intensity that comes with a bank robbery movie (my two favorite bank robbery movies are The Town, which is my second favorite movie ever, and the original Point Break), I can’t think of a reason that you wouldn’t like Triple 9. There are plenty of underlying storylines, but just like those two movies, Triple 9 refuses to take its foot off the accelerator and doesn’t confuse its audiences by undervaluing the ferocity of its story by wasting even a single scene that isn’t relevant to its story. In 2016, you almost needed a caveat when talking about movies. So while Captain America: Civil War is the best movie to be released in the first five months of the year, the best non-superhero movie is Triple 9. Continue reading Triple 9 (2016)→
Sad memories are the worst kind. Of all the memories, these are the ones that can flip the switch of a day at a moment’s notice. It could be the waft of a familiar fragrance once worn by a significant other who has since left your life. Or it might be a forgotten song that pops up on a playlist, instantly transporting you to the time and place you first heard it. Or perhaps it’s a photo, once a bookmark now wedged between a pair of books, that falls to the floor when reorganizing a room and evokes a memory you weren’t prepared to face on a particular day. If we could rid ourselves of our sad memories so that we no longer need to experience the pain associated with them, would we? Some of us would do this in a heartbeat, while others would never choose to do something so drastic. Most of us lie in between, and our resiliency to these emotional triggers places us somewhere along that spectrum. Michel Gondry’s (The Green Hornet, Be Kind Rewind) universally revered cult classic Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
In my two most recent reviews (
Little Children is a somewhat misleading name for a movie that doesn’t have much to do with children or anyone physically small. While a couple of kids are in this movie, they are non-descript and serve as props more than anything else. The leads are all middle-aged adults, though their undisciplined and erratic behavior suggests they are anything but. The protagonists act as entitled brats, while the antagonists are fundamentally flawed. It becomes apparent that we are on a collision course between all involved in a film whose setting is present-day New England, but that very well could be in any town in America.
Ammonite, Francis Lee’s (God’s Own Country) tells the familiar of something uniting us all: the internal need to find human connection, even when we externally live a life that suggests otherwise. We often seek out other humans to fulfill some of our needs inside of us, though we often have different capacities. As I write this review during the Coronavirus pandemic, this innate truth could not be more evident. The main difference between now and the past is that we can connect with others through face-to-face video technology, phone calls, text messages, email, social media, and other platforms. But in 1840 Europe (the time and setting of Ammonite), the person had to be physically near you, outside of the occasional letter that might or may not arrive in the mail. There certainly is real-time interaction if you and the other person are in the exact location. Our connections also aren’t authentic, and we live a fabricated existence because it beats being alone. So when we can connect with someone (on whatever mutually agreed upon level), it quickly becomes something we don’t want to let go of. And that is essentially the story of Ammonite.