It’s always a privilege to be graced with the friendship of a truly unique mind, and I can safely say I have been fattened with privilege in the company of the visionary and warm-spirited Cale Carr. Like any budding talent, his early work has spanned multiple different styles and tones, ranging from vibrant, gentle cartoons to minimalist pixel design in more recent outings.
This epic-scale autobiographical story elegantly and beautifully portrays the throes, charms, and personal growth of a young woman living in 1980’s-90’s Iran, and spans far more humour, surrealism, and emotionally moving familial/intimate relationships than I could’ve anticipated. One of its most valuable assets is its coverage of the backwards policies of the Iranian regime and society, which is done simply, yet more than thoroughly enough to unsettle and perhaps even outrage the audience.
The art style and creative direction here is so unceasingly gorgeous and innovative that you never want to look away, even less so allow the film to end. Subjects that could have been handled bog standard, such as a series of apartment moves or the portrayal of wartime, are handled with absolute brilliance, transforming the most asinine of ideas into jaw dropping set pieces that really inspire me as an aspiring filmmaker.
Do yourself a favour and embrace the endearment, tension, sadness, and raw visual splendor Persepolis will swathe you in.
Hello, and welcome to The Low Symposium review of Black Mass, the film that documents the so-called “unholy alliance” between the FBI and rising South Boston mobster kingpin, James “Whitey” Bulger.
Black Mass was directed by Scott Cooper, and, coupled with his previous release, Out of the Furnace, it clearly indicates that he cribs a lot of influence from the classic filmmakers Coppola, Scorsese, and the Coen brothers, all of whom share in common the ability to build oppressive atmospheres through ominous lighting, unsettling anti-heroes, and a knack for making the everyday seem out of place, and, oftentimes, even terrifying. These influences pay off for Cooper in the end, aesthetically as well as thematically. The film works on a screenplay penned by Mark Mallouk and Jez Butterworth, and, for the first twenty minutes, follows the age-old mobster convention of a young man- played by Jesse Plemmons of Breaking Bad fame- climbing the ladder in Whitey’s gang.
However, the film very quickly moves the spotlight to FBI agent John Connolly, who, after being taken care of by Bulger in his youth, looks to lend a helping hand. In exchange for Bulger becoming an FBI informant, Connolly will help lock away his rivals for good, and allow Bulger’s gang to thrive and grow without any competition. This is an interesting piece of history, and actually makes for some really great storytelling, as Connolly uses this deal to his own personal gain right off the bat, and struggles to hide his corruption from his government superiors. It rings of a more sinister version of an earlier Johnny Depp mobster film, Donnie Brasco. This desperation and double-crossing is also evocative of Matt Damon’s character in Scorsese’s The Departed, and done well by Joel Edgerton, known for directing, writing, producing and starring in the recent psychological thriller The Gift. If these past two films are any indication, Edgerton really understands the importance of duality in dramatic characters.
Behind every face lies a dark corner waiting to consume the synapse. When trapped inside a grocery market with nothing on the other end but impenetrable fog and blood-curdling screams, the populace of a small town will discover just how quickly barbarism and religious fervor can take over any person. Stephen King’s The Mist is an excellent testament to how we are all really strangers to ourselves.
What struck me the most about Darabont’s adaptation was the utter brutality. From the moment that David surrenders any attempt to rescue the still-breathing store clerk from the clutches of the tentacles, slowly dragging the boy into the foggy unknown, you know you’re in for a very unsettling and violent ride. In spite of the relatively goofy CGI, the tone remains set thanks to a score drenched in atmosphere and performances rich in character-building and subtlety. Darabont’s direction, though maintaining his professional conduct, veers from the well-composed style set in The Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile to more intimate and paranoid cinematography and editing so as to suit the dread-inducing setting. There is an abundance of blood and body-horror, but it never overtakes the importance of the story being told. The message is driven home- powerfully, if not subtly.
27 years ago, Studio Ghibli, producer of renowned animated classics such as Spirited Away and Howl’s Moving Castle, released their most emotionally taxing film ever, the World War II drama Grave of the Fireflies. The film follows siblings Seita and Setsuko as they fight for their lives in the shellshocked city of Kobe. The film caught the cinematic world off guard, particularly audiences who viewed it in a double-feature with the lighthearted children’s story, My Neighbor Totoro.
Ultimately, Grave is more about the importance of loving bonds in times of trial than it is an anti-war message. Though Seita and Setsuko face many greedy and brutish characters along the way, the real conflict lies in their need to stick together. It is the pinnacle of non-romantic love stories. As such, I have paired the movie with the Chaos Chaos song, “Do You Feel It?”.
Don’t leave me, never leave me out.
Mad Max: Fury Road is undoubtedly a modern cinematic classic. Its frenetic editing, visual exposition, unrelenting pace, and carnic charm elevate it well above the typical ensemble of summer blockbusters. Bolstered by a gritty powerhouse lead performance in Charlize Theron and a compelling villain in Hugh Keays-Byrne’s Immortan Joe, Fury Road grabs you with white-knuckle intensity and doesn’t let go.
Thus, I decided to create a music video for the film using the only song I knew that could do its tone and delivery justice- Queens of the Stone Age’s “You Think I Ain’t Worth a Dollar, But I Feel Like a Millionaire”. This took roughly 16 hours including an all-nighter to edit, so please, enjoy!
Innumerable nature documentaries have put the strength of lions, bears, and other grand-scale beasts on display, with glorious wide-shots and an epic orchestral soundtrack to reinforce their titanic might. Everyone is used to the pack-hunting methods of wolves and hyenas at this point, and the migration of wildebeest and seals is old news. BBC’s 2014 mini-series, Hidden Kingdoms, on the other hand, understands the potency of a good micro-adventure. Taking after the intimate cinematography of Planet Earth, this show examines the lives of the smaller and feistier inhabitants of the forests, deserts, and savannas cable audiences have become so accustomed to. Its heavy dramatization and priority of style over substance means it will draw a young audience more easily, but nature enthusiasts of all ages will at least appreciate its production values and unique perspective.
When Chris Pratt first flipped through the pages of the Jurassic World script years ago, nobody suspected that the pudgy, goofy Parks and Rec. “guest star” would wind up being the face of the blockbuster- nobody but himself. The cultivation of Pratt’s public charm and leading-man power, thanks to The Lego Movie and Guardians of the Galaxy, has paid off in the form of an excellent role as Owen Grady, one of the most well-characterized and straight-up cool action heroes to come about in a long time. He is the cherry on top of this reinvigoration of the Jurassic series, a film that stays true to the formula of brutality and screwy humour the original trilogy was known for while also successfully establishing its own ideas and personality. If you’ve ever felt like Jurassic Park I, II, and III were missing just that little extra something, or that the vibrance and action came just not quite enough, prepare for World to deliver in all of the most important ways.
Warmth and melancholy go hand-in-hand, memories and experiences of all kinds fossilizing into the bittersweet treasures that create our life stories. Loss and comfort are equally important for the happiness and development of any person, and are truly co-dependent on one another. More than anything, this is the truth Elbow understands and capitalizes upon in their music, at once sad, pensive, frustrated, and optimistic. If this seems reminiscent of contemporaries Radiohead, Coldplay, and 13 and Think Tank-era Blur, you would be on the right track. What ultimately sets Elbow apart from the rest of the post-Britpop ratpack, however, is a healthy injection of bloke-ishly poetic lyricism and a critical emphasis on string, brass, and choral arrangements.
With a Mercury Prize win and nomination, platinum status, and two documentaries under their belt, the Lancashire, England group has been fusing high and low art with their records for the past fourteen years. Guy Garvey tethers their work together as a cohesive whole thanks to his signature vocals and evocative imagery, Craig Potter provides their dreamy electronic flourishes and keyboard, while Richard Jupp, Mark Potter, and Pete Turner provide percussion, guitar, and bass, respectively. While much can be said in appreciation of the band’s sincerity, ingenuity, craftsmanship, and utilization of loud-and-quiet and light-and-shade dynamics, they truly must be listened to to fully understand.
The Low Symposium 