 Maziyar Khatam in The Sweater Simple stories about everyday life are given impactful personality and nuance by filmmaker Maziyar Khatam. From writing and directing his 2022 comedic short film Bump, to writing and starring in the 2023 dramatic short film Baba, both of which premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in their respective years, Khatam has a knack for conveying jewels of original ideas in the little things. Between Bump and Baba, he has exercised an impressive range inclusive of sketch comedy and tense family dynamics. Khatam’s latest, The Sweater, brings him back into the director’s chair for a delightfully short and sweet story. With echoes of Larry David’s Curb Your Enthusiasm and a finger on the pulse of situational humour, The Sweater blossoms into a resonating narrative about sentimentality and conflicted identity. Khatam packs layers into a 9-minute runtime and makes the most of every second on screen. In addition to directing and writing the film, he also stars as the endearing protagonist whose heart is torn on what he truly wants.
The film begins in a state of shambles with a couple's disagreement. Pressured by his girlfriend Anya (Chirkova) into giving away his clothes, Maz (Khatam) tries to reclaim a treasured mushroom sweater that is rightfully his before it disappears into the deep end of donations. He immediately longs for this piece of clothing that holds such great sentimental value for him. After speaking with a skeptical Oasis Clothing Bank employee, Maz makes his way to a sea of clothing racks in the hopes of finding his sweater. The idea of stealing from a thrift store after unintentionally donating an item feels like a page lifted from Larry David's book, wherein the humour derives from stumbling into scenarios almost spontaneously. The Sweater does have an impromptu energy, made pronounced by the grainy hand-held filming techniques and frequent close-ups of characters. Losing something of sentimental value, potentially forever, is such a specific feeling that, depending on the item lost, can eat away at you. Nothing can replace the cherished item, and the film taps into that paranoia of desperately grasping for what is yours. Khatam layers a simple premise with a protagonist who faces an internal dilemma of sorts. Swayed by his girlfriend's persuasion and his friends' peer pressure, Maz gives more weight to the opinions of others than to his own. As a result, he finds himself in an identity crisis. The one thing he is sure of at this particular point in his life is the importance of the mushroom sweater, and his determination drives the story forward. Khatam's largely unscripted, documentary-like approach to the material creates a strong observational tone. As a result, the film puts you into the eye of Maz's storm and captures his distressed frame of mind to palpable degrees. The whereabouts of his sweater genuinely feels like the weight of the world on his shoulders, which is deeply relatable for those who have had to unexpectedly part with an object that carries sentimental meaning. The film also captures how that level of attachment can be either misunderstood or dismissed by others. When Maz ultimately locates his sweater, and steals it from the thrift store, he later wears it to a social outing over drinks. After Maz excitedly shares the news of his beloved sweater, he is stunned into silence when his friends apathetically acknowledge it and swiftly move on. This moment exemplifies a great little thematic exploration around identity. Maz has nothing, and no one, to cheers this moment with. His supposed closest friends show no interest in celebrating the moment with him, which in turn makes the viewer question, how well do they really know him? The sweater is a fundamental part of who this character is, and watching that be dismissed in real-time feels like a very quiet gut punch to the heart. A deft choice of end credits music in Weezer's Undone (The Sweater Song) captures the scene's energy perfectly. Not only is the sweater's purpose coming undone, but so is the person proudly wearing it, whose pride is slipping away. The Sweater marks another authentic creative expression from Khatam, and an exciting continued collaboration with producer Anya Chirkova (who had previously directed Baba). The two operate on an incredibly compelling wavelength full of continued promise and a keen eye for what makes a simple story so special.
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 Cailee Spaeny and David Jonsson in Alien: Romulus Ridley Scott captured pure awe-inspiring shock with the 1979 science fiction classic, Alien. Audiences had never seen anything like it, and the film’s reverberating mystery kept them coming back for more. In response to the film’s success, naturally a franchise was born. Scott set a fully realized world in motion, a creepy crawly sandbox for more directors to play in. James Cameron pushed Aliens (1986) into an empathetic action spectacle. David Fincher went for medieval nihilism and upped the psychosexual tension for Alien³ (1992). Jean Pierre Jeunet took a bizarrely voyeuristic and silly swing with Alien: Resurrection (1997). Hollywood’s alien fixation spawned another franchise in the 2000s, Alien vs. Predator, before orbiting back to the original helmer for a fresh start. Scott’s prequels Prometheus (2012) and Alien: Covenant (2017) put a more cynical spin on this world, once again leaving the sandbox open for play. What more could be added to the extra-terrestrial lore at this point? A grungy emulation of what made the original special, interwoven into a haunted maze with some bold horror choices. Fede Alvarez’s Alien: Romulus plays it far too safe to push narrative boundaries, but the film still manages to bring excitement back into the franchise.
Having previously directed such films as Evil Dead (2013) and Don’t Breathe (2016), Alvarez has a strong appreciation for the horror genre that lends comfortably to the Alien universe. Starting with a nostalgic opening sequence, he dips Romulus in dread and feeds on the impending doom to create a slow-build. Set in between the 1979 and 1986 film events, Romulus follows a group of human colonizers on the planetoid where Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) and the Nostromo crew first encountered aliens. The location never sees the light of day, and paints a grim future in which inhabitants must mine their way out. Rain (Cailee Spaeny) is hoping that her dues are paid and she can leave the colony with her brother Andy (David Jonsson), an android programmed to take care of her. With the odds working against her, she joins a group of rebels who have a deep end escape plan. They want to board a deserted ship and use its resources for long-term travel, and they need Andy’s help for full clearance access. But the ship conceals a terrifying creature just waiting to unleash havoc, and the new crew must put up a fight for survival. However otherworldly the creatures, human emotion has always rooted the Alien films in a place that feels real and tangible. Conscience and morality are at odds with corporate interests. Romulus echoes this direction mainly through character arcs and plot devices, with a little too much exposition sprinkled on top. Character-wise, Rain and Andy’s relationship is placed at the forefront. She is constantly trying to keep Andy out of harm’s way, as Andy’s naivety and sensitivity make for a delicate combination. While their dynamic is not explored in great depth, the two still help to establish an empathetic anchor. Their characters add a much-needed sense of direction to a story that thematically feels lost in space. The more surfaced storytelling —from Alvarez’s artistry and intense action sequences, to the magnificent sound and scale — overpower all else. You feel enveloped in the visual language of an Alien film without the added resonance of a clear-cut plot. In theory, Romulus sticks with a tight-knit crew of characters and follows in the claustrophobic footsteps of the original Alien. However, in practice, this new crew consists of mostly undeveloped and unmemorable characters who act more as plot vessels. Ironically, they feel less human than the android, Andy. While the cast show some individual talent, they lack the chemistry as a unit to create lived-in history. There’s only so much they can do to elevate characters that feel like chess pieces. As the story progresses, their value in the story shifts and can become disposable at the drop of a hat. Whereas Rain and Andy are given more consistency. The cast being younger, fresh faces adds new energy to the Alien universe, but only one character makes enough impact to entice further exploration into the unknown. Reliable and engaging as Spaeny is for Romulus to evolve around, the real breakout of the film is David Jonsson as Andy. For a character who operates within extremely limited emotions, Jonsson’s performance feels incredibly expressive and fully realized. Andy’s arc affords the actor an exciting opportunity to walk an interesting tightrope of controlled chaos. His subtle distinctions between humbleness and imposition are simply brilliant to witness. The progression of Andy’s character is influenced by some extreme fanboy exposition. However, Jonsson still conveys an entirely unique personality and makes a lasting impact as a result. While Alvarez and co-writer Rodo Sayagues lack deftness on the overall character and story front, they find far more efficient fuel in the horror elements and entertainment value. Given the impossibility of ever surpassing the shock and awe of Scott’s Alien, the directors who followed (Cameron, Fincher, and Jeunet) had the right idea of wanting their signature aesthetics to shine in an already established universe. Alvarez continues in a similar vein by bringing his horror genre experience into play. Romulus works best when operating in the shadowy suspense of Xenomorph brutally hunting their prey. The end results are grungy, gooey, and edge-of-your-seat thrilling. Alvarez’s steady direction, combined with deftly crafted action and eerie moments of stillness, add to the strong atmosphere. The majority of practical effects and CGI make the film feel genuinely transporting. The influence of Tippett Studio’s stop-motion animation brings texture and palpability to the visuals. Excellent sound work heightens tension, especially in conveying the face huggers and creature movements. Benjamin Wallfisch’s terrific score pulsates throughout. Some neat imagery is also incorporated, from the use of zero gravity to the acid blood splashes. The overall experience plays out similarly to that of decently made horror, where a build-up of suspense leads to an eruptive final act that either makes or breaks the film. With Romulus, the twisted final act feels more reflective of Alvarez’s vision than any other segment in the film. He throws in a grotesque offspring narrative with jump scares that rattle you to the core. Alvarez takes a wildly gory turn with the subject’s recurring themes of motherhood and creation. Is this approach enough to make Romulus totally distinctive in a long-running franchise? Not entirely, as there are distracting moments where nostalgia overpowers horror-fueled originality. The nods to Scott’s original are usually effective when incorporated as visual cues, like the drinking bird toy, or the door opening mechanics. Where it becomes a problem is in the resurrection of a character from the ’79 film. It’s a head scratcher which element is worse: the CGI face imposed onto an animatronic, or the redundant exposition that came with the character’s inclusion. This resurrection throws off the flow and becomes increasingly distracting. Overtly nostalgic elements aside, Alien: Romulus is still an incredibly entertaining watch. The film prioritizes thrills and chills over an in-depth narrative, for better or worse. Alvarez combines elements of what made the ’79 and ’86 films flourish, from eerie atmospheric stillness to ambitious twists. The end result is a slightly missed opportunity not leaning fully into the director’s horror background, however, the visceral storytelling on display injects energy into the franchise overall. |
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