 A still from Mufasa: The Lion King When Disney churned out the soulless, lifeless photorealistic remake of The Lion King in 2019, all hope for the inevitable prequel was lost. The remake took beloved characters from the original Oscar-winning 1994 film and drained them of their personality. Director Jon Favreau and screenwriter Jeff Nathanson stuck closely to the visual language and narrative structure of the original, often recreating scenes shot-for-shot. Making matters worse, the film’s photorealistic art form created an impersonal experience in which the lions looked lifelike, but evoked absolutely no emotion at all. When a colorful classic such as 1994’s The Lion King exists, why embark on the endeavor to remake it, if not to push the creative boundaries and offer something new?
Working with the property of an enormous money-making franchise comes with its own set of expectations, and reinventing the wheel isn’t one of them. But a creative voice should still have a firm place in this circle of life. The misguided, glassy-eyed spectacle of 2019’s The Lion King sunk so low into unimaginative territory, it left no room for creativity to grow and thrive. So, when the prequel was announced, the idea of another director stepping into this world felt depressing, even more so because that director was the visionary Barry Jenkins. One of the most passionate storytellers of our time working in the hollow space of photorealism seemed limiting. Luckily, with Jenkins’ bright talent, Mufasa: The Lion King has enough direction to evoke real emotion from a somewhat engaging story. While the director’s vision doesn’t get a full embrace, as his voice feels consistently at odds with corporate meddling, he manages to make this prequel at least worth watching. Mufasa: The Lion King tells the origin story of how Mufasa found his destiny and became King of the Pride Lands. The journey follows him as a young cub (Braelyn Rankins) who gets separated from his father Simba (Donald Glover) and mother Nala (Beyoncé Knowles Carter) due to a flooding. Mufasa finds himself in uncharted waters when he encounters Taka (Theo Somolu), a young lion cub from a different pride. The two cubs get a mixed welcome from Taka’s compassionate mother Eshe (Thandiwe Newton) and intolerant father Obasi (Lennie James). Obasi views Mufasa as a stray, an outsider who must earn a place in this pride. He pits Mufasa against Taka in a life-or-death race, but Taka has a secret: he’s always wanted a brother. By letting Mufasa win, Taka gives the fellow cub a sense of belonging. But Mufasa has a heightened sense of feeling things from far away, which makes him destined for something greater. When a grown Mufasa (Aaron Pierre) saves the pride from a group of white lions, led by the relentlessly spiteful Kiros (Mads Mikkelsen), Obasi orders Mufasa to flee with Taka for safety. While on the run, the brotherly lions meet princess Sarabi (Tiffany Boone), her flighty protector Zazu (Preston Nyman), and young Rafiki (Kagiso Lediga). The group heads for Milele, the lush grasslands Mufasa’s parents promised him they would visit, while Kiros’ vengeful pack trail close behind. Audiences familiar with Mufasa will anticipate certain character developments, specifically in his relationship with Taka, which the film smartly focuses on. While the writing of their individual motivations fall flat, the lions’ bond gives the film a somewhat engaging emotional core. Since the film isn’t a direct remake, Jenkins has more flexibility to explore these characters beyond what we’ve already seen. He and screenwriter Jeff Nathanson specifically draw upon how Mufasa and Taka’s upbringings shape two different meanings of leadership; one marked by selflessness, the other by betrayal. Mufasa finds a chosen family both in Eshe, who encourages him to hone his sensory talents, and in Obasi, who gains respect for his heroic act of saving the pride from Kiros. The family seems to accept him more than they do Taka, who inherits toxic values from Obasi and is taught to use deceit as a leadership tool. While Mufasa seamlessly steps into the role he was born to play, Taka wrestles with desires and false destiny. The voice acting by Aaron Pierre and especially Kelvin Harrison Jr. bring energy to these roles that elevate the material. Their performances stand out in a collection of mostly forgettable voice acting, despite the talented cast. Though, of the supporting characters, Mads Mikkelsen makes a distinctive mark as the villainous Kiros. Through the brothers’ journey towards Milele, the film engages in some compelling messages of standing strong together and making room for every vulnerable being in the circle of life. Not to mention, themes of inherited family values, wrestling with where you belong, and navigating manipulative rulers in a broken system. It’s understandable that Jenkins would be drawn to the material, and there are moments where his direction does pull you in and feel some of the stakes. However, his vision gets undermined at several turns, whether it’s the constricting photorealism or the narrative framing. The story of Mufasa gets passed down from a grown Rafiki (John Kani) to Mufasa’s granddaughter Kiara (Blue Ivy Carter) as a distraction from Nala going into labour. For some reason, the presence of Timon (Billy Eichner) and Pumbaa (Seth Rogen) in this narrative framing was considered a good idea. The pair’s comedy stylings fall completely flat and disrupt the momentum. Their misguided winks and nods about knowing what happens to the characters are clear examples of Jenkins' voice feeling at odds with higher-up obligations to make a broad appeal. Plus, the recurring Timon and Pumbaa scenes leave little room for Kiara’s character to stand out in any way. The biggest emotional disconnect of the film comes from one of the most passionate filmmakers working in the very limiting playground of photorealism. The attempts to replicate real emotion, without actually emoting, makes for a jarring experience. While the visuals of Mufasa: The Lion King technically look lifelike, and the characters show more emotion in comparison to the 2019 film, this art form still creates a barrier to authenticity. There is less room for imagination and liveliness, which also impacts the use of visuals for the film’s soundtrack. The original songs written by Lin-Manuel Miranda range from underwhelming (“Brother Betrayed”; “Milele”) to catchy (“I Always Wanted A Brother”; “Bye Bye”), but even the catchy songs are let down by forgettable choreography in the film. As well, Dave Metzger’s original score gets lost in the shadows of a far more iconic one that lingers to this day. The brief use of “Under the Stars” and “King of Pride Rock,” two tracks from Hans Zimmer’s score for the 1994 animation, still manage to reverberate over Metzger’s score. Mufasa: The Lion King tumbles in its narrative framing, rushed pacing, and underwhelming visuals. While disappointing that it doesn’t fully work on an emotional and visual level, Barry Jenkins deserves credit for adding some personality to this prequel. Certain scenes evoke Jenkins’ distinctive visual style, such as the shots of characters looking almost directly into the camera. He puts the viewer into the animals’ perspectives quite well, and captures the epic scope of the first half to push Mufasa and Taka into their journey of brotherhood. The end result lacks staying power, but hopefully the closing of this big-budget chapter will lead to more personal, intimate films from Jenkins where his voice can be embraced fully.
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 Vic Carmen Sonne in The Girl with the Needle Expressionist horror and realism collide to eerie effect in Magnus von Horn’s The Girl with the Needle, a devastating gothic tale that looks into the faces of pain. The chilling distorted images in the film’s first few minutes set a bleak tone for the moral darkness we’re about to be immersed into. While based on Danish criminal activity from the 1910s and 20s, the story does not play out as a biopic by any means. Magnus von Horn follows the disintegrating threads of an unemployed, pregnant woman abandoned by patriarchal upholding in post-WWI Copenhagen. Isolated and left to her own devices, her hope fades in the shadows of unrelenting desperation. She finds herself under the wing of someone who will do anything not to believe the world is a horrible place, even if it means creating a distorted reality of buried morals. From the immersive setting to the haunting characters, the film confronts narrow paths of survival for women living on society’s fringes. The central story follows Karoline (Vic Carmen Sonne), a young seamstress navigating loneliness and isolation as her husband Peter (Besir Zeciri) has been declared missing on the frontlines. She finds a spark of relief in Jørgen (Joachim Fjelstrup), a wealthy gentleman who owns the textiles factory she works at. As this new relationship unfolds, Peter returns from the war with a severely disfigured face. Despite not answering any of her letters, he expects his marriage to Karoline is still intact. But she rejects him, an act made even colder by the knowledge that society too will reject him. “Look at what the war spat out.” He’ll be reduced to a freak show in a carnival act, faded in the hands of a cruel world. When Karoline becomes pregnant, she and Jørgen plan to marry. They pay a visit to his mother, who completely disapproves of the relationship due to their disparity in social class. The cowardly Jørgen obeys, and to make matters worse, Karoline is fired from the factory. In a matter of minutes, the gentle protection Karoline once felt in Jørgen’s arms is disillusioned. The heartbreaking misfortune leaves her in a harsh reality: she has a baby on the way, and does not have a home nor a job to speak of. She barely has enough money to afford rent. Evil preys on vulnerability such as this. What sorts of atrocities are human beings capable of when they succumb to desperation? How far will the innocent fall to escape poverty? Karoline’s bleak future leads her to a bathhouse, where she attempts to terminate the pregnancy. This puts her in the path of Dagmar (Trine Dyrholm) and her daughter Erena (Avo Knox Martin). Dagmar is a candy shop owner who uses the storefront to run a secret adoption agency, offering foster homes for mothers’ unwanted infants. To make ends meet, Karoline gives up her baby and becomes a wet nurse for Dagmar. A seemingly innocent arrangement grows sinister as Karoline becomes privy to disturbing acts of violence. The once-empowering bond between two women fighting for survival collapses before our very eyes. Their characters depict two different explorations of self-determination and independence in a patriarchal world. Set in the horrific aftermath of war, the film unfolds around uncomfortable everyday decisions women make out of necessity. They believe they are doing the right thing, not just for themselves but for their children’s futures. To watch the diminishing of such futures in this film is an unsettling experience that haunts you and shakes you to the core. Magnus von Horn has made a true-crime nightmare. While set decades into the past, his layered gothic vision echoes with modern resonance. With bold and empathetic direction, he confronts themes of morality, survival, and reproductive rights from the perspective of a woman essentially left to die. Karoline represents the plight of so many women whose unjust communities continuously fail them, and who are then punished for taking matters drastically into their own hands. The character’s hardship becomes our anchor into the mind of a serial killer, which adds powerful layers of guilt and innocence to the storytelling. Karoline personifies the women Dagmar believes she is saving. The restrained direction by von Horn makes time for you to really grasp how the characters’ moralities twist out of shape. In this shadowy blend of horror and realism, the tremendous performances by Vic Carmen Sonne and Trine Dyrholm shine. Sonne’s bold facial expressions and vulnerability hypnotize you into her character’s inner turmoil. She balances the harshness with glimmers of hope, which the film masterfully maps out and ends on for her. Dyrholm has a more ambiguous role to play in the narrative, as her intentions are not clearly laid out but rather stumbled upon. To convey the despicable, the unthinkable, the unfathomable, on screen and still retain some semblance of humanity is a tall order. Dyrholm’s commanding presence instills you with security and solidarity before turning her back on both of those safety blankets, conveying disturbing motivations underneath. The visuals also play an integral part in creating a sense of perpetual moral doom. Cinematographer Michal Dymek shoots distorted expressionist faces and isolated figures cloaked in shadows. He excels at framing interiors and capturing stark lighting through a black-and-white lens. The black-and-white imagery is an effective choice that makes the story feel all the more bleak, contrasting the disturbing grey areas of humanity. Each and every frame of The Girl with the Needle builds dread, as do the reverberating notes of Frederikke Hoffmeier’s score, the stark details of Jagna Dobesz’s production design, and the measured patience of Agnieszka Glinska’s editing. From the eerie atmosphere and haunting performances to the thematic resonance and subjective perspective, The Girl with the Needle has the hallmarks of both a gothic fable and a true-crime story. With such unforgettable subject matter and artistic expression, it would be a surprise not to see Denmark’s Oscar selection in the race for Best International Feature. Each and every element of this film looks unflinchingly into the face of pain and questions its origins, while remembering that even in the face of cruelty from a ground level, there is still hope in this world. The Girl with the Needle is a MUBI release and will be in select theaters on December 6.  Shameik Moore and D'Arcy Carden in The Gutter One would be hard pressed to find a sports film this year sillier than The Gutter. Directed by brothers Isaiah Lester and Yassir Lester, the film tells the story of an unlikely hero who saves a bowling alley from closing its doors forever. It’s easy to root for the underdog, and The Gutter finds strength in that inclination. With absurd energy, bizarre humor, and a committed group of actors, the film stands out as an oddball in the sports sub-genre. Not all of the silly swings lead to a strike, but the shamelessness of The Gutter is something to be admired.
The film follows unlikely hero Walt (Shameik Moore), an underachiever whose resume leaves a lot to be desired. He has a hard time holding onto basic jobs, and has no shame in explaining the reasons behind each termination, as shown in amusing flashbacks. Walt’s upfront behavior perplexes Mozell (Jackée Harry), who runs the deserted bowling alley called AlleyCatz, where he hopes to land his new job at. While Mozell deems him unqualified to run the alley bar, she desperately hires him anyway. She needs someone, and he’s willing. Walt soon meets Skunk (D’Arcy Carden), a former bowling pro turned has-been who drinks her sorrows away at AlleyCatz. One random conversation leads to another until Walt accidentally discovers a newfound talent for bowling at an intermediate level. Skunk clocks an opportunity to get him into the professional bowling league. She thinks he can beat the record-breaking statistics held by legendary player Linda “The Crusher” Curson (Susan Sarandon). If Walt strikes big and wins enough cash, he can help save Mozell’s bowling alley from foreclosure. With a genre-bending story that spans from slapstick to satire, The Gutter has a unique and eccentric tone. Whether it’s exaggerated emotional stakes, or ridiculous characterizations (such as Walt’s refusal to wear a shirt whenever possible), Yassir Lester’s screenplay unapologetically stretches the silliness as far as it can go. Additionally, Lester sprinkles in some familiar beats of the sports sub-genre. Underdogs are pulled from the gutter and given a chance to reach their potential. At this film’s core is the relationship between Walt and Skunk; they meet each other at a crossroads where the only way forward is through. As their quirky personalities quickly align, they play an integral role helping each other overcome personal obstacles. Skunk in particular lives in the shadows of a legend, and the film prolongs her dynamic with Linda Curson's character to throw a fun curveball. The sense of humor in The Gutter can be incredibly tedious, and the awkward jokes don’t always land. In not taking the execution so seriously, the film struggles to make a lasting impact once the credits roll. However, there is plenty to admire in what the entertaining ensemble of actors bring to their roles. Shameik Moore has an endearing energy, and while his character is over-the-top, Moore still manages to make him feel believable in this absurd world. The same sentiment extends to D’Arcy Carden, whose wholehearted commitment to playing a character called Skunk elevates everyone around her. She has the comedic talent and sharp timing to make the most ridiculous line deliveries work. Adding to the fun and games, Susan Sarandon relishes as a nonchalant bowling legend who oozes confidence and style at every turn. Repetitive in comedy and storytelling as The Gutter may be, the underdog narrative of Isaiah and Yassir Lester’s feature directorial debut has a lot to root for. The oddball characters, satirical lens, and singular energy make for a breezy escape into an absurdist world where bowling saves the day. The Gutter opens on VOD December 6. |
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