drama

South Dakota Tone Poem

Chet Kozlowski — Thu, 03 Jul 2025 21:08:44 +0000

South Dakota Tone Poem Chet Kozlowski July 3, 2025 - 17:08

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Fall is a Good Time to Die looks terrific. The images—from vast South Dakota landscapes to small spaces packed with specific details —are crisp and well-composed. Dalton Coffey did the cinematography.

Its pace is unhurried yet gripping. The editor was Dalton Coffey.

Its guitar score girds the action well, unobtrusive yet driving the film. Dalton Coffey did the music.

The script is full of surprising setups and convincing dialogue. You guessed it: Dalton Coffey wrote and directed it, too.

Multitasking is not uncommon today. Many new directors are getting their first shots and have auteurist ambitions. Dalton Coffey is different: he shows such taste and restraint in this film that it stands as the strong work of a singular vision.

The premise of Fall Is a Good Time to Die is a familiar one: a convict is released from prison, and someone sets out to find him and settle a score. The idea is simple, and in Fall Is a Good Time to Die, the delivery is confident and original.

A young cowboy named Cody is surprised that his estranged aunt appears one day to tell him Jason White is back at large. White was in prison because he raped and killed Cody’s sister. Cody makes his way across the vast landscape of South Dakota to avenge her death.

Meanwhile, a local peace officer wrestles with her own demons. Her work oppresses her, and her marriage has dissolved because of an act some deem heroic. Eventually, she, Cody, and White come together in a final reckoning.

Joe Hiatt plays Cody as a boy about to take adult matters into his own hands. He is fresh-faced and an interesting choice of protagonist. Jennifer Pierce Mathus embodies middle-aged angst as Jane, the deputy sheriff who must live up to her reputation. And it’s a real treat to see Joey Lauren Adams—Amy of Chasing Amy—in a rare turn as Trista, Cody’s meddling aunt.

Fall is a Good Time to Die trods ground similar to Hell or High Water and any number of modern Westerns. The difference is that Mr. Coffey approaches his material with deliberation and a sense of his own limits. His approach is direct and lyrical. He shows off a bit in his use of space and time, as scenes repeat, mixing past and present, sometimes within the same shot. His storytelling is linear to that point, and the change jolts until you understand what he’s up to. The technique is inventive and mostly works, but is a little unclear, ultimately, about what happens when.

But these are quibbles. Fall is a Good Time to Die is an engrossing open plains potboiler and a good sign that we’ll see even better work from Dalton Coffey in the future.

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Fall is a Good Time to Die. Directed by Dalton Coffey. 2025. From Buffalo 8. Runtime 90 minutes. On VOD and digital platforms.

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The Things We Do For Love

Chet Kozlowski — Mon, 30 Jun 2025 15:22:34 +0000

The Things We Do For Love Chet Kozlowski June 30, 2025 - 11:22

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The displacement of passion and the vagaries of mature love are the themes of the absorbing new French film Let Me Go.

Claudine is a seamstress in a small town in France. Her son Baptiste, a handsome young adult, is mentally disabled. She dotes on him, bathes and feeds him, and reads to him letters sent from his globetrotting father, absent but for his sentiments.

In truth, her husband left her decades ago, when he learned of Baptiste’s condition. The cards are actually the words of her anonymous lovers. Claudine approaches strangers, asks where they’re from, and if she finds their answers lyrical, beds them. Their words end up in letters addressed to Baptiste. She accepts no money but is keenly intent on her own pleasure.

It’s a complex web of actions and emotions, and director Maxime Rappaz handles it with subtlety. He sets a rich tableau, yes, and his wisdom is remarkable given that Mr. Rappaz is all of 39 years old. This is his first feature film.

Its success is wholly dependent on the amazing performance by Jeanne Balbar. Claudine, as portrayed by Ms. Balbar, is a woman well into middle age, unapologetic in her devotion and sacrifice, and in addressing her own needs.

Eventually, inevitably, one of Claudine’s trysts touches her. She finds herself falling in love with a gentle bear of a man named Michael. And this forces a crucial decision regarding her son.

Just try to look away from Ms. Balbar’s elegant and expressive face. It seduces, it morphs, and it makes you gasp. It flies, it falls, it crumbles. The look she gives Michael upon her final decision is heartbreaking. And watch the business with her scarf. It’s so much a shade of Claudine’s character you might miss it, but the way she ties it and what it represents goes to Mr. Rappaz’s astute narrative sense (he co-wrote Let Me Go with Marion Vernoux and Florence Seyvos). Mr. Rappaz knows what he’s after, and Ms. Balbar delivers it with grace.

Other symbols overreach, however. Mirrors are everywhere, ostensibly to illuminate Claudine’s identity, but Ms. Balbar’s acting does that just fine. Baptiste’s idealization of Princess Diana (the action is set before her death) is ultimately a facile subplot. Let Me Go works best as a simple, quiet contemplation.

Kudos also go to editor Caroline Detournay and cinematographer Benoit Servaux. The cast includes Thomas Sarbacher as Michael, in an impressively understated performance; Pierre-Antoine Dubey plays Baptiste as an awkward naif, surrogate/recipient of Claudine’s repressed fervency; Véronique Mermoud’s role as Chantal, housekeeper and Baptiste’s nurse, is Claudine’s foil, who understands her employer’s predilections all too well. “I’m a woman myself, you know,” she says by way of validation.

It's all very French. Watching the film, I tried to imagine an American version of Let Me Go (the original title, Laissez-Moi, translates in French to “Leave Me”). Claudine responds to life in a way we would judge differently, I think, mired as we are in correctness and virtue signaling. I can’t recall when I’ve seen a more perceptive and intelligent take on the elemental desires of a woman. But I’m sure when I saw it, it was French.

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Let Me Go (Laissez-Moi). Directed by Maxime Rappaz. 2023. From M-Appeal. French with English subtitles. Runtime 92 minutes. On VOD and digital platforms.

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Tough Enough

Chet Kozlowski — Fri, 30 May 2025 13:29:32 +0000

Tough Enough Chet Kozlowski May 30, 2025 - 09:29

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Moviegoers expecting the Irish film Swing Bout to be a violent boxing movie will instead find a gripping ensemble drama with sharp writing and strong performances. The violence is in the hearts of men (and women) who are working toward their own desperate ends. FYI: A “swing bout” is a filler boxing match, which happens on short notice, when the main event ends prematurely. Swing Bout is in keeping with that: most of the action takes place in locker rooms, toilets, and offices. Fighters train and preen and wait for a chance that may not come.

Everybody’s got an angle in Swing Bout. Everybody wants something, be it fame or fortune or simply to survive. All the players, those gloved-up and otherwise, spew sweat, vitriol, and self-doubts.

The boxing ring is run by two brothers: coke-snorting Jack (Ben Condron) and beleaguered Micko (Frank Prendergast) who have run afoul of gangsters. They have much riding on the outcome of the fights. New fighter Toni (Ciara Berkeley) is anxious to prove her pugilistic gifts against all contenders. “I’m gonna be world champ,” she crows to her manager, the sexy and duplicitous Emma (Sinead O’Riordan). Emma replies, “Everyone’s going to be world champ until the real world champ starts punching their face in.” Toni’s next fight is against her dreadlocked nemesis Vicki (Chrissie Cronin) and Emma tells her to take a fall in round two. Toni objects: “I’m better than this.” Emma’s reply: “We are nobodies. We’re swing bout fighters.” But Emma complicates matters by being in cahoots with Gary (Gerard Kearney) after carrying on with Micko while fucking Jack… well, you get the picture.

Having this many balls in the air requires control, and director Maurice O’Carroll is up to the task. He keeps his camera steady, either gliding along next to characters or rooted midlevel, filming the various clashes in one-shots, heightening the you-are-there authenticity. These scenes expertly ratchet up the tension and subvert the clichés of the genre. Mr. O’Carroll is part of a wave of new Irish films. He’s worked as an editor in TV series and shorts, and his penchant for the long take lays the film’s foundation. This is his first feature.

Swing Bout centers on Toni, played by Ciara Berkeley. Ms. Berkeley is tall and elegant, more suited to Downton Abbey than the ring. Her ferocity as Toni comes as a surprise. Toni punches the air incessantly and blots out noise with big headphones. She bolsters herself with a motivational tape: “The one who looks outside dreams; the one who looks inside awakes,” intones the recorded voice of the Guru (Jack Connors). Toni is dismissed by one character as “a criminal.” To her, boxing is the path to redemption.

But the story isn’t just Toni’s. This is a true ensemble, with many standout performances. Ben Condron is electric as Jack, peacocking in a shiny suit and new cowboy boots. Mary Malicious (Megan Haly) is an able foil. She’s addlebrained from a fight, suffering the blows that we anticipate for Toni. Chrissie Cronin brings bravado and vulnerability to Vicki, who spits and growls but wants most to not disappoint her father and manager Bomber (Johnny Elliot), once a boxer himself. Flann (Baz Black) is a totally tattooed fighter insisting on his shot; his short scene sets the stakes and lingers in the mind.

Swing Bout resembles a stage play in its economy of space while packing a real wallop. And yet, no real fisticuffs come until the climax, despite the constant drone of muffled cheers and blow-by-blow commentary of the fights in the other room.

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Swing Bout. Directed by Maurice O’Carroll. 2024. From Orion Productions. Runtime 90 minutes. On digital platforms.

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Passion Play-ed Out

Chet Kozlowski — Mon, 26 May 2025 13:28:11 +0000

Passion Play-ed Out Chet Kozlowski May 26, 2025 - 09:28

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The new film Electra wants to join the ranks of the Deceitful Guest Crashing the Party genre established in films like The Talented Mr. Ripley, Saltburn (which is really just Ripley), and Performance.

It starts off sassy: stylish graphics in the opening credits, characters introduced with freeze frames and name labels. The staging is clever, and there’s an ersatz music video. We watch pretty rich people living decadent lifestyles in Rome. Electra promises a romp with polyamorous couplings.

Journalist Dylan (if that’s his real name) and “girlfriend/third eye” Lucy meet up with celebrity Milo in Rome for an interview. Milo is charming, foppish, and flaky. He has a partner with benefits, Francesca. The pair is all over each other in a restaurant. They invite Dylan and Lucy for a weekend at Milo’s country estate.

What Milo and Francesca don’t know is that Dylan is not who he claims to be. He has an agenda: a heist. He’s there to steal a valuable painting of a unicorn sitting on a chair. “Only a true, pure soul can be a unicorn,” says Milo. “Like me,” says Francesca. What they don’t know is that Dylan is also there to avenge a woman named Electra.

The film Electra wants to be kinky, but runs out of steam. Or nerve. Innuendos are cast, games are played, and beds are swapped. So why, looking back at its many antics, do I only remember the characters sitting down, talking?

The proceedings wind down as the film goes on. Even an eleventh-hour LSD trip doesn’t liven things up. What starts out as sturdy and confident filmmaking, putting us right in the middle of extravagant experience, ends up in long shot, timidly observing. At the end, the most flash it can muster is (spoiler alert) the screen going red when somebody is stabbed.

The actors are appealing. Daryl Wein as Dylan is a convincing Everyman: his confusion masks a deeper avarice. As Milo, Jack Farthing has a sinewy rock star charm. The women fare less well: Maria Bakalova’s Francesca displays a surprise prudery, while Abigail Cowen plays Lucy as a superficial flake. Her role is underwritten, and maybe unnecessary.

Electra is the first feature by director Hala Matar, who is listed as one of three writers in the screenplay, besides Paul Sado and Daryl Wein. Looks like they plotted it out to be an impressive first feature, but had trouble pulling all the threads. They plant clues (the sexual libertines have a painting of a unicorn; get it?), Milo makes furtive phone calls, Francesca whirls around Lucy, donning masks and enticing her to cavort topless in the backstreets of Rome.

But all those are just red herrings, distracting us from the illogic and incoherence of the plot. Sadly, for all its promise, Electra falls short of a passion project.

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Electra. Directed by Hala Matar. 2024. From Level 33 Entertainment. Runtime 86 minutes. Available on VOD.

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Labors of Love

Chet Kozlowski — Mon, 19 May 2025 22:15:31 +0000

Labors of Love Chet Kozlowski May 19, 2025 - 18:15

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The family in the new Portuguese film Autumn is close. Maybe a little too close. Mom is cupping Dad's balls when interrupted by a call from their Son, who's packing for college. Mom leaves Dad hanging, so to speak, to go help Son find his bongos.

Later, Mom will lament that her son "was raised in my belly. Closer would be impossible. But since he came out, he's just been getting further and further away. Sometimes I wish he would come back inside me." Yikes.

Dad is a man-child, a self-professed "adventurer," who doesn't appreciate Mom's angst. But even he reacts to the coming separation when wrestling with his grown Son. Their coupling goes into slow motion, and the camera lingers as he holds the boy, smelling him in.

Then there's Sister. She, too, is touchy-feely and makes goo-goo eyes at her brother. (Dad won't see Sis as a woman until she is half-dressed and in distress. Again, yikes.)

Maybe it's how they do it in the country. The family is isolated and has spent a life in close proximity, their only contact with the outside world being those who come off the occasional train.

Autumn (more literally translated from the Portuguese as My Little House) is the debut feature of Portuguese director António Sequeira. It's a first film, and the choice of subjects in first films can be revealing. Is it wrong to see a sexual subtext running under these scenes? Does Autumn simply display the joys of being in a demonstrative family? All we can safely assume is that the film is a labor of love.

Dad Octavio (Miguel Frazão) is a burly Zorba type, singing and dancing, and expecting everyone to join in. To him, life is all happy-happy joy-joy. He is given to racist jokes, wrasslin', and hunting gifts on birthdays. Mom Susana (Elsa Valentim) is the family’s soul and dutiful center. Son Tomas (Salvador Gil) is ambivalent: he'll leave to start a new life, but also doesn't mind having his feet rubbed (and kissed) by his doting Mom. And Sister Belinha (Beatriz Frazão) has plans of her own to escape. She aspires to attend fashion school in Germany. She presents her brother with a shirt she has sewn, and is put off when she sees Son’s new girlfriend sporting it.

Autumn bursts with color. The family home is a glorious mess, a riot of tapestries and tchotchkes. You want to live there yourself. Autumn is fast. It zips along, flashing subtitles and riding a score of pop-ish songs that overexplain easy emotions.

But speed doesn't mean substance. No one in the family has been bruised by the ways of the world. For all the commotion, viewers may realize that they're not seeing much. The characters, with the notable exception of Mom, don't really ripen or mature. They get older, yes (in one of the film's more fun flourishes, young Mom and Dad stroll along the beach, Dad in front pontificating. Matching shots of Mom have her holding a baby, then an increasingly older child, until she is old and is burdened by a fully-grown Son on her back.

That's not to say Autumn isn't entertaining. Its zest can be contagious. It's a stylish exercise, reminiscent of other joie de vivre movies, and you might well get swept up in the ruckus. Even so, Autumn has all the elements of an impending storm, but the storm never comes.

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Autumn. Directed by António Sequeira. 2023. Portuguese with English subtitles. 114 minutes.

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Incident Report

Chet Kozlowski — Mon, 14 Apr 2025 14:37:44 +0000

Incident Report Chet Kozlowski April 14, 2025 - 10:37

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The Canadian film Darkest Miriam is a character study of a mild-mannered librarian whose life is defined by her low-key job. Miriam fields cryptic messages, unsigned screeds, and the unwelcome touches of lonely men. She wanders amidst rows of books and gazes out windows. She dresses in simple khakis and sensible shirts. She rides her bike through the Toronto city streets, her biggest risk being occasionally letting go of the handlebars. At home she doffs her clothes at the door and assumes a crouch in the shower.

The film is written and directed by Naomi Jaye, also known for 2013's The Pin. Darkest Miriam is based on a novel by Martha Baillie more aptly titled The Incident Report (the film's title can suggest something sinister). Ms. Baillie collaborated on the script, with Maureen Dorey. The reports in question become a narrative thread of disses, offenses, hopes, and dreams. Quirky characters abound: "Fainting Man," an immigrant who can’t afford health insurance, and so constantly faints and recovers; "Pale Female Patron," who won't give up the computer; and a fellow who whacks off to auto manuals and leaves the mess. Miriam fills out reports but never submits them.

Darkest Miriam is really a showcase for Britt Lower, a talented actress who is currently having a moment in her starring role in the TV series Severance. Ms. Lower has a pleasing expression framed by red hair bluntly cut into bangs. Even while still, her large eyes express much. And her stillness here pays off in her character's eventual flowering.

The monotony of Miriam's life is broken by Janko, a Slovenian cab driver, played engagingly by Tom Mercier. They scope each other out in a park and eventually meet by comparing scars. Janko has a neat little apartment, paints volcanic abstracts, and is an easy fit. He tells Miriam, "The most frightening moment of my life is now because I've met you."

Darkest Miriam is a throwback to mumblecore movies of the '90s: low budget, largely improvised films set mostly in Brooklyn (in fact, HBO’s High Maintenance is amongst Ms. Lower's credits). Darkest Miriam never comes to a boil but is appealing in its steadiness. One of the executive producers is Charlie Kaufman (Adaptation., I'm Thinking of Ending Things). Darkest Miriam matches Mr. Kaufman's quirkiness but not quite his panache.

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Darkest Miriam. Directed by Naomi Jaye. 2024. From Game Theory Films. On digital platforms. Runtime 90 minutes.

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Honey From The Hive

Chet Kozlowski — Tue, 08 Apr 2025 02:08:57 +0000

Honey From The Hive Chet Kozlowski April 7, 2025 - 22:08

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Time passes slowly here in the country, which is the whole point of the new film, That They May Face the Rising Sun. The countryside in question is Ireland’s. Our visit will be punctuated by languid, ruminative shots, a rich celebration of a simpler way of life.

We see it through the eyes of middle-aged British expats, Joe and Kate Ruttledge. Joe is a writer, Kate a photographer and gallery owner. They’ve bought a farm in this small lakeside community as an escape, but find themselves deeply immersed in the day-to-day life. Their rustic kitchen is open to all. Their small farm is the hub of activity, and they host a variety of characters and confidences. Out of earshot, one character asks another, “Still here, are they?” surprised that they haven’t scurried back to the comforting chaos of London.

The clash of the old and new ways is the film’s frisson. Joe has found “all that life could give of contentment and peace.” Erecting a structure with a crusty local, Patrick, he pauses to appreciate the quality of light defined by the frame. Patrick has no such sensitivities. “People have been locked up for saying less,” he replies. Joe praises the tranquility. Patrick hears the birds chirping and offers, “listen to the fucken quiet and see if it don’t drive you daft.” A business associate of Kate’s visits and comments that Bill, another local, is like “something out of a Russian novel.” Kate bristles. “He’s all ours,” she bristles. Offers Patrick: “Country’s full of battered folk.”

Barry Ward—whose face you’ll instantly recognize from many BBC shows—plays Joe as a generic Everyman, accommodating and wise yet capable of great empathy. He moves through the movie wearing the same white button-down shirt, whether jotting notes or doing heavy labor. Kate—played by Anna Bederke, a German actress of classical beauty—is beatific, blessed virgin of the kitchen, childless herself yet everyone’s mother. As narrative figures, Joe and Kate provide beacons, a point of focus, that raise That They May from a reenactment of the simple life into a meditation about its loss.

The understated acting of Philip Dolan (Jamesie), Brendan Conroy (Bill), Lolar Roddy (Patrick), John Olohan (The Shah), Ruth McCabe (Mary Murphy), and Sean McGinley (Johnny), et al., in their roles adds to the authenticity. There isn’t a false note in the cast; kudos to all.

Director Pat Collins has the features Silence (2012) and Song of Granite (2017) to his credit. His screenplay with Eamon Little is a tapestry of serene moments so nuanced that they don’t immediately reveal their literary shape. First viewing is simply a delight: a surrender to the power of cinema as it delivers its sumptuous message. On second viewing, one appreciates more the lynchpins of the plot: church (if not religion), rituals, family and community, gossip, and legacy.

All this is abetted by Keith Walsh’s editing and Richard Kendrick’s cinematography, and their lingering shots of the countryside. The ever-present chirping birds are modulated by sound recordist John Brennan.

That They May Face the Rising Sun is authentic to a fault. Hay is baled, sheep are herded, fireplaces lit, we run across an open field to meet the mailman, beehives are tended for honey, we stroll down bucolic lanes laced with green foliage. (This motif, people walking away from the viewer toward an infinite horizon, becomes the equivalent of “walking toward the light.”)

It's also telling that the action is set in the 1970s, undiscernible but for its lack of technology. Joe writes with a Bic pen and a portable typewriter. In its subversive way, That They May Face the Rising Sun posits a world before the internet and what social media might do (or probably has done) to make this idyll a thing of the past.

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That They May Face the Rising Sun. Directed by Pat Collins. 2023. From Fís Éireann, Ireland, and the BBC Northern Ireland. Distributed by Juno Films. Runtime 111 minutes.

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Whimsey While You Work

Chet Kozlowski — Fri, 04 Apr 2025 12:22:55 +0000

Whimsey While You Work Chet Kozlowski April 4, 2025 - 08:22

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The new film Corina is a candy-colored confection that handles its premise with heart and humor.

Pity poor Corina. Her kindly single mother Renee is an agoraphobic, hasn’t left the house in years. She’s limited her daughter’s life to the radius of one city block in Guadalajara, Mexico. Corina, now 20 years old, clings to routine. She counts the steps to work every morning, to the publishing house where her father used to work. On the way she stops for a coffee—same order every day— at a bodega that she is distressed to see is expanding into the storefront next door. Change is in the air and Corina isn’t comfortable with change.

Even though Corina works in the most harmless editorial department—she’s a “style corrector”—she is swept up in the crisis of the moment. Her boss has received a manuscript from their most successful author, X. Silverman, who has decided to end her popular franchise, and likewise the company’s bestseller. The publishers panic. Mousey Corina covertly reads the pages and rewrites the book, asking her mother, “Do you think cowards can have a moment of courage?” Too shy to take credit, Corina’s version is inadvertently published, and attributed to Silverman, whose intention was to off her beloved protagonist by suicide.

Events take a turn with a road trip, Corina and Carlos—a handsome hombre (Cristo Fernandez) whose mere presence gives Corina a nosebleed—traveling to locate the mysterious Silverman and try to curb the damage. (You’ll recognize Mr. Fernandez from TV’s Ted Lasso.)

The film takes a sprightly tone, matching Corina’s rituals to a drum tattoo. But in quieter moments she delights in the creative process, floridly piling on the metaphors and slashing swathes of punctuation. “Once the red pencil stabs the paper it’s impossible to stop,” the narrator tells us in voiceover.

The acting is as brisk as the mise en scéne. Naian González Norvind plays Corina as wide-eyed, virginal, and skittish, not quite convinced that the outside world is for her yet yearning to participate. Ms. Norvind projects impish appeal and has an impressive list of credits, having worked in TV in the US and Mexico, and with directors like Gus Van Sant. Carolina Politi casts a benevolent figure as mother Renee, a prisoner of her own neuroses. Mariana Giménez and Laura de Ita round out the cast.

Director Urzula Barba Hopfner has said that Corina grew out of her own agoraphobic episodes while working abroad. She’s fashioned something special here. Despite Corina’s lighthearted exterior, it handles some weighty topics: identity, ownership of your ideas, ownership of your own life. She keeps the action buoyant, and the whimsey works. The color palate is Almodovar with notes of Wes Anderson. This is Ms. Hopfner’s first feature film.

Corina is an engaging parable about a bygone era, all the more charming as retro: the computers are clunky and revisions still happen on hardcopy.

Corina. Directed by Urzula Barba Hopfner. 2024. In Spanish with English subtitles. Runtime 96 minutes.

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A Powerful Serve

Chet Kozlowski — Tue, 25 Mar 2025 14:00:00 +0000

A Powerful Serve Chet Kozlowski March 25, 2025 - 10:00

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It’s a rare film that doesn’t just depict an emotional state but becomes the state. Such a film is the quietly devastating Julie Keeps Quiet.

Start with the poster. The title is intriguing enough, simple and direct. White type over a photo of a figure on a blue background. The photo is a contradiction: a young woman, her features twisted in anguish and rage. If a poster could talk, this one would be screaming.

This simple image captures the restraint of its protagonist, Julie, an up-and-coming tennis star in a Belgian high school. She’s headed for the nationals. Julie is a person of action, and she’s uncommonly reticent since the suicide of her friend and teammate Aline. Julie watches a video of Aline extolling the virtues of Jeremy, their coach. Aline looks bright and hopeful, not like anyone who’s carrying a weight. But she does.

And so does Julie. She has a secret, has internalized it and tries to subdue it. She goes about her mundane day. She goes to practice. She walks her dog. She eats dinner with her supportive parents and tries very hard to keep a lid on her emotions. Regret, desire, loyalty, betrayal…all are balled up inside her. She is young enough to feel but not old enough to process. The only sign of her turmoil is the ferocity of her serve: that hard twack is Julie’s release.

If you think you know Julie’s secret—we’re looking at you, Larry Nasser—you’d be right. But that isn’t the film’s revelation. It’s its state of mind. Belgian director Leonardo van Dijl’s penetrating study delves deep into Julie’s private purgatory: the film’s color palette is earth tones and light is always caught at a midpoint: no sunshine or dark shadows. Julie sees her world as if looking through a dirty windshield, grayed, smudges that blend with other smudges.

That isn’t to say it’s dull by any means. Julie Keeps Quiet is immersive, masterfully composed of empty spaces by Mr. Dijl and director of photography Nicolas Karakatsanis. For two hours, they put us in Julie’s headspace, her indecision, the guilt, and the confusion. (The film was chosen as the Belgian entry for the Best International Feature Film at the 97th Academy Awards.)

As Julie, actor Tessa van Den Broeck is astonishing. She was chosen from a host of young tennis players and projects serious depth even when still. The camera is right up on her, in extreme closeups of her face, while she stares into nothing. Her teammates suspect but Julie won’t confirm. Her conundrum is not so much Aline’s death as it is her similar circumstances with their coach, Jeremy. He’s been suspended yet still calls Julie, and meets with her, sussing out her version. Will she testify against him? If not for Aline, for herself? They speak in codes, in person or on the phone. “When you told me to stop, I stopped,” he pleads cryptically.

So much at stake for so young a woman. The finals, her team, her sanity, all get mulched together. The images grow grainier. And then the voices in her head: Caroline Snow’s score has the force of an epiphany. Try as Julie does to quell her thoughts, they break through when she least expects them: the rising voices of women, a choir of angry angels that rises as Julie’s path becomes clear. Those voices are a thrilling complement to what we’re watching.

Julie Keeps Quiet is deceptively simple. Not much happens but the everyday, but that’s the point. Julie tries to maintain order. What will break through and what will it mean? The film is an intense and cohesive vision, and a risky one: when you say nothing, the impression is that you have nothing to say. Julie Keeps Quiet, but for its silence, is screaming out loud.

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Julie Keeps Quiet. Directed by Leonardo van Dijl. 2024. Belgian with English subtitles. From Film Movement. Runtime 100 minutes. In theaters.

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Chekov in the Pines

Chet Kozlowski — Sun, 16 Mar 2025 18:08:12 +0000

Chekov in the Pines Chet Kozlowski March 16, 2025 - 14:08

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Passions erupt in the curious new film Appalachian Dog.

Teddy's home from a war, back to his mountain home, and reunited with his wife, Marion. He and Marion run a tailor shop, and while he was away, a seamstress named Peggy assumed his role. Teddy's hands (and head) suffer PTSD, and he suspects he's been replaced by Peggy in more ways than one.

Appalachian Dog starts out as a chamber piece. The opening scene is the shop Teddy shares with Marion. Peggy's there, and Cate, a neighbor who is comically interested in the carnal. It’s all very casual and genial until Cate’s coat gets torn. Who will mend it? In that quiet way, the drama of Appalachian Dog begins.

This is writer/director Colin Henning’s first feature. He also plays Teddy as an acerbic character who tries to sew, gazing at his shaky hands, willing them to work right. Teddy is all aggravation and non-sequiturs. He grouses, pontificates, and searches for his loyal dog while his steadfast wife Marion negotiates relationships. She discreetly slips Peggy the task of repairing the coat. Teddy's first night back isn't fireworks in the bedroom, either. The best he can muster is to longingly watch his wife undress.

Domestic dynamic established, the action opens up, all the way up the mountain, and soon somebody's expressing secret love, somebody's frolicking in the barn with somebody else's significant other, mothers are dying, and a wedding gown becomes an item of contention. To reveal more details is to ruin the surprises of the movie, of which there are many.

What's striking about Appalachian Dog is its artificiality. The sets are thrift-shop. The actors sometimes veer into community theater territory. There's little attempt at authenticity. No way Teddy looks like he's been through a war. Mr. Henning plays him more like a grad student, appearing in a sports coat with a shock of unruly hair. The women are mismatched as well; Georgia Morgan plays Marion as more refined than she might be, while Cate (Brooke Elizabeth) is too delicate to be convincing as a farmer's wife toting bales of hay. Hayleigh Hart Franklin plays Peggy as a steady presence, biding her time and watching how the wind blows. Cate's husband, Andrew (Aaron J. Stewart), is a specter, seen at a distance for most of the runtime. The actors are mostly newbies, building their reels, appearing elsewhere in bit parts and commercials.

Yet… the inauthenticity works. I accepted the conceit completely and was along for the ride. Much of that has to do with Mr. Henning's filmmaking. Those sound lapses are intentional, part of his style, and happen abruptly enough to send a chill. Crucial dialogue is self-consciously overdubbed, and the sound drops out completely in key sequences. Atmospheric montages are inserted at unfitting moments, diverting the ordinary action in a different direction. Even these leave an impression, especially in one of the best orgasm-by-the-river sequences I've seen lately. Are we in Appalachia? No one's particularly bereft. Life may not look easy, but it is not hard.

Yet, as I say, it works. Appalachian Dog is inventive and original, a quirky little gem. The unreality is hard to put your finger on, but Mr. Henning is obviously in control. Themes of sexuality, desire, love, betrayal, and perfection bounce around like tennis balls. Some good lines, too. "Andrew's best left lonesome." "Velvet's spendy." "You got past the dragon."

Appalachian Dog is proudly out of sync, prim, and worth your proper attention. This first production from C.H. Squared Films, the company of Colin Henning and Chad Hylton, shows tremendous promise.

But where is that darn dog?

Appalachian Dog. Directed by Colin Henning. 2025. From C.H. Squared Films. Runtime 100 minutes. Available On Demand.