Aurelia Butler

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    ‘Sorry/Not Sorry’ Review: Does Louis C.K. Get the Last Laugh?

    Cara Mones and Caroline Suh’s earnest and frustrating documentary, produced by The New York Times, has a bitter punchline.In the fall of 2017, The New York Times published sexual misconduct allegations against Harvey Weinstein and Louis C.K., one month apart. Both men were powerhouse producers whose misdeeds were an open secret within the entertainment world, and both articles have been given their own film: Maria Schrader’s “She Said,” a chronicle of shoe-leather journalism, and now Cara Mones and Caroline Suh’s “Sorry/Not Sorry” (produced by The New York Times), an earnest and frustrating documentary whose murky irreconcilabilities are tethered to the fact that Louis C.K. was convicted only in the court of public opinion.While the interview subjects agree on Louis C.K.’s guilt (he released a statement in 2017 admitting to sexual misconduct), the dramatic conflict arises in his penalty. After his status as a revered truth teller was revoked and his show “Louie” was pulled from streaming, Louis C.K has since rebranded as a renegade (and won a Grammy). Depending on the talking head, his moderate marginalization is either excessive punishment or an unearned pardon.The film pokes at this ethical morass from a few angles, most confidently when speaking with the comedians who risked their own careers breaking the industry’s silence (or obliviousness, as some performers here claim).These talented women — Jen Kirkman, Abby Schachner and Megan Koester — tell their stories with charm and humor over a mischievous, overkill score that would be better suited to an outright comedy about a dowager poisoning her rival’s plum tart. The three are far more insightful, hilarious and honest about sexual politics than the Louis C.K. of today, who continues to dole out defensive shtick to his die-hards. But the film’s bitter punchline is that he’s the one still selling out Madison Square Garden.Sorry/Not SorryNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 30 minutes. In theaters. More

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    ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ Review: This NASA Rom-Com Stays Earthbound

    Greg Berlanti’s movie, starring Scarlett Johansson and Channing Tatum as only mildly mismatched lovers, is set against the backdrop of the Apollo 11 landing.Speaking of the American moon landing of 1969, which he watched on television, Vladimir Nabokov rhapsodized in an interview, that, “treading the soil of the moon gives one, I imagine (or rather my projected self imagines) the most remarkable romantic thrill ever experienced in the history of discovery.”In “Fly Me To The Moon,” an occasionally engaging comedy set against the backdrop of the Apollo 11 moon landing, the romance is entirely earthbound.The director is Greg Berlanti, a veteran of swoony prime-time dramas like “Dawson’s Creek” and “Riverdale,” whose big-screen pictures include the ghastly 2010 rom-com “Life as We Know It” and the surprisingly (and effectively) earnest teenage coming-out comedy-drama “Love, Simon.” The script is by Rose Gilroy (she’s the daughter of the “Velvet Buzzsaw” auteur Dan Gilroy and the actress Rene Russo) from a story by Bill Kirstein and Keenan Flynn.But the movie lives and dies with its lead actors, Scarlett Johansson and Channing Tatum. As lovers who are only mildly mismatched, they never seem to falter, no matter what potentially stupefying paces the movie puts them through.Johansson is Kelly Jones, or rather, “Kelly Jones,” a perky, persistent, charmingly dissembling advertising executive whose pitches are often as phony as her name. Her ignoble hidden past is one reason she accepts a pitch from a shady White House operative, Moe Berkus (Woody Harrelson, slipping into comedic disreputability like he’s putting on a comfortable smoking jacket), who knows all about her and offers to make that past disappear if she successfully markets the Apollo 11 mission.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    ‘Dandelion’ Review: The Notes in Between

    KiKi Layne stars as a struggling musician who meets a rakish Scottish singer (Thomas Doherty) while on the road.Nicole Riegel’s “Dandelion” is a lyrical film in a couple of senses. It’s about a pivotal stretch of time for a Midwestern musician named Dandelion (KiKi Layne), whose experiences will probably inform the lyrics she will write and sing. And it’s filmed in an artful way that tunes into her sensations and feelings — not just at moments of outright drama, but also the many notes in between.The movie begins in Cincinnati, where Dandelion has a standing gig at a cavernous hotel bar, playing background music for the gabby patrons. Then she goes home and works more, as the caretaker of her ailing mother, Jean (Melanie Nicholls-King).After they have an especially nasty argument, Dandelion drives off, all the way to an open-mic contest in South Dakota. There she meets a rakish Scottish singer, Casey (Thomas Doherty), who brings her into his circle of jamming friends and also flirts madly. (The song credits include Bryce and Aaron Dessner of the National.)You may think you’ve heard this song before — two musicians tumble into love and duets — but maybe not quite like Riegel arranges it. Their time together — nature walks, motorcycle rides, cuddling — really does feel like time they spend together, rather than some perfectly staged romantic vision. Moments between them can be warm, silent, awkward or serene. Riegel and the cinematographer, Lauren Guiteras, use the camera like a vessel for Dandelion’s sense memories.The cleareyed movie also nails how one can initially overlook a lover’s deception. In the end, “Dandelion” feels like one artist’s emotional prequel, leaving us wishing for even more.DandelionRated R for sexuality, nudity and sharp language. Running time: 1 hour 53 minutes. In theaters. More

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    ‘The Convert’ Review: The British Are Coming

    Guy Pearce plays a minister who arrives in New Zealand and finds his allegiances change in this antipodean western set in the 19th century.Near the start of “The Convert,” a minister named Thomas Munro (Guy Pearce) delivers a benediction aboard a ship. Some men, he says, would flinch if they knew just how vast the Earth is. “The Convert,” naturally, charts the course of Munro’s own education in the wide world. It is 1830, and he is on the Tasman Sea bound for New Zealand. The leaders of an emerging British town have paid for him to be brought there to run a church. But once he arrives and encounters the local Maori — and sees the murderous indifference with which the British treat them — his allegiances change.In a welcome twist, “The Convert,” directed by Lee Tamahori, does not patronizingly tell the story of a violent colonizer who begins to sympathize with an uncomplicated, passive Indigenous population. Much of the drama concerns conflict among the Maori themselves. That their dialogue is sometimes subtitled and sometimes not is indicative of the movie’s — and maybe the screenwriters’ — tentative perspective.Not long after first going ashore, Munro finds himself bargaining with Akatarewa (Lawrence Makoare), a violent chief, to save the life of a young woman, Rangimai (Tioreore Ngatai-Melbourne). Along with Charlotte (Jacqueline McKenzie), a white widow who previously lived among the Maori, Rangimai becomes one of Munro’s conduits to Maori customs, and eventually a key to his efforts to secure Indigenous unity against British encroachment.There is more plot — the framing of a grocer for a coldblooded killing; a perfunctory romance; a bloody climactic battle — but the real star of this Kiwi western is the setting. The lush forests and stark, black sand beaches, shot in locations near those used in “The Piano,” help make “The Convert” more than a message movie.The ConvertNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 59 minutes. In theaters and available to rent or buy on most major platforms. More

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    At 75, the Aldeburgh Festival Is Bigger Than Benjamin Britten

    When the composer Benjamin Britten died in 1976, it wasn’t clear how the public would remember him.There was Britten the rooted composer, firmly set in his native Suffolk, England, and the Aldeburgh Festival with his life partner, the tenor Peter Pears; Britten the establishment composer, friendly with the “Queen Mum,” the creator of “Gloriana” and the first composer to receive a peerage; and Britten the immediate composer, whose belief in art’s purposefulness meant he consciously avoided what he called writing for posterity.Others, however, were committed to the posterity of Britten’s work on his behalf. Rosamund Strode, a Britten assistant since 1964, became the founding archivist of the Britten Pears Foundation, and set the guidelines for one of the most comprehensive composer archives in existence.What, though, of his festival?The Aldeburgh Festival program from 1948.via Aldeburgh FestivalPeter Pears, left, and Britten.George Roger, via Aldeburgh Festival“Understandably, particularly after Britten’s death, and later after Pears’s death, there were people who wanted to properly protect what they felt were the sacred flames, because they were nervous of whether this thing was going to carry on after the two founders of this organization,” Roger Wright, the departing chief executive of Britten Pears Arts, said in an interview. Those people “needn’t have worried,” he added, “but there were bumpy times, and it’s very easy to forget that.”In the end, the Aldeburgh Festival, which recently celebrated its 75th edition, has produced many more editions without Britten than with him.The festival has gained a reputation for consistency, with well-attended, well-reviewed and richly programmed seasons. This year was no exception, including a new production of the church parable “Curlew River” alongside “Sumidigawa,” the Noh play that inspired it. (The show was filmed for a future BBC broadcast.)We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    Cigarettes After Sex and Gen Z’s Passion for Dream-Pop

    The buzzy band that makes woozy, sensual music is releasing its third LP and starting an arena tour. It’s part of a wave reviving the fuzzed-out aesthetic of shoegaze.In 2016, a four-year-old track by a struggling Brooklyn band called Cigarettes After Sex blew up on YouTube, and soon the group’s brand of crisp, lovesick minimalism was selling out clubs all over Europe. At a tour stop in Prague, Greg Gonzalez, its leader, saw unticketed fans weeping in the street.“OK, this is bizarre,” Gonzalez remembered thinking. “But that showed me that this is doing what it’s supposed to do. This is music that’s meant for emotional people that are in love. That’s what music did for me. So I thought, that’s what I want my music to do for somebody else.”Eight years later, that pattern has repeated for Cigarettes After Sex, on a far grander scale. Although largely ignored by the mainstream media, the band’s spare, crystalline ballads have again caught fire online — this time on TikTok — racking up almost 10 billion streams around the world. Its third album, “X’s,” will be released on July 12 via the indie label Partisan, and an exhaustive global tour includes sold-out stops at Madison Square Garden as well as the Kia Forum near Los Angeles, and arenas throughout Europe, Asia, the Middle East, South Africa and Australia. By stealth, Cigarettes After Sex has become one of the biggest cult bands in the world.Its success is also a high-water mark in rock’s latest retro revival, for shoegaze and dream-pop — appropriately nebulous terms for a range of music from the 1980s and early ’90s, when groups like My Bloody Valentine, Slowdive, Cocteau Twins and Lush cloaked melodies in waves of shimmering guitar or synthesizers, along a sonic scale from gauzy reverie to caustic noise. Long a recurrent strain in indie-pop, the sound has been catapulted by TikTok to a new level of popularity among Gen Z acts like Wisp, Sign Crushes Motorist and Quannnic that are posting millions of streams and dotting festival lineups.Cigarettes After Sex represents one end of this spectrum, with a carefully calibrated, almost cinematic approach: a hushed, dark landscape punctuated by splashes of color from Gonzalez’s guitar, topped by his whisper-soft, almost feminine singing voice. But in an interview in an East Village hotel bar, Gonzalez — who in person speaks in an easy, rapid-fire baritone — said he sees Cigarettes After Sex as fitting more in a tradition of classic, moody love songs, referencing Marvin Gaye, Françoise Hardy and Al Green.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    ‘Longlegs’ Review: Daddy Danger

    Nicolas Cage plays the cheery evil entity behind multiple murders in this weakly plotted, strongly styled chiller.Any horror movie that opens, as “Longlegs” does, with a quotation from a British glam-rock hit of the 1970s, suggests a filmmaker with, at the very least, an offbeat sensibility. Even so, this latest feature from the abundantly talented writer and director Osgood Perkins is a puzzler: Stuffed to the rafters with serial-killer clichés — coded messages, creepy dolls, satanic symbols, an androgynous maniac — the plot plays like a sampler of many, more coherent precursors. There’s even a minion dressed as a nun.And that’s before we attempt to process Nicolas Cage (who else?) as the titular nut case. His appearances are brief, but resounding — and, as can happen with Cage, waver on the brink of parody. Much like the film itself, righted in part by the magnificently bleak mood and prickling sense of premonition that emerge from Andrés Arochi’s mold-colored images. This man can make a deserted, plastic-draped lair look as ominous as hell’s anteroom.Preparing to enter is Lee Harker (Maika Monroe), a rather green F.B.I. agent on the trail of a serial killer who somehow persuades fathers to slaughter their families and then commit suicide. Coded notes, signed “Longlegs,” are left at the crime scenes and law enforcement is stymied. But Lee, who had a disturbing encounter with Longlegs as a child, appears to have a psychic connection with the monster. So, too, does her mother (Alicia Witt), and the two’s haunted, wary relationship thrums with unspoken secrets.Set in Oregon in the 1990s, “Longlegs” wrestles to maintain its eerily menacing tone. The movie’s echoing spaces — a snowy landscape, Lee’s wondrously gloomy home — and wily performances (especially from Kiernan Shipka as an institutionalized survivor of the killings) are too often undercut by a strangely off-kilter comedy. Much of this resides in Longlegs himself, an apparent victim of botched plastic surgery whom Cage plays as a rhyming-and-singing lunatic beneath a frizzed gray wig. In one amusing scene, as Longlegs enters a hardware store sporting what appear to be slippers and a housedress, he resembles nothing so much as a bizarre amalgam of Buffalo Bill and Tootsie. He should have been a breeze to catch.Scenes like this one (which benefits from a dry cameo by the director’s daughter, Bea Perkins, as a spectacularly unfazed clerk), in common with random moments throughout the movie, have a dottiness that seems intentional and suggests that Perkins might be messing with us. As chilling and stylish as it is, “Longlegs” is a frustrating pleasure. In films like “I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives In the House” (2016) and “The Blackcoats Daughter” (2017), Perkins allowed his gift for ominousness and insinuation to take center stage. Here, we’re never quite sure if his tongue is in his cheek or his hand is on his heart.LonglegsRated R for malevolence, madness and mass murder. Running time: 1 hour 41 minutes. In theaters. More

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    ‘Sing Sing’ Review: Divine Interventions

    A deep-tissue turn by Colman Domingo and a breakout performance by Clarence Maclin lift this moving drama about a prison theater program.Spoken by the two key characters in the prison-set drama “Sing Sing,” the word “beloved” is as moving as it is unexpected. It uplifts and gently shatters. It makes a case for the deep respect and deeper amity forged in a theater program set up at the eponymous maximum-security facility.Colman Domingo imbues his character John Whitfield, a.k.a. Divine G, with a steadfast compassion but also the tamped-down frustrations of a man convicted of a crime he says he didn’t commit. And Clarence Maclin — a formerly incarcerated newcomer whose story, along with that of the actual Whitfield, the film is built upon — burrows into his former self in a finessed and fierce performance as Divine Eye, the prison-yard alpha who auditions for Sing Sing’s Rehabilitation Through the Arts theater program. That program is the movie’s other star.The film, directed by Greg Kwedar from a script written with Clint Bentley, orbits the prickly relationship between G, a much-respected member of the R.T.A. ensemble, and Eye. We first meet Eye shaking down a wan mark and conducting his drug business in the prison yard. G and his best friend, Mike Mike (Sean San José in a poignant turn), watch, waiting to gauge Eye’s genuine interest in the acting program. There’s a long wait-list.A published writer, G spends his time away from the rehearsal room in the library or at his typewriter building his clemency appeal or researching the cases of fellow inmates. Eye, possessing a gap-tooth smile he’s slow to reveal, is a psychological pugilist looking for the soft spot to land the hurtful punch.From the jump, Eye challenges G’s standing. He’s the prince of the hard gaze. Nothing sits right with him. He thinks the warm-ups are goofy. (They are until they aren’t.) When a fellow actor crosses behind him during the blocking of a scene, he’s ready to pummel.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More