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    How ‘Bardo’ Turns Collapsing Into Choreography

    Alejandro G. Iñárritu narrates a sequence from his Netflix film “Bardo, False Chronicle of a Handful of Truths,” where multiple people drop to the ground in Mexico City.In “Anatomy of a Scene,” we ask directors to reveal the secrets that go into making key scenes in their movies. See new episodes in the series on Fridays. You can also watch our collection of more than 150 videos on YouTube and subscribe to our YouTube channel.In one of the many ambitious scenes from “Bardo, False Chronicle of a Handful of Truths” (streaming on Netflix), the lead character, Silverio Gama (Daniel Giménez Cacho), comes across a woman who has collapsed on a Mexico City sidewalk. Most passers-by don’t seem to notice her. When someone asks if she is dead, she replies, “I’m not dead. I’m missing.” Soon after, other individuals, one by one, begin collapsing on the sidewalk and in the streets. By the end of this fever dream of a sequence, hundreds of people are on the ground.Narrating the moment, the director Alejandro G. Iñárritu said he wanted to call attention to the thousands of Mexicans who have gone missing over the last decade. He said the scene required 300 extras along with 20 dancers who, guided by the choreography of Priscila Hernández, fell in a precise way that seemed like a dangerous collapse.Read the review of “Bardo.”Sign up for the Movies Update newsletter and get a roundup of reviews, news, Critics’ Picks and more. More

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    ‘The Super 8 Years’ Review: Annie Ernaux’s Celluloid Memories

    In this wistful movie, the French writer and Nobel laureate revisits her life with help from her son, who’s also the director.The film’s images have faded, but the memories they’ve stirred up are vivid and full of feeling. In one shot, a tiny boy pushes a big wheelbarrow. In another, an old man and woman pose with the awkwardness of an earlier generation that never learned how to look at ease before any camera. And then there is the vision of the young woman at a desk, a pen resting in one hand, who gazes at the camera with a tight, unwelcoming smile. I like to think that she’s impatient to get back to the papers on the desk, to get back to her writing and to herself.The woman — the French writer Annie Ernaux, who was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in October — doesn’t smile much in “The Super 8 Years,” a wistful memory movie that she made with her son David Ernaux-Briot. On Dec. 7, in her Nobel Prize lecture, Ernaux spoke about her roots in provincial France, her love of books and desire to write, a yearning that was thwarted by her position as a woman. “Married with two children,” she said, “a teaching position and full responsibility for household affairs, each day I moved further and further away from writing and my promise to avenge my people.”You see that woman now and again in “The Super 8 Years,” which was made before she became a Nobel laureate — what timing! Directed by Ernaux-Briot, and written and narrated by Ernaux, it consists of somewhat degraded-looking home movies from the early 1970s to the early ’80s. In the winter of 1972, as Ernaux explains in voice-over, she and her husband, Philippe Ernaux, bought a Bell & Howell Super 8 camera and projector. Years later, she and Ernaux-Briot revisited these fragile mementos and, with some deft editing, sound effects and music (the original material is silent), created this short, potent, quietly elegiac feature.The Projectionist Chronicles a New Awards SeasonThe Oscars aren’t until March, but the campaigns have begun. Kyle Buchanan is covering the films, personalities and events along the way.Golden Globe Nominations: Here are some of the most eyebrow-raising snubs and surprises from this year’s list of nominees.Gotham Awards: At the first official show of the season, “Everything Everywhere All at Once” won big.Governors Awards: Stars like Jamie Lee Curtis and Brendan Fraser worked a room full of academy voters at the event, which is considered a barometer of film industry enthusiasm.Rian Johnson:  The “Glass Onion” director explains the streaming plan for his “Knives Out” franchise.For Ernaux and her husband, the Super 8 camera was “the ultimate desired object,” more coveted than a dishwasher or even a color television. “Film truly captured life and people,” Ernaux explains, though how it captured life and people was complicated. That’s evident the first time you see the younger Ernaux in “The Super 8 Years” entering a house while carrying two cardboard boxes. She’s wearing a dark, hooded coat and an awkward, inscrutable smile, as if she were ill at ease about being (caught) on camera. Or maybe she’s embarrassed by (or for) Philippe, who, as Ernaux explains, shot most of the home movies.Ernaux writes about this image and its complicated smile in her exquisite 2008 memoir “The Years,” which works as a companion piece to “The Super 8 Years.” In her book, Ernaux asserts that there is “something ascetic and sad, or disenchanted” about her younger self’s expression in this scene, adding that her smile lacks spontaneity. I instead see shyness or just self-consciousness, especially in how she looks at the camera only to cast her eyes downward. But this isn’t my memory, and as Ernaux writes in “The Years,” one of the greatest ways to foster self-knowledge is “a person’s ability to discern how they view the past.”For a time, Super 8 was a way for many to view a present that would soon be the past. Introduced by Kodak in 1965, the film format was a significant player in the moving-image revolution that swept the 20th century, turning amateurs (who could afford it) into moviemakers and everyday life into a global celluloid archive. This archival impulse dovetails with Ernaux’s approach in “The Years,” which is partly organized around photos of her from different eras that prompt cascades of words about her life, her family, its town, the region, the country and beyond. A similar impulse shapes “The Super 8 Years,” in which Ernaux insistently tethers images of her former domestic life, with its gentle and agonized ebb and flow, to larger world affairs, to questions of feminism and other liberation struggles.Instructively for a memoir, Ernaux almost entirely avoids using “I” in “The Years,” preferring “we” and often referring to herself as “she.” In “The Super 8 Years,” the “we” usually seems to mean her family, and she switches pronouns freely as if to suggest the mutability of identity. In one section about a vacation in Morocco, Ernaux says, “I thought of the finished manuscript in my desk drawer.” Soon, though, over images from Germany, she refers to her younger self like a friend. “She is 33 and doesn’t yet know,” Ernaux says, that the manuscript she’s submitted “will be published as ‘Cleaned Out,’” referring to her 1974 debut novel.At one point in “The Super 8 Years,” Ernaux ponders what story is being told in this “parade of images” as the movie cuts from a child to her and then to exploding fireworks. Words were needed, she continues, to give meaning to these “snippets of family life invisibly recorded inside the history of the era.” This reminds me of her observation in “The Years” that memory never stops. “It pairs the dead with the living, real with imaginary beings, dreams with history.” Memory is also, I think, one reason we watch movies like this, which with its lapidary narration and melancholic images — with its laughing children, its difficult smiles and its ghosts — movingly pairs you with Ernaux and with the world that she has so brilliantly made.The Super 8 YearsNot rated. In French, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour. In theaters. More

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    ‘The Quiet Girl’ Review: Welcome Home

    This luminous drama, Ireland’s entry for best international feature, may not be holiday fare, but it does express the season’s benevolent ethos.A body lies still in a field as girls from afar shout, “Cait! Cait!” For a beat, “The Quiet Girl” sounds an uneasy note. It won’t be the last time this luminous Irish drama — directed by Colm Bairead and based on Claire Keegan’s short story “Foster” — teases dark concerns.Cait (Catherine Clinch, in a splendid debut) lives in a crammed, clamorous house with her parents, sisters, baby brother and another sibling on the way. Which is why her exhausted mother (Kate Nic Chonaonaigh) and idle father (Michael Patric) whisper about sending the 9-year-old to stay with her mother’s people.When Cait’s father delivers her to the Cinnsealaches’ farmhouse, the viewer senses — even if Cait doesn’t yet — that she has won the lottery, or at least been granted a well-ordered reprieve. Eibhlin and Sean Cinnsealach (Carrie Crowley and Andrew Bennett) shimmer with compassion but also a profound ache. The availability of a child’s clothes and the trains chugging across the wallpaper of the room Cait sleeps in signal a loss that the film takes its time to address.In Cait’s encounters with nature, Bairead and the cinematographer Kate McCullough capture the first-person perspective of Keegan’s story: leaves flutter and flash by; a ladle sets the still surface of a well in gently rippling motion. They also go beyond it. Although “The Quiet Girl” — Ireland’s entry for the best international feature Oscar — is not holiday fare, there may not be a movie more expressive of the season’s benevolent ethos than this hushed work about kith and kindness.The Quiet GirlNot rated. In Irish Gaelic, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 34 minutes. In theaters. More

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    ‘Children of the Mist’ Review: Stolen Youth

    A documentarian traces a Hmong girl’s experience with a custom that permits boys to detain girls with the intention of marriage.In the disturbing Vietnamese documentary “Children of the Mist,” a plucky 12-year-old girl named Di is abducted after a Lunar New Year celebration. Her parents are frustrated at best — who will feed the pigs when they go drinking? But their response is not unusual in this remote mountain region of northern Vietnam, where the Hmong — one of the country’s largest ethnic groups — reside.“Bride-napping” is a Hmong custom that permits boys, often with the help of their families, to nab girls and detain them for three days. Throughout this time, the girl can decide whether she wants to go through with the marriage, though in practice, rejections can be violently challenged. That’s the norm in these parts: Di’s mother and older sister were bride-napped as well.Di, however, is the first person in her family to receive a formal education; she’s quick, chatty and understands all too well the pitfalls of her community’s patriarchal mores. Still, she’s a child herself, glued to her phone when she’s not working the field or cooking meals, and prone to engaging in online flirtations.The filmmaker Ha Le Diem shot “Children of the Mist” over the course of three years, integrating herself into Di’s life in a way that complicates the documentary’s otherwise unobtrusive, observational approach. When Di cozies up to a smitten boy, Diem’s camera watches them walk away. The boy says not to follow them, shouting back from a distance that he has no intention of kidnapping Di.Then he does, though Di has no intention of getting married. Diem is told not to interfere, but at one crucial moment, she must. It’s an upsetting scene, though one senses that without the presence of the camera, Di would have fared far worse.Children of the MistNot rated. In Hmong and Vietnamese, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 30 minutes. In theaters. More

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    ‘The Volcano: Rescue from Whakaari’ Review: A Seismic Tragedy

    A Netflix documentary recounts the eruption of an active volcano off the coast of New Zealand that left several tourist groups struggling to survive.Three years ago on a small island off the eastern coast of New Zealand, several tour groups were trekking near the rim of an active stratovolcano when the site erupted, spouting scalding steam, toxic gases and ash plumes that rose thousands of feet into the air. More than 20 people died, some in the explosion and others who later succumb to their injuries; many more suffered severe burns.A detailed chronology of the tragedy is relayed in the unembellished Netflix documentary “The Volcano: Rescue from Whakaari,” which hinges on interviews with a handful of survivors and people involved in the rescue missions.White Island (also known by its Maori name, Whakaari) is a gorgeous setting for a documentary, a natural wonder that has long been a destination for geology enthusiasts and thrill seekers keen to peer into a live volcano’s abyss. The film begins by leaning into this wanderlust through imagery and maps of the island, but once we reach the moment of eruption, the mood turns dark.The director, Rory Kennedy, only lightly explores the science behind the calamity, and the film never stretches beyond a layperson’s knowledge. The film similarly stops short of looking into the organizations and government agencies that may be accountable. Instead, Kennedy seems intent on centering the survivors, who — alongside original photos and videos taken by tourists that day — describe a living hell of fear and agony.But while this framework guarantees an engrossing disaster story, the choice to ignore the social aftershocks of the eruption leaves viewers without the tools to contextualize the profound pain on display. Once the ash settles, we long for insight, but only the trauma lingers on.The Volcano: Rescue from WhakaariRated PG-13. Running time: 1 hour 38 minutes. Watch on Netflix. More

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    ‘Jurassic Punk’ Review: Making Digital Dinosaurs Walk

    This documentary looks at the computer animation innovator Steve Williams.It is hopefully not to gross a generalization to point out that animators are different from you and me. And this holds whether the animator works in hand drawing, stop-motion, or computer graphics. Obsessiveness that goes beyond dedication to work is a common trait. As is social awkwardness.The Canadian-born computer animation innovator Steve Williams was and remains so overtly brash that he inverts the latter characteristic into the kind of awkwardness that, well, can often get you fired. Williams is the guy who enabled the effects team at Industrial Light and Magic to build many of the dinosaurs for the 1993 film “Jurassic Park” inside a computer.Directed by Scott Leberecht, “Jurassic Punk” tells the very juicy story of pioneers, naysayers and professional hierarchies that made Williams both the Necessary Man and an eventual outcast. Frankly admitting that he’s not a diplomat, Williams makes clear his skepticism concerning revered visual effects figures. Among them Dennis Muren, the I.L.M. department head who took home a lot of Oscars while Williams labored in a section of the company known as “the pit.”In that space, Williams figured out how to execute previously unattainable visions for James Cameron’s “The Abyss” and “Terminator 2” before “Jurassic.” And his work on Spielberg’s film resulted from Williams directly not doing what he was told. “Don’t even bother” trying to make a computer-animated dinosaur, he recalls Muren instructing him.In contemporary interviews, the stop-motion animator Phil Tippett, whose whole livelihood was threatened by Williams’s innovation, displays the most affinity for Williams’s disruptive way of thinking. The documentary was conceived as a tribute, but Leberecht happened upon Williams at a dark time in his life: divorced, unemployed, alcoholic and convinced his work has ruined movies. This movie ends with the artist marking eight months sober and finding some fulfillment in teaching.Jurassic PunkNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 21 minutes. In theaters and available to rent or buy on Apple TV, Google Play and other streaming platforms and pay TV operators. More

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    ‘Nelly & Nadine’ Review: An Unlikely Love, an Unlikely Record

    A family archive provides intimate records of a love affair that began between two women imprisoned in the Ravensbrück concentration camp.For most of Sylvie Bianchi’s life, the records of her grandmother’s time as a prisoner in the Ravensbrück concentration camp seemed too painful to examine. Sylvie kept her grandmother’s letters, diaries, photographs and home movies in the attic of her family’s French farmhouse for decades. The documentary “Nelly & Nadine” captures the story as Sylvie finally opens dusty boxes, unearthing a surprising tale of love and resilience.Sylvie learns that her grandmother, Nelly Mousset-Vos, was an opera singer turned spy with the French Resistance. She was imprisoned at Ravensbrück in 1944, and there, Nelly met Nadine Hwang, who had worked in literary circles in Paris and likely participated in resistance efforts. The pair fell in love. They were separated, but after the war, Nelly and Nadine moved together to Venezuela. They lived as a couple until Nadine’s death in 1972, and Nadine documented their lives together in home movies that are shown in the film. In informal, pensive interviews with the director Magnus Gertten, Sylvie reflects that she remembers Nadine, but Nadine was only ever referred to as her grandmother’s friend and housemate.It’s an astonishing love story, all the more notable for the sheer amount of documentation that is shown onscreen. Gertten first identifies Nadine in newsreel footage of refugees arriving in Sweden after the liberation of the camps. This footage alone, which captures hundreds of joyful faces — and Nadine as a solitary somber figure in the crowd — would be noteworthy. But it’s equally miraculous that Nelly and Nadine’s records were preserved by Nelly’s family — an archival kindness that is, historically-speaking, not frequently afforded to women who love other women. The film is moving for the intimacy it depicts, an archive as unlikely as the love story itself.Nelly & NadineNot rated. In French, Swedish and Spanish, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 32 minutes. In theaters. More

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    ‘The Apology’ Review: Regrets, He’s Had a Few

    A surprise visitor derails a grieving mother’s holiday plans in this gloomy, overwrought family drama.“The Apology” might arrive a week before Christmas and take place on Christmas Eve, but this deeply depressing picture is less ho-ho-ho than no-no-no.With the help of an isolated home, a convenient snowstorm and essentially two actors (unless you count Janeane Garofalo’s pop-in, pop-out turn as the best friend), the writer and director, Alison Star Locke, stirs up a turgid tale of grief, guilt and attempted atonement. It all starts innocently enough as Darlene (Anna Gunn), a sober alcoholic, is preparing to host a family Christmas for the first time in the two decades since her teenage daughter, Sally, disappeared. Darlene, though — who blames herself for being drunk at the time of the disappearance — is clearly a mess.Just as she’s about to topple off the wagon, her long-estranged former brother-in-law, Jack (Linus Roache), arrives bearing surprise gifts and shocking secrets. Jack, it turns out, has feelings — oh boy, does he ever — and he would like to share. First, though, for safety’s sake, he’ll just show Darlene his collection of zip ties and move the kitchen knives out of her reach. Now that they’re both comfortable, the talking can begin.Unfortunately, it never seems to end. A play-like trudge through seesawing power dynamics, bursts of violence, perpetual gloom and a ludicrously attenuated finale, “The Apology” could have doubled its tension by halving its running time. When the resolution of a movie depends in part on a fortuitously constipated dog, the only apology required is from whoever convinced you to watch in the first place.The ApologyNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 31 minutes. In theaters and available on Shudder. More