Movies

For the past couple months, my Instagram feed has been filled with benign photographs of homemade food, flowering plants, and the creative projects people had undertaken while in coronavirus-mandated lockdown. Then, on May 25, George Floyd was killed in police custody in Minneapolis, sparking protests around the country. Instagram had already been a space for organizing and activism, but overnight that seemed to become its primary purpose. Calls to action, pictures and videos from demonstrations, and educational posts about defunding the police flooded into view.Social media, as flawed as it is, can be a valuable tool. But I wanted to return to aesthetics and consider the many visual manifestations of “Black Lives Matter”: pictures of the protests, yes, but also photographs of black life unrelated to police (or other) brutality, and, just as important, the visionary creations of black artists. Images alone can’t bring about change, but they can jump-start our imaginations and help us see more clearly. Here are a few accounts doing that.Cauleen Smith(@cauleen_smith)If I had to pick an Instagram favorite these days, it would be Cauleen Smith’s account. Since the pandemic began, the artist has been sharing some of her remarkable, experimental short films under the hashtag #shutinfilmfestival. Each one is distinct, yet they share an aesthetic — often retro looking and purposefully choppy or collagelike, with the strong presence of music — and a common concern: Ms. Smith draws on images and material from the past to conjure possibilities for black futures. In “The Changing Same” (2001), two aliens on missions to Earth fall in love; in “Black and Blue Over You (after Bas Jan Ader),” from 2010, a woman assembles and reassembles flower arrangements in a never-ending mourning ritual. Interspersed among these are photographs of Ms. Smith’s handwritten “covid manifestoes,” terse meditations on current political and social circumstances. The first one reads, “The internet is not the answer.”Damon Davis(@damondavis)Damon Davis is probably best known for his activism. He was a co-director of the documentary “Whose Streets?,” about the uprising that took place in Ferguson, Mo., after the police killing of 18-year-old Michael Brown Jr. But he’s also a musician and visual artist whose work takes many forms. (He calls himself “post-disciplinary.”) For the yearslong project “Darker Gods,” for instance, he imagined a pantheon of black deities through prints, installation, a film, and an album. On Instagram he’s been showing newer pieces: sculpted heads that look like precious ruins, collages combining family photos with archival images of scientific specimens, and garish digital paintings of clownish characters. They take the surrealism underscoring much of his work and manifest it as a quieter reflection on the multilayered and fractured nature of African-American identity.Kyle Marshall Choreography(@kmchoreo)On May 28, the choreographer Kyle Marshall posted a dance improvisation dedicated to recent victims of police brutality. In the piece, which unfolds on an empty basketball court, Mr. Marshall uses his body, breath and voice to create alternating passages of strength and weakness, shifting between struggle and freedom. It’s viscerally impactful and elegiac — a seemingly more personal extension of his work exploring political and social subjects, like surveillance. Over the past few months, Mr. Marshall has been digging through his archive, spotlighting one piece at a time and sharing clips of performances as well as rehearsals. There’s something wonderfully intimate and eye-opening about a behind-the-scenes look at the process of making contemporary dance.Blvck Vrchives(@blvckvrchives)Intimacy is one of the qualities I love most about Blvck Vrchives, an online archive begun by the artist Renata Cherlise in 2015. The collection focuses on representations of everyday black life — weddings, parties, meals, kids playing — with the occasional celebrity portrait. Ms. Cherlise posts a wide range of material, including pictures by well-known photographers like Gordon Parks and Aaron Siskind, but my favorites are the home videos and snapshots — what Ms. Cherlise sometimes identifies as “found memories.” Whether it’s a clip of friends breaking it down in someone’s living room or a picture of three women posing during an afternoon outing in the park, these posts capture a feeling of precious, unscripted joy.RVA Magazine(@rvamag)It’s fitting that I found out about RVA Magazine’s Instagram account because of a photograph. The picture, taken by a man who goes by Jiggy the Creative, shows protesters in front of the Robert E. Lee monument in Richmond, Va. A large sign in the crowd proclaims “Black Lives Matter” in handwriting that mirrors graffiti on the base of the memorial, while a light projection casts George Floyd’s face onto the Confederate landmark. The image encapsulates the historical shift we’re living through: The day it was posted, the governor of Virginia announced plans to remove the statue (although a judge has temporarily halted the process). As protests against police brutality have swept the country, RVA Magazine has done a terrific job of showing what’s happening on the ground in a city that’s out of the national media spotlight by steadily sharing powerful work by professional and local amateur photographers. More

With cities starting to reopen after months of pandemic-prescribed lockdown, people are talking about office life. The open-floor plan so beloved of managers is likely to be a thing of the past, replaced by Plexiglas barriers or work-from-home video links. These changes, combined with a spate of highly publicized worker revolts tied to diversity issues, suggest that the old office norms are under siege, which makes it seem like a good time to revisit “Nine to Five.”When it was released in 1980, The New York Times dryly called it an “office comedy.” That’s true, though it’s more of a comedy about a female uprising. The story is a pip: Three beleaguered secretaries join forces to battle their bullying, sexist boss. Hilarity, implausible high jinks and bondage jokes ensue, but what matters is that the three oppressed workers are played by the glorious trio of Jane Fonda, Lily Tomlin and Dolly Parton, in her screen debut. Parton also sang the catchy title song, which became a hit.Workin’ 9 to 5, what a way to make a livin’Barely gettin’ by, it’s all takin’ and no givin’They just use your mind and they never give you creditIt’s enough to drive you crazy if you let itInspired by the women she met during one of her national tours, Fonda decided to make a movie about the discrimination facing female office workers. “We did not see it as a comedy at first,” she later wrote. “What’s funny about working 15-hour days and getting paid for 40 hours’ work a week?” But a comedy it became, with the director Colin Higgins writing the script with Patricia Resnick, and Tomlin and Parton stealing the show. The film was a hit and spawned a TV series and a Broadway musical. Not everyone was a fan, but as the 1980s became a decade known for testosterone-fueled action movies, the flickering feminist righteousness of “Nine to Five” was encouraging.Forty years later, we’re curious: Do you see the film’s vision of workplace sisterhood as noble or pandering? Ahead of its time or, in the era of #MeToo and intersectional feminism, hopelessly dated? Do Tomlin, Fonda and Parton make you laugh? “Nine to Five” is widely available to rent or buy online; here’s a guide. Please watch it over the weekend and let us know what you think in the comments section below. The cutoff for feedback is 6 p.m. Eastern time, Monday. We’ll read what you have to say and share our ideas on both the film and your observations on Tuesday. More

“The King of Staten Island” is one of those 10-block-radius life slices whose smallness and intimacy ought to be a virtue. But the movie seems afraid of itself.It’s the story of a 24-year-old named Scott (Pete Davidson), who lives at home until his widowed mother, Margie (Marisa Tomei), starts dating somebody and kicks him out. Scott is long, mouthy, heavily inked, insecure and managing a mental illness. He dreams of opening a restaurant that doubles as a tattoo parlor, an idea only he finds appetizing. In the opening sequences, Scott appears to be fighting an anxiety attack and flees the scene of a car accident. But none of the trouble he causes sticks. His father died 17 years ago. That, apparently, is trouble enough. So he sits around, throws a little fit every once in a while and gives people ugly tattoos — which means his trouble sticks to them.Margie coddles him and works two nursing jobs. Until an Italian place takes him on as a busboy, Scott works none. He has regular sex with a friend, Kelsey (Bel Powley), who believes he’s better than he believes he is. And a lot of time is spent denting sofas with his stoned, drug-dealing homies (Ricky Velez, Moisés Arias and Lou Wilson). His sister, Claire (Maude Apatow), just drove off to college, and his mother’s new boyfriend — Ray (Bill Burr) — makes Scott walk his two kids to school. Ray’s a firefighter like Scott’s dad, and carries himself with an affable saltiness that irritates Scott but lets Burr keep us on our toes.[embedded content]Judd Apatow directed this movie, which is available on-demand, and wrote it with Davidson and Dave Sirus. He establishes tension between Scott and everybody else, but it’s too loose to build into anything substantial or surprising over its two-plus hours. I’ve seen much stronger movies where less happens in more time. Here, the line between depth and bloat never comes close to fine. Apatow has left everything in. The scenes don’t unfold or reveal personalities. They just pile up; they’re long bits — parties and hangouts and meals. A violent robbery comes out of nowhere and leads to even less.Apatow’s strength is the management of actors through improvised chaos. The people in “Staten Island” are brassy and brightly burnt out — stereotypes maybe but more than that. Minutes into the movie, Kelsey has brought her friend, Tara (Carly Aquilino), to chill with Scott and his buddies in somebody’s basement. Aquilino is a natural. Her surprise and attentiveness are fantastic. When Claire tells her that Velez’s character has an STD, Tara practically glows. “It’s curable,” she purrs, undeterred. That’s the movie’s second scene. You hardly see her again. Folks like Lynne Koplitz, who plays Margie’s sister, and Pamela Adlon, as Ray’s ex, do great throwaway comedy with pauses and deadpanning. They have just enough to do.But it’s not in the service of much. At some point, Scott comes back home and sees what Margie’s done with the place, and Davidson and Koplitz go at it. When Margie sends him outside so they can talk, she meets him at the front door then closes it in his face. I laughed. Margie has finally freed herself from the burden of this adult child who still wants to cling. She wants her nest empty. She’s also a little drunk. And Tomei gives Margie’s resolve as much earthen soul as she can.But at this length, “Staten Island” should be a meatier Oedipal comedy — about Scott and Margie’s grief, stagnation and codependency; about Claire’s resentment of their bond — the kind of funny movie that’s a raw moment away from the tragedy just below its surface. Apatow was straining for that kind of feeling with “Funny People,” from 2009. But he hasn’t gotten his comedy near true pathos since “The 40-Year-Old Virgin.” That was 15 years and five movies ago.This new film is based on Davidson’s life before he got to “Saturday Night Live.” It doesn’t delve far into what it’s like for Scott as an average person whose mental illness makes him feel as if he has no control of himself. All the sharp writing happens in the early going, when Scott and Kelsey talk about antidepressants’ effect on orgasms. It’s a moment so tender that you don’t know why most of the rest of the movie isn’t as finely etched and acted (despite Powley’s overeager New Yawk brazenness). There are other similar moments, like some late scenes involving Davidson, Burr and the firefighters at Ray’s firehouse, and Scott ruminating on what tattooing means to him.One of Davidson’s recurring “S.N.L.” sketches has him playing Chad, a vaping, all-purpose empty vessel whose vapidity only heightens people’s lust for him. The success of the bit relies on scene partners who take things way over the top while Davidson stands there and embodies and absorbs. His lankiness, pallor, sleepy eyes and broad mouth are more expressive here. He seems like a comic-strip character slouching through real life and in “Staten Island,” like a sketch-comedy star acclimating to 136-minute movies.The King of Staten IslandRated R. Sex, drugs, vaping, robbery, awful homemade tattoos. Running time: 2 hours 16 minutes. Rent or buy on Amazon, Apple TV, Vudu and other platforms and pay TV operators. More

On June 26, 2015, hundreds of people gathered in front of the Supreme Court in anticipation of its decision to legalize same-sex marriage. It was a watershed moment that, in the words of former President Barack Obama, marked “a big step in our march toward equality.” But it was just the beginning. “For They Know Not What They Do,” a compelling documentary by Daniel Karslake, outlines the uneven path toward progress for L.G.B.T.Q. people in the United States by following four families navigating issues of faith in relation to the sexual orientations and gender identities of their children.[embedded content]
The families include Rob and Linda Robertson, evangelical parents who are encouraged to send their 12-year-old son Ryan to conversion therapy after he comes out; David and Sally McBride, the Presbyterian parents of Sarah McBride, the transgender activist (who is now running for Delaware State Senate); Victor Baez and Annette Febo, the Catholic parents of Vico, a survivor of the Pulse nightclub shooting; and Harold and Coleen Porcher, the parents of Elliot, a nonbinary teen struggling with depression after coming out.“For They Know Not What They Do” hits the touchstones of a good documentary — absorbing testimonies, compelling narratives and effective commentary that highlight the violence faced by L.G.B.T.Q. people (especially transgender people of color). But its success comes from interrogating the cultural assumption that there is no space for a range of sexual orientations and gender identities within religious communities. Because for most of these families, faith is a tool for understanding, not exclusion.For They Know Not What They DoNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 31 minutes. Watch on virtual cinemas. More

Colonialism is a war that began hundreds of years ago and never ended. Its modern tactics and its weapons are noted with precision in the ferocious documentary, “In My Blood It Runs.”The film follows an Arrernte Aboriginal family in Alice Springs, Australia, focusing on Dujuan, a 10-year-old boy, and his mother Megan, as they navigate his education. In plain vérité style, the documentary exposes how language and school are corrupted to become bludgeons for the system built by settlers.At home, Dujuan is a gifted healer who speaks three languages, and he is a gentle comfort to his mother. But at school, his teachers are white, and they mock Aboriginal spiritual beliefs while teaching a whitewashed version of colonial history. Dujuan is disengaged and angry, and his grades, attendance and behavior suffer. Megan’s fear is that Dujuan could be taken from her and placed in juvenile detention, and as Dujuan’s aunt warns him, if he goes to detention, he’ll either leave it for jail or a coffin.The director Maya Newell gains access to both worlds that Dujuan traverses — home and school — and the trust that she seems to have built with all participants is vital to the success of this film. In both settings, her subjects rarely acknowledge the camera directly. She captures natural behavior, whether she observes care or cruelty. Voices rarely raise, but the film still vibrates with fury.In the final minutes, Dujuan is given an opportunity to express what would satisfy him, which he does in language simple enough that even his teachers should be able to understand:“Leave black kids alone.”“Stop killing Aboriginal people.”“I want to be an Aborigine.”In My Blood It RunsNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 24 minutes. Watch on The Future of Film Is Female. More

It’s often said that dogs are man’s best friend, but in the beautiful and original animated film “Marona’s Fantastic Tale,” human beings are fickle companions.The film begins in Europe with a dog, Marona (voiced by Lizzie Brocheré), at the end of her life. In her final moments, she reflects on the owners she loved and lost, remembering how each took her on a whirlwind of discovery, adoration, crisis and desertion. Marona has three real homes in her life, and past abandonments have taught her that heartbreak waits in every happiness. But fortunately, the film stays buoyant through its unique, boisterous animation.[embedded content]The director Anca Damian has a playful drawing style, and her kinetic frames are always creating something new for the audience to enjoy. Images appear pasted together like a collage, with elements assembled from distinct styles. Pen and ink settings — like the lonely alley where Marona takes refuge after being abandoned by Manole (Bruno Salomone), her acrobatic first owner — may be strewn with crayon boxes, which are then packed up into colored marker trucks and driven away.Characters generally stick to the same color scheme and shape, but the sense of play that infuses the entire film finds expression in the character design too. Manole has limbs that seem almost liquid, stretching and twisting and reaching all across the screen, more like a stream of water than a solid form. Istvan (Thierry Hancisse), the construction worker who picks Marona up after Manole can no longer support her, is all bold lines and stable blocks of bright color. Marona is the most plain of all, drawn as she is in inky black and white. Her simplicity in such a vibrant, eclectic frame makes her joys and sorrows all the more touching.Marona’s Fantastic TaleNot rated. In Romanian and French, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 32 minutes. Watch on virtual cinemas. More