Tag Archives: LGBTQ+

on Netflix: Special, Seasons 1 & 2

Given the sheer volume of TV shows that are out there demanding my attention while I gorge my eyes on movies with a zeal that would make Lucille Ball’s chocolate-eating clown blush, it’s almost a miracle that I managed to catch a little show called Special. Special came recommended to me cautiously by friends who know I have a low tolerance for idiot television and shows that eventually morph into bloated, unrelatable behemoths that overstay their welcome and still try to squeeze out every drop from its cache of stories by making tie-in movies and spin-offs because that seems to be the only way out of a creative rut. Checking the run time of each of Season 1’s episodes (on average, 15 minutes), I decided to give it a go and see what the fuss was.

Well, reader, I stand corrected. Let me put it to you this way: I didn’t just binge-watch the first season in one massive gulp but went into the second (and, to date, last) season of Special. I said to myself, here was a show that got it. While it might be based on Ryan O’Connell’s life, it also portrayed a young thirty-something in a manner I could have never anticipated in the days of Will and Grace or even the over-sexed Queer as Folk (I’m going quite a ways back, people.). Special gives you not a ravishing gay man who looks airbrushed to death and is played by an actor who can’t play a mannequin (which would be a stretch for the pretty), but a super-cute gay guy who just happens to have cerebral palsy.

The CP part gets downplayed early in the show’s first season as Ryan (Ryan O’Connell), just employed by the online blog eggwoke, informs his nightmare boss Olivia (Marla Mindelle, an actress trapped in a one-note, viciously stereotypical role) that his limp is the result of an automobile accident that left him this way. Olivia flat-out pretends to sympathize but exploits Ryan’s “accident” for page views.

In the interim, Ryan navigates his attempts at becoming independent from his over-protective mother Karen (Jessica Hecht, criminally underrated) who is also going through her own issues of being an older woman who meets an attractive neighbor (Patrick Fabian) while navigating taking care of Ryan and tending to her own demanding, senile mother in a story arc that mirrors into itself. The show’s 15-minute length is perfect to give us a snapshot into Ryan’s life as a newly independent millennial: in one episode, a housewarming party that would have involved his “friends” morphs into a poignant get-together with recent BFF Kim (Punam Patel, who is a stand out in this show). In another episode, Ryan has a rather tender moment with an escort (Brian Jordan Alvarez) who Ryan has contacted to help him lose his virginity.

It probably is inevitable that Special veers into soap territory, but never fully goes there. It is possible that the only way to develop Ryan and Karen’s codependent relationship was to add a few monkey-wrenches that would eventually bring the two to a clash, but the narrative actually deepens what could have been a rather superficial show. That storyline will get played out during season 2 which expands its episodes’ runtime to almost 25 minutes and fleshes out Kim’s character to be not just the sidekick but a fully-developed Indian-American woman going through financial hardships and the pressures of being/looking successful in a world that would demand she look flawless (and white, and thin).

If the show lacks some depth it’s essentially in Ryan’s workplace. Everyone in eggwoke seems to be a cartoon. A tangential character, Samantha (Gina Marie Hughes) has a voice so squeaky and a demeanor that makes her resemble something out of Salad Fingers — sad, with a trembling appearance and huge eyes. Olivia… well. The show thinks that having her creates some kind of contrast in her rampant, outlandish sociopathy, and perhaps at one or two appearances she would have been enough, but she is in almost every episode, and her presence snuffs the light out of what is an outstanding show that loves its main characters.

What I admire the most of Special is Ryan himself. O’Connell has written him not as a put-upon millennial trying to make it in the writing world but as someone who can be petty, self-centered, and even a bit flakey. He’s so bulldozed into getting his independence that he completely obliterates his mother’s importance — although, in his defense, Karen, who has not had a life of her own since she can remember, has projected everything onto Ryan in such a way that a separation would be inevitable. I loved that she also gets to have quite the storyline later in Season 2 as her character somewhat resolves a romantic situation and eventually comes to grips with her own mortality through the death of a loved one. Hecht truly lets her character breathe out in the moments she gets to explore her inner pain, and this gives Special much-needed depth.

I hope that O’Connell can negotiate a third season. It seemed that come Season 2 Special was getting into its groove of discomfort, with Ryan falling in love with a guy (Max Jenkins) who happens to be involved with someone else, and then flirts with another (Buck Andrews) who is also comfortable in being gender non-conforming and also is autistic. However, if two seasons is all there is, then so be it; this is an excellent show with a great cast that finally gives me characters I want to see more of on TV.

At a Glance: Eight More movies, from Minari to Mank

Now that New Director / New Films is over and done with, I can now focus on going back to some of the movies that I watched either right before the festival started, or in the middle of it, but never got to actually have the time to write about them. Here we go:

Minari

Somehow I failed to write about this last year when I had the chance in October. Anyhow, it’s no secret to anyone now some nine months after its release that Lee Isaac Chung’s movie Minari is not just a quintessentially American story but a masterpiece of storytelling. It focuses on a Korean-American family headed by Jacob and Monica (Steven Yeun and Yeri Han), who have moved from California to rural Arkansas in the 1980s in an attempt to not only escape the drudgery of their city life but to make some solid roots of their own. From the get-go, it becomes clear that this will be a task easier said than done. Already, there is tension in the marriage, with Monica upset from having left her life behind. Being Asian-Americans with little education leaves both Jacob and Monica to have to work (yet again) in another factory. However, Jacob has big plans to create his own farm and befriends a muttering American named Paul who served in Korea (Will Paxton, as usual, underrated). Coming into the picture is Monica’s mother Soonja (Yoh-Young Youn), a woman with a character all her own who the youngest son David (Alan S Kim) doesn’t accept.

Minari looks like a type of movie that doesn’t get made anymore (and I know, it sounds cliche, but check and see the last time you saw a movie about a family trying to make it in rural America and you’d have to go all the way back to the type of dramas Sally Field was making in 1984, or perhaps, the similar but fantasy-laden Field of Dreams. This is a gentle movie that depicts a family displaced on all ends, trying to hold itself together in a country that at one point fought against them. Chung wisely leaves any racial tensions outside of the picture, although a friendship between David and a young boy, while innocent, seems to be laden with an undertone of fascination with “the other” rather than a true, lasting friendship. Even Paul’s need to serve Jacob’s family seems to stem from some unknown guilt as the man carries a religious weight throughout the entire movie, even when that weight is treated without any sense of an ulterior motive.

If I have one complaint about Minari, it would have to be that come awards season Yeri Han was left without any nomination for her difficult role as the wife. It seems to be a tradition that Hollywood still doesn’t seem to consider the role of the supporting spouse to be that relevant to a story. Monica’s constant sense of displacement added to the fact that she is, alongside Jacob, the glue holding this delicate family unit together, makes for some intense moments whenever she and Jacob throw verbal barbs at each other. Aside from that one complaint, Minari is a wonderful movie to see, not so much because of its cast but despite it. If anything sounds and feels and looks more American, it is a family who comes from a different part of the world venturing into a place they can call their own. This is the closest I can call to seeing the seeds of life grow and its title describes the movie perfectly.

Saint Frances

Kelly O’Sullivan is a force of nature and someone who should be on everyone’s watch list because that girl is Going Places. O’Sullivan writes and stars in Alex Johnson’s feature-length debut, Saint Frances. Here she plays Bridget, a deadbeat thirty-something who seems to be sleepwalking through life while everyone else around her has become settled and grounded. At a gathering, she meets a man who’s going on and on about nothing in particular while she cringes. When he tells her something around the lines of “You’re 24. It gets better,” Bridget flatly replies, “I’m 34.”

That doesn’t stop her from hooking up with Jace (Max Lipschitz), a cute but much younger guy with who she makes a quick connection. Their connection will be fated in more ways than one, but in the interim, it becomes just a chapter that lands her as a babysitter for a lesbian couple named Annie and Maya (Lila Mojekwu and Charin Alvarez) who are expecting another baby and need someone to take care of their precocious 6-year-old daughter Frances. Frances, it turns out, has come to the world fully formed as an adult and has some things to say, plus an attitude to spare. It is inevitable that a bond will form between the two.

Which, suffice it is to say, won’t be enough. Bridget still has a job to do, and a life to live, even as she herself is still figuring things out. Her presence in Annie’s and Maya’s home might not be considered disruptive — Bridget is helpful to a fault — but because Annie works long hours in her law firm and Maya’s postpartum depression has left her swimming in barely contained tears when Annie finally notices that Bridget and Maya have been getting closer as friends, she has a moment. The moment, surprisingly enough, leads to a release of emotion so raw and intense that it left me completely awash in tears of my own.

I love the way O’Sullivan wrote her character as someone simply trying. She’s not worldly, she barely has anything figured out, and even a scene when a former college friend who has become someone famous places Bridget in the position of being humiliated, she takes it all in stride, unaffected (but not completely; she still throws in a jab with Frances help). The movie isn’t afraid to also posit the way women judge other women, and a moment when Maya is breastfeeding her infant. baby slowly turns into a confrontation with a “Karen” who admonishes Maya for simply tending to her child. What O’Sullivan and the child actress playing Frances do to defuse the scene is priceless.

Saint Frances is unique in that it is very well aware that its people, the successful and not so successful don’t have it all figured out yet. Yes, there are cringe-worthy moments like the one I described in the previous paragraph, but eventually, what comes through is the all-encompassing love that Bridget exudes. Hers is a character I wanted to continue to see long after the movie itself was over. On that basis alone, this to me is one of the best movies of 2020.

Ammonite and The World to Come

I’m lumping these two movies together because it seems that lesbian period dramas in which the two female protagonists slowly but surely fall in love albeit the circumstances of their time are becoming the rage since Carol, but more importantly, 2019’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire. Let me be clear: I’m perfectly happy with these movies, I’d rather see two women falling for each other and surviving into the end credits than something as dismal as The Children’s Hour or anything that came before or shortly after that because in every single one of them the woman (or both women) were harshly punished.

The thing is that where Carol and Portrait both breathed life into the genre, Ammonite and The World to Come arrive a little stale and predictable — so much that it inspired an SNL skit that has to be seen to be believed. Both movies operate on the notion that narrating stories about women giving into their passions even at the danger of being exposed and possibly convicted seems to foster great cinema. Ammonite treads on the concept that perhaps there was a queer attraction between Mary Anning and Charlotte Murchison (Kate Winslet and Saoirse Ronan), although no documents survive today that confirms it. Whether or not it did happen, Ammonite simply doesn’t hold that much water in its central romance so anything that happens seems forced. The World to Come doesn’t quite do much better despite the presence of Katerine Waterston and [Oscar nominee] Vanessa Kirby. Theirs is played fairly straight (for lack of another term), but too often it seems to be closer to an anachronism than something that would have actually transpired even if the two women in The World to Come had lived practically on top of each other in super-tight quarters. Both movies suffer from a case of forced drama, and that does not good drama make.

Supernova

Another trend that seems to be taking place is that of placing an older couple at a crossroads in life in which one of the two has a terminal disease, leaving the other one to have to handle it on his own. Still Alice gave Julianne Moore an Oscar, Two of Us was France’s entry to the 93rd Academy Awards, and who can forget 2012’s Amour?

Now we get Supernova, a well-intentioned and superbly acted movie about two older gay men (Stanley Tucci and Colin Firth) en route to a gathering. There is a lot of reminiscing and talking back and forth that happens, and we get that one of them is not doing too well. The disclosure arrives almost immediately, which was never meant to be a surprise. Tucci’s character has dementia, and soon he won’t be able to take care of himself.

Supernova is a talky affair, but it also manages to imbue its narrative with moments of pause. I was reminded in a way of Andrew Haigh’s Weekend in which his two male leads talked and talked and talked, and none of it was boring — if anything, their time together (which was almost the entire film) was the core structure of the story. In Supernova Firth and Tucci are almost always on camera, together, with few scenes apart from each other. The two share a deep, smoldering chemistry that burns even when their characters fight. Even so, the director, Harry Macqueen, has a non-judgmental sensibility for his characters in that he lets them have their moments without sugar-coating their performances until maudlin takes over. This is a romance that looks lived in, which makes the pain of what must inevitably happen more heartbreaking.

The Vigil

I’ll always have a soft spot for horror films because in their stories lies a deeper template in which grief or darker traumas are expunged in the manner of a haunting. In The Vigil, that template occurs when a young man named Yakov Ronen (Dave Davis) receives an offer to be a shomer for a man who has just died. Needing some quick money, Yakov accepts, but as we’ve come to expect in horror movies involving a haunting, nothing will go as expected and before things get better, they will get very, very worse, especially for Yakov.

Honestly, I don’t know what to say other than I enjoyed this short movie. It’s got a great sense of mood and dread that settles in progressively once Menashe Lustig’s character — who hired Yakov in the first place — leaves for the night, leaving Yakov alone in the apartment with a dead man a mere 10 feet away from him. Thomas uses technology and social media to create a sense of displacement in which we as an audience know what is happening but only through Yakov’s earbuds which blast music to a point, it’s a wonder he can even hear himself breathe.

Using the allegory as a means to tell a story about trauma and PTSD is a great way to get through to the meat of the pain. Lynn Cohen, as the dead man’s wife, has a strong supporting character as a woman who knows all too well about demons who refuse to leave a man in pain. On the plus side, while The Vigil does get rather gruesome at times, it never crosses into implausibility and remains firmly entrenched within a man’s fractured psyche. It knows all too well that demons per se do not exist and cannot drag a person to hell. We already live in a hell out of our own making. We just need to find a way to get out of its binding hold. What works for it, is the sense of claustrophobia at every corner plus the sense that something unspeakable is but within grabbing reach of the main character. At 80 minutes in length, The Vigil might be a bit short for its own good but being its mainly a one-man shiver show, it is enough and then some.

Nobody

I’m coming to truly enjoy these movies in which unlikely folk turn out to be the biggest badasses ever. So far, only older men have played this part — Charlize Theron doesn’t count because her movies don’t focus on her being a pushover turned lethal killing machine. John Wick might not have been the first — he was, in fact, preceded by Hardcore Henry by a few years — but his character is the one most of us including me remember. Now we get Bob Odenkirk stepping out of his attorney in Better Call Saul and into Liam Neeson’s shoes in Nobody, written by the same guy who wrote Theron’s Atomic Blonde and the John Wick movies.

Odenkirk plays Hutch Mansell, a mild-mannered regular guy whom everyone — including his family — seems to both ignore and treat as if he were a nuisance to kick into submission. He accepts it, and goes through the motions, visiting his retired father (Christopher Lloyd, a much welcome presence) at his assisted living home and speaking to his as-yet unseen half brother through CB radio (I thought that went out of style 40 years ago).

One night Hutch finds himself the unwilling and innocent bystander for a group of thugs who enter a bus and basically, unleash mayhem. He quite literally snaps and lets loose whatever he has been holding inside himself, wiping out the entire mob of men with barely a weapon in sight. This leads to a series of events in which the father of one of the men (Aleksey Serebyrakov, last seen in 2013’s Leviathan) demands revenge and payment for whoever did this. That, of course, will be easier said than done.

From here on the movie is exactly what you would expect it to be. Ilya Naishuiller directs Nobody with a muscular hand and offers a few moments for the audience to catch their breath. What I enjoyed the most about this movie is that in no way is Hutch invincible. He can certainly kick ass, and I wouldn’t want to be at the receiving end of whatever he may have in store for me, but he also gets hit a lot and in one scene, gets kidnapped, with some grisly results for the kidnappers.

Nobody is a fun movie to enjoy on an evening night and features solid performances by its supporting cast which includes Connie Nielsen, no stranger to action films herself, RZA, and an almost unrecognizable Michael Ironside.

Mank

Finally, I have arrived at David Fincher’s incursion into hagiography. If this is what he left Mindhunter — an excellent, deeply disturbing series that is right up his alley — for, I suggest he return to it. Mank will do him no favors, but who am I to pass judgment — I’m sure he made a killing in negotiations and can cut some losses here or there. It’s been lauded by many — not me, sadly — and showered with multiple nominations and awards in major events to include the Academy Awards, and the future will eventually decide whether this was deserved, or the result of a relentless PR stunt to make sure that his work (and his actors) received the attention they should. [Note, I didn’t say “deserved.”]

Eventually, most directors want to make their Citizen Kane. It’s an approach to auteur cinema that ensures he or she will pass through the history books with a movie that will be seen as a pean to cinema and thus, merit its place in movies that you should see before you die or some objective list like that. What not many have attempted is to do something so much in the style of Orson Welles as if to almost follow his filming technique by the book in order to make a movie that seems to be telegraphing at full volume, “This is the seed that created the flower,” or perhaps, “Watch as this real-life story imitates the movie that became the monster that now we know is Citizen Kane.”

Clever approach, to film with low angles, oblique shots, characters bathed in shadows to a point where we can barely see their faces, scenes that foretell scenes in Orson Welles’ masterpiece, and attention to detail that is almost infuriating. [This attention. to detail, mind you, might be commendable to some for its eagle eye approach, but misses the point in others, probably conveniently so, or because when a movie packs so much, there is only so much it can take before it implodes in its own ambitions.]

I wouldn’t have minded all that, but then Fincher and his screenwriters fill the story with so many characters that the movie itself is almost an insurmountable wall of information that has no head, no feet, and is all body. When a movie does this it basically becomes, to me, a Jackson Pollock, Pretty to see with the layers of squiggly lines that tell a chaotic creation, but not much else. So, yes, perhaps this is how life is — a mess of chaotic incidents glued together to form a tapestry so wide you have to stand about 100 feet away from it to capture its intricacy in detail. I, personally, didn’t care who was that character who killed himself, or why Marion Davies was in the story when nothing in Citizen Kane (except that much-maligned reference to Kane’s untalented/exploited/victim wife, Susan Elizabeth Kane) truly references her. The dialogue is excellent — language like that needs to return to movies. It makes characters much more interesting to watch as they conduct their conversations and reveal aspects of either themselves or the narrative. Other than that, Mank is a colossal — but elegant — misfire, an incursion into a time barely remembered, and a story of what can happen when overindulged egos clash.

When Coming Out is Hard to Do: Two of Us and Uncle Frank

Hard to believe, but there still are a number of (mostly older) people who have not come out to the public. Reasons seem to abound, from living a private life to simply, not feeling as though an explanation is due to society.

When I heard of Two of Us through film festivals six months ago I almost laughed it off because it seemed through its premise to picture a comedy of errors in the style of In and Out and many more that have come before it. It just seemed to be dead in the water from the word go, and France has submitted many, more urgent, more relevant films — Petite Fille a clear example.

Filipo Meneghetti’s movie focuses on a pair of women who have been living across from each other as neighbors for the greater part of their lives. While they are clearly a couple, one of them, Martine (Madeleine Girard), has kept this part of her life a secret from Frederic and Anne (Jerome Varanfrain and Lea Drucker), her son and daughter. A turning point in which both Martine and Nina (the great Barbara Sukowa) decide that it’s time to enjoy retirement arrives, but complications ensue when Martine suffers a stroke and is rendered disabled.

Meneghetti constructs his film much like a thriller disguised in the form of a domestic drama waiting to unfold. He makes sure to let us in on the level of intimacy and love that exists between Nina and Martine, only to have fate cruelly snatch it away from their very hands at the last minute.

The movie then takes a left turn, with Nina at the helm, as she makes every attempt to be with her love. Nina crosses the line so many times throughout the movie it is near-impossible not to champion her, and Sukowa’s supremely intense, monomaniacal performance navigates the mudder aspects of what one will do for a loved one. If the movie takes a slight chance with the suspension of disbelief, it’s with turning Martine’s sons — particularly Anne — into villains. Even so, the Two of Us is quite a compelling watch, right down to its final, emotionally impacting scene.

Sophia Lillis, Paul Bettany, and Peter Macdissi in Uncle Frank

Somewhat more uplifting but no less traumatic is Alan Ball’s Uncle Frank. Ball’s movie tells the story of 18-year-old Beth Bledsoe (Sophia Lillis), who moves from her small Southern town to NYC in the early 70s to go to college and also be near to her Uncle Frank (Paul Bettany), whom she feels close to. Upon her arrival, she learns that he’s gay and in a relationship with Wallid (Peter Macdissi). Unfazed, the drama truly begins when Frank’s father and Beth’s grandfather (Stephen Root in a vicious role) suddenly dies, forcing Frank to take a trip down memory lane and slowly confront his past.

For the most part, Uncle Frank keeps things light, which plays in its favor. Trauma is a ghost that can never truly be healed, and Frank’s is no less hurtful and reflects the rejection experienced through the suffocating bonds of the family — in this case, the family patriarch. Bettany brings an equal measure of comedy and pathos to a man tormented by a horrible past that he has tried to distance himself away from, and his performance is anchored by Lillis in a strong, feminist role. The movie does lose a bit towards its resolution, choosing to avoid the pitfalls of Southern Gothic and instead of keeping it light and airy and anachronistically forward-thinking. That can’t be a bad thing, can it?

Two of Us: B; Uncle Frank: B

Rendezvous with French Cinema 2021: Little Girl (Petite Fille)

The Lincoln Center returns with a virtual-only version of its Rendezvous with French Cinema film festival. Now in its 26th year, the film festival shows no sign of slowing down and manages to continually reinvent itself rather than present the same tired Catherine Deneuve/Isabelle Huppert movies that frankly, are just fillers and manage to say nothing new about the language of film. I’ve nothing against either one — I have always admired Huppert and know her to be the better actress — but Deneuve has mostly coasted off of her golden locks and vacuous stares that were the rage in the 60s at the height of her fame. Now she’s been whittled down to spewing out at least a film or three out for the sake of repetitive acting working. Sometimes they stick. Sometimes, it’s like chomping down on some fluff — it’s super-sugary but has no substance. The closest thing she has come to actually deliver a true performance was in last year’s The Truth, which was the film to open the 25th edition of RWFC, and which received a belated release thanks to the pandemic.

This year, if there is a movie to watch it is Sébastien Lifshitz’s documentary Little Girl (Petite Fille). If I’m not wrong, this is the first documentary to open at the French film festival. Lifshitz’s movie focuses on a special character. His subject, the mononymous Sasha, is seven years old, and while she may have been born a boy, she clearly — and openly — affirms herself as a girl. Scratch that — she is a girl, plain and simple. Her mother Karine, while in therapy early on, expresses support that is so open-hearted, so emotional and complete, that it threatens to overshadow Sasha’s own story. Karine partly blames herself for Sasha, a situation that any parent of a gay or transgender child might experience. Wanting a girl so badly, she wonders if perhaps her own intensity of desire may have caused Sasha to come into the world announcing her femininity to French society, which plays a large part of the doc, but we’ll get to that in a bit.

Little Girl establishes that Sasha has nothing to fear at home. She is unequivocally supported by her father and two older siblings who practically stand up for her at any chance. [She has a younger brother but he is too young to truly understand the drama unfolding before his eyes and mostly gets relegated to being a toddler.]

The conflict of the documentary arises — or has been brewing, even before the tape has begun to roll — in the outside world. Karine has had to contend with a school system that is shockingly intolerant towards trans rights and who will not accept her as a girl. Yet, this is all Sasha wants, and her tiny face contorts into a frown that suddenly explodes with tears at a therapy session with renowned child psychologist Anne Bargiacchi. It is all that one needs to see to realize the conflicts that Sasha has been put through just because her identity doesn’t line up with her physical genitalia. Place that side-by-side to an earlier scene when Karine informs her therapist that the sheer happiness Sasha displayed when wearing her first dress was incomparable. As a viewer, as someone who is extremely sensitive to the delicate psyche of a child, I couldn’t but be furious with a system based on archaic beliefs. It seems to almost parallel the ones transgender people face here in the US — particularly in more conservative parts of the country.

Karine eventually starts to win her battle against the school, but scars and wounds remain. Sasha’s dance teacher forbids her to wear girl’s clothes simply because “in her country such a thing is illegal.” Karine fears, and is justified in feeling so, that Sasha will encounter hatred in this world and worries she may not be around to protect her when that time comes. In the middle of it, we get the more silent shots which are worth every second of their presence in the film. Sasha, simply existing, dancing to her own rhythm, running on the beach in a peach bathing suit, combing her hair which gets longer during the movie — the only indication of the passing of time. These are the snippets that matter, because they present a little girl completely at bliss in her own body and self. Little Girl, without a doubt, is one of the most delicate, sensitive documentaries to emerge in a long time and I hope that it gets the exposure it should here in the US once it hits theaters (and virtual platforms). We could all learn from Karine, but especially, from Sasha.

Little Girl will have its premiere as one of the seven movies included in the Seattle International Film Festival, Main Selection, on April 8. It will arrive later at theaters and virtual cinema. Date of release TBA.

Grade: A