In the documentary, we meet Shigeki, who charts his own path in practicing Ainu Puri (the Ainu way) as a way to rediscover his roots in Shiranuka, Hokkaido. We watch as he navigates his day-to-day while trying to stay true to his traditions. We also bear witness to his attempts at passing down various aspects of the Ainu culture – including the art of salmon fishing – to his son, Motoki. We follow Shigeki and his family as they endeavor to live as Ainu – with all that it entails – in modern day Japan.

The Ainu’s story is one that is reminiscent of indigenous people in almost every part of the world: lost land, language, culture, and rights. It is a story that Takeshi Fukunaga captures with a journalistic eye and cinematic ambition.

We caught up with Takeshi Fukunaga at this year’s edition of the Tokyo International Film Festival where we spoke to him about his deeply moving and profoundly human documentary.

*The following interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Umapagan Ampikaipakan: As a Malaysian, I knew very little about the Ainu before watching this documentary. How much awareness is there in Japan with regards to their story?

Takeshi Fukunaga: I can only speak from my personal point of view, but most people have recognized the term “Ainu,” and acknowledge them as indigenous people, but only few people know anything further. There was a very popular manga called Golden Kamuy, and that really helped introduce the Ainu to the general public. They know that there are these people in Hokkaido, and that they have their own culture, but there is still a lot of work when it comes to raising awareness and educating people.

UA: When did you first encounter this story and what made you want to tell it?

TF: I was born and raised in Hokkaido, so I was aware of the Ainu people. But there was no education at school about them. Just one or two sentences acknowledging their existence. I knew very little, and even though I had some Ainu classmates, we didn’t know how to talk about it. It was almost taboo. We didn’t know enough about our history, we didn’t know enough to be able to discuss it.

It was only after I move the the U.S. that I realized how little I knew. I felt ashamed. That’s how I started my own learning process. And it was making these films (both Ainu Mosir and Ainu Puri) that was a big education for me.

UA: Watching Ainu Puri made me think about the many uncomfortable parallels between the Ainu people and the Native Americans, and even the indigenous people in Malaysia. Watching this can’t help but change you. What does making something like this do to you? How did it change you?

TF: First of all, I now have an extensive knowledge about the Ainu. I have a good sense of who they are and the struggles they face in this day and age. But I think the biggest lesson for me was the sensitivity of making a movie about Ainu as a non-Ainu. It is something you can apply to just about anything, whether it’s an immigrant story, or one about the Korean-Japanese population, or any of the minority groups that are still very much underrepresented in Japanese society today.

I truly believe that art is something that can transcend those borders. That’s why I do it. That’s why I make films in the first place. But learning about that sensitivity was the biggest lesson for me as a person.

UA: Which brings me nicely to my next question which was about the mental notes you made while making this movie. Was there a list of things that you knew you didn’t want to do as an outsider to the Ainu?

TF: The very reason I made my second feature, Ainu Mosir, was to update the representation of Ainu in film.

UA: Which was the first time that an all Ainu cast was in a movie together?

TF: Yes. That is correct. It was the first time in history that there was an Ainu movie starring Ainu people. They have had very tiny roles in the past. But this is the first time it’s happened in a non-documentary film.

And so going into that, I was very careful not to impose my preconceived notions about Ainu, because the last thing I wanted to do is to enhance the stereotype.

That was my biggest mental note.

But despite knowing that, there are still many, many pitfalls that you can easily fall into. And it’s not just with the Ainu, but when you portray anyone who isn’t you. There is a danger in imposing your own ideas about who someone is. So even though I was careful while shooting it, in the editing room I realized that there were some choices that weren’t as fair as I wanted them to be.

UA: So as a documentary filmmaker, did you go into this with a plan, or did you just do in, listen, and see where the story took you?

TF: Well we had some plans. At least as far as what we wanted to focus on and prioritize over other things. And that was to humanize them and portray them for who they are, as they are, instead of something that is different or unusual.

As far as the story goes, I didn’t know what the core narrative was going to be when I started shooting. But as we went along I realized that this was going to be about that father/son relationship and how he passes on, not only Ainu culture, but his own knowledge as a person.

UA: I think that whole sequence of him taking his son fishing for the first time was really incredible. And the one thing that stood out for me was how cinematic your documentary was. A lot of documentaries don’t feel very cinematic. Can you talk to me about you process and why it was important for it to look the way it did?

TF: I agree. I feel like many documentaries focus on capturing the moment and the message, but not so much about how to capture it. And me and my cinematographer (Eric Shirai) had some discussions about how we wanted to make it as cinematic as possible without altering reality too much. The license we gave ourselves was to ask them to do something, or redo something, or wait until we had the camera in position. As long as we weren’t asking them to do something they wouldn’t ordinarily do. We weren’t shy about asking them to do something instead of just following them around.

UA: When you’re making something like this, I was wondering if “authenticity” is something that you strive for? Or is it irrelevant?

TF: Not so much. I don’t know really. Once we are there, as a camera crew, we are already changing their reality. They will say and do things in a different way from what they would without the presence of a camera. We can try and make it as authentic as possible, but at the same time it’s not reality, it’s a film.

UA: Questions of identity are very, very difficult to ascertain. In all of the time that you spent with the Ainu, did you get a better understanding of how they feel about national identity versus cultural identity? Where do they see themselves with regards to being Japanese?

TF: That’s a very tough question. First of all, seeing themselves as a Japanese person, or citizen, or anything Japanese, differs from individual to individual. A lot of it has to do with how they live, and how they speak, and the customs they grew up with. It isn’t something patriotic or nationalistic. It’s just the natural environment that they became most familiar with.

Ainu cultural practices are not a part of their daily life at this point. They do it because they want to keep it. But it’s not a part of the ecosystem of their lives. The practices, the prayers, the hunter/gatherer lifestyle is so far away from how they live now. So they have to make a serious effort to keep that culture alive.

So in a way, they choose to be Ainu. They are born with those biological and physical roots. But as far as a psychological identity, or cultural identity, they have to make an effort, unlike a regular Japanese person.

UA: There seemed to be a conscious effort on your part to not make this feel like an activist documentary. But were you ever tempted to be a little more political?

TF: No. Whether it’s fiction or documentary, for directors to use the medium to say what they want to say, treads a thin moral line. For me to make a political statement using this documentary didn’t feel right. I have my opinion, but the best I can do is to to be a medium for Shigeki to say what he wants to say. But if I pick and choose, and then edit the film to send some strong political message, that would not be who he actually is. The best thing I can do is to show people his position.

UA: I have to talk to you a little bit about your other work as well. Could you talk to me about how you maneuver between something like Shogun and Tokyo Vice and Ainu Puri. Because I’m assuming both those things are so totally different, right?

TF: Yeah. Very different. Very different. First of all, those other things let me pay my bills. Unfortunately, independent films don’t really pay the bills for me. And I’m so grateful for that financial stability.

Those big productions did help me grow as a director. On those sets, something always comes up. And when something comes up, it’s totally different when you have a 20 person crew or when you have hundreds of people waiting for your decision. Every minute costs a lot more money and it’s very nerve-wracking. So having done that has made me a lot calmer in those emergency situations. I’m a lot quicker when it comes to making decisions now. It was a great learning experience.

But also, my role in those productions is very different. Even as a director, you are basically serving the vision of the showrunner. And so working in that situation made it clear to me why I had to do these smaller, independent productions for myself. Otherwise why do this?

I am very thankful. I enjoy being able to go back and forth between two very different worlds. And I think each one gives me a very objective view of the other.

We caught a screening of Ainu Puri at the 2024 edition of the Tokyo International Film Festival.

The post Ainu Puri: We Speak to Director Takeshi Fukunaga appeared first on Goggler.

This Land of Mine tells the story of a humanitarian team who set out to a remote indigenous settlement. After their boat gets damaged, they are left stranded on an island that’s inhabited by a forgotten tribe. As they begin to navigate the dangerous terrain, they realize they have become the prey to this mysterious tribe, who are hell bent on keeping their treasures to themselves.

This one looked it was going to be a risky horror film that centered around a topic rarely discussed in Malaysian filmmaking: cannibalism. Not only that, but the marketing for this film also claimed that it was one of the rare (if not only) Malaysian creature-features. My expectations were relatively high. But again, all of that was also, very, very short lived.

But let’s start with what works.

The cinematography is excellent. Every shot is well thought out and carefully crafted. The film actually looks good, which only added to the potential of what this could have been.

The cast is also very good. While all of them delivered some worthy performances, the one stand out was Firdaus Sufiyan in only his second major feature film. Without disregarding the rest of his cast mates, Firdaus felt like he truly embodied his character from head to toe, embracing every joy and fear that came with it. What’s more, the character’s annoying influencer persona made him someone you truly hated in the beginning but ended up sympathizing with along the way.

And that’s where the positives end, because where This Land of Mine fails is with regards to its script and story.

For a film that marketed itself as a gory, horror affair, there was painfully little of it throughout its 90 minute runtime. There are moments when it felt more like a dramatic parody of Tomb Raider. We spend an insane amount of time watching lead actress, Musyi Mohtar, rattle off lines of dialogue that feel overwrought and drawn out, adding little to the storyline, and taking away from the overall atmosphere of the film.

The vast majority of the lines spoken by the actors end up sounding like they shoved a 45 minute script into an online thesaurus and added as many unnecessary words as they could in order to lengthen its runtime.

Last but not least, the inclusion of a mythical creature, teased throughout the film, felt a little too unreal among all the otherwise grounded storytelling. While many of the things that the characters go through feel like terrifyingly real incidents that could possibly happen, the unfortunate addition of that creature really undermined the tone of the film. Maybe this was their way of creating something shocking, but it unfortunately just fell flat, in an almost literal sense.

Which is all a bit of a shame really, because This Land of Mine had an incredible amount of potential. If it focused less on the conventional and taken more risks, then they might have actually had something.

What they should have done was just go all out with the found footage aspect of the film and really lean into that cannibal story. The end result would have been a slightly controversial, yet incredibly bold movie, that would be proudly Malaysian made. Which is why it’s so unfortunate that it feels like they held back.

Now don’t get me wrong. This isn’t a terrible film. There is ambition here. But if Feisk are planning to make any more like this one, my only advice would be to be bolder, take risks, don’t be afraid, and just let go.

This Land of Mine is now showing in Malaysian cinemas.

The post This Land of Mine Is a Missed Opportunity for Boldness appeared first on Goggler.

This one follows a long line of Christmas films before it that try to showcase the magic of the holiday by featuring the likes of Santa Claus and his North Pole family. It’s where the main plot of this film begins. After having been taken from his home on Christmas Eve, Santa (J.K. Simmons) is now at the mercy of his captors and it’s up to his right-hand man and chief of security, Callum Drift (Dwayne Johnson), to save the day along with the help of an unlikely hero, bounty hunter Jack O’Malley (Chris Evans).

Now on the surface, this sounds like a fun, absurd outing for the whole family. The trailer looked entertaining and it had the potential to be a Christmas classic. The actual movie, however, does nothing to fulfill that promise. Instead, what we got feels like yet another overwrought showcase for how Dwayne Johnson can do anything, including saving Christmas.

Behold, yet another big budget action movie that’s all tied up in The Rock’s ego.

Make no mistake, Red One is just another Dwayne Johnson vehicle. Everything else – plot, narrative, structure – is all secondary. (Which should have been obvious from how the movie was made!) While you have a great bunch of actors like Chris Evans, J.K. Simmons, and Lucy Liu coming out to play, there is a very clear sense that all of them were just there to support Johnson’s vision. It’s a disappointing revelation, but isn’t at all surprising considering this is yet another Seven Bucks Production.

While Red One did score the occasional laugh, it really seemed to be confused over what kind of movie if wanted to be. Is it a family Christmas movie or an action adventure? Could it be both? Shouldn’t there be a balance? Alas, otherwise capable director, Jake Kasdan, seemed to lean into the action side of things, which dragged the movie along to an inevitable and unsurprising end. There were just too many “cool” ideas here that should have been left on the cutting room floor.

As for the Christmassy side of things, all of the usual messaging about family values and treasuring those around you are only sporadically mentioned whenever someone remembers that they’re in a holiday movie. It makes all of those emotional beats feel half baked. None of it resonates. Which is a real shame because there was the potential for powerful moments, all of which were undermined by a series of maddening blockbuster action moments designed to remind the audience just how indestructible and powerful Dwayne Johnson is.

It’s not all doom and gloom though. J.K. Simmons is absolutely in his element as Father Christmas, delivering some truly fun, charismatic moments that will make you wish he was coming down your chimney this season. It was so much fun watching him do what he does that you’ll end up wishing this was his movie instead.

And then there’s Chris Evans, who felt like the only person who truly understood the assignment. For once, he got to shed the Captain America persona and lean into the sly, comic aspect of his character. While he was unfortunately let down by a script that prioritized The Rock, his presence does elevate the movie into something better than it has any right to be.

The other smart thing about Red One was the actual world building around Christmas and the North Pole. It may be bold of me to say, but I think this is the first time that the logic behind Santa’s infamous sleigh actually makes sense. Turning the North Pole into a sort of futuristic utopia was also something I hadn’t seen before. Once again, there was potential here. God knows it was a world I wanted to explore.

Red One isn’t great. It isn’t the worst holiday film of all time – that dishonor still belongs to The Star Wars Holiday Special – but if you’re looking for something to bring your kids to and have a whale of a time, if you’re hoping to leave the movie with that joyous, celebratory feeling, you’re better off watching something else.

Red One is now showing in Malaysian cinemas.

The post Red One Is Yet Another Dwayne Johnson Puff Piece appeared first on Goggler.

The biggest problem with this premise is that we simply hadn’t spent enough time with these characters as the proverbial shit hits the fan. And so we’re unable to truly immerse ourselves in their body-swapping euphoria. As the characters play a few rounds of Guess Who (a game akin to Mafia or Werewolf), I too found myself joining in, but more as someone who was reluctantly forced to participate in a game at a party she wished she wasn’t at. I was surrounded by strangers whose names and faces I couldn’t remember, when it dawned upon me that all of them were basically caricatures of clichés. 

Maybe writer/director Greg Jardin was going for satire, or maybe these exaggerated characterizations were merely a device to help us keep track of who’s who. Whatever the reason, it didn’t work, and the first part of the movie just felt like a whirlwind of chaotic introductions.

A freak accident then throws the night into disarray, marking the point where the movie becomes steadily more engaging. We don’t necessarily care for these characters any more than we did at the start, but that actually works in the movie’s favour. We simply begin to see this group of friends for who they truly are as they struggle to mask their intense dislike of each other. As the tensions ramp up, the story becomes increasingly exhilarating.

If anything, It’s What’s Inside only truly shines in the aftermath of all the body-swapping. The characters rarely land in the comical scenarios you’d expect from this kind of premise — a missed opportunity, for sure. But hey, maybe the film was going for a more serious tone? Unfortunately, it doesn’t fully commit to that either — yet another missed chance.

There’s a hint of commentary on racism, but it doesn’t get the spotlight it deserves.

Except for one glossed over instance, none of the characters actually swap into the opposite gender, which could have opened the door to a much wider, much cleverer, metaphor. The film also doesn’t fully explore bodily autonomy or consent, even as the characters casually take advantage of each other’s bodies while swapping.

Even the existential dilemmas it presents come across as superficial; although not entirely trivial. In the end, we’re left with a less meaningful exploration of powerful themes that barely scratch the surface.

If you aren’t looking for a deep and nuanced exploration of friendship and contemporary social mores, but enjoy thrillers and slick visuals, then this might still be a worthwhile watch. But I do wonder how much more memorable an addition to the genre this could have been, had it simply taken the time to better develop its characters, allowing each one to tell their own compelling story.

It would have cranked up the stakes of the body-swapping catastrophe and made the ending far more mind-blowing. Even the buildup to the plot twist didn’t hit as hard as it should have. It simply comes out of nowhere, like a contrivance rather than the properly fleshed-out, triumphant revenge story that it had the potential to be.

It’s What’s Inside boasts a high-concept plot, a talented cast, and a stylishly eerie old mansion as its backdrop, making it undeniably entertaining. I can’t help but feel, however, that it teases more than it delivers.

The film leans heavily into style over substance, offering more aesthetics than meaningful insight. For the most part, the movie delivers enough disturbing ideas to keep you intrigued and glued to the screen. It tries hard to come off as more intellectual than it actually is, but ultimately works better as a thrilling watch than as a thought-provoking piece.

It’s What’s Inside is now streaming on Netflix.

The post It’s What’s Inside Isn’t Quite as Intellectual as It Wants to Be appeared first on Goggler.

While the Venom franchise has been a mixed bag, there’s no doubt that the franchise has delivered immense financial success to Sony’s Spider-Man Universe. The first movie grossed US$856.1 million worldwide, while the sequel — despite receiving mixed reactions — still made an impressive $506.9 million. Crucially, Venom became the character that Sony could place as the centerpiece of its universe. (Sure, they’ve also got Tom Holland’s Spider-Man, but he’s technically a part of the MCU. It’s unnecessarily complicated, I know.)

So what does Venom: The Last Dance – supposedly the final movie in this trilogy – mean for the titular character and Sony’s Spider-Man Universe moving forward?

It’s hard to tell really.

On the one hand, this movie introduces so many new elements that it feels like the set up for a whole other trilogy of movies. On the other, it does so little with these new characters and concepts, that none of it matters, leaving us with more questions than answers.

Ted Lasso’s Juno Temple is introduced as Dr. Teddy Payne, a brilliant scientist and symbiote expert, whose brother was killed by a lightning strike. We have no idea why that last piece of information is important to us, but it’s right there in a pointless dream sequence.

At various points in the movie, you will see a mysterious shadowy chap standing around staring at screens. Chiwetel Ejiofor’s General will say things like “the six have been reconstituted” but not explain what any of it means. Rhys Ifans is also in this. Only he’s not playing Dr. Curt Connors, a.k.a. The Lizard, but there is absolutely no reason given as to why he is in the same universe as Venom.

And then there’s Knull, the father of the symbiotes, and an existential threat to everyone on Earth. This is a Thanos-level villain who appears in shadow and is totally underutilized in the movie. His motivations are boiled down to a couple of lines in the film: he wants to break free from his prison through a tool known as the Codex, a MacGuffin which is contained within Eddie and Venom and only appears when they merge into their true suited form.

Apart from a few scenes, Knull is barely shown throughout the movie. The only times we see him are during the opening sequence and towards the end when Venom foils Knull’s plan to break free from his prison. While it’s understandable for Sony to play the long game, Venom: The Last Dance criminally undermines the potential to raise the stakes, considering the personal connections all symbiotes have with their creator. (According to a long line of comic storylines, Knull created the entire symbiote race, slayed celestials and gods, and in certain timelines, consumed all of reality.)

Tom Hardy, who has played Eddie Brock in the trilogy of Venom films, revealed in a recent interview with Screen Rant that he has no regrets in concluding his journey with the Marvel icon, stating that nothing has been left out as everything has been “surgically chosen and delivered, like right down to the shots.” I beg to differ.

Perhaps the more interesting question would be about Knull’s future in Sony’s Spider-Man Universe. With director Kelly Marcel hinting about future Knull plans beyond Venom: The Last Dance, the door is wide open for the primordial entity to return. Let’s remember that symbiotes work as a hive mind, and several are aware of the different universes that others have encountered, so it’s safe to say that Knull could be a formidable multiversal threat to the Avengers.

This, of course, is entirely dependent on Kevin Feige’s plans for the MCU.

Spider-Man 4 could also be an exciting avenue to pay off the different storylines from Spider-Man: No Way Home and Venom: The Last Dance. Fans have been eagerly waiting for Tom Hardy and Tom Holland to interact on the big screen— something teased in Venom: Let There Be Carnage’s post-credits scene, but retconned in both Spider-Man: No Way Home, and again in this movie.

Overall, Venom: The Last Dance is a fitting end to the dynamic duo’s financially lucrative yet creatively questionable trilogy. It has everything you can expect from a Venom movie and sets the path for future possibilities within Sony’s Spider-Man universe. For what it’s worth, at least Venom wasn’t as forgettable as almost all the other installments from Sony’s Spider-Man universe. 

This article was written with contributions from Jonathan Khoo.

Venom: The Last Dance is now showing in Malaysian cinemas.

The post Venom: The Last Dance and What It Means for the Future appeared first on Goggler.

In Don’t Move, Iris is a grieving mother living on the edge of depression after the accidental death of her little boy, Mateo. Early one morning, Iris leaves her house for a hike in the woods. She breaks every rule of hiking, including leaving without her mobile phone and not telling anyone – not even her husband – where she’s going. Iris, you see, has no intention of coming home. 

In the woods, Iris brings herself to a cliff near where Mateo died. As she stands there contemplating her decision, she’s approached by a man. Calling himself Richard, he recognises all the signs in Iris. Like her, Richard was once suicidally depressed after an accident killed his girlfriend and left him paralysed for months. His care and compassion bring Iris back from the edge. Once Richard is convinced she won’t hurt herself anymore, he attacks her. 

Richard injects Iris with a muscle relaxant that takes about 20 minutes to kick in. He tells Iris that soon, she’ll begin losing her fine motor skills, then her capacity to walk, and finally, her voice. After that, it’s game over. The one thing that Richard didn’t count on was that his formerly suicidal victim would find her will to live. Iris fights back and flees, and the hunt begins.

When I first watched the trailer for Don’t Move, I was genuinely curious to see how they would pull off this interesting concept of a woman who has only 20 minutes to escape her pursuer as she grows more helpless with every passing moment. If taken at face value, this would have been a very short film. Fortunately, Sam Raimi, along with directors Adam Schindler and Brian Netto, do an admirable job keeping things tight and tense.

Iris stumbles from one danger to the next, and at no point does the action or plot slow down, even when she does. And even though Richard promises that it’ll take only 20 minutes for Iris to become paralysed, the problem is that she remains frozen for so much longer. The excitement is in watching her figure out ways to save herself when she can no longer move or call out for help.

The premise for Don’t Move might seem very simple, but the paralysis plot device is still an emotionally compelling vehicle for driving Iris’s character development. Through this ordeal, Iris realizes that even though she believed she no longer wanted to live, it didn’t mean she wanted to die. When Richard strips Iris of her autonomy, it is only then that she is forced to fight, kicking and screaming, through the grief that has immobilised her for too long.

I’ve seen Finn Wittrock in other roles where he’s the villain (American Horror Story comes to mind). Wittrock is always good at playing magnetic misogynists. With his looks and charm, it’s easy to understand how he can seduce anyone. Yet his performance as Richard was almost subdued. Wittrock makes Richard seem so normal – a family man who’s nice and actually quite caring. Maybe that is where the true horror of it all lies.

Meanwhile, the actress who plays Iris, Kelsey Asbille, was new to me. Unfortunately, her performance here was less than stellar. It helped when Iris became increasingly paralyzed, and Asbille had an excuse for not emoting as much. But in all the scenes before that, Asbille neglected to mine the emotional depths of her character’s grief and fear. Being played by a wooden actress didn’t exactly make Iris less sympathetic, but it wasn’t as easy to connect with her. 

Don’t Move isn’t really a stand out effort. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that this is a film that very competently tackles the threat of stranger danger that confronts women. And for all the pain and sorrow Iris experiences, there’s a nice bit of circularity and comfort where she finally understands that being “broken doesn’t mean hopeless.”

Don’t Move is now streaming on Netflix.

The post Don’t Move Competently Tackles the Dangers Faced by Women appeared first on Goggler.

When the zombie apocalypse happens, Francis Abel brings his wife, Iris, and their sons, Joshua and Lucas, to his family’s colonial mansion in the countryside. Far from other people, Francis believes they can sustain themselves and heal in peace. You see, all is not well with the Abels, as Francis and Iris are reeling from revelations of infidelity. They were headed for separation when the end of the world happened.

But much like a zombie bite, Francis’s unhealed wounds from Iris’ betrayal, and his own childhood trauma at the hands of an abusive father, begin to fester. Slowly, the family rots from the inside out, and the threats within the mansion grow more sinister than the dangers lurking outside. Iris and her sons soon realize that monsters can live with you, and even within you.

In this post-civilisation frontier world, self-sufficiency is paramount and tied to manhood. Francis pressures his oldest son Joshua to learn survival skills – which include shooting a gun and dealing with corpses. As father and son become locked in a sad, twisted, Oedipus complex, Francis grows convinced that his family will leave him. And so he begins to gaslight them, staging zombie attacks, and laying down the law that nobody can leave.

Trapped inside a house that holds his childhood demons, Francis begins channelling some serious Jack Torrance vibes. Ledesma captures the horror of domestic violence and gender-based assault that is sadly a part of the machismo culture of the Philippines. The infection that takes hold of Francis isn’t the zombie virus, but the poison and paranoia of toxic masculinity that legitimises this patriarch’s campaign to terrorise his family. 

For all the abuse and brutality Francis unleashes, the scariest moment for me was when he forces his family to celebrate Christmas in September in order to take their minds off the apocalypse. While celebrating Christmas the moment the ‘-ber’ months begin is very Filipino, Iris and her sons know that beneath the veneer of winter sweaters and fairy lights lies a monstrous rage in a man they once, and still, love. 

While Outside may not be a landmark zombie movie, it is still an important and very welcome addition to the canon. Ledesma gives us a quiet, mature film that excels in its restraint. It never dwells in unnecessary gore or violence, but tells its tale of one family’s deeply personal fight for survival and redemption.  

The acting is also solid. As Francis and Iris, Sid Lucero and Beauty Gonzalez give achingly tender performances as a couple struggling to keep it together while facing both the end of the world and the end of their relationship. And the fight scene on the bridge, where Francis fends off a pack of undead, should get Lucero praise for his performance that was, at once, athletic and balletic. 

Another thing Ledesma does well is to forego the temptation to explain the zombie apocalypse or how it happened. By this stage, any discussion on zombie biology would just be rehashing lore that modern audiences already know very well. So Ledesma skips unnecessary exposition and dives right into the action. What I did appreciate is that Ledesma gives his zombies an unusual twist: the power of speech. 

Now these zombies aren’t conversationalists. Instead, they repeat just a word or sentence. Ledesma uses this ability to great effect, as there’s something hauntingly sad about a person trapped in a loop, saying the last things they uttered in life. But there is hope. Unlike Western zombies, which can go on indefinitely, there are signs that the ones in Outside are slowly dying off. For better or worse, humanity may yet recover and prevail.

With its Asian sensibilities on family life, colonial aesthetics, and unforgiving humidity, Outside shows off the best of Southeast Asian horror. By centering the action in a Filipino context, Ledesma gives the zombie subgenre a fresh shot in the arm, helping revive a monster trope that has been so overdone in recent decades that it’s sometimes at risk of atrophying.

Outside is now streaming on Netflix.

The post Outside Is a Fresh Shot in the Arm of the Zombie Genre appeared first on Goggler.

Their mangaka careers, however, are cut short when the young adult Kyomoto decides to part ways in order to go to art school. Fujino berates Kyomoto for leaving her, leading them to part on less than the best of terms.

Look Back beautifully translates Tatsuki Fujimoto’s work, with every frame a faithful homage to the original manga that it’s based on. Director Kiyotaka Oshiyama doesn’t just do an impeccable job in adapting Tatsuki Fujimoto’s visuals, he also, dare I say, improves the pacing of the source material. The way he shows the passage of time in this film is masterful – a hand hovering over a piece of paper, sounds of a distant cityscape, the soft howls of the wind – all of which bring scenes together so seamlessly you almost forget that you are watching a film.

That said, it is the sound design that really brings this movie to life. The use of silence, along with Haruka Nakamura’s soft, melancholic soundtrack, does wonders to capture the solitude of separation and the unexpressed feeling of wanting to make things right. The music isn’t an emotional rollercoaster, but rather an emotional wormhole that subtly sneaks up on you and holds on to you long after the credits roll.

This anime’s unique hand-drawn style, as well as the subtle reference to the manga that Fujino and Kyomoto are creating, are a consequence of the film retaining a large amount of the key animation drawings in its final product, which were done in large part by the director himself. This makes Look Back stand out from other films like it, while also allowing Fujimoto’s original drawings their time to shine. 

This is an anime that isn’t afraid to be its own thing. It gives us an insight into the artistic struggle that comes with being a mangaka, and the toll it can take on friends and family. It speaks to the power of art and the human connection it inspires. It forces us to reflect upon our own regrets. It is a powerful and bittersweet ode to friendship that punches far above its succinct run time.

Look Back is now showing in Malaysian cinemas.

The post Look Back Is a Despondent but Beautiful Coming-Of-Age Story appeared first on Goggler.

Smile 2 focuses on a brand new character, pop singer Skye Riley who, after suffering a massive bout of drug abuse resulting in the death of her boyfriend, picks herself back up again and reboots her career. Her past, however, slowly comes back to haunt her as she is hunted down by the familiar smiling entity we met in the last movie.

While most horror sequels tend to bring back its (surviving) stars, Smile 2 takes a different turn by deciding to not include a single cast member from the first movie. (Except maybe for one, but it doesn’t really count as he is in it for no longer than a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cameo.) Instead, creator Parker Finn has taken this opportunity to explore a new story within this universe which, for the most part, kind of works.

Right from the opening scroll of the film, we are thrown head first back into this world, wasting no time in letting us know how everything is going to play out. This one isn’t going to ease us into the gore. Finn does it within the first three minutes. And while that firmly sets the tone for what is to come, I was still unprepared for just how disturbing this sequel was going to be.

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Finn knew what formula worked well before and decides to stick to that. Revisiting my previous review of Smile, I noticed that there were a lot of similarities with what I loved about the first film and what didn’t quite work. It was nearly identical to the notes I had taken for Smile 2. The only difference between the two is that for his latest outing, Finn doesn’t hold back at all. If anything, he took the entire concept, tone, and atmosphere, and dialed it up to a million. If the first Smile wasn’t terrifying enough, he made damn sure that it will be this time round.

Making full use of open spaces and next to no soundtrack for most of the scenes, Finn makes the audience feel incredibly uncomfortable and disturbed. You will find yourself inching further and further back into your seat, trying to get away from what’s happening on screen. And yet you can’t look away because you’re desperately trying to see if you can preempt any scares by focusing on all those empty spaces that he’s playing with in every shot.

Parker Finn doesn’t give you any time to breathe throughout this 127-minute runtime. Jump scares are going to come at you a mile a minute, flashing subliminal images are going to come out of nowhere, and the silences are going to leave you restless. It’s an experience that is not for the faint hearted or the casual horror fan.

Smile 2 is good, but there are still a few rough patches that keep this from being truly fantastic outing. Much like its predecessor, there is an issue of pacing that still remains. This could have been a lot tighter and might even have worked better if it was about 30 minutes shorter. We could have gotten to the root of the plot a lot faster instead of spending an interminable amount of time just sitting there and watching poor Skye get terrorized by the smiling entity over, and over, and over again, without any real progression. While it does get there in the end, the journey took a lot longer than was necessary. Especially since we’ve already been here before.

And then there is the issue of whether to classify this as a sequel. While there is some continuity with regards to the same demonic spirit terrorizing yet more innocent people, there doesn’t seem to be anything else connecting the first and second movie, making it seem like Smile didn’t even happen at all. Everything is explained as if it was the first time, making it seem like Finn had a bigger idea for the first outing that he didn’t get to fulfill. If anything, this feels more like a remake rather than a sequel. This feels like what the first film should have been like rather than a follow up movie.

As the film begins to ramp up its insanity and outlandishness, I began to think, perhaps bigger is not necessarily better. What made Smile work so well was its air of independence. It felt like an independent film that was given a bigger budget, but made sure that it kept things simple, utilizing its story and eeriness to really leave an impact on its audience rather than rely on massive scares, set pieces, and copious amounts of gore.

With Smile 2, they knew they now had the capability to go further, and most certainly did, leaning into some truly insane filmmaking decisions. Things get so crazy that by the time we reach the massive finale that it almost descends into B-grade territory. And while that might work for some, for me, things could have been scaled back so that our imaginations were allowed to fill in the blanks.

Smile 2 is now showing in Malaysian cinemas.

The post Smile 2 Is an Experience That You Aren’t Prepared For appeared first on Goggler.

In The Platform 2, we return to the Pit, a vertical tower that feeds inmates once a day via a descending platform. The eponymous platform is packed with a banquet of dishes chosen by the inmates. Those at the top get first dibs while those below are stuck with the leftovers; if they’re lucky. In the Pit, food is never neutral, and the politics of eating is a deadly arena to struggle over. 

The Platform 2 introduces us to new characters. Perempuan is a tortured artist (is there any other kind in fiction?) looking for redemption in the Pit after her work accidentally kills a child, and then goes on to make a commercial killing for her. Perempuan’s cellmate, Zamiatin, is a giant of a man. He’s a murderous mathematician and aspiring arsonist who has serious anger management issues when denied his favourite food: pizza. 

While The Platform introduced the Pit as a free-for-all where anyone could indulge however they want, in the sequel, the inmates have formed the Law. This pseudo-religion dictates that each person can only eat the dish they ordered and nothing else. This way, everyone gets something. Freedom is not about taking as you please but about respecting others’ rights. On the surface, the Law seems to have made the Pit a more orderly and equitable world. 

Unfortunately, like in any society, not everyone plays by the rules, not even for the common good. But the dissidents aren’t all wrong. No law is perfect, and the Law of the Pit makes some insane demands. The worst is that food belonging to those who died is flushed away, even though it could feed the starving. Perempuan and Zamiatin come to see how no law can be just when its principals are more important than people.

If The Platform was about the dangers of individual excess to the common good, then The Platform 2 is about the threat of the common good to the individual. While class struggle and revolution were the heart and stomach of the first film, in the sequel, the battle is against the religious fervour and authority that enforces the system. In both, challenging the status quo must first come from convincing others to change themselves. 

What made The Platform so compelling was that it came during the height of the pandemic. They say humanity is two missed meals from collapse, and the film’s commentary on capitalism, our consumption practices, and the distribution of resources took on a different – and wholly uncomfortable – gravity amidst news of people fighting at supermarkets over toilet paper. Trapped in our homes during lockdown, we weren’t just watching a cool thought-experiment. No, the people in the Pit were us.

What I missed from the first film was the easy intimacy and conversations between Goreng and his cellmates. While Perempuan and Zamiatin have their heart-to-hearts, they don’t feel as fully fleshed. In The Platform, the food was such a visible spectacle that it was practically another main character. Here, it’s merely set dressing. The sequel overcompensates with explosions of violence that’s so painterly in composition that it’s simultaneously orgiastic and surrealist. 

While it’s never easy to make a sequel that rises above the original, The Platform 2 still serves a hefty helping of philosophical and political quandaries. Gaztelu-Urrutia manages to offer new perspectives and dimensions to the Pit and people’s relationship to food. Still, the sequel feels like its bitten off more than it can chew and the overall story comes across as slightly undigested. The film is ambitious but thematically scattered, making you wonder if Gaztelu-Urrutia himself really knows what’s going on. 

If the panna cotta was the message in the first film, I’m not quite clear what the message is for the sequel. Except that riding the platform this time wasn’t quite as thrilling as it was confusing. While returning to the Pit was like comfort food, it proves that no matter how delicious a meal was, second helpings don’t satisfy as much. That said, I now know what food I’d ask for on the platform. 

The Platform 2 is now streaming on Netflix.

The post The Platform 2 Doesn’t Quite Sink to the Delicious Depths of the First appeared first on Goggler.