I was raring up to like this movie quite a bit just from genre association alone. A rom-com/heist flick made and set during COVID lockdown, after films like Host proved that there’s pathos to be wrung out of the timeliness, with a plentiful cast of actors I’ve grown to love over the last few years; what could possibly go wrong? Well, in short, just about everything, but I’m not exactly in the mood to show this thing the mercy of brevity.
The second team-up between Italian crime aficionado Stefano Sollima and revisionist Western master Taylor Sheridan finds them both dealing with familiar territory, while also refining their approach from Sicario: Day Of The Soldado. Like Soldado, it is a particularly grim look at American military efforts, and like the original Sicario, a lot of it focuses on how one soldier becomes twisted at the whims of their handlers.
I have a vivid memory of the first time I heard Strange Fruit. Well, first time I heard it in its entirety, as my first exposure to it at all was through Kanye West’s Yeezus… but let’s try and ignore that for the time being. I found myself curious about the sample choice from Blood On The Leaves, did some quick Googling, and found the Nina Simone version on YouTube. Specifically, this one, and the fact that I remember it being this one is down to how harrowing that experience was. The grotesque imagery in the lyrics, the pain and occasional sneer in Simone’s vocals, the photo montage of actual lynch victims; everyone else can argue about the phrase ‘white guilt’ all they damn well please, but I really have no other way to describe the rotting feeling in my stomach when all was sung and done.
I’m starting out with this because, upon first seeing the trailer for this film about the originator Billie Holiday, I felt tremors of that gut rot from years past. As such, the notion of a film about Holiday being targeted by the U.S. government over that song certainly grabbed my interest, and when Andra Day as Billie sings it herself, staring daggers directly at the camera… yeah, it’s still one of the most powerful pieces of music ever penned. Andra Day doing her own singing, with a solid resemblance to the real Billie’s jazzy affectations, adds to the effect, as does her acting chops in depicting the final decade in Billie’s storied life… kind of.
It’s almost embarrassing having to admit that I’ve seen this movie. Both for myself, in that I paid money to sit through this thing, and for those involved, as this should only exist as a blip on each actor’s respective radar, not something to be remembered or directly attributed to them. But I’ve made it this far writing reviews for every new film I watch, and I’m not about to give this the satisfaction of breaking that trend, so let’s get into one of the snooziest dumpster fires I’ve seen in years.
I’m probably going to make a habit of saying this over the next few months, now that the COVID shuffle has begun to ease up and all the big franchise pictures from last year are finally primed for release, but it’s especially true for this film in particular: I have been hyped for this for well over a year. The Saw series remains my all-time favourite movie franchise, Saw III is one of my all-time favourite films, and for as much of a remix as it was, the Spierig Brothers’ Jigsaw was a satisfying effort. I look forward to new Saw movies the same way Nintendo kids look forward to new Zelda games; I hunger for shit like this.
I’ve gotten into this point in previous reviews, but for the uninitiated, let me just get it out there: There are few things I find duller to (personally) sit through than films that critique or otherwise examine the ideal of the American Dream. Every time I see a new film dealing in this subject matter, it feels like I have to incentivise my own brain into paying attention; American Made had this effect on me, same with Home Sweet Hell and, to a lesser extent, Gold, so this seems to be regardless of a film’s individual quality as entertainment.
I just… don’t care about the idea, as even all the way over here in Australia, I was taught from a fairly early age that the American Dream is a fantasy not worth chasing. As such, I think I’ve developed a blind spot to it as a regular filmgoer; unless it’s told in a really out-there fashion (i.e. slathered in genre engagement and commentary on other things like with Knives Out), it just doesn’t register for me.
It was inevitable that we’d get to this point. After working as part of the DisneyToon machine in the 2000s, and breaking out into the mainstream to properly embarrass Disney licenses in the 2010s, it was only a matter of time before Evan Spiliotopoulos stopped merely writing unnecessary stories and started directing his own. Admittedly, I wasn’t expecting that transition to take the form of a Raimi-produced horror film, but seeing him attached as director to a new movie still isn’t as shocking as it should be. What is quite shocking, however, is how much this film is already starting to sour in my memory less than an hour after watching it. And my thoughts on it weren’t exactly glowing to begin with.
