The first two days of the 2019
Sundance Film Festival felt a lot
like the first two days of college.
I was alone in an intimidating,
new environment, surrounded by
people I didn’t know, struggling
to acclimate to a tight routine and
figure out how to get from place
to place. As someone in their final
semester, I found this change to be
especially jarring. But as the days
went by, the Sundance experience
slowly became less about trying to
fit in with the festival’s esteemed
guests and more about what the
festival was really focused on: a
celebration of independent cinema.
Sundance kicked off its first
string of premieres on Thursday
evening.
That
first
night,
I
embarked to the press screening
for “Native Son,” and though the
film itself wasn’t the best way to
start the festival — as you’ll read
about in my review below — the
palpable air of excitement from
fellow cinephiles and critics was
exhilarating. Making conversation
is the first big step in ingratiating
yourself into the Sundance culture,
a challenge I pushed myself to
prevail against by chatting with the
woman in front of me in the line for
“Native Son,” who just so happened
to be a Michigan alumna. Amazing
how a festival as big as this can still
feel like a small world.
The
following
morning,
I
ventured to two equally captivating
panels, the first being an interview
moderated by the Jewish Film
Institute with filmmaker Matt
Tyraneur,
who
discussed
in
comprehensive detail his riveting
documentary
“Where’s
My
Roy Cohn?,” and the second a
wonderful, important conversation
on advancing inclusion in the film
industry, conducted by The Black
List creator Franklin Leonard.
With hours to kill before my second
and third screenings of the festival
— “Share” and “Give Me Liberty”
— I explored the downtown area of
Park City, where crowds of people
bundled in expensive jackets, boots,
scarves and beanies shuffled about.
Over the course of these busy
24 hours, I learned very quickly
that Sundance isn’t as scary as I
thought it would be. Sure, there
were plenty of folks who looked
like they could destroy me if I met
their eyeline, knowing immediately
that I was a novice. But I had to
remember that everyone is here for
the same reason, that learning the
tricks of the trade is second-hand
to the jittery anticipation of seeing
a movie for the first time.
‘Native Son’:
With the recent critical and
commercial successes of “Get Out,”
“BlacKkKlansman” and “Sorry to
Bother You,” social allegory cinema
is in high demand. Young audiences
are craving stories that can unspool
the intricate web of social conflicts
plaguing our society, with the
hopes that current issues like
race relations, gentrification and
microaggressions can make us
think deeper and give us some
sense of clarity about how to
combat the systemic nature of such
problems.
“Native Son,” first-time director
Rashid Johnson’s daring, disjointed
adaptation of Richard Wright’s
1940 novel, is one such story
that tries so desperately to say
something, anything, important
about modern-day racism and class
divides. And while the film has all
the right pieces — timely themes,
gorgeous visuals, an A24 stamp and
a refreshingly diverse young cast —
none of these elements coalesce
into a tale that you can sink your
teeth into. Even the modernized
update of Wright’s book, while
certainly ambitious, fails to wring
out any new insight from its source
material.
Segmented into three chapters
— “Fate, “Fear” and “Flight” —
“Native Son” revolves around
Bigger Thomas (Ashton Sanders,
“The Equalizer 2”), a green-haired,
black-nailed loner who receives
a lifetime opportunity working
as a chauffeur and caretaker for
an affluent white family in the
suburbs of Chicago. The light-
hearted first act, “Fate,” presents
a promising start, immersing us in
Bigger’s fragmented world through
his love of punk rock, his strained
relationship with his mother Trudy
(Sanaa Lathan, “Nappily Ever
After”), his rowdy friends and his
high-maintenance girlfriend Bessie
(Kiki Layne, “If Beale Street Could
Talk”).
All that dramatic momentum,
however, loses steam when the
second act, “Fear,” kicks in. The
coming-of-age undertones slowly
evaporate into a dread-induced
thriller when Bigger begins to
service the Daltons, a family whose
socioeconomic bubble and all-
too-harmless demeanor bring to
mind the creepy antagonists from
“Get Out.” Even more disturbing
is Bigger’s connection with his
employer’s
rebellious
teenage
daughter Mary (Margaret Qualley,
“The Leftovers”), a social justice
warrior
with
good
intentions
but prone to making problematic
assumptions
about
Bigger’s
attitudes and interests.
Discomfort is to be expected
when narrative and all-too-relevant
subject matter collide, though
in the case of “Native Son,” the
discomfort is rooted in the jarring
tonal shifts, plodding pacing and
surface-level
characterizations.
These issues are no more realized
than during a late second act twist
so horrific and viscerally alarming,
it elicited a bevy of anxious groans
from the audience at my screening.
Though “Native Son” remains
a distinct entry in the social
allegory
canon,
the
parallels
with the aforementioned films
are undeniable. It evokes the
white-liberal guilt of “Get Out,”
the
provocative
undercurrents
of “BlacKkKlansman” and the
surreal satire of “Sorry to Bother
You.” But compared to those
far more superior takes on the
complex interplay between race,
class and power, “Native Son”
remains muddled and unfocused
in its messaging. Through a series
of poetic narrations by Bigger and
some vague symbolism, the film
suggests that blindness toward
our own actions creates dire
consequences for ourselves and for
others, an idea that could have been
intriguing had it not been for its
flimsy execution.
There are, of course, a few
instances in “Native Son” that
save it from falling completely flat
on its face. The fleeting moments
of levity peppered throughout
the film soften the ebb and flow
of tension, especially during one
early comical scene involving a rat
that interrupts a family breakfast.
Matthew
Libatique’s
reliable
cinematography is as sharp as ever,
amplifying the soft blues of Bigger’s
bedroom walls and the orange tints
of a house party.
Sanders is also a marvel to
watch. Fresh from his breakout
role in 2016’s “Moonlight,” he
moves through each sequence
with a swaggering gait, making
the most of the film’s uninspired
dialogue with an unprecedented
balance of gravitas and charm.
What’s frustrating, however, is the
weak script, penned by Suzan Lori-
Parks (“Their Eyes Were Watching
God”), inhibits Sanders from giving
a fully nuanced
performance,
ultimately
undermining
his
character’s
motivations
and
masking his emotional interiority.
The same goes for Layne, who
delivers a striking performance
despite her character having very
little substance and arguably not
enough screen time.
Much like Bigger’s aimlessness,
“Native Son” meanders in its
storytelling, setting up a potentially
thrilling story only to disappoint. In
the melodramatic final act, “Flight,”
Bigger muses via voiceover: “The
only thing worse than being blind
is seeing but having no vision.”
Ironically, “Native Son” seems
to have a vision, one that’s both
specific and fitting to the current
socio-political landscape, but can’t
see its own faultiness.
‘Share’:
In the wake of the #TimesUp
and #MeToo era, victims of sexual
assault and harassment are finally
getting the justice they deserve.
Yet they are frequently left out of
the conversation, with the media
spotlighting its attention more
on the perpetrator of the crime.
When those affected are given
the time to speak out, they have
the unfortunate duty of reliving
their trauma over and over and
over again, as evidenced by Dr.
Christine
Blasey
Ford’s
long,
comprehensive testimony during
Brett Kavanaugh’s Supreme Court
Justice hearing.
No matter how hard we try to
bury it, trauma is truly inescapable,
a constant reminder of our inability
to control the terrible, inexplicable
things that happen to us. In the Age
of Internet, it’s even more amplified
and publicized than before, a
trend that “Share,” a sensitive,
haunting, feature-length follow-up
to writer-director Pippa Bianco’s
2015 short film of the same name,
tackles with a humanistic deftness.
In 87 lean, economical minutes,
“Share” follows 16-year-old Mandy
(newcomer
Rhianne
Barretto)
in her quest to fill in the gaps of a
humiliating experience captured
on video that surfaced online. The
experience in question remains
ambiguous for both Mandy and
the audience. It’s unclear whether
an actual assault took place or not,
but with the sparse details we’re
given — a bruise on Mandy’s back
and upper arm, a group of boys
laughing at her unconscious body
in the video — we get the sense
that something nefarious definitely
occurred.
Rather than exploit Mandy’s
assault like Netflix’s “13 Reasons
Why” did with its protagonist
through
pulpy,
high-school
melodrama,
“Share”
does
something different. It concentrates
less on the people surrounding
Mandy
—
her
basketball
teammates, her parents, the alleged
perpetrator of her assault, the
investigators looking into the crime
— and more on Mandy’s reaction to
her circumstances.
SAM ROSENBERG
Daily Arts Writer
From the Sundance Film Festival: Days one and two
A heavy, jam-packed third day
here at Sundance. I (almost) got the
bus system down, met some more
cinephiles and Michigan alums and
learned how to structure my eating
schedule: Find the cheapest places
possible (coffee shops, Subway, Five
Guys) and chomp on the go.
From Sunday afternoon to night,
I watched three queer-themed
films: two coming-of-age stories —
the enjoyable but inessential “Adam”
and the dull “To the Stars” — and
a documentary, “Where’s My Roy
Cohn?” Though the documentary
was the best of the trio, “Adam”
had the most engaged, enthusiastic
audience. After the credits rolled,
the crowd was treated to a quick
Q&A session with the director and
some of the cast from “Adam.”
(A quick note on walkouts before
we get to the films: People ideally
go to Sundance to support the
artists and their work. But when
someone walks out of the theater —
sometimes at the beginning of the
film, most times in the middle and
confusingly right before the very
end — it’s disheartening, entitled
and antithetical to the spirit of the
festival. The only valid exception for
a walkout, in any given situation, is
if a film is too graphic or triggering.
But the walkouts I’ve observed so
far, mostly in the press screenings,
seem to be based more on the film’s
quality and pacing than its content.
Witnessing
multiple
walkouts
during “Give Me Liberty,” “Where’s
My Roy Cohn?” and “To the Stars”
was distracting and aggravating, to
say the least.)
‘Adam’:
“Adam,” the directorial debut
of “Transparent” producer Rhys
Ernst, is the kind of movie that
will polarize audiences before it
even comes out in theaters. Its
risqué premise involves the titular
character
(Nicholas
Alexander,
“Good Girls”), a cisgender straight
male, posing as a trans man in order
to attract an older queer woman.
The
controversy
behind
performing a marginalized identity
is a well-known hot-button topic
in Hollywood, with the intense
backlash against Jared Leto and
Scarlett Johansson’s attempts at
playing trans characters being
a pretty clear indicator that the
LGBTQ+ community is adamant
about proper representation in film.
But even with its provocative plot,
“Adam” doesn’t let its protagonist
get away that easy, often forcing
him to reconcile the inherently
problematic nature of lying about
his gender identity.
Additionally, the film, adapted by
Ariel Schrag from her 2014 novel,
makes plenty of room for actual
queer and trans actors to play three-
dimensional
characters
whose
gender and sexual orientations
aren’t the only things that define
them. Funny and even touching in
parts, “Adam” flips the coming-out
narrative on its head, playing with
our preconceived notions about
gender and sexuality through the
lens of a naive teenager. It may not
be the most groundbreaking nor
inspired queer film, but it’s a start.
The film opens on a house party
during the weirdly nostalgic year
of 2006, where Adam, a bumbling,
gangly high schooler, hesitates to
make a move on a girl. Frustrated
with his inability to get out of his
comfort zone and the confines of
suburban life, Adam decides to
spend the summer with his gung-
ho older sister Casey (Margaret
Qualley, in her second film at
Sundance following “Native Son”),
who has thrust herself in the New
York City lesbian and trans scene.
It’s at the Manhattan Pride Parade
that Adam sees the free-spirited
Gillian (India Menuez, “Nocturnal
Animals”) and later meets at a post-
Pride function, only to lie to her
about his age and his gender in order
to impress her.
Once
the
initial
discomfort
of Adam pretending to be trans
subsides, “Adam” unveils itself to
be a fun albeit slight cringe comedy
with hints of social commentary
regarding the obliviousness of the
straight world interacting with
the queer world. In order to fit the
part of a trans person and maintain
Gillian’s attraction, Adam studies
and memorizes every possible
facet of the trans experience, from
watching hormone tutorial videos
to lying about which doctor did his
top surgery.
Seeing Adam struggle to adjust
to this charade is both the film’s
greatest and weakest asset. It propels
the action forward, but it’s only a
matter of time before he’s found
out. During one squirm-inducing
sequence, for example, Adam finds
himself at a women-only BDSM
party with Gillian and hides his
face with a leather fetish hood when
he spots Casey at the venue. It’s a
silly, delightfully absurd moment,
but also representative of the film’s
message. Through his exposure to
a marginalized community, Adam
begins to understand what’s it like to
wear a mask, to hide parts of himself
in order to conform with the rest of
society.
Again, the concept of educating
a straight cis male about what it’s
like to be trans may not resonate
so strongly with those who feel
that actual queer people should be
relegated to the center of the story as
opposed to the background. There
are certain moments in the first
act that will definitely test people’s
tolerance of the subject matter, such
as when Adam makes out with an
intoxicated 30-year-old woman in
the bathroom of a gay nightclub and,
mistaking Adam for a trans man, she
fetishizes him, saying that she loves
“tr*nny cock.”
Notwithstanding these cringe-
worthy scenes, Ernst, a trans
filmmaker himself, does a solid job of
crafting queer and trans characters
who exist beyond Adam’s world.
Qualley, a master Movie Crier,
delivers a searing performance
as Adam’s sister, oscillating from
supportive to combative with near
seamless grace. In his acting debut,
University alum Leo Sheng ‘17
shines as Casey’s roommate Ethan,
who embraces Adam as an unlikely
friend and holds him accountable
when he’s in the wrong. “Pose”’s
breakout star MJ Rodriguez makes
the most out of her all-too-brief
cameo during the film’s climax.
If anything, the major flaws
of “Adam” lie more within its
mediocre script. While there are
some genuinely clever quips and
meaningful
lines
of
dialogue,
Schrag’s screenplay struggles to
stir up enough compelling insight
into Adam’s journey from clueless
to conscientious ally. The constant
references to 2006 pop culture
— flip phones, popped collars, M.
Night Shyamalan’s “Lady in the
Water” — somehow feel more
fleshed out than the main storyline,
which seems to favor awkward
humor and misunderstanding over a
well-developed dissection of Adam’s
incompetence.
Even with these faults, “Adam”
compensates
for
its
perfectly
adequate
execution
with
a
consistent
amount
of
charm.
If viewers are willing to accept
its
controversial
plot
without
dismissing it at face value, it might
further the conversation on what
LGBTQ+ inclusion could look like in
the film industry. Just don’t go into it
expecting to be the most exceptional
queer film of the year. Instead,
take it for what it is: an enjoyable,
competent
and
entertaining
coming-of-age story.
‘Where’s
My
Roy
Cohn?’:
In Tony Kushner’s acclaimed
play “Angels in America,” Roy Cohn
is portrayed as a cruel and closeted
lawyer dying of AIDS, haunted by
the ghost of Ethel Rosenberg. While
his role is technically fictionalized,
it’s not too far off from the actual
Cohn, who, according to Mark
Tyrnauer
(“Studio
54”)’s
new
documentary “Where’s My Roy
Cohn?,” spent the majority of his
lengthy career lying not only to the
public, but to himself.
A revealing, fascinating portrait
of one of America’s most notorious
political fixers, “Where’s My Roy
Cohn?” highlights the trajectory of
Cohn’s rise and eventual fall from
fame, starting with his crucial
role in the trial of Julius and
Ethel Rosenberg in the 1950s and
ending with his HIV diagnosis in
the late 1980s. Through striking
archival
footage
and
in-depth
interviews with Cohn’s closest
associates (including one with
the
recently
indicted
Roger
Stone), the documentary pulls no
punches in critiquing Cohn for his
ruthlessness, corruption, hypocrisy
and manipulative influence over
the political landscape during the
second half of the 20th century.
Those
unfamiliar
with
Cohn’s story will appreciate the
comprehensive social and historical
background used to contextualize
his ascent to power. Those familiar
with his story might dismiss it as
just a visual extraction of Cohn’s
Wikipedia
page.
Either
way,
“Where’s My Roy Cohn?” holds
its
titular
subject
accountable
for his immoral crimes against
American law, as well as for enabling
controversial figures — specifically
Joseph McCarthy, Ronald Reagan
and Donald Trump — to assume
leadership in the United States.
Like the best kinds of villains,
Cohn’s upbringing was integral to
his cynical attitude and abrasive
personality. Cohn’s mother Dora
treated him like a prince, which
one of the interviewees of the
documentary believed to be how
he inherited a lack of ethics. The
financial failure of his uncle Bernie
Marcus’s bank during the Great
Depression also motivated Cohn
to succeed in order to rectify the
shame his uncle brought onto their
family.
After establishing himself as a
hotshot lawyer in the early ’50s with
the execution of the Rosenbergs,
Cohn received the respect of
Joseph McCarthy, later becoming
his
second-hand
man
during
the
infamous
Army-McCarthy
hearings. A thread the documentary
weaves into this part of Cohn’s life
— and later on after the downfall
of McCarthyism — is the irony
of his words juxtaposed against
his actions. Whenever someone
asked an implicit question about
his closeted gayness during the
Lavender Scare, for example, Cohn
would consistently deflect, spinning
the question back onto whoever
was confronting him with vicious
eloquence.
Sundance Film Fest: Day 3
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SAM ROSENBERG
Daily Arts Writer
5 — Friday, February 1, 2019
Arts
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