"My Old Ass"

 ☆☆☆☆☆ 

Barely 90 minutes long, My Old Ass packs into its brief screen time more wit, fun and genuine insight into the human condition than a film twice its length. Positioned as the latest in a mildly offensive but funny string of comedies fronted by young women, My Old Ass turns out to be something very different, not at all as sarcastic and acerbic as its marketing suggests.

Very near the end of its compact story, My Old Ass throws a wallop of a punch, not a plot twist as much as a plot development so unexpected that, in retrospect, it seems obvious. It's not a trick, and it elevates My Old Ass into something rare indeed: a comedy made for and about young people that offers even more for grown-ups.

The story sounds like Freaky Friday or 13 Going on 30 for a looser era—on the night of her 18th birthday, Elliott (Maisy Stella) and her friends experiment with hallucinogenic mushrooms. During her trippy high, a 39-year-old version of Elliott (Aubrey Plaza) shows up without notice and offers a glimpse at life as an early middle-ager. She also drops her number into young Elliott's phone, and provides a vague warning: At all costs, avoid guys named "Chad."

Turns out, that's the name of the geekily handsome kid working on her father's cranberry farm in rural Ontario. Elliott figures she doesn't have much to be concerned about, since she's comfortable with her own sexuality, which precludes dalliances with men of any name, including Chad.

But Old Elliott knows some things Young Elliott doesn't, and though she won't reveal much about the potentially dystopian—yet comfortably there—world in which she lives, she does urge her younger self to be more focused on appreciating the things she has in her not-yet-complicated life.

As Elliott's last summer with her family winds to a close, she finds herself taking solace in the sage words of wisdom her Old Ass offers ... until the older Elliott stops responding, and life takes on infinitely more complexity. 

Shot in sun-soaked, golden tones that evoke the kind of summer life that exists, perhaps, only in memory, My Old Ass never lets go of its comedic sensibilities, which are impressive, but layers in astonishingly deep emotion in even the smallest of moments. Elliott's home life seems simple, even pastoral, yet as she looks closer she discovers nuances she never noticed. This richness of director Megan Park's screenplay lends a serene wistfulness to every scene in the film—as soon as Old Elliott appears, it's clear the most important idea she wants to convey is that Elliott needs to pay attention to all the things that will slip away. And yet, since they haven't happened to Young Elliott yet, she can't notice—one of the paradoxes, like the gentle version of time travel at its core, the film relishes.

Park previously made the extraordinary, deeply affecting teen drama The Fallout, which explored the complicated reality of teen life with sensitivity and honesty, and My Old Ass builds on it further, offering a vision of modern youth that feels less despondent but equally deep.

It's worth noting, since she is such a strong screen presence and rarely makes a misstep, that Aubrey Plaza plays a supporting role in My Old Ass—the star is Maisy Stella, who is radiant. She commands the screen with ease in a film that demands a lot from her. There's more complexity to her role, to her character, and to the film, than meets the eye, and it's both a surprise and a delight that My Old Ass turns out to be one of the best films of 2024, and the most emotionally rewarding.

Viewed September 28, 2024 — AMC Universal 16

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"The Substance"

  ☆☆☆☆ 

The Substance is demented, completely unhinged, and insanely grotesque, and those among its best qualities. It's a satire, and a good one, but it's also—maybe even primarily—a body-horror movie, a film that in many scenes directly recalls and references David Cronenberg's 1986 masterpiece of body horror The Fly. I suppose what you will make of The Substance depends in large part on your feelings about The Fly, since much of The Substance makes The Fly look like a G-rated Disney movie.

The Substance, which also recalls a lot of Kubrick, is written and directed by French filmmaker Coralie Fargeat, and few filmmakers dare as much as she does in this film, which, it cannot be stated enough, is not for the squeamish. When I saw The Substance, some audience members got all the way to about the two hour mark of this 140-minute film and then decided they had seen enough. It's that kind of movie. You may decide you've seen enough long before that, or you may decide that too much is never enough—which certainly would seem to be Fargeat's attitude.

In The Substance, Demi Moore, an actress who became known in her 20s and is now in her 60s, plays a celebrity named Elisabeth Sparkle who became known in her youth and is now far from young. As The Substance begins, nobody comments on how ravishing she looks (which she does), or how extraordinarily well she has aged (which she has), they just know she's old. So they fire her.

At the same time, she encounters a mysterious come-on for a substance called, well, The Substance. She watches a slick advertisement for a neon-green liquid that makes some mighty big promises. There appear to be two customers for The Substance, and you may wonder how something like this, which couldn't have been cheap to develop, much less market, manages to keep going with just two customers. It's better not to ask. It's better not to ask about most things in The Substance—inner logic is not one of the movie's strong points, nor does it need to be.

The Substance also doesn't have much in the way of instructions. Like Apple products, it's one of those IYKYK sort of things, and apparently Elisabeth figures it out, because as soon as she injects herself with The Substance, out pops (and, boy, does it pop) another version of herself: young, big-breasted, tight-assed, effortlessly beautiful. But, as the people behind The Substance keep explaining, it's not a separate person: There is only one. Elisabeth has been divided. But her other half, a perky ingenue known as Sue, sees herself as something wholly separate. And there's the rub.

One of them, at least. The other is that The Substance comes with a few rules. Chief among them is: Never, ever feed them after midni— wait, wrong horror-comedy. It's that the two halves of Elisabeth must switch every seven days. If Sue doesn't give up her sexy body and newfound fame in the seven days, well ... something will happen.

And it does. With increasingly horrifying results, most of which are also painfully, awfully funny. The Substance really does excel as satire of the highest sort: It's genuinely funny, even while being utterly absorbing and fantastically unpredictable. As the movie careens around its steep, dizzying track, it threatens to go off the rails, but Fargeat keeps it going even as she forces the audience to watch through closed eyes or through their fingers. (I don't know that I've ever really, actually watched a movie through my fingers ... until now. The Substance offers moments that go beyond mere cringe.)

Just when you think it can't get any more outrageous, Fargeat offers a surprise. It's one that almost works, even when, with unexpected glee, the movie layers in Bernard Hermann's love theme from Vertigo. The whole thing comes so close to perfection that its penultimate scene falls unexpectedly flat. It's the one moment that Fargeat ought to pull back but doesn't. Yet the whole thing recovers for one of the most bizarre and unforgettable final shots in movie history.

Anchoring it all are Demi Moore, who gives herself entirely to the role, and Margaret Qualley as her literal other half. Individually and together, they make The Substance work, even in its wildest and most impossible moments. They and the film are fearless, and if fearlessness takes it into territory it can't quite make work, that's more than all right: Few films are as bold, as interesting, and as full-bore bonkers as The Substance.

Viewed September 22, 2024 — AMC Century City 15

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"Speak No Evil"

  ☆☆☆☆ 

As an exercise in suspense and tension, Speak No Evil works fantastically well, so well that it's not until after the credits have rolled and you're in the car and on the way home that you might begin to start questioning some of the basic elements of the plot, especially in the last 20 minutes or so.

At that point, it's far too late to matter, so if Speak No Evil feels a little weaker in retrospect than it did while on screen, it seems pointless to quibble. This movie does what it does with ruthless efficiency, it's got a great, long wind-up, and when it sets everything in motion it's almost impossible to turn away from the screen, even in the bloodiest moments, when you most desperately want to. Speak No Evil is, in the moment, so good that it forces you to watch.

This movie is based on a Dutch film, also called Speak No Evil, that I've never seen, though from what I've read the title of that film may make a little more sense than the title of this film. In both, a friendly couple and their daughter meet a boisterous, borderline irritating, couple from the middle of nowhere. They have a son who has difficulty communicating. The more gregarious couple invites the more reserved one to visit their country home.

In this film, the fussier couple is American, and their backstory is convoluted, though suffice it to say they are the kind of people who have moved to London and can afford both a stylish apartment and a Tesla. When they get the invitation to the boondocks—the "West Country," in this version—one of them is hesitant, the other is effusive, but they end up going.

That's where they reunite with Paddy, who says he is a doctor; his wife, Chiara, who does seem a tad young for the man; and their son, Ant, the one who doesn't talk. Ben is the American, a man who has lost his way, though his wife Louise and his daughter Agnes are trying hard to reconcile the family's many complications.

That the weekend doesn't go as planned won't come as a surprise, though exactly why and what the nice American couple discover is something you should know as little about as possible before watching the film.

This is the kind of movie that takes place in a rambling old country home with neighbors whose proximity is measured in miles, not meters. In the history of film and literature, nothing good has ever happened in a country home like this one (that even extends to the heartbreaking conclusion of Call Me By Your Name), so it should be no surprise that things go very, very badly for the Americans.

Much blood is spilled, and many words are shouted or whispered at the screen during the course of Speak No Evil, and the movie is so tautly made that none of its iffier elements matter at all, not even when that one character pushes that other character into the water at the end in a moment that defies all logic and credibility. But, still, you're likely to be with the movie because you just want to know how it's going to end, who's going to get out of this alive, and how. Or if.

In that, my understanding is that Speak No Evil comes to a radically different conclusion than the original, much in the same way, I suppose, as the twisted, evil, shocking ending of George Sluizer's exemplary 1988 thriller The Vanishing "had" to be revised for Hollywood. Since I've not seen the original Speak No Evil, all I know is that this remake of the film has an efficient, effective and satisfactory—if not entirely satisfying—ending, but one that is vastly different than the original.

Yet with a towering central performance by James McAvoy that is matched in enthusiasm, if not volume, by the full cast, and a sly satirical manner that offers a lot of humor amid the bloodshed, Speak No Evil works well. Maybe not as well as the first, from all I've heard, but quite well enough on its own terms.

Viewed September 15, 2024 — AMC Burbank 6

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