I don’t catch wolves looking where they might be. I look where they’ve been.

Wind River

(2017)

(SPOILERS) Taylor Sheridan's second feature as director sees him continue tapping a vein of political-toned genre writing that informed his two breakout successes, Sicario and Hell or High Water. He's a bit of a plodder as a helmer on this evidence, however, lacking the energy or flair Denis Villeneuve and David Mackenzie brought to those screenplays.

Indeed, barring a late-stage flashback scene informed by the bleak inevitability of the horror genre (it may not be a coincidence that his directing debut was a horror), Wind River is a measured, earnest affair, reflecting the importance Sheridan attaches to the subject matter; a title card informs us "Inspired by Actual Events" and leaves us with the sobering information that no missing persons statistics are recorded for Native American women. The picture revolves around the body of an 18-year-old found on the Wind River reservation, and it certainly seems noble enough of Sheridan to use his Hollywood status to highlight the issue (rather than, say, going back for seconds in the vilification of Mexicans stakes with Soldado; I couldn't help but be given pause by seeing Peter Berg's name on Wind River as producer, who with buddy Mark Wahlberg has become the Hollywood go-to for blinkered, feverishly patriotic flag waving).

It's curious, though – enough that many critics have pointed it out – that Sheridan raises a significant matter in respect of issues affecting Native Americans but doubles down on the white leads (Jeremy Renner's Fish and Wildlife service agent and Elizabeth Olsen's FBI agent) solving the case. This, despite Graham Greene being on hand as the Tribal police chief. The Native American characters are merely satellites to Renner and Olsen, and while Gil Birmingham stands out as the victim's father, they have little in the way of separate agency. Renner's really good at delivering the sensitive, seasoned guy thing, and Olsen is also solid as the Fed admitting to her unfamiliarity with the territory. Nevertheless, her looks can't help but add a veneer of Hollywood make-believe to the proceedings.

Sheridan has decried glorification of shootouts in movies, wanting to capture their suddenness and dirtiness, but the big one here still feels like an excuse for some elaborately-staged violence; that the oil company's security guards opt for a fight to the death with the FBI (amongst others) is a stretch in itself. And then there's the crowd-pleasing intervention of Renner doing a Hawkeye, but with a sniper's rifle rather than a bow.

The score from Nick Cave and Warren Ellis adds immeasurably to the mood, and Jon Bernthal dazzles in the aforementioned flashback, seizing what seems like a rare opportunity to play a straight-up good guy. Wind River's a solid piece of work, but without the stylings of a Villeneuve or Mackenzie it does rather feel like just another thriller, and one wonders a little if Sheridan's current stock is a little over valued for what he can actually deliver.

Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.

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Poor Easy Breezy.

Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood (2019)
(SPOILERS) My initial reaction to Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood was mild disbelief that Tarantino managed to hoodwink studios into coming begging to make it, so wilfully perverse is it in disregarding any standard expectations of narrative or plotting. Then I remembered that studios, or studios that aren’t Disney, are desperate for product, and more especially, product that might guarantee them a hit. Quentin’s latest appears to be that, but whether it’s a sufficient one to justify the expense of his absurd vanity project remains to be seen.

I just hope my death makes more cents than my life.

Joker (2019)
(SPOILERS) So the murder sprees didn’t happen, and a thousand puff pieces desperate to fan the flames of such events and then told-ya-so have fallen flat on their faces. The biggest takeaway from Joker is not that the movie is an event, when once that seemed plausible but not a given, but that any mainstream press perspective on the picture appears unable to divorce its quality from its alleged or actual politics. Joker may be zeitgeisty, but isn’t another Taxi Driver in terms of cultural import, in the sense that Taxi Driver didn’t have a Taxi Driver in mind when Paul Schrader wrote it. It is, if you like, faux-incendiary, and can only ever play out on that level. It might be more accurately described as a grubbier, grimier (but still polished and glossy) The Talented Ripley, the tale of developing psychopathy, only tailored for a cinemagoing audience with few options left outside of comic book fare.

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Brainstorm (1983)
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I was vaguely familiar with the title, not because I knew much about Jordan Belfort but because the script had been in development for such a long time (Ridley Scott was attached at one time). So part of the pleasure of the film is discovering how widely the story diverges from the Wall Street template. “The Wolf of Wall Street” suggests one who towers over the city like a behemoth, rather than a guy …

He tasks me. He tasks me, and I shall have him.

Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan
(1982)
(SPOILERS) I don’t love Star Trek, but I do love Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. That probably isn’t just me, but a common refrain of many a non-devotee of the series. Although, it used to apply to The Voyage Home (the funny one, with the whales, the Star Trek even the target audience for Three Men and a Baby could enjoy). Unfortunately, its high regard has also become the desperate, self-destructive, song-and-verse, be-all-and-end-all of the overlords of the franchise itself, in whichever iteration, it seems. This is understandable to an extent, as Khan is that rare movie sequel made to transcendent effect on almost every level, and one that stands the test of time every bit as well (better, even) as when it was first unveiled.

He mobilised the English language and sent it into battle.

Darkest Hour (2017)
(SPOILERS) Watching Joe Wright’s return to the rarefied plane of prestige – and heritage to boot – filmmaking following the execrable folly of the panned Pan, I was struck by the difference an engaged director, one who cares about his characters, makes to material. Only last week, Ridley Scott’s serviceable All the Money in the World made for a pointed illustration of strong material in the hands of someone with no such investment, unless they’re androids. Wright’s dedication to a relatable Winston Churchill ensures that, for the first hour-plus, Darkest Hour is a first-rate affair, a piece of myth-making that barely puts a foot wrong. It has that much in common with Wright’s earlier Word War II tale, Atonement. But then, like Atonement, it comes unstuck.

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Fox got in there with the shared universe thing long before the current trend. Fortunately for us, once they had their taste of it, they concluded it wasn’t for them. But still, the Predator and Alien franchises are now forever interconnected, and it better justifies a ranking if you have more than six entries on it. So please, enjoy this rundown of the “Predalien”-verse. SPOILERS ensue…
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A title suggesting some variety of monstrous aquatic threat for Steed and Julie Stevens’ Venus Smith. Alas, the reality is much more mundane. The Decapod refers to a Mongo-esque masked wrestler, one who doesn’t even announce “I will destroy you!” at the top of his lungs. Still, there’s always Philip “Solon” Madoc looking very shifty to pass the time.

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