Three established American directors had films at this year’s London Film Festival whose basic premise was ‘that bad thing, you’ve maybe heard about? well, it truly was that bad.’ But Todd Haynes, Sofia Coppola and Martin Scorcese went about saying that in entirely distinct ways.
I have the least to say about Priscilla which is certainly a good and competent movie, though it didn’t have much for me to love about it. That’s unfair: I thought the production design, costuming, hair and makeup were a treat, but I would be shocked if Coppola didn’t work with her collaborators to create something beautiful and brimming with craft. Listening to an interview with the production designer for the film, frequent Guillermo del Toro collaborator Tamara Deverell on the FT’s culture podcast1, the attention to detail secured on a tight schedule is a formidable feat — and I wonder if Coppola is a victim of her own success in terms of visual competency. There isn’t very much to talk about because it’s a relatively straight-down-the-line film; I watched Marie Antoinette for the first time in the summer and this latest offering provides fewer surprises. Beyond the scene where Priscilla hops on a plane and leaves her parents back at the German military base they’ve been posted to, to see Elvis again. Child trafficking, I wondered aloud. Just…there on the screen! If you’ve seen something like Finding Neverland the aspect of parental grooming in order to secure an underage target will not be familiar. And I guess that’s the problem, or maybe gap that means I didn’t adore or rave about the film during the festival: it feels established ground, both for the director and her audience.
Todd Haynes’ May December seems to be receiving a broader-than-usual audience, on account of it dropping on US Netflix at the start of this month. Haynes’ collaboration with writer Samy Burch is overall a bit riskier, and a bit more uncomfortable than Priscilla, and I am eager to rewatch it. There is a lot of humour, yes, but the rank cynicism of Natalie Portman’s actor character trying to demonstrate her Julliard chops by imitating Gracie for a film, set against the stillness of Charles Melton’s father-as-boy and the pink, dollhouse grip of his groomer-turned-wife is taken seriously too. There are a lot of good roles in this film, and I don’t mean the central trio. The Truman Show-like artifice of the central family’s position in town becomes apparent whenever the research Portman’s Elizabeth character does finds her meeting other Savannah residents. The children are fantastic: you nearly want to find them annoying for so clearly loving their dad and hating their mom until you remember that, of course, they have every right to do so beyond a teenage ungratefulness. Most of the time they wear it lightly, but the circumstances of their birth speak of an Oedipal strain: this is a family that should not exist.
And yes, there is a lisp. And there is a great early scene involving worries about barbeque provisions in the fridge. But I’m not too interested in getting into a conversation about ‘camp’ vs ‘melodrama’ vs ‘heightened’ here, if only out of interests of time. It is interesting to make a standalone film about a case that was also the inspiration for Notes on a Scandal and have it be distributed on a platform that at times luxuriates in over-long multi-episode documentaries of varying degrees of prurience. I am glad it feels more accessible to a wider audience because it’s on Netflix as I think there’s a lot to be taken from it.
And finally Killers of the Flower Moon. Much has been made of the runtime, which I do appreciate isn’t short. I would be pretending to suggest it’s not daunting; I would not have gone to see it midweek because I would want more time between office trips. And the clue is in the title: there were indeed killers, multiple insidious little rats, embedded in the Osage community during the period the film focuses on. The length of the film serves to demonstrate how long and systematic and sinister the confidence trick played on so many in the community was. As with Haynes’ feature, this is a film that does not shy away from the humour amongst the misdeeds: I can’t say I was super excited to see DiCaprio on screen for that long from 7:30am one Sunday morning, but he pulls off his lines about just loving money which such aplomb. And when Jesse Plemons shows up in the West, with his hat and his little stern line reads, I felt a real sense of security at what I was watching: I genuinely started smiling out of relief and fondness when I saw him, which is absurd when you consider what the FBI became for. Both films feature almost intrusively present scores. And while the May December one, which is somehow very ‘made-for-tv but on purpose,’ is more striking against its cinematography, in Killers the music doesn’t let you off the hook either.
The ending of the film, with its foley-laden live radio show and Scorcese cameo is a wildly different tone to the rest of the film. The scene starts off midcentury American holiday gloss, at once both period comedy and biting commentary on the true crime podcast boom, which is fun enough, if a bit jarring tonally. But then, as soon as Scorcese takes to the microphone, it becomes very moving. I know that the metric of a film’s worth is not whether it makes you cry, but I was so surprised to start welling up almost immediately when he came on screen. It’s not just because I share a birthday with an ageing master (though I do, and won’t shut up about it). It’s because it is an explanation of the preceding 3 hours and 20 minutes as the best way he knows how to present something evil and under-remembered of his country. He gets to make the film because he is who he is; Osage and other Indigenous filmmakers haven’t yet secured the funding he has. However, I say ‘explanation’ rather than ‘apology’ because I don’t feel handwringing guilt when I watch the film. Is he really supposed to read a riveting book about something wicked and not try and turn it into something cinematic he thinks he can get people to watch and listen to? Because it’s not his story? Because it is his story: he is an American.
It is questioning his nation’s foundations in a way similar to the recent staging of Oklahoma! does: lawlessness abounds, and not just from a lack of codified laws or criminal oversight. But because there’s some rot about: not just greed, but status envy and fear. I enjoyed listening to film podcast The Big Picture on the movie, but at one point the host talks about the film, unlike Scorcese’s gangster pics, being about ‘disorganised crime.’ I couldn’t disagree more. The crime depicted is incredibly organised: the crime is the pursuit of whiteness. By which I mean, the establishment of a racial hierarchy by any means necessary.
hint/tip: the links provided in their show notes take you past the regular paywall, which I really should take more advantage of. I also enjoy the perky, but exacting tone Lilah Raptapoulos manages whenever I dip into the show.