Movies

Like many great films, the quietest moments in Cousins often ring the loudest. A story entrenched in Māori heritage, a few forced lines and predictable plot points barely detract from the near-spiritual realm it takes us to, or the significance of its creation.

Cousins was adapted from Patricia Grace’s novel of the same name, following three separated cousins throughout their youth, adulthood, and later years. Mata, who now wanders Cuba Street seemingly aimless, was adopted by a European family when her mother died and made to feel ashamed of her Māori roots. She reminisces over the short time she spent with her true whānau while cousins Missy and Makareta long for her return.

Directors Briar Grace-Smith and Ainsley Gardiner keep a firm hand on the source material and bask in the story’s inherent power. For a film that doesn’t even reach the hour-and-a-half mark to define three characters at three different points in their lives is an achievement in itself. Defining the world they inhabit in visceral detail adds the necessary colour and mystique, and director of photography Raymond Edwards deserves praise for creating an atmosphere that makes the character’s whenua (family land) appear like a rural fantasy.

The co-directors wisely centralise Mata, doing well to familiarise us with the cousins considering they are each played by three different actors in a non-linear tale. Although, with some mixed results. Sharp changes in behaviour sometimes make me lose sight of the progression of these women, though Tanea Heke (Older Mata), Tioreore Ngatai-Melbourne (Adult Makareta), and Rachel House (Older Missy) deliver standout performances, plus Ana Scotney is absolutely transfixing as Adult Mata. Somehow, editor Alex Boyd manages to weave their stories with ease, they just contain too few surprises.   

Grace-Smith and Gardiner linger on poignant moments, capturing traditional cultural practices like the hongi and tā moko in intimate ways. As a Kiwi, these small moments resonate, even if the dialogue around them feels unnatural at times. Cousins will transcend you to another world, albeit a familiar one. 

Much like a drunken night on the town, Another Round has ups and downs, highs and lows, and twists and turns. Under the thumb of a captivating lead performance by Mads Mikkelsen, there is only one word that truly sums up the ride our audience was taken on: intoxicating.

Four Danish high school teachers have hit a wall. Of the four, Martin (Mikkelsen) is in the greatest funk; bored with his work, his marriage, his life. Psychology teacher Nikolaj (Magnus Millang) introduces his friends to a theory that humans are born with a blood alcohol content 0.05 percent too low, arguing that maintaining a level of drunkenness makes you more creative, energetic, and relaxed.

The story does not crucify these men for their actions, which would have been a simple and much less interesting direction to take it. Instead, we root for them. We see how severely unhappy they are, and how this experiment – at least at first – lights a spark in each of their lives. The actors portray this earnestly. Each character reacts to alcohol differently, and it is clearly defined how each functions with a 0.05 percent BAC versus a 1.5 percent BAC.

Another Round serves as a reminder of why the collective cinematic experience is one we cannot sacrifice. Thomas Vinterberg’s film forces you to react, be it with a laugh, a wince, or a tear. While it is fun watching these men stumble their way through the working day, it’s the realistic portrayal of alcoholism that makes the film funny and heart-wrenching in equal measure. For each member of the audience, individually, there was a moment when the laughter stopped.

It’s a shame that Another Round will likely be denigrated to foreign-language categories come awards season, as it clearly deserves to be up there with the big boys (namely, American films). At the very least, Mikkelsen deserves a best actor nod. He is one of those rare stars that does a lot with a little, captivating me with every piercing look or smirk. What a beautiful, beautiful ride indeed.

Oscar Kightley’s inspiring hip-hop documentary proves Kiwis can hustle with the best of them. With a firm grasp on the history of Dawn Raid Entertainment, the director prioritises narrative and character to give the film rhythm, tempo, and volume.

Formed in South Auckland in the late 1990s by classmates Tanielu Leaosavai’i (aka Brotha D) and Andy Murnane, Dawn Raid Entertainment is responsible for New Zealand’s first legitimate hip-hop movement. What the amateur businessmen lacked in finesse they made up for in determination, and subsequently, artists like Savage, Aaradhna, Deceptikonz, and Adeaze would dramatically change the landscape of Kiwi music. However, a hasty rise to the top would soon be followed by a devastating fall.

While Dawn Raid clearly comes from the mind of a born storyteller, Kightley hit the jackpot when it came to these key players. Brotha D and Andy are fascinating individuals who will make you laugh loudly and listen intently. We see this dynamic duo at their most opportunistic and their most naive. We watch in anticipation as these boys grow wise throughout the years, eventually making enough mistakes to become the men we see today.

The streets of South Auckland come alive in this doc. Kightley incorporates signature hip-hop imagery of the era to forever entangle the artistry with the environment that surrounds it, including in some hilarious animated sequences. This connection is also the source of Dawn Raid’s most poignant moments, when low expectations are surpassed against all odds. We feel the highs and lows that these pioneers journey through – when Savage scores an Akon feature just as he blows up, or when Wu Tang Clan’s Inspectah Deck decides to rewrite a verse because he is blown away by Mareko’s abilities.

Dawn Raid is dense in its brevity, although it substitutes interesting parts of the label’s story in favour of entertaining ones. An equal focus on the creative processes of these artists, on top of the business-savvy minds behind the rise of Dawn Raid, would have rounded the film off like a well-placed rhyme.

Right from the word go, when tilted opening titles loft over a black-and-white California sky – almost ironically reading “Netflix International Pictures Presents” – Mank feels as though it was pulled from the rubble of a time capsule planted in the 1930s, grime and gashes intact.

Herman J. Mankiewicz, or Mank (Gary Oldman), is an alcoholic screenwriter with a wit renowned by the top brass of 30s Hollywood, including press tycoon William Randolph Hearst (Charles Dance) and his mistress Marion Davies (Amanda Seyfried). Following a car crash, a bedridden Mank is asked to pen a script for the debut film of a “young genius from New York”, Orson Welles (Tom Burke).

Of course, the film in question is Citizen Kane, still regarded by many to be the greatest and most influential film ever made. Cited as an early example of auteurism, Welles is often considered the sole mind behind its creation. Mank tells a different story.

Though its narrative doesn’t reach the heights of suspense achieved in other David Fincher films, Mank feels like the cinematic gift we deserve this Christmas. Between the imposing sets, regal costumes, and boisterous personalities on display, it captures the dingy atmosphere of an early noir classic. It shines in black-and-white, photographed by Erik Messerschmidt with plenty of canted callbacks to Citizen Kane.

Mank is about the conflict behind creativity; the contentious debate for authorship between Mank and Welles, Hearst’s fear of public humiliation when it becomes clear that Mank’s script about power, greed, and corruption is based on him. It may not sound fun per se, but Jack Fincher’s endlessly witty script makes the story sing. Mank is a talker, and Oldman places each word perfectly – some slurred beyond comprehension, others overtly articulated to offend that rich prick at the other end of the dining table.

Mank is a lesson in craft and polish. While its narrative is catnip to any movie fan, I can’t help but wonder if casual viewers will find it as fascinating. Its physical beauty is bound to make anyone suspect there is more beneath the surface, and those intrigued by its plot will find new details every time they put it on.

Though movies sometimes desensitise us to pain, when strong characters we connect with suffer, so too do we. Babyteeth expresses pain in its most brutal forms while still reaching to be entertaining, ethereal, and even silly. And when it all collides, there won’t be a dry eye in the house.

Terminally ill high school student Milla (Eliza Scanlen) breaks out of her shell when she falls madly in love. Moses (Toby Wallace) is 23 and a small-time drug dealer. Needless to say, Milla’s parents, who are already grappling with the inevitability of their daughter’s illness, do not approve.

In many ways, this one broke me. Not only does director Shannon Murphy zero in on Milla’s struggles with disarming vulnerability, but she gives the same attention to all those connected to her. Moses is cut off from his family, homeless and desperate. Milla’s mum Anna (Essie Davis) is abusing prescription drugs to cope, while her dad Henry (Ben Mendelsohn) struggles to feel at all. Watching them barely keep it together, clawing at each other left and right, is crushing.

None of this works if we don’t believe Milla – thankfully, Scanlen puts it all on the line. From moment to moment, whether engulfed by love, pain, laughter, or the urge to dance, the actress paints a complete picture of who this person is. Her story moves quickly, but Murphy refuses to relinquish quiet, meditative moments that colour in the lines, like when Anna and Milla perform music for a transfixed table of guests.

Right from the opening scene, the romance of Milla and Moses is beautifully portrayed. The film avoids taking it to troublesome places, instead slowly establishing an intense companionship. The anger their bond sparks in others, and the heartache they each experience navigating the ups and downs of a first love, lead to a climactic blow that leaves a hole in my chest.

Babyteeth is visually gripping, darkly funny, and incredibly well acted, but above all else emotionally raw. While certain stylistic choices feel unnecessary, they are nothing but speedbumps on an otherwise flawless journey.

Baby Done doesn’t take many big swings, instead favouring charm and relatability. With two charismatic lead performances, a fast script, and dynamic supporting players, the latest Kiwi comedy defines a nice time at the movies.

When arborist and wannabe tree climbing champ Zoe (Rose Matafeo) falls pregnant with her long-term partner Tim (Matthew Lewis), she fears becoming a boring mum. While Tim adjusts and looks forward to becoming a father, Zoe seeks to realise her dreams while denying the inevitable.

The combination of Curtis Vowell’s direction and Sophie Henderson’s script leaves no room for Baby Done to run stale. Within a tight-packed 90 minutes, we visit gorgeous parts of New Zealand and meet eccentric characters. Whether they appear for multiple scenes or 30 seconds, each one makes an impact, particularly Zoe’s parents played by Loren Taylor and Fasitua Amosa, her wild friend Molly played by Emily Barclay, and Preggophile Tim played by Nic Sampson… you heard me, Preggophile Tim.

The smartest decision the director-writer duo makes is to give Matafeo and Lewis breathing room. The actors share incredible chemistry and both land jokes, but the film’s greatest asset is that they feel like real people dealing with real problems. We see through Zoe’s attempts to deny motherhood and understand her anxieties. We sympathise with Tim when Zoe’s actions force him to question their future. Ultimately, their arc is emotional and resonant, and Matafeo proves she has dramatic prowess on top of her well-established comedic chops.

I wish Baby Done had taken more risks with its story and humour. While there’s never a dull moment, it pretty much goes where you expect it to and often plays it safe. For this reason, the film is fun but light. Leaning into the more peculiar aspects of the plot may have excelled it further. But when all is said and done, Baby Done has laughs, tears, and personality, and I doubt many will leave the cinema feeling as though they wasted their time.  

In the words of the late great Roger Ebert, “it’s not what a movie is about, it’s how it is about it”. On the Rocks doesn’t break new ground, nor does it try to. Instead writer-director Sofia Coppola presents an elegant take on an old story, elevated by the ever-captivating Bill Murray.

Laura (Rashida Jones) has settled in New York with her husband Dean (Marlon Wayans), who’s career is taking off rapidly while she, a budding writer, struggles to put pen to paper. When Dean’s behaviour leads her to suspect foul play, her loving father Felix (Murray) makes it his mission to help get to the bottom of it.

On the Rocks presents Coppola at her most subdued, but at times her most poised. In lesser hands, this may not have been a story worth telling, or rather retelling. We’ve heard it all before, and with that, our focus quickly shifts from story to style; thankfully, this film has that in spades. The jokes, both visual and verbal, consistently land. A sparse sax-heavy score and lingering shots of the New York cityscape add the required dose of class, and with this framework the cast has all the necessary tools to flourish.

Enter Bill Murray. There is perhaps no comedic actor more capable of stealing a show, and unsurprisingly, he does it again. Aided by an intelligent, stall-free script, Murray’s Felix is charming, flirtatious, at times apathetic, and always funny. Have you ever talked your way out of a speeding ticket? Did you manage to get the cops laughing while giving your lemon a push start and wishing you well on your way? Didn’t think so. Jones thrives in her role as the film’s emotional anchor and enjoys warm chemistry with Murray. Wayans is the only detraction. While he delivers a fine performance, he simply feels miscast.

The final moments of On the Rocks are sadly predictable and much less emotionally driven than the preceding 75 minutes led me to expect. Still, the film adds yet another, lighter feather to Coppola’s hat.

What some find meandering and temperate others may find touching and poignant. Audiences of It Must Be Heaven are asked to be patient and observant, and those who are will leave the theatre charmed. As it guides us through a world full of quirks, this Palme d’Or-nominated film finds humour in celebrating just how weird we humans are.

It Must Be Heaven takes a meta look at the life of its writer, director, lead actor, co-producer, and narrator, Elia Suleiman. We experience several days in his shoes as he travels from his Palestinian home to Western cities attempting to sell a script for a movie about the Palestinian conflict.

While this plot might not sound like a laugh riot, it’s worth noting that this story thread is somewhat secondary. For Suleiman – both the character and the man behind the camera – this film is about observation. Strange happenings seem to weave their way into every day of our near-mute hero’s life, and he is happy simply watching on. These happenings could include two armed police officers trading sunglasses in a car while a woman is bound and blindfolded in the back, or a trip to a supermarket in New York where everyone is casually toting an assault rifle over their shoulder.

It’s these zany, dark moments that make It Must Be Heaven a memorable watch. For foreign film fans, its pacing and visual comedy may scratch an itch left by Jacques Tati, although Suleiman certainly brings a modern flair. The camera (Sofian El Fani) balances a consistent but not stagnant symmetry and captures purposeful palettes of colour.

The film manages to embed striking and smart moments in the absence of words, for example, the rejection statements Suleiman sits through and what they say about the Western understanding of Palestine. But for some, these moments will be too subtle, as will the jokes. It Must Be Heaven is one for those looking to delve outside of their comfort zone.

To generate empathy for a character who some would label an inhuman brute is no easy feat, but director and screenwriter Sam Kelly does just that with grace and sensitivity. Savage pulls together some of the most fleshed-out characters in New Zealand cinema. Audiences will connect with their story as well as the sorrow hiding behind their eyes.

Inspired by the true stories of New Zealand’s street gangs, the film follows Danny (Jake Ryan) – later known as Damage – across 30 years of his life, from his time in a state-run boys’ home in the 60s to his emergence as sergeant at arms of his own gang, the Savages. Raised and abandoned by his impoverished family and abusive father, Danny longs for connection in an adulthood defined by aggression.

Never before has a New Zealand film taken such an unrestrained look at our society. Kelly pulls no punches, proving himself as a confident and uncompromising filmmaker; the fact that Savage is his feature-length debut is astonishing. His script packs the growth, colour, and definition of a trilogy into 100 minutes, and this is only accentuated by a cast and crew willing to commit as hard as he does.

Jake Ryan transforms as Damage, and no, it’s not just the mullet and tattoos. I find myself transfixed by his gaze and presence. Every motion is calculated, masking a man who feels isolated, unwanted, and pressured. His friend and Savage co-founder Moses is just as integral, played with warmth in childhood by Lotima Pome’e, cool in his teenage years by Haanz Fa’avae Jackson, and intimidating physicality in later life by John Tui.

Savage is as shocking and ferocious as it should be while never becoming gratuitous. Often abuse is implied rather than shown, which ultimately has a powerful impact as the characters would also rather ignore it. This is not one for the faint of heart, but it is essential viewing for Kiwis. You will leave with a little more empathy and a lot to talk about having seen one of the best films of the year.

With Tenet, Christopher Nolan leans into his most frustrating tendencies as a filmmaker. A convoluted plot that requires non-stop explanation leaves its cast nothing to play with and action that, although visually dazzling at times, feels empty.

The Protagonist (John David Washington), along with his right-hand man Neil (Robert Pattinson), journeys through a world of espionage to prevent forces from the future destroying our world.

At its core, Tenet is a heist film. Introducing time-inverting technology doesn’t make this more interesting, just challenging. While Inception, another heist plot that incorporates fantasy technology, was driven by drama and emotional motivation, here the story feels crammed in. Nolan chews time explaining the mechanics of time reversal. Those with a doctorate in physics may enjoy picking this apart, although the film itself seems to admit it doesn’t stack up when Barbara, a scientist played by Clémence Poésy, instructs our lead, “Don’t even try to understand it”.

The pairing of Hoyte van Hoytema’s cinematography and Jennifer Lame’s precise editing is the film’s greatest asset. Their craftsmanship is on full display from the opening action sequence, which serves as an intense mood setter. Unfortunately, the concept doesn’t lead to outstanding visuals throughout. After a while, watching people run in reverse is not that engaging. Even if you are listening intently, the sound mix is muddy and loud, leaving chunks of dialogue inaudible – a recurring problem in Nolan’s recent films.

In two-and-a-half hours, we learn surprisingly little. By the time the credits roll we know next to nothing about our unnamed protagonist, his motivation, or the threat he faces. An effort to make us care about the villainous Andrei Sator’s (Kenneth Branagh) estranged wife Kat (Elizabeth Debicki) feels frivolous when World War III is at stake. Although, this faceless threat never carries weight, especially since it comes at the hands of Andrei, a hilariously stereotypical Russian bad guy who I just can’t take seriously.

Tenet sacrifices storytelling in favour of complexity. If I don’t care about the characters in the story, I’m unlikely to invest in the story itself. In the end, I was simply bored.

A crime-comedy through and through, Lowdown Dirty Criminals revels in its over-the-top plot, violence, and Kiwi humour. At 86 minutes, it lacks the breathing room needed to properly acquaint us with its likable characters, instead choosing to deliver a brief, adrenaline-fueled romp.

When Freddy (James Rolleston) loses his pizza delivery job, his best mate Marvin (Samuel Austin) sets up a meeting with a ruthless crook, Spiggs (Scott Wills). When they muck up their first job, Spiggs demands they make amends by killing a gangster, an effort that lands the duo in hot water with an even more terrifying foe, The Upholsterer (Rebecca Gibney).

Writer David Brechin-Smith plays to genre, filling his script with delicious archetypes that give the cast infinite opportunities to go big. While Freddy is our guide, Lowdown Dirty Criminals is an ensemble effort at heart. Each actor brings colour to their role, from Rolleston’s hilariously naïve Freddy and Wills’ jacked-up, egocentric Spiggs to Gibney’s deliciously evil Upholsterer. Each member of the cast is given spots of action and comedy, which they almost unanimously nail.

The film has its foot on the gas at all times. While this pace works for its exaggerated style, it relents character development in the name of fun. Don’t get me wrong, it is very, very funny. But further investment in the relationships would have dramatically turned up the intensity. We buy Freddy and Marvin as mates, but that’s where it ends. We buy The Upholsterer as a scary gangster, but that’s where it ends. Life-threatening situations feel trivial, and with an additional 20 minutes or so, we could have become more engrossed in these people and the things that happen to them.

This movie is not one for the squeamish, but perhaps in these times some crazy fun is exactly what we need. Director Paul Murphy has crafted a uniquely Kiwi take on a well-worn genre. As a result, Lowdown Dirty Criminals stands out amongst our film library.

This Town excels in world-building and dialogue. A supporting cast of some of Aotearoa’s best balance laughs and drama, but a repetitive frame and an overreliance on its chosen storytelling devices eventually burns out its narrative.

Small-town bloke Sean (David White) is ready to move on with his life and re-enter the dating game five years after being acquitted of the murder of his family. A romance ensues with Casey (Alice May Connolly), while the bitter ex-cop who tried to put Sean away, Pam (Robyn Malcolm), continues her crusade for justice.

The film’s writer, director, and star, White, carries a heavy load. As for his pen, the story, characters, and setting of This Town are appealing and uniquely Kiwi. The fictional town of Thiston is a treasure trove of close-to-home satirical opportunities; some pulled off with gusto, some falling flat.

The sounds and scenes of Hawke’s Bay make for a glorious backdrop, but the camera is too often stagnant for the film to leave a visual impact. By the end, I’m simply bored of watching characters sit centre-frame to address the camera. This device introduces them well, but becomes a means to quickly pass by critical moments; to have a character sitting on a couch telling us all is resolved after screaming over the edge of a cliff five minutes prior deflates tension rather than building it to a bang.

Malcolm is This Town’s secret weapon. Her performance solidifies her as one of New Zealand’s most versatile talents. She plays moments of obsession, conflict, comedy, and sadness with ease, often within a single take. May Connolly brings endearing qualities to Casey, and Rima Te Wiata wrings laughs from every line as local reporter Janice McManis.

White brings a fresh style to his narrative-feature debut, but it is clearly just that, a debut. With a more refined approach, it will be interesting to see what he brings to New Zealand cinema in the future.