Under the Silver Lake (David Robert Mitchell, 2019). No one quite knew what to do with writer-director David Robert Mitchell’s follow-up to the indie horror hit It Follows. A shaggy modern detective story, Under the Silver Lake plays like Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye if it were made in our current era, when information overload sends vulnerable minds spinning like turbines as they mentally map all manner of conspiracy. Andrew Garfield plays Sam, an idle Angeleno whose attraction to one of his neighbors (Riley Keough) — and her mysterious disappearance — leads him to scuffle around the city in search of answers, finding cryptic clues that heighten his suspicions of a stealth system perpetuating society’s nasty power imbalance. Purposefully unwieldy, the film occasionally falls out of Mitchell’s control and letting the running time edge close to two and a half hours feels less like a reasoned choice and more like an exasperated concession to the impossibility to drawing all the ideas together into a smart, tight narrative. And yet when one of Mitchell’s notions really clicks — as in the scene with a character billed only as Songwriter (Jeremy Bobb) — Under the Silver Lake sparkles with kooky originality.
Apollo 11 (Todd Douglas Miller, 2019). Gifted with the discovery of ample previously unreleased footage shot around NASA around the time of the mission that first sent astronauts cavorting across the surface of the moon, filmmaker Todd Douglas Miller stitches together a documentary that depicts the monumental undertaking. There’s no narration or explanatory commentary. Instead, Miller relies almost entirely on the old footage, which effectively expresses the enormity of the achievement while focusing on the simple, human element, notably that this feat was accomplished by a large group of government employees (admittedly quite exceptional government employees) just doing their jobs. The lack or adornment is admirable, but it also causes the film to occasionally drag. Sometimes a little added context — a touch of retrospective marveling by someone with the knowledge base and communication skill to explain the precise scale of what happened, for example — is a net positive. As a museum piece, Apollo 11 is impressive. As a film, it could use a booster rocket here and there.
Joker (Todd Phillips, 2019). There’s a decent movie lurking deep inside Todd Phillips’s self-consciously grim reimagining of Batman’s arch enemy. There’s also little indication Phillips knows how to emphasize the best elements. Insights about class-based condescension and the ways a crumbling social safety net causes harm to the most vulnerable members of a community are brushed impatiently aside so Phillips can slavishly ape superior Martin Scorsese antihero dramas from decades past. Borrowing from one of the most masterful filmmakers of the past fifty years at least inspires Phillips to raise the level of his bare craft. Joker is strewn with striking images, and the contributions of cinematographer Lawrence Sher, editor Jeff Groth, and score composer Hildur Guðnadóttir are all first-rate. It’s Phillips’s script (co-credited to Scott Silver) that ultimately sinks the film. The writing is glib and simplistic, the cheap boundary-pushing of Phillips’s Hangover films transferred to a comic book movie setting with only the barest attempt to add depth that could give the film a reason for being beyond bland audience shock. And any time Phillips wedges in lore related to the famed denizens of Gotham City (the murder of Bruce Wayne’s parents is depicted for the umpteenth time), the film grinds with tedium. Joaquin Phoenix gives it his all in the title role, but the film conspires against him, making his committed performance feel like one more motorcycle jump in a rattletrap stunt show.