Penumbra Online
Movie Reviews
Saltburn
Directed by Emerald Fennell, 2023
Out of the frying pan and into the fire—what worked for writer-director Emerald Fennell in her 2020 debut Promising Young Woman is back with blistering fury in 2023’s Saltburn, a romantic drama/psychological thriller that left social media aghast once its scenes of raw romance and magnificent mind games made their way onto Amazon Prime Video late last December; however, is the film worth its salt or is Salt-BURN best left on nothing but a mild simmer?
Barry Keoghan stars as the film’s lead, Oliver Quick, a fresh face in the halls of Oxford University who finds himself rather out of his element until he comes across the school’s most eye-catching playboy, Felix Catton (played by Jacob Elordi of Euphoria and The Kissing Booth film trilogy fame.) After a death in the family leaves Oliver without a shoulder to lean on, Felix takes pity on his schoolmate and invites him to stay at his family’s luxurious mansion (the titular Saltburn) to help take his mind off of things. While there, the eccentricities shared between Felix and his family seem to serve as Heaven on Earth for Oliver, but it seems Ollie has much more on his mind than just living in paradise. There’s more to everyone than meets the eye, however, so whether Oliver will come out on top lies only in the conflicting secrets of Castle Saltburn.
While Promising Young Woman excelled in focusing its energy towards the central theme of a woman scorned inflicting her rage upon the world of men, Saltburn revels in the mental whiplash that it’s able to instill upon its viewers throughout the two-hour runtime, contrasting romance with perverseness, beauty with disgust, dry British wit with scenes that might not be the best to show to your parents, etc. With Keoghan and Elordi’s surprising chemistry comes one hell of a supporting cast (Rosamund Pike, Richard E. Grant, and Alison Oliver, just to name a few) to back them up, bathing the film in a sense of mystery and uncertainty that keeps its viewers on their toes until the final shocking twist arrives minutes before the end. Add to that Fennell’s skill for writing that trademark blunt British comedy and the masterful cinematography of La La Land’s own Linus Sandgren behind the camera, and Saltburn is left delectably sweet between scenes of actual action, leaving the film impossible to put down once you’ve started which, in the time of shortened attention spans clashing with incredibly long cinematic runtimes, is no small feat.
That said, the movie isn’t without its faults; aside from wearing its cinematic influences rather heavily on its sleeve (A Clockwork Orange and 1999’s Cruel Intentions, just to name a couple), the contrast mentioned earlier makes the sudden twists and turns feel a bit blunt at times, as though a character changing motivations on a dime simply came from the flick of a switch or a need to progress the plot forward, as opposed to steadily weaving in that transition throughout the scenes before. That and, while I do enjoy the ending twist quite a bit, it feels a bit anticlimactic, seeing as how the chain of events building up to make that big reveal wasn’t impossible for the audience to decipher. On the other hand, I admit that having a somewhat obvious twist certainly ups the engagement factor, being right up to speed with the movie the moment it finally clues you in on what you might’ve been theorizing the entire time.
So despite the occasional misfire, Saltburn was still an absolute thrill ride from start to finish, filled with complex characters and moral themes of obsession and the danger that comes with it that left me guessing as to how it would go from the moment I picked it up to the moment the neo-disco vibes of Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s “Murder on the Dancefloor” began gleefully playing out the movie. If you’ve got Amazon Prime, Saltburn is free to watch on its streaming platform, so be sure to check it out if you’ve got the time! I rate it a 7.5/10.
-Noah Castellanos
CSU Stanislaus
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The Boy and the Heron
Directed by Hayao Miyazaki, 2023
My Neighbor Totoro (1988). Princess Mononoke (1997). Spirited Away (2001). These are just a few of the classic animated films director Hayao Miyazaki created that propelled Japanese animation into the forefront of the Western world. Miyazaki’s latest film, The Boy and the Heron, is by no means an exception. Nominated as a Best Animated Feature Film, The Boy and the Heron takes all the best parts of a Studio Ghibli film—spunky characters, whimsical settings, meandering plotlines, and profound meanings—and pushes the minds of its audience even further, asking us to expand our view of what a film should do. While some may argue that the film is too abstract or ambitious in its methods, The Boy and the Heron nevertheless tells a beautiful story about the strange process of grief and the many ways it can unfurl—a touching message that, in a way, mirrors Miyazaki’s own life and his journey with Studio Ghibli.
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The film begins with Mahito, a young boy who abruptly loses his mother in a hospital fire. Right at the start, the film breaks expectations: the animation style suddenly becomes blurred, as if muted bodies are dripping into each other while Mahito must barrel through. Interestingly enough, this scene may also reference Miyazaki’s own life, as traces of World War II riddle much of his early life. Also, like Mahito, Miyazaki’s mother was hospitalized when he was young; however, unlike Mahito, Miyazaki’s mother doesn’t die until a bit later in his life. Nevertheless, one can make many parallels between the director and the main characters, not just Mahito. While real-life parallels found in Ghibli films may not be totally unique to The Boy and the Heron in particular, this film most pointedly discusses the grief associated with being an artist, or perhaps a director, and the creative process.
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Perhaps one of the most interesting and unnerving components of this coming-of-age story is the array of characters that challenge Mahito as he embarks on his journey to retrieve Natsuko, his new mother. Once Mahito enters Natsuko’s estate, a gray heron haunts and antagonizes him, slowly becoming more and more humanoid as he lures Mahito into the estate’s strange tower. Who once posed as a threat becomes Mahito’s companion and even rescuer when the heron retrieves Mahito and his mother from the tower’s delivery room. Some theorize that the heron also symbolizes Miyazaki; as the 83-year-old director nears the end of his life, with his son Goro Miyazaki ultimately failing in his feature Earwig and the Witch (2020), it can be said Miyazaki feels a sense of anxiety about leaving the company as well as the state of animation as a whole. What will the world of animation look like without him? These worries and concerns follow Miyazaki like the heron follows Mahito, taunting him with fantastical, impossible promises (like the illusion the heron creates of Mahito’s mother still being alive).
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Similarly, the tower’s wizard, Mahito’s great-granduncle, can also act as a Miyazaki stand-in. His role as the aging old wizard who must pass down his legacy directly parallels Miyazaki’s current position as director of Studio Ghibli; Mahito’s refusal to take on that successor role may signal a “letting go” that coincides with his grieving process with his mother. Mahito must learn to let his mother go and embrace his new life with Natsuko as his mother. Likewise, Miyazaki must come to terms with eventually leaving the world of animation despite his incredible achievements in the industry. While addressing so many complicated topics, the film leaves its main question unanswered for its viewers: how will this industry proceed? Will directors honor the legacy that Miyazaki has left behind? Will they be willing to take artistic risks that a Western audience may or may not immediately understand? These are the questions that audience members are left wondering about, and only time will answer them.
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As a film, The Boy and the Heron does what any piece of profound art should do to a viewer: it challenges them, leaves them intrigued—perhaps a bit frustrated—and overall inspires them to experience life more fully, paying attention to small details and creating stories we want to share with the world. Whether Miyazaki meant for this “last” film of his to be a deeply autobiographical one or not, the main message of the film still stands. Like the film’s title in Japan, Miyazaki asks us, “How do we live?” In terms of how to answer him, it is up to us, like Mahito, to decide if we will pursue what truly matters to us.
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-Andrea Wagner
CSU Stanislaus
Einstein and the Bomb
Directed by Anthony Philipson, 2024
To everyone’s surprise, Barbenheimer conquered theaters this last summer. For many of us who took part, we can still recall its salty-sweet aftertaste as a rare moment of unity in a divisive world. “I am become death” and “I’m just Ken” meshed unexpectedly well. The odd character out was Einstein, who, at least in my theater experience, provoked unintended laughter during his limited screentime in Oppenheimer (2023). To give him his due, a joint effort between Netflix and the BBC resulted in Einstein and the Bomb (2024), a hybrid docudrama of questionable quality.
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In a media landscape dominated by algorithmic predictions and approximations, such an endeavor as Einstein and the Bomb inevitably invites accusations of unoriginal bandwagoning. In other words, every streaming service wants to have results for those who search for “Oppenheimer.” In its indecisiveness, Einstein and the Bomb is more of an ersatz good than a worthy companion piece, a plastic stopgap whose color has flaked off to reveal an unappetizingly dull gray.
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At the start of the film, explanatory text crawls across the screen, promising that all the words Einstein speaks are verbatim his own; this feels like an attempt to assuage skeptical viewers who have seen “based on a true story” abused one too many times, but we hear an annoyingly clichéd click of typewriter buttons underneath it. Sophomoric sound design, editing, and pacing immediately undercut the possibility of finally seeing an “accurate” documentary (whatever that means). Rather than establishing the historical background—or even Einstein’s personal background—the film indecisively shifts back and forth from archival footage to colorized re-enactments. Each jump feels disorienting, as does the chronological meandering. Though the filmmakers might have been punning off of Einstein’s theories about the relativity of time, we are left with no stable point of reference to make sense of this web of events. Though Einstein is ostensibly the documentary’s focus, each new scene shows a new year on the screen, and many of these scenes don’t involve the title character. Topics including general relativity, Nazism, the Holocaust, Pearl Harbor, the Manhattan Project, the Cold War, and McCarthyism all parade through the documentary. Each of these topics could easily demand its own documentary (or documentary series), and as a result, this one touches too lightly on all of them.
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Einstein only interacts with most of these topics through voiceovers by Aidan McArdle, who plays Einstein in the live-action sequence. Because of the strict adherence to verbal accuracy, these sequences lose much of their realism. Whenever McArdle speaks, it becomes obvious he’s reciting quotes from letters, not engaging in natural conversation. More than a few times, other characters who lack such restraints speak to Einstein, yet McArdle can only nod or make faces back at them. Such rigidity typically appears in ultra-literal biblical re-enactments, such as Pier Paolo Pasolini’s 1964 The Gospel According to St. Matthew, and it feels equally deadening here. Normally, such faithfulness to the original would be commendable, but this film proves itself an example of the limitations of accuracy.
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In all fairness, I frequently felt the weight of what they attempted with this documentary. Einstein, a pacifist Jew tangentially responsible for the atom bomb, finds his legacy more precarious today than ever before. Now is certainly the time to re-investigate him and the complex nexus of issues that swirled around him, but to do such complexity justice would require a depth and length not afforded by this attempt. Furthermore, the medium of documentary, even a hybrid docudrama, proves too limiting to achieve anything approaching coverage of the topic(s) at hand. From Häxan (1922) to today, documentaries inevitably prioritize entertainment above information. That isn’t necessarily a fault of the genre, but it does betray a mismatch between the topic and the medium. Other documentaries, such as Manson: Music From an Unsound Mind (2019), treat old topics with fresh approaches (in that case, focusing on Manson’s aspirations and connections within the music industry). In short, successful approaches tend to narrow in order to achieve depth.
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Einstein and the Bomb’s lack of focus ironically comes into focus at the end, which concludes with a jarring juxtaposition. In a voiceover, Einstein condemns all posterity to hell if we do not improve ourselves morally. But what is the accompanying visual on the screen, the last visual of the documentary? It’s none other than the classic photograph of Einstein playfully sticking his tongue out. Instead of watching Einstein and the Bomb, I recommend you watch a documentary (or better yet, read a book!) on any of the topics raised in this documentary; taking your time with these topics will prove more rewarding than sprinting past all of them.
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-Mark Schmidt
University of South Dakota
The Color Purple
Directed by Blitz Bazawule, 2023
Fingers strumming a banjo to the tune of “Huckleberry Pie” take the audience back to a scene in early twentieth-century Georgia with two girls playing hand games in a tree and singing about promises that assure everything will be alright. Adapted from Alice Walker’s novel and the Broadway musical, The Color Purple follows the life of the protagonist Celie Harris-Johnson as she endures losing everything that matters to her because of the men in her life: her babies, her sister, her home, and even her dignity. With everything stripped away, Celie embraces life for what it is instead of what it could be; she takes the brute force of her husband’s hands, listens to her father’s directions, and accepts her place at the bottom of the social hierarchy. Inspired by her relationships with her daughter-in-law Sofia, the blues-singing Shug Avery, and the letters from her far-off sister Nettie, Celie discovers the means to empower herself. The Color Purple is a film that revives the endless possibility of hope and demonstrates the need to have faith in things turning out alright in the end.
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When I first viewed the movie’s trailer last fall and saw the all-star cast featured (including Taraji P. Henson, Halle Bailey, Danielle Brooks, Colman Domingo, Corey Hawkins, and so many more), I knew The Color Purple would be a film I needed to see. Enchanted from the beginning, I felt my emotions rise and fall as I witnessed Celie’s life on the screen, and through a sense of catharsis, I felt revived as I left the theater that day. While the film highlights God’s spiritual presence, Celie’s journey through her life demonstrates she is more than a spiritual person; she recognizes her strength lies in more than her faith—it lies in her family and friends who support her, too.
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As the film concluded with Celie singing “The Color Purple” with the rest of the cast, tears fell from my eyes due to how Bazawule brought his audience full circle. The film commences and concludes in the same place: it begins with two girls hoping everything will be alright and ends with Celie standing reunited beside her sister, children, and chosen family around the same tree as everyone hums “amen.” She recovers everything the men in her life took from her, and while she thanks God for all He did for her, she also uses her song to thank the people in her life who supported and empowered her. Through Celie’s self-actualization, I recognized the beauty within my own life and the love I share with others.
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Shifting to the film’s elements, such as the character performance, music, dance choreography, and costume design, I cannot stop praising the director’s work and the producers who helped produce this film. It’s imperative to appreciate that this film is Steven Spielberg’s second adaptation of The Color Purple and is co-produced with Oprah Winfrey, who originally played Sofia in the first adaptation in 1985. Along with highlighting Oprah, the film also makes a callback in one of the opening scenes depicting Whoopi Goldberg as the midwife of a pregnant Celie. As a small sentimental scene, Goldberg’s presence provides a moment to acknowledge her previous role, like a passing of the torch, and I felt casting her as a midwife aided in symbolizing the birth of a new Celie, a new rendition. By subtly acknowledging the past adaptation, the 2023 version springs up to be as it promises in its advertisement: bolder with its color.
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From the red in Shug Avery’s dress within her song “Push Da Button” to the lesbian tension experienced between Shug and Celie, the boldest piece I would like to acknowledge above all else is Danielle Brooks’ role as Sofia. As a hard-headed woman who refuses to be knocked down, Brooks brings to life a woman whose strength should be preached to all women who question their place in the world. In her powerful anthem, “Hell No!” I could not help but join in her march. From sharing her soulful musicality to portraying the beauty of being a Black woman and demonstrating a level of independence that screams, “I don’t need no man,” Brooks gives a performance that deserves an audience’s full level of “Resp-e-ck-t.” Her journey as Sofia alongside Celie helped make the film worthwhile to watch as any I have seen.
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A final note I want to mention is the film’s attention to the blues genre of music. As the years progressed in the film, it was entertaining to watch the evolution of blues from a country twang to a sultry jazz to a soulful, uplifting rhythm and blues. As a musical genre created by African Americans, it is very befitting to include this evolution in this film, and it aids in celebrating a fictional tale that contains a rich historical reality. I highly recommend giving The Color Purple a view.
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-Heather-Anne Jaeger
CSU Stanislaus
Television Reviews
One Day
Created by Nicole Taylor, 2024
WARNING: I hope you have a box of tissues nearby because you will definitely need them for this show!
Based on the novel One Day by David Nicholls, this Netflix limited series is a must-watch for many reasons. Initially, I had no clue what to expect, as I had not read the books or watched the 2011 film version starring Anne Hathaway and Jim Sturgess; however, I was pleasantly surprised (and ultimately moved to tears) by this show.
In the first episode, we meet Emma Morley (played by Ambika Mod) and Dexter Mayhew (played by Leo Woodall) at their graduation ball on July 15, 1988. Even though they both attended the University of Edinburgh, they never formally met (despite Emma admitting she had seen Dexter around). We learn Emma is from a working-class family in Leeds, while Dexter comes from a privileged family in London. Despite these differences, Emma and Dexter connect and spend the whole night together, mostly talking and sharing their goals for their fast-approaching future.
Interestingly, the night they share seems like it will be a simple one-night stand; however, they don’t go that far together. Instead, Emma seems adamant about getting to know more about Dexter, establishing a unique type of friendship between them that continues to the next episode/year. The first episode ends with the two spending the morning together and Emma suggesting they climb Arthur’s Seat (an ancient volcano near the school) where Dexter explains it is St. Swithin’s Day and that the saying goes that if it rains on that day, it will rain the whole summer. Each episode takes place on St. Swithin’s Day of the following year, which becomes a significant day in both of their lives.
How this series is structured is unique in that every episode occurs exactly a year after the previous episode. As the viewer, it adds a level of suspense since we don’t always know where Dexter and Emma will be at the start of the episode. As they begin to find themselves and attempt to navigate their new lives, Dexter and Emma have their own struggles with their careers, relationships, and other problems that arise after graduating from college and entering the “real” world. After their first meeting, Dexter and Emma stay in touch via letters and postcards. While Dexter goes on holiday after graduation, Emma struggles to make ends meet, working at a Mexican restaurant and unsure about what to do with her life.
Dexter and Emma’s friendship contributes to the show’s uniqueness. It’s obvious they both feel more for each other than they express. Yet, they spend years apart, dating others and doing their own things. It is the classic trope of “right person, wrong time,” and while it felt frustrating as the viewer sometimes, it’s the beauty behind the show. Emma and Dexter are individuals, and their stories do not always revolve around each other. During a time when she and Dexter have a falling out and are not friends, Emma becomes a teacher and later a successful author without Dexter’s help. Emma’s story is not always about Dexter or finding love but about finding herself and proving she can achieve her dreams.
As for Dexter, we also learn more about him and his struggles with a drug and alcohol problem, especially after the loss of his mother from cancer. Dexter becomes much more complex than the privileged party boy in the first episode. The show demonstrates character development well: it creates two characters who, as the series progresses, become more and more complex, and we, as the audience, become more and more invested in the two separately.
This show is a love story between two people, but it is also a lot more than that! It is about two people’s life stories and how their experiences in life shaped them into their future selves who can genuinely love each other. Without Dexter and Emma’s separate stories, I don’t think this love story would have been so impactful. While we root for them to get together, we also learn to root for them individually. Dexter and his feelings for her do not define Emma—she doesn’t pine over him and let it rule her life; this makes their stories realistic and turns their love story into one about life itself.
I won’t spoil the ending, but all I know is that I felt the need to hug my partner at the end, and I think any piece of media that creates that effect is powerful. I advise you to embrace this rollercoaster of a show because every bit of it is valuable; I realized this at the end, as it all ties back to Emma and Dexter’s first meeting in the first episode. The only spoiler I will offer is this: it does not rain on any St. Swithin’s Day except in 2001, so be prepared for that downpour.
Cheers!
-Lauren Krone
CSU Stanislaus