Sorry, Baby ***1/2 [U.S. Dramatic]
There’s no “right” or “wrong” way to tell a story about the aftermath of sexual assault, and writer/director/star Eva Victor somehow crafts an affecting, improbably entertaining narrative out of the reality that there’s no “right” or “wrong” way to react to such an event. The story weaves back and forth through several years in the life of Agnes Ward (Victor), as she deals with being raped by her advisor while completing her thesis as a graduate literature student. Victor’s gifts as a comedian are certainly on display, both in her own winningly awkward performance, and in the way she twists potentially grim scenes—like Agnes’ visit to a doctor with her best friend, Lydie (Naomi Ackie), in the wake of her assault—into brilliant black humor. And she’s a generous enough filmmaker to provide terrific supporting roles for John Carroll Lynch and Kelly McCormack. Most impressive of all, Victor balances the bitter with the sweet with impressive dexterity—in her keen direction of “the event” itself simply through a fragmented passage of time; by capturing how any sound can become an occasion for terror; providing an understanding of how a flashback of panic might occur at any time. The title refers to a kind of melancholy understanding of how many women and girls will end up having this kind of experience, but Victor’s keen sense for shifting tone allows for a recognition that life can go on—with humor, with friendships, with love—even if it will never truly be the same.
Sally *** [Premieres]
In theory, I understand the idea in director Cristina Costantini’s documentary profile of pioneering astronaut Sally Ride to offer dramatized images of Ride’s life with Tam O’Shaughnessy, the life partner of 27 years whose existence was only made public after Ride’s death from pancreatic cancer in 2012. As O’Shaughnessy herself laments, very little photographic evidence of their relationship exists due to Ride’s desire to stay closeted, so these gauzy re-creations become a kind of acknowledgement that this relationship actually happened. The scenes themselves, however, just don’t really work as intended; they evoke the vibe of a true-crime series, and become a distraction from the story of how much Ride had to overcome—the sexism of the mostly-ex-military male astronaut corps, the ridiculous questions asked by media, the sense that she had to get married to a man as a beard to deflect any possible suspicion about her sexuality—in order to take that “first American woman in space” shuttle flight in 1983. O’Shaughnessy and other key people from Ride’s life, along with fantastic archival footage, provide a rich portrait of all the personality traits that made her both ideal for this particular role in the historical spotlight, and an often-challenging romantic partner. And it’s wonderful and important that O’Shaughnessy got the chance to speak this truth. It just feels like we could have taken in all of that information without actors pretending to live that life.
Selena y Los Dinos *** [U.S. Documentary]
The title
Selena might already have been taken by the 1997 J-Lo biopic, but Isabel Castro’s documentary makes a case for being not just about Selena Quintanilla, the Tejano music star who was shot and killed in 1995 at the age of 23, but about her connection to the band that was also her family. Castro gets contemporary reflections from all the key players—her father, Abraham; siblings and bandmates A.B. and Suzette; band guitarist and Selena’s eventual husband, Chris Pérez—as well as a treasure trove of footage from family home video that allows a look at Selena’s rise from Corpus Christi, Texas-area grade-school novelty playing local quinceañeras to stadium-filling sensation, not just on stages but behind the scenes. And while the structure is fairly conventional, that material gives it a boost at helping understand Selena as more than an icon with a megawatt smile and infinite stage charisma; it’s a great moment when we see Selena, who worked hard to learn Spanish, realizes she’s actually forgotten the English word for something. But mostly it’s a portrait of Abraham’s born-of-financial-necessity efforts to turn his family into “the Mexican Jacksons,” including some conflict along the way but also a way to ground the rise to fame. Castro de-emphasizes the tragic circumstances of Selena’s death, allowing the film not to focus on how she died, but on those who loved her while she lived.
The Ballad of Wallis Island ***1/2 [Premieres]
You can feel nearly every beat of this quirky British comedy coming from a mile away, but it’s still one of those charming crowd-pleasers that squeezes every drop of potential out of its premise and its cast. Adapting their 2007 short film, director James Griffiths and co-writers Tom Basden & Tim Key set up a terrific idea: Eccentric millionaire Charles Heath (Key) hires fading folk-music star Herb McGwyer (Basden) for a private concert on the remote island where he lives, unaware that it’s also going to be a reunion with his one-time professional (and personal) partner Nell Mortimer (Carey Mulligan). The bulk of the humor is built on the awkward interactions between Charles and Herb—and between Charles and literally everybody else, as it turns out, as though he needs to use every syllable he’s had bottled up with nobody else around, usually to make absurdly strained attempts at wordplay. It’s a delightful performance, one that Basden generously allows to take center stage as McGwyer’s own post-“McGwyer Mortimer” artistic floundering doesn’t hit quite as hard, despite a solid connection with Mulligan. Yes, it’s another gentle tale about making peace with the past and finding a way to move on; it also happens to be one that finds a wildly entertaining intersection between
Plains, Trains & Automobiles and
Inside Llewyn Davis.
Didn’t Die ** [Midnight]
Zombie apocalypse tales can serve as a metaphor for a lot of things, and you can see the raw emotional material percolating beneath the one that co-writer/director Meera Menon has crafted; it just falls short of fully paying off. This one opens two years after the “biters” have changed the world forever, with Vinita Malhotra (Kiran Deol) returning to her New Jersey home after touring the country with her
Didn’t Die podcast—just as a mutation seems to have changed the undead from being active only at night to moving during the day as well. The narrative focuses on the interactions between Vinita and her two brothers, Hari (Samrat Chakrabarti) and Rish (Vishal Vijaykumar), as well as Hari’s wife Barbara (Katie McCuen) and Vinita’s ex Vincent (George Basil), and themes of forming family “pods” you can depend on and feeling the absence of people while isolated are just part of why there’s a clear COVID-era vibe to what Menon and co-writer Paul Gleeson are cooking up. It just always feels a bit strained when the film tries to fit actual zombie action into what mostly feels like a deadpan comedy-drama—and as Jim Jarmusch’s
The Dead Don’t Die already demonstrated, that’s a pretty tricky needle to thread. The performances are generally charming and earnest, and the story much more successful at exploring the regrets that a crisis makes you consider than at conveying the crisis itself.
Where the Wind Comes From *** [World Dramatic]
As much as writer/director Amel Guellaty’s debut feature evokes themes of a generation trying to find optimism for the future—themes that transcend this story’s Tunisian setting—it might actually be most effective as a tale of a very particular kind of friendship. At the center are two best-pals-since-childhood: 19-year-old Alyssa (Eya Bellagha), muddling towards the end of her schooling while also caring for her sister and depressed mother after the death of her father; and 23-year-old Mehdi (Slim Baccar), an unemployed man with a degree in computer science but dreams of being an artist. When Alyssa sees an advertisement for an art contest with a reward of a fellowship in Europe, the two head out on a road trip together, with a variety of misadventures allowing them to figure out who they are and what they really want. Guellaty certainly foregrounds economic issues, both in the explicit statement “if we can’t even dream, what’s left for us,” and in Alyssa and Mehdi’s encounter with a wealthy family. Yet the strongest material comes in the gradual understanding of what kind of bond there is between Alyssa and Mehdi if it’s not specifically romantic, since Alyssa is at
least bi-curious. Guellaty includes fantasy sequences from Alyssa’s point of view at regular intervals, corresponding to the surrealism in Mehdi’s art to show how similarly they both see the world. Through the bumps in the episodic narrative, there’s a strong thread in realizing how special it might be to have a platonic soulmate.
Cutting Through Rocks *** [World Documentary]
This portrait of courage and resilience follows Sara Shahverdi—the first elected councilwoman in her Iranian village—challenges deeply-entrenched patriarchal norms by making it her mission is to empower other women and teenage girls, teaching them to ride motorcycles, encouraging them to stay in school, even continue to university and advocating against child marriages. The film strikes a delicate balance, showcasing Sara’s triumphs and moments of joy while not shying away from portraying her struggles and heartbreaking setbacks. Her ultimate goal—to give women in her community the power to have a say in their paths—feels simultaneously simple and groundbreaking. With unwavering determination, Sara stands firm amidst the challenges and accusations that question her intentions, even when they come from her family. Her intentions are questioned to the point of the Court considering Sara to undergo a sex change, accusing her of having a "dishonorable home." Cutting Through Rocks highlights a universal truth: People often fear and resist change, especially when it challenges deep-rooted traditions and beliefs. Such fear can manifest as criticism, ostracism or even attempts to undermine someone’s character. Despite these obstacles, Sara refused to yield to the voices telling her to stop fighting. (Aimee L. Cook )