{"id":142538,"date":"2020-02-07T16:10:21","date_gmt":"2020-02-07T21:10:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=142538"},"modified":"2020-02-07T16:36:05","modified_gmt":"2020-02-07T21:36:05","slug":"staff-picks-scenes-screens-and-snubs","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/02\/07\/staff-picks-scenes-screens-and-snubs\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: Scenes, Screens, and Snubs"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Still from Mark Jenkin\u2019s Bait<\/em>.<\/p><\/div>\n

This Sunday the Oscars, like seasonal depression or unwashed salad, returns with a grim inevitability. It also provides a good juncture to rave with righteousness about films that were overlooked. I wrote about Atlantics<\/em><\/a> two weeks prior and would be happy to rattle on about its snubbing, but I have other reasons to shake my fists. Also ignored was my other favorite film that ends with a freeing glance into the camera, the wry and ruthless The Souvenir<\/em><\/a>, with a scalpel-sharp script in my mother tongue, passive-aggressive British condescension. The marvelous oddity Bait<\/em><\/a> charts the battle between a Cornish fisherman and the gentrifiers of his town. They buy him out of his house and drag it up with nautical kitsch and knotted ropes\u2014\u201clike a sex dungeon,\u201d he fumes. Bait<\/em> has the \u201cfuck the rich\u201d fury of Parasite<\/em> but is filmed as a throwback, in grainy black-and-white film stock, with dubbed sound. The abrasive aesthetic unsettles: it drains the familiar romance of Cornwall\u2019s coast and shows the present as if it were a prophetic nightmare from the past. Another bewildering experiment is the gorgeous Long Day\u2019s Journey into Night<\/em><\/a>, which should have got a nod for every technical award. It is a lonely man\u2019s reverie, as expected, full of the flickers and fragments of lost love. There is weeping and gnashing of apples. There are curlicues of cigarette smoke and telling smudges of lipstick. Lovers speak vaguely in flooded rooms, as if this were a perfume ad directed by Andrei Tarkovsky. Then it all converges in a single take: an hour-long dreamscape that gathers and riddles all that came before. The camera loops and plummets; fate is tempted as a horse bucks fruit into its path, and a man bets he can sink the eight ball in the pool hall. It\u2019s no spoiler to say the spell does not break\u2014this melancholy is intoxicating, immaculate. If only real sadness felt so good. \u2014Chris Littlewood\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

I understand the Academy doesn\u2019t love a horror flick (in ninety-two years, all of six have been nominated for Best Picture), but that doesn\u2019t mean I can\u2019t be miffed that Jordan Peele\u2019s excellent Us<\/em><\/a> didn\u2019t get any nominations. It\u2019s probably too late in the week to start a write-in campaign for Lupita Nyong\u2019o to win the Best Actress statuette, but she deserves it, playing the twinned characters of Adelaide and Red with precision, ferocity, and intelligence. Sure, there are some scenes that recall The Parent Trap<\/em>, but in Peele\u2019s commanding hands even this old trope is fresh, and Nyong\u2019o has both sides of the face-off on lockdown. \u201cOld made fresh\u201d could be applied to almost every angle of how Peele approaches making a horror flick in 2019\u2014the suspense and the slash, the sinister and the silly. \u2014Emily Nemens<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Still from Murray Lerner\u2019s Festival!<\/em><\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

I lived in Newport, Rhode Island, for four years and never attended the Newport Folk Festival, which has happened every summer since 1959. It always felt distant, with its crowds of tourists and bands that are popular on the radio. Not until a screening this past December of Murray Lerner\u2019s documentary Festival!<\/em><\/a> did I understand how the event was once distinguished by a shared feeling of intimacy. From 1963 to 1966, Lerner recorded American bohemianism as enacted by young people of all class backgrounds (the cross-sectional fashion sense of this set is the reason for the movie\u2019s inclusion in a series of films curated by the fashion designer Anna Sui<\/a> at the Museum of Arts and Design in New York). Much of Festival!<\/em> is spent on the performances of now-iconic musicians (Peter, Paul and Mary; Johnny Cash; Bob Dylan; Donovan) and the moments afterward. Joan Baez talks over her shoulder to Lerner and his camera, riding in the back seat of a car, about celebrity, how antithetical to folk music it feels to be idolized. Lerner\u2019s lens is an equalizer; the reverent eye trained on Baez is the same one that lingers on attendees sleeping under their sweaters in the early-morning dew. Whether it\u2019s the cultural moment itself or Lerner\u2019s perspective that defines the scenes in Festival!<\/em>, neither would have been possible for me to experience during my own coastal tenure, making the documentary both art and artifact. \u2014Lauren Kane<\/strong><\/p>\n

The Farewell<\/em> was staff picked<\/a> by my predecessor Noor Qasim after its 2019 release. But upon the Academy\u2019s decision not to nominate Lulu Wang for Best Director, the praise bears repeating. Wang tells the true-to-life story of Billi\u2019s (Awkwafina) return to Beijing to say farewell to the family matriarch, Nai Nai (Zhao Shuzhen), who has been diagnosed with advanced lung cancer. But here\u2019s the kicker: everyone except Nai Nai knows the gravity of her condition. And to keep it hidden, Billi\u2019s trip is planned around a sham wedding banquet for her cousin Hao Hao and his girlfriend of three months. Perhaps the most striking element of the film is its soundtrack, a spare classical score that places Wang in the tradition of Robert Bresson. Wang\u2019s wide shots are as precise and intentional as the music; she is unafraid of stillness and tableau, allowing the viewer uninterrupted immersion in her painterly world. Wang\u2019s genius aside, Awkwafina is an intelligent and beautiful actor, as is Shuzhen, and each surely deserves award consideration. It is an injustice that The Farewell<\/em> has been overlooked, and a clear indicator that the Academy often fails to recognize moviemaking at its highest level. \u2014Elinor Hitt<\/strong><\/p>\n

Time moves fitfully in the films of Angela Schanelec. Locations change abruptly, and characters\u2019 relationships with one another remain unexplained, understood only through minimal context clues. Her plots don\u2019t exactly follow dream logic, but they\u2019re made to be absorbed rather than articulated. Fittingly, I cannot explain exactly what it is that I love about her films, because after one watches them, they have a habit of evaporating; their events elude memory, becoming felt instead of known. It is this feeling of being imprinted upon that keeps me watching her work, and it\u2019s what makes me so excited for the Schanelec retrospective<\/a> that Film at Lincoln Center is showing beginning today, February 7. The program honors the release of her latest film, I Was Home But \u2026<\/em><\/a>\u2009, which won the Silver Bear at last year\u2019s Berlinale. But I can\u2019t imagine Schanelec winning any accolades stateside\u2014her films are the antithesis of Oscar bait. I am reminded of the abrupt, unexplained location change from Marseilles to Berlin halfway through Marseilles<\/em><\/a> (2004) or the theater scene, shot from the perspective of the stage, that opens Afternoon<\/em><\/a> (2007), itself based on Chekhov\u2019s The Seagull<\/em>. In one of Schanelec\u2019s earlier movies (and a personal favorite), Passing Summer<\/em><\/a> (2001), the main character spends her summer at home in Berlin after her friends depart on vacation (the film also features a charming dance sequence<\/a>). And there will be more shown at this retrospective that I haven\u2019t seen, including a series of shorts and Schanelec\u2019s debut feature, My Sister\u2019s Good Fortune<\/em><\/a> (1995). \u201cIt doesn\u2019t make sense to explain anything,\u201d Schanelec told an interviewer in 2019. For me, it\u2019s this sense of the unexplained, this refusal to make things easy, that is one of her films\u2019 most alluring qualities. \u2014Rhian Sasseen<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Maren Eggert in I Was at Home, But \u2026<\/em> Courtesy of Cinema Guild.<\/p><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This week, the staff of \u2018The Paris Review\u2019 goes to the movies.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[438],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-142538","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nStaff Picks: Scenes, Screens, and Snubs by The Paris Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"This week, the staff of \u2018The Paris Review\u2019 goes to the movies.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/02\/07\/staff-picks-scenes-screens-and-snubs\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta 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