viet and nam

My review of Truong Minh Quy’s Viet and Nam is up at Film-Forward. The scenes plumbing the haunted, war-scarred history of Vietnam are particularly affecting.

momi first look 2025 festival

I was fortunate to review an amazing array of films that are a part of MoMI's 2025 First Look Festival.

Feature film reviews of 100,000,000,000,000, When the Phone Rang, and Windless here at Film-Forward.

Documentary film reviews of Elementary, Songs of Slow Burning Earth, Zodiac Killer Project here at Film-Forward.

black bag

In addition to Presence, I also enjoyed the (very different) Steven Soderbergh and David Koepp collaboration of Black Bag.

My Film-Forward review is here.

re-animator

I am pleased to officially announce that my debut poetry collection, Re-Animator, is slated for release in 2026 from Indolent Books! Preorder and cover reveal tk. 

misericordia

Looking through the spotty glass of a car window at a winding rural road is a fitting opening to Alain Guiraudie's intriguing, carefully studied Misericordia (the title, in part, references the Latin word for "mercy"). Taking place within a quaint French village, with its characters consisting of only a handful of folks, who seem to be the only ones shown of its citizenry, Guiraudie's film is muddy and knotty.  It's a morality tale that's anti-morality, yet also one that resists the declarative. The film renders a jumble of tones: perversely comic, dry, sensitive, addled.   

The enigmatic Jérémie (Félix Kysyl) comes back to his hometown after the death of an older man he once worked with as a baker. The film suggests that Jérémie was fond of the departed, and perhaps had a sexual relationship with him, or at least, a desire for one. Jérémie stays with the man's widow, Martine (Catherine Frot), for a lodging that seems to be lasting for an abnormally long amount of time. Over the course of these days, Jérémie is threatened by Martine's son Vincent (Jean-Baptiste Durand). Jérémie has taken over Vincent's adolescent bedroom (walls lined with pictures of footballers), and both seem to be harboring simmering animosities towards one another that quickly escalate.

Meanwhile, Jérémie visits, drinks and conversates with a family friend, Walter (David Ayala), for whom Jérémie seems to be attracted to as well (as with his other works, Guiraudie's portrayal of older, schlubby, overweight men as against-the-norm cinematic objects of sexual desire continues in this film as well, quite delightfully). Throughout, a reserved priest (Jacques Develay) mills about in the background, sometimes popping up in the most inopportune moments. This cluster of townsfolk, of intermingling yearnings, makes for a tense, dryly amusing tinderbox. Much of the characters' most uncouth, secretive, and violent behavior occurs within the attractive backdrop of the village's woods—a damp, leafy, fog-draped setting of mushroom foraging and intimate conversations and clashes. 

Guiraudie's film is a well-plotted and characterized tale, its unraveling mostly surprising, with a bevy of understated wit. It doesn't thunder its way to a satisfying conclusion. Instead, it reaffirms its sense of lonesome, dirt-speckled windshield wandering. Claire Mathon, a wonderful cinematographer and frequent collaborator with Guiraudie, shoots the film with a chilly, shrewd feel. The film often cycles through various tones and times of day within its deceptively tranquil settings: the ice blues of morning, the warmth of afternoons, and the unnerving dark of night. When lights suddenly (almost violently so) flick on in a room, the film expresses a flat, unattractive feel (to an amusing degree in one of the priest's later scenes). Through a queer lens, there were some subtleties I was picking up on throughout; there were things resonating with myself deeply that maybe others would feel as strongly about. I sometimes wondered during its screening, Am I the only one seeing this? The film would probably say back to me if it were a person, You aren't that special. ***

-Jeffery Berg

Misericordia, which received praise out of last year's film festivals, is finally making its way to a domestic theatrical release (where best viewed) through Sideshow and Janus Films on March, 21st. 

presence

In this current moment, there is a relatability to Steven Soderbergh's Presence, a moody, domestic drama ghost story with a remarkably effective POV gimmick, cannily marketed as a horror picture by Neon (it originally premiered at Sundance in 2024, in what feels like an eternity ago). Some may feel like the ghost in this tale, bobbing around unseen in limited spaces, watching horrible world events unfold that are difficult and nearly impossible to undo or fix. The family at its center is Rebecca (Lucy Liu) and Chris (Chris Sullivan) and their teen children, Chloe (Callina Liang) and Tyler (Eddy Maday), move into a handsome two-story. The house is quiet, with lovely, modest rooms of hardwood floors and colorfully painted walls, an old mirror over the living room fireplace, and leafy, green views, except for an almost unsettlingly stream of traffic outside their windows (it was filmed in Cranford, New Jersey). The family's relationships are frayed. Chloe recently lost a friend, Tyler is an athlete, trying to stay popular in school, and Rebecca and Chris may have been involved in something nefarious in their jobs (smartly, this remains vague—a stray plot thread that doesn't need to over explained, nor neatly wrapped up as a lesser film would). The tensions between everyone, though not nearly as powerfully portrayed, is reminiscent of Robert Redford's Ordinary People (I felt this most in a scene when Rebecca and Tyler are bonding over Tyler's uncouth behavior at school, while Chris and Chloe are on the outs, reminding me of a quick flashback scene between Buck and Mary Tyler Moore's Beth).

The skillful cinematography by Soderbergh (aka Peter Andrews) takes on the perspective of an unnamed, undefined spirit whose cinematic sweeps through the house are evocative and near-seamlessly presented. I thought of the ghost child who haunts over Jonathan Demme's Rachel Getting Married, who sometimes seems to be much of that film's rocky and fragile point-of-view. Soderbergh, in his remarkably varied and fascinating ouvre, continues to play with form, technology and perspective while relaying a sense of thorny, heightened realism. Zach Ryan's score is somewhat florid, but very beautiful, almost Jerry Goldsmith-esque, adding both melancholy and warmth to the movie and the dream-state feel of the camerawork; many contemporary films of this ilk would have probably opted for a colder, starker tone with ambient, atonal music or no score at all. The script by David Koepp—a screenwriter with a familiar, cozily 1990s sensibility (a shorter version could have easily been one of those supernatural slices in The Sixth Sense)—has its moments of sharp characterizations and insights, though the actors seem to be imbuing the material, especially Sullivan, more thoroughly. Packing in quite a bit in its airy 85-minute runtime, the film swerves into jagged, crackerjack thriller territory in the final act, and yet still, the story (and its sudden, emotional coda) are so involving, that I appreciated it overall for its empathy, entertainment value and risk. ***

-Jeffery Berg

parasite in imax

Neon is bringing back Bong Joon Ho's masterpiece Parasite in IMAX theaters in time for its 5th anniversary!

The exclusive engagements begin on February 7th.