At Telluride, ‘Conclave’ pleases, even if other Oscar hopefuls aren’t ready for prime time

TELLURIDE, Colo. —

As someone who has spent countless hours binge-watching biopics and documentaries about legendary figures, I must say that both “Maria” and “Saturday Night” have left me with mixed feelings.

In the opening scenes of RaMell Ross’ stunning, abstract film “Nickel Boys,” the camera points towards the sky. This might seem unusual for a filmmaker: After gathering talented actors and constructing elaborate sets, the director decides to focus not on them but on the clouds, the sun’s bursts, the swaying trees, and an almost ready-to-be-picked orange. A director who is a seeker, whether spiritually or otherwise, like Ross, often does this, looking up even when making a film about war, as Terrence Malick did in “The Thin Red Line.”

Watching a movie with your head tilted back, particularly when seated at the front row, often puts us in a state of blissful surrender, anticipating some form of enlightenment or rescue. This is why many people flock to places like Telluride, basking in its stunning mountain landscapes and invigorating winds, primarily to savor numerous films. Although there are other reasons to be here: clues to decipher about the approaching Oscar race. Publicists and predictors frequently check their phones for updates from the Venice Film Festival, which is already underway. By the time Toronto’s annual film festival begins next week, awards season will be in full swing. However, spending a somewhat unrelaxing Labor Day weekend in Telluride — an area known for its industry focus — is to cherish the hope of discovery.

So far, the festival has held true to its word regarding the “Nickel Boys,” a film adaptation of Colson Whitehead’s 2019 novel. This movie, directed by Regina King and co-written with Joslyn Barnes, left its world premiere audience in a hushed state. Unlike the immediate impact celebrated by the Pulitzer Prize-winning book, the film’s influence is gradual and devastating.

The initial glimpses we get are those of a young man’s inquisitive nature unfolding. He assists his loving grandmother, Hattie (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor), in adorning their Christmas tree, with tinsel cascading from her hands like bolts of lightning. Meanwhile, he attentively follows the discourses of Martin Luther King Jr. in class while his peers rhythmically tap on their desks. In a poignant instance, we discover whose perspective we’ve been sharing, mirrored in the reflection of Hattie’s rocking seesaw: Elwood (initially portrayed by Ethan Cole Sharp, later by Ethan Herisse). Given that this is Tallahassee under Jim Crow and Elwood is African American, we encounter scenes depicting overt racism, boldly displayed in broad daylight. A massive cross is hauled along the road by a vehicle, its metal base spitting out hateful embers.

At the brink of a brighter technical college career, Elwood finds himself unjustly accused and sent to Nickel Academy – a harsh, brutal institution marked by late-night beatings. Here, he crosses paths with another frightened boy named Turner (Brandon Wilson). The narrative then switches to Turner’s perspective, bringing Elwood into the picture. Their education primarily consists of being taught they are mere ‘grubs’, destined for tough labor and predatory treatment, with a slim chance of rising to become ‘explorers’, then ‘pioneers’, and eventually ‘aces’.

As a movie enthusiast, I found myself captivated by the masterful work of director Ross in his 2018 debut, “Hale County This Morning, This Evening.” This documentary, a powerful portrayal of Black life in Alabama, effectively blurs the boundary between observer and observed. It’s no surprise that Ross aimed to replicate this innovative approach in his latest work, “Nickel Boys,” but at times, the film seems more focused on experimental form than emotional storytelling. While I admire Ross’ audaciousness, there are moments when the narrative feels overly stylized, temporarily pulling us away from the intended immersive experience.

In “Conclave,” stern cardinals, reminiscent of Ross’ sons, cast their eyes skyward, seeking a divine signal – quite unlike the dramatic intrigue you’d expect from a show like “The West Wing.” However, it shares some resemblance with high-end television series, as Volker Bertelmann’s score maintains its rhythm effortlessly. Directed by Edward Berger, this dialog-driven suspense film adopts a contrasting approach to his World War I drama, “All Quiet on the Western Front.” Instead of grim trench warfare, it features actorly performances – and in one absurdly amusing scene, an actual explosion that illuminates a crucial point.

Ralph Fiennes, portraying Cardinal Lawrence, asserts, “I’m not a witch-hunter,” as he savors a four-course meal filled with memorable lines. His role involves overseeing the internal voting, hoping for white smoke signaling success over Rome. The process draws you in with its intrigue: We witness the fire and the chimney, the ritual of joining pieces of paper cast for the vote.

You wouldn’t gather stars such as Fiennes, John Lithgow, Stanley Tucci, and Lucian Msamati known for their intense performances if things were supposed to run smoothly in the film. In reality, they seem to have spent more time outside the church than within. The movie unfolds like a series of shocking disclosures, as Lawrence’s nosiness uncovers their past misdeeds. Simultaneously, a strict nun portrayed by Isabella Rossellini has her own secrets to reveal.

The ominous nature of the events unfolds as an amusing spectacle, carrying an air of contemporary relevance – the liberal sector of the faith finds itself in peril. This is intended to appeal to viewers, suggesting they’re witnessing something beyond a series of power struggles reminiscent of “Succession”. The cunning cleric, portrayed by Tucci, bristles at the thought of being labeled the “Nixon of popes”, a phrase for the less intellectually gifted. This production is sure to captivate your parents.

Could Fiennes make it to the finish line? Such speculation is common among attendees at Telluride, who are eager to participate in their own anointing and voting. Other films vying for Oscars at Cannes continued their campaigns with full screenings that left out many potential admirers – movies like Sean Baker’s Palme d’Or winner “Anora” and the musical crime drama “Emilia Pérez.”

Angelina Jolie arrived in town for “Maria,” a subtly cold biographical film about the last days of famous opera singer Maria Callas. This movie, directed by Pablo Larraín, feels somewhat out of place compared to his previous works like “Jackie” and “Spencer.” Instead of showing a dramatic breakdown, as some might expect, “Maria” remains elusive and keeps us from truly knowing the person behind the public figure. In fact, even in scenes where Callas is depicted at home with her butler and cook while heavily medicated, Jolie’s portrayal maintains an icy distance.

In a more casual and engaging manner, it could be expressed as follows: “Callas demands to be treated like a star,” she declares, wanting a table where the staff recognize her or a hairdresser who doesn’t speak much. (This dialogue makes the overly stuffy film seem more intriguing than it actually is.) Larraín, based on a script by Stephen Knight (who wrote “Spencer”), often takes more creative risks. However, his reliance on tired black-and-white flashbacks with the shaky, old-movie effect (it’s high time someone updates this filter) is disappointing. With “Maria,” he has the glamorous setting, but not much of the character’s desperation. A flamboyantly aggressive Ari Onassis (Haluk Bilginer) helps Jolie’s performance stand out, but it still feels mechanical.

Nonetheless, the opera music soars: glorious, classic versions of “La Traviata” and “Tosca” that provide a kind of transportation of their own. Let others debate about the precise amount of raw bison liver and training involved in Jolie’s vocal performance (you hear a fair amount of Callas in the movie as well). She has worked, effortfully, to capture the voice and the pose, even if the film fails her in terms of rapture.

Essentially, Jason Reitman’s film “Saturday Night” shares many similarities with Lorne Michaels’ 1975 TV debut “Saturday Night Live.” However, while the movie is fast-paced and energetic to a point of discomfort, due to John Batiste’s swift soundtrack (another layer on a layer), it can’t accurately depict the true events leading up to the show. Despite its inaccuracies, much of what is portrayed likely happened. The young cast, particularly Gabriel LaBelle who played Steven Spielberg in “The Fabelmans,” stands out, especially as he takes on the role of Michaels, skillfully portraying modern artists navigating their creative careers with nervous energy.

The film, “Saturday Night,” is brimming with nostalgia and catering to older Gen X audiences – every bee costume and debatable author’s point is included. It’s made in a fervent devotion that seems to contradict the very essence of why the show was vital. The movie emphasizes the toppling of comedy’s old guard, represented by J.K. Simmons’ Milton Berle character, cruising NBC studios for relevance. However, it feels like Reitman’s film is itself a mirror image of a half-century-old show, rather than a fresh take on it.

The case of Reitman is a troubling one. His sharp-edged 2018 mommy comedy “Tully” demonstrated that the filmmaker of “Young Adult” still lives. But “Saturday Night” and the “Ghostbusters” reboots show an obeisance to his father’s legacy that represents a step backward. In the new film, a bank of lighting rigging comes crashing to the stage in flames, nearly taking out several future comedy legends. You’re always meant to be thinking: Can you believe a show this important came this close to not happening? Someone should have been looking upward.

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2024-09-01 23:02