July is here, and with the longest day now behind us, I've been reflecting on the films I've experienced for the first time since the start of the year. Some are old classics which until now I just hadn't got around to viewing, there were a few near misses, films that, while interesting, just didn't quite make my final selection. These included the distinctive Australian film The Surfer starring the equally unique Nicolas Cage, the somewhat anticlimactic Nosferatu, the ambitious Mickey 17, and the 1980s cult classic, Night of the Comet.
There's a particular quality that elevates a film beyond mere entertainment into something truly resonant. It's not simply about following a prescribed formula, nor is it solely about technical brilliance—though both certainly play a part. Instead, it arises from a sustained, deep commitment to a specific vision, a willingness to explore the intricate complexities of human experience. When a film achieves this, it does more than just amuse; it challenges, it sheds light, and it deepens our understanding of what it means to live, to strive, to face setbacks, and, occasionally, to achieve victory.
So here's the list along with the occasional artwork inspired by some of the movies.
The Ballad of Wallis Island presents itself with the deceptive simplicity of a regional narrative, yet it carries a surprising emotional weight. It takes us into a part of the world often overlooked, a landscape shaped as much by its isolation as by its rugged beauty. Within this stark setting, the film unearths a quiet, profound exploration of connection and the unique nature of human relationships. The performances from the central trio feel remarkably authentic, suggesting either years of shared history and unspoken understanding, or perhaps a profound loneliness. Their interactions have a measured rhythm, a nuanced exchange of glances and incomplete phrases that conveys volumes about intricate bonds formed through common experience. The film does not rush; it allows moments of quiet contemplation and unexpected joy to breathe, inviting the audience to immerse themselves in its distinct atmosphere and become intimately familiar with its characters' rhythms and vulnerabilities. What emerges is not a grand drama, but a meticulously observed study of how lives intersect and diverge, how small acts of kindness can echo through the vastness of human solitude. It’s a film that shows storytelling need not be loud or flashy, but can reside in the quiet dignity of ordinary lives, portrayed with exceptional grace.
Then there's Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, a film that, even decades after its initial release, retains its brilliance. It is more than just a Western; it's an elegiac reflection on the close of an era, a vibrant yet melancholic farewell to the free-spirited individualism that once characterized the American frontier. Paul Newman and Robert Redford, in roles that seemed tailor-made for them, embody these characters with an effortless charm and a palpable camaraderie rarely seen on screen. Their sharp, intelligent dialogue is more than just witty; it forms the very core of their relationship, a shorthand developed over years of shared adventures and narrow escapes. The film moves with dynamic energy, propelled by a narrative that, while appearing to be about two outlaws on the run, is in fact a deeper exploration of loyalty, ambition, and the bittersweet acceptance of an inevitable end. From the sun-drenched plains of the American West to the untamed jungles of Bolivia, each setting serves as a richly textured backdrop for their daring, ultimately poignant journey. And that ending—it is not merely a dramatic conclusion, but a breathtaking, defiant acceptance of destiny, a freeze-frame that captures the essence of their spirit, forever etched in cinematic history.
The human spirit, even when confined, maintains an irrepressible drive towards expression, connection, and the creation of something meaningful. This profound truth lies at the heart of Sing Sing, a film that foregoes sensationalism for a deeply empathetic and remarkably nuanced portrayal of life within the correctional system. It’s a work that finds its strength not in grand declarations or dramatic conflicts, but in the quiet observation of individuals seeking purpose amidst formidable limitations. The film avoids condescension or overt preaching; instead, it invites us to witness their journeys, to comprehend the complexities of their circumstances, and to recognize the universal human need for dignity and self-expression, regardless of external constraints.
Next, we delve into the intense, stylized world of Sinners, a film that, despite its pulsating rhythm and bold visual flair, constructs a compelling and surprisingly resonant narrative. This is not a film designed for comfort; it aims to provoke, to engage the senses, and to draw the audience, willingly or not, into a landscape of moral ambiguity and raw vengeance. The film's visual language is striking, almost operatic, employing a vibrant palette and a dynamic, often disorienting, sense of motion that underscores the relentless forward momentum of the plot. Every frame is carefully composed, every shot adds to the visceral energy that keeps the audience in a state of heightened anticipation It’s a film that understands the visceral appeal of a protagonists pushed to their limits, a narrative that does not shy away from the brutality inherent in its chosen genre, but rather embraces it as a means of exploring the darker aspects of the human psyche. What might, in less skilled hands, be mere spectacle is here transformed into a relentless, almost hypnotic journey into the heart of darkness, compelling the audience to confront uncomfortable truths about power and control. This is audacious, unflinching filmmaking that demands engagement and leaves a strong, unsettling impression.
(Pastel By Basesketch)
The anxieties of our increasingly interconnected world find a chilling and effective expression in Companion. In a cinematic landscape often prone to predictable themes, this film possesses a distinct energy and sharp edge. One might anticipate familiar tropes and obvious scares, but instead, the experience is more intricate and compelling. While the concept of "smart home" technology turning hostile is not new, Drew Hancock's direction offers enough fresh perspectives to maintain engagement, even if certain thematic resolutions don't always land with maximum impact. The film's ambition is evident, and despite moments of unevenness, there's a genuine drive that is hard to overlook. Sophie Thatcher delivers a compelling performance as Iris, navigating her character's transformations with convincing intensity, showcasing both vulnerability and growing resilience. Jack Quaid, meanwhile, continues to excel in roles that hint at a lurking darkness beneath an outwardly pleasant demeanor, capturing an unsettling charm. The supporting cast, while not always given extensive material, effectively contributes to the escalating unease and eventual chaos. It is a very effective horror film.
Then there is The Brutalist, a film that arrives with the significant ambition of a meticulously researched historical epic, yet it transcends the typical period piece by delving into the core essence of artistic creation and the profound personal sacrifices demanded by unwavering vision. Brady Corbet's epic spectacle a film that doesn't just stun, it electrifies. It's a sprawling, visually arresting journey into post-war America, with a compelling intensity that never lets up. The film is bold, confident, and utterly mesmerizing, drawing the viewer deeply into its grand narrative. Adrien Brody delivers what can be considered a career-best performance as the architect László Toth, embodying his character with a powerful blend of artistic obsession and simmering resolve. Felicity Jones is simply superb as his intricate and compelling wife, balancing strength with vulnerability. This isn't just a film about architecture; it is a profound examination of the artistic drive, the sacrifices it demands, and the lasting mark it leaves on the world.
(Pastel By Basesketch)
And finally, a shimmering artifact from a bygone era that retains undeniable vitality and a profound, almost primal, appeal: Creature from the Black Lagoon. While iconic names like Dracula, The Invisible Man, Frankenstein, and The Wolfman often dominate discussions of Universal's Monster universe, there's one creature that tends to be overlooked: The Gill-Man from Creature From The Black Lagoon. The story follows a group of scientists on an expedition deep within the Amazon River. Their journey leads them to the infamous Black Lagoon, where they encounter the Gill-Man, a mysterious prehistoric creature. They manage to capture it, but the creature eventually breaks free, unleashing chaos.
There are several aspects of this film I truly appreciate. One notable point is the film's progressive stance on equality. Kay Lawrence, the sole female character portrayed by Julie Adams, is treated with complete respect and as a full equal by her male colleagues. Another standout feature is the incredible underwater stunt work. These scenes are expertly performed by various characters, but it's Ricou Browning's portrayal of the Gill-Man in the underwater sequences that is particularly remarkable.
There's a particular brilliance at work in these classic monster films—a pure, unadulterated commitment to the fantastical, a willingness to tap into the deep-seated fears and fascinations that reside within the human psyche. This is not a film that attempts to intellectualize or deconstruct; it aims, simply and effectively, to thrill, to enchant, and to transport its audience to a world where ancient terrors lurk beneath shimmering surfaces. One watches it not to analyze its deeper meanings or to dissect its allegorical weight, it's a creature and it's in a lagoon. Revel in the sheer, unadulterated joy of a cinematic gem crafted adventure of the 1950s.
(Gelli Print By Basesketch)
From the quiet introspection of independent cinema to the explosive spectacle of genre pictures, these have been the films I have watched for the first time and enjoyed the most.
Roll on the second half of the movie year!