Val

What to do, what to do?

How about pretend to be someone else? Get dressed up, be silly, and get paid for it?

Val Kilmer has had a rather successful career doing just that. But this Hollywood actor’s life hasn’t been about money, it’s been about the things he doesn’t have. So don’t let Hollywood fool you: This is a true story that’ll tug at your heartstrings again and again.

One of the first things we learn is that this guy has always enjoyed capturing video. Thanks to thousands of hours of his own archived footage, we can see how he has acted (on and off screen) throughout the years. This was excellent raw material for the editors Ting Poo, Leo Scott, and Tyler Pharo (the former two of which also directed), and they’ve used it well. The years changed, but the man didn’t: He appears sensitive, humorous, and misunderstood since the beginning.

You could argue that this story is a pretentious self-advertisement. But I think you’d be wrong. There are too many genuinely tender and vulnerable moments here to think that this is born of pure self-aggrandizement. The way the man looks adoringly at his two grown children; the way he jokes with people; the way he speaks about his mother is likely to start your waterworks more than once.

So what actually happens? Well, we watch home movies of kid Val and his brothers making movies themselves; of young-adult Val on stages and movie sets; of middle-aged Val at home with the kids; of current-day Val doing something creative, while voice-over Val explains what we’re witnessing. These stories are the building blocks, and can teach us the power of storytelling; of seizures; of cancer.

These blocks create what Val would call the big picture: an explanation for his desire to act, to find the truth behind illusion and the illusion within truth. Though it sounds fanciful, these concepts are brought down to earth—heck, they never even leave it—because of how genuine everything laid before us seems to be.

Even the ways Val talks to us throughout the story—through past movies, in voice-over and addressing us in realtime—are poignant, and introduced in poignant ways. This movie is the work of many creative minds—and at the very least, one more than I had previously thought.

Roadrunner: A Film About Anthony Bourdain

Anthony Bourdain is gone, and this documentary won’t bring him back.

You might say to yourself, fine, I just need a taste. Well, even the taste is sour. To watch this isn’t to indulge in never-before-seen footage or experience the refreshingly twisted, pessimistic optimism that made this public personality so popular. To watch this is to be more like Tony—to embrace the uncomfortable hoping to understand.

As we hear from Tony’s close friends and co-workers, we learn about his insatiable curiosity. The small-time chef was not just a chef, but an aspiring writer. The best-selling writer was not just a writer, but a magnetic journeyman. Descriptions like these were not his thing, though. People were. War-torn or five-star didn’t matter; the people there did. 

The first half of the movie almost assumes that we know all this. It starts off in a fit, just as Tony’s rags-to-riches story begins, but is otherwise slow and uneventful.

The second half, though, channels the openness of our star, and in doing so magnetizes us to the screen. Watching him describe and experience his wildest dreams (writer, father); watching him live the lows of uncertainty and desperation as his friends are helpless, are moving, if quite painful to watch. 

There’s not much to it aside from that, and that is more than enough. This work is a respectful study on a vibrant, if dark and puzzling man. It’ll remind you of the beauty that life offers if you seek it—and the pain of experiencing things that we cannot yet—and maybe never will—understand.

The Get Lost Losers

Your family is trash.

This is just one of many colorful songs written and performed by The Get Lost Losers. To name others would risk spoiling their bite; each—like the movie itself—is acerbic and hilarious, and must be experienced. What we have here is a pitch-perfect mockumentary. 

We begin by meeting the band several years into its rock and roll lifetime—at a time when most of the members are, quite frankly, tired of rock and roll. Our permanently-scowling bassist, Orly, can’t hide her disgust at how uneventful this has all been. She’s about ready to pounce on other work. And our drummer, Christophe, smartly written as the opposite of that wild, unintelligent-drummer stereotype, introduces himself by sharing his love for his 401k and catered office lunches.

This is funny stuff, and the moviemakers know it. From jokes and characters to the story arc itself, they use (and twist) band stereotypes to wonderful effect.

Art is precarious, but the tension here is next-level thanks to Sereno. He’s the arrogant, insufferable front man who seems to think that rock and roll requires it of him. That most everyone in the Los Angeles music scene hates him actually fuels his passion . . . until it drives his band members away.

Right before the band showcases its talent to industry executives, it falls apart. Even Anthony, the hilariously docile, verging on air-headed guitarist; even Anthony, the man who can attract girls with his sensitivity just as fast as he can . . . repel them with his sensitivity, has lost his patience for his friend Sereno.

Can Sereno form another band in time? Will any one of the rest succeed without the others?

Maybe you won’t care: This humor isn’t for everyone. It's quite dry, and lands better if you have preconceptions about rock and roll and band dynamics. But if you like it, you’ll really like it; it’s clever and hilarious, close to but never over the top. The band—or what’s left of it—has a new fan in me.

The Loneliest Whale: The Search for 52

There’s a whale out there who has swam alone all of its life, crying into the vast nothingness of the oceans and never hearing a reply.

What a sad story—and one that we are all too ready to believe is true. You see, we don’t actually know the details of 52’s life. The scant data we have simply tells us that it communicates at a frequency which we haven’t encountered before or since. 52 hertz, hence the name, 52.

The Loneliest Whale is the riveting story of the first ever search for 52 in the flesh—if it’s still out there. We learn about the military who first discovered this phenomenon, the civilian scientists who dedicated years to studying the unknown, and one moviemaker who, like so many others, had his life change after learning this story.

The movie condenses years of preparation—and shows mere days of electric, open-sea adventure—in a way that puts the videos you watched in science class to shame. It’s a modern-day treasure hunt which also explores why so many people identify with an animal yearning for connection.

This duality is what makes the movie. It’s curious and playful even as it helps us contemplate serious (and sometimes uncomfortable) questions about connection and meaning in our world. The pace is smooth and engaging, and yet in only one hour and thirty-six minutes is still reminiscent of the highs and lows of life: Brief moments of ecstasy as we approach majestic creatures are balanced out by the more typical—and many—mundane moments. 

Having hooked us with all that, the movie draws us in with booming, plaintive whale songs. I could listen to these endlessly. It’s a language like ours, from a creature who thinks and feels and has families. Hearing it, knowing this, will have the sound resonate through every fiber of your being. This is just one example of how the movie will affect you.

The needle in the haystack may never have been so thoughtfully used to weave a story.

A Most Beautiful Thing

When every day is a struggle, there’s no time for games.

Think about it. If you go to sleep not knowing whether your drug addict mother will come home; if you walk to school through multiple gang territories, your mind might be on other things. 

A Most Beautiful Thing opens our eyes a bit wider to living like this. Through interviews, montages, and discussions, we hear about growing up in the dangerous west side of Chicago. Our stars are now a group of middle-aged friends, but their story starts years ago, when they were teenagers at odds and on high alert. Yes, they made a movie about it, but no, you can’t make this stuff up. 

The sport which eventually brought them together, crew, drew their attention simply because of the free pizza at the high school info session. Hearing tidbits like this one will bring a smile to your face, and our stars speak often speak with one, reminiscing sometimes and actively thinking others.

But light this movie is not. Not only do the stars speak about crime and fear and violence, subject matter experts provide statistics to contextualize their lived experience.

Indeed, the movie walks a balance beam between poverty porn and fairy tale. In a positive but realistic manner, it shows how a group of people (who could be any of us) gained perspective and built healthy habits and relationships. It is sobering and uplifting at the same time.

Parts of the movie can feel like filler. Listening to stories, we see montages of “the streets” instead of looking into the eyes of our stars. But the emotional connection—and the statistics of pain—draw us back in every time.

So who need sports? Well, what if in blissful silence you found yourself gliding over water? What if after hearing sirens all your life, you now hear calm as YOUR tools slide into a cool blue mirror; now silence as you listen to YOUR heart still beating, still alive, still capable, now powerful, with your thoughts and with your family?

Naomi Osaka

You’ve just achieved your lifelong dream. Now what?

This is Naomi Osaka’s dilemma, and she’s only 23. Though she has broken professional tennis records and started important conversations about identity, it is difficult to say she’s content.

This eponymous three-part series dives into this discomfort, and is equal parts talent show and coming-of-age tale. Or put another way, bingeworthy.

Part 1, “Rise”, introduces our soft-spoken, dutiful superstar. We learn about her childhood apart; her desire to win for family and home-country of Japan; her extraordinary prowess on the court—and her inability to deal with fame. Home movies, grainy and muted, set the tone from the start. This life is crisp, but soft; this life is not automatic movement, but focused motion.

Part 1 has us feeling sympathy for our young champion. Surprisingly vulnerable narration shares the pressure she feels to do right by just about everyone. And lucky for everyone, Part 2, “ Championship Mentality”, provides breathing room. Naomi talks about her talents beyond tennis. Fashion? Well, she has sketched clothing for years, dreaming about wearing something other than sports clothing all the time . . . In this part, we see Naomi step off the court to reconnect with her curiosity and her family—and in her doing so, we see radiating positivity. 

This of course thickens the plot. Watching Naomi realize that fulfillment may exist outside of tennis is as haunting and exciting to us as it is to her. And not only does this make it easier to root for her, it makes it painful to watch how others glom onto her fame at the cost of her discomfort. The series does not hide these moments.

As you’d guess, Part 3, the “New Blueprint”, shows Naomi exploring this tension and following her inclinations. We learn about her Haitian father and Japanese mother; about her upbringing; about her desire to create conversations about identity, race, nationality, and more in a world that continues to navigate its own type of conversations.

Watching Naomi crush (or fail) at tennis is enveloping enough, but this series shines at stepping on and off the court at just the right times. In contextualizing the success of a young, still-active, still-maturing superstar, it is a special story. If this series has shown us anything, it has shown us how there are molds yet to be broken, and difficulties to be surmounted, if only one considers the possibility of doing it.

Holy Frit

If you’ve ever wondered how they built the pyramids, you’ll like this one.

It’s the behind-the-scenes build of the largest ever stained glass window. A monument to stand for centuries. And right now, a monument that the craftspeople have no idea how to make.

Millions of dollars (and just as many prayers) are on the line. With every shattered panel, every frantic thought, you’ll be more invested.

It’s a watch filled with all the nerves, guts, and jokes of people trying to do something bigger than themselves. What’s more impressive than that?

Family Romance, LLC

Drunk uncle gonna ruin your wedding day? Why not rent a replacement?!

That’s right. Family Romance, LLC has actors to fill whatever role you need—loved ones included.

It’s a strange concept, and even stranger to behold. The main event has “Dad” trying to rekindle a relationship with his neglected “daughter”.

Their moments together are real. But because half of the emotion is paid for, these moments feel hollow. It’s almost like watching a funeral. Yea yea, life goes on, but something’s missing, and you can’t tell me otherwise!

This seems to be the deeper goal of the movie—to get us thinking about the loneliness and connection life can offer. Although it’s thought-provoking, the movie feels more talent show than anything else. Most of the time has us jumping between unrelated scenes, just to exhibit different actors. This stalls the main story until the very end, when its conflict is finally introduced. The movie gets good just as soon as it finishes.

Twenty Two

Of 200,000, twenty-two survive. Those must be some stories.

Yep. And difficult to share. Surviving systematic abuse by the Japanese army, just to have society look down on you? These women deserve better.

So the movie does what it can. Our Chinese grannies share their pain—some of them, for the first time. But even when reliving becomes too difficult, we still sit with them. See them.

About half of the movie steps out of the room. Nothing-moments. As much as these give grannies a respectful distance, they give us time to download what we’ve just learned. Watching a snowfall, we can think about how the voice of pain is sometimes muffled. Or, we can focus on the flakes’ delicate dance. Up to us.

Whether by interviews or in-betweens, this movie is as tasteful and beautiful as a movie can be. There is no action, no journey. Just life, raw and real.

Tiger

Tiger Woods will bring a kind of peace to this world, a peace like it has never seen before.

Can you imagine, the audacity? But what if your parents said the same about you? Might you feel lucky, that they recognized you were special? Grateful, for their support?

Or maybe, you’d become a machine, addicted to validation. Maybe, you’d be torn up inside. Because no person can be perfect, and because healthy relationships aren’t distractions to be tossed aside.

These are just a few of the ideas whizzing around this movie. Sure, you’ll see footage of golf greatness, and it’s simply wonderful. But the movie is at its most compelling when interviews put this greatness into context—when we can begin to imagine the insane pressures Tiger is facing.

Life is messy, and doesn’t work out into chapters for a story. But this is a riveting, human one, and you’ll easily sit through all three hours of it.

Collective

A nightclub fire has killed more people than it should’ve. Reporters let us in on each step of their investigation, and it’s looking to be a bombshell.

Watching their patience in the face of an unknown and evolving enemy will get your blood pumping. But the fire investigation, it turns out, is just the tip of the fuse. State hospitals, the department of health, and the highest powers of Romanian government are implicated in related horrors.

Prepare yourself. The facts uncovered are disgusting; heartbreaking; almost unbelievable.

So why spend time with such a downer? Because to prevent tomorrow’s horror, we must understand today’s. Because we need reminders of how important it is to speak up for what’s right—and how important it is to have the right to speak up. 

Tripping with Nils Frahm

Nils Frahm puts on a show.

And we have the best seat in the house, thanks to pro camerawork. Balanced zooms show us all the highlights: sweat beads of concentration here, happy feet there, an evolving crowd always. The experience is intimate, but collective too.

Editing distracts us in the best way. How is he making these sounds—but look at that technique—wow the crowd is feeling this song—except for that person in the third row? Go with it. Sit and watch or stand and dance, you can’t go wrong.

Borat Subsequent Moviefilm

Borat has given a bad name to his home, Kazakhstan. To make up for it, he must travel to the U.S., and make good with its leaders.

That’s the idea. The execution is ridiculous, cringe-worthy, and many times, laugh-out-loud funny.

The movie oversimplifies things, and is arguably pretty offensive. But it also spotlights ridiculous behavior. Because the leads play their exaggerated characters to perfection, it makes us wonder—as we laugh—where satire ends and sad reality begins.

My Octopus Teacher

Craig is strong; Craig is gentle. Craig free dives in the wild ocean.

One day, he comes across something he’s never seen before. This begins an unexpectedly long and touching journey, where a man learns about an octopus, and an octopus learns about a man.

Waiting for the punch line? It is a funny story. But it’s also dead serious—about survival, intelligence, connection. Crisp picture gives us a movie that, like its parts, swells with life.

The Social Dilemma

The Social Dilemma is the existential threat of our time.

The most wealthy companies in the history of companies make their money by doing one thing. It’s easy, and it’s legal, so why would they ever stop?

Because it’s destroying the foundation of civilization. At least, that’s what some thinkers and industry insiders are saying. This movie is a sit-down with several of them. They patiently explain the problem: what it is, where it came from, and where it’s leading us.

Watching movies can be about having fun, or escaping, or learning. This one is about having a blindfold ripped off, and finding that you’re on a sinking ship. Once that happens, what’ll you do? Reach for your phone?

Mucho Mucho Amor

Walter Mercado created a new mold.

He told people what to do, yet they loved him for it. He grew up poor in a macho culture, yet became as androgynous as he was famous.

The movie does well to capture the indescribable astrologer. Flamboyant, mysterious, and simple come to mind.

Each stage of Walter’s story gets more interesting. A slower ending shouldn’t stop us from hearing it through.

The Tree House (Nhà Cây)

The Tree House is a place apart.

A man has traveled to Mars and wants to record his experience. It’s made him nostalgic—and curious. What is memory, anyway? Why does it come and go?

We struggle with these questions, too, as we watch people back in Vietnam discuss their lives.

The movie is not straightforward. But its connection to the natural world is powerful. It begs a rewatch.

Let It Burn

We let it, so we should watch it.

Addicts from the streets of Sao Paolo are people, too. We stay with them for a bit in their latest “home,” a repurposed shelter.

Its air is thick with broken dreams. But the residents don’t share sob stories, they just live their lives, letting us watch.

Spending time with them, we can feel the heartbreak, violence, or bad luck. Cramped space and harsh lighting are constant reminders of the prison of their lives. Smiles and songs are too-brief reminders that life can be something better.

It is a nonjudgmental movie where people are the stars. But they live in a sky nobody cares to look at anymore.

Father Soldier Son

Father Soldier Son. Words that define.

Brian is enlisted in the U.S. Army. He’s also a single father, worried about leaving his two boys behind. We follow them as the years pass, by interviews and intimate moments.

Life has a way of changing their perspectives: on family, health, and sacrifice. But certain core values always remain.

This is a story riddled with pain, but somehow filled with love. It was important for the Eisch family to share, and important for us to listen to.

Selfie

In an age of conspicuous perfection, Selfie stands out as real.

An innocent teenager has been killed. What was intended to be a movie about his death turns into a movie about life, filmed by two of his friends.

It’s all because the director came across Alessandro and Pietro. With hearts on sleeves and a phone in tow, the teens record life in Naples. It’s a selfless selfie. They think hard about showing all aspects of that life, and so they capture much: their friendship, inadequacies, and boredom; how organized crime pressures different people in different ways.

Whether by editing or the talent of the boys themselves, the contrasts and earnest emotions of this movie make it a treasure. That such beauty can come from hardship—and be captured by young people with a tool that almost anyone can use—it’s hard not to be in awe.