FILM REVIEW: ANTIPORNO

Beginning in the early 1970s, and lasting until the late 1980s, the Japanese film studio Nikkatsu released a series of sexploitation films known as Roman Pornos. As a result of the success of Nikkatsu's Roman Pornos, a whole new genre known as pink films emerged. These films mixed highly explicit depictions of sex and violence, with such provocative titles as Keep on Masturbating: Non-Stop Pleasure, Deep Throat in Tokyo, and Inflatable Sex Doll of the Wastelands. While some of these films strived to be films of genuine artistic merit, the majority of pink films existed solely to titillate audiences. Flash forward to 2016, and Nikkatsu rebooted its Roman Porno films with a series of new titles, and hired Sion Sono to create one of these films. 

True to form, Sion Sono's entry in the new Roman Porno series is anything but a typical pornographic film. Sono boldly announces this intention with the title of the film itself--Antiporno (2016). Although it does have its share of nudity and explicit sexuality, Sono's film is actually an experimental commentary on the nature of fame, and also an exploration of the constantly evolving power dynamics between two actresses. As Antiporno begins, Sono sets us up to believe that we are watching a film about the domineering artist Kyoko (Ami Tomite) and her cruel manipulations of her put-upon assistant Noriko (Mariko Tsutsui). With its story of a celebrity's shifting relationship with her assistant, and its single location setting in the lead's house, Antiporno recalls Rainer Werner Fassbinder's The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant. 

Like Fassbinder's film, the relationship between Antiporno's two female leads gradually transforms as Sono delves into the troubled past of his protagonists. A role reversal occurs between Kyoko and Noriko when Sono uncovers the true nature of their relationship with a clever plot twist that reveals the thin line between art and real life. Both Antiporno and The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant bathe the viewer in a luxurious color palette, with the former film being more like an Andy Warholish Pop Art burst of vivid colors, and the latter resembling a more subdued, classical Art Deco painting. Both films take place in a single location, but Sono is able to break through the confines of Antiporno's setting through vivid flashback tableaus, and dynamic displays of his two leads' constantly morphing power dynamics.

Ultimately, like Fassbinder's The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant, Sono is interested in exploring the sadomasochistic relationship between his female leads. Sono's protagonists are engaged in an eternal power struggle to reclaim control of their own lives, as well as redefining their roles with each other. Pleasure and pain, and being master and servant, are the dichotomous terms that tie Kyoko and Noriko to each other, and as the film progresses, their identifies merge into one. The concept of repetition and dualism is explored throughout Antiporno, both in the relationship between the two leads, as well as in the narrative structure of the film itself; Sono explores the same scenes over and over again through multiple angles, culminating in a dramatically explosive third act.

Like the majority of Sono's best films, Antiporno is a deconstruction of traditional genre tropes. While Nikkatsu hired him to make a porno film, Sono instead created a Fassbinder inspired art film about the nature of performance and celebrity. Like his previous film Why Don't You Play in Hell?, Antiporno uses the framing device of a work of art being created to explore the thin line between the creative life and the reality it reflects and distorts. Kyoke and Noriko are actresses, but the performances they create in the film within a film of Antiporno are a reflection of their sadomasochistic off-screen relationship.

This is what makes Antiporno and Sono himself so refreshing; he is constantly reinventing genre tropes to discover new ways of cinematic storytelling. Is Antiporno a pornographic film, or is it an homage to Fassbinder? Why can't it be both? Sono has always been interested in the subject of pornography throughout his career, most amusingly in his masterful Love Exposure, whose protagonist constantly struggles between feelings of guilt and his more primal lustful urges. In Antiporno, there is no guilt to hold back its protagonists, resulting a film filled with the liberating power of female sexuality. So, in the end, Antiporno is both a pornographic film in the traditional Nikkatsu Roman Porno genre, as well as a psychological, experimental exploration of sex as a form of power and control. Sono is removing the guilt usually associated with watching pornographic films, while also challenging viewers to view the depiction of sex in cinema as high art.

FILM REVIEW: JUDAS AND THE BLACK MESSIAH

In the 1960s, Jean-Luc Godard made a series of politically explosive films exploring how the tenants of Mao and Socialism informed the counter-cultural movement of the time period. This was best exemplified in his films La Chinoise, Sympathy for the Devil, and Weekend, which were both celebrations of the youth revolutionary movement of the time, as well as cautionary tales of the dangers of extreme radicalism. Shaka King's incendiary and powerful film Judas the Black Messiah (2021) continues Godard's tradition of exploring the youth revolutionary culture, but does it from the lens of modern day societal issues which mirrored the turbulent 1960s.

Judas and the Black Messiah, as the title implies, takes the Biblical tale of Judas Iscariot and his betrayal of the original revolutionary (Jesus Christ), and transposes it to the 1960s. The film is a tense exploration of the true story of William O'Neal (Lakeith Stanfield), a memer of the Black Panther party who also worked for the FBI as an informant on the party's actions. After infiltrating the Black Panthers, O'Neal rises up in the ranks to become a Security Captain, where he works closely to ensure the safety of Fred Hampton (Daniel Kaluuya), the chairman of the Chicago chapter of the Black Panther Party. Judas and the Black Messiah explores the close relationship between Hampton and O'Neal, as well as O'Neal's partnership with Special Agent Roy Mitchell (Jesse Plemons), who works as his liasion with the FBI.

What makes Judas and the Black Messiah such a powerful film is the careful time King takes to develop the parallel relationships O'Neal has with both Hampton and Mitchell. King skillfully reveals how O'Neal is gradually drawn into the fight for racial and societal justice that Hampton and the Black Panthers stand for, while at the same time doing his part to bring down the party through his undercover work with Mitchell and the FBI. The central character of O'Neal is a morally conflicted figure, as he is working in tandem with the FBI to bring down the party which he most indentifies with as an African-American in the 1960s. It is this central schism of identity which provides much of the tension and power of the events that unfold in Judas and the Black Messiah.

Like Godard's political films from the French New Wave period, King couches his exploration of a revolutionary movement through a specific cinematic genre. Godard's counter-cultural films mixed genres like the musical, the gangster film, and documentary elements. Judas and the Black Messiah examines O'Neal's plight through the filter of film noirs from the 1950s, like The Maltese Falcon and The Big Heat. Like these films, King shows the corruption of law enforcement, and how his protagonist is both working for and fighting against these institutions. Much of Judas and the Black Messiah is filmed at night time in dark shadows, making it visually resemble a classic 1950s film noir as well. The opening interrogation scene itself, when O'Neal first meets Mitchell in a shadowy police station, is staged like something straight out of a Howard Hawks' crime film. 

On an aesthetic level, King also films much of Judas and the Black Messiah with close-ups of his actor's faces, focusing quietly on their facial features and emotions. This recalls Godard's similar close-ups in films like Vivre sa vie and Masculin Feminin; like these films, King uses the camera to carefully capture and focus on naturalistic reactions from his actors, allowing them to give full-bodied, genuine performances.

In addition to his homage to classic noir films and The French New Wave, King also presents a three dimensional portrait of Fred Hampton and the Black Panthers that shows how they were driven by a genuine concern for societal and racial justice. While many associate the Black Panthers with being gun-totting, violent militants, King shows how the Panthers worked to improve and help out their communities, such as with their free lunch programs for inner-city youth, and their attempts to provide better education and access to resources for those in need.

As Hampton explains early in the film, the reason why the Black Panthers arm themselves with weapons is because they are essentially at war with a society that uses unjustified violence against those it wishes to oppress. King also shows how this oppression wasn't just against African-Americans, but against all races and subclasses within society. Eventually, Judas the Black Messiah shows how Hampton formed a Rainbow Coalition with both Latino and White people who wanted to fight back against systematic racism and subjugation. The enemy in this case was not only Capitalism (a common Godardian target), but the police force itself, which was responsible for the murder of so many innocent African-American lives. King also shows how the malevolent sway of the police extends well into higher echelons of government, all the way up to Hoover and the FBI. 

And this brings Judas and the Black Messiah back to its central subject of law enforcement, and O'Neals complex relationship with this institution. Noir films were often about corrupt members of the police force, and King takes this cinematic trope and insightfully updates it to the plight of African-Americans in both the 1960s (the time period of Judas and the Black Messiah), and into the modern time period when police brutality targated at Black people is still prevalent. In this way, Judas and the Black Messiah's exploration of the eventual murder of Fred Hampton at the hands of the police in the 1960s is a dark mirror of similar recent events in American history, such as the murder of George Floyd and the countless other innocent African-Americans who are shot down by law enforcement every year. As King's profoundly unsettling film reveals, no matter how far our society claims to have advanced towards racial justice, we still have a long way to go.  

FILM REVIEW: ZACK SNYDER'S JUSTICE LEAGUE

When one watches a Zack Snyder film, you have to know what to expect as a viewer. You're not going to be seeing an intense Martin Scorsese-like drama about sin and redemption, or a Godardian critique of capitalist society, Instead, as exemplified in previous Snyder films like Sucker Punch, Man of Steel, and 300, you're going to get lots of moody slow-motion scenes of characters brooding, accompanied by melodic rock ballads, violent, bloody action set pieces, lots of rain and sometimes snow, and a color palette that is oftentimes washed-out and grayish in tone. In other words, a Snyder film is primarily a visual and auditory visceral experience, rather than necessarily a film filled with themes and deep insights on society which you can write a graduate school thesis on. Snyder is an instinctual, visual artist whose films need to be felt and experienced to fully appreciate them, rather than trying to seek out complex, thematic layers of meaning. The new four hour version of Justice League is perhaps the ultimate example of a Snyder film, exhibiting all the faults and strengths of Snyder as a unique and compelling visual artist.

Based on the DC Comics series of the same name, Justice League (2021) focuses on the iconic superhero team of Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot), Superman (Henry Cavill), and Batman (Ben Affleck), as well as the lesser known but equally important characters of Cyborg (Ray Fisher), Flash (Ezra Miller), and Aquaman (Jason Momoa). Picking up right after Snyder's previous Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016), Justice League opens up with Superman still deceased, and Batman going on a global quest to recruit teammates to take on and stop the nefarious Darkseid (Ray Porter), who is searching for three boxes of ancient origin which can destroy the world. Eventually, Batman is able to recruit the aforementioned superheroes, and the rest of Justice League deals with their efforts to seek out and destroy Darkseid.

I'm sure a comic book enthusiast can go into more details about the deeper thematic and plot dynamics of Justice League, but what makes the film interesting is Snyder's distinct visual stamp. Justice League is a big film with a capital B, from its marathon-like running time, to its labyrinthine cast of DC comics superheroes and villains, and mostly, its enduringly earnest and at times heart on its sleeve tone. Whatever critiques one may have about Snyder's films as being at times overly concerned with the visual aspects to the expense of subtext, one can't deny the genuine passion and heart that Snyder commits into all his projects, and Justice League is no exception.

With a massive four hour running time, Justice League seethes with Snyder's almost boyish sense of wonder and joy at his source material. This is best exemplified in an early scene where Flash rescues Iris West (Kiersey Clemons) as she is about to get hit by a truck. Snyder films this scene as one of his trademark slow-motion sequences, as we watch Flash leap through the air towards Iris, as hot dogs float all around them and the dream-like "Song to the Siren" plays in the background. For a brief moment, right before tragedy seems to be about to strike, we see Flash exchange a look of newfound love with Iris. This brief glance could only have been revealed through slow-motion, as it occurs during a rapidly out of control accident, and Snyder's combination of visual and auditory cues results in an almost transcendent moment of pure innocent beauty in the midst of chaos.

There are many other similarly blissful moments spread throughout Justice League, including another sequence with Flash near the climax as he makes one final, exhilarating sprint towards potentially saving the world, while remembering his promise to his father to redeem himself, as well as a montage sequence with Cyborg as he uses his powers to help out a struggling mother and child. Although it has its share of large action set pieces, all of which are expertly staged and stomach-churningly intense at times, it is these quieter moments of human connection that make Justice League more than just another generic superhero, blockbuster. 

With a length of four hours, Snyder is able to flesh out the back stories of each of his protagonists in more detail than he could if he was confined to a traditional two, or even three hour, theatrical feature runtime. Snyder presents an almost encyclopedic collection of DC comics characters in Justice League by introducing many other heroes and villains throughout the film, including a mini-story arc for Atom (Kai Zheng) and brief appearances from the Martian Manhunter (Harry Lennix). The result is an epic, meta-mythological exploration (at one point, Snyder even introduces Zeus as a character) of the super hero genre as pop cultural ethos. 

Martin Scorsese has rightfully criticized the glut of superhero films, many of which feel like carbon copies of each other, almost as if they were assembly-line products coming out of a factory. However, this new cut of Justice League feels like a much more personal and visually distinct project than other more generic comic book films. Although at times the constant flow of painterly-like compositions can be overwhelming and even exhausting, Snyder has crafted a film that is a genuine work of art, one where you can feel his passion and commitment in every single wildly creative frame.