The Sixth Sense

The Sixth Sense featured a twist that these days seems totally obvious. I never like spoiling ends, even for films that are twenty years old. (I don't even like to discuss the ending of Citizen Kane.) But the twist in The Sixth Sense is not so important. I initially thought upon re-watching this horror film, written and directed by M. Night Shyaamalan, that knowing what happens at the end might make the movie feel like a one-trick pony. (For the record, I can't remember if a friend had actually spoiled it for me when I was a kid.) Fortunately, the movie, despite a dull start, has retained its wonder twenty years on.

Bruce Willis stars as Malcolm Crowe, a child psychologist in Philadelphia who appears to be going through a schism with his wife, played by Olivia Williams, and his career is not what it used to be. He does, though, take up a case of a young boy named Cole, played by Haley Joel Osment. Cole demonstrates peculiar behavior, including emotional outbursts, and he always seems to be around when something creepy happens. His mother, for example, played by Toni Collette, screams when she comes back in the kitchen after only a moment to discover that all the cupboards and drawers have been opened (she believes) by Cole.

That really is about all the plot you need to know.

The Sixth Sense may be an atmospheric supernatural horror film that requires considerable more patience than the average thriller, but this, of course, is not a bad thing. And if you know what happens at the end, it can at first make the journey seem considerably less enjoyable. But the acting really helps elevate the film. It was an impressive change of genres for Willis, who then (and now) was known primarily for comedies, dramas, and action films. But the actors who deserve the most praise are Osment and Collette.

Two of Toni Collette's highest-rated films have been horror films: this and last year's deeply disturbing Hereditary. In both, she is required to react a lot, but in the latter there is much more screaming, which isn't as impressive as the quietness that she displays here. Her character as the mother struggling to help her child (as some believe she might be the cause of his pain) is the most interesting in the film, and her scenes with Osment feature the film's best acting and some of the most powerful moments. Then, of course, there's Osment. His performance for the first part of the film essentially boils down to the trope of the creepy kid in school with invisible friends. But then there is a scene that helps him stand out as the breakthrough star of the film, when he is in class and his History teacher tells him his answer about the history of the school building is wrong. Cole tells the class that people were hanged there; how he knows this information is not clear at first. When his teacher gives him a look he doesn't like, it sets him off. Somehow, he knows that his teacher overcame a stutter, and he closes his eyes and starts screaming "Stuttering Stanley" until his teacher loses it. It's the first case of remarkable acting from Osment. He channels that energy again when the bullies lock him up in a tiny closet in which he is not the only one. The third time is the moment everyone remembers. He's cold, bundled up in a hospital bed, and he's ready to tell Malcolm his secret.

After The Sixth Sense became a smash hit, Shyamalan was crowned "the next Spielberg", an enormously high standard for any filmmaker to reach, one that ultimately proved impossible. His exceptional story-telling skills have come mainly from his directing and less from his script writing. Some of the dialogue, and especially Malcolm's "eureka" moment when he suddenly is convinced that Cole is right, are evidence of this. But I can hardly blame the media for hailing him as the next Spielberg. The Munchausen by Proxy scene is superbly filmed, assisted by the crisp cinematography of Tak Fujimoto and a hauntingly beautiful score by James Newton Howard. All of this is most apparent in the final scene, the famous twist. The way that scene unfolds is the ultimate cinematic shiver down the spinal.

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El Camino

Breaking Bad was not a show that seemed to have a need to continue its story. Closure was provided for many of the characters, and yet there was enough to entice people into watching the spinoff series Better Call Saul to explore how Jimmy McGill became Saul Goodman. And during that final episode of Breaking Bad, fans cheered as Jesse Pickman, played by Aaron Paul, finally escaped his confinement by neo-Nazis and sped off into the night. The more deserving of the drug-making duo had his redemption and his escape. But did he escape? What happened immediately after?

El Camino (or by its worse title, El Camino: A Breaking Bad Movie) begins immediately after Felina, the series finale that aired six years ago. Jesse flees, but of course his journey isn't finished: there are cop cars ahead. His redemption is not yet complete, and he can't just "put things right," as a friend tells him. Instead, he's a person of interest by the police, and there are some former accomplices of the neo-Nazis who are after the same money Jesse is. Jesse's only chance at getting away from the police and starting completely over is to get the money of his former captor, Todd, played here in Stockholm Syndrome flashbacks by Jesse Plemons, who was once dubbed "Meth Damon" by the internet when he appeared on the show. Having an actor like Plemons reappear is a bit of an odd choice. For one, it's noticeable that Plemons has aged since his appearances in Breaking Bad. No expensive Irishman de-aging for this Netflix special.

Paul, though, as Jesse, retains his boyish looks, but his face is scared, reciting monologues without even uttering any word. It's clear he's going through post-traumatic stress. He's not out for revenge, only survival. Thus, he's also not out for a good time anymore; this is radically different from the Jesse Pinkman we first met in 2008. Now, he's the one who knocks. (For the record, in my humble opinion, that line from the original series is probably the worst and most overrated.)

If there is a villain in this film, it is Neil, (Scott MacArthur), a welder who worked for the neo-Nazis, enjoyed the torture and humiliation of Jesse, and now is after the same money. Beyond that, there are few new characters. As expected, it's practically a family reunion, with several appearances from Breaking Bad alum. One of them is Robert Forster as the vacuum repair man who, for the right amount of money, can supply Jesse (as he did for Walter and Saul) all the items he needs to relocate and start over. Forster passed away the day the film premiered. His first scene here with Paul is fantastic. It allows us to see a spark of that humor of early, smart-ass Jesse against that calm, no-nonsense demeanor of Forster as Ed. Additionally, Marshall Adams' excellent cinematography sustains the look of this universe.

It was mentioned earlier that no one would ever claim that the Breaking Bad series would never need a follow-up. This is true. But it's also true that at times the plot and watching these characters, some new and some old, makes the whole thing feel unnecessary. I can't say that El Camino is a film not worth your time, but of the three on-screen depictions of this universe, this is the least memorable.

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Joker

I guess I can't say I'm right all the time anymore. Back in April, I wrote that few would like Joker, the newest DC film that takes a radical step away in tone and style from other DC films. In the strictest sense, I was wrong: During its roller-coaster ride that has seen it win the top prize at the Venice Film Festival but also be the subject of multiple controversies, Joker has maintained a nearly seventy-percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes, with an audience score of ninety percent. Clearly, many like the film, with some hailing it a masterpiece. That being said, the fundamental problems I predicted would be present are indeed there, namely that it provides too much of a good thing (in this case, an iconic figure in American pop culture) while at the same time sympathizing with a mass murderer in an era where that could have dangerous repercussions. As if that wasn't enough, this Joker is suffering from mental health issues, likely further convincing some people that violence of this sort is usually caused by people with mental health problems.

With all that stacked against it, Joker does (as predicted) feature a stellar performance from its lead. Joaquin Phoenix is the Joker here, filling large shoes of those before him, among them Caesar Romero, Jack Nicholson, Mark Hamill, and Heath Ledger. Is his the best or one of the best? More on that later. At any rate, most of the time we do not see him as Batman's arch nemesis. Instead, we see him in the form of Arthur Fleck, a struggling clown-for-hire who is off in many ways, chief among them his poxy attempts at stand-up comedy (which is one of the few things the film adapts from previous comic book material). He lives with his ailing mother, played by Frances Conroy, whom he devotedly cares for. This is 1981, the era before a dozen late-night hosts, and so they almost religiously watch the late-night comedy of Murray Franklin, played by Robert De Niro. Arthur literally dreams of being on Murray's show.

A plot such as this does not lend itself to much alien fighting or saving the world in implausible fashion. A lot of the word of mouth about Joker has been that it's not really a comic book movie. Batman is not in this film (though there are several too-cute-to-spoil Batman Easter Eggs sprinkled throughout), and instead of being an action-packed CGI fest like Man of Steel or Suicide Squad, Joker channels notable influences from gritty Martin Scorsese-directed films from the 1970s and 1980s; Gotham feels like the New York City of Taxi Driver, and it's only when we get a few verbal reminders that it's Gotham that we remember we're viewing a comic book film. Other elements from the Batman universe here include Arkham Hospital and the character of Thomas Wayne, Bruce's father, played here in one of the film's best performances by Thomas Cullen. He's still a billionaire in this film, but also an insufferable plutocrat, smugly describing those struggling to get by in Gotham as clowns. Joker is surprisingly interested in classism and literal class warfare, and depending on your perspective, you will likely come away with different conclusions.

This is all fine, but it comes at a cost. A little bit of the Joker goes a long way (see all the other portrayals of him, particularly Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight). But having him in literally every scene is borderline taxing. Defenders of Joker might note that for most of the film, he's not the Joker, but Arthur Fleck. But it doesn't matter, for Fleck isn't all that interesting. Call my taste stale if you must, but I was so much more invested in watching Phoenix as the Joker than I was watching him as Arthur. It's hard to compare Phoenix to the other Jokers because to me he basically wasn't the Joker. When he is, it seems like it's over in a flash. One can tell the amount of thought and tribulations that went into his performance of Arthur; as the Joker, some of his choices are more perplexing. There was so much more potential there, and yet it seems like they ran out of time. But it's still the most interesting part of the movie; I think they were the only scenes when I wasn't looking at my watch.

The movie itself really wants to shout that it has little to do with comic books, but its best parts embrace it. Director Todd Phillips put it this way: "We're gonna take $55 million from Warner Bros. and do whatever the hell we want." Who could blame him for taking that attitude? This movie craves Oscar attention, and truth be told, Phoenix and cinematographer Lawrence Sher likely will (and should) be nominated during the awards season. But comic book movies rarely are rewarded with trophies, especially when articles gush about Leonardo DiCaprio being a global movie star without appearing in a superhero movie and iconic directors decry comic book movies as "not cinema". Joker wants to be "cinema", not "not cinema". You therefore have to put up with a lot of exigent Arthur stuff just to get to the Joker (even though the Joker is the reason why most audience members are actually going to see the movie), and then, like me, you might like those latter moments while still being befuddled by them.

Perhaps I was disappointed in Joker because I thought the film (especially the first half) engages in far too much bully porn. Arthur is attacked by a group of cruel kids who beat him mercilessly; not long after, practically the same thing happens to him by a trio of Wall Street jerks. The other for-hire clowns find him creepy. At one point, he's even hit by a car. Another reason why I believe this movie is not so great is that, as I predicted in April, the sympathy granted to such a maliciously evil character is unpalatable. There's a fine line between producing a portrait of a bullied, lonely man and producing a portrait that comes across as sympathizing with a mass murderer. The concern, written about ad nauseam by now, is that there are some young white men out there who feel like this story really speaks to them, and that is an alarming thing. We've all been reminded that the Aurora, Colorado shooter was dressed as the Joker and murdered audience members watching The Dark Knight Rises. (Joker has not been screened in Aurora.) And so, as is often the case with policy towards violence in the United States, we've all just been holding our breaths and keeping our fingers crossed.

Besides Taxi Driver, Joker is heavily inspired by The King of Comedy, the dark comedy directed by Scorsese from 1982 starring Robert De Niro as a terribly unfunny comedian-wannabe who kidnaps a late-night host played by Jerry Lewis. Having De Niro here as Murray Franklin, a Johnny Carson-esque late-night host similar to Lewis' character, adds extra weight. Arthur idolizes Murray, up until Arthur's stand-up makes him a comedic punching bag on Murray's show. It's rather surreal watching Arthur awkwardly on the Murray show, given that one of the most notable moments in Phoenix's career is the famous prank (if that's the right word) interview he did with David Letterman in 2010, which is still one of the most incredible interviews you can see.

One bright spot in this morbid film is Phoenix, who's fantastic. It's a showy performance, to be sure. He cries, he screams, he dances (and boy, can he dance). But the metamorphosis he went through for Joker is almost unparalleled. Even without the severe weight decrease and that unforgettable laugh, the minute details of his performance will stay with you, whether you know it or not, like the way his mouth shifts ever so slightly when he asks "what?", with just a hint of a slightly emphasized occlusive. Should he win an Oscar for his performance (an award long overdue), it would be only the second time two actors have won for playing the same character, with the other two being De Niro and Marlon Brando, who both played Vito Corleone in The Godfather films. I hope he wins, even if he's in an unremarkable movie that really wants you to believe is something more profound than it actually is.

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