Reviews

Three self obsessed creative types experience grief when one of them's husband is suddenly killed in an accident. A revelation of the deceased husband's backstory leads them to Paris where it is revealed how unconnected, shallow and lacking in any real emotional depth the three friends really are, as well as their inability to create an interesting and meaningful scenario out of their time together. Secondary characters float in and out with no real point or impact. Fortunately, the deceased was successful and thus wealthy so Good Grief also involves tasteful interiors in oatmeal and earth tones a la Kinfolk, gorgeous Parisian cityscapes (can't really go wrong there), and nice music - despite all the banal conversations, navel gazing and pouting. The ending is a bit of a let down, as everything is tidily wrapped up like a Hallmark movie. For me, the standout performance was Celia Imrie's, who deserved a movie all of her own.

It's easy to understand why the NY Art scene has become rather tired and uninspired. This boring documentary is nothing more than a collection of the artist as self destructive tortured bad boy clichés. The art shown here is nothing new that we haven't seen before - it all seems very derivative of 60s counterculture (think Warhol Superstars) including lashing of drugs and imagery that seems trite, posed and predictable. Naturally, the artist, who originated from the super wealthy De Menil family, made sure it was all very well documented in polaroids and grainy black & white footage before exiting at 27 (yet another cliché). Ironically, one art work depicts masturbation as art which encapsulate the artist perfectly. Be prepared for one tired old cliché after another and another.

In a fantasy world this would have been a frothy, fun romcom full of witty one liners like the scripts Nora Ephron used to write and Meg Ryan used to star in, yes, back in the 1990s. Some things like memories are best left as they are. Thirty years later and the reality is something very different when they try to recreate this: It's quite sad seeing deluded movie stars desperately trying to recapture their hey day in a formula movie that is now no longer fresh but tired and a bit trite, but worse of all, boring. Both actors have no chemistry, the script is wordy and bad, and a 60 year old, even one with a lot of plastic surgery, wouldn't behave like this in real life.

This didn't work for me: Not enough information on the Opioid industry and the 'evil' Sackler family and far too much information on Nan Goldin and her life and career as an artist, which is fine if the intention was for this to be a biographical monograph on the photographer, but frankly I didn't find her life as interesting as she does and all the endless snapshots of her friends were such a bore. What's very importantly missing here are a few Science heads to tell us why Oxycontin is so highly addictive and the dangers involved in prescribing it; What are the correlations of it leading to harder drugs? What methods were used to get doctors to prescribe it? Some statistics on how widespread the epidemic is, etc, etc, etc. Instead we are presented with details of Nan Goldin's love life and personal relationships and her world in the NYC art scene. It would have been nice to hear from a few museum and institution heads as to what these Sackler donations actually mean to them. I just felt the whole issue was unfocused and over-clouded by what seemed like a biographical, promotional film on the artist. Like a lot of celebrity activism it seemed simplistic and showy. I left the theatre feeling disappointed that this was a bit of a bait and switch documentary and for some inexplicable reason it reminded me of a neighbour who is always so insistent on showing me photographs of her pet dogs, present and past... some even from her childhood.

A series of disjointed fantasy sequences that really have nothing to do with the factual historical biography of Marilyn Monroe. I really didn't see the point of having Ana de Armas recreate so many of her movie scenes to prove she could impersonate Monroe. The script is dreadful and rather clunky and has her mother utter lines like 'This is the city of sand and nothing will endure' like a Bryn Mawr Sophomore with literary pretentions. Some of the arty black & white high contrast visuals are more reminiscent of a 90s pop video than the 1940s and there's a lot of visual gimmicks which becomes rather tiresome quickly. Overall, it's a rather joyless experience and Armas' Monroe spends most of her time in tears or on the verge of tears throughout. With a run time of close to three hours, I found myself caring less and less. With recent documentaries like Marilyn Reframed celebrating Monroe's tenacity and business acumen, Blonde is misery Monroe.

Disappointing and not so insightful low budget documentary on the writer Anais Nin, which borrows heavily from Philip Kaufman's 1990 movie, Henry & June (see that instead) rather than reinterpreting imagery from Nin's Diary. This feels like a cheap re-enactment. The documentary is mainly seen through the feminist lens, but fails to emphasise that Nin's life of sexual experimentation and affairs was only possible through the financial support by her wealthy, banker husband, Hugo. The romance of Nin's love affairs diminishes when you understand that Henry, Gonzalo and others depended on her for financial support. Sadly, it doesn't explore the larger questions associated with Nin's work about veracity, artifice, contrivance and narcissism.

Did the critics watch a different movie? What the hell was going on with Nicole Kidman's prosthetic make-up as it was a major distraction in every scene. To a certain extent all movies require you to suspending disbelief, but this requires you to be completely myopic. Obviously it helps if you know nothing about Lucille Ball & Desi Arnaz or possibly have never heard of her before. Miscast, overacted, and very heavily contrived are some of the key words here. Javier Bardem is also almost 15 years too old for the part of Desi and very much looks it, so no fresh faced Ricky here. Sorkin's dialogue is forced, didactic and lacks naturalness. Don't believe the hype, this isn't a case of 'Lucy, you've got some 'splaining to do!' but more of why did they even bother making this.

Curious documentary about a minor fringe London nightclub called Blitz that operated in Soho during the late Seventies or early Eighties and where the 80s pop group Spandau Ballet (remember them?) were birthed. One or two of the talking heads here are what you'd call household names or were in the 80s (Boy George), others are one hit wonders, others are people who are legends only in their own living rooms, or think they are, or maybe are within certain coteries if they're buying the drinks. This documentary certainly has a coterie feel all over it.

One serious flaw early on is all the commentators fail to acknowledge the infamous Swinging Sixties or the feathered, make-up smeared, glitter & sparkle of Glam Rock, erroneously suggesting that this was the greatest thing happening in London after the drabness of post war Britain. Also I'm not really sure what the comparisons with NYC's Studio 54 are about, as Studio 54 had a capacity for a thousand and turned over $7 million in profits in the first year. It was a phenomenon in nightclub history. Whereas the Blitz belongs more as a charming footnote, like Soho's Colony Room (More than once several commentators here mention that it was a very small club). Studio 54 was also notable for celebrity attendance, where you might rub shoulders with Liza Minelli, Andy Warhol, Diana Ross, Dali or even Donald Trump (heaven forbid!). The best the Blitz offers, as we're told is that David Bowie once visited the club but sadly it was only to scout out extras for a music video. We are told Sade was a regular but sadly she didn't feel it was important enough to contribute here, which is very much a shame. Musically, while Studio 54 offered Disco, Blitz specialized in playing Electronica - bands like Kraftwerk (remember them?). The Eighties were a lot of things to a lot of people, but most people (or those I've just asked) remember artists like Sting & The Police, Madonna, Tina Turner, Michael Jackson's Thriller, The Eurythmics, Sade, and of course, Boy George & Culture Club epitomising the era. Musically here, we are talking about a certain specialist music scene - elsewhere other scenes like Goths were happening with bands like The Cure, not to mention SKA and the growing Soul scene, etc. Far too many musical subcultures to list... and I've just been told Brixton had a pretty hot Calypso scene going down at the time.

Lastly, there is much said here about the clothes, the love of dressing up to go out and party, and even gender bending, but historically none of these things were new, not even in the 80s: The Bright Young Things of the 1920s had a love of dressing up to party and there are countless photographs of Cecil Beaton attending soirees in drag. However, I was disappointed there was no mention here of the iconic Leigh Bowery (the main reason I watched this) who was allegedly a fan of Blitz and later went on to run the club Taboo, which influenced and was heavily imitated later in NYC by Michael Alig & the Club Kids.

File this special interest documentary under pop culture ephemera along with 70s roller discos, late 80s lambada and 90s line dancing.