Author: Justin Humphreys

Director-co-screenwriter J.A. Bayona’s Society of the Snow is a well-made, engrossing story of survival told straightforwardly and conventionally. The film deftly depicts a horrifying, real-life tragedy and, although it is vivid, it avoids being sordid.

In October 1972, Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571 to Chile, carrying a rugby team of young men and some of their family members crashed in the frozen Andes mountains. With the plane slashed into two widely separated pieces, the survivors set about gathering what supplies they can and tending to the wounded.

Trapped in brutally cold conditions with minimal, claustrophobic shelter, their circumstances go from bad, to worse, to downright hellish. Faced with imminent starvation, they are forced to eat their friends’ and families’ corpses. Driven by an indomitable will to escape, they battle for survival within this merciless landscape.

This infamous incident is so captivating and shocking that it gets retold every so often. In the 1970s, the cannibalism angle made it prime fodder for exploitation in trashy movies like Survive! and luridly titled paperbacks like They Survived on Human Flesh! In 1993, the story inspired Alive!, an Irwin Allen-like disaster melodrama based on Piers Paul Read’s 1974 book of the same name.

In Society of the Snow, the survivors’ last resort of cannibalism is depicted very tastefully—no pun intended. This critical aspect of the story is effectively conveyed visually without morbid lingering. But be warned that the characters’ physical torments throughout are shown in graphic detail.

The story behind Society of the Snow may be familiar to many viewers, and while its innate power makes it gripping, the film isn’t nearly as affecting as it could have been. Bayona is faced with the difficult task of developing roughly two dozen characters, and he doesn’t entirely succeed—a challenge for any director within a standard movie’s running time—but as the survivors’ ranks diminish they get easier to follow.

The script is generally decent, with some outstanding sequences of the castaways distracting themselves from their plight by composing doggerel verse and practicing bird calls. But the opening scenes feature a ham-handed bit of foreshadowing as several characters attend mass and the part about eating flesh gets excessive emphasis.

The first act and the last act are solid, but the second act drags, which is arguably because Bayona wanted to convey the interminable quality of this situation. If that’s the case, there are more visually economical and engaging ways of getting that across.

The makeup, art direction, and costume design work is first-rate, contributing significantly to an overall sense of gruesome verisimilitude. To further heighten the realism, the actors nearly starved themselves to look properly gaunt and malnourished, and the plane wreck was recreated in the actual area where Flight 571 went down.

The cinematography is fine, particularly considering how much of Society of the Snow was shot on location. Michael Giacchino’s score is excellent overall, proving once again that he’s one of the best film composers alive.

While not exceptional, Society of the Snow is a very respectable production, but not recommended for those with weak stomachs. If, however, you don’t mind taking this harsh journey, the film is ultimately satisfying and uplifting.

Society of the Snow

R, 158 minutes | Netflix

Writer and director Takashi Yamazaki’s Godzilla Minus One is easily among 2023’s most engaging, exciting, and poignant films. This isn’t some pulp monster movie to be casually dismissed by snobs—it’s a compelling post-World War II drama that periodically features a monster rearing its huge head, and it gives its big, scaly, radioactive leading man his best—and most ferocious—part in years.

Near the end of World War II, kamikaze pilot Koichi (Ryunosuke Kamiki) freezes in terror behind his gun as Godzilla attacks a small island, resulting in heavy casualties. Returning in disgrace to shattered postwar Tokyo, he gradually rebuilds his life in the rubble and forms a surrogate family with young thief Noriko (Minami Hamabe) and Akiko, her adopted infant.

As Japan revives itself, Koichi supports his dependents with a risky job aboard a ship that destroys the war’s leftover mines dotting coastal waters. Meanwhile, atomic testing has rendered Godzilla infinitely more powerful, and the creature starts swimming—as always—toward Tokyo to lay waste to the city and its people. Koichi and his fellow veterans band together in an attempt to destroy the seemingly unstoppable beast.

Godzilla Minus One is essentially a broad reimagining of the original 1954 Godzilla, and it draws somewhat on that film’s adult tone. Unlike the light-hearted juvenilia that Godzilla movies became over subsequent decades, the first film was meant to be genuinely scary and disturbing. The monster represented the horrible aftermath of the atomic bombings and the specter of the nuclear age.

It’s a reminder of how rich monster movies—including Japan’s kaiju (giant monster) films—can be. Sometimes with Godzilla, the audience cheers the big gray guy on as he battles Ghidorah, or some other monster, and wrecks Tokyo. Here, the horrible cost of his mayhem is always evident, and viewers wince at the devastation he wreaks, which is the filmmaker’s intention. Yamazaki presents arguably the most vicious, merciless Godzilla in the entire series’ history.

But it’s the human element that makes Godzilla Minus One so successful. The cast is exceptionally likable and sympathetic, from its leads to supporting characters like neighbor Sumiko (Sakura Ando) to Koichi’s captain, Yoji (Kuranosuke Sasaki). These competent actors keep the story potent while successfully seasoning it with comedy.

It’s astounding that Godzilla Minus One cost a reported $15 million when its production values are so lavish. The visual effects are remarkably convincing, while still paying tribute to the classic Godzilla. Although he is largely a CG effect here, the monster is designed to stay true to its traditional bottom-heavy, man-in-a-suit physicality. Among other touches, Godzilla’s trademark roar carries over from his previous cinematic incarnations, and composer Akira Ifukube’s theme music intensifies the action in several key scenes.  

To go into greater detail would likely lead to spoilers. Suffice it to say that Godzilla Minus One excels most current films by a wide margin on all fronts. At a time when foreign releases seldom get American distribution, a subtitled movie about a gargantuan lizard that has captivated audiences this widely is a testament to its overall quality. Hollywood could learn a lot about storytelling from this giant, animated dinosaur that is stomping most of its Oscar bait flat.

Ridley Scott’s historical epic Napoleon covers the well-worn territory of the titular French emperor’s monumental military conquests and eventual downfall. Scott’s battle sequences are undeniably extraordinary, and it’s gorgeous overall, but mediocre dialogue and Joaquin Phoenix’s dull title performance noticeably weaken the film.

Scott opens Napoleon with a climax: a bold sequence depicting the beheading of Marie Antoinette, with Napoleon in attendance—one of the film’s many historical inaccuracies. From there, the story alternates between Napoleon’s rise to power from one bloody battlefield to another and his tumultuous marriage to Josephine (Vanessa Kirby). In this interpretation of history, the conqueror is depicted as mannerless, childish, and deeply insecure, all of which Josephine is well aware of and uses to control him.

At 85, Scott is still fully capable of creating intricate, sweeping battles, heavy on extras and mayhem, and his visions of combat are Napoleon’s real stars. He has lost none of the visual acumen that went into his earlier masterpieces like Alien and Blade Runner, particularly in his lighting and compositions. Likewise, the enthusiasm he showed for restaging the Napoleonic Wars in The Duellists is still vividly apparent.

These exceptional battles overstay their welcome, and the viewer eventually starts to feel buried under all the mortar fire and severed limbs. But the film goes deeply astray with its central human story of Napoleon’s overwhelming passion for Josephine. What made The Duellists so engaging was the central performances by Keith Carradine and Harvey Keitel. Scott’s Napoleon is most significantly undercut by Phoenix as the “Little Colonel.”

Not since Phoenix’s Johnny Cash in Walk the Line has he been so hopelessly miscast. Delivering much of his dialogue in a flavorless monotone, he creates, possibly, cinema’s dullest Napoleon. Were it not for his wardrobe and makeup, it would seem like he was playing an entirely different historical figure. To make matters worse, he keeps adding self-indulgent touches in the worst method acting tradition. Phoenix significantly drains the suspension of disbelief in all of his scenes by constantly reminding the viewer he’s acting.

Despite Phoenix’s lame work here, Kirby gives a fine performance as Josephine, and easily outshines her co-star. The rest of the cast is good, even when saddled with mediocre dialogue—the film’s other big flaw. The cinematography, editing, musical score, production design, and costumes are all excellent. Within Napoleon’s gargantuan scope, the richly detailed wardrobe and sets are up to Scott’s usual exacting standards.

There have been rumors that the theatrical version of Napoleon is significantly shorter than Scott’s full director’s cut, and that the streaming version will be longer. This is a mixed blessing: It will likely flesh-out Napoleon’s character in ways the film doesn’t, but it also means there will be more of Phoenix’s histrionics to deal with. It would be a significantly better film if all of his dialogue was cut.

Napoleon is worth seeing on the big screen almost solely for its battles and visual splendor. Lower your expectations of a stirring or believable lead performance, and the film delivers a halfway extraordinary cinematic experience. But battlefield porn can only carry a movie so far, and its star shouldn’t be its own Waterloo.