Toronto International Film Festival 2022 | Reviews

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Moonage Daydream 

A kaleidoscopic weave of archival performances and candid interviews, this portrait of David Bowie from director Brett Morgen immerses us in the restless starman’s singular galaxy of music, art, and identity. 

It’s been well documented that David Bowie was a hypocrite, a liar… an actor. So, to have a so-called “documentary” about his life, narrated by his own unreliable perception of himself, captures not the reality of David Bowie’s biography, but rather the mythical legacy that the star projected onto his identity. Morgen’s film perfectly aligns with Bowie’s artistic mission to never be just one thing. The film depicts the multitude of personas Bowie had: musician, painter, actor, world traveller, extraterrestrial; using his own contradictory words to provide no answers to who the celebrity actually was, but instead making you question everything you think you know about the character of ‘David Bowie.’ 

Moonage Daydream is as psychedelic and philosophical as its subject himself. The restoration of some of the footage (most notably that of the 1978 Isolar tour and the never-before-seen footage of Bowie in Asia in the early ‘80s) is breathtaking, and, when seen on the IMAX screen, makes you feel as if you could reach and touch this illusive figure. Morgen’s revolutionary film (which is the first film authorised by the singer’s estate) adds to the myth of Bowie, dissecting the various layers and phases of the man and the artist, continuing to complicate his legacy six years after he departed this planet.   

And while Morgen’s film does follow a somewhat chronological narrative, it’s the mixing and matching of Bowie’s different eras and characters that prevented the film from being astonishing. In his career, Bowie took great care to ensure that his characters became representational of that period of his artistic work. So to have them all blurring together with seemingly no purpose conflicts with the lore surrounding each of Bowie’s eras.   

But, of course, this is coming from someone who has spent years researching Bowie’s various characters and personas. So, perhaps, I’m just nitpicking. – Review by Shelby Cooke

The Menu 

The culture of haute cuisine gets thoroughly roasted in director Mark Mylod’s sizzling satire about a destination dining experience seasoned with surprises that get spicier with every plating. Twelve wealthy guests are welcomed to Hawthorne Island, a self-contained farm-to-table paradise, to feast on a $1,250 per head tasting menu from acclaimed Chef Slowik (Ralph Fiennes). Among the guests are a washed-up movie star (John Leguizamo), a tastemaking restaurant critic (Janet McTeer), and a trio of tech bros, with the outliers for the evening’s clientele being Tyler (Nicholas Hoult), a devout foodie pilgrim, and his date, Margot (Anna Taylor-Joy), an escort along for the free meal.

It’s no surprise to anyone that Mylod’s film would use extreme comedy to communicate its political message (just look at his work on the TV series, Succession). Mylod, along with the film’s screenwriters Seth Reiss and Will Tracy, combine the macabre with pretentious prestige to create a film that feels entirely in this moment, while also being a homage to the early 1900s literary works of Richard Connell, Edgar Allan Poe, Agatha Christy or Shirley Jackson. The mise-en-scène of the film, along with its absurd performances, creates a feeling of unsettling eeriness that helps to bring this wonderfully whacky narrative to life.

And while I did thoroughly enjoy The Menu (and found myself heaving into full guttural laughs), I will say that the overall commentary of the film felt muddled. What exactly was the film trying to get across? Art belongs to the artist, not the observe? Criticism has no place in the world of creativity? The upper crust plagues society with their greed even if they are the ones keeping the arts alive? Be nice to people in the service industry? There didn’t seem to be any moral theme, and Chef didn’t appear to know precisely why he was doing what he is doing either. And, of course, there is no black-and-white answer to the questions that are brought up in the film, but a more confident stance would have made the film’s insane satire even funnier. – Review by Shelby Cooke ​

My Policeman

Michael Grandage brings to life a tale of forbidden romance and changing social conventions in his new film My Policeman, which follows three people — policeman Tom (Harry Styles/Linus Roache), teacher Marion (Emma Corrin/Gina McKee), and museum curator Patrick (David Dawson/Rupert Everett) — and their emotional journey spanning decades.

Of course, a review of My Policeman couldn’t be without a mention of its pop star lead. There’s both a benefit to Harry Styles’ extraordinary star power and a hindrance: it takes a while to warm up to Style’s performance, as it’s hard to remove yourself from his real-life persona. But there are moments where Grandage’s camera gazes upon Tom’s body and physique, allowing the audience’s cultural obsession with Styles to project how Patrick is observing his new lover. It’s a fantastic dichotomy that only someone of Styles’ celebrity calibre could produce, which, paired with the marvellous performance of his co-stars, elevates this tender story into something completely visceral.

There are moments in Styles’ performance that feels awkward and disjointed, given this is only his second starring role that’s understandable. David Dawson, the film’s standout performer, and Styles have a palpable connection on screen, as their performance drives the emotional heart of the film. Styles nails the innocent wonder of Tom’s character, becoming completely engrossed in the process of falling in love. Yet, the connection between Styles and Emma Corrin is more bland and uncomfortable – perhaps, a deliberate choice to show the oddness of their relationship but still lacked any sort of warmth or even friendship.  

What started off as a stifled, rather ridged and frankly repetitive narrative completely transformed into a captivating and lustful retelling of the relationship between three people. You go into Grandage’s film thinking you know what you are about to see; and while it does play to the tropes of its genre, the story and performances are able to stand on their own, making it one of the more gripping films of the year. — Review by Shelby Cooke

​The Lost King

Britain is known for its royalty. And at this moment in time, nothing seems to be more relevant. Yet, it’s often understood that royalty in British society comes in more forms than just the Divine; royalty is found in the patriarchy, in the white race, in the class system and in academic prestige, dismissing and devaluing anyone outside of the peak of society. And it’s true that these people are the ones that dictate history, writing out any facts they find to be a nuance. 

Stephen Frears’ latest film, The Lost King, tackles this very topic, exploring how in both the past and present those at the top of society control how the story is told. Retelling the almost unbelievable true story of how an amateur historian, Phillipa Langley (played by Sally Hawkins in an emotional and controlled performance), discovered the remains of King Richard III in a Leicester car park, The Lost King gives a voice to those who aren’t considered royalty in the British hierarchy. Phillipa, already at a disadvantage by being a woman in a man’s world and having a chronic, invisible illness, attends a performance of Shakespeare’s Richard III with her son for a school assignment. Moved by Richard’s (Harry Lloyd) story as a misunderstood outcast, Phillip falls into a fascination with the King, joining his official fan society, determined to uncover where Richard’s remains lie and stopping at nothing to prove her place amongst these royal elitists. 

And while it may seem like we already know all the facts about the miraculous discovery of the King under the cement (just as much as we may think we know the devilry of Richard’s reign), the trio of Frears direction and Steven Coogan and Jeff Pope’s script plays with the fiction of history, bringing to light how what we know as fact may be just as fantastical as a film. Coogan and Pope’s magical realism screenplay writes Phillipa and her research back into history, ensuring that her story isn’t lost like Richard’s was to the Tudors. 

Despite the somewhat cliche tropes and an overbearing score that feels too grand and majestic for this humble story, The Lost King is a compelling and intriguing film. It may not be Frears, Coogan or Pope’s best film, but it still falls interestingly into the catalogue of British historical realism. – Review by Shelby Cooke

Allelujah 

When the geriatric ward in a small Yorkshire hospital is threatened with closure, the hospital decides to fight back by galvanizing the local community: they invite a news crew to film their preparations for a concert in honour of the hospital’s most distinguished nurse. Based on the stage play by acclaimed playwright Alan Bennett, Richard Eyre’s latest feature, Allelujah, celebrates the spirit of the elderly patients whilst paying tribute to the deep humanity of the medical staff battling with limited resources and ever-growing demand.

Between the seemingly unnecessary voiceovers, fourth wall breaks, undeveloped characters and frankly slow pacing, Allelujah doesn’t live up to Eyre’s reputation. Allelujah falls flat in trying to be a film in its own right, rather than being just another stage-to-screen adaptation. But it’s truly the blatant and obvious political messaging that does this story an injustice. It feels as if Eyre is trying to embody Loachian social drama but is coming off more like a lecture or sermon. There’s no nuance or thought-provoking ideas presented to the audience, it’s all just spelt out for you.

While Alan Bennett’s play surely could withstand the copious monologues and dramatic reveals, it feels too inauthentic, too “stagy” for a film. It’s as if Heidi Thomas’s “adaption” really only includes the jarring Covid-19 coda, in which Billy Gill’s Dr Valentine is entirely reinvented as a bitter and cold doctor no longer impassioned by his love for the job (a sentiment that can be absolutely understood and is completely relevant for pandemic stricken NHS workers, but doesn’t really serve the narrative in any way other than to spell out its message for the audience). The screenplay featured too many soliloquies and private asides that just work on stage; a more grounded telling of Bennett’s play (which has been done before) would have served the cinematic medium better. 

Besides its obvious flaws in structure and narrative, the cast is the saving grace of this film. They offer up engaging, humorous, sensitive and moving performances. Bally Gill is a standout in the role of the head doctor, as his soft eyes and genuine sentiment makes you fall in love with his dedication. The established cast of Jennifer Saunders, David Bradley and Derek Jacobi shines as always, giving the best performances in the cast. But it was rather sad to see Judi Dench so underutilised in her role. – Review by Shelby Cooke

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