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FILM Courtney Byrne Hannah McKennett Jack O’Higgi
ns Shane O’Reilly Rory Kiberd illustration Meg Hyland Papi Chulo Director: John Butler Talent: Matt Bomer, Alejandro Patino Released: 7 June I’m not really crazy. I’ll confess I am going through a rough patch. My ex has been gone for six months now and I have to admit I’m not good at being alone. I never have been. Feels good to talk. – LA weatherman Sean unloads his anguish to Ernesto, his unwitting Mexican help, in John Butler’s charming new feature. Late Night Director: Nisha Ganatra Talent: Emma Thompson, Mindy Kaling, Max Casella, Hugh Dancy, John Lithgow Released: 7 June Written by and starring Mindy Kaling, Late Night follows Katherine Newbury (Thompson), an ageing talk show host who has completed her descent into hackdom. After a staff member complains about the all white, all male writer’s room, Katherine employs an Indian-American comedian called Molly (Kaling) as a diversity hire. With the show facing cancellation, it’s up to Molly to light a fire under Katherine’s arse and make her relevant once more. Late Night has an intriguing premise that is wasted almost immediately. The script talks the talk by pointing out the white privilege of Katherine and her Harvard educated staff, but it’s far too cowardly to explore that privilege in any meaningful way. It’s a punishingly unfunny comedy about race and gender that strives to be as inoffensive and toothless as possible. One particularly cringe inducing bit on the talk show, called ‘White Savior’, involves Katherine wandering around the city, helping people of colour with minor tasks. It’s framed as a minor triumph in Katherine’s journey to rehabilitate her image, instead of the smug, performative ‘wokeness’ that makes late-night talk shows so excruciating to watch. I may have groaned aloud. From a technical standpoint, Late Night is just as bad (if nothing else, the film is consistent). The direction is limited to pointing the camera at the actors and making them say their lines, the editing lacks any kind of rhythm to sell the jokes, and Matthew Clark’s soulless cinematography seems inspired by teen soap operas like Gossip Girl. The film’s saving grace is Emma Thompson, having an absolute ball playing a caustic bitch, but it’s not enough. A ten-hour Jay Leno marathon almost seems preferable. Almost. JOH Sean, a weatherman in LA, is going through a rough patch. Unable to shake the grief resulting from a breakup, he is overcome on air, sobbing uncontrollably. Despite his insistence that he was just having gastric problems – not the brightest of chaps it’d appear – his boss tells him to take some time off to get better. Sean enlists the help of a Mexican migrant labourer, Ernesto, to paint his deck, as the removal of a potted plant has left an unpainted round patch (which Sean identifies as a ‘vicious circle,’ helpfully force-feeding the audience some symbolism). Upon being told by his friends that he needs more human interaction, Sean uses Ernesto as a sort of mute therapist, calling him a good listener, though he speaks no English. Soon, Sean is less interested in the deck being painted and more concerned about going on outings with poor beleaguered Ernesto. He doesn’t correct people who mistake them for a ‘cute couple’, and things will eventually come to a head when Sean brings him along to an upscale party. No, the preceding plot breakdown is not detailing a new, homo-erotic psychological thriller, for this is supposed to be one of those stirring, poignant comic-dramas that makes you think: “hmm, wouldn’t it be great if we could all just try to understand each other a little bit more”. Sean isn’t a bunny-boiler, but a wounded soul, whose increasingly demented efforts to connect with Ernesto aren’t highly exploitative, but the consequence of being unable to move on from a past love. “Ease up with all the lazy assumptions,” Sean gallantly advises a passerby who jests that our improbable duo have a “Driving Miss Daisy thing going on”. But the irreverent stranger is Halston Director: Frédéric Tcheng Released: 7 June Halston is Frédéric Tcheng’s latest fashion film – one which finally showcases the life of legendary designer Roy Halston Frowick. Tcheng shows Halston’s rise and fall through a stark cinematic lens, seamlessly blending archival footage with retrospective interviews with friends and colleagues. Clean, simplistic, and unrestrained, Halston was a resolutely minimalist brand. Using the body as the structure, Halston appeared to simply drape pieces of fabric upon it. Extremely technically talented, many of his iconic pieces were cut from a single piece of cloth, often using a technique known as ‘cutting on the bias’ to achieve the illusion of effortlessness and ease. With an eclectic soundtrack combining an original Stanley Clarke score with ‘60s and ‘70s tracks, Tcheng evokes Halston on the big screen. Halston began as a milliner for Bergdorf’s. A singular personality and a passion for branding made Halston synonymous with American fashion. At the height of his success Halston showcased his designs at the Battle of Versailles, thus helping to establish American fashion as being on par with European couture brands. Tcheng leads the viewer through the inevitable demise of Halston’s empire as publicity became paramount. With great footage of the Halstonettes (women who accompanied Halston everywhere) showing how their actions were choreographed and their outfits styled, Tcheng highlights how Halston modelled an unattainable fantasy lifestyle, much like social media allows us to do today. While Tcheng does make use of a somewhat gimmicky framing device – posing as a film noir style investigation into Halston’s mysterious downfall – this device is not so intrusive as to be a fatal flaw. It is, however, a weak point in an otherwise masterfully constructed documentary. Halston is a thoroughly entertaining depiction of Halston the man and Halston the brand, and the fascinating and lethal dissolution of the distinction between the two. CB 76 not the only one making assumptions – not once does Sean ease up on the idea that he can use Ernesto in this way. The assumption that director John Butler has made is that an audience would invest in a character with his head this far up his own arse. Our sympathy is limited because Sean is fully aware of the game he’s playing of trying to re-enact his old relationship. Were this a darker, more ambiguous film, that sympathy wouldn’t be needed, but it’s clear that that is precisely what’s being sought when, later on, we are made to endure heavy scenes of Sean unravelling, coming to terms with his past loss. This film is uncynical to a fault. The central premise is actually interesting, but the film is overly concerned with not offending anyone, with Sean being simply misguided, yet, ultimately harmless, and Ernesto unrealistically kind and understanding of Sean’s plight. Ernesto is made out to be something of a benevolent blank. Unfortunately, the tonal deafness resulting from this mixture of earnestness and implausibility disqualifies Papi Chulo from being a success, unlike Butler’s superior, previous effort, Handsome Devil. On the plus side, the film is trying new things, and is never really boring. It’s nice to see a film where the character’s sexual orientation isn’t the source of great anguish but just a feature, and there are some enjoyable satirical moments. Also, Bomer is a great actor, his frozen smile, always threatening to crack into something more perturbed. An interesting idea, scuppered by good intentions. It would’ve worked better as much darker comedy that didn’t strive to be so redemptive. That said, Butler is still one to look out for. RK