Every month, Establishing Shot brings you a selection of films from our group of regular bloggers. Even though these films aren’t currently being screened at the IU Cinema, this series reflects the varied programming that can be found at the Cinema and demonstrates the eclectic tastes of the bloggers. Each contributor has picked one film that they saw this month that they couldn’t wait to share with others. Keep reading to find out what discoveries these cinephiles have made, as well as some of the old friends they’ve revisited.
Noni Ford, contributor | Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (2024)
Beetlejuice is one of my favorite comfort movies. It’s a wacky story about a haunting, unlikely friendships, and the power of words. I have fond memories of sitting with my family and laughing along to the familiar beats of the story, my enjoyment of the movie never dulling despite so many repeated watches. When I heard of Beetlejuice Beetlejuice coming out I was highly suspicious, as I half expected this sequel would be a jump back into the world of the first movie with little inventiveness or flair. I knew it would likely pay some fan service but was worried it would get bogged down in trying to please fans and the story would suffer because of it. Something that has befallen all too many rebooted classics.
I saw the movie its opening weekend, and first off, original fans of the 1988 movie did not disappoint and showed up fully decked out in themed makeup and costume looks (in contrast I felt very underdressed)! My close friend and I had to go to another screening because the first place we went to see the film was sold out. While the film certainly did make a nod to the original several times, it still had its own charms and antics that kept you entertained through its one-hour-and-44-minute run time. It was a thrill to see the original Beetlejuice house back on screen, and to see beloved characters like Lydia Deetz and to be introduced to new characters like Astrid, Lydia’s daughter, too. The film stayed in its previous genre which was always sort of horror comedy, and while I would have loved if they had thrown more horror into the mix, I was still happy with the lighthearted notes of the film. It felt like the perfect film to get you warmed up for Halloween season.
If I had to choose between the original and the 2024 release, I’d rewatch the ’80s film again in a heartbeat, but I still had plenty of fun going to the movies for the first time this season to watch Tim Burton build upon one of his classics.
Chris Forrester, contributor | Soy Cuba (1964)
It’s generally considered hyperbole to say “I gasped” or “I sat, mouth agape” when reviewing art, and yet that’s exactly how I watched the majority of Mikhail Kalatozov’s Soy Cuba, a film that — to toss in another cliche-as-truth — looks and moves like no other. A quartet of short stories set in and around Havana before and during the country’s 1959 revolution that function separately as glimpses of lives brutalized by capitalism and given hope by Communist revolution and together as a portrait of a land on the brink of transformation, Soy Cuba is at once blistering social drama modernist parable of martyrdom, and the most singularly ravishing film you’re ever likely to see.
If you’ve heard or read much about this film, then you’ve likely seen it referred to as a propaganda film (how sad that the imperialist propaganda and jingoism of the average American blockbuster is not remarked upon with such insistence), a fact I can’t dispute but whose overstatement unfairly diverts attention away from its monumental technical and aesthetic achievements. There are images, formal techniques, and movements of the camera here of such ravishing beauty that to behold them feels like discovering cinema anew — and always, they are deployed with such a lucid sense of purpose. In one shot (often referred to as the film’s “impossible” crane shot, and yet 60 years later, there it is!), the camera rises from the ground-level crowd of a funeral march, up the side of one building, across a rooftop and into another building, where it glides past men at work before soaring out a window and over the flood of people in the street below. In another, it floats up and away from a farmer who has immolated the land and home where he built a family and buried a love rather than allow it to be seized by a greedy landlord in an image of stark elemental beauty not unlike what you’d expect of an Andrei Tarkovsky film. These are — whether in spite of or because of their leftist bent is yours to decide, though I’d lean toward the latter — images of pure poetry as fine as the medium has ever produced, wielded by a filmmaker with a keen awareness of its every capacity toward a political revolution, and perhaps an artistic one too.
Michaela Owens, Editor | Midnight Run (1988)
While I initially was going to focus on Beetlejuice Beetlejuice like Noni — the original is probably in my top ten favorite movies of all time and I gotta say, the sequel was a really good time, even if it invests in spinster erasure by improbably making Lydia a mom — the news that actor John Ashton passed away on September 26 had me revisiting a film I only saw for the first time a few months ago, Martin Brest’s road-trip comedy Midnight Run. For years, I’ve noticed the praise heaped on this movie, but I must admit my initial encounter with it left me shockingly underwhelmed. After listening to the podcast Blank Check‘s episode dedicated to it, though, I was relieved to hear the hosts say that Midnight Run is the kind of movie that hits harder with each successive viewing thanks to its character-driven jokes and often subtle emotion. Watching it again, I’m happy to report they were absolutely right.
One thing, though, that I definitely didn’t need to give a second chance was John Ashton’s performance. Best known to me as the rigid and (mostly) by-the-book Sgt. Taggart from the Beverly Hills Cop films, it was unexpected to see Ashton play a dopey, dirty — both in terms of corruption and hygiene — and opportunistic asshole of a bounty hunter opposite the more honorable and quick-thinking one portrayed by Robert De Niro. Although that kind of character is not usually my cup of tea, Ashton is so incredibly fun to watch here that, even though his appearances continually complicate our lead characters’ plans, you love to see what he’s got up his grimy sleeve. It’s a great, little-discussed aspect of this acclaimed movie and I hope Ashton’s passing encourages more people to talk about it.
Jesse Pasternack, contributor | The Babadook (2014)
The Babadook is one of the greatest horror films of the 2010s because it works very well as a drama. It does have many of the trademarks of a more traditional horror film — a scary situation, creepy music, and an iconic monster — but all of those elements feel new and exciting because they work in service of telling a story that could have worked just as well without them. Its distinctive approach to a durable genre helped make it a modern classic.
This movie takes place in Australia and follows Amelia (Essie Davis), a single mother whose husband died on the way to the hospital on the day she gave birth to their son Samuel (Noah Wiseman). Amelia refuses to deal with the grief she feels from his death and struggles to connect with her strange son. One day, they discover a children’s book about a mysterious monster called Mister Babadook. As peculiar things begin to happen, Amelia starts to suspect that Mister Babadook might be real, and targeting her for a dark purpose.
The plot of The Babadook (monster haunts a family) might feel familiar on paper. But writer-director Jennifer Kent makes it feel original by focusing on Amelia. It is as much a portrait of her recovering from a traumatic situation and dealing with a thorny familial relationship as more conventional dramas like Ordinary People (1981) or Autumn Sonata (1978). But its focus on her pain and journey to not let it destroy her grounds the movie’s scares and view of the supernatural in vivid emotions, which makes everything feel more satisfying.
Jed Kurzel’s score for this movie accentuates its disturbing yet reality-based view of the horror genre. It is eerie, but not full of harsh strings like Psycho (1960). Instead, it makes great use of softer instruments like a piano and avant-garde sounds to capture the unsettled nature of Amelia’s mind. It perfectly reflects Kent’s more grounded take on the genre.
Even the film’s iconic monster, Mister Babadook (Tim Purcell, playing a character that some have claimed is a queer icon), works in concert with Kent’s idiosyncratic take on horror. Unlike other movie monsters he never kills a person onscreen and barely has any dialogue. But his unique look is frightening, and he is as effective as a malevolent presence (which helps him serve as a great metaphor for Amelia’s grief) as any movie monster I have ever seen. In addition, the fact that Kent shows Mister Babadook as little as possible fits her into a tradition of horror filmmakers that goes back to Val Lewton and Cat People (1942). It’s interesting to see Kent pay tribute to one of the genre’s oldest rules (don’t show the monster) even as she steers it in an excitingly different direction.
The Babadook was a surprise success when it came out ten years ago. It received praise from William Friedkin, did well at the box office, and provided nightmares for a new generation. It also provided crew work for brothers Danny and Michael Philippou, who went on to write and direct Talk to Me (2023), which is also an Australian horror film which is just as good at exploring grief as it is at scaring the audience. Let’s hope that Kent continues to influence other filmmakers just as she influenced the Philippou brothers for a long time to come.