“THE ZONE OF INTEREST” My rating: B+ (In theaters)
105 minutes | MPAA ratin: PG-13
In its own perverted way, Jonathan Glazer’s “The Zone of Interest” is a sick parody of that heartwarming musical “Meet Me In St. Louis.”
Both films are about families living idyllic and comfortable lives, and what happens when the father of the clan must for his job relocate to another city.
What makes Glazer’s film so deeply twisted is that the family in question is that of Rudolf Hoss, the commandant of the notorious Auschwitz death camp.
When we first encounter the Hoss family they are picnicking on a sun-dappled hillside beside a beautiful river or lake. They swim, bask in the sun. Reduced to their old-fashioned bathing outfits, there’s no way of knowing that Poppa is a high-ranking Nazi officer.
They return to their home, a comfortable modernist abode with a greenhouse and a huge walled-in garden with its own swimming pool.
As we observe the mundane day-to-day life of Rudolf (Christian Friedel), his wife Hedwig (Sandra Huller, an Oscar nominee this year for “Anatomy of a Fall”) and their brood, little ripples of uneasiness creep in.
Occasionally we can hear gunshots. A distant smokestack belches black clouds. And now and then we can see over the wall or in the gap between buildings the familiar shape of the tower over the camp’s main gate.
Talk about the banality of evil!
Sandra Huller
Rudolf goes to work each morning like any other breadwinner…only usually in a uniform of the Reich. He comes home for lunch. He reads his children bedtime stories.
We never actually see what goes on beyond the wall, but in one painfully haunting scene Rudolf sits down in his study to discuss an expansion of the camp with a couple of architect/engineers from Berlin. They talk about product flow and increased production without ever acknowledging that their job is to kill their fellow human beings as efficiently as possible.
Meanwhile Mother Hedwig goes about her business of making the perfect home. She has help…every now and then someone arrives from the camp with a cart full of clothing, jewelry and household objects for Hedwig to pick from. We don’t need to be told that these were confiscated from Jews marching to their deaths.
For that matter, Hedwig has several quietly efficient and utterly deferential young women working as maids and cooks. One can only assume that they are inmates given a reprieve to serve their Teutonic masters.
As written by Glazer (“Under the Skin”) from Martin Amis’ novel, “The Zone of Interest” is less about plot than dispassionate observation. Most of what unfolds is utterly commonplace: Hedwig’s mother comes for a visit. Hedwig plans improvements for the garden. Rudolf enjoys an after-dinner smoke on the porch as the sun goes down.
Only late in the film does a real crisis develop: Rudolf is to be transferred and Hedwig puts her foot down. She loves her home and refuses to move after all she’s done to make this the perfect place to raise their kids.
The unspoken subject of “The Zone of Interest” is the human capacity to compartmentalize, to spend evenings contentedly nurturing one’s children and to spend days murdering the children of others.
Mahershala Ali, Ruth Scott, Julia Roberts, Ethan Hawke
“LEAVE THE WORD BEHIND” My rating: B- (Netflix)
138 minutes | MPAA rating: R
The latest from writer/director Sam Esmail, creator of TV’s mind-twisty “Mr. Robot,” has been getting equal parts love and hate from Net-dwellers.
I’m stuck in the middle.
It’s an end-of-civilization movie, sort of, with a family from the Big Apple (Mom and Dad are Julia Roberts and Ethan Hawke) retreating to a rental home on Long Island for a little R&R, only to find the world falling apart around them.
Cell phones stop working. Cable TV goes out. The Internet is down.
There’s still running water and electricity…but for how long?
And then there’s the huge oil tanker that has run aground on a nearby beach and the passenger airplanes that are dropping out of the sky.
The highways are impassable (in one haunting scene dozens of driverless Teslas pile up in the roadway in a suicidal demolition derby) and the local deer seem to be suffering from a mass psychosis.
Emotions accelerate when the owner of the rental house (Mahershala Ali) shows up with his surly college-age daughter (Ruth Scott). Mom immediately becomes suspicious of these interlopers, especially since Ali’s high-powered businessman brings with him vague reports of a mass terrorism event.
What’s it all about? Keep guessing. Like Hitchcock’s “The Birds,” which it resembles on many levels, “Leave the World…” isn’t about providing answers. Its emphasis is on the reactions of the characters, who respond to undefined threats by turning on one another.
To say that the film delivers an ever-tightening sense of dread is an understatement. The acting is about as good as what you’d expect from such a high-powered cast, but I was especially taken with Farrah Mackenzie as the couple’s daughter, a tweener with the face of a 35-year-old and a need to see the final episode of “Friends” that transcends even the end of the world.
Joel Fry, Roy Kinnear
“BANK OF DAVE”(Netflix)
107 minutes | PG-13
Dave Fishwick is the real-life George Bailey (the character played by James Stewart in “It’s a Wonderful Life”).
More than a decade ago Fishwick, who runs several van and recreational vehicle dealerships in northern England, decided to create a small bank for local residents whose loan applications had been rejected by the established financial institutions.
Over the years Fishwick had found that whenever he loaned money to needy citizens, they invariably paid him back. Often with interest although Fishwick, a wealthy fellow, didn’t ask for that.
So why not make it official?
“Bank of Dave” stars Roy Kinnear as the irrepressible and astonishingly altruistic Dave, and Joel Fry as the young London attorney who comes to the boonies to help him overcome the many legal hurdles in his path.
Because the world of British banking was, until Dave Fishwick, a closed shop. No new bank charters had been approved in more than 150 years, and the powers that be — represented here by Hugh Bonneville as a titled (and entitled) elitist — didn’t want a guy like Dave offering an alternative to their tight-fisted and probably corrupt monopoly. They were ready to play dirty.
Fishwick’s story was the subject of a three-episode Brit documentary back in 2012. Now, under Chris Foggin’s workmanlike direction, this David-and-Goliath fictitious version delivers a whole lot of feel-good.
There’s a subplot in which the lawyer falls for an idealistic M.D. (Phoebe Dynevor), lots of colorful locals who ooze community and a self-help ethos, and even an appearance by Def Leppard, the famous hair metal rockers who gave a free concert to raise startup money for the Bank of Dave.
None of this is terribly surprising dramatically, but “Bank of Dave” sucks you in.
Sandra Huller
“ANATOMY OF A FALL” My rating: B+ (Rent on Prime, Apple+, etc.)
151 minutes | MPAA rating: R
A man plummets to his death from an upper story of his house. His wife is charged with his murder.
That’s the setup examined with procedural detail in “Anatomy of a Fall,” but this description barely scratches the surface of writer/director Justine Triet’s methodical drama.
The body of Samuel Maleski (Samuel Theis) is discovered by his vision-impaired son Daniel (Milo Machado Graner) lying below a balcony of the family’s chalet in the French Alps.
The cause of death is a blow to the head, but whether Samuel suffered the injury in the fall or was struck on the noggin before going down cannot be determined. There’s a chance this was a suicide.
The authorities, though, charge Samuel’s wife Sandra (Sandra Huller) with his murder.
At least half the film unfolds in a courtroom where Sandra’s attorney (and one-time flame) Vincent (Swann Arlaud) struggles to counter the grim portrait of his client painted by the aggressively, red-gowned prosecutor (Antoine Reinartz).
It’s not like the state doesn’t have a lot to work with.
Sandra is a German whose grasp of French is tenuous enough that she asks that the trial court to be conducted in English. So that’s pissing off the jingoists in the courtroom.
She’s a successful novelist who may have borrowed/stolen the idea for her last book from her husband. She is admittedly bisexual.
Most damning of all, Sandra is emotionally aloof. Is she an unfeeling cold fish? Or is she simply reluctant to air her innermost feelings for public consumption?
On the other hand, Samuel was despondent over his own failed career and his responsibility in the unexplained accident that led to young Daniel’s blindness. He was toying with his meds. He may have attempted suicide by pills a few weeks earlier.
In the film’s most dramatic passage the prosecution plays a recording of a family argument made by Samuel shortly before his death (we see it unfold in flashback). It’s brilliant stuff, with Samuel arguing from his emotional viewpoint and Sandra rebutting with cool (and infuriating) rationality.
A verdict is finally reached, but even then we’re left wondering just what happened.
The acting is off the charts. Huller (“Toni Erdmann” and the upcoming “The Zone of Interest”) exudes sexual, moral and emotional ambiguity. It’s not like we like her, but we are definitely invested.
Young Garner is astonishingly fine as the blind son, while a border collie named Messi gives a jawdropping perf as Snoop, the family pooch. The dog is so good that director Triet often films from his vantage point just a couple of feet above the floor.
Peter Simonischek (in Toni Erdman guise) and Sandra Huller
“TONI ERDMANN” My rating: B
162 minutes | MPAA rating: R
The key to comedy is snappy timing.
But Maren Ade, the writer and director of the Oscar-nominated (for foreign language film) “Toni Erdmann,” has given us a languid comedy with a running time of nearly 3 hours.
This is either genius or suicidal.
Turns out it’s a little of both.
The title character doesn’t even exist. He’s the goofy alter ego of Winifried (Peter Simonischek), a white-haired, bearded German piano teacher with a bizarre sense of humor displayed in the first scene, when he meets a deliveryman at his door.
Winifried notes that the package is addressed to Toni Erdmann, whom he tells the delivery guy is his brother, a mad bomber just out of prison. He wonders aloud if the package contains explosives or porn, then vanishes to consult with his brother Toni. Yelling is heard from deep in the house.
Seconds later he’s back, this time in his Toni persona, a key element of which is a ragged set of humongous false teeth.
There’s a method to Winifried’s deadpan tomfoolery, a therapeutic way of mocking an increasingly joyless modern world.
For evidence of that joylessness he need look no farther than his own daughter, Ines (Sandra Hüller), a thirtysomething petroleum industry consultant now living in Romania.
Ines is a committed career woman and desperately unhappy, although she won’t admit it. She sweats bullets over the demands of her job, daily negotiating the shark tank of corporate politics. She wants to be a major player, yet finds herself organizing shopping excursions for a client’s wife.
Her best friend is her smart phone. She’s engaged in a perfunctory affair with a co-worker. She can’t even relax with a massage, because it’s not brutal enough: “I’m not paying 100 Euros to be petted,” she fumes.