Kinda impossible to put this into words. How do you reckon with a documentary where someone candidly says "for massacres I usually wore jeans" as if it's the most tossed-off, unimportant comment in the world? A truly uncomfortable, startlingly honest depiction of the social and political conditioning that allows these men to live with the atrocities they've committed, the way they can convince themselves they're not to blame because they weren't the ones giving the orders, to compartmentalise…
A fantastic freeform depiction of two people who fall for the idea of one another but never the reality. Alana is in her mid-20s and just sort of aimlessly floating through life without any real drive or direction, and Gary's ever-shifting business ventures and schemes give her the purpose she desperately craves for herself. The difference is that for Gary these ventures are ultimately frivolous in the grand scheme of things, there's no real consequences to failure because he's literally…
Nothing in the actual reporting has any cinematic urgency to it whatsoever, and all the attempts at humanising the people behind the journalism is poorly weaved into the plot and feels weirdly like an afterthought. Nothing in here couldn't be gained from just reading the article or a Wikipedia page. The subject matter deserves something more than just a didactic, flat recounting of events.
I think Johnson is a pretty clunky writer, the structure here of recontextualising past scenes by including information omitted the first time gets a little tiring after a while, and his stabs at political commentary doesn't really amount to more than vague Twitter discourse, but he makes up for it in pure kineticism. Largely a total blast, he's clearly very good at calibrating actors cause everyone is electric and serving the movie perfectly (I couldn't help thinking about Amsterdam, another…