Matias Boucard, “Athena”
Romain Gavras’ class war and anti-authority screed, “Athena,” is undisguisedly pissed off. It’s pissed off at economic injustice. It’s pissed off at social injustice. It’s pissed off at a power imbalance that puts too much in the hands of police and nowhere near enough in the hands of the people. This being the case, and with fiery rage making up the film’s purpose, it’s necessary that Gavras stoke his flames behind the camera and not just in front of them. Matias Boucard obliges. Chaos in the frame belies Boucard’s confidence in his camerawork, or, if not confidence, then his abiding determination to get, for instance, the 11-minute shot the film opens on. Long takes are old hat; the techniques and practices used are well known. But long takes like “Athena’s,” like Boucard’s, are not only extraordinarily difficult to execute (impossible??), but they also announce an arresting, fiery, angry bomb of immediacy to every frame. There’s more to this film than its introduction, of course, but that introduction is enough to make “Athena” worth remembering. – AC
Hoyte van Hoytema, “Nope”
Jordan Peele’s work as a filmmaker is a scaling arc. He started small with “Get Out,” went bigger in “Us,” and goes bigger still in “Nope,” his alien monster roller coaster ride, his beaming love letter to Spielberg, his latest movie history lesson, and his critique of present-day studio operations where low to mid-budget movies hustle to thrive; when they do, the industry’s gaping maw vacuums their talent up, put them through the anodyne blockbuster grinder, and spits them right back out. There is, bafflingly enough, a chunk of people out there who can’t wrap their brains around what “Nope” is about. For Hoyte van Hoytema, at least, it’s about a series of metaphors, some humble, others, well, enormous, and the responsibility Peele gives him to weave those metaphors without sucking the fun out of the exercise. “Nope” has a classic Western’s expanse, an alien invasion film’s hyperventilating claustrophobia, and Peele’s heart, sense of humor, and insight into the Black American experience, now contextualized in the movies themselves. Hoytema’s visuals inhale and exhale, letting in vital oxygen when “Nope” arrives at a key set piece, then slowly pushing it back out when it’s important that the audience hold their breath. This is a film fixated on great entertainment and concerned with greater ideas about evidence, proof, and the lengths its characters go to be believed; Hoytema tunes into the same wavelength as Peele and snaps off some of the most accomplished and startling images he’s orchestrated to date. – AC
Rina Yang, “Nanny”
In her feature debut, “Nanny,” Nikyatu Jisu invests in a delicate balancing act where one foot stays in the real world and the other plunges into the world of folklore and the supernatural. She could have taken a simple approach to this feat; she could have just slapped a ghost into the frame when the occasion demanded and called it good. Instead, she asks cinematographer Rina Yang to bring both reality and folklore, which, frankly, is itself “real” in the sense of the role it plays in Sierra Leone and Senegal’s cultures, together at all times. Culture is critical here; Aisha (Anna Diop), a nanny for a New York City couple’s winsome and wonderful daughter, is haunted by visions from Senegal, her home, and the tiresome vicissitudes of American life in the employment of wealthy absentee parents. The dreamy sensations that Yang funnels into her work retain a nonetheless hard edge, harmonizing the film’s routine spiritual visitations, Aisha’s clashes with American ethos, and the burden of caring for someone else’s family to support your own from across an ocean. – AC
Alfonso Herrera Salcedo, “A Love Song”
A simple story of simple matters with simply written characters deserves simple cinematography. In Max Walker-Silverman’s “A Love Song,” Alfonso Herrera Salcedo sticks steadily to that guideline, using static imagery and wide shots to fill out a deceptively straightforward tale of unrequited love between former high school friends-cum-crushes; the austere composition might sound mechanical on paper, but in practice, Herrera Salcedo’s work allows for a complementary naturalism to flourish as Faye (Dale Dickey), and Lito (Wes Studi) reunite after decades apart to chew over what could’ve been. “A Love Song” is constructed deliberately, its stripped-down style ceding space for Dickey and Studi, two of the most wildly underappreciated actors working today, to bond and gel. But the movie doesn’t force Herrera Salcedo into a “fly on the wall” role. He’s an active participant. He just isn’t the flashy type or one to draw attention to himself instead of just being in the moment with his actors. That’s as key to “A Love Song’s” effect as its performances. – AC
Gregory Oke, “Aftersun”
Don’t let the last century and change fool you: In art history’s broad context, cinema is a budding visual medium. The principles and mores of filmmaking are well-established and mostly agreed upon, but the movies still require, and frankly always have, innovation to thrive. There’s space for growth; there’s room for improvement. Once Charlotte Wells’ astonishing debut, “Aftersun,” has had time to sink into cinema’s collective consciousness, we’ll likely recognize her as an innovator, successful in the daunting task of updating film’s visual language with the help of cinematographer Gregory Oke. “Aftersun” spotlights cinema’s unique experiential power. Oke draws Wells’ viewers into her characters’ inner lives, being Calum (Paul Mescal) and Sophie (Frankie Corio), a dad-daughter duo on vacation in Turkey for; he compresses their world and relationship into close-ups, keeping each in the other’s proximity while emphasizing the emotional distance that separates them. Oke’s photography layers an intimate atmosphere over “Aftersun,” and while intimacy is a thing of beauty, it’s a source of profound anguish, too. – AC
