H Is for Hawk: Deeply moving

H Is for Hawk (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five); rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and occasional profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang

In the spring of 2007, as a means of coping with her grief after the sudden death of her beloved father — with whom she shared many interests, most notably birding — 27-year-old Cambridge research fellow Helen Macdonald purchased a young Eurasian goshawk, intending to train it.

 

Having spent weeks (months?) training her goshawk to trust her, and respond to
commands, Helen (Claire Foy) prepares to let the bird loose for its first outdoor kill.

Although impulsive, this wasn’t an entirely foolish act; Macdonald had been flying falcons, alongside her father, since adolescence. But goshawks are notoriously vicious, volatile and savage: almost impossible to train.

Macdonald ultimately recounted her experience in an award-winning 2014 memoir which became a best-seller within a fortnight.

 

Her saga now has become a deeply poignant, emotionally shattering and unexpectedly exhilarating film — of the same title — under the careful direction of Philippa Lowthorpe, who shares scripting credit with Emma Donoghue. MacDonald is brought to life via a remarkably nuanced performance by Claire Foy, who runs a gamut of emotions during this saga.

 

We barely meet Helen’s father, longtime Daily Mirror photojournalist Alisdair Macdonald (Brendan Gleeson), before Claire — while at Cambridge — receives word that he died unexpectedly, while on assignment. Gathered alongside her mother (Lindsay Duncan) and brother James (Josh Dylan) in a funeral parlor, their mourning is briefly overcome by incredulous, shared laughter when the agent suggests a decorated “themed coffin.”

 

(This tacky, tone-deaf moment is Lowthorpe’s sole dose of macabre comic relief. I cringed at the notion that this actually may have occurred.)

 

Back at Cambridge, unable to focus on teaching, or finishing her fellowship — or even worrying about where she’ll live if she doesn’t finish — Claire decides that embracing an impossible challenge is the only way to endure getting through each day. Longtime friend and fellow falconer Stuart (Sam Spruell) thinks she’s crazy; goshawks are “the wildest and maddest of raptors ... the perfectly evolved psychopath.”

 

“Don’t even think about it,” he further cautions, “certainly not in your state.”

Women Talking: A grim yet crucial conversation

Women Talking (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, and too generously, despite considerable dramatic intensity, sexual assault, bloody images and profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

A dozen women, of all ages, gather in the upper loft of a massive barn.

 

This feels like a small farming community, and they’re dressed plainly; there’s no sign of modern conveniences. It could be one, two, even three centuries ago.

 

Forced into an impossible decision, the women from two families — from left, Mejal
(Michelle McLeod), Greta (Sheila McCarthy), Neitje (Liv McNeil), Mariche (Jessie Buckley),
Salome (Claire Foy), Autje (Kate Hallett), Ona (Rooney Mara) and Agata (Judith Ivy) —
contemplate a pair of equally life-changing options.

The meeting is prompted by some sort of crisis. But that’s only a catalyst; unhappiness, frustration and even fury have been brewing for a long time. The men in this community have been intolerable for too long, and the women have convened to consider their options: do nothing, leave … or stay and fight back.

A vote is taken, with every female community member weighing in. Because they’re all illiterate, they merely mark an X beneath one of three pencil drawings depicting each option. Their “schooling” has been solely Biblical and heavily evangelical, their compliance dictated by verses burned into their brains.

 

The vote proves a tie, between leaving or fighting back.

 

This small subset of women — from three families — has been tasked with weighing the options, considering consequences, and breaking the tie.

 

Director/scripter Sarah Polley’s moody, expressionistic adaptation of Miriam Toews’ critically hailed 2018 novel is a quietly somber affair that leans toward fable or allegory, but in fact is an explosive shot across the bow of all predatory male behavior.

 

As soon becomes clear, as the ensuing discussion unfolds, this community’s men have — for generations — been cruelly abusing these women physically, emotionally and spiritually. They’ve been raped in the dead of night, regardless of age, after being rendered unconscious by a livestock anesthetic spray.

 

Confronted, the following morning, by the bruised and often bloody results of these late-night assaults, their subsequent anguish has been dismissed — by the men — as the work of Satan, ghosts or “wild female imagination.”

 

This has continued for generations, the women often giving birth to boys who grow up to become men groomed to subsequently rape their own younger sisters.

 

The immediate emergency has been prompted by a failed assault attempt; the attacker was witnessed by potential adolescent victims Autje (Kate Hallett) and Neitje (Liv McNeil). They’re mostly silent during these proceedings, braiding each other’s hair into an intertwined bond, and — unexpectedly — occasionally supplying remarkably perceptive observations.

 

The perpetrator was caught and arrested; all of the community’s men have left to post bail in the nearby town. When they return with the accused, it has been made clear that the women will be expected to forgive him, according to “God’s way.”

 

Hence, the dilemma.

The Electrical Life of Louis Wain: Heartbreaking study of a tormented artist

The Electrical Life of Louis Wain (2021) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and brief profanity

Available via: Movie theaters and (beginning November 5) Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang

One rarely encounters such a Dickensian life, outside of a Charles Dickens novel.

 

Artist Louis Wain’s personal and professional life was just as tragic, as the majority of his vast output was playfully joyous. He remains, to this day, one of the most beloved commercial illustrators in English history; during the Edwardian era, it was the rare home that lacked one of his posters, or many of his children’s books.

 

Louis (Benedict Cumberbatch) and Emily (Claire Foy) are
surprised to find a scruffy, rain-soaked kitten in their
garden. They'll soon be even more surprised by the
degree to which this little feline affects the arc of
Louis' artistic career.

He also deserves credit for helping elevate the humble pussycat into a companion worthy of being a pet, rather than a pesky creature best relegated to the streets.

Author H.G. Wells famously noted — during a radio broadcast reproduced in this biographical drama — that “He has made the cat his own. He invented a cat style, a cat society, a whole cat world. English cats that do not look and live like Louis Wain cats are ashamed of themselves.”

 

Wain also was quite popular on this side of the pond, at the beginning of the 20th century, and then much later, in the 1970s, when his more outré cat paintings were ubiquitous among the, ah, college-age psychedelic set.

 

Director Will Sharpe’s poignant, deeply sensitive film is highlighted by sublime performances from Benedict Cumberbatch and Claire Foy. The script, by Sharpe and Simon Stephenson, is remarkably faithful to Wain’s life and career … the all-too-brief highs and numerous shattering lows of which, are almost too much to bear.

 

Indeed, this saga’s midpoint, highlighted by an intensely intimate scene between Cumberbatch and Foy, surely ranks as one of the saddest, most heartbreaking moments ever captured on film.

 

The story begins in the early 1880s, when — following their father’s unexpected death — 20-year-old Louis (Cumberbatch), as the family’s lone male, is forced to support his mother and five younger sisters. 

 

Fortunately, he has a remarkable — and rapid — facility for drawing and painting, which he’s able to do with both hands simultaneously (which Cumberbatch depicts persuasively). Louis specializes in animals and country scenes, and within a few years is selling work to journals such as the Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News and, a bit later, the Illustrated London News.

 

Unfortunately, Louis also suffers from a mental illness — possibly schizophrenia — which would remain undiagnosed throughout his lifetime. Symptoms include an irrational fear of drowning, which strikes unexpectedly. For the most part, he keeps such demons at bay via the manic intensity with which he fills every minute of every hour: sketching, tinkering with useless inventions, “composing” unmelodic musical works, and even sparring uselessly in an amateur boxing ring.

 

Along with a frenzied fascination with the wonders of electricity, which he comes to believe is a defining force in life and the universe.

 

So, yes: Cumberbatch once again is portraying an eccentric and deeply unstable genius, who’s all tics and twitches. But it must be acknowledged that his Louis Wain is completely distinct from his Sherlock Holmes, or his Alan Turing, or his Hamlet.

First Man: A troubled landing

First Man (2018) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated PG-13, and too harshly, for dramatic intensity and fleeting profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.12.18

Director Damien Chazelle and screenwriter Josh Singer jump into their film with an edge-of-the-seat sequence: the highest of solo pilot Neil Armstrong’s numerous test flights in the X-15 rocket airplane.

While Janet Armstrong (Claire Foy) putters in the kitchen, her husband Neil (Ryan Gosling)
and their elder son Rick (Gavin Warren) work on a jigsaw puzzle during a rare moment
of family bonding, unaware that a phone call is about to bring disturbing news.

It’s a savagely cut cacophony of images: the shuddering and jouncing aircraft; the roar of the rocket engines that blast Armstrong (Ryan Gosling) up to 207,500 feet; similarly jittery close-ups on his determined expression.

And then utter silence, as the engines switch off (intentionally) ,and Armstrong gets a panoramic view of the blue globe below, against the dark-night contrast at the edge of space.

Totally, amazingly breathtaking.

But that’s just the preamble. Armstrong’s return to Earth goes awry when the X-15 begins to “bounce” off the upper atmosphere, sending him even higher into the mesosphere above. Utter chaos, as he tries to compensate while mentally plotting a new landing spot, having zoomed past the planned touchdown at Edwards Air Force Base.

Like, wow.

First Man is laden with sequences even superior to this one, given a degree of verisimilitude — by visual effects supervisor Paul Lambert — wholly on par with the we-are-there reality viewers experienced while watching 2013’s Gravity. It becomes clear that Armstrong had more lives than a cat, and also possessed seat-of-the-pants math and physics calculating skills that made him just this side of a walking computer. (A good thing, too, given the limitations of 1960s mainframes.)

If only this film’s quieter moments were handled as well.

Singer’s script is adapted from James R. Hansen’s 2005 best-seller, First Man: The Life of Neil A. Armstrong, the pilot/astronaut’s only official biography. The film’s intimate “family” element takes place in between stunning piloting events that could be considered myth, were the details not so well known: the aforementioned 1962 X-15 flight, the 1966 Gemini 8 crisis, the 1968 mishap with one of the Earthbound Lunar Lander Research Vehicles, and — the reason for this film’s existence — the 1969 Apollo 11 mission.

Considerable time is spent with Armstrong’s home life, particularly early on, as he and his wife Janet (Claire Foy) agonize over the final months of their 2-year-old daughter, Karen, who died while being treated for a malignant tumor at the base of her brain stem. This is a lot to take in, so quickly, and explanations are minimal. 

The presentation of this chapter establishes the style Chazelle and cinematographer Linus Sandgren use throughout the film: lots of tight close-ups and jiggle-cam tracking shots, like one would expect from home movies. This suggests documentary-style authenticity — which Chazelle likely intended — but it also assumes considerable pre-existing knowledge of the part of the viewer, and repeatedly leaves questions unanswered.

I got a sense, heightened as the film continued, that this 141-minute drama has been distilled from a longer director’s edit. Details are left unexplained; scenes cut abruptly to unrelated events.

Breathe: An extraordinary story, told with grace

Breathe (2017) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and disturbing images
By Derrick Bang

This is — but at the same time, isn’t — what you’re expecting.

The tagline — “With her love, he lived” — implies a poignant drama likely to bring tears, and that’s entirely accurate. But this also is the factual biographical depiction of Robin Cavendish, who was anything but ordinary ... and he sure as hell wasn’t a victim.

An outdoor excursion proves just the ticket for Robin Cavendish (Andrew Garfield,
reclining), much to the delight of his friends and family: from left, Teddy (Hugh
Bonneville, partially obscured), Diana (Claire Foy), young Jonathan (Harry Marcus)
and David (Tom Hollander)

No matter how old I get — no matter how much time is spent in movie theaters — I marvel at directors and writers who keep finding amazing people who’ve thus far escaped the mainstream attention they deserve. In this case, of course, that’s my American ignorance speaking; I’m sure Cavendish remains a household name to this day, in his native England, just as he must’ve been during his incredible life.

Andy Serkis — a longtime stage actor who became best known for “performing” CGI characters such as Gollum (Lord of the Rings), King Kong and Caesar (Planet of the Apes) — makes an impressive directorial debut with Breathe, the thoroughly engaging saga of Cavendish’s life. Although ample credit also belongs to his stunning ensemble cast, there’s no question that Serkis orchestrates the film with heartfelt respect for his subject.

Scripter William Nicholson — Oscar-nominated for 1993’s Shadowlands, and for his collaborative work on 2000’s Gladiator — handles this challenge with intelligence, sensitivity and far more spontaneous humor than one would think possible. Although Cavendish endured what most would consider a tragedy, that descriptor does not characterize this film; it’s astonishing, how often Nicholson evokes gentle laughter.

That must have been one of the key goals, because — more than anything — Cavendish demanded to be accepted and treated like everybody else ... which is to say, like “normal” people.

On top of which, Serkis and Nicholson had the best possible guidance: One of this film’s producers is Jonathan Cavendish, Robin’s son, who with Serkis runs the production company Imaginarium Studios. Bringing his father’s story to the big screen obviously was a labor of love for Jonathan, and — this, too, is a small miracle — his devotion to the material didn’t interfere with what has emerged as a remarkably tender and thoroughly uplifting film.

The story opens in the late 1950s. As introduced during a spirited cricket match, Robin (Andrew Garfield) is every inch the dashing, ex-British Army officer. In a few deftly constructed scenes, Serkis and Nicholson establish the love-at-first-sight speed with which Robin falls for the aristocratic Diana Blacker (Claire Foy, immediately recognized as young Queen Elizabeth II, in TV’s The Crown). She’s equally smitten, and they marry.