Robert Horton is a Scarecrow board member and a longtime film critic. This series of "critic's notes" is chance to highlight worthy films playing locally and connect them to the riches of Scarecrow's collection.
Tuesday
This tropical bird (digitally created, changes sizes, speaks with an English accent) embodies Death in the traditional sense; it flutters over when someone is about to die, waves its wing, and that's it. I didn't much care for this bird when it showed up early in Daina Oniunas-Pusic's Tuesday, and I didn't like the overall conceit. But the movie did grow on me, even if the bird did not.
Two things helped: Oniunas-Pusic's willingness to steer the material into non-cutesy directions, and the central performance by Julia Louis-Dreyfus, here playing outside her usual comic mode. She plays Zora, a mother whose teenage daughter, unfortunately named Tuesday (Lola Petticrew), is terminally ill; our story begins when the bird (voiced by Arinzé Kene) arrives in Tuesday's bedroom one day. Tuesday tries to Max von Sydow the Death bird with a little delaying tactic, which actually works for a while—Death is weary, filthy, and apparently sick of the whole business. When Mom comes home, things go further, thanks to a gloriously weird, gag-inducing scene in which Zora tries to solve the problem by devouring the creature.
While this intimate scenario is playing out (the movie has a claustrophobic feel), we get glimpses of the rest of the world, where Death's holiday is resulting in some seriously grotesque side-effects. It's just clever enough to get by, even if it might've been nice if the sickly heroine weren't quite so wise and plucky. But Louis-Dreyfus elevates the material. It may be just the serious subject matter speaking, but there are certain shots in which the actress resembles Juliette Binoche, and in this case she's just as credible as that mighty performer of very grave material. To be a truly funny actor invariably requires a level of honesty, and Louis-Dreyfus brings an unvarnished plainness to this film's most emotional scenes—and does it without the need to let you know she's "acting." When there is something funny to do (because Tuesday wants very much to be wry while it plinks the heartstrings), it is done effortlessly. A scene in which Zora tries to pawn a collection of figurines—rats dressed as clergy—is no problem for this actress in command of her skills.
In Our Day
"What will you fill the interval with?" asks a venerated poet, speaking to a couple of worshipful acolytes visiting him in his modest apartment. The interval, he makes clear, is life. The very prolific Hong Sang-soo has been answering this question with his movies—not stating the answer in the films themselves, that is, but in the sheer act of making them, one after the other.
In Our Day is a slim and wistful entry in Hong's work, a modest example of his offhand style. But it has its moments. Two situations unfold in parallel scenes: In one, the poet (Ki Joo-bong) receives flattering attention from a documentary filmmaker and a young man paying homage. The obstacle is that the poet is trying to quit cigarettes and alcohol, although he is notorious for his love of those things. In the other setting, an actress (Kim Min-hee), currently staying with a friend (Song Sun-mi), is visited by a relative who wants advice on becoming an actress. There is a cat in this story, named Us—a possible connection to the film's title? A few specific elements appear in both, including the use of spicy paste in bowls of ramyun.
The film concludes with a final sequence that might be sentimental if it weren't for the mixed implications of its gesture. It's the only way to end the movie, though, and it's touching in the light of Hong Sang-soo's body of work. In Our Day might not stand on its own, but it gets by as a chapter of something larger.
June 14, 2024
