‘TÁR’ Earns Every Last Second of its 168-Minute Runtime
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There are roughly 47,000—oh, wait, a new Netflix Original just dropped; make that 47,001—TV shows and movies coming out each week. At Obsessed, we consider it our imperative social duty to help you see the best and skip the rest.
We’ve already got a variety of in-depth, exclusive coverage on all of your streaming favorites and new releases, but sometimes what you’re looking for is a simple Do or Don’t. That’s why we created See/Skip, to tell you exactly what our writers think you should See and what you can Skip from the past week’s crowded entertainment landscape.
See: TÁR
TÁR is one of the year’s best films: a searing, slow-burn that expertly dissects our modern times without ever feeling preachy. It’s a tricky feat, but Cate Blanchett’s fully realized maestro combined with Todd Field’s astounding direction will blow you away by the film’s final minutes. It’s also the best possible autumnal wardrobe inspo, but that’s beside the point.
Here’s Nick Schager’s take:
“TÁR turns out to be a vast improvement over writer/director Todd Field’s first two features, In the Bedroom and Little Children. Like the latter of those films, Field’s latest is a work of formal meticulousness. Its sharp-cutting and composed, fluid cinematography echoes the demeanor of its protagonist, a celebrated giant who doesn’t suffer fools. Thankfully, the prior didacticism of Field’s fastidious aesthetic is nowhere to be found here. Instead, he remains highly, and coolly, attuned to Tár from the start, during which a shot of the conductor waiting in the wings—and a montage of her having a suit custom-made—is accompanied by the sound of the aforementioned interviewer reciting her lengthy list of career accomplishments.
[Any] shortcomings—as well as Field’s half-hearted stabs at bewildering psychological dread and social media-facilitated torment—are largely offset by Blanchett’s transfixing embodiment of arrogance and entitlement run amok. In a caustic drama about a woman who thinks herself a deity among mortals, and suffers majestically for that pride, she once again reconfirms her own status as a screen actress with few equals.”
Skip: Hellraiser
Hellraiser is an overly sanitized reboot of a perverse ‘80s classic—one that you can’t even see. Can someone turn up the damn lights?! I want to watch torture, not be tortured. And even when you can see what’s happening before you, one gets the sense that it’s pulling its punches and refraining from being as deliciously wicked as a Hellraiser film could and should be.
Here’s Coleman Spilde’s take:
“With the horror genre more mainstream than ever—and endless material to pluck from the culture-at-large to make the film’s themes even more discomforting—this new Hellraiser could’ve been a chance to draft a new legion of devotees to the Cenobites. But aside from some fantastic demon sequences and admirable practical effects, Hellraiser squanders its iniquitous potential in favor of tired horror tropes and a painfully overt allegory that weighs it down to the depths of rebooted horror hell.
The new Hellraiser soars every time it lets itself briefly rest in the muck of entropy, only to be pulled back down to earth by its meagerly written characters, who don’t have nearly enough bite to be reviving a franchise. What’s more, the film falls short in its representation of modern immorality. The occult panic of the 1980s still feels palpable watching the original film, and this new Hellraiser misses a grand opportunity to recapture that queasiness in its wealthy, insatiable, Jeffrey Epstein-inspired vile magnate who holds the key to the puzzle box’s mysteries.”
See: The Mole
The Mole reboots the most underrated reality show of the 2000s for more gripping, suspicious fun. This one boasts pretty people and deception, but unfortunately no Kathy Griffin. One show can’t have everything! But this certainly comes close.
Here’s Laura Bradley’s take:
The first five episodes of the new Mole will debut on Netflix Friday, with the remaining five set to premiere in batches during the two weeks that follow. As always, the goal of the game is simple: Players must work together to add money to a shared prize pot while they each individually try to determine who among them is the Mole, a producer plant whose sole aim is to sabotage their efforts. Figuring that latter part out, is much easier said than done.
What tends to vary most across players, however, is how far each of them will go in the name of public villainy in order to secure their own results. Throughout the game, producers dangle “Exemption” cards that will protect players from elimination, but they always come with a steep price. In one choice moment, one player pleads with another not to screw the group over for a second time by taking another exemption. “You’ve already had one,” he says, his eyes wide with stress as though one wrong syllable could set off a bomb. It’s in moments like this, dear reader, that I remembered how reality TV can make a person feel alive again.
See: Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile
Lyle, Lyle Crocodile is a harrowing exploration of deep-set trauma, family, and accountability. Just kidding! It’s an animated singing crocodile. And he rules!
Here’s Fletcher Peters’ take:
“The first time you hear Shawn Mendes’ angelic voice coming out of a tiny, sweet baby crocodile, your life will change. For better or for worse, I can’t tell you, but it’s certainly going to be altered forever. Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile is one of Mendes’ first big voice acting roles (though one might hesitate to call anything he does in the movie “acting;” more on that later…), and the film is a true triumph. Though the musical, with catchy tunes by the folks who did The Greatest Showman and La La Land, is marketed for children, fans of bombastic movies like Cats and The Room might also enjoy its lighthearted goofiness. Will Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile become a cult movie? Only time will tell, but I’d certainly like to attend a rowdy screening at the nearest Alamo Drafthouse.
Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile isn’t as charming as The Greatest Showman, nor is it as gonzo as Cats, but with elements from both stories, it’s got enough pleasantness to make it a hit. Shawn Mendes might not be remembered for being a crocodile, but Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile will be remembered for turning the pop legend into one.”
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