Keke Palmer in Nope – Courtesy: Universal Pictures
Some very strange phenomena arise around the quiet, family-run Haywood horse ranch in Nope (★★★★☆), the latest genre-bending feature from Oscar-winning Get Out and Us auteur Jordan Peele.
First, a sudden, lethal downpour rains down on the farm from a peculiar cloud lingering directly above. Voices, screaming in agony, fill the air over the small town of Agua Dulce, California. From there, the film methodically, tantalizingly teases out details of an unexplained presence intent on claiming this remote territory as its own.
The movie opens with a tease, in fact, a harrowing flashback to another sudden, lethal outburst, this time on the set of a ’90s sitcom called Gordy’s Home. We hear, but can see only brief glimpses of the grisly scene as the titular star of the show, a chimpanzee playing “Gordy,” goes on a vicious, bloody rampage that leaves no one standing in that TV studio.
The actual violence doesn’t appear onscreen, just the withering sight of the blood-soaked ape pausing to catch its breath, before pouncing again on a struggling victim that he continues to pound relentlessly. Not only is the visual restraint effective, but the mere sound of flesh and bone being pummeled and torn apart evokes more terror in the imagination than any single onscreen image might accomplish.
Throughout, the film relies on excellent sound design, as much as any visual spectacle, to illustrate the bizarre occurrences at the Haywood ranch. Still, cinematographer Hoyte Van Hoytema (Dunkirk, Interstellar), shooting in IMAX, captures some absolutely arresting tableaux, like one indelible image of blood and carnage raining down on the farmhouse.
Usually, however, it’s the thought of objects and actions unseen that carries the most weight here. Peele is masterful at wielding the power of suggestion, and the art of misdirection, to fuel fear and anticipation. Though, ultimately, anticipation of the mysterious thing hovering over Nope turns out to be more frightening than the thing itself.
But the movie has a field day toying with our anticipation, drawing its characters and the audience into the deepening mystery, weaving disparate genre threads together to depict an epic struggle between the Haywoods and their hostile visitor.
Get Out leading man Daniel Kaluuya, as horse trainer OJ Haywood, who runs Haywood Hollywood Horses with his taciturn dad Otis (Keith David), supplies the steady, determined aura of a decent, hard-working man looking out for his family and their historic horse wrangling business.
Daniel Kaluuya in Nope – Courtesy Universal Pictures
Yang to his yin, Keke Palmer plays OJ’s far less responsible little sis, Emerald, the fast-talking, hustling Haywood whose over-the-top reactions to the bizarre goings-on at the ranch are played for solid comedy. The larger personality of the two siblings — and, incidentally, queer — Emerald dominates their interactions the way that Palmer often dominates the screen, through sheer charm and chutzpah.
She’s well-matched in the charm department by Brandon Perea (The OA) in a star-making turn as Angel, a talky tech specialist from the local electronics store where OJ and Emerald buy surveillance equipment to capture visual evidence of the unexplainable.
Capturing the perfect shot on camera becomes a running theme in the movie, which also depicts OJ and Emerald working on the set of a commercial, as well as the aftermath of the terrifying massacre on the set of Gordy’s Home.
In the film’s most intriguing performance, Steven Yeun portrays Ricky “Jupe” Park, a former child actor who survived the Gordy’s Home rampage, and now runs a Wild West theme park in Agua Dulce where danger also lurks. Ricky knows better than anyone how shockingly quickly a pleasant afternoon of fun and make-believe can turn into a ghastly spectacle.
So does Peele. Nope actually references a biblical verse heralding what OJ calls a “bad miracle”: I will cast abominable filth upon you/Make you vile/And make you a spectacle.
Based on the film’s frequent nods to filmmaking, Peele seems keenly aware of audience expectations. So the verse suffices as a horror maker’s mission statement, if not an explanation for the relatively straightforward plot, which seems designed to arouse fear and existential curiosity in equal measure.
Nope is Rated R and is playing in theaters nationwide, including Landmark Theatres. Visit www.landmarktheatres.com.
Is willowy Londoner Bella truly going mad, or is her enigmatic husband Jack carrying out a devious plot to convince her she's losing her mind? And if so, to what end? In modern terms, Bella is desperately pondering whether Jack is trying to gaslight her into thinking she's going insane.
The terminology and the plot of Johnna Wright and Patty Jamieson's Deceived, now at Everyman Theatre, derive from Patrick Hamilton's Victorian thriller Gas Light, which premiered in 1938, before being adapted into the Oscar-winning 1944 film Gaslight, starring Ingrid Bergman as distressed newlywed Paula.
Putting aside the curious question of why the Shakespeare Theatre Company has taken to staging musical theater -- this season it's Guys and Dolls -- the happy news is that director Francesca Zambello doesn't need to keep her day job (although let's hope she does).
She may be the artistic director of the Washington National Opera, but she's clearly got the eye, ear, and vision for a whole different kind of crowd. This is no-holds-barred Golden Age rom-com song-and-dance magic brought fully to life with some serious spectacle. From scenic designer Walt Spangler's mind-blowing industrial shop space, with all its peeling paint and careworn shop décor, to a live orchestra conducted with complete and utter flair by James Lowe, it's something to behold.
About halfway through Jay Kelly, Noah Baumbach directs a love scene. I don't mean that there is a sex scene (those rarely appear in Baumbach's cinematic universe, except the mortifyingly awkward kind). I mean that Baumbach himself appears onscreen, in a wink-nod cameo, as a fictitious filmmaker, choreographing an intimate scene between our hero, Jay Kelly (played in flashback by Charlie Rowe), and an actress playing his wife (Eve Hewson), who becomes his real-life paramour, though not real real-life, but -- ah, who's to say what's real anyway?
Baumbach has never been the sort of director to place himself onscreen, but the indulgence fits with a certain metatextual thread in Jay Kelly, a wry Hollywood satire and wistful character study infused with the director's signature familial discord. Here is a film about making sense of your life when, as Jay puts it, "all my memories are movies"; a film about sifting through the thin thread that separates public persona and private identity. How much of your life is real when millions of people know and adore you for playing someone else? And what about the real family you neglected to pursue those celluloid dreams -- is it too late to make amends?
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