Columbus (Kogonada, 2017). The feature debut from filmmaker Kogonada, who has been justly lauded for video essays on other directors’ work, is an object of understated beauty. Empathetic and honest, Columbus is set in the Indiana city of the same name that is an unlikely touchtone for fans of modernist architecture. Jin (John Cho) comes to town because his architect-scholar father has been hospitalized. Aggravated about his familial requirement to dote upon an ill parent who wasn’t especially loving to him, Jin is somewhat aimless in the community, at least until he encounters Casey (Haley Lu Richardson), a young woman who is stuck in neutral shortly after high school, although she clearly has the intellect to prosper if she moved on to higher education. The two have gentle, talky encounters that recall the cerebral cerebral meanderings of Richard Linklater’s film series that began with Before Sunrise, just with a little less grad school posturing. The film is warm and endearing. It’s also the clear product of a film fan who’s spent a lot of time thinking about how some of the masters of the form framed their images. Even as Kogonada immediately establishes himself as filmmaker of great insight and care, the true standout of Columbus is Richardson. Operating with an emotional delicacy and fascinating naturalism, Richardson gives a great, deep performance, subtly displaying a myriad of layers to her character.
The Meyerowitz Stories (New and Selected) (Noah Baumbach, 2017). Noah Baumbach is in familiar territory with The Meyerowitz Stories (News and Selected), depicting a New York City family of thwarted artists and painted intellectuals, scuffling with their own insecurities and giving each other deep emotional bruises along the way. In proper reflection of the title, the film moves with the ache of a rueful, bleakly funny collection of interconnected short stories, a little John Salinger, a little John Cheever, and a little Woody Allen in his wordsmith mode. The actors all make a lush pastrami meal out of Baumach’s caustically funny dialogue, even Adam Sandler, who delivers what is arguably his first good performance on film (and, no, I’m not forgetting about Punch-Drunk Love). As the family’s patriarch, Dustin Hoffman has his best role in years and makes the most of it.
Miles Ahead (Don Cheadle, 2015). In one way or another, the notion of Don Cheadle playing Miles Davis on film had kicked around for about fifteen years before the skilled actor finally took matters into his own hands. Besides playing the jazz legend — one of the rare figures in the history of music who can legitimately be called a genius — Cheadle contributed to the screenplay and directed Miles Ahead, his feature debut in that role. Cheadle is predictably strong as Davis, but the film is misguided, layering in fictional escalated action that might allow for easy access to the flaring flaws of the man, but also play as deeply phony. And the film is burdened by leaning into the cliches within Davis’s personal history, such as the haunting presence of a one-time love (Emayatzy Corinealdi) and the penchant for self-destruction. There are moments of quiet insight — such as Davis rediscovering his artistic soul in a brief collaborative jam with a younger musician (Lakeith Stanfield) — but they are brief and too quickly disregarded in favor of dull narrative tricks.