Twins, identify -- and terrible loss

 

   Can a sexual fling change lives, particularly if one partner overwhelms the other, implying a continued  intimacy that never materializes? You'll find an engaging answer to the question in Twinless, a smartly contrived and affecting comedy framed with some darker edges.

  First, the major contrivance: The story centers on Roman (Dylan O’Brien) and Dennis (James Sweeney), troubled men who meet at a support group for siblings mired in a particular form of grief; they’ve each lost a twin brother or sister. 

  As played by Sweeney, who also wrote and directed, Dennis seems to have well-honed coping mechanisms. Roman, on the other hand, is the straight brother of a dead gay sibling, the outgoing and socially adept Rocky.

   For reasons that quickly become apparent, Dennis becomes obsessed with Roman, a typical "bro" type, both in manner and attitude. But Roman's no bigot, although he's prone to violent outbursts, perhaps the only way he can express his anger.

  Based on shared experiences with grief, Roman and Dennis become friends. I can't say more about plot without revealing twists that should be discovered in a theater. I'll note, though, that the movie offers cleverly placed surprises and encourages reflection on the tangled relationship between twinship and identity.

    O’Brien gives a notable performance as Roman, and also plays Rocky in flashbacks that, in this case, elucidate both plot and character.

    An able supporting cast helps sharpen the film’s themes, often rescuing their characters from cliche. 

    Marcie (Aisling Franciosi), one of Dennis’ co-workers,  develops a romantic relationship with Roman. Franciosi grounds Marcie's sunbeam smile with timely applications of common sense.

     Lauren Graham's portrayal of Roman’s embittered, grief- stricken mother,  provides a welcome counterpoint to the movie’s youthful flavor. Portland settings — with additional scenes in Seattle — add up-to-date varnish.

     Though clearly motivated, I wondered whether Roman's violent outburst had been adequately explored, but “wondering’’ isn’t the same as giving up on the entire movie. For the most part, Twinless blends grief, identity issues, and loneliness into an engaging portrait of characters grappling with all of the above.

'Speak No Evil' thrives on anxiety

 The first thing to know about the horror film Speak No Evil is that it’s a remake of a nasty 2022 Danish thriller directed by Christian Tafdrup. The second thing: Writer/director James Watkins (The Woman in Black, Eden Lake) softens the film’s edges while sustaining the heightened level of discomfort such pictures need.

 James McAvoy provides the film’s major performance as the brash, intimidating Paddy, owner of a remote British farm where he and his wife (Aisling Franciosi) are raising their young son (Dan Hough), a kid, whom we’re told, can’t speak because of a congenital defect that affected his tongue.

  The movie opens with a scenic Italian vacation during which Paddy and his wife befriend an American couple (Scoot McNairy and Mackenzie Davis) who's  traveling with their daughter Agnes (Alix West Lefler). 

  A troubled marriage between McNairy's Ben and Davis' Louise and the anxieties of a 12-year-old daughter who’s about to leave childhood, give the story a bit of psychological texture.

  You’d have to never have seen a movie to miss the signs that Paddy and his wife are hiding menace behind facades of amiability.

   Watkins delivers numerous forebodings. That's part of the point. We know what's happening, but, for reasons that eventually become clear, Ben and Louise ignore or minimize obvious warnings.

   Watkins adds a woman-power spin, showcasing Louise’s increasing assertiveness in the face of Ben’s chronic ineffectuality. But it's McAvoy who revs the movie's engine: He takes a big bite out of his role, loading up on gleefully expressed aggression.

    Both young actors are good, and McNairy and Davis, who worked together on TV's Halt and Catch Fire, hit the right notes.

    At various points, the screenplay demands healthy suspensions of disbelief, and the ending probably will disappoint fans of the original, which offered a different kind of shock. Otherwise, Speak No Evil builds enough suspense and anxiety to support McAvoy’s performance as the screen’s latest charismatic lunatic.

This 'Nightingale' sings a brutal song

A 19th century story that packs a terrible wallop.

Every moment of brutality in The Nightingale, a follow-up feature from Babadook director Jennifer Kent, lands a hard blow. Set in 19th century Tasmania, Kent's story proves gripping from its horrific beginning to its violent end.

Kent visits a time when Tasmania served as a dumping ground for convicts from England and Ireland. The British soldiers who policed Tasmania viewed these convicts as subhumans who could be used, exploited and abused.

The story centers on Clare (Aisling Franciosi), a former Irish convict with a beautiful singing voice and a job at a small tavern.

Clare lives with her husband Aidan (Michael Sheasby) and their new baby daughter in what should be the hopeful beginning of her post-prison life. But Clare isn't truly free. She's harassed by Lieutenant Hawkins (Sam Claflin), an officer who believes that Clare owes him any sexual favor he might demand. He's the one who got her out of jail. He regards her marriage as a joke. His entire personality reflects a sense of British privilege and colonial cruelty.

The vicious act that ignites the rest of the movie occurs when Hawkins rapes Clare. Difficult to believe, but things get worse from there. I won't say exactly how an already horrible situation further deteriorates but Kent presents each of the movie's brutal turns in high-impact scenes that may cause some to avert their eyes.

Kent shifts the story into revenge territory when Clare hires an Aboriginal guide (Baykali Ganambarr) to help her track down Hawkins and his crew. After wrecking Clare's life, Hawkins heads north to claim a promotion that the local captain has denied him because of behavior unbecoming of an officer. True to form, Hawkins will not be denied.

A revenge saga, yes, but one that's not engineered to dish out the kind of programmed satisfaction we've come to expect in male-dominated revenge sagas. The violence in Kent's movie isn't intended to elicit cheers; it's appalling.

Racial dynamics also emerge. Clare initially lords it over Ganambarr's Billy. She calls him "boy," disrespects him and tries to bully him into submission. But she also knows, she can't navigate her way through the outback without him.

For his part, Billy understands that the whites treat his fellow tribesman with astonishing cruelty and have no appreciation of Aboriginal culture. They've stolen his home. To Billy, the whites are uncivilized barbarians, and -- at least initially -- Clare is one of them.

It takes time for Billy and Clare to form a bond based on their common acknowledgment that Hawkins (an emblem of British colonial rule) poses a twisted threat to each of them.

Kent adds tough encounters that lead the way to the movie's conclusion, a bit too drawn out, but still powerful enough to leave you wrung out.

The Nightingale reflects Kent's view of the deep terror caused by colonial injustice. Not an easy subject and not an easy movie. The Nightingale can be agonizing to watch. It should be.