November in Review: ‘Conclave,’ 'Dahomey' & ‘The Girl With the Needle’
+ thoughts on writer's block, new announcements
Reviewing films is a curious thing. I’ve done it for a few years now—first as a hobby, then for work, and now, for both. A common misconception among those who don’t write media criticism is that it’s a mechanical exercise, but the truth is, it’s a creative process like any other and can easily be derailed by creative frustration. Not all films immediately inspire compelling pieces—some don’t even prompt us to think about them for very long. And sometimes, when a film truly overwhelms you, it can be daunting to find the right words to describe it. All of this—paired with an initial resistance to let the zeitgeist dictate what I cover in this newsletter—is why you’ve never seen me review movies on Substack, even though I’ve reviewed them on other platforms.
Ever since my last post however, I’ve found myself brainstorming ideas that would get me to publish more frequently. The goal is to maintain consistency without sacrificing the long-form content I envisioned when I started this newsletter three years ago. With that being said, welcome to my first article for In Review, a monthly series where I cover new releases that have been on my mind. These won’t necessarily be the buzziest films out at the moment—though, of course, any blockbuster that compels me to write at-length will be included. I’ll also cover smaller films you might not have heard of, as well those mid-budget movies that fall somewhere in between. Ideally, this will be published at the end of each month (exact schedule TBD), but the main goal is to write with relative frequency. Whether each film gets 50 or 500 words from me is anyone’s guess. And don't worry—any longer essays, listicles, and wacky collaborative pieces unrelated to this series will still make their way to your inbox whenever inspiration strikes.
Without further ado, here are the films that cured my writing block in November.
Conclave (dir. Edward Berger)
Based on Robert Harris’ airport novel of the same name, Edward Berger’s elegant and absorbing Conclave is Dad Cinema™ at its finest. Its premise is rather straightforward: a cardinal experiencing a crisis of faith is tasked with managing the ancient ritual of electing a new pope. Rather quickly, however, Conclave reveals itself to be not so much a film about the Vatican as it is a parable about the failure of traditionalism to uphold the purported functions of the archaic institutions which preside over us, resulting in corruption.
It's no coincidence that much of the language used in relation to the titles, policies, and procedures of the conclave closely mirrors that of the U.S. electoral system—I’d even argue that the film almost makes this too obvious at times. Most of the criticisms I’m seeing from people who expected a staggering exposé of the Catholic church’s many scandals are missing the forest for the trees: the film is meant to be broad. As a piece that aims to explore institutional theory in an accessible manner, it makes sense for Conclave to focus on the oldest institution in the world to illustrate its point about how resisting change by rigidly sticking to outdated traditions leads to decline. The Catholic church merely fills the role of the ideological apparatus in Berger’s film, which could just as easily have been about this year’s presidential elections, the American Legion Boys State program, or Tracy Flick’s run for class president.
While it would have been easy for Conclave to merely point to the flaws in our social structure and call it a day, Peter Straughan’s script seems much more hopeful about the future. I’ll admit that the extremely unlikely outcome of the election it depicts gave me pause, and I wouldn’t blame anyone for calling the film didactic. Still, it’s hard not to be charmed by the whole affair—I saw it twice in theaters, after all. A special shout-out to Monsignor O'Malley (played by Brían F. O’Byrne), who reminded me of this pangolin whenever he was onscreen. ★★★★½
Dahomey (dir. Mati Diop)
I hate to say this about a film with such prescient subject matter, but I felt unchallenged by Dahomey, the newest feature-length documentary from Mati Diop, which follows the return of 26 royal treasures to modern-day Benin almost two centuries after their pilferage by French colonizers. A notable aspect of the film is its fictionalized voice-over by Gezo, the statue of a deceased West African king who expresses disappointment at being anonymized through the assignage of an arbitrary number by curators who prepare these artifacts for shipping. Giving the statue itself a voice is clever, but the dialogue is often clichéd: “I’m torn between the fear of not being recognized by anyone, and not recognizing anything,” Gezo laments during his journey back to Africa. Through such truisms, the director offers a glimpse—however simplistic—of the crisis of identity with which the people of Benin have been burdened thanks to this lost legacy.
The contrasting perspectives among Benin’s youth following the repatriation of these artifacts back to their homeland is by far the most interesting part of Dahomey, with Diop offering a brief taste of the discourses that this event has generated in the West African country, where France’s colonial footprint remains more than six decades after it was granted independence. In doing this, she problematizes our notion of “reparations”; how do you even begin to “repair” the centuries-worth of exploitation experienced by the people of Benin, or any other colonized land for that matter? Among a populace that has persisted for centuries despite the looting of its culture and legacy, answers may vary: some celebrate the return of these statues to their native country, while others consider the effort performative on behalf of the Europeans (it bears repeating that 6,974 more of these treasures remain in French custody), and others still voice their indifference towards the repatriation campaign, having spent the majority of their lives unaware of this history that had been stolen from them.
At just over an hour though, Dahomey doesn’t explore any of this beyond simply presenting the base arguments constituting each person’s view on the subject, so chances are if you’ve been privy to similar conversations in the past then you’ll find very little here that you haven’t already heard before. I couldn’t help but be reminded of another, smaller (but nevertheless significant), controversy that hit close to home for me recently: that of UCLA’s discovery and restoration of Puerto Rico’s oldest feature-length sound film, Romance Tropical (1934), in 2017. Despite the institution’s recovery of this monument, a quick look at the Letterboxd reviews for Romance Tropical reveals similar resentment from Puerto Ricans, who lament the U.S. commonwealth’s limited access to its own culture and history at the hands of sovereign overlords.1
Of course, it's only natural for these discourses to echo each other, as both were born from similar forces of oppression, but I'm not sure it's productive to paint with broad strokes here and I would've liked for Dahomey to go beyond the generic and obvious. To be fair, I imagine that Diop was more interested in capturing this moment in time than she was in educating non-Africans about colonization. In the end, her obligation isn’t to us, but to the subjects of her documentary. ★★★☆☆
The Girl With the Needle (dir. Magnus von Horn)
Much has already been written about The Girl With the Needle and its provocations: “extraordinary and upsetting” (Variety), “macabre and hypnotic” (The Guardian) and “poetic and dark” (Deadline) are only some of the disparate adjectives published by the major trades following its Cannes premiere back in May.2 The handsomely assembled third feature by polish director Magnus von Horn takes place in post-World War II Copenhagen and tells the story of Karoline, a pregnant factory worker who, unable to care for her child, accepts a role as a wet nurse at an underground adoption agency headed by a mysterious older woman named Dagmar. Predictably, Karoline comes to regret this decision when it turns out that Dagmar is not who she seems.
I’ll keep this brief for the sake of avoiding spoilers, but two separate moments in this movie elicited literal shrieks from audience members in my theater, and the “based on a true story” end-card left people murmuring—so that should tell you how harrowing the film is. Still, I found it oddly comforting. The world is a dark place, but to choose compassion in the face of despair—to seek connection and give what warmth you can find in yourself to others, even when things are bleak—is infinitely more rewarding than losing hope, numbing yourself to the point of becoming cruel. It shouldn’t be a radical thing to say, but we owe it to each other to care. The Girl With the Needle is about choosing that kindness. ★★★★☆
This particular write-up by Maillim Santiago puts a lot of that into perspective, while also touching upon the film’s flawed legacy. For over eighty years, Romance Tropical was considered lost media, until its discovery in the depths of UCLA’s archives in 2017. It was subsequently shown at the Billy Wilder Theater in LA that same year, and—as far as I can tell—only twice in Puerto Rico since then: once at the Cinema Bar in Old San Juan in 2020, and once at the Francisco Arriví Theater in Santurce this past October (where I was lucky enough to attend the screening). However, it has been made available online.
Many of these reviews give the film’s main conceit away in the headline, so navigate the links at your own risk.
Now a dad needs to see Conclave