The heroine of director-choreographer Benjamin Millepied’s Carmen (★★★☆☆) isn’t the wanton temptress of Bizet’s classic opera. Portrayed by Scream queen Melissa Barrera, this raven-haired Carmen might put a bullet in a man if she has to, but that’s because she’s a survivor, not a betrayer.
In fact, her journey in this dance- and music-driven drama begins with a warning from her late mother, voiced from the beyond, that men are not to be trusted.
All men, or just one man, madre says, it’s all the same: they yearn for the tears, milk, and blood of womanhood. Mother makes a rock-solid point, borne out by the succession of hungry, violent men hounding Carmen’s path from Mexico to Los Angeles.
Traveling on foot with a group of migrants trekking north to the U.S. border through the Chihuahuan Desert, Carmen fatefully runs into one violent man, though, whose heart, contrary to her mother’s warning, appears to pump blood, not sand.
Ex-Marine Aidan, embodied by Aftersun Oscar nominee Paul Mescal as still waters running deeper than we can know, is introduced working out his boxing moves on a heavy bag hung from a carport. He’s hungry, but held back by post-combat trauma he can’t express.
Hoping to jog his spirit, and his bank account, his sister Julieanne (Nicole da Silva) hooks Aidan up with the local civilian Border Patrol, whose trigger-happy leader incites the deadly gunfight that throws Aidan and Carmen together, on the run from her enemies, his enemies, and the law.
The first feature film from Millepied — former dance director of the Paris Opera Ballet, and choreographer of Black Swan — adapts Prosper Mérimée’s novella Carmen and its inspiration, The Gypsies, a narrative poem by Alexander Pushkin, into a rapturous visual ballet, blending dialogue, music by the brilliant Nicholas Britell (Moonlight), a few original songs, and dance.
Mescal, flattening his natural brogue into a flat, indiscernible American accent, sings and strums a sweetly sad ballad, laying Aidan’s open heart on the line.
Barrera, who, before she was dodging Ghostface, was high-kicking through the streets of Uptown Manhattan in In the Heights, serenades a fearful young migrant with a haunting melody, and later, performs a gorgeously-sung lament of impossible love.
The singing gives way to a luscious tango partnering Carmen with a handsome dancer from the enigmatic dive run by her godmother Masilda, played by the one and only Rossy de Palma, who delivers a typically impassioned, soulful turn.
The presence of Pedro Almodóvar’s illustrious muse signals, along with touches of magical realism, and the expressive costumes and choreography, the film’s bent towards artsy eccentricity, despite the ripped-from-the-headlines premise of a fatal standoff between migrants and a border patrol.
Millepied, with screenwriters Alexander Dinelaris and Loïc Barrère, has concocted a fable, not a screed or exposé, but a fairy-tale romance set in the iconic American West. Cinematographer Jörg Widmer shoots ribbons of highway laced through fields of golden grasses under bright blue skies with a foreigner’s fascination for the earthy palette and harsh terrain.
Carmen and Aidan hit the road in an ’88 Chevy pickup chased by muscle cars. In a different era, they’d be puffing clouds of Marlboros, too.
The pair generates plenty of heat in a sexy moonlit dance duet, and a brief love scene that unfolds like a tempestuous pas de deux. Barrera and Mescal’s obvious physical chemistry, however, can’t disguise that the film expends little effort, story-wise, shoring up their attraction beyond necessity in a hectic moment, and plain lust. They’re both two decent-seeming people, yet, ultimately, those still waters don’t run that deep.
But the view is gorgeous. Throughout, Widmer keeps the camera in smooth motion in sync with the action, be it acts of violence, or of rhythm and romance.
Millepied keeps the styles of music and choreography varied, taking us from Romani-inspired flamenco to a hip-hop-inflected boxing match dance number that plays like Stomp meets Fight Club. Dense with the atmosphere of desire, danger, and minor-key melancholy, it’s the world the film creates, more than the romance inside it, that seduces and wins the heart.
As if theater performers didn't already expose several dimensions of themselves onstage, even while in the guise of fictional roles, Mosaic's world-premiere The Art of Care demands an extra degree of emotional and individual nakedness rarely required of actors.
No one in the cast has to strip down, per se, but each member of the seven-person ensemble bares intimate glimpses at some of their own most vulnerable, even painful moments. Conceived and directed by Derek Goldman, The Art of Care was developed with its cast, who weave oral storytelling, dramatic scenes, songs, and movement into a warm tapestry of testimony, both to the caregivers in their lives, and to the care they've given.
As an original, mostly Spanish-language musical, Jacques Audiard's Emilia Pérez hits some exhilarating highs. The score, a heady mix of marches, rock, electro, and hip-hop composed by Clément Ducol and French singer Camille, steps off to a strong start with "El Alegato" ("The Argument").
Zoe Saldaña, underrated for the heartfelt credibility she brought to three different billion-dollar fantasy film franchises, leads the song-and-dance as Rita Mora Castro, a principled but worn-down attorney in the public defender's office of Mexico City.
Throughout the film, Saldaña imbues Rita with the same gravitas that made her Gamora the emotional linchpin of The Guardians of the Galaxy, adding the charge of a trained dancer's physicality to Rita's presence even outside the musical numbers.
Luther: Never Too Much is set for a TV and streaming premiere in 2025, but Luther Vandross lovers and other aficionados of R&B are best served by seeing this music-filled documentary, directed by the prolific Dawn Porter (John Lewis: Good Trouble), while it's in theaters, on a big screen with big sound.
Among real Luther fans -- some of whom will invariably, and understandably, feel compelled to sing along to the film's prime performance clips -- one might experience the powerful currents of emotion transmitted through the late singer-songwriter's voice and music. "I can't think of anybody that is near to him," says Mariah Carey, praising his tone, uniqueness, and talent.
These are challenging times for news organizations. And yet it’s crucial we stay active and provide vital resources and information to both our local readers and the world. So won’t you please take a moment and consider supporting Metro Weekly with a membership? For as little as $5 a month, you can help ensure Metro Weekly magazine and MetroWeekly.com remain free, viable resources as we provide the best, most diverse, culturally-resonant LGBTQ coverage in both the D.C. region and around the world. Memberships come with exclusive perks and discounts, your own personal digital delivery of each week’s magazine (and an archive), access to our Member's Lounge when it launches this fall, and exclusive members-only items like Metro Weekly Membership Mugs and Tote Bags! Check out all our membership levels here and please join us today!
You must be logged in to post a comment.