In “Lakewood,” Naomi Watts plays Amy Carr, who began jogging on a high-altitude outcrop late in the afternoon, mourning her husband’s death in a car accident a year ago. The film is the story of a woman and her partner, her significant other, her second spontaneity which she cannot live without. The husband named Peter was friendly and bearded; We see him in a picture and hear him in a voicemail message, and he sounds like an ideal middle-class keeper and man. She’s upset without him.
But that’s not the partner I’m talking about. “Lakewood,” you see, tells the story of a woman and her trusted cell phone. Similarly, it is their love story.
For the past 25 years or so, there has been a genre of film – not quite a genre, but occasional blip – where a brand of digital technology that was novel at the time, structural devices and an exploration of how that technology is changing the world. Sandra Bullock tapped “The Net” in 1995. There was Jason Wrightman’s text-bubble soap opera “Men, Women and Children” (2014). Written by Chris Sperling and directed by Philip Noyes, “Lakewood” uses the smartphone in the same way: as a miraculous gizmo whose ability drives movie drama. Throughout the movie, Amy is talking on her iPhone, using her various features, plugging into the world of notes at your fingertips, which makes the movie “Wow, look at this!”
Amy never stops running, even when she hits her foot (watching a character limp-jug for a few minutes isn’t a pretty scene), and she spends the film running from one call to the next, like a financial broker at Adral. He whips through his contacts and uses GPS. He told Siri to call and watch a live TV news report. He spoke to 911, and he called the elevator. Even when a catastrophe occurs, and the lives of one of Amy’s family members are at risk, the movie keeps us most aware of the logistics of the phone.
Noise rings the tone of the fetish, FaceTime’s cotyledon sci-fi wonder, the way a call pulls back (as if the movie were some great statement about the disrupted quality of our lives). Towards the end of the movie, when Amy travels from Bonn to town, she holds the iPhone in a moment of life and death, and just as the juice runs out, with that battery-sketch-the-red-line, Amy may have lost a loved one, but I expected him to shout, “Dear God, help! Anyone! Is there a place where I can put my charger?”
The trick to all of this, or perhaps its low-camp hassle, is that the smartphone is a device that now seems as fancy as a television remote or dishwasher. Why does an entire movie revolve around a wide eye presentation of its abilities? Because, in my opinion, it looks like a hook. Shot with small-sized skills during the epidemic, “Lakewood” is a minimal “temporary” thriller. Much of it is with the camera, holding hands, just above Amy’s face, or surveying the jungle, with suspense music pondering. It’s meant to be “real time” suspense, and Naomi Watts, no question, is all over. In a skillful part of acting, she screams, she modulates, she hyperventilates; He gave a very existential performance of live-wire horror.
I should probably do some kind of austerity for my acerbic tone, since “Lakewood” wants to be a deadly serious movie about fantasy raw tragedy. It turned into a drama about a school shooting. When Amy learns that her son Noah (Colton Gabbo), whom she thought was home in despair that day, took the family pickup truck to Lakewood High School – where the shooting took place. So he’s there. He may be killed.
He can also be a shooter.
You may have played when you saw “Lakewood.” It’s a film that now tries to enter the frenzy of our lives, but in doing so it lowers the glorious absorption machine of a school shooting উপায় a way to create a minimal pulse-pounder. And what a fabulous! When Amy is using her trusted phone to talk to the shooter, you can imagine what kind of universe the movie is in. The problem with “Lackwood” is that it’s all thriller abstraction. We don’t see the shooting, and we rarely know the boy (except for a brief moment at first). And we’ve seen enough situations like the movie closes that it fails to convey any expression of real life. Watt’s promise puts the movie together. He works as if the phone is his flesh-and-blood partner. But it’s not. It is an instrument that contains some human disguise. And so “Lakewood”.