TIFF 2024: The Life of Chuck, Nightbitch, K-Pops

The premieres continued on Friday and Saturday at this year’s Toronto International Film Festival, highlighted by deeply personal projects, including another Stephen King adaptation from the man who may be the master of such things, further evidence that Marielle Heller is a filmmaker to watch, and a project that grew out of a famous father’s relationship with his son.

The best of the bunch is Mike Flanagan’s excellent “The Life of Chuck,” another adaptation from the man who made “Gerald’s Game,” “Doctor Sleep,” and “Midnight Mass,” which is not technically a Stephen King adaptation but may be the most King-esque project ever that’s not. Much was made in the run-up to “Chuck” about it being a bit of a departure for the horror director, and it’s true that there’s no gore and only a bit of the supernatural here, but Flanagan’s work, especially the “Haunting” Netflix shows, has also been distinguished by deep emotional undercurrents, and that’s the tool from his kit that he leans into most of all with this moving study of how valuable every moment is that we’re on this floating ball of dust. We have a habit if getting carried away by the minutia and the worries of the world, and “The Life of Chuck” argues that nothing matters more than right now. And a good dance number.

Like the short story on which it’s based, “The Life of Chuck” plays structural games, opening with “Act 3,” subtitled “Thanks, Chuck!” Chiwetel Ejiofor gives a subtle, refined performance—his best work in years—as a smalltown teacher at the end of the world. As he tries to hold parent-teacher meetings about his students, everyone is distracted by the crumbling state of the planet, including the fact that California is falling into the ocean. When the internet crashes and the roads start literally disintegrating, he reconnects with his ex, played by Karen Gillan, in an effort to basically have a partner when the lights go out. He also keeps seeing signs thanking a man he’s never heard of named Chuck.

If you’re not familiar with the source, you’ll wonder what exactly is happening here, but there’s an emotional undercurrent even to that confusion that’s palpable. There are multiple conversations about time, including discussion of Carl Sagan’s Cosmic Calendar, which reminds us that human existence on this planet is but a fraction of the lifespan of the universe. And yet everything matters more as we tick toward the end. We are nothing and everything at the same time. We contain multitudes.

The other two acts of “The Life of Chuck” go back in time in ways that I won’t spoil other than to say that Tom Hiddleston anchors the central one with a charming, buoyant performance, including the best dance number in years, and that the final chapter fills in the early days of Chuck, played well by multiple young actors. Flanagan’s genre work often gets praise for its tension and design, but I’ve always felt that his greatest gift is with performance. This is one of the best ensembles of the year, filled in with appearances by many of Flanagan’s past collaborators—there’s not a single piece that feels out of place, including great work from both Mark Hamill and Annalise Basso.

“The Life of Chuck” is an open hug of earnestness. It is unapologetically designed to “make you think about what matters in life,” and that complete lack of cynicism won’t work for everyone. It kinda floored me. Like a lot of people, I feel like we’re sometimes treading water as a culture, with too little being done about the key issues that shape our world. And that has led to a sense of despair in the 2020s that you can almost feel in your bones. A movie can’t wipe all that away, of course, but this one actively encourages us to just BE in every day. Breath in the air around you, be present with yourself, cherish your loved ones—all the things that seems so much harder with the clutter of daily life. The central act of “The Life of Chuck” is about a man who answers the call in his head to dance in the street one random day. It would be nice if more of us could remember to dance.

Saturday night’s premiere slot at the Wales theater went to one of the most anticipated dramas of the year in Marielle Heller’s “Nightbitch,” an adaptation of the novel by Rachel Yoder about the underreported and often misunderstood difficulties of motherhood. Hollywood has taught us that mothers must be perfect creatures, always smiling and never complaining. Clearly, I am not a mother, but I am a father of three, and not only do I personally understand how parenthood is more complex than art would have us believe, but I have seen the physical and emotional toll it can take. It’s hard. And Heller’s film feels like an attempt at understanding through a fantastical concept of a mother who may be becoming an actual dog.

Amy Adams does her best work in years as the unnamed mother, who does everything to keep her son (Arleigh Patrick Snowden and Emmett James Snowden) healthy and happy, even when her nice-but-naïve husband (Scoot McNairy, fantastic as always) doesn’t quite know how to help. She goes to play groups at the library with fellow moms (including Zoe Chao & Mary Holland) who she doesn’t know or particularly like but is forced to socialize with because of the structure of our society. She doesn’t so much resent having to give up her artist career as wonder why or what might have been. The script for “Nightbitch” by Heller is carefully constructed in terms of how she portrays her protagonist—she doesn’t hate her husband or son, at all. It’s just that this thing called motherhood is TOUGH.

When Adams starts literally sprouting a tail and running with dogs in the neighborhood at night, “Nightbitch” gets surreal, but I hoped it would actually turn that dial up a bit more in the final act. It’s a remarkably short film and there’s less meat on the bones of the end scenes than I was expecting. (My guess is that the source has an internal monologue that the film can’t provide.) Having said that, it’s well worth seeing for Adams, McNairy, and Heller’s nuanced dialogue, and there’s something to be said for a movie that doesn’t wear out its welcome in an era (and festival) when it feels like so many movies don’t know when to end. I have a feeling that there will be divided, fascinating opinions on “Nightbitch,” which should make it one of the more interesting dramas of the Fall season. This is just the start.

Finally, there’s the directorial debut of the 8-time Grammy Award winer Anderson .Paak, an awesomely talented musician whose music calls to soul and R&B of the ‘70s and ‘80s without feeling like cheap nostalgia. The proponents of “Write What You Know” will have a lot to like here, while those who over-use the word “Nepo” will have a new target. .Paak has made a comedy shaped by both his background and his relationship with his son. It’s clunky in places that directorial debuts often are, including some odd pacing and tone issues, but it’s also just a likable movie, buoyed by .Paak’s jubilant on-screen personality and playful comic timing. I’m still not sure about his directorial chops, but I’m convinced of his acting ones, and that’s something.

.Paak plays BJ, a Los Angeles musician who had a relationship with a Korean woman named Yeji (a great Jee Young Han) 12 years ago. She left, but he hasn’t really done a thing since that day, still working the dive bar that’s increasingly annoyed by his drum solos. When he gets an offer to play drums on a Korean pop TV show—think “American Idol” but BTS—he takes it, stumbling into the life of one of the young contestants, played by .Paak’s actual son Soul Rasheed. Of course, the kid is BJ’s actual son, reuniting him with his mom as he tries to teach his boy about his unique culture.

“K-Pops” is at its best when it leans into its ideas about culture. There’s a fantastic scene in which BJ runs into a couple of other Black people in Korea and startles his son with what feels like instant friendship because of their shared culture. .Paak himself is also Black and Korean, which has helped make him an artist who knows how to fuse different backgrounds into something new and beautiful, without losing either. “K-Pops” doesn’t look down on pop music as much as reveal another layer of it, one that’s filled with exuberance and expression.

Despite its flaws, “K-Pops” was undeniably made with love—love for music, love for pop culture (there are some fantastic name drops and cameos), love for family, and really love for the variety we can find in this magical world. It’s not just inspired by his son’s background but feels sometimes like it has the worldview of a well-adjusted teenager—bright, buoyant, and with a killer soundtrack.

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