Review: Don't Look Up

Image courtesy of Netflix.

Adam Mckay's star-studded disaster comedy "Don't Look Up" boasts a roster of extremely talented actors and says a lot of things about the current stupid state of our nation with which I agree — but it, unfortunately, doesn't do so in a manner that's particularly engaging or, for a comedy, particularly funny. It's righteously angry, but the jokes never land because, well, most of them are so obvious and aren't exactly played with humor in mind.

The film's premise is that two low-level astronomers (played by Leonardo DiCaprio and Jennifer Lawrence) discover the presence of a comet that is several kilometers wide and barreling toward Earth. They figure if they alert the president of the United States (Meryl Streep), a Donald Trump-type of figure who only cares about their poll numbers, then a mission can be sent to destroy the comet before it reaches the planet.

But their message falls on deaf ears as President Orlean and her obnoxious spokesman/son (Jonah Hill) try to think how they can use the comet to help the president's reelection campaign. Meanwhile, a billionaire Elon Musk type (Mark Rylance) is devising ways to monetize the comet and use it to sell products. At the same time, the two astronomers attempt to go to the media with the story — and the two empty headed talk show hosts (Cate Blanchett and Tyler Perry) they speak to gloss over the story because it's not a cheerful one.

As expected, large segments of the U.S. population don't believe the comet is real, and against their best interests the president convinces some of them that it hitting part of Earth would be good for the economy. The story doesn't take off in the press because most viewers are more interested in a story involving a vapid pop singer's (Ariana Grande) engagement.

As I'd mentioned, all of the things that "Don't Look Up" points out — Americans' refusal to believe what's proven by scientists and right in front of their eyes, the vapidity of the modern media and how stupid stories are what resonate with the general population, and the use of information as warfare in the two-party political system — are all valid, and appear ripe for lampooning.

But McKay's recent films are instructive as to why this film doesn't work. "The Big Short" was a, for lack of a better phrase, smarty pants approach to explaining the 2008 economic downturn. I don't use that phrase pejoratively — the style that McKay employed for that film (big stars explaining esoteric Wall Street jargon, etc.) worked to the film's benefit. When he tried this style again several years later with "Vice," which chronicled former VP Dick Cheney's life, it didn't work quite as well.

"Don't Look Up" feels like his angriest politically-charged comedy to date, but the anger — though well deserved — overshadows the comedy. It's just not that funny. There's a scene in which DiCaprio blows up at the talk show hosts, and it seems as if the filmmakers wanted it to feel like that pivotal moment of being mad as hell in "Network." But despite DiCaprio's efforts, it feels too obvious. A later moment in which he shouts "we're all going to die" on a "Sesame Street"-like show is much funnier.

The film — which runs nearly two hours and 20 minutes, which would be long for any comedy — feels less like a satire than a harangue. It has a cast full of marvelously talented people, and in our current age of climate change denial, stupidity among large sectors of the American populace in dealing with COVID-19 and anti-vaxxers, "Don't Look Up" seems like it should get some easy laughs out of its premise. But it just meanders by saying the same obvious thing over and over again without being particularly funny or insightful.

Review: Red Rocket

Image courtesy of A21.

Sean Baker's latest film, "Red Rocket," is another addition to his oeuvre depicting those living on the margins, although the lead character of this picture is one who previously found success, but has fallen on hard times and is living on the down-and-out. That character is Mikey (a very good Simon Rex), a former porn star pushing 50 years old who has returned to his Texas hometown to crash with his former wife and porn co-star, Lexi (Bree Elrod), and her mother (Brenda Deiss), both of whom are skeptical about his intentions and with good reason.

Set against the backdrop of the 2016 presidential election - another story involving a sleazy grifter who shows up to make life hell for everyone he comes across - Mikey's foibles at first involve his trying to scrounge together enough money to give to Lexi and her mother, so that he'll have a place to crash. To be fair, he attempts to find work as a waiter and other assorted jobs, but when it comes up that he's Mikey Saber, who has starred in thousands of adult films and won an AVN award for the best blowjob received in a movie, well, let's just say the job offers don't come pouring in.

Pretty much everything Mikey touches turns to shit, whether it's denying Lexi a simple favor that could help her overcome custody issues with her child, who is not Mikey's, or leading astray Lonnie (Ethan Darbone), a next door neighbor who is obviously impressed by Mikey's lies - which include everything from his prowess (he takes pills to gain an erection) to his "81 percent click-through rate" online. For work, he begins selling weed supplied by an older woman named Leondria (Judy Hill) and her hot-tempered daughter, June (Brittney Rodriguez).

But the worst of Mikey's sins is getting involved with a donut shop clerk named Strawberry (Suzanna Son), who - cringe - "turns 18 in three weeks." Mikey sees something in Strawberry, and by that I mean her ability to possibly become a porn star and, in turn, help his star to rise once again as a scouter of talent. The two begin an affair, and Mikey egregiously first tells her that he works in Hollywood, until she finds out he is Mikey Saber, and then he tries to sell her on that industry.

Baker's films - which include the remarkable "The Florida Project," but also "Tangerine" and "Starlet" - are often about people living at the edges of society, and many of the characters in his films are involved in some type of sex work. He revisits that milieu here - Lexi, we are told, turns tricks to pay rent - but Mikey is viewed as less of a sex worker and more of, as another character calls him, a "suitcase pimp."

It's become de rigueur for a film to follow a character who is of little redeeming value as a person, but that doesn't make "Red Rocket" any less entertaining or compelling. Often quite funny, but just as often disturbing, the film isn't as much of a downer as it might sound. In fact, the manner in which Mikey's lies finally catch up to him result in a hilarious comeuppance of the type that, in real life, often evades sleaze artist con men.

While "The Florida Project" remains Baker's masterpiece, "Red Rocket" is a very well made and acted - Rex especially - film about a man so completely lacking self awareness that when he finally finds himself facing the consequences of his actions, he seems utterly dumbstruck. Although occasionally queasy - as such a story demands - "Red Rocket" is another strong entry into Baker's filmography, and a likely vehicle for Rex's career reboot. It's well worth seeing.

Review: Licorice Pizza

Image courtesy of MGM.

During the course of its shaggy narrative, Gary Valentine (Cooper Hoffman, son of Philip Seymour Hoffman) and Alana (Alana Haim, of the band HAIM) spend a fair amount of time running. Occasionally it's toward each other, at other times in different directions, but their mode of travel is often on foot at a high sprint. 

This almost becomes a - for lack of a better word - running theme in Paul Thomas Anderson's funny and shimmering nostalgia piece "Licorice Pizza, which is apparently based on a set of stories and memories, albeit not Anderson's, but rather Gary Goetzman's, a former TV waterbed salesman, child actor and current producing partner of Tom Hanks. He passed his stories of 1970s Hollywood to Jonathan Demme, with whom he worked, and they made their way to Anderson, a Demme aficionado.

Not only are Gary, a precocious 15-year-old with a man's confidence, and Alana - an occasionally frustrated and aimless 25-year-old who meets Gary during school picture day as she helps with the photo setups - often literally running, but also frequently fleeing from scheme to scheme. After he hits on her and fails to woo her - but manages to pique her interest - during the school photo day, they become friends, sort of. She acts as his chaperone on a trip to New York for a film-related gig, and then follows him into a semi-lucrative business selling waterbeds out of a storefront in Encino.

Later, Gary hears word that pinball will once again become legal in Los Angeles, and being the schemer he is, decides to next go all in on an arcade, while Alana attempts to take up acting - and lies her way through a hilarious interview with a casting director played with insane verve by Harriet Sansom Harris - and then finds herself behind a telephone volunteering for L.A. mayor hopeful Joel Wachs (director Benny Safdie), the former president of the L.A. City Council.

It might seem unrealistic that a 25-year-old woman would want to spend so much time around a 15-year-old boy - and no, the relationship is not sexual; he clearly likes her, and she's more intrigued than aroused by him and sees a kindred spirit - and she even questions what she's doing spending so much time around Gary, but it's clear that their need to constantly break free from one moneymaking endeavor and transfer to another draws them together. The film includes gorgeous sunsets and swirling camerawork that add to the sense of possibility for both of these characters.

But also lurking around every corner is a sense of danger, whether it's a sequence during which Gary is mistaken by police for a murder suspect, a gas shortage that gives off an end-of-the-world vibe - during one lovely and surreal moment, Gary runs alongside a massive line of cars waiting for gas to the tune of David Bowie's "Life on Mars?," just one of many well-used musical cues in the picture - or the numerous lechers whom Gary and Alana stumble upon.

During the school photo day, Alana grimaces when the head photographer slaps her on the bottom, and most of the other grown-up men we meet aren't much better, whether it's the aging actor obviously based on William Holden (portrayed with a comedic touch by Sean Penn) who has come to believe his own legend; Wachs, who lets both Alana and another individual down during a crushing moment late in the picture; or the completely insane Jon Peters (Bradley Cooper in a delirious supporting role), the actual hairdresser-turned-Hollywood producer who once dated Barbra Streisand, and who sort of terrorizes Gary and pretty much anyone he comes across during an odyssey through L.A.

But the most dangerous moment - and the film's greatest set piece - involves a truck without gas slowly rolling down L.A. hills carrying our two leads and a group of youngsters while attempting to make a getaway following an act of vandalism on Gary's part. Anderson displays great talent in this scene by balancing tension, some belly laughs and a final cut to a character's face who has come to a realization.

Gary - and Alana, who gets roped into Gary's schemes - fits in with the hucksters, dreamers and schemers who Anderson loves to portray, such as Tom Cruise's Frank TJ Mackey in "Magnolia," Daniel Day Lewis's Daniel Plainview in "There Will Be Blood," Adam Sandler's Barry Egan in "Punch Drunk Love" and Hoffman's Lancaster Dodd in "The Master."

But "Licorice Pizza" has more of a sunnier vibe - and a "Boogie Nights" atmosphere - than some of the director's more brooding and brilliant work of recent years, and its kooky not-quite-romance at its center feels more in line with "Punch Drunk Love." Much like his previous work, it's not always clear which direction an Anderson film might head - and this one's shaggy nature gives it a freewheeling picaresque structure - but it's almost certainly always somewhere interesting. 

Also, it's rare that I can give a film this particular compliment, but in this case it applies: I've barely sifted through everything I saw in "Licorice Pizza," but I can't wait to give the picture - which is named after a 1970s-era chain of record stores and refers specifically to records themselves - another spin. 

Review: The Matrix Resurrections

Image courtesy of Warner Bros.

A series that has gone from "whoa" to "wha?," the fourth "Matrix" film is both a welcome return for a Hollywood blockbuster and a bit of a mixed bag. On the one hand, it's good to see a thinking person's tentpole film after reboots every few years of every comic book series imaginable, and every franchise of years past being dredged up to provide nostalgia porn. 

In fact, the first third of "The Matrix Resurrections" engages in an extended meta joke about the nature of milking nostalgia for financial gain and how boring the concept of rebooting actually is. More on that in a bit.

On the other, the elements of the "Matrix" sequels that didn't quite work remain. In fact, as the plot involving the different realities in which Neo (Keanu Reeves), Trinity (Carrie-Anne Moss) and their cohorts navigate goes further and further down the rabbit hole - Jefferson Airplane's "White Rabbit" even plays on the soundtrack in what might count as a nod and a wink - the harder it is to actually follow what the hell is going on. This is useful for the filmmakers in that no one will be able to figure out whether the damn thing actually makes sense or not.

The film is at its best in the first third when it focuses on Neo, once again going by the name Thomas Anderson as a successful video game creator, working on his latest update to a popular video game he created called, you guessed it, "The Matrix." The game includes segments from all of the "Matrix" movies, which gives the filmmakers license to utilize shots from previous films, so we see a younger Reeves, Moss and Laurence Fishburne, who has been replaced by Yahya Abdul-Mateen II as Morpheus.

During meetings, Neo and his fellow video game collaborators discuss the "reboot" of the video game, and whether such a thing is advised. The concept of "Matrix 4" is discussed and whether that's an advisable thing. All in good fun, but also a little creepy when you consider how Warner Bros., which produced the film, released "Space Jam: A New Legacy" earlier this year. 

In that film, a variety of characters from Warner Bros. properties - "The Matrix" included - popped up. While director Lana Wachowski may be parodying the concept, the company producing the film might just be taking stock and thinking how to combine "Matrix" storylines with, say, DC Comics characters or some other "property."

Anyway, the second best thing about the new "Matrix" film is the romance between Neo and Trinity, who is living as a woman named Tiffany in some simulation, and has a husband and two children. She occasionally runs into Neo in a coffee shop, and the two could swear they've met before. As the film's plot becomes more and more labyrinthine and involves Neo breaking free from a simulated prison designed by a nefarious shrink played by Neil Patrick Harris to save Trinity, who's in a similar prison, it becomes more confusing.

There are some impressive action sequences, although they're fairly similar to the ones you've already seen in the previous "Matrix" films. Agent Smith is back, but is this time played by "Mindhunter" star Jonathan Groff, and some other minor characters from the original series make cameos. From a visual standpoint, the film is impressive, and despite its jokes about nostalgia, that is a factor that makes returning to this world pleasant.

So, no, "The Matrix Resurrections" isn't going to change the genre of which it is a part as the first in the series did. It's often fun, and audiences will get a fair amount of mileage from the reunion of Reeves and Moss, both of whom are quite good here. It's an occasionally successful sequel that pokes fun at its reason for existing, but also caves in and gives the goods that audiences are likely expecting. It has its cake and eats it too. Often enough, that's amusing, even if you have no idea what's going on from one scene to the next.

Review: Nightmare Alley

Image courtesy of Fox Searchlight Pictures.

A stylish noir epic with a humdinger of an ending, Guillermo del Toro's "Nightmare Alley" is one of the darkest Hollywood films I've seen in some time. Based on the 1947 film of the same name starring Tyrone Power, the picture is oozing with atmosphere, features a number of great actors in supporting performances and is often terrifying as to how far into the depths of human depravity it is willing to plunge.

The film stars Bradley Cooper as Stanton Carlisle, a con man whom we first see burning a body in an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere and then catching a bus to a small town, where he stumbles upon a carnival and finds employment. We're pretty far well into the film when Cooper actually speaks his first line of dialogue, and it's when his attention has been caught by one of the carnival's performers - the geek, a haggard man kept in a cage who bites the heads off chickens.

Cooper is hired to do odd jobs at the carnival by Clem (Willem Dafoe), an unscrupulous man who tells Stanton that the way he finds his geeks is seeking out desperate drunks whom he slowly feeds opium in the rations of booze he doles out and gets them hooked. At that point, they will do anything - including biting the heads off chickens - for that next sip.

Stanton finds success in the carnival and a new group of friends - including Molly (Rooney Mara), a shy girl he woos whose acts involves being shocked with electricity, and Zeena and Pete (Toni Collette and David Strathairn), a pair whose mind reading act intrigues Stanton. Under Pete's tutelage, Stanton gets incorporated into the act, and eventually plans to break out on his own by using the tricks of the trade. He convinces Molly to run away with him - much to the chagrin of Bruno (Ron Perlman), a burly carnie who acts as her guardian - and the two find success as stage mystics.

It's during one of their shows at a venue populated by rich people that Stanton meets Dr. Lilith Ritter (Cate Blanchett), a psychiatrist whose very presence screams "femme fatale." She agrees to divulge the secrets of some of her wealthy clients - which Stanton will use when summoning the dead to allow them to speak to those they've lost - in exchange for him allowing her to analyze him.

Molly is uncomfortable with Stanton's new racket, and during a visit from some of their old carnival friends, Zeena warns that Stanton is getting in over his head, especially after Ritter introduces him to a man named Grindle (Richard Jenkins), a seemingly dangerous individual who wants to be put in touch with a former flame who died. Grindle's right-hand man, the burly Anderson (Holt McCallany, of "Mindhunter"), tells Stanton that he will do anything to protect Grindle and, if Stanton is smart, that should scare him.

On the one hand, it's pretty easy to see where "Nightmare Alley" is going, right down to the disturbing and horrifying twist of fate in the finale, but it's the manner in which the film gets there that makes it work so well. I guessed correctly at what the final scene would be, but the way in which Cooper - and Tim Blake Nelson, in a cameo - play it was still a punch in the gut.

Del Toro's films often involve fantastical characters and stories - such as the remarkable "Pan's Labyrinth" and the offbeat fairy tale Oscar winner "The Shape of Water" - but his foray into noir feels like the work of a pro. "Nightmare Alley" is an unsettling, but visually sumptuous, and unrepentantly dark chronicle about how the horrors of one man's past lead him down the wrong path. This being a noir, there are - of course - some thuggish henchmen, a femme fatale and an ironic twist of fate. 

"Nightmare Alley" is one of two - the other being Steven Spielberg's "West Side Story" - recent remakes that work surprisingly well because rather than paying slavish homage, their creators often take their updates in directions that are different from the originals. As such, "Nightmare Alley" turns a classic noir into an epic of one man's descent and downfall. It's a good one.

Review: The Hand Of God

Image courtesy of Netflix.

 Paolo Sorrentino's "The Hand of God" may draw some comparisons to the great Federico Fellini - whose work likely inspired some of Sorrentino's films, such as "The Great Beauty" - in the somewhat vulgar caricatures portrayed by the film's cast and the fixation of his lead character on what he perceives to be the mysteries of women. But this film - which includes a scene in which Fellini's presence becomes more literal than in Sorrentino's other movies - feels more personal and autobiographic that some of his previous work.

The film is set in the 1980s and follows the travails of Fabietto (Filippo Scotti), a virgin who must navigate life with a bawdy extended family that's often squabbling, taking part in provocative gestures or playing pranks on each other. The picture opens with a curious scene in which a favorite aunt - and a favorite due to her attractiveness and penchant for nude sunbathing - gets stopped on the street and taken by an old man to meet a child in a robe who's referred to as the Little Monk. It's a surreal sequence that nicely sets up the shifts in mood and tone throughout the film.

We then cut to Fabietto, his parents and several other relatives visiting this aunt, Patrizia (Luisa Ranieri), who's been once again beaten up by her husband. Fabietto is transfixed as his aunt's breast has slipped out of her dress as she talks to the family. We later learn of her troubled mental state - which leads to a stay in a psychiatric ward - but to Fabietto, she's an object of fixation.

In terms of a plot, you could argue that "The Hand of God" is somewhat aimless - and I don't mean this as a dig - but rather a series of scenes that involve Fabietto and his family - which include his brother, Marchino (Marlon Joubert), who like his brother is obsessed with Italian soccer, as well as his eccentric parents, Saverio and Maria (Toni Servillo and Teresa Saponangelo). Fabietto's father likes to crack jokes - often at the expense of his extended family - while Maria is a lover of pranks. One of those pranks involves her tricking a relative into thinking they've got the part they auditioned for in a Fellini movie.

But while the first half of "The Hand of God" is light in tone, raunchy and often funny, there's a shocking twist of events about halfway through that send the film into an entirely different direction. It's difficult to discuss the twist without giving it away, but suffice it to say that something awful involving Fabietto's family occurs, and the rest of the film involves the young man thinking about what he wants for his future - and a run-in with a cranky movie director pushes him in the direction of being a filmmaker.

Viewers might get a little whiplashed by the drastic change in tone from the film's first and second halves, but "The Hand of God" is mostly a winsome and ultimately moving coming-of-age tale. Some scenes border on the ridiculous - the voicebox of a relative's boyfriend and a sex scene between a young character and an old woman are among the many sequences that keep the absurdist surreal vibe alive throughout the film - but it's a picture with a genuine emotional pull. It may not be Sorrentino's best film, but I prefer it slightly over some of his more acclaimed films that, perhaps, took themselves a little more seriously. Regardless, it's a colorful and enjoyable watch.

Review: West Side Story

Image courtesy of 20th Century Fox.

Steven Spielberg's "West Side Story" remake is a good cover of a classic. It makes some stylistic choices that weren't available to the 1961 Robert Wise film and includes some story rearrangement - the kindly Doc in the original is replaced by Rita Moreno's Valentina, who acts as a mentor and employer of Tony (Ansel Elgort) - that often works well enough.

Spielberg has tackled so many genres - from horror ("Jaws") and science fiction ("Close Encounters of the Third Kind") to adventure films ("Raiders of the Lost Ark"), war movies ("Saving Private Ryan") and serious-minded historical epics ("Schindler's List" and "Munich") - that it comes less of a surprise that he's trying his hand at a musical than that he's only getting around to it now.

And there's no question about it: He's got a knack for it. The new "West Side Story" is a triumph of camera placement, staging and movement. The film looks great, and the dance numbers have a vitality to them that's often missing in modern movie musicals. The iconic opening number, "Jet Song" (you probably know it from the lyrics "when you're a Jet" and the snapping fingers) displays a real sense of menace and is performed, much like many of the film's musical numbers, almost to perfection.

The film, for those unfamiliar with "West Side Story," is an adaptation of William Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet," so an outline of the plot is unlikely necessary, although some changes have been made from the original "West Side Story" - such as the Moreno character, the movement of one of the film's iconic tunes toward the end of the picture and more attention paid to the theme of prejudice (the white Jets wanting the Puerto Rican Sharks to move off their territory, which they see as threatened by the increase of nonwhites moving into their neighborhood).

Elgort is fine as Tony, while Rachel Zegler is very good as Maria. But one of the small issues with the couple's love story - Maria's overprotective brother and Sharks leader Bernardo (David Alvarez) doesn't want her mixed up with the white Tony, a former leader of the Jets - is that the central two characters are often overshadowed by the supporting ones.

The two characters in the film who easily steal the show are Anita (Ariana DeBose), Bernardo's girlfriend, and Riff (Mike Faist), the de facto leader of the Jets since Tony is staying out of the public eye after having nearly beaten a rival gang member to death some time before the story starts. DeBose's performance during the show stopping "America" is breathtaking as she and a crew of seemingly hundreds sing and dance in the streets of New York in a moment that rivals some of the best in "In the Heights," which was also set amid a Latino community in New York City and made use of that city's streets for dance numbers.

Faist exudes both charm and menace as the Jets leader, especially during the opening number as he and his fellow gang members prowl their territory. Moreno (who won an Oscar for playing Anita in the original film), at age 89, is also good as Valentina, who was once married to a white man and understands Tony's predicament, but is also afraid about him getting mixed up in a violent situation - Bernardo is a fighter who is gunning for Tony after the latter danced with his sister at a community mixer. Speaking of which, the scene in which Tony and Maria eye each other across the gymnasium during that mixer is one of the key scenes in the film that exhibit what one might call that "Spielberg magic."

So, while "West Side Story" is, obviously, a little short on originality due to the fact that it's a remake of an old film and musical that was itself an adaptation of one of the stage's most iconic plays, it makes up for it in execution. Despite being familiar with the story, the dance numbers and singing are strong, there are more than a few gripping moments and the camerawork is often intoxicating. And it's further proof that Spielberg can work in pretty much any genre and make it his own.

Review: C'mon C'mon

Image courtesy of A24.

Mike Mills' "C'mon C'mon" starts out as a stylish black and white film that appears simplistic in concept and more concerned with mood and tone before gradually developing into something a little deeper and what one might expect from the director, whose previous film, "20th Century Women," was a woefully underrated film of great insight and warmth.

Looking like a Woody Allen movie from the early 1980s, but starting off with a vibe that feels more in line with a Mumblecore film, "C'mon C'mon" follows the exploits of Johnny (Joaquin Phoenix), an audio journalist of some type - it's never quite established who he's working for - who is working on a project in which he interviews children around the nation about their hopes, dreams and visions of the future as if he's producing some sort of American "Up" series.

He's somewhat estranged from his sister, Viv (Gaby Hoffmann), who has her hands full with an imaginative, but often hyper, 9-year-old boy named Jesse (Woody Norman) and a mentally ill husband named Paul (Scott McNairy). The siblings had somewhat of a falling out after their mother's death. The two manage to reconnect, and Johnny suggests taking Jesse off Viv's hands for a while as she tries to get Paul the help he needs.

This begins as somewhat of an extended babysitting gig, but eventually turns into a series of road trips for Johnny's work - first to New York, and then to New Orleans. I must note here that Mills and his crew do a smashing job of photographing Los Angeles (where the story begins), New York City and New Orleans in beautiful black and white photography, often capturing the wonder and loneliness of those great cities. I felt like I could just sit and watch the gorgeous New York skyline and L.A. traffic shots for two hours.

Jesse obviously endears himself to Johnny, but he's also a handful. He occasionally runs off, leaving Johnny frantic to find him, and insists on role playing games in which he's either an orphan or some other character, which appears to be his manner of expressing his feelings. A significant part of the film involves Johnny and Jesse just wandering through cities, parks, beaches and cafes, while the other half is often Johnny on the phone with his sister, reporting his challenges of taking care of a child (he's childless and the mention of a breakup occurs more than once).

As I'd mentioned, Mills' film at first appears to emphasize style over all else, but once it settles in it's the type of picture that sneaks up on you. You suddenly realize you're emotionally invested in Johnny and Jesse's dramas, and you're moved by the testimonies of the children who speak to Johnny and sound hopeful, despite being aware that previous generations have left them with a horrendous mess. 

There are numerous scenes in the film in which Johnny reads from various texts (all of which are cited) and we see how they apply to the story. The most effective example is his reading a children's story in which a star child comes to Earth, grows up and learns about the loneliness, emptiness, joy, suffering, heartbreak, beauty and all other wonders of the planet. Jesse calls out Johnny for getting a tear in his eye while reading, but this moment also encapsulates what this film's all about: making yourself vulnerable.

During the course of the movie, Johnny tries to get Jesse to describe the emotions he feels from having a mentally ill father and how he feels as if his mother has pawned him off on Johnny while she cares for Paul. But unlike the other child subjects whom Johnny interviews, Jesse isn't one to openly discuss his problems - at least, not until late in the film, when he doesn't so much discuss them as he does express them.

Mills writes and directs dramas that are overflowing with humanity - from the Oscar-nominated "Beginners" to "20th Century Women," which should have gotten a lot more attention than it did when it was released several years ago (seriously, check it out). His latest is a charming film that takes a formula that's been done many a time - relatives bonding on a road trip, although the driving part is fairly minimal here - and gives it a unique vibe. It's well worth seeing.

Review: The Power Of The Dog

Image courtesy of Netflix.

Jane Campion's "The Power of the Dog" is the type of movie that really appeals to me. It's a slow burn western that only slowly reveals itself and then percolates in the brain for hours after you've seen it. It's anchored by a knockout performance by Benedict Cumberbatch - who displays none of the charm for which he's known and portrays a ferocious character that bears some similarity to Daniel Day Lewis's Daniel Plainview - and features stunning photography and a doozy of an ending that I only completely figured out about 30 minutes after the film ended.

Campion has long been a director with a distinctive voice - from her early "An Angel at My Table" and the now-classic "The Piano" to her gripping "Top of the Lake" miniseries - and she's back in fine form here with "The Power of the Dog," which is her first feature film in 12 years. The picture is, for lack of a better phrase, a neo-western that could play on a double bill somewhere with films such as "There Will Be Blood" and "No Country for Old Men" as it features some similar ideas and visual touches.

The picture features a series of power struggles between its four lead characters, and it's not until after the film has ended that we realize just how intense these struggles are. The film opens with two rancher brothers - soft spoken George (Jesse Plemons) and Phil (Cumberbatch), who's covered head to toe in dirt for much of the film (in fact, at one point, he bathes naked in mud), and has a soul that is just as grimy - stopping on a drive at a small tavern, where the proprietress, Rose (Kirsten Dunst), and her gangly school-bound son, Peter (Kodi Smit-McPhee), who wants to be a surgeon, serve them and their men dinner.

Phil, an apex predator if there ever was one, ridicules Peter's penchant for decorating the establishment's tables with fake flowers and isn't much kinder to Rose. George, embarrassed by his brother's unruly behavior, sticks around to apologize and, before we know it, he and Rose have struck up a relationship and gotten married. From the start, it's easy to see how the power dynamics will play out. Phil likes being in control, and Rose gets in the way of his domination of the gentle George - meanwhile, Peter is away at school. 

Rose, whose previous husband committed suicide, is fragile and clearly has a drinking problem, all of which Phil observes and stores away for future use. Phil has a few secrets of his own. He often makes reference to "Bronco" Henry, a mentor who taught him how to ride a horse and was, seemingly, his lover. On a trip home from school, Peter spies Phil swimming in the nude and finds a trunk where a number of magazines depicting men in the nude are hidden.

In an attempt to impress the governor (Keith Carradine) - the film is set in 1925 Montana, although the breathtaking backdrops were all shot in New Zealand, Campion's home country - George has promised him, among several other dinner guests, that Rose will play the piano for him. She tries to get out of this performance, but is put on the spot and chokes. During earlier scenes, she tries to practice the piece that she'd play at the dinner party, but Phil keeps interrupting her by playing the same song on his banjo. Later, he hides around the corner from where she's sitting, taunting her by whistling that same tune over and over, and prompting her to crack open a bottle.

But once Peter arrives to live with the brothers - George is often barely a presence, disappearing for long stretches, leaving Rose alone to fend for herself against Phil's mind games - the story begins to hurtle toward its tragic and brilliantly diabolical conclusion. Rose hates the way in which Phil has seemingly taken a shine to her son - or has he? - and begins to teach him how to ride a horse, tie a knot and other tasks his own mentor taught him. 

There are a series of events that lead to one character's fate, and it was only after carefully rethinking the events of the film's final quarter that I realized why the story turned out the way it did for that particular character. There are visual clues throughout, but the way in which Campion makes you work for the answer is pretty masterful. This is the type of film that demands a rewatch, which is something I intend to do when "The Power of the Dog" is available for streaming next week on Netflix.

Much like her best work - especially "The Piano" - Campion's latest film, which is based on the 1967 novel of the same name by Thomas Savage, is about the balance of power between various characters. While films like "The Piano" and "Bright Star" often had a feminist theme running through them, and strong women sparring with men, the woman in her latest film - Dunst's Rose - presents a threat of sorts to the male-dominant order of the brothers' ranch. Rose and Peter's arrival set into motion the events - driven by Phil, but later by others - that lead to the stunning climax. 

"The Power of the Dog" is the definition of a film that sneaks up on you, and is proof that Campion really needs to get behind the camera more often. The film takes patience, but it's dutifully rewarded for those who give themselves over to the spell it casts.

Review: House Of Gucci

Image courtesy of United Artists Releasing.

Ridley Scott's "House of Gucci" is part compelling true crime drama - although it takes some time to get to the crime - and part enjoyable camp fest. On the one hand, Lady Gaga gives a genuinely strong performance as Patrizia Reggiani, the wife of Maurizio Gucci (Adam Driver). On the other, the rest of the cast - which includes Al Pacino, Jared Leto, Jeremy Irons and Salma Hayek -  appear to be having a good time hamming it up. This is not meant as a slight regarding their performances, but it seems pretty obvious that "over the top" was the vibe being sought.

I wasn't too familiar with the Gucci family tragedy - just as I wasn't familiar with the Versaci one either that was detailed in a Netflix miniseries - but it's a classic example of why the adage about not getting family mixed up in business has some truth to it. As the film opens, Maurizio is studying to be a lawyer and isn't too interested in getting involved with his family's clothing empire.

His father, Rodolfo (Irons, who gets my vote for the funniest line readings), wants to lure Maurizio in, whereas his uncle, Aldo (Pacino), and his often ridiculed cousin, Paolo (Leto), are somewhat distant. Rodolfo is none too pleased after Maurizio meets Patrizia at a party, she basically stalks him afterward, convinces him to take her out on a date and ends up having lunch with both father and son. Rodolfo seems at a loss for words after Patrizia tells him that her father works in "ground transportation."

After they marry, Patrizia tries to strong-arm Maurizio into joining the family business, and then convinces him to crack down on his family's flawed business practices. Rodolfo dies - but makes peace with his son before that - while Aldo gets pushed out of the company he expanded and poor Paolo - Leto's character gets the most absurd scenes in the film - can't get any respect or financial benefits as Maurizio and Patrizia overtake the company.

But eventually, Maurizio comes to despise his wife after seeing how she convinced him to alienate his family, and he begins to lose interest in her. Teaming up with a psychic (Hayek) - this friendship is among the film's weaker elements because there's no satisfactory explanation as to how it developed to the point where Patrizia would be conspiring with the woman - the spurned wife first tries to win back her husband, but then settles on a more deadly means of handling the situation.

"House of Gucci" runs a little over two-and-a-half hours. Its running time is occasionally felt, especially during some drawn-out sequences that basically give the actors the opportunity to camp up the proceedings a little - I'm thinking especially of one in which Paolo makes the mistake of visiting his uncle, only to be insulted and inspired to take out his vengeance on Rodolfo's, um, scarf.

So, yes, "House of Gucci" doesn't shy away from being a little ridiculous, all the while remaining a fairly intriguing drama about how a fraught family business ended in murder. Gaga, who already proved she could act in Bradley Cooper's "A Star is Born," is particularly ferocious as Patrizia, a woman who in less than a minute can grieve with her ex-husband's lover before kicking her out of the home in which she lives without batting an eye. 

As Maurizio, Driver gives a more subtle performance as a man who comes off as meek, but can be just as ruthless as the rest of his family when the opportunity arises. And as I'd mentioned, Pacino, Leto and Irons get to have most of the fun as the colorful Gucci family members, while Hayek's role as the psychic friend also adds a little camp.

Scott has made two films this year - the fierce feminist medieval drama "The Last Duel" is the better of the two - that have both been about women's roles among systems of power. In "Duel," we sympathize with the woman whose fate is at the whims of cruel men, whereas the woman who brings down the Gucci family is a shark who isn't afraid to play dirty in a predominantly boys club. Even when it gets a little over the top and its running time is slightly felt, "House of Gucci" is a mostly enjoyable film.

Review: Ghostbusters: Afterlife

Image courtesy of Sony Pictures.

"Ghostbusters: Afterlife" has its moments - a majority of which are courtesy of breakout star McKenna Grace - but it's mostly a combination of an attempt at trying to draw "Stranger Things" fans and nostalgia pandering, including throwback after throwback for longtime fans of the franchise without adding much new to the series, other than some additional cast members.

The film opens with the death of a character from the original series, and while it takes some time to reveal which character it is, certain circumstances - both in the film and in real life - make it pretty clear who it is. The family of the deceased - which includes an estranged daughter, Callie, (Carrie Coon), her son, Trevor (Finn Wolfhard, of "Stranger Things" and seemingly every horror movie with kids from the past five years), and a precocious, science-loving daughter, Phoebe (Grace) - move to a creepy old farm owned by the dead man and move in after they can no longer afford to pay rent on their apartment.

As if perusing a Ghostbusters museum, if such a thing existed, Phoebe, Trevor and a kid named Podcast (Logan Kim) - don't ask - who's in Phoebe's class dig around the defunct farm and find all manner of equipment - proton packs, ghost traps, old video clips from the 1984 movie and the Ghostbusters vehicle, gunner seat and all.

It's not long before Phoebe, Podcast and an eccentric teacher, Grooberson (Paul Rudd) - who's involved in a fairly amusing running joke in which he shows his class completely inappropriate 1980s horror movies rather than teaching them - accidentally release a ghost that travels to a nearby mountain, where some sort of portal is located, thereby explaining why the dead man who owned the farm decided to locate there.

From there on, it's fan service central. Occasionally, this provides for a smile - the reappearance of some cast members from the original film gradually throughout the picture is fun - but often it just feels as if the filmmakers didn't have much new to bring to the series and, therefore, decided to play the greatest hits over and over again.

By far, the best part of the new film is Grace, whose charmingly dorky portrayal of Phoebe suggests a breakout star in the making. The film's best running joke is her dry delivery of dad jokes to anyone she meets in the hope - and belief - that this is the best way to make new friends. Wolfhard, who's pretty good in "Stranger Things," is given little to do, other than fall for the daughter (Celeste O'Connor) of the local sheriff (Bokeem Woodbine), both of whom are given even less to do. 

While it's always great to see Bill Murray, Annie Potts, Dan Aykroyd, Ernie Hudson and - very briefly - Sigourney Weaver back in action, the MVPs of "Afterlife" are Grace and Rudd. Otherwise, we have scenes and dialogue lifted directly from the original 1984 film - "there is no (insert name here), there is only Zuul," a number of mini Stay Puft Marshmallow men, the gatekeeper and the ringmaster's stairway from the netherworld and even a blast of Ray Parker Jr.

"Ghostbusters: Afterlife" isn't as much of a bust as some critics have contended - whereas others have liked it well enough - but it's merely a retread that leans very heavily on nostalgia, most likely in an attempt to reboot the series - again - and make some money in the process. It's never a bad thing to catch up with Murray, Aykroyd, Hudson and company, and Grace's charming Phoebe is a very welcome addition to this series - but let's hope next time, assuming there is one, that all of the callbacks have been exhausted and we get something a little more original.

Review: King Richard

Image courtesy of Warner Bros.

 

For years, Will Smith was one of Hollywood's biggest stars and his name at the top of a film most likely meant success. In recent years, the films to which he has been attached have seen less success, but his performance in "King Richard" should result in some awards attention as well as some juicier roles in the near future. As Richard Williams, the helicopter parent who wouldn't accept no as an answer and father to tennis superstars Venus (portrayed here by Saniyya Sidney) and Serena Williams (Demi Singleton), he gives one of his finest performances to date.

The film is partially a sports biopic - although Venus and Serena take a back seat to the antics of Richard's overbearing father - but also a story about a man so fixated on a plan for his family that he doesn't stop to consider what they want or whether they approve of his decisions. The first third of the film includes scenes involving the game of tennis, but focuses more on Richard's down-and-out luck in Compton, where he and his family live.

In these early scenes, Richard is tormented, beaten and nearly killed by some gang members who have their eyes on his daughter, Tunde (Mikayla Lashae Bartholomew), after he intervenes while they are catcalling her. A scene in which Richard's life almost takes a turn for the worse is interrupted by what can only be described as divine providence. While some might find the scene superfluous, a later sequence in which Richard describes how he was attacked as a boy by some white men and saw his father running away is instructive regarding Richard's interactions with the gang members and his need to feel that he is protecting his family.

Otherwise, the film is split between being an inspiring sports feature - Venus is much more focused on here, whereas Serena lives in her shadow for much of the movie, although we know she later on went on to become the better of the two sisters at tennis - and a drama about a man who never earned respect seeking to obtain complete control in a world where he doesn't feel he belongs. One talent scout even points out how the sport of tennis at that time had done little to interest the Black community.

Although Richard's intentions are often good - he has a point about wanting his daughters to have a childhood - his controlling behavior nearly drives all those around him insane, especially Venus, whom he gets through the door with numerous coaches and other tennis officials, only to refuse to allow her to play in juniors matches - the route taken by all tennis players - and try to call the shots about everything regarding her career.

Smith has a delicate balancing act here. On the one hand, the audience is meant to feel sympathy for Richard and recognize his drive for success coming from a lifetime of near misses. On the other, his personality and dictatorial behavior alienates nearly everyone around him. Smith does a great job of juggling these tasks.

As his wife, Brandy Williams, Aunjanue Ellis does a great job portraying a woman who is in lockstep with her spouse's goals for their daughters - she fiercely wants them to succeed - while also remaining constantly at her wit's end over Richard's tactics. Ellis is especially good in a scene in which she reprimands her husband for nearly making his daughters walk three miles home after they don't act as humble as he'd like after a tennis match, and even better when she goes through a list of all his faults during a squabble in their kitchen.

"King Richard" is a very well acted and compelling film - and it's not likely to be the movie you're expecting. The picture is not the Venus and Serena Williams Story so much as it is the Will Smith Show. As such, with his commanding performance, the actor ensures that this relatively unknown side character involved in the lives of two very well-known public figures never remains anything less than riveting. 

Review: Belfast

Image courtesy of Focus Features.

 

Obviously his most personal film to date, director Kenneth Branagh's "Belfast" is a lovingly rendered period piece that bears some resemblance to such films as "Roma" and "Hope and Glory." Seemingly based on incidents observed in his own childhood, the film details a period of great unrest in Northern Ireland during the late 1960s through the eyes of a 9-year-old boy named Buddy (the charming and expressive Jude Hill).

A dedication in the film's closing credits - "For the ones who stayed. For the ones who left. And for all the ones who were lost" - is a reasonable summary of Branagh's wistful work, which reimagines the titular city of his childhood as one providing the inspiration for great joy, but also posing grave danger. As the film opens, Buddy and his friends - in a mixed Protestant and Catholic neighborhood - are playing in the street to the sounds of Van Morrison, whose songs permeate the soundtrack.

Suddenly, an angry mob descends on the block, looting stores, breaking windows and pushing a burning car down the street that eventually explodes. Buddy's fiercely protective mother (Caitriona Balfe) grabs her two sons and makes them hide under the kitchen table until the melee has ceased. The group causing the disturbance is a number of local Protestants who are calling for other Protestants in mixed neighborhoods to put pressure on their Catholic neighbors to leave.

Buddy's father (Jaime Dornan) is away at the moment - as he usually is - because of his job that requires him to be in England much of the time. During his visits home, he becomes increasingly threatened by a group of young Protestant men who are angry he won't stand with them against the Catholics. At several points in the film, the concept of it taking a village to raise a child is hinted at, and in Buddy's case this is true. The young lad is raised not only by his mother, but also by his wise grandfather (a very good Ciaran Hinds), spunky grandmother (Judy Dench) and a teenage girl who initiates him into a gang by getting him to steal from a local candy store.

Although Northern Ireland's high unemployment rate and the seething tensions between Protestants and Catholics in 1969 are always specters hovering in the background of the film, the scenes obviously based on memory are given equal focus - for example, a family screening of "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang," young Buddy pining outside the window of a girl in his class with whom he is smitten, and Buddy's attempts at improving his grades in school, so that the teacher - who rewards her best students by seating them at the front of the class - will place him next to the girl.

Are there times when the film, perhaps, lays it on a little thick? Sure, there are a few of those, especially a wake that involves Dornan singing a 1960s chestnut and everyone dancing like they're being choreographed in a music video. But on the whole, this is no matter. "Belfast" is a highly enjoyable, nostalgic film about growing up, coming face to face with the horrors of the adult world and, eventually, moving on.

The world just outside Buddy's window may be teeming with hatred and prejudice, but what makes "Belfast" so infectious is the warmth of the characters in the family toward one another - Dench and Hinds have a teasing flirtation, despite having been married for many years, while Dornan and Balfe may argue frequently, mostly over Dornan's suggestion that they flee Belfast and move to Australia, but they live by the motto of not going to bed angry. 

Branagh's film displays a delicate balancing act - giving the very serious nature of Northern Ireland's atmosphere during this era the gravitas it requires, while also crafting a charming memory piece that looks back yearningly on the place where its creator grew up. And what makes "Belfast" so successful is that it is able to switch gears between such tones effortlessly, and because we care about the characters, even the most minor of whom are fully developed. There's already a fair amount of awards talk surrounding this movie, and it's not difficult to see why.

Review: Passing

Image courtesy of Netflix.

Bearing some resemblance to Brit Bennett's excellent 2020 novel, "The Vanishing Half," but also - of course - to the 1929 novel by Nella Larsen upon which it is based, Rebecca Hall's debut directorial effort, "Passing," is a compelling story that switches gears several times before arriving at a hauntingly ambiguous ending. The film shows a decent amount of confidence for a debut feature.

Shot in gorgeous black and white and clocking in at just under 100 minutes, "Passing" tells the story of Irene (Tessa Thompson), the wife of a successful Harlem doctor, Brian (Andre Holland), in the 1920s who also is heavily involved in high society, especially her friendship with a pompous white writer (Bill Camp),  and the Negro Welfare League. 

One day, while sitting in a high-end cafe in Manhattan, she runs into Clare (Ruth Negga), an old high school friend whom she hasn't seen in years. Irene is shocked to notice that Clare is with a white man named John (Alexander Skarsgard), and even more surprised to later learn that Clare has long been passing as white. During a visit to their home, Irene is unsettled at how easily Clare slips into her role around her husband, who is unambiguously racist.

Clare starts showing up unannounced at Irene's door, partly because she's glad to see her old friend, but also because, as she tells Irene, she misses spending time around Black folks. As time goes on, Irene becomes perturbed by Clare's presence, especially after it appears that Brian and Clare have taken up flirting with each other. While Clare formerly inspired pity in Irene, that quickly turns to jealousy and disgust.

There's a fair amount of tension in the film, most notably during a scene in which Irene first meets John and Clare sits there with a blank expression on her face as her husband tells their visitor about how he doesn't like Black people. There's also a series of scenes in which Irene, who believes that she and her family are far removed from white society in Harlem, asks Brian not to continually update the couple's young sons on stories about lynching that pop up in the morning newspaper.

It's an interesting juxtaposition. Irene is physically separated from white people based on where she lives and she doesn't want the horrific actions of white people against Blacks to reach her sons' ears - she tells her husband that they'll have plenty of time when they grow up to learn how awful the world can be. Meanwhile, Clare is now trapped in white society, but longs for an escape back to a world she once knew. Hence, her frequent arrivals on Irene's doorstep.

Much will be made about the film's ambiguous ending. An action takes place, and by the way the film is shot it's hard to tell who's responsible for the aftermath of that action. Three possibilities exist, and it's easy enough to see why any three of them could have occurred. It's a fitting ending to a story centering around an enigma - Clare - and the woman who gets sucked into her orbit. 

As a directorial debut, "Passing" shows a lot of promise for Hall as a director. Much like Bennett's novel, which I read earlier this year, it's an interesting take on a person who attempts to straddle two worlds - and the inevitable tragedies that result from such a thing.

Review: Spencer

Image courtesy of Neon.

Pablo Larrain's "Spencer" is another in a long line of movies in recent years that have observed part of the life of an iconic historical figure - in other words, the picture is set during a short window of time that is meant to give us some insight into their personality, psyche or a particular moment during which they achieved something or faced challenges. In other words, "Spencer," which spends a fraught weekend with Princess Diana (Kristen Stewart), is not meant to be a hagiography.

As such, it works pretty well, namely because of the film's gorgeous cinematography, which makes due with some spare locations, and Stewart's sympathetic portrayal of the princess of Wales. The film aims to give us a glimpse of Diana's state of mind at some point in the early 1990s as she battles the Royal Family's traditions and expectations of how they believe she should act as a royal.

The film begins with Diana making her way to a remote palace where the royals are about to celebrate Christmas. She is lost and pulls over to ask directions at a local pub, where the patrons seem shocked to find a princess in their midst. As she nears the palace, she observes a scarecrow that apparently was on the property of her childhood home, which has now been shuttered. This delays her even further, until the palace's chef (Sean Harris) notices her on the side of the road and intervenes.

Much of the picture is spent in the claustrophobic confines of the palace - which is absurd, considering how large the place is - as Diana intentionally shows up late for dinner, scoffs at the tradition of the Royal Family adding three pounds per person over the holidays to prove they had "fun" and being disagreeable with the former military officer (Timothy Spall, embodying the stiff upper lip here) who is the eyes and ears of the family, and constantly appears to be spying on Diana's comings and goings.

In between all of this, we get glimpses of her somewhat limited personal life - especially the times she spends with her sons, William (Jack Nielen) and Harry (Freddie Spry) as well as a woman and confidante who helps her "dress" named Maggie (Sally Hawkins). It's not difficult to see why she remains guarded throughout the picture - Spall's character always seems to be lurking, a replacement dresser is quick to spread gossip and report on anything Diana does and the royals are fairly cold to her, Charles (Jack Farthing), especially.

Outside of this general setup, "Spencer" doesn't stray too far. It's not like "The Queen," which portrayed how a royal attempted to adapt to the changing times, but rather acts almost like a chamber piece. When Diana becomes obsessed with reading about the life of Anne Boleyn (Amy Manson), the appearance of that woman's ghost gives the film an almost spectral quality. 

Much like Larrain's previous "Jackie," which chronicled the former first lady's days in the aftermath of her husband's assassination, the director's latest film is also interested in observing how a very famous woman handles the enormous expectations that she faces. "Jackie" was, perhaps, a little more to the point than this film, although this one works well enough too. It helps that Stewart pours so much into the role.

At times, the film makes her come off as petulant, which some may find objectionable, but as I'd mentioned before, the film isn't the type of biopic that one might typically expect in which the lead role is a flawless individual who rises above less-favorable behavior. 

The film ends on a note of release in which Diana and her boys take a ride in a convertible on a windy day singing along to a 1980s earworm. After watching her squirm in the gilded cage in which she has been trapped for much of the film, it's somewhat cathartic. "Spencer" may not tell us that much about the life of Princess Diana, but it does a good job of capturing how she must have felt like a prisoner in her own life. It's an engaging experience.

Review: The French Dispatch

Image courtesy of Searchlight Pictures.

Meticulous. That's the best word to describe the films of Wes Anderson, especially "The French Dispatch," which could very well be the most Wes Anderson movie that Anderson has ever made. There have been times when critics have complained over Anderson's fussy attention to detail - and make no mistake, literally every object in every shot appears to have been fussed over to great lengths - but in the case of his latest film, it works so well. With only "The Grand Budapest Hotel" as its rival, this new picture could be the director's best in 20 years.

There's not a plot, in the typical sense, in "The French Dispatch," but rather an extended opening sequence describing the creation of and goings-on of the fictional titular publication - a weekly addition to a Kansas newspaper operated by an ex-pat named Arthur Howitzer Jr. (Bill Murray, always an asset), who draws from a roster of - what else - eccentric writers abroad. Howitzer's two mottos are "no crying" and "just make sure it sounds like you wrote it that way on purpose."

After we run quickly through a slew of characters - Elisabeth Moss's strict grammarian is only in a brief scene or two, while Jason Schwartzman's cartoonist is barely present - on the staff, the film moves on to a prologue of sorts about the town in which much of the action is set. By the way, nobody but Wes Anderson could get away with a fictional French town called Ennui. The narrator is Owen Wilson, one of the magazine's writers, and his regaling of the ins-and-outs of Ennui are matched with a frenetic series of scenes about town, complete with a number of classic Anderson dioramas. 

The remainder of the film is split up into three chapters, all of which represent three stories that have run in various publications of The French Dispatch at some point during the 20th century. The lead characters in all three pieces are primarily the writers. In the first, Tilda Swinton narrates a story about a convict artist (Benicio del Toro in a growling performance) whose model (Lea Seydoux) is a female prison guard with whom he's fallen love. Adrien Brody, Bob Balaban and Henry Winkler plays the rich financiers who see the potential in the artist's work and want to bankroll a major show.

In the second scenario, Frances McDormand plays a writer who runs into the problem of not being able to distance herself from her subject matter after she becomes fascinated with - and a little smitten by - a young French wannabe revolutionary played by Timothy Chalamet, whose big showdown with the police and the town's mayor involves a tense game of chess.

In the final - and, in my opinion, best - story, Jeffrey Wright plays Roeback Wright, a writer with a self-described topographic memory who's on a talk show describing to the host - played by Liev Schreiber - how a piece on a chef (Steve Park) who works at a police station somehow led him to the story of the kidnapping of the police chief's (Mathieu Amalric) son by a group of anarchists (led by Edward Norton and Saoirse Ronan). 

Some of the year's biggest laugh-out-loud moments can be found in "The French Dispatch" - a fight during an art opening, a cartoon involving a man in spandex riding around on the hood of a car during a chase and, my personal favorite, a crack about the effects of communion wine on altar boys. 

Even more impressive is the insane attention to detail throughout the film. This is an immaculate film, from a visual standpoint. In nearly every shot, there's something interesting going on, and occasionally there are several things going on at the same time within the frame. The film is often bursting with energy, and every shot is just so.

While Anderson's previous films - especially "Rushmore," "The Royal Tenenbaums" and "The Grand Budapest Hotel" - often mix hilarity with pathos, and some occasional emotional gut punches, "The French Dispatch" mostly avoids that for much of the film. Its coda, however, involves a death at the magazine, its effect on the publication and a group memorial, of sorts. It's here that Anderson's film sneaks up on you. 

"The French Dispatch" is a labor of love and love letter that pays tribute to The New Yorker issues of yesteryear and the writers who filled their pages with fascinating stories. It seems obvious that Anderson reveres these journalists and the magic they can create by simply crafting what they've witnessed into great storytelling, just as a viewer might admire how deftly this film's director uses remarkable attention to detail, camerawork, humor, nostalgia and wit to make something magical like "The French Dispatch."

Review: Last Night In Soho

Image courtesy of Focus Features.

Edgar Wright's films typically subvert genre and, in previous efforts, drew laughs from the expectations one might ascribe to a certain genre - whether it's zombie movies, buddy action films or end-of-the-world scenarios. His 2017 film "Baby Driver" played more like a straightforward action movie - and a very good one it was - and his latest, "Last Night in Soho," is a stylish blending of the horror and Italian giallo genres. 

But while films like "Baby Driver" and "Hot Fuzz" were successful genre subversion exercises for Wright, "Last Night" doesn't quite work. It has a very stylish - and mostly compelling - first half, during which young Eloise (Thomasin McKenzie) moves to London - which is referred to as such a dangerous place so often during the film that it almost becomes a joke in itself - to attend fashion school, although her grandmother warns Eloise that her mother, seen only in occasional mirror images, attempted the same and lost her mind in the process before committing suicide.

A lot of the spaces and people in "Last Night in Soho" are haunted. But for a while, that's OK for Eloise, who loves to dream that she had been her age during London's Swinging 60s, rather than in the present. One night, she gets her wish after moving into an attic apartment in the home of an elderly woman named Mrs. Collins (Diana Rigg). Eloise's nocturnal adventures involve her making her way through the mid-60s, but in the dream Eloise is in the body - yet sees her own face in mirror reflections - of an aspiring singer named Sandie (Anya Taylor-Joy).

The film features one of those aspects that always makes me roll my eyes a little - college students behaving like high school students in movies. In this case, it's the mean girls who treat Eloise like crap, thereby convincing her to move into Mrs. Collins' attic. The only people who pay her any positive attention include a fashion school teacher, her worried grandmother via telephone and a young Black man (Michael Ajao) who takes a romantic interest in her.

There's a scene in which this suitor finds himself in a sticky situation in which a young woman appears to be having some sort of psychotic fit after he nearly sleeps with her, and we see the great level of discomfort he goes through by being a Black man in a screaming white girl's room, but while this scene might have worked well in a film that seriously intended to weigh the consequences of such a scenario, here it seems to exist and then disappear - which makes it sort of a crime to include it in the first place since the filmmakers appear to not seriously address it ever again. 

Even worse, the young man goes to great pains - and I mean literally - to later help the screaming girl, which just seems unrealistic considering all that came first. I'm a little off topic here, but the aforementioned scenario is only one of several in this film that appears to grapple with weighty subject matter, only to take the wrong approach after introducing it. 

Regardless, Eloise soon realizes that the woman in whose body she has been seeing Swinging London was, in fact, murdered, and she first believes the culprit to be an old man she sees in the present day played by Terence Stamp. Once the film begins to be taken over by the murder mystery, "Last Night" loses some steam - there's scene after scene of Eloise seeing a group of male ghosts literally everywhere, and numerous others of her running from various things and then snapping out of trances after she almost does something bad, such as stabbing her roommate with a pair of scissors.

Then, there's the plot twist near the film's end. I wouldn't dare ruin it, and I have to give credit that the concept behind it is fairly strong, but then it's as if the filmmakers don't know how to handle it. Up until this point, the film appeared to be on a somewhat feminist path for a movie of this sort - in which young women are sliced up by a madman - but the manner in which the big reveal is handled goes in a direction that comes off in a pretty bad way. Later, the filmmakers attempt to reconcile these problems, but it feels as if the film's pat ending doesn't quite fit.

There's a reasonable amount to recommend in "Last Night in Soho" - the two female leads are good, when given more to do than just run and scream, and the visuals are often stylish in the way that many giallo films of the 1970s were - strobing neon lights, splashes of red and camera angels reminiscent of that era. But the repetitiveness of some of the film's more ghostly elements, and the bungled manner in which the final scenes are handled detract from the picture overall. It's not a bad movie, but "Last Night in Soho" feels somewhat like a missed opportunity. 

Review: Bergman Island

Image courtesy of IFC Films.

Mia Hansen-Love's latest film is an engrossing drama that includes a film within a film and focuses on the creative process and how our surroundings influence us. Its two lead characters — at least, in one of its two stories — are filmmakers in the middle of creating new projects, but "Bergman Island" is not one of those films about movie-making that seem to appeal only to people in the film industry.

The title refers to Faro, an island in Sweden where the legendary filmmaker Ingmar Bergman became obsessed with its geography and eventually lived there, shooting several of his films — including "Shame" and "Through a Glass, Darkly" — on the island. At the film's beginning, a director named Tony (Tim Roth) and his girlfriend, Chris (Vicky Krieps), also a filmmaker, arrive on the island. He's there for inspiration, as Bergman is one of his favorite directors, but also to take part in a Bergman festival, where one of Tony's latest films will screen with a Q&A to follow.

Chris, on the other hand, has the bare bones of a story in mind, and seemingly a personal one. Oddly enough, little is made of this story until about halfway through the film when she decides to relay the story to Tony to get his feedback. 

It should be noted that as she tells her story — which may or may not have anything to do with Chris's own life, or her relationship with Tony — her beau is occasionally interrupted by phone calls, breaking off her story. Meanwhile, Chris stands Tony up when he attends the "Bergman Safari," a tour of the island's locations where Bergman shot his films that, apparently, is an actual thing. 

Anyway, Chris's film concept revolves around a young woman named Amy (Mia Wasikowska) who has had a longstanding on-again-off-again relationship with a man she's known since her youth named Joseph (Anders Danielsen Lie). The two of them bump into each other during a wedding being held by a mutual friend on Faro. At first they resist, but eventually rekindle their romance — at least the sex part — despite his having a girlfriend elsewhere and she having a child and, possibly, a significant other.

Among the more interesting aspects of "Bergman Island" are the sequences during which Tony and Chris explore the island, occasionally together, but just as often separately — he takes the Bergman Safari, while she finds a young man to show her around the island. These scenes also explore the creative process and how locations can inspire or mold our perceptions — for example, how Tony finds inspiration in visiting locales where one of his heroes made movies, while Chris tries to find an ending for her own story, using the island as a location where she envisions it taking place.

It's also interesting to note that conversations about Bergman films take place between Tony and Chris throughout the film, but it wasn't until after I watched it that I realized that, much like Bergman's "Persona," two women trade places during the course of the film — Chris's story becomes her telling of the film-within-a-film, which stars Amy. They may not swap places in the manner of the two women in Bergman's film, but one takes over for the other as the film's lead character, for a time at least.

The film ends a bit abruptly, but it's an otherwise deceptively simple, but engaging picture that ranks highly — for me, at least — among Hansen-Love's solid filmography. Roth's character may be more in a minor key, but Krieps is able to developer her character in an interesting way. With roles like this one and her stellar work in "Phantom Thread," she continues to prove to be an actress who's often fascinating to watch. "Bergman Island" is a showcase for her talents, but also those of Hansen-Love, who tells stories about human relationships with aplomb.

Review: Dune

Image courtesy of Warner Bros.

Denis Villeneuve's adaptation of Frank Herbert's "Dune" is a more coherent - if, perhaps, not quite as fun - adaptation of the classic science-fiction novel than David Lynch's maligned, but since more positively reevaluated, version of the story. While Lynch's film featured some of the idiosyncrasies typically associated with that director as well as a welcome dose of camp, Villeneuve's is much more self-serious and hews more closely to the novel.

However, Lynch's version was more compact, squeezing the entire epic into a two-hour-plus movie, whereas Villeneuve's picture is only "Part 1" of "Dune," meaning that like so many other big budget Hollywood movies of late - the recent "Halloween," numerous "Star Wars" or comic book movies, for example - the film is somewhat of a means for drawing audiences back in for more. Sort of how the final "Harry Potter" movie didn't really need a first and second part, "Dune" probably could have been condensed to allow for a longer movie without a second part.

Regardless, it's often great to look at and features a terrific cast - Timothy Chalamet, Stellan Skarsgard, Javier Bardem, Josh Brolin, Oscar Isaac, Charlotte Rampling, Dave Bautista and others. Trying to explain the plot of "Dune" might be a fruitless task, but here goes: two families - the House of Atreides (the good guys) and the House of Harkonnen (the villains) have been vying for the emperor's favor to be the tender of a planet that holds the galaxy's most valuable resource - spice.

The House of Atreides, led by Duke Leto (Isaac), has been led to believe that it has been chosen by the emperor, and Leto tells his son, Paul (Chalamet), that one day he will be responsible for leading the family, a task that Paul doesn't know if he's up to. Meanwhile, Paul's mother, Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), is involved with a group of mystics who hold a power known as "The Voice," which Lady Jessica has tried to instill in her son.

Some have said that "Dune" influenced George Lucas's "Star Wars" movies, and it's easy to see how - the desert locales, the "Voice" being an influence on "The Force," intergalactic space opera elements, a "chosen one" character (Luke in "Star Wars," Paul in "Dune") and monstrous creatures (in "Dune," the objects of fear are the gigantic sandworms that populate the desert). 

Just as Paul believes he has started to master "The Voice," a betrayal leads to the Harkonnen taking over Arrakis, the spice planet, and Paul and his mother must throw in their lot with the Fremen, the people who live in the deserts of that planet. Leto had attempted to make peace with the Fremen, but now Paul has no other choice but to team up with them. Zendaya pops up in the final scenes of the movie as Paul's love interest, Chani. 

And that's basically where the story ends, for now. As I'd mentioned before, the film was seemingly intentionally split into two for the purpose of making more money out of a new franchise. Perhaps, the filmmakers thought the story was too long to fit properly into one movie, although Lynch was able to - then again, his version was more of a Lynch film than a by-the-book adaptation of a novel that its fans consider somewhat sacred.

The two films each have their own merits. Lynch's was more bizarre and some sequences - the sandworms, the portrayal of the Baron of Harkonnen and the Gom Jabbar "hand in the box" sequence" - were better handled in the 1984 version. Villeneuve's version takes the story more seriously as a drama, it has some gorgeous cinematography, its story is better laid out and the characters are a little more two dimensional. Chalamet does a fine job as Atreides, and most of the cast provides solid supporting work.

So, while I might not find the new "Dune" to be a great epic as some early reviews have called it, it's a well made, mostly engaging sci-fi blockbuster that sets up a sequel to finish telling its story. "Dune" has long been called a notoriously difficult story to adapt to the screen, but Villeneuve - who also pulled off the seemingly difficult task of making a "Blade Runner" sequel - has risen to the challenge. In other words, so far so good.

Review: Halloween Kills

Image courtesy of Universal Pictures.

John Carpenter's 1978 "Halloween" remains the greatest slasher film in movie history, and the 2018 reboot by David Gordon Green was a surprisingly effective rethinking of the series, which at that point was up to 11 entries. So, it's a surprise and disappointment that the second film in this new trilogy, "Halloween Kills," is a significant step backward.

The original "Halloween," which by far remains the scariest of the series, was a lean and effective thriller with not an ounce of fat on it, while the 2018 Green film was a tense return to the series that erased all of the other films and acted as a direct sequel to Carpenter's original. Much like the original "Halloween" bled into "Halloween II" by making them take place on the same night, "Halloween Kills" picks up directly after the end of 2018's "Halloween."

As the film opens, Jamie Lee Curtis's Laurie Strode, the final girl of the 1978 film now grown up into a survivalist grandmother, is riding away in a truck with a stab wound to the abdomen with her daughter, Karen (Judy Greer, who is the MVP of this latest venture), and granddaughter, Allyson (Andi Matichak), as firefighters rush to the scene of Strode's house that is engulfed with flames. Michael Myers, thought to be dead in the burning house, strolls out of the flames and slaughters about a dozen firefighters.

It was around this point that I felt that "Halloween Kills" was off on the wrong foot. And it never gets back on the right one. Where to begin? For starters, the film makes the same mistake as 1981's "Halloween II" by relegating Curtis to a hospital bed, which she barely leaves during the film and spends much of her time in the company of Officer Hawkins (Will Patton), who was left stabbed and bleeding by Myers's kooky doctor in the previous film. In fact, the picture opens with a somewhat intriguing, if ultimately unnecessary, prologue set in 1978 — hello, digitally enhanced Donald Pleasance! — during which a young Hawkins (portrayed by Thomas Mann) misses his chance to kill Myers.

So, rather than focusing on Laurie, which was the selling point of the 2018 film, "Halloween Kills" instead focuses on a support group of characters who were in the 1978 film, some of whom are portrayed by the original actors, who meet annually on Halloween to commemorate surviving Myers' original massacre. They include Tommy Doyle (Anthony Michael Hall), the leader of the group and once upon a time the young boy with many questions for Laurie, as well as Lindsey (Kyle Richards), the young girl being babysat in 1978; Lonnie Elam (Robert Longstreet), who bullied Tommy in the original film, and nurse Marion Chambers (Nancy Stephens).

That group is together at a bar when they hear the news that Myers has escaped and is engaged in his latest rampage. Armed with purpose and a baseball bat, Tommy decides to take charge, rounding up a vigilante group — which quickly begins harassing the wrong man whom they believe to be Myers — and roaming the streets while shouting, "Evil dies tonight!" Strangely, the film focuses much more on this group — as well as an aging couple who are neighbors of Strode and a gay couple watching "Minnie and Moscowitz" in the former Myers home on Halloween night — rather than the 2018 characters, although Greer gets most of the film's best moments. These new — or rather, old — characters are merely here to be among Myers' latest victims.

The original "Halloween" was violent, but it wasn't fetishistic about it, and the 2018 version, while more so, wasn't either. This latest "Halloween," on the other hand, looks as if it were filmed by Lucio Fulci. Heads are smashed repeatedly against walls and necks are twisted at odd angles. A man is stabbed in the eye and blood sprays out of his socket, while another man has his eyes gouged out, the eyeball oozing out as blood sprays everywhere. A man who falls from a hospital window lays splayed on the sidewalk, his body parts arranged at grotesque angles and viscera spreads out over the sidewalk. "Halloween Kills" may not be very scary, but it's plenty gross. The film's Black and LGBTQ characters seem to bear the brunt of the violence.

Also, the film becomes even less scary as the characters discuss what they believe to be Myers' nature. In the original, Carpenter was smart enough to not assign any motivation to Myers, merely pronouncing him as "pure evil," which made him scarier. In this new film, you won't forget that he's evil because it's mentioned every few minutes.

Social commentary in horror movies is a longstanding tradition — director George Romero did it best with his "Dead" movies — but the mob mentality on display, which appears to bear some resemblance to individuals participating in election disruption around the nation late last year or storming the Capitol in January, comes off here as slightly ham-fisted. Green has noted that the last in the series will take place four years later during COVID-19 and "peculiar politics." This sounds compelling, but only time will tell if that films works better than this one.

But, perhaps, the strangest misstep in "Halloween Kills" is that its ending seems to fly completely in the face of what the 2018 film seemed to be saying. In that picture, three generations of women fought back against the violent man who'd left them frightened for years. The end of "Halloween Kills" seems to say that doing such a thing is, ultimately, a fruitless task and, well, there's no point to it. 

The picture has some moments that are intriguing — the opening sequence set in 1978, for example — but it ultimately squanders them in favor of relentlessly gory deaths, an over-the-top attempt at social commentary, the sidelining of its most interesting character and a bleak ending that contradicts the previous film's concept. Perhaps, the finale will be an improvement, but the 12th entry into this 43-year saga has too many unforced errors.