Review: Candyman

Image courtesy of Universal Pictures.

Nia DaCosta's"Candyman" remake-reboot-sequel-whatever-you-want-to-call-it is a film that's filled to the brim with ideas, and manages to sneak some compelling social commentary into its story. So, it's a shame that the film's execution problems get in the way of all of the - for lack of a better phrase - good stuff.

The original 1992 "Candyman" film directed by Bernard Rose easily remains the best in the series in terms of quality, scares, tone and thematic elements. Jordan Peele, who directed the very good "Get Out" and "Us," is the producer on this latest "Candyman," so it comes as no surprise that this new film has a fair amount on its mind, and weaves into its story elements that feel urgent in the wake of Black Lives Matter, police brutality and the open racism that has been plaguing this country.

The problem with the new "Candyman" isn't that the concepts it explores aren't compelling, but rather that its plotting is all over the place, and some of the concepts are a little too broad, whereas the exploration of how racism led to the original Candyman's presence was more concrete. In this new film, it's a little more nebulous to the film's detriment.

For starters - and this is a spoiler alert - the film could be titled "Candymen." In other words, Daniel Robitaille (Tony Todd) - the artist-turned-avenging-angel of Chicago's Cabrini Green housing projects who haunted the first films in the series after being brutally tortured and covered in honey, so that bees could sting him to death due to his dalliance with a white woman - is a presence in the new "Candyman," but only to an extent.

Instead, the film's lead character - Anthony McCoy (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), an artist on the brink of success who has a girlfriend, Brianna (Teyonah Parris), who also works in the art world - comes to find out that the former site of the housing projects, which was torn down a decade ago, has become plagued by a series of figures similar to Robitaille, all of whom were killed by the cops or died by other unjust means.

One of the figures is a mentally handicapped man from the 1970s who handed out candy to children in the projects, but when pieces of candy with razor blades in them began to circulate - and one ends up in the mouth of a white girl - the man was beaten to death by the cops. It is later discovered that he was innocent, and now his ghost is among the Candymen haunting the area. The fact that this particular Candyman throws pieces of candy at his victims before killing them almost turns the figure into somewhat of a joke.

There's a fair amount of reference to the series' first film, from lengthy discussions about Virginia Madsen's lead character, who was researching urban legends in that movie, to an appearance by Vanessa Williams' character from the 1992 original. There's also a plot line involving the baby who was snatched by the Candyman in the first film, and there's a back story for another man who witnessed the mentally handicapped man get beaten to death when he was a child.

This latter back story allows for a confusing and particularly clunky finale in which the stories of Anthony and his girlfriend and the man who witnessed the beating as a boy converge. It is at that point the audience finally gets what it's waiting for in terms of catching up with a character from the original film, but it's a little too late at this point.

This new film is particularly brutal - there's a gory murder of an art gallery owner and his intern - and some of the violence appears tacked on just for the sake of it. For example, the film cuts away from the main story to a group of teenage girls at a high school who say the Candyman's name in the mirror, for no other reason than to up the film's body count. On the other hand, there's a particularly effective murder of another character that is seen from far away through an apartment window.

In terms of modern context, there's some interesting stuff going on in the film - for example, Anthony's exhibit on Robitaille and the legend of the Candyman is called "Say His Name," incorporating the spate of police killings of unarmed Black people in the United States with the fact that one must say the Candyman's name five times in a mirror to summon him. 

But while many of the subjects covered in the film - from gentrification to white supremacy - fit well into this particular story, many of the characters in the picture speak as if they're delivering a dissertation, rather than having the type of conversations most people might have on such topics. A scene in which a snooty art critic dismisses Anthony's work involves phrasing that might sound right in the purpose of a magazine essay, but not in the actual speech between two people.

So, while the new "Candyman" has some interesting ideas, it doesn't always know what to do with them. Its story gets a little slighted, the characters seemingly exist to fulfill the purposes of the screenplay, unlike those in the original film, and the overall result feels somewhat slapdash. In terms of horror movie sequels, "Candyman" has more on its mind than most. It just doesn't express its ideas in a manner that necessarily makes for compelling moviegoing. 

Review: The Night House

Image courtesy of Searchlight Pictures.

Drenched in atmosphere and bolstered by a strong performance by Rebecca Hall, David Bruckner's "The Night House" is a genuinely creepy horror movie with an intriguing mystery at its center that maybe tries to bite off a little more than it can chew, but I'm not one to fault a genre movie for trying to be about something other than just jump scares and scary imagery.

The film is basically about the grieving process - in this case, Beth (Hall) is at a loss to explain why her seemingly happy husband, Owen (Evan Jonigkeit), took a boat out one night on the lake next to their secluded upstate New York home and committed suicide by gun. His presence seems to haunt their home in the days afterward, and Beth always seems like a person on the verge of a breakdown, most notably while out for drinks with friends or dealing with a parent trying to argue for a higher grade for their child (Beth is a teacher, by the way).

At first, Beth assumes the strange noises she hears in her home at night or the quick glimpses of images that must be imaginary are all part of her process of grieving - that is, until she finds some strange books kept hidden by her husband as well as photos on his cell phone of women who look almost exactly like Beth, but aren't her. Even more bizarre is when she finds another secluded home that appears to resemble her own hidden away in the woods near her property.

Her friends rightfully seem concerned and warn Beth not to go digging into Owen's past - she might find something she doesn't like and, after all, isn't it better to remember him as her loving husband? A neighbor (Vondie Curtis Hall, solid in a supporting performance) also worries about Beth, and one day reveals to her an odd meeting he had with Owen while walking in the woods.

Meanwhile, strange shadows loom in Beth's home, she manages to track down one of the women photographed on Owen's cell phone and is regaled with a strange and unsettling story and the record player in her living room starts up at all hours - mostly playing Richard and Linda Thompson's ghostly "The Calvary Cross" - of the night. What exactly is going on?

Once we finally figure out what it all means, audience members might vary on whether "The Night House" sticks the landing. When the film goes from the figurative to the literal, the explanation could be seen as a little flimsy, although in metaphorical terms it leaves a lot to chew on. In many ways, Beth is battling her grief, but also her longtime obsession with death - an accident, she tells a friend at one point in the movie, left her dead for several minutes when she was younger - is a factor here.

Regardless of whether the film ties everything up neatly or if the conclusion brings all of the film's ideas together into a cohesive whole really doesn't matter that much. "The Night House" is a brooding, eerie and effective haunted house movie with an excellent performance by Hall - and much of the supporting cast. 

Its insistence on dwelling on concepts that are more thoughtful than one might expect from an American horror movie would likely cause some to classify it as "elevated horror" - a slightly pejorative term to describe thinking-person's genre exercises. That might be an adequate classification, but in some ways "The Night House" feels less like a horror movie that tackles weighty subject matter, and more like a thoughtful film on distressing subjects that uses horror tropes to tell its story. However you might classify it, it's effective.

Review: CODA

Image courtesy of Apple TV.

Sian Heder's "CODA" is a crowd pleaser in the best sense of the word. It's a film that takes what would come off as cliches in other films - a young person wanting to pursue a dream is held back by family obligations, trains with a coach who believes in her and discovers romance along the way - and makes them feel sincere. It also helps that the film has a unique hook: In the film, Ruby (Emilia Jones) is a CODA, a child of deaf adults.

Ruby's dream is to sing, which she realizes after she chooses choir as her elective during her senior year of high school as a means to be near Miles (Ferdia Walsh-Peelo, of "Sing Street"), on whom she has a crush. Her parents - Jackie (Marlee Matlin) and Frank (Troy Kotsur) - and brother, Leo (Daniel Durant), are all deaf, and she is the only family member with hearing. This helps the family business - they operate a boat for fishing somewhere in small-town New England - as Ruby acts as the ears for her father and brother when the Coast Guard is trying to alert them or while negotiating fish sales.

But it is music teacher Bernardo Villalobos (a very funny Eugenio Derbez) who recognizes Ruby's talent, although he warns her not to waste his time due to her constant tardiness that is a result of her constantly having to be on-hand to help the family business. Yes, this is another of those films in which a young person must decide whether to be burdened by the duties of family or pursue their passion. But this one does it with charm and heart.

One of the revolutionary aspects of the picture is how much silence exists during its running time. Not since "A Quiet Place" has a film done so much with the lack of spoken words. Not only are there numerous scenes during which Ruby and her family communicate solely through sign language, but there's a really great use of sound and the lack thereof during a performance where Ruby's parents must look around at the faces of the people in the audience to see how their daughter's singing affects them.

It also helps that Jones is real talent, both as an actress and singer. She can really belt out the songs - "Both Sides Now" and "You're All I Need to Get By" - she practices with Villalobos and the choir. The film culminates in the type of emotional climax one might expect from such a film, but it's well earned. And during a recital sequence at a prestigious school near the film's end, the filmmakers do exactly what you expect them to, but it works because of the great work the cast has done to make you care about these characters.

"CODA" was one of the biggest hits of this year's Sundance Film Festival, and it's easy to see why. This is a lovely little movie with a bunch of great performances, a good amount of humor, a heroine who's easy to cheer for and solid writing. The only shame is that, much like so many films in the era of COVID-19, it will likely be seen by most on a computer screen or TV, rather than in a theater. Regardless, seek it out wherever you can find it.

Review: Respect

Image courtesy of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer

The Aretha Franklin biopic, "Respect," hits many of the familiar beats of this particular type of film and doesn't stray too far from the path. In other words, it's more in the realm of "Bohemian Rhapsody" and "Rocketman" (both good, but semi-formulaic) than it is similar to "I'm Not There" or "Straight Outta Compton," which both focused on more than just the music.

So, while "Respect" is a pretty decent movie with a solid Jennifer Hudson performance as the Queen of Soul, it's also a bit of a missed opportunity. There's a scene midway through the movie in which Martin Luther King Jr. (portrayed by Gilbert Glenn Brown) praises Aretha in front of an audience regarding her work with the Civil Rights Movement. The only thing is: Other than an occasional appearance by MLK, who is friends with Re's father, the Rev. C.L. Franklin (Forest Whitaker); a conversation between MLK and Aretha in which she says she wants to do more for the cause; and Aretha's stated support for Angela Davis, the singer's extensive work with the movement is mostly left out of the film.

This is a shame, not only because it would have added a little something extra to the film and made it among the more unique biopics, but also because the movie instead focuses on the turbulent relationship between Franklin and her controlling, violent husband, Ted White (Marlon Wayans), and the singer's drinking problem. So, what we're left with is yet another series of scenes in which a superstar is mistreated by a spouse or paranoid because she's drinking too much and alienating friends and family. Thankfully, the drinking sequences are brief.

The most interesting moments in the film are the early scenes in which we see how her young adulthood shaped who she'd become as well as her early years of being unable to find success. And maybe it's because I'd already seen the documentary "Muscle Shoals" that I found the sections in which Aretha cut records at the legendary Alabama recording studio to be among the most compelling.

There are some solid performances in the film - Whitaker is very good as always, while Hailey Kilgore and Saycon Sengbloh are memorable as Re's sisters - but it's Hudson who holds the whole thing together. Much like the Queen of Soul herself, Hudson has a terrific voice, and while her singing doesn't exactly sound like Aretha's, she still can belt out those high notes with ease. She also adds nuance to a character who is well-known, beloved and larger than life.

So, while "Respect" doesn't break the mold that has been established and mostly stuck to for years in the musical biopic genre, the film has its share of compelling moments. It may be a bit too long and focus on elements (alcoholism and an abusive husband) that aren't as compelling as others that are short changed (Aretha's civil rights work), but it's overall a pretty good movie. 

It's interesting that the filmmakers choose to end on Aretha's recording of the landmark gospel album, "Amazing Grace," in 1972 as well as the filming of a documentary - which finally saw the light of day a few years ago - at the church where the songs are performed. The album had followed several years, according to this movie, of hard living for Aretha, but as a young woman who had faced many challenges as a girl (including a pregnancy brought on by statutory rape) and fought and struggled to find success, a rebirth like this one seems like a good place to end the movie. It's unlikely you won't be moved during her rendition of "Amazing Grace" as her voice soars to the heavens.

Review: Annette

Image courtesy of Amazon.

Leos Carax's "Annette" — which combined with Julia Ducournau's "Titane" and Apichatpong Weerasethakul's "Memoria" by all accounts must have made for a mind-bending Cannes Film Festival last month — is likely to be the strangest movie you'll see all year. For those familiar with the work of the French director — who has made six features in some 37 years — this will come as no surprise.

In some ways, "Annette" feels like Carax's biggest film. This is the closest we might get to a seemingly big-budget Leos Carax movie. The one thing the film doesn't lack is cajones, although the thing it seems to lack is an editor (at nearly 140 minutes, it feels a little stretched to the max).

In terms of quality, "Annette" falls somewhere in the middle of the reclusive director's work. "Holy Motors" remains his best — and most career-defining work — while "Lovers on the Bridge" and "Mauvais Sang" are the runners up. "Annette" isn't on the level of those films, but it's better than his decent, but not great, "Boy Meets Girl" and his (in my opinion) slightly overrated "Pola X."

The film is, in some ways, the most Carax-ian of them all. "Annette" is a musical — although a dark and, occasionally, depressing one — in the style of "A Star is Born," only with a foul mouthed, controversy-seeking comedian (a very committed Adam Driver) and a soprano opera singer (Marion Cotillard) as its central figures. Oh yeah, and I should mention they have a young daughter — the titular character — who is portrayed by an, um, animatronic puppet.

The film's opening sequence is its greatest display of bravura. Beginning in a recording studio, Carax himself sits in a chair and asks, "May we begin?" to various people seated in a recording studio. Members of the band Sparks — who provide the film's music — begin to play and sing. Then, they get up out of their chairs and begin walking out of the studio, and the film transitions into a musical as they make their way down the street. They are joined by Driver's Henry McHenry and Cotillard's Ann, who eventually branch off, with McHenry heading off on his motorcycle and Ann driving away in a limousine.

Their romance is briefly introduced, and we find ourselves already in the midst of their relationship — one of the film's less-intriguing conceits involves clips from an E!-like TV station that keeps us up to date on the latest gossip involving the couple. 

Ann is renowned for her onstage deaths during her performances, while Henry's comedy act is less stand-up and more performance art piece. His crowd chants along in unison when called upon to do so, and his situational brand of aggressive comedy hints at anger and violence lurking beneath — there's also a dream sequence in which Ann imagines a bunch of women coming forward to denounce Henry in a #MeToo style — as well as a confessional aspect. He admits that he became a comedian to disarm people.

But like "A Star is Born," one character's star is on the rise (Ann), while Henry flames out during a performance in which he claims, much to the audience's dismay, that he has murdered his wife. The two of them have a baby daughter — the creepily animatronic Annette — but that doesn't save their marriage. Then, a tragedy occurs and the film takes on an even more surreal storyline involving Henry taking Annette on the road to display her surprising singing talents, although this "singing" mostly amounts to her going "ah-ah-ah-ah" and flying through the air (don't ask).

"Annette" is a film that features, well, a whole lot. It's long, strange, often impressive in its execution, occasionally exhausting and somewhat muddled in the themes it's trying to convey. As a director, Carax has long lingered on artifice: His brilliant "Holy Motors" was all about the act of acting and creating a persona out of thin air, while in other films, characters would burst into exuberant running or dancing at random moments (think of the jog down the street to David Bowie's "Modern Love" in "Mauvais Sang" or the insane dancing sequence on the bridge in "Lovers on the Bridge").

Carax is certainly among modern moviedom's unique originals. There's nothing quite like his films, including "Annette," other than other Carax films. "Annette" can be invigorating, truly bizarre, unsettling, funny, a little tedious and inventive all within the course of a single scene. It's a case of a movie being a little "too much," one might say. It's not my favorite Carax movie, but I'm glad it exists. It will likely please or alienate viewers in equal measure.

Review: Stillwater

Image courtesy of Focus Features.

For most of its running time, Thomas McCarthy's "Stillwater" is a solid drama based somewhat on the Amanda Knox case - in which an American foreign exchange student was accused in 2007 of murdering another girl, jailed for several years, acquitted and eventually set free - until a last minute plot development throws it off kilter and makes it a little more melodramatic than it needs to be.

But up until that point, the picture is carried along by a strong Matt Damon performance. In the film, he plays Bill Baker, a former ne'er-do-well - or so we're told - who has tried to make amends by living a quiet life in which he works construction or for oil-drilling companies in Oklahoma. He has a strong Southern accent, answers mostly with "yes, ma'ams" or "no sirs," listens to country music while driving, says a prayer before every meal and makes no qualms about owning two guns. 

In a lesser movie, Bill would come across as a stereotype, but Damon gives this character some subtle shades. He's neither the stoic man from the plains states nor is he the stereotypical middle-American who voted for Trump - upon being asked about that, he notes that he couldn't vote due to a criminal record, but says no more on the matter.

When we meet him at the beginning of the picture, he is traveling - and seemingly not for the first time - to Marseilles, where his daughter, Allison (Abigail Breslin) has been held for several years in a French jail after being convicted of murdering a Middle Eastern girl with whom she'd been having an affair. Allison wants her lawyers - portrayed as mostly useless - to reopen the case, and she claims her innocence. Her father believes her, but when the lawyers prove not to be helpful, he sort of opens his own case, in a manner of speaking.

There's a plot element that really shouldn't work here - Bill's next door neighbor is a French theater actress named Virginie (Camille Cottin) who has an adorable and precocious daughter named Maya (Lilou Siauvaud), and he eventually becomes friends with them after Virginie offers to become a translator for him during his quest. This is in exchange for a kindness he does for her young daughter.

For much of the film, the story involving Allison's court case and a mysterious man named Akim, who might hold the answer to what happened during the death of Allison's lover, pop up now and then, but the real heart of the movie is Bill's friendship with his neighbor and her daughter. The picture thankfully moves quickly past any sort of quirky or cute element involving a Red State American hanging out with a French actress and her charming daughter, and takes the scenario seriously. That's what makes "Stillwater" so compelling for so long.

There is, unfortunately, a plot thread that involves tracking down Akim that eventually leads the picture down a direction that is a little silly - it's similar to Denis Villeneuve's "Prisoners," although that film handled such a storyline much better - and somewhat unnecessary, other than to provide a piece of evidence with which Bill will confront his daughter at the film's end.

That misstep aside, "Stillwater" is a solid film - Damon is very good, and so are Cottin and Siauvaud, and Allison's case is engrossing until the film makes the aforementioned miscalculation. The film has what some might call a "happy ending," although it's bittersweet in one aspect, and a final line of dialogue from Bill points to the possibility of a character opening himself up to the concept of change. McCarthy has previously plucked a story out of the headlines - his Oscar-winning "Spotlight" - with great results, and even if "Stillwater" isn't on the level of that film, it's still good and well worth seeing for the parts that work.