A Boy And His Dad [HONEY BOY Film Review]

Imagine a hyper-real documentary crossed with a fractured fairy tale where the subject matter is the effects of wayward fathering on impressionable youth. That’s Honey Boy in a nutshell and it’s heavy.
Director Alma Har’el, working from a script by Shia LaBeouf, manages to blur the lines between reality and embellished memories just enough to give our tale of dominance and submission some startling visual oomph. The end result is ostensibly LaBeouf’s origin story, albeit delivered in layered flashbacks which waver between dreamlike austerity and nightmarish indulgence.
Based on LaBeouf’s tumultuous relationship with his addict father, the film unfolds in a manner meant to mimic PTSD. In the opening frames we are introduced to our twenty-something “hero” Otis (i.e. LaBeouf’s alter-ego) as he wrestles with rehab and his own inner demons. These sequences are interspersed with Otis’ memories of his childhood. This back and forth storytelling lends the entire film a subdued shellshocked vibe, one that is more often than not jarring. The unhinged aura is further aided by lots of quasi-surreal imagery which floats between the scenes, ultimately intermingling with some serious bouts of intense drama focused on abuse, co-dependency, and skewered expressions of love and affection.
Much of the weight of Honey Boy comes from LaBeouf himself, who delivers a powerhouse performance as the domineering James Lort, a husk of a man living off the residuals of his son’s budding television career (an obvious allusion to LaBeouf’s salad days with Disney). To say that LaBeouf is smoldering in the role of his failed clown father is an understatement.
While there is no question that this is LaBeouf’s vehicle, he is surrounded by a solid cast, including some great young(er) actors. Otis is portrayed at two stages of his life:  the younger version rendered by Noah Jupe--perhaps the brightest child actor to hit screens this year other than Roman Griffin Davis from Jojo Rabbit--while Lucas Hedges gives a captivating display as the older Otis, letting loose with unhinged unpredictability. The scenes between Jupe and LaBeouf are bristling with intensity and levels of uncomfortable drama; many of these scenes, in which James manipulates his young son, are harrowing and emotionally turbulent. And scenes between the older Otis and his addiction counselors are fantastic, yielding some of the sharpest moments of dialogue, not to mention gripping emotion.  At one point Otis mentions that everything his dad told him while growing up was a compendium of things other people had said, alluding to the fact that his father never had an original idea of his own. I am not sure if this was intentional or perhaps I am reading too much into this passage, but it felt rather ironic given LaBeouf’s past real world tussles with plagiarism (his double-bouts with Daniel Clowes, to be precise).
Speaking of the dialogue, LaBeouf displays a keen ear and a sharp tongue for phrasing and audible nuance; words flow from the actors’ mouths like fine wine one minute then shift into melodramatic meltdown the next. Large chunks of the verbiage dwell in the realm of chaotic humor and these bits are expertly buffered by equal amounts of staggering seriousness. There were so many memorable moments uttered throughout the film that I had a hard time keeping track of them all.
Sure, the acting is certainly the core of the film, not to mention the rich visual flair, and captivating dialogue, but it is all augmented by some fantastic sound design as well as Alex Somers’ score, which percolates between sobriety and whimsy, often being both genuine and aloof simultaneously. Its fluctuating sonic dichotomy adheres to the story perfectly and helps create a deeper immersiveness throughout the film.
As with Pedro Almodovar’s recent Pain and Glory, this is yet another highly stylized memoir delivered by a somewhat unreliable--and in this case mentally fucked-up-- protagonist. And like that film, this one also chooses to dip its feet into meta territory with the end result being a captivating story about addiction, love, and repentance.

Rating: 4 (out of 5)
RIYL: Pain and Glory; The Florida Project; The Mid ‘90s;

Vote for Pedro [PAIN AND GLORY Film Review]

[*note: this film is in.Spanish with English subtitles.]

Truth be told, I’ve never given Pedro Almodovar his just dues. I have seen at least six of his films over the past 35 years and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed every one of them. Yet, invariably, when a new Almodovar film is announced, my initial reaction usually resides in the “Meh” response category. I have no fucking idea why this is. I mean dude is a great filmmaker; an auteur in possession of a keen visual sense and his way with dialogue borders on the fantastic. When Almodovar’s latest endeavor popped up at a theater near me I  figured “What the heck?” I am super glad I didn’t give two or even three hecks because the film is immensely enjoyable, not only visually and thematically, but also oratorically.
But I digress. Pain And Glory unravels like a memoir delivered by a slightly unreliable, yet insanely charismatic protagonist Salvador Mallo (Antonio Banderas) who may or may not be the writer/director himself. The whole glorious mess is additionally dressed up in wonderfully droll melodramatic tones heightened with just the right amounts of robust satire and meta fiction.
This film is anchored by a fantastic performance from Banderas as an aging film director coming to terms with his own physical and creative mortality (for those who care about such things, Banderas won "Best Actor" at Cannes this year). Backing Banderas is a stellar supporting cast which includes Penelope Cruz as well as a bunch of other Spanish and Argentine actors I probably should know but had never heard of prior. They are all great and even come close to upstaging Banderas on occasion (to wit, Asier Etxeandia is beyond stellar in his role as Alberto Crespo, a dragon chasing has-been actor).
The first act bristles with biting humor and quasi-absurdist moments before dipping into the second act which more often than not feels a bit maudlin and reliant on tele novella-inspired melodrama. Then the third act comes back and turns everything on its collective head with an ending that is so perfectly meta poignant (or poignantly meta?) that it’s not only emotionally stunning, but also changes the whole meaning of the entire film in one swift swoop.  In fact, this may be one of the best endings I've seen in a film in a long, long time; it changes your entire view of what you have been watching the whole time.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
While the acting is undeniably the focal point of the film, it is expertly augmented by Almodovar's sharp use of color in every damn shot.  On some levels it reminds me of how Italian director Dario Argento expertly employed color in his seminal ‘70s films, except where Argento used a vivid palette to create an unnerving sense of terror, Almodovar uses rich hues to create feelings of warmth and comfort mixed with just a tinge of surreality and sadness; everything in Almodovar’s world is bright and happy, but also somewhat cartoonish, highly introspective, and even bittersweet at the same time.
Coupled with the visual complexity is a wonderfully understated score by Alberto Iglesias (BTW, he won "Best Soundtrack" at Cannes this year...). There are repeated refrains which run throughout the film helping to create an overwhelming sense of familiarity and repetition that greatly adds to the storytelling. The score is never overpowering, though, but rather adds subtle sonic nuance to the proceedings.
But back to the story. The whole film is a loose recollection of the protagonist’s memories, ranging from the opening moments of the film which give us a joyous flashback scene of Cruz (who portrays the young version of Mallo’s mother) and a passel of Spanish worker women washing sheets and clothing in a river. As they shake out the linens and drape them over bushes to dry they begin singing and dancing. It is the only moment in the film that is not subtitled, so non-Spanish speaking audiences will have no idea what the song says, but its tone is one of joy and carefreeness; it’s a hyper real moment that sets the poignant tone which percolates throughout the rest of the film.
Other scenes with Cruz are equally enrapturing, from a night spent in a train station to a familial relocation to a small village where they eventually end up living in a cave. As for Banderas, he manages to convey age with grace and humor, sporting a wildly unkempt hairstyle, a heavily salted beard, and walking about stiffly (his character suffers from numerous physical maladies).
I know I already mentioned the ending of the film, but damn if it doesn’t warrant a repeat. It comes out of left field and turns the film from being an exercise in self reflection into a sublimely self referential slice of irony; it literally changes the interpretation of every scene that occurred prior. Sure, you could call it a twist, but it’s more than that. It’s a slyly emotional bait and switch that delivers a subdued wallop of simultaneous joy and sadness. Whatever you wish to call it, it is one of the coolest endings ever committed to film. I smiled and cried simultaneously.
While on the surface Pain and Glory seems to be chronicling the loves and losses incurred by a celebrity, ultimately, the film is about addictions, whether they be chemical, emotional, physical, or mental. It is all delivered in a package that is richly rendered, gloriously nostalgic, and emotionally immersive. That it all ends up having a uniquely personal manner is the icing on the San Marcos Cake. I suggest you ask for a really big slice. And don’t forget to lick the plate.

Rating: 4 (out of 5)
RIYL:

Erin Go Brawl [THE IRISHMAN Film Review]

[*note: I drove 180 miles round trip to see this film in a small independent theater in Minden, NV. I am pretty certain that I wouldn't have been able to have streamed it in one fell swoop at home and feel that it definitely benefited from being seen on the Silver Screen. For all his bluster about "cinema", I am still questioning Scorsese's decision to work with NF and his absence in the discussions between NF and the major theater chains in regards to the theatrical distribution of the film. He had time to diss Marvel films, but couldn't rally to have his film more accessible on the Big screen?]

While perhaps not nearly as epic as The Godfather or Goodfellas or even Scarface, Martin Scorsese’s latest excursion into gangster cinema is still an engaging, slow boil historical yarn about the man who allegedly killed Jimmy Hoffa.
While the length of the film, it’s limited theatrical run, and the expensive digital technology used have all come under fire, those are mere side notes to the film itself, which is mostly a tour de force of acting and generally well-timed pacing.
The story alone should keep anyone on their toes as it bounces between eras without pause, testing one’s knowledge of American history, specifically in the periods between post-WWII and the ‘80s. It’s this hopscotch through time that elicited the use of computer enhanced trickery to make the core trio of actors--Robert DeNiro, Joe Pesci, Al Pacino--seem to change age at the drop of a dime. I understand Scorsese’s reasoning behind using the technology, as it allows the three actors to carry their rapport with one another throughout the film, thus never breaking the intense chemistry they have between them. Yet at the same time it’s also a bit disconcerting. While not necessarily dwelling in the Uncanny Valley, the film certainly finds itself  stuck in an Uncanny Gully more often than not. I personally found the DeNiro de-aging to be the most distracting. It didn't look like they did much CG work on Pesci. And Pacino's digitization was slightly more naturalistic than DeNiro's. I am not 100% sure how much they digitally enhanced other actors as some of the work looked practical (the Fat Tony character and Bobby Cannavale's character, among other supporting players, appeared to be the result of make-up, but don’t quote me on that). Thankfully, the DeNiro de-aging more or less takes place in the first act and once your eyes adjust to the digitized anomalies you easily get lost in the serpentine story and the bravura acting.
The acting here is superb and the performances from the three leads is key to the success of the film. I have to admit that in the past 20 years both DeNiro and Pacino regularly seem to just be “themselves” onscreen these days; it’s as if they are playing the same character over and over again. Yet with this film I believed each of them in their respective roles. DeNiro appears a little less aggro than normal and Pacino, while still all bluster and bravado, seemed to be toning it all down a bit, as well. Pesci was pure gold, delivering a snarky, yet smooth demeanor that, quite honestly, completely eclipses his co-stars.
As for Marty’s hand in the game, at first his direction seems simple and understated, but you soon realize that he uses close-ups to great effect, keeps the shots tight, and lets the story unfold economically. It doesn’t hurt that the screenplay, for the most part, is taut and terse. Additionally, the pacing is wonderfully nuanced and manages to flow at just the right tempo. And it’s all wrapped in a great score by Robbie Robertson. In fact,  the way Scorsese chose to use the music was really interesting; sometimes it’s blaring non-stop, other times it fades into the background.
The story more or less moves along at a good clip, creating a distinct sense of the time and place in a semi-linear fashion. There is, however, one standout segment involving “Crazy” Joe Gallo, which feels somewhat out of place. A friend of mine remarked that “Crazy Joe came in hot, right?” And he nailed it. The introduction of this character is abrupt, lacking any real exposition as to how he really fits into the story. And no sooner is he harriedly introduced [SPOILER ALERT!!!] than he’s killed off. In retrospect I understood that the entire film is meant to be Frank “The Irishman” Sheeran’s (portrayed by DeNiro) recollection of his life, so he is remembering things in a haphazard manner and may not be an entirely honest narrator, but this sequence in the film just didn’t feel fleshed out enough. Honestly, they could easily have left this bit out and the film would have probably flowed a little more evenly.
As I stated earlier, the real reason to watch this film is the acting, but also perhaps because of the fact that this might be the celluloid swan song in terms of seeing these actors and this director involved in a project together. Hell, according to lore both Scorsese and DeNiro had to literally twist Pesci's arm to come out of retirement to make the film.
As for the violence, it's pretty much what you would expect from an R-rated gangster flick. There's some gun play, some head stomping, and a wee bit of blood and splattered brains. But none of it is Tarantino level.
Oh, and what about the wopping 3-and-a-half hours (without an intermission)? When the credits rolled it didn’t seem as if I had just sat through 210 minutes of gangster machismo. Sure, Scorsese could easily have trimmed 30-minutes from the running time (the Joe Gallo section, imho), but he could just as easily have expanded the film by 30-minutes to flesh out some of the weaker elements and it still would have been watchable. All in all, The Irishman is an interesting expose about men who put their “jobs” before their families and behave badly, all in the name of brotherhood and a distinct sense of honor and obligation.

RATING: 3.5 (out of 5)
RIYL: Goodfellas; Casino; Che; Mesrine; The Godfather; Carlito’s Way; Scarface; State of Grace; The Krays

MOTHERLESS BROOKLYN [Film Review]

If it were a triangle, writer/director/actor Edward Norton’s interpretation of Jonathan Letham’s 1999 novel of the same name would certainly be of the scalene variety. While a cohesive whole, it’s a bit uneven and lopsided throughout its 144 minute running time.
Norton certainly has a great eye for composition and manages to elicit wonderful performances from all the actors involved. Yet for every spate of memorable moments there’s at least one that falters and seems out of place.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The story is a neo-noir centered around Lionel (portrayed by Norton), a neophyte detective who suffers from Tourettes. Yup, our protagonist is prone to yelling out swear words and nonsensical phrases at the most inappropriate of times. This, naturally, lends a quirky sheen to the overall plot, which is more or less a turgid murder mystery.
The other interesting aspect of the film is that the source material took place in the ‘90s, but Norton has staged his version in 1957 where race and affluence play a major role in the wheelings and dealings of New York City. The story is a labyrinthian swirl of underhanded politics and racial tension taking place on the cusp of a new decade. (FWIW, I read the novel back when it was first publishe din 1999, but I did not re-visit it prior to watching the film. I plan to re-read it shortly and then compare the differences).
In regards to the look of the the film, Norton proves to be rather skilled behind the camera, delivering deft action sequences like the taut opening concatenation which mixes engaging dialogue with a sinister meet and greet that ultimately ends in a terse car chase and dastardly gun violence. The tension he creates in this long introductory scene is fantastic. He re-manifests this same sense of energy and excitement later in the film with a wonderful altercation between our “hero” Lionel and a behemothian thug. The entire escapade takes place in the confines of a narrow apartment hallway and on a rusty fire escape. With these scenes Norton displays a knack for staging lean and mean action scenes. Norton also has a great eye in regards to the composition of scenes. Many shots in the film are beautifully staged as if they were meant to be still photos exhibited at a gallery.  He also makes wonderfully creative use of reflections and shadows throughout the film.
When it comes to the acting, Norton has seriously stacked the decks in his favor. The entire film, especially the nuanced dialogue, comes alive thanks to the likes of Alec Baldwin, Bobby Cannavale, Ethan Suplee, Willem Dafoe, Michael K. Williams, Gugu Mbatha-Raw, Fisher Stevens (when was the last time you recall seeing him in a film, right?), all of whom are supplemented by a host of amazing character actors. The aforementioned dialogue is sharp and witty causing you to dwell, with extra concentration, on every syllabel uttered. In fact much of the time it feels as if Norton has given all the best lines to his co-stars, in addition to coaxing undeniably great performances from them.
For all his excellent composition of scenes and keen knack for eliciting top notch performances from the cast, Norton himself often seems out of step with the proceedings. There are several scenes which just feel stilted and awkward. These often involve Norton and another actor interacting face to face and they ttend to be shot from the side in profile. While his fellow actor is  often delivering an impassioned stream of dialogue, Norton himself looks uninterested, dare I say bored.  Yet when Norton is the only one on screen he shines. It’s almost as if he focused all of his attention into nabbing great performances from his co-stars, but forgot to afford himself the same favor.
There are also a few scenes that are just too long and, well, awkward. One such scene features Norton and Mbatha-Raw dancing at a jazz club; it’s just too slow and dull, mostly due to wonky pacing and a feeling of detachment. There are a few other scenes like this sprinkled throughout the film which could have either been shortened or left out entirely. To this end the film could easily have been edited down by 15-to-20-minutes and still not lost any of its allure or punch.
Another incongruity which pops up is that while most of the actors appear dressed for the period, Lionel’s fashion sense seems odd; his hairstyle appears way too modern for the era and his sartorial choices often look out-of-step with those around him. Perhaps this was a conscious decision to separate him from the rest of those around him, painting the character as a true outsider. If that was the case, fine, but it didn’t really work for me. Keeping in line with this ill-matchedness is the inclusion of a Thom Yorke song in the score. That it’s prominently featured only further heightens its discordance in regards to the overall look and feel of the film. (FWIW, I caught an NPR interview with Norton where he discussed the song and how he liked that it created this rift in the feel of the film. Sure, it’s undoubtedly a great song on its own, but it just doesn’t fit the mood, time period, or vibe of the film and ultimately serves to disrupt the flow of the film. But that’s just my humble opinion...and I dig Radiohead and Yorke’s solo work, too). The rest of the score, however, is fantastic. A cool, mid-tempo expanse of jazz crafted by Daniel Pemberton, it burbles and swoons underneath the scenes creating a smoky vibe throughout; one that really compliments the overall ambiance of the film.
Sure, at times the unevenness of the film makes for a sometimes frustrating--but never ever dull--experience. Yet when all is said and done, the strength of the supporting cast along with some expertly staged and filmed action sequences, artfully composed scenes, and a bevy of crisp and rich dialogue make this an adaptation seriously worth a watch.

Rating: 3.5 (out of 5)

RIYL: Road to Perdition; History of Violence;

KNIVES OUT [Film Review]

Utterly predictable in parts, yet oh so deliciously entertaining. In fact, this film is beyond wickedly engaging, so much so that one can almost forgive writer/director Rian Johnson for only sparingly releasing the red herrings instead of tossing out a whole bucket. I lieu of fake fish, Johnson’s modus operandi is to wow the audience with serious bouts of intricate dialogue, lottsa warped humor, and a protagonist who is akin to Columbo, that is if he had been less schlubby and disheveled and more aloof Southern beau.
First things first. This is a murder mystery. And guess what? I picked out the culprit within the initial moments of the first act. That said, I must admit when the reveal came at the end of the film I was immediately disappointed because my guess had been correct and I felt momentarily cheated. I mean how could the villain have been so freaking obvious? But that feeling was fleeting. It was quickly replaced with one of vindication: I had solved the case! Okay, perhaps I didn’t guess all the particulars that our intrepid gumshoe Benoit Blanc--James Bond hisownself, Daniel Craig, judiciously playing up his hidden droll side--mapped out, but I had been right in surmising who had committed the crime.
The reveal isn’t the icing on the cake, though, as Johnson’s finale is littered with killer callbacks galore. While the next-to-penultimate callback is also predictable, it’s no less satisfying when it’s revealed, thus allowing you to revel in your super sleuthdom (provided you figured it out, that is!). Ditto for the penultimate callback, which was clever, but also foreseeable a mile away. Yet the final callback was sublimely subtle. For those who like to solve puzzles, let’s just say that Johnson heavily favors foreshadowing; so keep your eyes and ears peeled, my friends!
While not possessing nearly enough twists and turns for my taste (but the ones that it does deliver are swell), the film succeeds by giving the audience everything they could possibly need to solve the case on their own, both in terms of visual and audible cues. Yet it’s the latter that Johnson uses to great effect to divert your attention. Hints are dropped with regularity, but they are mixed in with such flights of verbal fancy that its easy to get lost in the witty wordplay.
The sight gags are equally plentiful and hit with punch and verve. The rampant visual jokes range from a game of fetch with the guard dogs to a frumpy mink shrouded grandmother to a running gag involving projectile vomiting. They not only provide some deft humor, but additionally serve to draw your attention away from the more serious matters at hand.
In terms of the cast, I’m not gonna lie: at first I thought I would be distracted by the presence of both Captain America (Chris Evans) and 007 (Craig). Heck, the gentleman next to me loudly whispered to his companion “See, I told you that was Captain America” the first time Evans graced the screen. That both men were able to break free of their franchise shackles and create wholly different characters is a testament to their acting chops. The rest of the cast is equally up to the task. From Ana de Armas, a bona fide chameleon of an actor (I have found her damn near unrecognizable in every film I’ve seen her in), who deceptively plays her role like a mouse caught in a Landcruiser’s high beams to the “comeback kid” Don Johnson (his recent string of low-key roles in off-kilter films like this has been stellar). Christopher Plummer serves up a rich and captivating performance as the domineering patriarch of the film. A few folks, though, were underutilized: Lakeith Stanfield, while all deadpan grace, could have been used to better effect. Ditto for Jaeden Lieberher and Michael Shannon. And Laurie Strode, erm Jamie Lee Curtis, seems like A-list window dressing. Then again that’s always the problem with a large ensemble cast; some folks get more screen time than others. In the end, even those who could (and should) have had more frames to their name deliver memorable performances.
But when all is said and done the real star here is the dialogue, which is snappier than the wet towel that douche-bag of a bully used to crack on your bare ass in the showers after gym class. You’re gonna have to stay on your toes to catch every morsel uttered by the stellar cast.
So, yeah, if you’ve watched your share of Murder, She Wrote or read enough Christie and Queen there’s a good chance you may potentially see the final reveal coming from afar. But the journey to the confession of the killer is a rambunctiously good one . Then again, on the off-chance that you might not see any of it coming, not only the journey will be memorable, but also the arrival at the final destination will be exciting and illuminating to say the least.

Rating: 4 (out of 5)
RIYL: Drag Me To Hell; Clue; Sleuth (the original with Michael Caine and Laurence Olivier); Mousetrap

PARASITE [Film Review]

The metaphorical aspects of this film are like a well-baked baklava: they just keep flaking off and revealing yet another tasty layer underneath.
On the surface writer/director Bong Joon-ho’s latest cinematic endeavor is an intriguing, constantly shifting slow-burn which floats effortlessly between being a dark comedy, a light-hearted drama, biting social criticism, and an unnerving thriller. Yet it somehow manages to be deeper than the sum of its combined genres.
Things start out innocently enough, feeling like a South Korean take on a Coen Bros. familial comedy. We are initially introduced to a quirky and poor family scheming their way through life; “borrowing” wifi, taking menial odd jobs, and generally trying to get by doing the least amount of work possible. From these humble beginnings the film evolves into a twisted grand con which ultimately culminates in a battle of wits as our “heroic” grifters get grifted, the rich get punished, and everything just goes to shit. Things are escalated further when it all explodes in a blaze of emotion fueled raw violence.
Bong keeps the pacing taught, letting the story unravel with a precise smoothness that keeps the viewer’s attention riveted to the screen. But perhaps the most alluring aspect of it all is that the film twists and turns with a diverting sense of subtlety so that you never know if you are watching a turgid drama, a black comedy or something else. In fact the best thing about the film is the bubbling tension that Bong creates. There is a scene where the four central protagonists/antagonists are enjoying a meal together and getting drunk. On the surface it is the simplest of scenes, but the underlying tension will have you wringing your hands in anticipation of something drastic happening in the ensuing moments.
The whole thing might have come tumbling down like a lopsided house of cards if it weren’t for the top-notch cast, ranging from Korean film stalwart Song Kang-Ho who plays the father figure of the “parasites” on down to the ditzy rich matron portrayed by Cho Yeo-jeong. Choi Woo-shik as the deceptively meek young son in the fraudster family is fantastic, displaying a subtle mischievousness. And Park So-dam as his coy sister is beguiling to watch. Lee Jeon-eun and Hyae Jin Chang round at the core cast as tenacious and insanely hilarious matrons (Lee as a cloying housekeeper, Chang as the queen mother of the grifter clan).
While the bravura acting and escalating outlandishness of the  story line are at the center of the film, there are other elements at play here. The cinematography, for one, adds considerable nuance to the proceedings; it is laced with a slick and vibrant sheen, one that lends just the right amount of off-kilter surrealism to the proceedings. Things appear normal on the surface, but there’s always a strange undercurrent rolling between the frames. And the score is used to expert effect, playing quietly underneath when called for and hitting all the proper dramatic and horrific notes when appropriate. It, as with the look of the film, adds dramatically to the overall effect.
To put it into the simplest of terms at its core this film paints the rich as vane and clueless and the poor as cunning and ruthless. But it also points out the folly of greed and entitlement regardless of class distinctions. And the metaphors, man, the metaphors! Abundant and glorious they be.

Rating: 4 (out of 5)
RIYL: Mulholland Drive; Oldboy (the original Korean version);

JOJO RABBIT [Film Review]

This is that rarest of all cinematic treats: a veritable Tootsie Pop of a film. Say what? Basically this film is covered in a sweet candy coating of comedy which conceals its soft center of moral and altruistic drama. What’s more is that it skips sprightly through the fields of social commentary, absurdist realism, taught melodrama, and imaginary fantasy like a carefree child let loose in the wild. It is also the most gloriously fucked-up (in a really good way) coming of age film I’ve seen in a long, long, long time.
Writer/director Taika Waititi has unleashed a film that is not only teeming with wicked and whip-sharp black humor balanced by poignant moments of humanism, but one that also moves along at breakneck speed, is imbued with lush cinematography (thanks to Mihai Malaimare Jr.), and features a bonkers cast of characters.
Speaking of the latter, the assembled actors are 99% stellar, ranging from Scarlett Johansson’s incredibly mature turn as a mother trying to cope with the fascist system in which she is surrounded. I feel like this might actually be the most adult role she’s ever done and she shines. Sure, her character is imbued with a bit of that manic pixie dream girlishness, but she elevates that cliche, turning it into one of a cultured and wise woman who also happens to be a badass mama lion. Sam Rockwell, in a fantastic supporting role, literally steals the show every single scene that he’s in. And our main man Roman Griffin Davis (aka Jojo) is that rare child actor who eschews any precociousness in favor of just plain old solid acting; he’s one of the best youthful thespians I’ve seen onscreen in ages. Plus his comedic timing is damn near impeccable. Thomasin McKenzie as Elsa is sublime and Waititi  (a self professed “Polynesian Jew”) as Hitler is the supreme, off-the-nuts escapee from Foster’s Home For Imaginary Friends.
This isn’t to say that there aren’t a few casting hiccups, though. To wit, there’s Jojo’s schlubby second BFF (Archie Yates as Yorki). He feels like a forced inclusion, as if the filmmakers said “hey, we need the stereotypical awkward fat kid in this film”. His performance reminded me of Jonathan Lipnicki in Jerry Maguire; a child actor who provides comic relief in the form of a lisp, thick glasses, and a goofy smile  While he has a few key moments of witty dialogue, for the most part his line readings and acting come off stiff. Speaking of stiff and awkward presentation, let’s talk about Rebel Wilson. She essentially plays the adult counterpart to Yorki; awkward and yearning for acceptance. I’m sure this was intentional, but given the bravura performances of those around her, hers just seemed stilted. Also, I find that her deadpan and detached schtick is a one-trick pony that should be put out to pasture. For my taste,someone like Kate McKinnon would have been better suited to the part, but what do I know? These are but trifling quibbles that are easily forgotten because the rest of the movie is damn near seamless.
What about the story? Well, without giving too much away, it’s about a young boy involved with the Hitler Youth who begins to find his own voice and personality in a life during wartime. The first act is a gonzo rush of gut-wrenching hilarity; I laughed so hard during this section of the film that tears blurred my vision and I feared my loud guffawing would cause the usher to escort me out of the theater for disturbing my fellow movie watchers. The Second Act veers away from the over-the-top hijinks and can feel a mite long-in-the-tooth at times, but ultimately pushes through thanks to Johansson and Davis’ combined charisma. The third act combines all of the elements of the first two into a cohesive conclusion.  In short, the first act should have you crying from laughing non-stop, the second act should provide a momentary respite to catch your breath, and the third act should have you crying from its sheer combination of emotional sadness tempered with a patina of blissful joy . Oh, and the callback ending, while utterly predictable, is also one of the most moving and cool scenes ever committed to film; if it doesn’t at least send shivers down your spine then you ain’t human.
Other than Once Upon A Time In Hollywood, this is the best film I've seen this year and I would not hesitate to see it again.

Rating: 4.5 (out of 5)

RIYL:  Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys; Garden State; Swiss Army Man; Harold and Maude; If

TERMINATOR: DARK FATE [Film Review]

The latest entry in the Terminator franchise is the cinematic equivalent of patching holes in your dorm room wall with toothpaste and hoping that the RAs won’t notice when they do the end of term inspection to give you back your security deposit. If that analogy escapes you, think of it as slapping a crappy coat of old paint on an old story and calling it “new”.
Joining the recent (and fucking annoying) slate of films that retcon all the previous films in the series (last year’s Halloween immediately comes to mind), this latest Terminator purports to be the “official” sequel to Terminator 2: Judgement Day, thus nulling and voiding all the Terminator movies that have come down the pike since 1991. That’s fine, since all of those now-unofficial sequels were kinda crappy anyway. But the thing is: this new film is also kinda crappy.
Hiding under a false glaze of feminism and “girl power” the film is literally machismo on overdrive masquerading as Marianismo. It’s also an unapologetic (and perhaps lazy?) pastiche of the story and plots from the original Terminator and T2: JD, the only prominent difference being that now we have 3 female protagonists instead of one: Mackenzie Davis is effectively Michael Biehn and Natalia Reyes is the female John Conner. How about giving us some original and multi-dimensional female characters? Instead we are given a trio of women who spend the bulk of the film trying to out dick wave one another in an endless stream of verbal and physical pissing matches.
What’s more, the whole “girl power” angle is a sham in my opinion since the film is directed by a man, the screenplay was written by 3 men and is based upon a story that was concocted by 5 men, and--HUGE SPOILER ALERT--the ultimate hero of the film is none other than the former poster icon of macho masculinity hisownself (that would be Arnie, if you couldn’t guess).
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for strong women characters being injected into action films, but rather than just taking an old male dominated story and changing the gender of the main characters, how about actually writing something vaguely original and making those female characters individualistic, rather than just one-dimensional riffs on previously rendered male characters.
Faux feminism aside, the core problem with TDF is that it’s as lifeless as the Rev-9 killing machine hunting down our spunky trio of heroines in the film. There is no chemistry between the actors and when they’re not not interacting with one another onscreen everyone’s main modes are glaring and scowling. Don't even get me started on the Uncanny Valley aspects of the opening montage or the giant plot holes that it presents, either. As for the action sequences, well, they are not only tepid, but also feel as if they are running on an autopilot program that favors redundancy (i.e. you’ve seen most of these sequences rendered more excitingly in other films). If that weren’t bad enough, many of the scenes are shot in a murky darkness so you can’t even see what’s happening. Most will remember how the liquidic T-1000 effects in T2:JD seemed fresh and vibrant in the ‘90s; here, however, they just seem ho-hum and behind the times.
In short, the oft maligned Terminator: Genysis was infinitely better than this film, which should give you some idea of how lackluster and lame this one is.
Like the Alien franchise before it, the Terminator franchise just hasn’t been able to recapture the originality or vibrancy of the first two films. Perhaps whomever takes the helms for the next go-around should actually re-visit those films to understand what made them so good and then rather than poorly mimicking them, actually write something original and exciting.

Rating: 2 (out of 5)
RIYL: Terminator 3; Terminator: Salvation

ZOMBIELAND: DOUBLE TAP [Film Review]

When I first started seeing the trailers earlier this year I immediately thought “WTF?!?” Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoyed Zombieland. Like Shaun of the Dead before it, the original pumped a much needed comedic shot into the stifled walking dead cinemascape. But when the credits rolled on that film back in 2009 my first thought most definitely was not “Oh, I hope they make a sequel.” I mean I had heard rumblings over the years about a sequel, but figured it was just Hollywood white noise. So, yeah, back to my initial reaction upon learning that they had in fact made a sequel and not only that, but a decade later: I was like “What’s the point?”. I mean the track record for sequels overall is pretty low in terms of equaling the originality and success of the first film. Sure, there have been a few rare cases; Aliens and Terminator 2: Judgement Day come to mind, but I am bereft of thinking of any others.
So, it was with trepidation that I entered the theater to see ZLDT. Why even go, you ask? Well, after the mind-fuck of The Lighthouse, I seriously needed me some lighthearted entertainment.
My heart initially sank with the opening monologue by Columbus (Jesse Eisenberg) as it was teeming with forced meta moments, referencing the fact that we, the audience, were in fact watching a film and not only that, but a film that was the decades-later sequel to a previous film. Hell, Columbus even thanked us for paying and supporting the film. I hate that shit. I mean it was semi-cool before Ryan Reynolds and Deadpool beat it like a twice dead horse, now it’s just lame (it should come as no surprise then that the screenwriting team of Paul Wernick and Rhett Reese were not only responsible for the script of the first Zombieland, but also those of Deadpool and Deadpool 2) .
Thank the stars the film shed that meta bullshit quickly and the chemistry of the cast, the fast pace, and non-stop jokes (the screenwriters seemed to adopt the old Catskills stand-up practice of just tossing out joke after joke in rapid fire and hoping that at least one funny moment hit home) flipped my initial impression from “this shit is lame” to one of being rather impressed.  The best way to describe this film is that it’s like running into an old high school or college buddy whom you haven’t seen for at least a decade. The first 20-minutes you are hanging out are awkward and stilted as you catch up on rudimentary things, but the longer you hang out, the more comfortable you get with one another.
So what the hell does that mean? In short, I really enjoyed this film. I mean I laughed. I cried. I was on the edge of my seat. I ran the full gamut of emotions and found myself engaged more often than not. Again a lot of the credit for the success of this sequel comes from the screenwriters with their Ginsu sharp wit and excellent use of callbacks, but most of the applause is due to the cast; everybody onscreen is on point. Well, almost everybody.
The only slight in this film, imho, is Abigail Breslin. To be fair, I couldn’t stand her as a precocious child actor in the first film (and any of the other films I have happened to seen her in over the years) and I can’t stand her as a rebellious teen in this film. I am willing to concede that she may be the nicest person on the planet in real life, but as a thespian she is just plain annoying. While she is central to the story, thank the heavens she is barely in the film (all of this said, her pivotal callback in the final act is pretty damn solid). That leaves more screen time for the nerdy Columbus, the incomparable Tallahassee (Woody Harrelson), the snarky Wichita (Emma Stone), and newcomer Nevada (Rosario Dawson). I was surprisingly okay with the over-the-top ditzy blonde girl performance of Zoey Deutch as Madison, but additional newcomer Berkeley (portrayed by Avan Jogia) was a shallow and one-dimensional character who didn’t really add much to the film other than being a thin device to move the plot along to its logical conclusion.
Some of the stuff which made me groan when I saw the trailer (the doppelgangers, for example) actually ended up being handled really well in the film. And while the third act gets a little trite (although the monster truck element is gangbusters), again, the chemistry of the cast and the whip-slick pacing help to push it along.
In the end this is an admirable sequel, perhaps not quite as compelling as the original, but it comes pretty damn close.
Yet as much as I ended up enjoying this film, I certainly hope all involved decide to end the series here. Afterall, remember what happend to both the Alien and Terminator franchises after the sequels?

PS:
Make sure you stay through the credits.

Rating: 3.5

RIYL: Zombieland; Shaun of the Dead; Little Monsters; Juan of the Dead

RATM Fail?

Methinks there was a seriously missed opportunity in regards to the recent dissolution of POR in the wake of the RATM reunion news. I, for one, would have gladly paid $$$ to see and hear a Prophets Of Rage Against The Machine tour...

THE LIGHTHOUSE [Film Review]

Imagine a nightmare roommate scenario. You know the type: farts loudly, chews food with their mouth open, never flushes after dropping a deuce in the toilet. Now add in some Lovecraftian tentacle porn, drunkenly sung sea shanties, and plenty of nautical lore, both mystical and superstitious. Got it? Yeah, this doesn’t even begin to scrape the surface of Robert Eggers' sophomore film. Relying heavily on isolation, dread, and a sense of supreme unease, The Lighthouse is a glorious mind-fuck of psychological proportions.
That said, the film reminds me quite a bit of Repo Man, with Willem Dafoe being the wise (or just crazy) old “mentor” in the vein of Bud and Robert Pattison playing the role of the neophyte Otto. Of course the setting is far removed from the urban sprawl of Los Angeles, replaced by eternal sea brine dampness, lottsa muck, and sqawking gull guano. But it's no less surreal than the cult classic from 1984.
This film, however, unfolds without a hint as to the time period, but Moby Dick era America is a safe bet. It also fails to clue us into the time lapses that occur throughout the story, thus you never know how long our intrepid “wickers” have been tending the titular desolate beacon. In fact the story never really allows for any kind of distinction between reality and vivid hallucination. To this end the film is anything but even-keeled.
In terms of acting, both Dafoe and Pattinson deliver tour de force performances, with the former being the best rendition of a cinematical pirate since Robert Newton and the latter bringing his best JFK, spewing a thick New England drawl laden with circumstance.
When all is said and done one is taken on a delirious journey culminating with an ending that seems somewhat abstruse yet serves to further blur the divide between fantasy and real life.

Rating: 4/5

RIYL: Ravenous (1999); The Haunting (1963); The Shining (1980); The Wind (2019)

Basin Peak Patch Skiing

Today I logged my third day putting skis on snow for the 2019/2020 season.
I rallied my buddy Russell B., we loaded up the Taco Mama, and headed up Hwy 80 to the Castle Peak Road staging area. The gate was open so we drove up the access road to the bottom of Castle Pass, strapped in our packs and made the hour--plus uphill trek to Basin Peak.
Finding snow patches on both the backside and front side, we made a day of it, ultimately skiing 16 runs on 4 different patches.
The snow was lightly dimpled Hawaiian shaved ice; firm yet semi-soft and very edgeable.

The obligatory staged hiking shot.

Shredding the Backside of Basin Peak.

Front side action.

#blizzardskis #tecnicasports #LiveTheMoment

Dolemite Is My Name [Film Review]

All kinds of clichéd remarks come to mind when thinking about this movie. “Eddie Murphy was born to play this role.” Sure. “Don’t call it a comeback”. Perhaps (but it kind of is). “The best Eddie Murphy movie in years.” Totally true. The list goes on. Yet all you really need to know is that Murphy and ensemble are on point, delivering a well-paced, wonderfully acted, and incredibly funny film about Blaxploitation legend/superstar/cult figure Rudy Ray Moore aka Dolemite.

I am a little bit ashamed to admit that I have as of yet never watched a Dolemite movie. I own a re-issued soundtrack album compiling the music from his films and I think I might have one of his comedy albums floating around in my vinyl vault, but I have never seen one of the man’s films. I primarily know about him via rap music and hip-hop culture, and have seen clips over the years, but that’s the extent of my RRM/Dolemite knowledge. So I have no idea how truthful this dramedy is and how much is just made up. But regardless of that, one thing is for certain: this film is damn entertaining.

At the heart of the film is a pretty standard rags-to-riches story about a man one could say is lacking in talent, but not lacking in heart and sheer tenacity. A man who rises from the sidelines of low-rent comedy clubs to the headlining act of those very same clubs. A man who would, like Melvin Van Peebles and Tom McLaughlin before him, help change the face of independent filmmaking in America.

What isn’t standard is the acting from all involved. While Murphy is center stage, he has surrounded himself with a top-notch group of supporting players. Craig Robinson not only displays deft comedic dryness, but also a slick and funky musical side. Wesley Snipes is downright glorious with a subdued over-the-top performance. And Da’vine Joy Randolph is simply sublime. The cast is rounded out by some solid smaller performances from Snoop Dogg, Mike Epps, and Keegan-Michael Key.

If you grew up during the Golden Age of rap music (the early ‘80s-to-the-mid-‘90s) or are merely interested in the often crass, but no less inventive streetwise and bred oral histories that helped begit one of America’s premier(and truly original) musical artforms, then you owe it to yourself to check out this film. Even if you have no idea about signifying or The Dozens and hate rap, you should still check this film out, if only for the mesmerizing performances of Mr. Murphy and company. Oh, and the killer ‘70s funk and soul drenched soundtrack.

Rating: 3.5/5

RIYL: Black Dynamite; Eddie Murphy: Raw; the novels of Iceberg Slim; the music of Ice-T; the music of Too $hort

LINDA RONSTADT: THE SOUND OF MY VOICE

 This film wasn't really on my radar, but I ended up seeing it while recently visiting the 'rents.  They were going to see it at their local independent cinema, so I tagged along.

I was pleasantly surprised.

I have to admit that I didn't know much about LR other than that she dated Jerry Brown on his first go-around as Governor of California. Suffice it to say, she was a badass during her career. What a set of pipes. And her command of different musical genres was pretty unparalleled. She also seems like she was hella cool and not a spoiled diva, which was refreshing to see given her stature and level of stardom she achieved.

The film is a classic documentary in that it unfolds in a pretty linear fashion, starting with LR's birth, her upbringing in the Southwest, and continues on from there chronicling her meteoric career.

To this end, the film contains some fantastic archival footage and a host of great interviews from the likes of Dolly Parton, Don Henley, Ry Cooder, Emmylou Harris, and more. 

I had no idea how deep Ronstadt's career went nor about her connections to Neil Young, The Eagles, and others.

I also had no idea that she is just a singer (and a mightly damn good one), not a songwriter. She's like Sinatra, a vocalist with a signature voice that is heralded for her interpretations of other people's songs. She was also a maverick when it came to the course of her career (she literally flipped her script at least 5 times in terms of the genres of music she peformed).

The only minor off-putting element of the film is that it has a tendency to feel slightly maudlin when discussing why she retired from singing.

Still, if you are into popular music at all, this is completely worth watching for the classic footage and interviews with her peers.

LITTLE MONSTERS [Film Review]

By now everybody knows that the zombie film is essentially dead. Yet every few years somebody comes along and tweaks the genre just enough to keep it shuffling along. Over the years we’ve had fast zombies (Zack Snyder’s remake of Dawn of the Dead), zombie romances (Warm Bodies), zombie pub crawls (Shaun of the Dead), zombie musicals (Dead and Breakfast), zombies on trains (Train to Busan), and Cuban refuge zombies (Juan of the Dead), to name a few. And now, thanks to the delightfully debased, yet sublimely sweet Little Monsters, the genre gets another off-beat and entertaining boost.

Falling nicely into the zom com sub-genre, this ditty from Down Under manages to inject a little life into the by now rote zombie cinematic routine. Imagine Kindergarten Cop crossed with Night of the Living Dead and you’ll get a pretty good idea of where this film is coming from and where it’s going. Toss in a bit of Adam Sandler’s Big Daddy and you’re good to go. But it transcends these comparisons thanks to some good, old-fashioned, in-your-face Aussie humor, not to mention some damn fine acting, and lots of ukulele accompanied singing. The comedic timing and overall swift pacing don’t hurt, either.

The quick summary of the film is thus: a group of kindergarten-aged school children go on a field trip to a petting zoo/put-put golf park and get overrun by zombies. To say any more would reveal too much and spoil the fun. Borrowing elements from George Romero’s classic canon (specifically Day of the Dead and Land of the Dead) as well as the twisted satiric slant first displayed in the granddaddy of zom coms, Return of the Living Dead, and mixing it liberally with equal parts crude humor and heart-on-the-sleeve sentimentality, screenwriter/director Abe Forsythe for the most part, turns a hodge-podge of clichés and familiar tropes into a winning combination of laughs, tears, and tension. To wit, I laughed my ass off for the first 30-minutes, found myself on the edge of my seat during what should have been a trite and predictable sequence of events at the heart of the film, and I even shed a tear or two towards the end. For a zomedy to elicit such a wide range of emotions means that all involved did something right.

While Forsythe's quick wit and brisk manner keep things lively, the two leads-- Lupita Nyong’o (Us) and Alexander England (Alien: Covenant)-- really anchor the film by displaying wonderful comedic timing, great chemistry, and some not-half-bad singing. Nyong’o’s character is a proper school marm, while England plays the classic man-child who grows up considerably through the course of the film. Sure, the archetypes are cliché, but each actor owns their character and instills them with a sense of multi-dimensional realism. And then there’s Diesel La Torraca.  As Felix, the main “little monster”, he is sublime. His off-kilter demeanor and display of a kid’s sense of wonder and nonchalance is fantastic; I mean he is a kid, but to do all of this unintentionally funny kid behavior onscreen takes some talent. If there is any fault to the story it might be that the other kids in the film are seriously side-lined, coming off as standard one-dimensional characters (the fat kid, the crippled kid, the nondescript kid, etc.). In addition, Josh Gad offers up a relentless and over-the-top portrayal of a kid’s television host. Granted, we’ve seen this self-centered douchebag character before, but despite the unoriginality, it still provides a wee bit of comic relief.

While not really bringing anything new to the zombie table, Little Monsters at least has a trio of fantastic actors at the core, more laugh-out-loud moments than I can recall encountering in any recent comedy, and it proves, without a doubt that surviving the zombie apocalypse ain’t shit when compared to teaching (ie wrangling) a classroom of 5 year olds. Oh yeah, and it just might make you a fan of Taylor Swift and Neil Diamond in the bargain.

Currently streaming on HULU

Rating: 3.5/5

RIYL

Scout’s Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse; Shaun of the Dead; Dead and Breakfast; Kindergarten Cop; Big Daddy;

JOKER [Film Review]

There is absolutely no question that Joaquin Phoenix is mesmerizing in his role as Arthur Fleck. Yet despite this I couldn’t help feeling as if he were purposefully channeling Crispin Glover for the entirety of the film (this is particularly noticeable during the talk show bits in the film). In the end this similarity is distracting and disconcerting. Then again, that’s kind of the vibe of the entire film.

Director and co-screenwriter Todd Phillips, who is best known for blunt, in-your-face comedies (Old School, The Hangover trilogy) instills his first foray into “serious drama” with a singular heavy-handedness that never lets up. Let’s just say that dude needs to learn the art of subtlety. The myriad messages contained within the story (inadequacy of social services systems in America, corrupt businessmen, mental illness, the cult of personalty, amongst others) are delivered with somewhat ham-fisted bravado and utterly lacking any sense of nuance.
One thing not lacking is exposition. I usually feel that most modern Hollywood fare tends to go light on exposition, here, however, Phillips generously ladles it out. The judicious amounts of set-up prevent the film from really percolating until the latter half of the third act. I get it, it’s meant to be a character study, but there is such a thing as too much character development. Also, the pacing could have been just a tad more brisk. By the time our protagonist completely unravels it’s a bit underwhelming. The long journey we are led on just doesn’t warrant the ultimately predictable end.
But perhaps the most distracting element is the relentless and overbearing score by Hildur Guonadottir. Her string heavy sounds feel as if they were meant for a different film, possibly some cold, arctic drama, not a gritty urban nightmare. What’s more, Phillips has her atonal notes blaring at maximum volume throughout the bulk of the film, rarely allowing for moments of subdued background noise or quietude. The end result is that the music often drowns out the emotional impact of the story, almost as if Phillips is trying to force particular emotions on the audience rather than letting them be cultivated naturally.
The other things bogging the film down are the obvious nods to DeNiro’s classics The King of Comedy and Taxi Driver. The fact that DeNiro himself is a character in the film doesn’t help alleviate these comparisons. While some might find it ironic having the former Travis Bickle be the object of Fleck’s obsession, I did not.
On the plus side there’s Zazie Beets, who although a minor character in the story, still manages to outshine just about everyone else in the cast (fwiw, she has become one of my favorite actors in terms of her ability to disappear completely into every role she has taken to date). Additionally, sprinkled throughout the film are some truly spectacular moments: Fleck, amidst utter chaos in the streets, spreading his bloody fingers across his mouth to create a demonic crimson grin; Fleck’s sweetly creepy clown routine at a children’s hospital; All of Fleck’s Gene Kelly-inspired flights of fantasy; The next-to-last scene when he walks out of a counseling session at Arkham Asylum. There are others, but alas a smattering of well choreographed and artistically composed scenes do not a great movie make; for every one of these moments there are equal moments that were unnecessary or just fell flat (the final scene with Phoenix running through the hallways of Arkham being chased by an orderly as if recreating some scene out of an Abbott and Costello film, for example).
All in all it feels as if Phillips was just a bit too earnest with his first “serious” film, trying too hard to prove that he is more than a a master of crude comedy fare. It also doesn’t help that the spectre of the Batman mythos lurks in the background, yet is never fully developed. In many ways this film might have worked better had it not had any ties to the Caped Crusader at all.

RATING: 2.5 / 5

RIYL: King of Comedy; Taxi Driver

Creative Casting Ideas #1: Kathy Bates As The Joker...?

While I have yet to see the new Joaquin Phoenix film, I have been binging American Horror Story: Apocalypse and I gotta say, Kathy Bates would deliver a great take on the Caped Crusader's psychotic adversary...

Faults

Riley Stearn's (he wrote/directed The Art of Self Defense, which I highly reccomend: https://spencesez.blogspot.com/2019/09/the-art-of-self-defence.html) debut feature is a dark, creepy, and incredibly unnerving little motel room thriller. The film bursts out the gate by introducing our warped and erratic protagonist, who is acerbic, eccentric,  and not the leasr bit likeable. An "expert" on cults, he is soon hired to deprogram a couple's young daughter. Things go off the rails from the moment the woman is "kidnapped" and taken to a seedy motel where she is contained in the hopes of being reunited with her parents. The film is played low-key and every character is just a bit off, creating a surreal and disturbing aura. Things move along in a dreamlike state (actually, it's a bit more likea stifling nightmare) with subtle events unfolding in a deliberate pace which serves to keep you off-balance.

Currently streaming on Amazon Prime

RATING: 4/5

RIYL: The Sound of My Voice; The Invitation; Martha Marcy May Marlene 

Monos

Straddling the line between visual tone poem and quasi-non narrative storytelling, this Spanish language film revels in vivid, semi-hallucinatory imagery and a plot saturated in abstruse elements, all of it taking place in an unnamed South American country. Drawing heavily from Golding’s Lord of the Flies, but also tossing in guerrilla ambiguity and what can only be described as “jungle noir”, it unravels as a languid commentary on lost innocence, corrosion of conformity, and the primal human nature surrounding survival of the individual. The strength of the film lies in slow building dread, a feeling that something catastrophic is just waiting to happen in the next frame. The downfall of the film, however, is that nothing really does. But damn if it all doesn’t look like an idyllically off-kilter travelogue as rendered in lush green hues, teeming with fog, mud, and rain forest audio ephemera. Speaking of sounds, the score is a bristling and immersive offering that paints much of the imagery with fairy tale-styled ambiance, but also slips in nuances of nightmarish menace. The ending of the film leaves many questions unanswered as well as requiring the audience to fill in any lingering blanks on their own. On the one hand it feels unfinished, on the other it creates a ripe atmosphere for post-viewing discussion.

Rating: 3.5/5

RIYL: Apocalypse Now (specifically the third act); The Thin Red Line (and pretty much any other Terrence Malick film); The Mission; Apocalypto; Quest For Fire

The Peanut Butter Falcon

Heart-warming.

Sweet. 

Feel good.

I’ve never been a fan of these descriptions when applied to cinema, literature, or art. But, dammit anyway, they are kind of applicable in regards to this little film.

A figurative twist on the Huck Finn/Tom Sawyer mythos (they even name-check the book early on), TPBF is an “exotic” American road trip-cum-quest-cum buddy movie. I say “exotic” since the North Carolina coastal locale is completely foreign to this California native.

Fueled by some beguilingly charismatic acting from Shia LaBouef, Dakota Johnson, and newcomer Zack Gottsagen, the film has a decidedly laid-back demeanor; it just kind of ambles along with a mellow, down home sensibility.

Teeming with After School Special-styled tropes ranging from the loner with a dark past to the wide-eyed social worker and populated with some generic background characters (for example, the villains--John Hawke and Yelawolf(!)--are pretty one-dimensional, yet they serve their purpose well), the film really succeeds due to the wonderful chemistry between the three leads. I’ve always enjoyed Beef Boy’s thespian escapades from Holes on through mediocre action fare like Transformers, Eagle Eye, and Disturbia. Here, he excels as the rambling, emotionally scarred Tyler. The Falcon, his ownself, is wonderfully spot on with comedic timing and an overall sense of naturalism. And the fruit of Don Johnson’s loins continues to showcase a wonderful depth and chameleonic virtuousness when it comes to the roles she takes. It’s mesmerizing every time one of these three graces the screen. There’s a few great cameos, as well. Hardcore wrestling fans will whoop and holler when Mankind and Jake the Snake flick into frame. And Thomas Haden Church should be deemed a national treasure.

If there is one downfall to the film it’s the all too feel-good ending. It looks like there was originally a bittersweet ending that I’m guessing might have tested poorly in trial screenings and as a result the filmmakers decided to tack on a happier ending, one which really doesn’t work with the way the rest of the climactic scenes have been edited; the final minutes just feel clunky. 

Lame ending aside, the bulk of the journey is a hoot. I laughed. I cried. I felt a connection to the characters. So much so that I found myself longing for my younger days and the missed opportunities of open road adventures on the fringes of America.

Rating: 3.5/5

RIYL: Rainman; Stand By Me; Yesterday; Fandango

Ready Or Not

The inherent problem with Ready Or Not is that the geniuses in marketing at Fox Searchlight decided to include all the funny, shocking, and exciting moments of the film in the trailer. As if that weren’t enough, somebody else decided that it would be equally prudent to reveal the entire plot of the movie in the trailers, too. So, be warned that should you decide to venture to the cineplex to see this little horror-thriller-comedy and if you happened to have seen any of the trailers over the past few months, then there will be absolutely zero moments of hilarity, shock, or excitment in store for you. Additionally, the screenwriters felt it necessary to keep things utterly predictable. For example, the character searching for redemption finds it; the “innocent” character ends up being evil; the surprise ending isn’t. The cast is solid, for what it’s worth, and seems to be having a good time with the lackluster material. Samara Weaving (she, the niece of The Matrix's “Mr. Smith”) is fastly becoming this generation’s bona fide genre queen, having starred in the delectable The Babysitter (on NF) and the lackluster Mayhem prior to giving a go at being the blood-spattered bride in this eventual dud. Her charisma and spunk is really the only thing keeping this venture afloat. On the subject of acting, I have to say that I found I rather liked Adam Brody in the picture (even though his character archetype was completely cliche) and hope that he finds himself in bigger and better fare. Other than Weaving and Brody, the real star of the film is the opulent mansion in which our story takes place (I Googled it and apparently it’s widely used in film, television, and the like). Ultimately, this film should have gone straight to Red Box or a streaming site like Netflix and not the theaters (whereas The Babysitter should have gotten a theatrical release, imho).

Rating: 2/5

Scary Storied To Tell In The Dark

I recently read that producer Guillermo del Toro did not wish to make a “standard” anthology film. He stated that a traditional anthology horror film is only as good as the weakest story. So, instead he decided to write a wraparound story linking all the other stories together. Somebody should have told him that an “unorthodox” anthology is only as good as the weak wraparound story holding it together. The wraparound here, involving a cringingly cliched vengeful spirit, seems to have been created purely as a plot device to perpetuate sequels in the theaters or an ongoing series on streaming services should this film perform well at the Box Office.

On he bright side, the film is teeming with that vintage Spielberg/Amblin Entertainment mid-’80s vibe (think ET, Goonies, Gremlins), but with a slightly darker patina. It also seems to be trying to capitalize on the whole Stranger Things bandwagon.

Apart from the dark ambiance, there are few scares and some interesting creature design. However, there are quite a few editing gaffs that make several scenes feel out of timeline and the ending of the film not only feels rushed, but is quietly confusing. As for the intelligence and ingenuity of the main characters? Given their precocious nature it’s seriously lacking. Honestly, once the kids figured out what was happening with the book of scary stories, they should have been quicker on the uptake to end the madness (“The Toe” story has a HUGE plot gap and an idiot protagonist, not to mention his helpless/clueless friends).

There are also quite a few really bad special effect moments, particularly the speedy bugs that crawl all over a scarecrow’s face in the first segment. I am sure that somebody thought lots of CG created roly-polies running up and down a scarecrow’s face was scary, but they were misguided.

The film is something of a letdown considering the creative team involved. Overall this is pretty tame horror fare, especially given the Guillermo del Toro stamp of approval. If you are an older horror connoisseur, then this endeavor will be rather boring, but I imagine if you are a tween in Junior High, then this might very well be your jam.

Rating: 2/5

Fast & Furious Presents: Hobbs & Shaw

Holy Shit!

Hobbs & Shaw is gloriously ridiculous and incredibly stupid. And when I say “stupid”, I mean “stupid fresh”.

First up, be sure to leave your Suspension of Disbelief Barometer with the coat check girl in the lobby. Then you can just sit back and soak up the insanity.

While not quite at the level of XxX: The Return of Xander Cage (H&S doesn’t have Donnie Yen), this film is still teeming with so much over-the-top badassness that it’s inescapably enjoyable.

A large part and parcel of the joy of this film resides in the acting and chemistry of the four leads--Dwayne Johnson, Jason Statham, Vanessa Kirby, and Idris Elba. Each of them seems to be having a blast and while they appear to be taking the material somewhat seriously, there’s also a bit of a gleam in their eyes as if to say “yeah, we know this shit is ridiculous, but it’s still cool.” In short, they know that the entire production is a giant, multi-million dollar piss take on the action genre, but they are wholeheartedly invested. And since they are obviously with the program, you, the viewer get easily swept up on the madness. Plus, The Rock is charismatic as fuck. So is Statham. Kirby is easy on the eyes. And Elba, well, he’s Black Superman. Helen Mirren is wonderful in her brief moments on screen, too, for those looking for thespian royalty co-signers.

While the fight scenes are bone crunching and the stunts are filled with serious WTF?!?! moments, it doesn’t hurt any that the dialogue is snappy and there’s enough dick and fart jokes bandied about to keep even Jay & Silent Bob enthralled. Additionally, the “sly” meta-moments--nods to The Italian Job, The Life Aquatic, Die Hard, and others--are actually funny and don’t fall flat or feel forced.

If there are any faults the standouts come in the form of a couple of high profile cameos. The first is annoying, mostly because the actor in question, imho, has played himself out on social media and become a caricature of himself. The other main cameo, while it feels like a blatant plug for an upcoming blockbuster starring Johnson and the actor in question (cough, Jumanji, cough), I have to admit that I laughed for much of it. Sadly, it ended up being a bit drawn out and ultimately lost its charm. Honestly, cameos from either Kurt Russell, Michelle Rodriguez, Vin Diesel or Ludacris would have been way cooler. Heck, I woulda lost my shit if Lucas Black had shown up. Now that would have been mega meta.

After all is said and done, this is a quintessential summer popcorn movie. It’s like an ‘80s James Bond flick on meth. And Thank God that there’s no giant explosion filled alien invasions.

Oh yeah, stay in your seats after the last frame you wankers: there’s 3 post-credit scenes.

Rating: 4/5

RIYL: XxX: The Return of Xander Cage; Kingsman; Fast & Furious 6; Furious 7; The Fate of the Furious

Gator Aid [Crawl film review]

This film is pretty much what you would expect, which is a shame as the limited plot definitely had potential. While teeming with some great jump scares and moments of white-knuckle inducing intensity, it sadly falls victim to unnecessary and cliched maudlin drama; the story revolves around an estranged daughter and her overbearing father.  The film would have fared better had it just focused on the alligators and their human prey without all the sappy trappings. To top it all off we are additionally treated to a completely saccharine ending. What’s worse, is that there were several fleeting moments--the looters, the gator eggs, the family dog-- that easily could been turned into something more substantial, ultimately fleshing out the film a bit. The potential for some nasty twists was there, too. Unfortunately, these moments just ended up being wasted opportunities that went nowhere.
What stands out the most in this endeavor are the CG alligators, which actually look pretty damn real. Mind you, I’ve never been in close proximity to a real gator, but these ones looked scary and mean. Kudos to the FX team for that. And kudos to both Kaya Scoderlario and Barry Pepper for enduring what was probably a grueling shoot consisting of weeks in the water and muck; that’s no small feat.
Sadly, cool gators and amphibious actors do not a great movie make. So, despite a lot of untapped potential, Crawl kind of flounders.

Rating: 2/5
RIYL: 47 Meters Down; Piranha 3-D; The Shallows

Web-Slinging Abroad [Spider-Man: Far From Home film reviee]

I feel the need to admit that I am suffering what the entertainment pundits have been calling “superhero fatigue.” I honestly have not gotten all that excited for any of the tent pole Marvel and DC films that have dropped over he past several years. Sure, I eventually go see them, but it’s more out of some twisted obligation (perhaps because I’m already invested having seen all the previous films?) than actually having a strong desire to see them. So it was with the latest Spidey adventure, which I avoided seeing until I got bored one afternoon and figured “what the hell?”.
I went into this film with considerably low expectations. And you know what? Like the recent Shazam! film, I was pleasantly surprised and thoroughly entertained. This may actually be one of the best Marvel efforts to date.
Now if you even have a passing knowledge of Spider-Man and his exploits, it won’t be hard to figure out what’s going to happen in the film, especially in regards to Mysterio. Predictability aside, there’s enough cool visual flair to keep your eyes glued to the screen, but what really stands out here is the script. Not so much the story, mind you, but rather the dialogue, which is smart, clever, and, well, often feels genuine. It's funny, too. On top of that, the interaction between Peter Parker and his sidekick Ned comes off natural and never feels forced. Ditto for the chemistry between Peter and MJ. Perhaps this is a testament to the actors involved, but I tend to think that a good deal of this is coming from the words written by Erik Sommers and Chris McKenna (who incidentally, co-wrote Homecoming, but with 4 other screenwriters; methinks having just two writers on this film helped to make things cleaner and a bit more streamlined).
In short, Spider-Man: Far From Home is what you want from a superhero movie: decent action augmented by a decent story, all wrapped up in solid dialogue and great chemistry between all of the actors involved.
That said, the film looses a few points for yet another cosmic battle of "epic" proportions (we can thank all of the Avengers films for setting this now boring and bloated bar), as well as the “twist” ending, which was kind of lame and most likely meant to be “ironic” (t's not). In the end this is an almost steller summer popcorn bonanza.
Oh yeah, if you are a gung-ho superhero movie nerd then be advised that there are two post-credit “bonus” sequences.

Rating: 3.5/5
RIYL: Spider-Man: Homecoming; Avengers: Endgame; All the other Marvel films; Shazam!

The Art of Self Defence

This dark and often surreal comedy walks the line between deadpan brilliance and over-the-top outlandishness. I inadvertently glanced at a review which spoke about the film’s skewering of toxic masculinity. I guess you could say it does that. But it also touches upon misogyny, bullying, transformative experiences, the cult of personality (and, well, just cults as a whole), the need to belong, fear of being weak, and myriad other subjects. But honestly, all of that came to mind after I watched the film and stewed on it during my drive home. In the moment, TAOSD is an absurdist jaunt into the life of a glorious sad sack who finds redemption in karate. Kind of. The film is teeming with foreshadowing and, in a way, is pretty predictable, but it moves at such a wonderfully succinct pace that you kind of forget about the breadcrumbs that have been dropped until BAM! they smack you in the face and you say “Damn, I should have seen that coming!” I dig films like this, you know, ones where seemingly innocuous events that occurred in the beginning of the film come back into play at the end; it’s like a tightly woven tapestry of

Jesse Eisenberg plays the socially awkward protagonist to great effect, perhaps a smidgen over-the-top in terms of how stiff and detached he is from reality and social norms. Then again, that seems to be the film’s major ploy: fucking with the balance of impassive and camp. Imogen Poot is equally enthralling, giving an earnest, yet smoldering performance. And Alessandro Nivola as the off-kilter karate sensei is wonderfully malevolent. 

On top of it all there’s plenty of good old ultra-violence sprinkled throughout, which offsets the droll satire nicely and helps create an atmosphere where you never really know what’s going to happen next. Okay, I did mention all of the blatant foreshadowing leading up to predictable moments, but the violence often works as a jarring red herring.

If you like your comedies swinging from the gallows, but in an irreverent and left-of-center manner then this is an entertaining and engaging effort.

Rating: 4/5

RIYL: The Lobster; Safety Not Guaranteed; After Hours; Withnail & I; Repo Man

Dont'cha Just Hate Sand In Your Crotch? [The Beach Bum film review]

Filmed in a loose, yet heightened cinema verite style (or a faux Dogma 95 style, if you prefer), this film reminds me of a less slick version of Surfer Dude. In both films Matthew McConaughey portrays a once famous, now aimless beach bred individual (here he’s a once revered poet) and spends the bulk of the film getting stoned and participating in wayward hijinks. While the thin story line centers around Moondog (McConaughey’s character) becoming something of a responsible adult (the story is really like a tweaker’s version of Brewster’s Millions) it’s loose and rambling style can be distracting. Much of the film feels as if director Harmony Korine gave the cast a rudimentary outline, told them to get wasted, and just wing it. While it can be endearing at times, mostly due to McConaughey’s sheer charisma and dynamic acting, the borderline linear directing style can be off-putting and tiresome. Additionally, the inclusion of obvious non-actors, while giving the film a slight sense of “authenticity” also felt manipulative and, well, fake; it was like the director and professional actors were pandering to the locals by including them in the film, but also making fun of them in an underhanded way. Yet despite it’s faux documentary vibe, the film is still a slick, somewhat Hollywood-styled endeavor.

While McConaughey completely dominates the screen Isla Fisher goes for broke and almost rivals him. However, the surprise turn comes in the form of former Disney heartthrob Zac Efron, whose self-destructive Born Again Christian character Flicker lends some hell raising hilarity to the proceedings. And Martin Lawrence ain’t too shabby either. The only weak link amongst the thespians is Snoop Dogg. Dude may be a stellar rapper, but when placed next to McConaughey and the rest of the cast it becomes apparent that he’s not a very good actor.

In retrospect, methinks the The Beach Bum might be enhanced if one were to view it in a haze of some kind, taking after the characters in the film, no less.

RATING: 2.5 / 5 

RIYL: Spring Breakers; Surfer Dude;

Superbad Gone Gynocentric [Booksmart Film Review]

There’s a moment in Booksmart, at the end of the second act, where a supporting character states that he hopes to make billions of dollars designing airplanes and then take that money and finance Broadway musicals; he stresses that they will be “original” and not revivals. He then goes on to lament about how there is nothing new anymore and how everything is either a revival, rehash, or reboot. It’s a blatantly forced ironic meta mini-moment as practically nothing in this little film is original.
While not specifically a revival, Booksmart certainly is a rehash of just about every post-John Hughes teen comedy one can muster their gray matter to think of. The one that came to the forefront of my mind whilst watching this much hyped indie comedy was,1998’s Can’t Hardly Wait. But the film it rips off the most, um, I mean most resembles, is Superbad. Seriously, I can practically see the pitch made to producers: “Think Superbad, but with girls as the leads!” There’s the meek skinny girl and her chubby, bossy bestie (who not-so-coincidentally methinks, happens to be Jonah Hill’s sister in real life). Naturally this odd couple are the two outsiders at their high school and the film gets underway when they realize on the last day before graduation that they wasted the past 4 years in the library instead of partying. Naturally, they decide to crash the biggest senior bash. From there the film dips into semi quest territory as they attempt to locate said party. This was an intriguing twist and for a quick moment I thought I was going to be privy to a teenaged homage to After Hours. Sadly, the filmmakers didn’t go that route and the film quickly sinks back into routine teen comedy tropes.
Even though pretty much everything in this film is pastiched from other films, I did find myself laughing out loud several times, so it wasn’t a complete waste of time. In fact, it’s deja vu-styled familiarity lends the film a kind of nostalgic, warm-n-fuzzy-yet-raunchy vibe.
There is no question that leading ladies-- Kaitlyn Dever and Beanie Feldstein (Hill’s sibling) -- have great chemistry, plus many of the tertiary characters are brilliantly acted and steal scenes whenever they get the chance (keep an eye out for Gigi, portrayed by Carrie Fisher’s daughter, no less), and the soundtrack is killer (although I have to question just how many 18 year old Class of 2019 graduates actually listen to DJ Shadow, Run the Jewels, and The Handsome Boy Modeling School; those guys are contemporaries of mine!). Sadly, none of this helps to mask the fact that the story is full-on “seen it all before” action.
In the end, Booksmart is an entertaining enough diversion, and as much as I want to hate on it for being completely unoriginal, it was funny-as-f&$k a lot of the time. That said, it’s not even the least bit necessary to spend $12 to see on the Big Screen. Seriously, if you are hankering to be reminded of your wasted, misspent youth, then wait for it to show up at Redbox or on your favorite streaming service, that way you can get hella lit in the comfort of your own home and regale in all the vag and queef jokes.

Rating: 2.5/5
RIYL: Can’t Hardy Wait; Superbad; American Pie; She’s All That

And You Thought Burning Man Was Crazy...[Midommar Film Review]

Continuing to mine the folk horror sub-genre, writer/director Ari Aster side steps the dreaded sophomore slump and delivers yet another taut exercise in grinding, slow-burn intensity and gut gnawing apprehension. While he treads somewhat familiar territory by having yet another psychologically damaged female protagonist a la the disturbing and dividing Hereditary, Midsommar switches things up by taking the action abroad and creating a scenario in which one might seriously think twice about traveling in the rural areas of Sweden (or any other Scandinavian country, for that matter).
The proceedings come out the gate with a muted, yet no less jarring “bang!” and then the quietly creepy sensibilities never really let up for the film’s 2 hour-and-27-minute duration. Aster is rather deft at building tension and creating a smoldering kind of subdued terror which is delivered with a confidently even pace.
One of the many interesting aspects of the film is just about everything that happens onscreen is easily predictable to the discerning horror/thriller fan. Yet despite the fact that stuff happens just as you’d guess it would, there is still sufficient built up around the action so that when things do happen as expected, they still manage to resonate with shocking elements of surprise.
Another cool thing Aster relies on is that he has a lot of action happen off-screen, using audio to impart what’s going on. He also has off-screen/out-of-shot characters talking over other characters who are in the frame at the time, making for a nice, rich aural tapestry that is like a mutant riff on  Robert Altman’s signature chaotic approach to dialogue in films.
In terms of the cast, Florence Pugh is great in the lead role of Dani, expertly becoming the uber cute, yet dreadfully cloying girlfriend. Will Poulter continues to amaze at his dexterity playing complete asshats (he’s so good at portraying whiny, bloated Americans that I never knew he was a Brit until a few years ago; in many ways he reminds me of a young BIll Paxton in terms of the types of characters he seems to gravitate towards). The acting of Jack Reynor left me a little flat, but then again his character is supposed to be a wishy-washy douche, so perhaps he nails it after all.
As with Hereditary, the ending of this film definitely goes for shock and awe(fulness) in terms of its twisted gore factor. In many respects, the film could have easily ended 10-minutes earlier than the bloody and fiery finale, taking the very last shot and transposing it on the final portion of the May Queen ceremony; it would have made the film a bit more enigmatic, leaving the ending up to the audience, but also being no less potent and malevolent.
When all is said and done, Midsommar is a thought provoking, little horror film that eschews jump scares and over-the-top blasts of gore in favor of a more nerve-wracking and harrowing sense of paranoia and uneasiness.

Rating: 4.5/5
RIYL:
Hereditary; The Killing of a Sacred Deer; Rosemary’s Baby; The Wicker Man (the 1973 original); It Comes At Night; Us; The Lair of the White Worm; “The Lottery” short story by Shirley Jackson

Yesterday [Film Review]

Written by screenwriter Richard Curtis (best known for Four Weddings and a Funeral and Love, Actually) and directed by Danny Boyle (Trainspotting), Yesterday exudes large amounts of charm and character intermixed with plenty of visual flair.
At its core this engaging little gem, while ultimately predictable, is a quirky and highly likable romantic comedy masquerading as an-ever-so-slight sci-fi fable. It’s the fantastical elements of the story which really keep things interesting. That and the top-rate cast. Himesh Patel shines in the leading role of Jack, a struggling musician whose fortune changes after a worldwide blackout. The rest of the cast, which includes Lily James as the love interest Ellie, Kate McKinnon as a savage entertainment manager, and Joel Fry as the lovable stoner Rocky, shine just as brightly and help create a warm and bustling atmosphere.
If there’s one drawback to the film it’s the presence of Ed Sheeran. I can’t tell if the filmmakers are taking the piss in their not-so-subtle comparison of his music/popularity to that of The Beatles or if they are being serious. And while I will never understand the appeal of his music, I am willing to concede that he’s probably a likable bloke in real life. But he’s not a terribly good actor and his moments on screen are awkward and diverting.
In the end I cried. I laughed. And while at times I felt that my emotions were manipulated, I really didn’t mind all that much because the acting and the music were so engaging.
RIYL: Love, Actually; Four Weddings and a Funeral; Withnail & I; the music of The Beatles.

Rating: 4/5

Men In Black: International [Film Review]

This was on my backburner list, meaning that I didn’t put high precedence on seeing it in the theater. Alas, when I first attempted to see Yesterday (on opening day, actually), the theater was packed with only the front row seats left, so I ditched out and went to see MIB:I instead as it was the only other film showing at the same time.
Truth be told, I don’t remember anything about MIB3 and all I recall about MIB2 is that Linda Fiorentino was in it. I’m also a bit dubious when Hollywood feels the need to reboot a franchise some 7 years down the line and without any of the original cast.
MIB:I was pretty much what you’d expect: lots of CG action enveloping a rudimentary plot. The story actually appears decent enough while you are watching the film, mostly because the pacing is so lightning quick and the effects are so overwhelming that you don’t have time to dissect the story until the film is over. Once you’ve caught your breath and actually have time to reflect you quickly realize that the story was pretty ho-hum, not to mention terribly predictable, and that you were a victim of classic bait-and-switch, here the tactic being the non-stop barrage of explosions, action, and interesting aliens that overwhelm (and eventually numb) your senses.
The cast is decent enough, although Hemsworth just seems to be coasting along on his good looks and leftover Thor charm (the meta reference to his turn as the Norse God of Thunder seen in the trailers falls pretty flat in the film, fwiw). Tessa Thompson is charming, as well, but she, too, just seems to be along for the ride. The scene stealer happens to be Pawny, a diminutive green alien who drops some of the best quips and actually makes the proceedings rise slightly above mediocre. The rest of the cast, which also includes Emma Thompson, Rebecca Ferguson, and Liam Neeson, are serviceable in their roles, but ultimately underutilized.
In the end the film is nothing more than a semi-amiable time waster that, like a generic piece of candy, is sweet to the taste, but eventually forgettable once it has melted in your mouth. Oh yeah, I’m pretty confident that we won’t be seeing Men In Black: International 2, unless, say somebody like Netflix ponies up for a streaming series.

Rating: 2/5

Houston, We Have A Problem [ROCKETMAN Film Review]

For whatever reasons, this film just sat on the screen and merely unfolded before my eyes, ultimately failing to really reach out and grab ahold of me. Now there’s no denying that it’s visually stunning and Taron Egerton in the title role is one of the most tour de force performances of 2019, but there just didn’t seem to be much else to it. Perhaps it came too close on the heels of Bohemian Rhapsody, as it shares a pretty similar story: musical genius grows up suppressing his homosexual orientation, becomes huge pop star, surrounds himself with toxic people, becomes dependent on drugs and alcohol, alienates himself from those he really cares about, and eventually accepts who he is and comes out on top. It’s an all-too-familiar story in the entertainment industry and while here it is delivered with over-the-top bravado (especially if you dig Broadway musical oppulence), it just ends up feeling kind of empty, as if it were merely going through the motions. The music of Elton John was just as ubiquitous during my childhood (heard it all over AM radio growing up) as the music of Queen, yet watching this film made me realize that it never resonated with me all that much beyond that period of my life; to wit, I’ve  never once felt compelled to go out and purchase any of his albums. In fact, the only time I can recall really being moved by an EJ tune was in Almost Famous during that airplane scene where the band starts singing “Tiny Dancer”.
If you are a hardcore fan of Sir Elton, then this cinematic endeavor may very well butter your toast. If you’re only a passing fan, you can probably save your $$ and just listen to one of his early albums (if you own any) in the comfort of your own home instead.

Rating: 2.5/5
RIYL: 
Moulin Rouge; Mama Mia; Rock of Ages; Tommy; Broadway Musicals

BRIGHTBURN [Film Review]

This is the worst kind of action-horror film there is: it takes an intriguing idea and does absolutely nothing interesting with it.
Straight out the gate there is zero exposition in terms of setting up the story. Instead the film starts with a meteor crash on a farm and then fast-forwards 12 years. Our protagonist, a young lad named Brandon, is apparently a prodigy who is also an outcast at school (nevermind that we hardly see any scenes of bullying or other instances that would shape his personality). Soon, however, young Brandon is donning a creepy cape and cowl and carrying on in a most viloent manner. Where he gets the idea for the costume is lost on me as we never see him reading comic books, watching superhero movies, or the like. Not to mention that the kid literally becomes evil overnight with no reason other than a creepy glowing spaceship hiding out in the barn.
The violence is ho-hum. The gore sparse. The suspense is lacking. Hell, there isn’t even a single good jump-scare moment lurking within the film’s 91-minute running time. Not to mention that just about everything that happens is utterly predictable.
Add to this a bevy of one-dimensional characters, such as the clueless mother who refuses to believe her son is evil even though everything points to him being so, the “you’re just imagining things” aunt, the generic dad and uncle, and the small town sheriff who knows something is amiss but really doesn’t do anything about it.
In regards to the rest of the story, the entire film exists in a vacuum of vagueness were everything is inferred and the audience is left to assume and then accept what is happening onscreen by filling in the gaps of the plot themselves. My quasi-intellectual self told me that perhaps the film was meant as an allegory for adolescence, but if that’s the case the filmmakers failed miserably.
To top it all off the gratuituously trite and rather lackluster ending leaves things wide open for sequels (here’s hoping that poor Box Office performance will squash that plan, though one cannot discount some streaming service picking it up for an ongoing series).
In the end the whole film feels like an extended elevator pitch for a potentially better film that never got made.

Rating: 1.5/5