I have scratched together a living, in one way or another, as a writer for more than 60 years now. I was a free-lance writer during the early stages of the Vietnam War. I was the Southwest Division Overnight News Editor for United Press International back when UPI was a legitimate news gathering organization. Following that, I went to the Dallas Morning News where I became the first person to write about rock 'n' roll on a daily basis for a Texas metropolitan newspaper. I later became the News' entertainment editor. Following some stints with a couple of prominent PR firms, I had the extraordinary good fortune to team with two communications legends, Ken Fairchild and Lisa LeMaster, as part of one kick-ass media consulting/crisis communications team. That was followed by stints as a department head with the City of Dallas (and its public information officer); the Dallas Northeast Chamber of Commerce where I had the good fortune to meet and work alongside some of this city's business and political titans; and editorial director for QuestCorp Media until that company went out of business. Now officially retired, concentrating on this blog.
What is it about clowns, anyway? Why do some people find them hilarious while others are creeped out by them? Whatever the case, author Stephen King exploited the duality of clowns — always smiling, seemingly-friendly, weirdly inhuman — in his 1986 novel, It. The title creature, which appeared most frequently as Pennywise the Dancing Clown, was a macabre, homicidal homage to Claribel, Bozo, and Ronald McDonald. It’s no wonder there was a drop in professional clowns being hired for kids’ parties the year after It’s publication. According to King, this is one of his favorite books (at least among those he has written). A 1990 TV mini-series exists but this new motion picture represents the first time It has been brought to the big screen. The movie, which lingered for a half-decade in preproduction, represents the culmination of the efforts of a large number of people, including the teams led by departed director Cary Fukunaga and eventual director Andy Muschietti.
King fans will note that the best movie adaptations of the writer’s work have been his non-horror stories: Stand by Me, The Shawshank Redemption, Misery, The Green Mile. His horror-related films have been of variable quality, with the best two being (arguably) The Shining (King would disagree) and Carrie. It may represent the best movie version of any King horror story — and it covers only half the material in the 1,100+ page book.
Plans are in place for a Chapter 2 of It, although that will likely take three years to reach screens since it’s only in the earliest stages of pre-production. However, the screenwriters have parsed the source material in such a way that this installment of It can stand on its own, eliminating the frustration that could result from Chapter 2 never being produced. Although the story is mostly faithful to the novel, the screenwriters have made some deviations in the adaptation process. Aspects of the ending have been reworked to be more cinematically coherent and several controversial elements have been removed. The result is a strong narrative that doesn’t fragment at the end. The movie relates the events presented in the book’s "early" timeline — the one in which the protagonists are 11 years old — and time-shifts things from the late 1950s to the summer of 1989. The action centers around a group of outcasts who call themselves The Losers: Bill (Jaeden Lieberher), Richie (Finn Wolfhard), Eddie (Jack Dylan Grazer), Stanley (Wyatt Oleff), Ben (Jeremy Ray Taylor), Mike (Chosen Jacobs), and the only girl, Beverly (Sophia Lillis). Following the death of Bill’s younger brother, George, at the hands of the sewer-dwelling Pennywise (Bill Skarsgard), all seven of The Losers begin experiencing visions of the clown and/or physical embodiments of things they fear. Pennywise, they learn, emerges every 27 years in the town of Derry, Maine to kill children and feed on their terror. This group, however, is determined to fight back — something easier said than done in these circumstances.
One reason why It works is that it doesn’t rely solely on jump-scares and gore to startle audiences. Yes, there are some of both, but It is more about building tension than cheap gimmicks. The film also offers more than traditional horror. There’s a strong element of childhood friendship — the hallmark of Stand by Me — and a statement about how not all monsters are inhuman. The film’s bullies — older kids like Henry Bowers (Nicholas Hamilton) and adults like Henry and Beverly’s abusive fathers — are as terrifying in their own ways as Pennywise. Although It didn’t scare me (few horror films, even the best of them, do), it left me unsettled. For the cast, the filmmakers went with a group of little-known actors. This is true not only of the children but the adults as well. Pennywise is played with uncommon spookiness by Skarsgard (the brother of Alexander and son of Stellan). Emerging from the long shadow of Tim Curry, whose interpretation of the clown was a highlight of the TV mini-series, Skarsgard makes Pennywise his own from the shocking first scene, which violates a Hollywood rule about how young children are treated on-screen. Lieberher, who plays the stuttering Bill, was recently seen (although not by many) as the title character in The Book of Henry. Wolfhard is probably best known for his role as Mike in Stranger Things, a TV series inspired in part by King’s writings that incorporates the same kind of childhood bonding that occurs among The Losers. It isn’t perfect. There’s too much repetitive wandering around in the sewers and the running time seems long for the material as presented. There are credulity problems with the resolution but this is common in horror where the vanquishing of a creature of great power and evil typically requires a contrivance. However, horror, like a road movie, is more about the journey than the destination, and It offers a strong and creepy ride. Stephen King fans can rejoice that Hollywood has done justice to one of the author’s scary books.
The opening scenes sets up the scenario with remarkable economy. Mitch Rapp (Dylan O’Brien) is on vacation in Spain with his girlfriend, Katrina (Charlotte Vega). He proposes marriage and she accepts. Moments later, she is dead, the victim of a terrorist attack. The time frame skips ahead 18 months. Mitch, having devoted his life to revenge, has infiltrated the cell responsible for his girlfriend’s death. At his first face-to-face meeting with the extremists, as he is about to make his move, the CIA intervenes and usurps Mitch’s revenge, killing the terrorists. He is then offered a job by Irene Kennedy (Sanaa Lathan), the director of one of the agency’s elite covert groups. In order to join, however, he must "pass" the brutal form of basic training presided over by the group’s leader, ex-Navy SEAL and all-around badass Stan Hurley (Michael Keaton). After that, the movie is comprised of standard material involving an ex-agent (Taylor Kitsch) who wants revenge, Iranians trying to get their hands on the components necessary to build a nuclear bomb, a beautiful agent (Shiva Negar) whose personal pain rivals Mitch’s, and a brutal torture scene involving fingernails being ripped out. The movie has a distinct direct-to-video vibe to it but I guess that too many high-profile names were attached for it to be accorded that fate. The mere fact that it was released theatrically doesn’t make it a better movie.
Director Michael Cuesta keeps the tone dark and dour. It’s strange for such a by-the-numbers action film to take itself so seriously. The filmmakers of John Wick and Atomic Blonde recognized that black humor and ostentatious, high-octane action scenes go a long way toward making something like this fun. Neither quality is in evidence, however. The screenplay attempts to say something about the pernicious effects of revenge on the soul, but the message gets muddled. The movie has a chance to redeem itself at the end and, for the briefest of moments, I thought it was going to do something daring … but it chickens out and plays it safe. If there’s a reason to see this movie, it’s Keaton, who invests his portrayal of Hurley with a callous, no-nonsense attitude that makes him interesting. Keaton has energy — something sorely lacking from the rest of the cast. The lead, The Maze Runner’s O’Brien is trapped in a permanent funk. Not only does he lack charisma but he mopes around so much it’s hard to root for him. Kitsch’s villain, who goes by the codename of "Ghost", is an entitled whiner who’s peeved that Hurley didn’t fill his Daddy void. We’ve seen this character countless times before and Kitsch doesn’t bring anything to the part to distinguish him from his numerous predecessors. There’s not much more to say about American Assassin. It’s a soulless example of a product assembled and packaged for those who crave an "old-fashioned" no-frills action movie. The film is made with sufficient competence not to be embarrassing but, while this isn’t a bottom-feeder, there are better options out there for aficionados of the genre. American Assassin kills time but accomplishes little else.
Note: This review contains spoilers. Although these relate to historical facts (since the main character is a real person), I realize most viewers won’t know about them and therefore may be "spoiled" by some of what is revealed below.
People love inspirational movies; that’s why there are so many of them. The majority fall into the "based on a true story" category — viewers relate better to historical protagonists, even if their tales have been enhanced/altered to make for a better cinematic experience. Perhaps there’s something inherent in the human DNA that responds to the narrative of an underdog overcoming or maybe the vicarious enjoyment of another’s unlikely triumph is sufficient to cap off the "feel good" experience. Breathe is one of these films and, like most, it engages in sufficient manipulation to play the right emotional chords. Marking the directorial debut of Andy Serkis, it’s competently made but not exceptional. While not raising to the level of Oscar bait, it nevertheless offers a palatable two hours for anyone who appreciates this kind of chronicle. The historical record tells us that Robin Cavendish (Andrew Garfield), who died in 1994 at the age of 64, was one of the longest-living responauts (those who rely on a mechanical ventilator to breathe) in the U.K. The movie opens in 1957 with a brief account of the courtship of Cavendish (who was not yet disabled) and his wife, Diana (Claire Foy). Because this isn’t the focus of the movie, it is rushed through, which may be a mistake. Ultimately, the bond of love and affection between Robin and Diana becomes crucial to the narrative; spending more time developing the foundation might have paid dividends. The perspective of Serkis and screenwriter William Nicholson seems to be: dispose of the prologue as expeditiously as possible and get to the tragedy.
In 1958, as Robin and Claire are expecting their first child while residing in Kenya, Robin is stricken with polio. Paralyzed from the neck down and unable to breathe without mechanical assistance, he is given three months to live. Claire has him transported back to England where he is placed in a specialty hospital. Claire’s unwillingness to give up on Robin enables him to fight through a period of depression and, against doctor’s advice, he leaves the hospital for home. An inventor friend, Teddy Hall (Hugh Bonneville), devises a portable respirator and movable chair and Robin begins to enjoy life again, despite his limitations. He reads the paper every day, spends time with his son, Jonathan (Dean-Charles Chapman), and eventually becomes an advocate for the disabled. Breathe is a straightforward biography that recounts the high points of Robin’s life. For reasons that probably have something to do with not making the actors wear too much old-age makeup, Robin’s death is advanced from the real-life date of 1994 to the fictional one of 1981. The acting is solid but not up to Oscar caliber. Garfield apparently studied quadriplegics in order to craft a believable performance and it shows. In some ways, the most interesting character in Breathe is Diana — the lovely young woman who gave up her life to care for the man she loved. (I felt similarly about Alicia Vikander’s role in The Danish Girl.) It’s Diana’s devotion, passion, and drive that keeps Robin alive and mobile. Unfortunately, the screenplay never pulls back the curtain to let us see the private struggles she may have endured. Foy is excellent at portraying the devoted, loving wife but isn’t given an opportunity (at least until late in the film) to show more.
The rest of the cast is comprised primarily of British character actors. Diana Rigg has a memorable cameo but she’s on-screen for such a short time that if a viewer takes a bathroom break at the wrong time, he/she will miss it. In an indication of how small the British acting community is, many of the cast members of Breathe have appeared in Doctor Who and/or Game of Thrones. For Serkis, there’s an element of unintentional irony in this being his first foray behind the camera. Known primarily as the go-to actor for motion capture (he was Gollum in The Lord of the Rings films and Cesar in the recent Planet of the Apes series), Serkis has made a career out of appearing in big-budget special effects spectacles. It would be hard to find a more different film from those than Breathe. Although not entirely devoid of visual chicanery (effects are used to allow actor Tom Hollander to play twins), Breathe is a low-budget, intimate, human drama — not the kind of thing one might immediately associate with Serkis. (The reason behind Serkis’ involvement is that he is in partnership with the real-life Jonathan Cavendish at The Imaginarium Studios production company and the pair agreed that Robin’s story would make a worthwhile motion picture.) Two other films with similar topics come to mind: The Theory of Everything (a biography of Stephen Hawking) and The Sea Inside (about a paralyzed man committed to ending his own life). Both are deeper and more powerful than Breathe because they eschew the straightforward, vanilla approach embraced by this film. There’s nothing wrong with this method of storytelling but it rarely results in greatness. Its intention is to convey information rather than provide a narrative that is thematically rich and thought-provoking. Breathe has moments of emotional resonance but the overall experience feels flat and familiar.
Japanese director Takashi Miike has spent a career bucking conventions and thumbing his nose at censors. From his first foray into directing in 1991, he has become a lightning rod for controversy — a role he enjoys. His films are bloody and brutal, often with long, elaborate fight scenes that don’t spare the viewer lovingly shot images of blood, gore, and viscera. Although he has a preference for yakuza/gangster themes, his filmography is varied. Blade of the Immortal, for example, is a fantasy/samurai movie — sort of a Kurosawa on steroids. It is being touted as "Miike’s 100th film" and, while one could argue whether the numbering is strictly correct, it’s close enough to be reasonable. Here’s to another 100.
Blade of the Immortal is based on a 30-volume manga by Hiroaki Samura that ran for nearly 20 years starting in 1993 (in the United States, it was published by Dark Horse Comics). Considering the size of the source material, there’s no way that Miike and his screenwriter, Tetsay Oishi, could hope to capture the entire story in a 140-minute movie, so they have opted to concentrate on the highlights. The film is straightforward, compensating for its lack of narrative complexity with Miike’s trademark graphic fight sequences. Although the bloodbaths are expertly choreographed, the director doesn’t take himself too seriously. There’s a fair amount of (gallows) humor to be found. For example, in one scene, two unkillable warriors face off, each delivering an endless barrage of mortal wounds to the other that are shrugged off. (I was reminded of The Black Knight in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.) I wondered what might happen in the event of a decapitation but Miike doesn’t go that route. The movie opens with a short black-and-white sequence that transpires 50 years prior to the main story and provides key background information about the main character, samurai warrior Manji (Takuya Kimura). Following a long, bloody battle in which he fails in his charge to protect the life of his younger sister, Machi (Hana Sugisaki), he is badly wounded. A robed and hooded woman approaches and curses him with immortality by infecting his body with "bloodworms" that will heal (think Wolverine) almost any wound.
Blade of the Immortal’s main story has Manji serving as the bodyguard for his sister’s doppelganger, Rin Asano (also played by Hana Sugisaki), during her quest to avenge the death of her parents at the hands of master swordsman Anotsu Kagehisa (Sota Fukushi), who is in the process of making a power-play. His intention is to take over all the dojos in Edo (Tokyo during the 18th century). In order to confront Anotsu, Manji and Rin must fight their way through a series of battles with Anotsu’s underlings and minions, some of whom are formidable. Being immortal gives Manji an obvious advantage (especially since is stabbed through the heart with alarming frequency) but his resurrections are painful, especially after being wounded by a weapon coated with a bloodworm-killing poison. The style and approach are pure Miike. The battle scenes are whirlwinds of chaos and carnage. They aren’t beautiful in a traditional sense but they are masterpieces of brutality. Kimura, a recognizable face in Japan who was cast against type for this role (he has a squeaky-clean image), is credible as the tortured Manji, whose solution to his immortality is to become a hermit. Beneath the scars, Kimura is a gifted performer when it comes to embodying an anti-hero seeking a path of redemption. Equally capable is Fukushi as the antagonist Anotsu, whose backstory and connection to Rin almost make him sympathetic. The weak link is Sugisaki, whose portrayal of Rin is strident and over-the-top. Although the battle scenes are bottled adrenaline, the movie is overlong. The climax is delayed by too much exposition and too many preliminary struggles. I recognize that some of this is as a result of the filmmakers trying to shoehorn in many disparate elements from the manga but it becomes unwieldy. Nevertheless, as one would expect from the product of the iconoclast director, Blade of the Immortal delivers the kind of jolt that will excite those who seek this out during its home video life.
For more than 30 years, one of the great mysteries of journalism and politics was the identity of Woodward and Bernstein’s key Watergate source, "Deep Throat." Between Deep Throat’s period of contribution (1972-73) and his voluntary unmasking in 2005, the intense media scrutiny uncovered several possible "suspects." One of those was Mark Felt, a senior FBI agent (No. 2 behind Hoover for many years) who would have had access to Deep Throat’s information. The Felt/Deep Throat connection remained speculative until 2005 when he "came out" in a Vanity Fair article — a revelation that was immediately corroborated by Woodward. Felt’s subsequent book, A G-Man's Life: The FBI, Being 'Deep Throat,' and the Struggle for Honor in Washington, co-written by lawyer John D. O’Connor (who did much of the work — Felt, at the age of 91, was suffering from dementia), provided the framework for this latest Watergate film, which was written and directed by Peter Landesman (Concussion).
Mark Felt tells the story from (unsurprisingly) Mark Felt’s perspective. (Innumerable books, magazine articles, and movies have offered differing vantage points — in particular, All the President’s Men in which Deep Throat was memorably portrayed by Hal Holbrook.) Felt, played with equal parts intractability and dignity by Liam Neeson, comes across as someone whose actions were motivated not only by his love and respect for the FBI and his country but by ambition. As the No. 2 in the FBI, he saw himself as the likely successor to Hoover and, when Nixon passed him over in favor of an outsider, Pat Gray (Marton Csokas), well, hell hath no fury… To this day, Felt’s motivations for leaking remain murky. Mark Felt leans toward the noble theories but doesn’t ignore that revenge and a desire for a promotion could have played a part. Deep Throat remains a heroic figure but one not without blemishes.
The movie opens around the time of Hoover’s death and, excepting an epilogue in 1978, closes with Nixon’s resignation. The pacing is uneven, especially during the last act when Landesman abandons the slow, methodical approach of the first 80 minutes in favor of a lightning-fast recap of events in the administration’s decaying twilight. This may be frustrating for viewers with only a cursory knowledge (or memory) of Watergate because it doesn’t connect the dots and make Felt’s role clear. We understand based on the narrative that he is fighting against Nixon’s attempts to corrupt and co-opt the FBI and that he is passing confidential information to Bob Woodward (Julian Morris) and Sandy Smith (Bruce Greenwood) but the movie doesn’t make it clear how Deep Throat’s revelations were subsequently used in the media campaign to undermine Nixon. The film is on firm ground when detailing the internal FBI pressures and politics faced by Felt and his co-workers. Mark Felt illustrates an organization in the throes of upheaval. Hoover’s death leaves a vacuum of power that Gray is unable to fill and Nixon tries to take advantage of this. Felt, denied the opportunity to replace his boss and angry at how the administration is undermining the Watergate investigation, decides that his best option (perhaps his only option) is to turn whistleblower.
Scenes detailing Felt’s unstable home life are hit-and-miss. Interludes with his troubled wife, Audrey (Diane Lane), often feel superfluous, although we get a real sense of hurt and loss when Felt remembers and tries to locate his missing adult daughter, Joan (Maika Monroe), who has run away to join a commune. Although the purpose of the domestic sequences are to provide a balanced view of Felt, they aren’t substantial enough to accomplish that and end up seeming more like filler than a pillar of the story. Neeson is excellent. Regardless of whether he accurately embodies the real Mark Felt, he fulfills the role we expect from Deep Throat — a crusader who won’t back down. Neeson portrays Felt as rigid and uncompromising — neither warm nor fuzzy but worthy of respect. He is surrounded by a stable of capable character actors — Josh Lucas, Eddie Marsan, Greenwood, Tom Sizemore, and Tony Goldwyn. Lane is solid in limited screen time as the troubled Audrey (who, in real life, committed suicide in 1984). One difficulty in determining the historical veracity of some of what transpires in Mark Felt is that, although based on the title character’s memoirs, it’s unclear how much of those represent fact because, by the time the entire story came out, Felt’s memory was unreliable. Nevertheless, in a general sense, Mark Felt provides a window into the turmoil within the FBI during the Watergate years and the struggle that occurred to preserve the bureau’s independence. The movie is more about the events that resulted in Felt becoming Deep Throat than his work in that role. Although not the definitive Watergate movie, it illustrates an aspect of the scandal that to this point has not been given ample attention by filmmakers.
For 35 years, fans of Blade Runner have discussed and deconstructed the original film while speculating about where the story might go next. Director Ridley Scott bolstered the movie’s mythos by participating in several reworked versions, including a 1992 "Director’s Cut" and a 2007 "Final Cut." Although Blade Runner was not financially successful during its initial run, the movie garnered fame and followers as a result of the home video revolution and talk of a sequel began to percolate around the time of the Final Cut. For years, this was idle chatter but it gained traction once Scott and Harrison Ford indicated a willingness to become involved. Now, after more than a generation of dormancy, Rick Deckard is back.
Unlike many sequels, this one isn’t content to regurgitate plot elements from its predecessor and rely on riding a wave of nostalgia. Blade Runner 2049 honors the original in many ways — some small and some large — but it’s not a soft reboot. It’s a new story with new ideas and a new purpose. Strong strands connect it to the past but it blazes unique trails in a universe that is unmistakably the same and obviously different. If one was to compare this to the Star Wars franchise, it’s more like The Empire Strikes Back, which took chances, than The Force Awakens, which reworked previous themes and ideas. Since the marketing campaign was built around the return of Harrison Ford/Rick Deckard, it’s safe to say that revealing his participation doesn’t count as a spoiler. But, if Deckard’s return isn’t a surprise, there are plenty of revelations/narrative turns that don’t play out as expected. Deckard doesn’t make his first appearance until the nearly-three hour movie is two-thirds of the way done but his presence looms large throughout. The main character in Blade Runner 2049 is a new Blade Runner, known variously as "K" or "Joe" (Ryan Gosling), whose job is to "retire" those few old model "skinjobs" who are still around. It seems that a new tycoon-inventor, Niander Wallace (Jared Leto), has created a race of replicants who are subservient but anything from the pre-2019 Tyrell Corporation needs to be eliminated.
It’s a credit to the film’s storytelling that we don’t become impatient for Deckard’s return. We are invested in K’s story as a routine job takes him down a rabbit hole into one of the most carefully guarded and deeply buried secrets of the current regime. When she learns of this, K’s boss, Lt. Joshi (Robin Wright), expresses alarm that it could destroy everything. Just as Deckard’s seemingly straightforward mission in Blade Runner led him into a deep, dark spiral, so K’s job becomes more than a simple search-and-destroy mission. K is a loner but he’s not alone. He lives with a loving, devoted girlfriend. Joi (Ana de Armas) is the perfect match for someone as dour and introverted as K. His affection for her comes across clearly in their early scenes and, what initially seems like little more than an attempt at balancing and expanding his character embeds itself in the narrative flow. Blade Runner 2049 has two overarching themes, both of which will be familiar to science fiction fans. One questions the meaning of identity. The other, which is related, focuses on the concept of life, humanity, and the soul. The latter, of course, lay at the heart of Blade Runner, but Blade Runner 2049 uses a different approach to address it.
With Scott unavailable to direct due to a conflict with Alien: Covenant, Denis Villeneuve was recruited. Villeneuve’s stellar resume, which includes Prisoners, Sicario, and last year’s outstanding science fiction offering, Arrival, assured that the film would be in good hands once Scott backed out. An avowed Blade Runner aficionado, Villeneuve took great pains to move the story forward while maintaining a balance between the old and the new. One of the most successful aspects of this approach is the way in which he addresses the great unresolved mystery of Blade Runner. Blade Runner 2049 is neither action-oriented science fiction nor space opera. In terms of approach, there’s a lot of Arrival in this movie’s DNA. The director wants viewers to think as well as experience. He values mystery and ambiguity. The ending, however, is satisfying in all the right ways. As in Blade Runner, there are action sequences — fight scenes, shoot-outs, spaceship combat. There’s a villain, the steely-eyed Luv (Sylvia Hoeks) who works as Wallace’s henchwoman. These things, however, are secondary elements — a spice used to enhance the flavor rather than a main ingredient. The narrative is constructed like a traditional mystery/procedural.
Two things the average viewer is likely to remember about Blade Runner are the film’s look and sound. That movie’s vision of 2019 Los Angeles was a mix of the futuristic and the retro. For Blade Runner 2049, Villeneuve retains the skeleton of Scott’s design while using today’s special effects technology to expand it. So Los Angeles 2049 is recognizably the same city but everything is bigger and brighter, as exemplified by a scene in which an oversized, neon (and naked) De Armas reaches out to K. The sound design is loud and throbbing and composer Hans Zimmer pays homage to Vangelis without directly copying him. Just as Vangelis’ synth score gave an otherworldliness to Blade Runner, so the electronic aspects of Zimmer’s contribution (co-credited to Benjamin Wallfisch) maintains that feeling in this film. Ford has reached the stage of his career when he finds himself reprising old roles — Han Solo, Rick Deckard, and possibly Indiana Jones. In Blade Runner, Deckard was already world-weary. The last thing he wanted was to chase down Roy Batty and his cohorts. Here, Ford plays the character as an even more cynical, embittered individual. This represents one of the actor’s career-best performances. Often, he has gotten by on charm and charisma. Here, he has to delve deep to bring out Deckard’s soul. The "star" of the movie, or at least the person with the most screen-time, is Gosling. With Blade Runner 2049, he reinforces his ability to work effectively in any genre. He has under his belt such diverse fare as The Notebook, Lars and the Real Girl (which has a bizarre synergy with Blade Runner 2049), Drive, and La La Land. K may represent his most challenging role to date — there are many layers to the character — and Gosling adroitly captures every nuance.
Supporting performances come from the likes of Wright, Leto, Hoeks, De Armas, and Dave Bautista. De Armas and Mackenzie Davis work together in a scene that recalls an aspect of Spike Jonze’s 2013 film, Her. And, in a nod to the original Blade Runner, Edward James Olmos has a cameo in which he completes one last origami figure. Sequels in general have an amazing capacity to disappoint. The pressure on filmmakers to equal or exceed the impact of a beloved original is intense. In a case like this, when the reputation of a movie has built over decades, expectations are elevated to an almost impossible level. With Blade Runner 2049, Villeneuve has met those expectations by crafting a film that rivets the attention, excites the imagination, and engages the mind. In an era of instant gratification and mindless spectacle, how often can a big-budget science fiction franchise film make such a claim?
A combination of fanciful conjecture and historical fact, Professor Marston & the Wonder Women represents not only a historical primer on sexual repression during the first half of the 20th Century but unlocks the code to "understanding" what Wonder Woman (the character) is all about. Since I’m not a great believer in coincidence, it’s unlikely that the development of this movie happened in a vacuum. Nevertheless, although Angela Robinson’s bio-pic and Patty Jenkins’ superhero adventure share a character’s name, there’s little other common ground. That’s because the Wonder Woman of 2017 bears little resemblance to the comic book superhero created by William Moulton Marston in the 1940s. Today’s Wonder Woman has been power-washed for mass consumption. Gone are the elements of lesbianism and BSDM that permeated the original storylines. Then and now, Wonder Woman is an icon of feminism, but the focus is different. Marston’s conception of sexual equality was founded on ideas about free love and a psychological theory that involved domination and submission. Modern Wonder Woman is seen as a good role model for girls. Strength and beauty are the only obvious mutual threads.
Professor Marston & the Wonder Women uses a clunky wrap-around structure to anchor the storyline. In it, Marston (Luke Evans) defends his vision of Wonder Woman to children’s book expert Josette Frank (Connie Britton) during a 1945 interview. Frank, concerned that some of the themes and images in Wonder Woman may be inappropriate for young viewers, grills Marston, who regales her with his philosophy. This results in a narrative presented in flashbacks that start as far back as 1928 and come up to the movie’s present-day. Aside from providing Marston an opportunity to employ voiceover narration, there’s little point in doing things this way.
When we first meet Professor Marston, he’s teaching a psychology class at Tufts University while working on a primitive version of the lie detector. His wife, Elizabeth (Rebecca Hall), is his assistant. He preaches a so-called DISC (Dominance, Inducement, Submission, Compliance) theory. A student, Olive Byrne (Bella Heathcote), is captivated by the husband-and-wife couple and applies for a teaching assistant position. After she is accepted, Elizabeth warns her away from her husband but an attraction develops among the three and they begin a polyamorous relationship. Once word of this leaks out, it results in a scandal and the already-complicated situation is compounded when Olive announces her pregnancy. The resulting dynamic, which might be right out of the TV series Big Love (with a dash of lesbianism thrown in for good measure), leads to Marston’s development of Wonder Woman, whom he bases on both of the females in his life, Elizabeth (with her fiery disposition and combative attitude) and Olive (with her quiet determination and physical beauty). At times, the movie seems conflicted. There are long passages in which Marston explains his psychological theories; in these scenes, the film wants to make a statement about feminism and its relationship to sexual expression and equality. But there are other instances when there’s a titillating, playful quality that borders on exploitation cinema — hey, these two women and one man are having sex together, so let’s show a little… I hasten to add that’s not a bad thing — it creates an erotic dynamic — but it’s an odd fit for the more erudite aspects. The film gets pretty deep into the BDSM stuff, at times seeming a little like a more substantive, less explicit Fifty Shades of Grey. (It’s worth noting that Robinson was a writer and director for True Blood and The L Word.)
Although Professor Marston & the Wonder Women is historically accurate in a broad sense, it takes a lot of liberty with the details. For example, we know that Olive’s sons and Elizabeth’s children were all fathered by William and that Olive and Elizabeth lived together before and after William’s 1947 death, but nothing definitive is on record about the nature of their relationship. Were they sister-wives who enjoyed separate sexual relationships with William or were they lovers? The film takes the latter view but it’s a speculative perspective. On the other hand, the overview of DISC theory and Marston’s philosophy about Wonder Women are true to the facts. Hall gives a standout performance — something so good that it should have been remembered more than it was when the end-of-the-year citations were issued. Her Elizabeth is a force of nature — untamed, conflicted, and compulsively watchable. Heathcote has a more refrained character but her portrayal is no less effective. Unfortunately, Evans proves to be the weak link. Possibly miscast, the actor, who is best known for playing over-the-top villains in Beauty and the Beast (Gaston) and the Fast and the Furious series, is a poor fit for Marston. In trying to mute his screen presence to fit a restrained character, Evans ends up fading into the background and proves unable to hold his own in scenes with Hall and Heathcote. Overall, I enjoyed Professor Marston & the Wonder Women for its prurient and intellectual elements. It’s a fun film that breezes by and, despite any liberties it takes with history, offers a valuable look at Wonder Woman’s real origin story. For adults with curiosity, this makes for an offbeat companion piece to the big-budget blockbuster.
True-life stories of heroism and sacrifice are commonplace; good movies about those stories aren’t. Only the Brave recounts the tale of The Granite Mountain Hotshots and the challenges they faced when fighting wildfires during the years leading up to and including 2013. Although probably a little too long, the film succeeds in being both emotionally forceful and dramatically satisfying. And, if the first hour drags at times as the filmmakers attempt to cram in too much backstory and setup, the final half-hour is riveting. Director Joseph Kosinski, despite being best known for handling the technical difficulties of TRON: Legacy, shows the ability to push a viewer’s buttons.
Brolin and Teller are the only actors accorded more than perfunctory roles. Brolin’s performance is strong and sure — Eric is calm and cool while on the job but prone to fits of temper and surliness away from it. Teller’s Brendan is on a "redemption road" as he tries to turn around an aimless life so he can be a father to his newborn daughter. Jennifer Connelly (as Eric’s wife), Jeff Bridges (evincing some odd mannerisms as Eric’s boss), James Badge Dale (as Eric’s second-in-command), and Taylor Kitsch (as Chris MacKenzie, one of The Granite Mountain Hotshots) have supporting parts. Perhaps the strongest thing to be said about Only the Brave is that it’s about the men, not the flames they fight. The movie resists the temptation to make the forest fires into villains; they are forces of nature — dangerous, devastating, and mercurial, but they are not anthropomorphized in order to make a more conventional storyline. Part of the reason why Only the Brave’s pacing is erratic is because there’s no buildup to a single defining moment. This is instead an episodic story of brotherhood and, although it has an obvious climax and conclusion, it doesn’t spend a majority of the running time escalating to that moment (although there’s plenty of foreshadowing). In a sad coincidence, this movie has become available at the height of one of the most devastating wild fire seasons in many years. Columbia Pictures can’t be accused of piggybacking on the news, however — the film’s release date was set many months ago. Nevertheless, awareness is high at the moment and Only the Brave’s ability to show the dangers and methods of firefighters in these situations may give viewers a greater appreciation of the inherent dangers in this line of work (and the importance of heeding evacuation orders). Only the Brave isn’t a dumbed-down corny action film like Firestorm but a serious-minded drama with real characters in believable situations.
Is it unfair to compare Luc Besson to Michael Bay? Some would argue that it is but I’m not sure Besson would be among them. Both directors make the movies they want to make and, although there’s more artistry evident in Besson’s work, they have a preference for fast-moving, visually engaging fare that is less likely to stimulate the mind than other organs. Although Besson substitutes an orgy of CGI-generated imagery for Bay’s pyrotechnics, both are entrenched in the school of mainstream blockbuster movie-making that argues the preeminence of pure entertainment and razzle-dazzle over everything else.
Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets, based on the French comic book series Valerian and Laureline by writer Pierre Christin and artist Jean-Claude Mezieres, is considerably more interesting and watchable than Bay’s latest Transformers movie, but the underlying similarities are hard to ignore. In terms of a direct inspiration, however, this movie owes more to Besson’s own The Fifth Element and James Cameron’s Avatar than to any of Bay’s films. Just because both men are crafting movies for the same audience doesn’t mean they appreciate the same stories. Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets has a pulp-influenced space opera narrative about a traditional heroic type, Major Valerian (Dane DeHaan), and his smart, capable assistant/love interest, Sgt. Laureline (Cara Delevingne). They go on missions assigned to them by the Human Federation Government. Their latest adventure involves traveling to a distant planet, capturing a rare creature, and returning to Alpha (the titular "City of a Thousand Planets"). Once there, they must protect The Commander (Clive Owen) as he seeks to combat an unknown danger building deep within the base. There’s also the matter of a seemingly disconnected race of peaceful aliens whose backstory, which forms a prologue to the movie, becomes central to Valerian and Laureline’s assignment.
A lot of Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets involves running around in deep parts of Alpha, Valerian rescuing Laureline, and Laureline rescuing Valerian. Although I can appreciate the importance of world-building, the movie detours so frequently from its main narrative trajectory that it can become difficult to remember the point of the story which, when carefully considered, is fairly straightforward. There are also some bizarre interludes that serve primarily to pad out the running time. One involves a lengthy dance sequence featuring Rihanna as the shapeshifter Bubble. Although the character of Bubble is interesting in an Odo-lite sort of way, there’s no reason for this scene to exist except as a way to give Rihanna more screen time. Dehaan is more appealing here than in Gore Verbinski’s The Cure for Wellness, although his attempts to channel Harrison Ford while sounding like Keanu Reeves aren’t entirely successful. Delevingne, meanwhile, is more than capable as Laureline — she’s a stronger actress than one might suppose considering her modeling background. (This isn’t her first film but it’s by far her most high-profile role to-date). She makes Laureline feisty but with a human element and is at home doing all sorts of kick-ass stunts and playing opposite motion captured aliens. She and Dehaan share a nice rapport that suggests affection without demanding overt physicality. The romantic elements of Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets are surprisingly effective.
Would that the same could be said of the overall narrative which, in addition to being no more remarkable or complex than generic Star Trek, is constantly being hijacked by Besson’s need to show off. Yes, the real reason to see Valerian is the special effects. That shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. It’s also a given that movies that spend hundreds of millions of dollars on visuals rarely pay even 1 percent of that on screenwriting. But, as pretty as some of the scenes are — and more than a few are very pretty — the movie runs far too long for the story it’s telling. The effects are often the point of a scene rather than an enhancement. And more than one sequence plays like a video game — jump here, run, turn, avoid this obstacle. Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets, despite its designation as mainstream seasonal fare, has a political perspective. Science fiction often deals in allegory and this is no exception. There’s nothing subtle about the points Besson makes about the perils of climate change (an early scene in which paradise is destroyed), the importance of multiculturalism (Alpha’s diversity of species), and the dangers of xenophobia. And the threat to the space station’s continued existence is described as a rot that has been born deep within. When Besson released The Fifth Element, I remember feeling dissatisfaction and disappointment. My reaction to Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets is similar. Watching this movie, my sense was that Besson was only tangentially concerned about characters and plot. This was instead an attempt to out-Lucas George, out-Cameron James, and out-Spielberg Steven. On a purely visual level, Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets deserves mention among the most technically accomplished works of those three. But as a complete motion picture experience, it falls considerably short.
Regrets are a natural byproduct of the human condition and the older we get, the more we accumulate. The key to continuing to lead a contented and productive life is to avoid being crippled by them — something that is becoming an increasing challenge for the protagonist of this movie, Brad Sloan (Ben Stiller). Now 47 years old, he looks at his life as it currently is and laments that it doesn’t meet the lofty expectations he had harbored at age 20. Measured by the yardstick of material success, he lags behind his four closest college buddies. A midlife crisis has hit him point-blank.
Nothing is more apt to get a person to take stock of his life than accompanying a child on college visits. Brad’s 17-year old son, Troy (Austin Abrams), is viewed as a musical prodigy and has a legitimate shot (at least according to his guidance counselor) of being accepted to Harvard. So, leaving Mom (Jenna Fischer) behind in Sacramento, the father-and-son duo takes a cross-country plane trip to Massachusetts. While there, Brad commits a series of faux pas. During a conversation with an idealistic co-ed, his cynical advice about her potential career path causes her to call him out on the superficiality of his world view. A meeting between him and his old college buddy (and now wealthy TV personality), Craig Fisher (Michael Sheen), turns sour. Brad’s Status represents an interesting challenge for Ben Stiller. Known primarily for comedy, he rarely attempts something this purely dramatic. There’s a little Woody Allen at work here (without the "creepy" factor). Stiller is convincing because of the everyman qualities he brings to the role. We cringe when he embarrasses his son (and himself) by being too paternal. One scene in particular stands out: while his son is interviewing, Brad lauds Troy’s qualities to a woman in the waiting room — one who is clearly not interested and whose daughter is probably just as accomplished. The sequence isn’t played for laughs — it’s perceptive in the way it represents a certain kind of parent (someone we hope to avoid being and being around).
The script, credited to director Mike White (whose career high-point to-date may be writing School of Rock and whose career low-point to-date may be as one of the names on the screenplay for The Emoji Movie) illustrates a knowingness about the middle-aged male psyche. There comes a point in every person’s life when they realize they have more years behind than what lies ahead. The bloom of youth and its attendant optimism are gone. Brad is at that crossroads. He is afflicted with creeping doubt. He doesn’t "act out" in outrageous fashions (the most rebellious thing he does is to sneak out of his hotel room to have a few drinks — and nothing more — with an attractive 21-year-old) but, as his internal monologue reveals, he is beset by ennui. Even when the cracks in the "success" of some of his college friends are revealed, he still isn’t sure he took the right path. White stocks Brad’s Status with an effective supporting cast that includes such recognizable names/faces as Sheen and Luke Wilson, but this is Stiller’s movie from start to finish. His performance keeps it afloat because, in the end, it’s not about the airplane ride, the college interviews, the late-night rendezvous at the bar, or the disastrous dinner with an old friend — it’s about Brad coming to grips with who he was, is, and will be. That’s a difficult thing to dramatize because such an internal realization isn’t inherently cinematic. White, however, has found a way to do it and, although the pacing is uneven, the end result satisfies. The movie may appeal to a limited home audience but it has something to say to (and about) us all.
2014’s Kingsman: The Secret Service achieved a surprising level of success not because it offered anything groundbreaking but because its anarchic energy and deadpan wit made familiar story elements seem fresh. For the sequel, The Golden Circle, director Matthew Vaughn has attempted to recreate the tone and feel of the first movie but only with limited success. Installment No. 2 feels overlong and overstuffed and, although there are individual moments that snap, crackle, and pop, the production as a whole is bloated and at times even a little tedious. There’s fun to be had but it’s not consistent and at times it’s disappointing how certain scenes play out.
Without getting too deeply into spoiler territory, there are things worth mentioning. Recognizing that Colin Firth was the best thing about The Secret Service, the filmmakers contrive a way to bring him back. Okay, so it’s hokey, but we’re willing to go with it because he’s Colin Firth. Vaughn figures out a way to do something that’s never before been done with John Denver song. We also get the dubious pleasure of hearing Cameo’s Word Up re-imagined as a country tune. Yeah, you heard that right. Word Up. Then there’s Sir Elton John, rebooted as a high-kicking, hard-swearing action star. Jackie Chan doesn’t have anything on this guy. Unfortunately, the movie clocks in at 141 minutes and, as things move past the 90-minute mark, The Golden Circle feels like it has already worn out its welcome. There are too many dead-end subplots and unnecessary secondary characters. Why are Channing Tatum and Jeff Bridges even in the movie? Because they’re Channing Tatum and Jeff Bridges and their participation ups the rental ante. In truth, their roles are little more than glorified cameos. Halle Berry has a little more to do, but not much. The only actor from the "Kentucky" part of the story with anything significant to contribute is Pedro Pascal, who many will remember as Oberyn Martell (The Red Viper) from Game of Thrones. (If you don’t remember the character, you’ll remember his … shall we say … fate.)
The Golden Circle opens with an overproduced but largely unexciting action sequence/chase scene in which The Secret Service’s Galahad a.k.a. Eggsy (Taron Egerton) tussles with former rejected recruit Charlie (Edward Holcroft — remember him from the first movie?), who is working for the world’s largest drug producer, the aptly-named Poppy (Julianne Moore). She’s a psychopath with a penchant for ‘50s kitsch and a love of all things mechanical, especially her robo-dogs. She also likes grinding her own hamburger meat. Through Charlie, she gains access to all of The Secret Service’s classified files, including names and home addresses and, in one night of fire and brimstone, kills virtually everyone, including Eggsy’s dog. The only survivors are Eggsy and Merlin (Mark Strong). We soon learn that the former Galahad, Harry (Firth), is alive and well in America, having survived Samuel L. Jackson’s shot to the head with just a lost eye and temporary amnesia. With no members left in the U.K., the survivors are forced to link up with their American comrades, the Statesmen. Around this time, Poppy unleashes a fatal disease on the world and tries to blackmail the U.S. President (Bruce Greenwood) into capitulating with her demands. (She really has only one: the full legalization of all drugs.) Eggsy, Harry, and Statesman Whiskey (Pascal) are dispatched to find and obtain a sample of the antidote.
The producers of Deadpool 2 could perhaps learn something from The Golden Circle: it isn’t enough to bring back familiar characters and try to "recapture" the essence of a popular debut. This movie needed a lot of tightening up and possibly another draft of the script. If a viewer is looking repeatedly at his watch during the final hour of an action movie, something is wrong. The Secret Service felt like a frothy James Bond homage/satire. The Golden Circle feels a little like bad 007 (Roger Moore era). Both Firth and Egerton appear to have left their personalities and charisma behind. Neither seems invested and the chemistry they shared in The Secret Service is missing. That leaves it up to Strong to fill the breach, which he does admirably. Every time I see Strong, I marvel at his range. He can be a truly despicable villain and a capable hero. Shades of Alan Rickman. Also back from the first movie is Hanna Alstrom as Princess Tilde, although her backside remains discreetly hidden. She is currently Eggsy’s SO. Of the newcomers, Bridges seems bored, Moore is deliciously deranged, and Elton John adds color and flair as only Elton John can (although perhaps in ways we never imagined Elton John could). What went wrong with The Golden Circle? It may be something as simple as the trap of making a sequel to a movie whose tone and feel could never be effectively recaptured. It’s the Crocodile Dundee 2 syndrome — despite bringing back the old elements and adding some new things, it just doesn’t work. The Golden Circle isn’t as bad as Crocodile Dundee 2 and it’s not a colossal step down from The Secret Service, but it is a disappointment.
The Killing of a Sacred Deer, director Yorgos Lanthimos’ follow-up to his weirdly compelling The Lobster, draws on Greek mythology for its title and its central conceit, a sort-of modern-day Sophie’s Choice. The film exists deep in a metaphorical hellhole — a quasi-parallel world where doctors play god and police investigations apparently don’t exist. It’s likely to give concrete moviegoers a headache, whiplash, or both. The Killing of a Sacred Deer has no interest in playing by the rules and never tries to. Its affinity for the bizarre and outlandish doesn’t always work in its favor — the characters feel too much like a writer’s construct for them to be accepted as "real" people — but the net result is deeply unsettling and hard to shake.
Similarities to mother! seem obvious (at least to me), although The Killing of a Scared Deer is less obtuse and more accessible. However, like Aaronofsky’s puzzler, this one is likely to be rejected (possibly violently) by mainstream viewers. Really, however, it’s not made for them. This is made for art-house viewers who prefer films that go in strange and unexpected directions, where a failure at least offers thought-provoking elements that can function as conversation-starters. (From this point on, there will be spoilers. I will try to remain vague but those who want to avoid knowing things are advised not to proceed further.)
Colin Farrell, having traded in his lean form and youthful rakishness for a middle-age paunch and salt-and-pepper beard, plays renowned heart surgeon Steven Murphy. At first glance, Steven appears to be the toast of Cincinnati with a beautiful wife (Anna, played by Nicole Kidman) and two overachieving children, 15-year old Kim (Raffey Cassidy) and 12-year old Bobby (Sunny Suljic). But, as we soon learn, Steven is a bit of an odd duck. When he has sex with Anna, he likes her to pretend as if she’s under the influence of general anesthesia. He thinks nothing of informing associates at a dinner party about his daughter’s first period. And he is engaged in a friendship with a 16-year old boy, Martin (Barry Keoghan), whose father died on Steven’s operating table. That nature of the doctor’s friendship with Steven is the first mystery the viewer has to unravel. It’s apparent that there’s something odd going on here but Lanthimos doesn’t spell things out. We might initially assume the liaison is sexual but, as the narrative unfolds, that turns out not to be the case. Then we’re reminded of Fatal Attraction as Martin worms his way deeper into Steven’s life, starts dating Kim, and exhibits stalker-like tendencies. Then, finally, we learn what’s really going on. It has to do with mysticism and karma — the philosophy that there’s a price to be paid in taking a life and, if it isn’t honored, the results can be devastating. That’s where the title and the Sophie’s Choice reference come into play.
The Killing of a Sacred Deer refers to a chapter from Greek Mythology in which King Agamemnon accidentally kills a deer in a sacred grove of Artemis. The offended goddess commands Agamemnon to sacrifice his daughter, Iphigenia, in order for his plans to bear fruit. This mirrors the kernel of the movie’s storyline, turning the film into a cautionary tale about the consequences of hubris.
The Killing of a Sacred Deer has a specific, distinct style that involves a lot of long tracking shots. The soundtrack is frequently punctuated with cacophonous, discordant sounds that jangle the nerves and enhance the sense of disquiet. Watching the film is an edgy, uncomfortable experience. The overall aesthetic is surreal; character actions and motivations as well as dialogue are often coated with artifice. The production is allegorical to the core; taking it literally invites a discussion of logical inconsistencies and plot holes. Perhaps the strangest scene of all — and one that doesn’t really work except as an amplification of the film’s eccentricity — occurs when Martin brings Steven home for dinner. Martin’s mother (played by the now 41-year old Alicia Silverstone) comes on strong, seeking to seduce Steven with an awkward boldness that goes beyond creepy. Even in a milieu replete with odd and offbeat moments, this one stands out as perhaps going a bit too far. The performances are uniformly forceful with all of the actors understanding that Lanthimos wants hyper-realism from his actors. Farrell, who starred in The Lobster, is familiar with the director’s style and settles nicely into his role, which requires him to reveal his character bit-by-bit. Kidman, never one to shy from explicit nudity or sexuality, goes as far down that path as she has traveled since Eyes Wide Shut. (Coincidentally, this is the second film of 2017 where she and Farrell worked together — the other being The Beguiled.) The three child actors, Cassidy, Suljic, and Keoghan, take risks that typically pay off. And, although nothing Silverstone does will ever blot out the memory of Clueless, we’re not thinking of Cher here as we watch her. To the extent that The Killing of a Sacred Deer has an advantage over mother!, it’s because this film is less aggressively obscure. Although it seems cheesy and hokey if taken literally, it at least holds together sufficiently that it can be viewed on that level and there’s still power in the final, nihilistic solution. For it to work, however, The Killing of a Sacred Deer has to be engaged on its own level — and that’s a challenging place in which to be processing a film this unconventional.
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