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KIN (2018) - FILM REVIEW

Kin (2018)


Cast

Jonathan Cherry as Clerk
Myles Truitt as Eli
Mark O'Brien as Jake
Ian Matthews as Snick
Romano Orzari as Lee Jacob
James Franco as Taylor
Dennis Quaid as Hal
Director

Jonathan Baker
Josh Baker
Writer (based on the short film "Bag Man" by)

Josh Baker
Jonathan Baker
Writer

Daniel Casey
Cinematographer

Larkin Seiple
Editor

Mark Day
Composer

Mogwai

Action, Science Fiction

Rated PG-13 for gun violence and intense action, suggestive material, language, thematic elements and drinking.
 
102 minutes
 
 
The promotional materials for “Kin” hail it as being from the producers of “Arrival” and “Stranger Things,” and while that may be true, it's highly unlikely most viewers will come away comparing it to those previous efforts. Moviegoers with longer memories, however, may find themselves contemplating the similarities between this film and “Laserblast,” a super-cheesy 1978 exploitation movie that somehow managed to simultaneously rip off both “Carrie” and “Star Wars,” and which is perhaps most famous today for being the subject of an especially memorable “MST3K” riff than anything else. At least that movie, for all of its artistic sins, knew exactly what it was trying to do—supply undiscriminating viewers with 90 minutes of low-grade explosives, sheet cake and a sub-Leif Garrett hero who seemed to have had his entire body feathered before each take. That's more than can be said for “Kin,” a disjointed and at times off-putting mess that veers wildly and unconvincingly between a road movie, a family drama, a violent crime film and an offbeat sci-fi thriller before arriving at a finale so loopy that even if I spoiled it here and now, many of you would just assume that I was kidding.

Eli (Myles Truitt) is a troubled 14-year-old African-American kid growing up in a rough Detroit neighborhood with his tough-but-loving adoptive father Hal (Dennis Quaid), who is trying to raise the kid right in the wake of the death of his wife and the imprisonment of his biological son, Jimmy (Jack Reynor). One day, Eli sneaks into an abandoned building to find copper wire to sell and stumbles upon the dead bodies of what appears to be a group of futuristic soldiers along with a mysterious hi-tech gun that responds automatically to his touch. Although Eli initially flees the scene, the lure of the weapon is too great to resist and when he returns later on, the bodies have vanished, but he finds the gun and brings it home with him. Meanwhile, the just-released Jimmy returns home as well and brings a new set of troubles along with him—having borrowed $60,000 from local crime lord Taylor (played, perhaps inevitably, by James Franco), he now has to pay the money back immediately or bad things will happen, not only to him but to his father and Eli as well.

When Dad refuses to look the other way while he robs the safe at the construction company he runs, Jimmy, Taylor and some of the latter’s goons break in to grab the money for themselves. Not surprisingly, things quickly go south, and Jimmy decides to hit the road with both the money and Eli, telling the kid they are going on a road trip to Tahoe for a few days. Naturally, Eli brings his new possession along for the ride and when Jimmy, just as naturally, gets into a scrape at the strip club where he has taken his brother for a good time (not that good of a time—this is one of those PG-13 strip clubs where no one takes anything off), Eli pulls it out and gives off a brief demonstration of its incredible destructive power before the two escape, accompanied by friendly stripper Milly (Zoe Kravitz). The three continue on, not realizing that they have numerous parties in pursuit of them—the cops, who want to bust Jimmy for what happened back in Detroit; Taylor, who wants to kill him; and a pair of those otherworldly soldier types who have traced the weapon and will do anything to get it back.

The film is based on “Bag Man,” a 2014 short film by Jonathan and Josh Baker that combined impressive visual effects with a certain dramatic lyricism in an effective manner. In trying to expand the basic premise of that short into a feature, the Bakers (making their feature directing debuts) and screenwriter Daniel Casey have instead cluttered things up with a narrative whose ambitions far outreach their collective grasp. It is possible to make a successful film that combines the variety of elements on display here—Jeff Nichols did a pretty magnificent job of it with the criminally under-seen 2016 film “Midnight Special”—but rather than complement each other, they end up clashing here in increasingly obtrusive and confounding ways. Another problem is the remarkable lack of tension—the pacing is so languid at times that the film comes across as not so much exhausting as it does exhausted. Then there's the borderline crazy finale, which offers up mounds of clumsy last-minute exposition, a blatant setup for a sequel and a prominent celebrity cameo with more chutzpah than style. The only possible explanation for this is that the filmmakers may have hoped that audiences would leave thinking more about this crazy finale, and not the fact that they just watched what's essentially the story of a troubled teenager who finally finds some form of power and purpose in his life once he gets his hand on a gun—a dubious concept under any circumstance and one that rings especially hollow at this particular time.

The lone bright spot here is Truitt, who invests Eli with a soulfulness the film itself never comes close to matching. As for the other actors, Quaid is effective enough as the gruff father but isn’t around long enough to make much of a difference, Kravitz’s talents are wasted on a nothing part and Carrie Coon pops up so arbitrarily during the final scenes that you’ll find yourself wondering how much of her role wound up on the cutting room floor. Then there's Reynor, who is supposed to be playing an obnoxious jerk but does so in such a stridently irritating manner that many viewers will be actively rooting for Franco’s character to catch up with him and lower him into a stump grinder. As for Franco, he plays yet another one of the self-consciously quirky white-trash thugs that he loves to essay in his spare time (Taylor may be a vicious murderer, but he loves listening to Joni Mitchell), this time in a batch of scenes that feel as if he just decided to make things up as he went along. That said, Franco does figure in my favorite moment, a bit where he punishes the bad behavior of one of his minions by making him stand in the corner for a time-out. By the time “Kin” stumbles to its conclusion, moviegoers may want to do the same thing to the filmmakers.


THE HAPPYTIME MURDERS (2018) - FILM REVIEW

The Happytime Murders (2018)

Cast
Director
  • Brian Henson
Writer (story by)
  • Dee Austin Robertson
  • Todd Berger
Writer
  • Todd Berger
Cinematographer
  • Mitchell Amundsen
Editor
  • Brian Scott Olds
Composer
  • Christopher Lennertz
Action, Comedy, Crime
Rated R for strong crude and sexual content and language throughout, and some drug material.
91 minutes
 
 
 
If you feel that the contemporary cinema isn’t serving up enough dirty-talking puppets to suit your proclivities and tastes, have I got a movie for you. “The Happytime Murders,” directed by Brian Henson under the aegis of a production company called “HA!”—for “Henson Alternative,” with an exclamation point!—is a movie in which Muppet-style felt characters (for yes, Brian is the son of Jim and Jane Henson) cuss and smoke and have sex to ostensibly comedic effect.

Dirty-talking puppets are nothing new; a history of Vegas entertainments would turn up dozens if not hundreds, and the recent Broadway hit “Avenue Q” has proven that they WORK, or can work. Executive produced by human star Melissa McCarthy and her husband Ben Falcone, “The Happytime Murders” is an indirect outgrowth of Henson’s “Puppet Up!” an improv show that had a prosperous run in, Las Vegas and New York a couple years back. In that show, puppeteers and their puppets presided over a traditional audience-suggestion set, the more outrageous the suggestions the better.

For “The Happytime Murders” writer Todd Berger world-builds a society inspired by that of “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”; tensions between toons and humans are here replaced by a society in which “meatbags” are entertained by but distrust “fluff”-filled felt-faced sentient beings. The conceit doesn’t work here nearly as well as it did in “Roger Rabbit.” The self-reflexive absurdity of that classic’s concept, epitomized by Jessica Rabbit’s famous line “I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way,” doesn’t translate so automatically to this scenario. You don’t have to exercise your brain too hard to get a palpable sense of how an autonomous puppet is literally an oxymoron.

But “The Happytime Murders” isn’t so much interested in immersing you in a comedic world so much as it is in having its puppets do the most outrageous things you’ve never seen or heard puppets do in a movie. The plot is as fluffy as any of the puppets’ insides. Puppet P.I. Phil (Bill Barretta) gets thrown a case by femme fatale Sandra and soon, wherever he goes, another cast member of a once-famous puppet TV show, “The Happytime Gang,” gets the stuffing blown out of him/her. Turns out Phil was once a cop, a good one, until a mishap destroyed the force’s trust in him. The new string of murders puts him back together with his human partner, Connie (McCarthy), a good but now-bitter cop with a sugar monkey on her back. Just so you know, in puppet culture, sugar is pretty much heroin.

One doesn’t need to concern oneself too much with plot, what with all the puppet hijinks. They begin with the foul language, but in due time, we see puppets whose forms are pretty familiar—fluffy bunnies, frisky doggies, a porn shop proprietor that looks like a relative of Sam The Eagle gone severely to seed, and so on—doing generally unexpected things, like flashing pubic hair and ejaculating. Is this funny? The screening I attended did not exactly rollick with laughter, and I found scenes of humorous human interaction, such as an evidence hunt embarked on by McCarthy and Maya Rudolph, playing Phil’s loyal secretary, more amusing than the puppet stuff. But I don’t want to come down too hard on this movie, because even though it doesn’t work, the high spirits with which it was made seem unaffected. Which means that if you’re susceptible to such an atmosphere, particularly such a one as McCarthy and friends can create (other human cast members include Elizabeth Banks and Joel McHale; among the puppeteers is Kevin Clash, one of the original handlers of Elmo), you might get a kick out of it. But don’t bring the kids. Seriously. Just don’t.


SUPPORT THE GIRLS (2018) - FILM REVIEW

Support the Girls (2018)

Cast
Director
  • Andrew Bujalski
Writer
  • Andrew Bujalski
Cinematographer
  • Matthias Grunsky
Editor
  • Karen Skloss
Drama
Rated R for language including sexual references, and brief nudity.
90 minutes



Finding empathy in yourself requires thinking about the lives of those around you—why they made certain choices, the cost of those choices, the weight or lightness of them and what’s likely to come next. To experience empathy is to understand and share the feelings of another person; to act with empathy demands more. It demands calm. It demands compassion. It demands foresight and patience. It is not often dramatic, but it is the core of “Support the Girls,” and in Andrew Bujalski and Regina Hall’s extremely capable hands, empathy becomes as active and compelling as any car chase, sword fight, or knock-down, drag-out fight. A simple thing, yes, but one well worth a valiant battle.

In writer/director Bujalski’s engaging, deeply-felt comedy, that’s the battle Lisa (Hall) wages over the course of a day and change—and one she seems to have been waging for years. As the manager of Double Whammies, a “family” restaurant specializing in “boobs, brews, and big screens,” she makes respect a priority. To be clear, that’s respect for her servers. Demanding respect for herself isn’t high on her to-do list, though most of the time, there’s no need. These women—particularly Maci (Haley Lu Richardson, excellent) and Danyelle (Shayna McHayle, also very good)—make plain their affection and loyalty with increasing regularity as Lisa’s bad day gets worse, but it’s there even as the day begins. “You like working here? You can be honest, think about it,” Lisa says to Danyelle, who responds instantly: “I like working with you.”

Anyone would. “Support the Girls” excels in a lot of ways—should any awards show decide to begin handing out trophies for Best Performance by a Confetti Cannon, this film will have the category locked up tight—but it works best as a character study, and with Lisa, it’s damn near impossible not to wind up immediately in her corner. Lisa begins her day by crying in her car, but her first act is to ask how a bemused Maci is doing (“How am I?”); she looks at her own bad news as good news for one of her girls, and lets an employee who committed a fireable and prosecutable offense know that he’ll need to quit at the end of the day, rather than involving the police. Hall gives a career-best performance, imbuing this woman with incredible patience that’s showing signs, however faint at first, of wearing thin. Her laughter always walks close to tears, and her irritation is always laced through with amusement. An employee shows up with an unusual tattoo on her rib-cage—a non-starter in the mandatory crop-top “entertainment industry”—and as Lisa navigates these particular waters, Hall’s face displays a heady mix of what were you thinking? and how, how, how is this real life?

Hall is magnificent, and given plenty of room to be so by Bujalski, who approaches Lisa with a level of empathy equal to that which Lisa shows to her employees. In the aforementioned crying-in-car scene, he doesn’t actually focus on the tears. There’s no head on the steering wheel, no stifled sob. Instead, we see Lisa carefully blotting the tears from her face, tending to her eyes, collecting herself, and pasting on a smile which, though obviously summoned into existence, nevertheless comes with genuine warmth. While the camera’s gaze is intimate, sharing Lisa’s occasional private moments of release, it often remains at a bit of a distance, a choice that brings with it two advantages. First, it gives the audience a chance to see Lisa’s tells—tension in the shoulders we’d miss in close-up, a simmering anger in the voice we’d never catch if the lens were directed at her, not at the “Whammie Girls Golden Rules.” (Rule 1: NO DRAMA!)

Still, empathy for his protagonist may not be the only reason for Bujalski’s respectful distance. Double Whammies is a place designed to treat women as objects, and replaceable ones at that. To the customers, they’re targets, or decor, or vendors of attention—something which Maci responds to by treating herself that way, albeit with an upbeat attitude and healthy sense of bemusement. How to avoid a pawing customer and how to laugh with your mouth open are skills of equal worth. The film never diminishes these women, though the “industry” and its patrons do, at nearly every turn; the sole exception is Bobo (Lea DeLaria), one of Whammies’ most frequent customers—and, the film suggests, its only female regular. She’s there for the boobs, beers, and big screens, but these women are people to her, and she becomes the only outside source of support.

Rereading this review, it strikes me that none of this probably sounds all that funny. And it’s not. But the vibrant blend of Hall’s grounded, emotionally rich, and restrained performance and the absurdity of the world in which her character lives is one from which humor emerges naturally. It breathes comedy, rather than striving for it. Danyelle tells Lisa that after tears comes laughter, and after laughter, screaming; yet right up until the screaming happens—a cathartic, visceral scene that’s easily among of the year’s best—the laughter keeps coming, too. Weeping, giggling, and bellowing are all expressions of feeling, after all. They all come from someplace primal. And after a day spent tending to the feelings of others, it’s perhaps understandable that Lisa might want to do one, then maybe another, and then maybe all three at once.


BLACKKKLANSMAN (2018) - FILM REVIEW

BlacKkKlansman (2018)

Cast
Director
  • Spike Lee
Writer (based on the book by)
  • Ron Stallworth
Writer
  • Spike Lee
  • Charlie Wachtel
  • David Rabinowitz
  • Kevin Willmott
Cinematographer
  • Chayse Irvin
Editor
  • Barry Alexander Brown
Composer
  • Terence Blanchard
Comedy, Crime, Drama
Rated R for language throughout, including racial epithets, and for disturbing/violent material and some sexual references.
135 minutes


“BlacKkKlansman” presents racism as a dichotomy between the absurd and the dangerous; the film’s intentional laughs often get caught in one’s throat. Director Spike Lee and his co-screenwriters Charlie Wachtel, David Rabinowitz and Kevin Willmott adapt a tale of deception based on some “fo’ real, fo’ real sh*t” that was first covered in Ron Stallworth’s 2014 memoir. Stallworth was a Black Colorado Springs police officer who successfully infiltrated the Ku Klux Klan, going so far as to speak with David Duke on several occasions. Stallworth’s undercover police work, aided by an immeasurable assist from his White partner, Flip Zimmerman (Adam Driver) helped expose and quash an attack on Black activists.

This is not Lee’s first cinematic depiction of the KKK. In “Malcolm X,” he presented them riding “victoriously” into the night while a preposterously large moon hung in the sky. It’s a quick scene but its intentions are unmistakable: Lee is evoking D.W. Griffith’s “The Birth of a Nation,” one of the most effective pieces of propaganda racism ever had, but he’s not paying it any tribute. Instead, the obvious fakery of the gorgeous, celestial backdrop behind the Klan served as a middle finger to Griffith and his film. Though the action in Lee’s scene is dramatically potent and played straight, the technique itself is parodic, as if to call bullshit on the notion that Griffith’s filmmaking prowess excused the vileness of what he depicted.
In “BlacKkKlansman,” Lee has more middle fingers to wave at Griffith’s alleged “masterpiece,” starting with the use of footage from “The Birth of a Nation” itself. We are shown it being screened at a Klan meeting, and it also figures in a pre-credits short film starring Alec Baldwin, playing the awesomely named Dr. Kennebrew Beauregard. As in “Glengarry Glen Ross,” he sinks his teeth into a ranting monologue, except rather than harping on steak knives and potential unemployment, this incarnation of Baldwin is peddling racism on a filmstrip. And he’s far from perfect at doing so; several times he stammers over his words or needs to be fed lines from an off-screen script person.

What Dr. Beauregard says is disgusting, yet it prepares us for the horrible slurs and comments we’ll hear almost non-stop for the next 135 minutes. Lee projects distracting images over Beauregard as he delivers his imperfect line readings, highlighting his incompetence to the point where you might ask yourself “who’d believe a thing this guy is selling?” But Dr. Beauregard will have plenty of buyers. They’ll forgive that he looks ridiculous because they believe, as Randy Newman once sang, that “he may be a fool, but he’s our fool.”
Next, we meet our protagonist, who is played by Denzel Washington’s lookalike son, John David Washington. Like his Pops, the younger Washington is beloved by Lee’s camera. From his first appearance, cinematographer Chayse Irvin caresses his handsomeness with a delicate touch that is curiously chaste for a Spike Lee Joint. As Ron Stallworth approaches the Colorado Springs Police Department building, the camera hangs above him as he walks into frame. With his impressive '70s-era threads and an enviable halo of Afro-formed hair, Stallworth looks as if he has emerged from a funky, soul-filled ether. Using our viewpoint like a mirror, he pats his coif and stares directly at us with a confidence that will be repeatedly tested. His job interview serves as his first quiz.

“We’ve never had a Black police officer,” Stallworth is told. “So you’ll be the Jackie Robinson of the Colorado Springs police department.” This analogy is a loaded and telling statement; Robinson was ruthlessly taunted by baseball fans who hurled the ugliest rhetoric at him, to which he could offer no response lest he be seen as “uncivilized” by the White fans who didn’t want him there in the first place.

Police Chief Bridges (Robert John Burke) wants to ensure there will be no Negro insurrections if his officers get a little rowdy with the new recruit. “What would you do if someone here called you a nigger?” Bridges’ cohort asks Stallworth. “That would happen?” Stallworth asks incredulously. The response to this question provides the biggest laugh of the year.
How you look will lead to assumptions about how you should act, and what you should believe. This is an underlying theme of “BlacKkKlansman.” Stallworth wants to be an undercover detective, but as Zimmerman notes, no rookie has ever been given this work, and certainly not a rookie of color. However, after a tense stint in the records room, Stallworth is assigned to infiltrate a Black student group’s rally with activist and former Black Panther Kwame Ture (an electric Corey Hawkins). Chief Bridges’ intentions for this stakeout are outwardly racist—he doesn’t want the town’s Black folks to suddenly become radicalized and excited by the fervor of Ture’s speech—but Stallworth takes the assignment in order to connect with the community.
Stallworth’s stakeout is the film’s first brush with the concept of passing. After all, passing is a form of going undercover, albeit permanently. The rally introduces Stallworth to student group organizer Patrice (Laura Harrier), whose rightful suspicion about the cops will keep him passing as a civilian in order to woo her. But “BlacKkKlansman” really delves into the art of passing when Stallworth becomes involved with its most common form, that of an African-American passing for White. After seeing an ad in the paper for the Klan, Stallworth calls the number and convincingly spouts all kinds of offensive invective. The sight of a Black man talking about how much he hates Blacks plays up the absurd side of racism. As a result, Stallworth’s evil White persona gets invited to a meet-and-greet.

Here’s where Flip Zimmerman enters the picture. There’s credible evidence that the KKK may be planning an act of violence during the appearance of another famous civil rights activist (whose identity I won’t reveal). Stallworth wants to get close enough to the Klan to thwart it. But his phone shenanigans can only take him so far; for personal appearances, he needs a more convincing guise. Zimmerman, a non-practicing Jewish man, gets the job. Billing themselves “The Stallworth Brothers,” the two share an identity while working the case. Zimmerman is the “face” of Ron Stallworth, and the real Stallworth is the suspicious Black man following him around in the shadows taking surveillance pictures. Just for fun, Zimmerman learns how to mimic Stallworth’s “White voice” by reciting lyrics by America’s true poet of Soul, James Brown.
With this undercover case, “BlacKkKlansman” becomes the story of two people engaged in the same bout of passing as a racist White person. Though Zimmerman, by virtue of the correct skin color, has what seems to be the easier task, he also bears the psychological brunt of having to pretend to be something that would despise his true identity. It’s here where Lee works that aforementioned dichotomy, often playing Stallworth’s phone interactions for laughs (especially when talking to an excellent Topher Grace as David Duke) but keeping a masterful, tense grip on Zimmerman’s scenes. There’s always a sense he’ll be outed, especially by the tenacious Felix (a scary Jasper Pääkkönen), who immediately pegs him as Jewish and never lets up on his suspicions. Eventually, the two tonal halves converge in a climactic race against time that is among the most harrowing and provocative work Lee has done.
While Washington is very, very good here, I was more fascinated by Driver’s character. I think it’s partially because I have firsthand knowledge of what Ron Stallworth went through as the sole Black person at his job. The open hostility, the jokes by his White counterparts, the assumption that your skin color determines your intelligence level—I've been there, done that and am still doing it. What drew me to Flip Zimmerman was the notion of him having to "pass" in an environment that also automatically made assumptions about his skin color. But his passing isn't visual, it's mental. As someone who never gave much thought to his Jewishness, Zimmerman cannot help but dwell on it all the time amidst the constant anti-Semitic comments of his newfound friends.

"Why don't you think you have skin in this game?," Stallworth asks his partner. Because Zimmerman has the capacity to dodge the hatred that would be directed at him should he choose to do so. But I have often wondered how much this act of self-preservation cost the person who pulled it off. For Zimmerman, there's the ultimate goal of possible revenge against the Klan, or at the very least, an embarrassing exposure of their full ignorance. But for someone like a relative of mine who chose to live his life as a White man in North Carolina, the only goal was survival. How much of his soul did that cost, if any?

I believe Lee is similarly intrigued by Zimmerman. Unlike Stallworth, Lee never gives us a scene where Zimmerman fully feels respite nor relief from his role-playing once the case kicks in. At least Stallworth has a romance to distract him, even if he's being dishonest about what he does for a living. There are two scenes in “BlacKkKlansman” where it feels as if Lee and editor Barry Alexander Brown let them run on too long, until you realize that these scenes are showing Black people in moments where they are not worrying about anything but the joy and the power of being themselves. By contrast, Zimmerman’s scenes with the Klan always feel awful even when the crew is supposedly enjoying themselves—these scenes can’t end soon enough.
“BlacKkKlansman” clearly wants to be the anti-“Birth of a Nation,” and I’m sure some less-enlightened people will consider it on that same level of racial propaganda. But what else do Lee and his producer Jordan Peele want to accomplish with this astonishing, funny and important film? The answer is most likely in the film’s coda, which shows footage from the incident in Charlottesville that cost Heather Heyer her life. In fact, this film opens on the anniversary weekend of those events. This raw footage, which arrives after perhaps the best use ever of Lee’s trademark people-mover shot, is both a massively effective, righteous trolling and a terrifying reminder that we are not so far removed from the period-piece world we have just witnessed. And Lee, a man who never gave a damn about what anyone thought of his politics, is fearless in speaking truth to power with this film. Lee dedicates “BlacKkKlansman” to Heyer’s memory, writing “rest in power” under a picture of her before ending his film with the only Prince song that could have ended it. 

This is not only one of the year’s best films but one of Lee’s best as well. Juggling the somber and the hilarious, the sacred and the profane, the tragedy and the triumph, the director is firing on all cylinders here. "BlacKkKlansman" is a true conversation starter, and probably a conversation ender as well. 


NIGHT COMES OUT (2018) - FILM REVIEW

Night Comes On (2018)

Cast
Director
  • Jordana Spiro
Writer
  • Jordana Spiro
  • Angelica Nwandu
Music
  • Matthew Robert Cooper
Director of Photography
  • Hatuey Viveros Lavielle
Editor
  • Taylor Levy
Drama
87 minutes



"Night Comes On" is built around the numbed, distant stare of its heroine, Angel (Dominique Fishback), a teenage girl who wants to kill her father for murdering her mother. The story begins in relative tranquility, with Angel remembering what it was like when her parents were both alive and still together; then we move into the present day, when Angel has just been released from prison as a juvenile. Although we don't immediately learn all the details, we figure out from context that she entered the foster care system after the tragedy and was involved in crimes, including firearms possession, which eventually landed her behind bars. 

After her release, Angel immediately tries to arm herself again. This debut feature from co-writer/director Jordana Spiro and co-writer Angelica Nwandu (drawing partly on the latter's own experience) does such a good job of conveying a free-floating feeling of hopelessness that you can imagine many different reasons for this even though you haven't gotten all the details yet. It eventually becomes clear that she's driven by a need for revenge, though one of the more surprising things about "Night Comes On" is the way it keeps letting Angel drift from the path she's chosen for herself. 

The instrument of that diversion is her kid sister Abby (Tatum Marilyn Hall), a wry and thoughtful girl in foster care who seems to have escaped at least some of the damage inflicted on Angel, or maybe is just better at compartmentalizing it. The glimpses we get of Abby’s living conditions—she’s packed into a basement room with other foster children even as her white foster mother’s biological daughter lives upstairs in comfort—hint at the larger context of racism and neglect enfolding this particular story. We are constantly aware that both of these girls are on their own, whether Angel is facing the sleazy father of a former soulmate (Max Casella) from whom she hopes to purchase a gun, or a parole officer (James McDaniel) who frankly tells her that nobody cares about her and she might as well get used to it. But the story avoids situations that might cross the line into exploitation.

The movie never entirely convinces us that its heroine has the capacity to kill, although her pain and loss are conveyed with skill by Fishback. Whether this is ultimately a matter of direction, writing, or her performance is not clear. The structure of the story also proves frustrating. The emotions of a child who wants to murder a parent are so powerful that they deserve more thorough and nuanced exploration than the movie permits. As it is, we are building and building to an inevitable confrontation which can only go one of two ways, and it’s hard to shake the feeling that the film might’ve been stronger had it chosen to go on several beats longer. 

But this is still an unusual and interesting feature that tries to convey the inner state of a non-communicative young woman mainly through reaction shots of her face. That alone is enough to power it beyond any moment to moment difficulties it might have. 


THE MEG (2018) - FILM REVIEW

The Meg (2018)

Cast
Director
  • Jon Turteltaub
Writer (based on the novel "Meg" by)
  • Steve Alten
Writer
  • Dean Georgaris
  • Jon Hoeber
Writer
  • Erich Hoeber
Cinematographer
  • Tom Stern
Editor
  • Steven Kemper
  • Kelly Matsumoto
Composer
  • Harry Gregson-Williams
Action, Horror, Science Fiction, Thriller
Rated PG-13 for action/peril, bloody images and some language.
113 minutes
 
 
In news that probably will not shock anyone, “The Meg,” the long-gestating screen adaptation of Steve Alten’s best-selling novel, comes nowhere close to equalling the genius of Steven Spielberg’s “Jaws”—considering that that film is one of the few truly perfect works conjured up in the history of American cinema. It is not even on a par with “The Shallows,” the ingenious 2016 Blake Lively thriller that is probably the best of all the post-“Jaws” shark-based entertainments to come along in the ensuing decades. When all is said and done, it is little more than a cheesy thriller in which a jumbo-sized shark wreaks havoc on the cast until Jason Statham arrives to save the day—the only real question being whether Statham will actually punch the creature into oblivion or not. (“Sharkpuncher”—that does have a ring to it.) The good news is that it at least is perfectly aware of what it's supposed to be doing—supplying viewers with enough aquatic carnage (though not enough to threaten the PG-13 rating) to painlessly pass a couple of hours in the multiplex during the dog days of August—and manages to accomplish that modest goal with minimum fuss. The end result may be little more than an exponentially more expensive version of those cheapo Syfy channel movies, but at least it has the good taste to be exponentially better as well.

Statham plays Jonas Taylor, the world’s best deep-sea rescue diver. Well, he was the world’s best until a rescue attempt in the Philippines went sour, and his claims that the ship was attacked by a mysterious unseen creature are dismissed as pressure-induced psychosis and cause him to lose everything. Five years later, he is on an unending bender in Thailand when he is visited by an old colleague, inevitably named Mac (Cliff Curtis) and, Mac’s new boss, Zhang (Winston Chao), who is the head of an underwater research facility outside of Shanghai that is looking into the possibility of a previously undetected undersea realm beneath the floor of the Marianas Trench. While exploring this new world, the sub containing three members of the research team, one of whom just happens to be Jonas’s ex-wife (Jessica McNamee) is hit by something and leaves them crippled and with a rescue window of about 18 hours. Would Jonas perhaps consider taking advantage of the opportunity to save his ex, confront his fears and prove that he wasn’t crazy after all?

In a shocking turn of events, Jonas agrees and is taken out to the facility, where he is introduced to the highly selected group of walking cliches that include Rainn Wilson as the egomaniacal billionaire who is funding the whole thing, Ruby Rose as the edgy tech genius who is, perhaps inevitably, named Jaxx, Page Kennedy as the wacky African-American who doesn’t know how to swim and didn’t sign up for this, and Bingbing Li as Suyin, who is Zhang’s daughter and who supplies the film with a precocious eight-year-old daughter (Shuya Sophia Cai), a potential romantic interest for Jonas and, perhaps most importantly, box-office interest from the increasingly important Chinese audience. (There are also a lot of additional people who mysteriously appear when needed and then vanish when they are not.) Anyway, during the rescue attempt, the creature attacks again and proves to be no less than a megalodon, a deadly shark about 70 feet long that had been assumed to be extinct. Before Jonas can say “I told you so” to everyone within earshot, it is discovered that the beast has managed to escape from the depths where it had been contained and has reached open water. Now he and the others must figure out a way to bring the megalodon down before it can use a crowded nearby beach as its reentry point to the top of the food chain.

“The Meg” (whose story, from what I understand, is quite different from the original novel) may not be the most ferociously original film ever made—to be fair, though, with a tale involving drunken divers, ex-wives, goofy money men and a shark most people do not believe exists, there are times when it feels less like a “Jaws” knockoff and more like a bizarre riff on “The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou.” The emphasis here is more on goofy action thrills than on gut-crunching scares and in that regards, it was a good idea to give the directorial reins to Jon Turteltaub, whose name may not symbolize horror filmmaking (depending on your personal stance towards “While You Were Sleeping,” of course) but whose “National Treasure” films also told stories that started off being completely preposterous and then got progressively sillier as they went on. Here, he clearly went into the project knowing that he was never going to top “Jaws” in terms of thrills and instead takes a lighter, sillier approach—well, as light and silly as can be with a film in which people are eaten by sharks. The screenplay is filled with cliches but at least they have been deployed with a certain amount of wit and style this time around, and there are even a couple of moments in which he uses the audience’s presumptions to make for some real surprises.
Serving as the center of all the surrounding silliness is Statham and while it may not necessarily sound like a compliment, he is actually the perfect person for a film like this. He has the straightforward heroic demeanor down pat while also possessing a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor that is a nice complement to the surrounding nonsense. 

“The Meg” is no masterpiece by any means—the inevitable attack on swarms of innocent swimmers feels oddly truncated and the climactic battle is not nearly as exciting as some of the earlier action beats. However, it manages to hit upon a reasonably effective blend of action and humor that never sinks to the strained depths of the “Sharknado” saga and similar films that have emerged since the technology was developed to bring poorly rendered CGI sharks to the masses (and, truth be told, I also vastly prefer it to that “Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom” gibberish). And when "The Meg" finally arrives at its most overt “Jaws” reference, the film proves to be more clever and amusing than one might ordinarily expect under the circumstances. Who could ask for anything more—except for more sharkpunching, of course.


 

THE DARKEST MINDS (2018) - FILM REVIEW

The Darkest Minds (2018)

Cast
Director
  • Jennifer Yuh Nelson
Writer (based on the novel by)
  • Alexandra Bracken
Writer
  • Chad Hodge
Cinematographer
  • Kramer Morgenthau
Editor
  • Maryann Brandon
  • Dean Zimmerman
Composer
  • Benjamin Wallfisch
Science Fiction, Thriller
Rated PG-13 for violence including disturbing images, and thematic elements.
105 minutes
 
 
Going to the latest dystopian YA novel adaptation used to feel more like escapist fare. These movies had fantastical scenarios where teenagers discovered who they were and how they could fix the messed-up world around them. But the times have changed, and the stories haven’t. The narratives that once elevated the act of surviving adolescence into a hero’s journey now feel stale. With so much anxiety about the future in the real world, we don’t need entertainment to transport us into a dystopian one.

In this adaptation of “The Darkest Minds,” a mysterious illness kills almost all of the children and brings out superpowers in others. The adults-in-charge panic, rounding up surviving kids and teens to be put into closely guarded internment camps. The children are then segregated by a color-coded rubric that looks almost exactly like the Homeland Security Advisory System. Those wearing green scrubs are the lowest threat level—they’re mostly just really smart kids. Blue-level children can manipulate matter; those wearing yellow work clothes have the ability to manipulate electricity. If you’re ever unsure of what a kid’s abilities are, their eyes will shine with their corresponding color when they use their power.

Ruby (Amandla Stenberg) is a special one. She has orange-level abilities, which means she’s telepathic, complete with Jedi-like mind control and the ability to erase herself from people’s memories. Considered too dangerous to live, the government supposedly destroys any child who scores orange or red (fire-breathing destructors). She disguises herself as a green kid until her cover is blown during a test. A sympathetic doctor (Mandy Moore) helps her escape, but Ruby isn’t sure she can trust her. She runs off with three other escaped children—Liam (Harris Dickinson), Charles or “Chubs” (Skylan Brooks) and Suzume or “Zu” (Miya Cech)—hoping to find a promised land where kids lively safely away from the grown-ups.

It’s a promising start, but one that ultimately doesn’t quite deliver. The movie’s plot feels scant, as if it’s only skimming the surface of what it’s like to be a child who has no one to trust or turn to in this world. When Ruby accidentally erases herself from her parents’ memories, she experiences a traumatic moment of rejection, and it haunts her for the rest of the movie. Liam adopts a “for us, by us” ethos after a shadow group claiming to want to help children were instead training them to fight a war.

Director Jennifer Yuh Nelson (“Kung Fu Panda” series) isn’t able to elevate the kids’ fight for survival above its melodramatic trappings. In what’s supposed to be a symbolic rallying cry, Ruby pridefully shows her orange stripes by smearing Cheeto-colored powder across her forehead to other kids with blue, yellow and green smudges on their faces. The scene has no real narrative value, and just hangs like an incomplete thought. There are a few groan-worthy moments of bad dialogue, like the laughably obtuse refrain, “We don’t segregate by colors here.” Certain scenes just don’t work at all, like a painfully awkward dance scene in the film that’s so poorly staged, the camera feels like a grown-up supervising a gym full of eighth graders at a dance.

However, “The Darkest Minds” does manage to keep some of its bright moments shining. Stenberg does an outstanding job of exploring Ruby’s many conflicted emotions, like her want to see her parents again knowing that they don’t remember her. She’s sensitive, resourceful and pensive, bringing to mind Jennifer Lawrence in the first “The Hunger Games” movie. Her co-star Brooks easily has some of the best lines of the movie, taking every good opportunity for a quizzical look or smart retort. There are a few decent action sequences within the runtime, including a speedy car chase through Virginia highways. But there’s also less-than-stellar set pieces like the terribly rendered showdown between Ruby and another super-strong, Ayn Randian opponent who believes the powerful kids should run the show.

But some decisions defy explanation, like how the actress chosen to play young Ruby (Lidya Jewett, who does give a very endearing performance) doesn’t resemble her older counterpart. The adults in the supporting cast like Moore, Gwendoline Christie and Bradley Whitford are woefully underutilized. One irreparable issue seems to be traced back to the book. Zu, the only Asian American character on-screen for longer than a second, is mute, and the decision to stay true to the source brings up ugly stereotypes of docile and quiet Asian women.

When The Darkest Minds book was released in 2012, we didn’t have a government-sanctioned program to separate children from their parents. Conservative adults weren’t attacking teenagers over the issue of gun violence. The movie features a daily broadcast of the president’s lies. Now, that’s just today’s headlines. The environment in which stories like “The Hunger Games” or “Divergent” gained followings has changed, and “The Darkest Minds” has not adapted to survive it.
 
 

CHRISTOPHER ROBIN (2018) - FILM REVIEW

Christopher Robin (2018)

Cast
Director
  • Marc Forster
Writer (based on the characters created by)
  • A.A. Milne
  • Ernest Shepard
Writer (story)
  • Greg Brooker
  • Mark Steven Johnson
Writer
  • Allison Schroeder
  • Alex Ross Perry
  • Tom McCarthy
Cinematographer
  • Matthias Koenigswieser
Editor
  • Matt Chesse
Composer
  • Jon Brion
  • Geoff Zanelli
Adventure, Animation, Comedy
Rated PG for some action.
120 minutes
 
 
One of the problems with “Christopher Robin” is right there in the title. Compared to his stuffed playthings, Christopher Robin is the least memorable character in the Hundred Acre Wood-set tales penned by A.A. Milne and illustrated by E. H. Shepard. And we don’t even get him as the imaginative, precocious child overlord of Milne’s stories. Instead, Christopher appears in the guise of 47-year-old Ewan McGregor, a man who, in his own words, has not thought about his old pal Winnie-the-Pooh in thirty years. So why does Pooh, a figment of Christopher’s young imagination, return to him after all these years? Because Disney wants your money, of course. I don’t begrudge their need for greed; I just wish they hadn’t given us yet another movie built on the pseudo-psychological cliché that adults need to reconnect with their childhoods in order to be better adults.

After a brief recap of the most famous moments in Pooh’s history, “Christopher Robin” settles into the present day. Pooh and his friends are living their best lives in the Hundred Acre Wood. They have accepted that Christopher has grown up and moved on to London. We see Pooh change from his pajamas into his familiar and very short red shirt (it’s odd that he wears more clothes to bed than he does when he’s roaming the streets, but I digress). Armed with his usual hungry tummy rumble, Pooh sets off to mooch hunny from his friends, only to find that everyone has mysteriously disappeared.

Meanwhile, in the adult world, we learn that Christopher has grown up, gotten married to a woman named Evelyn (Hayley Atwell) and had a daughter name Madeline (a very good Bronte Carmichael). He works a miserable job in Winslow Luggage Factory and is shown to be a World War II veteran. Whoever thought it was a good idea to put violent war footage of the main character into a children’s film must know more about feel-good kiddie films than I do. But again, I digress.

I dawdle because I don’t want to tell you that Christopher is a rather horrible person. He’s a workaholic who neglects his kid and frowns on any notion of playtime she may be harboring. (His idea of bedtime reading involves history books, not “Treasure Island.”) Despite her pleas, he intends to ship her off to boarding school. Making matters worse, Chris’ marriage is on the rocks because he and Evelyn are not doing that thing I can’t talk about in a review of a children’s movie. Worst of all, the luggage factory is failing financially due to lack of travel after the war, so Christopher must fire a good portion of the factory workers. This last item prevents him from going away for the weekend with his family, who is so used to his broken promises that they don’t even pack him a suitcase.

For reasons unexplained, Pooh needs Christopher to help him find his friends Piglet, Eeyore, Rabbit, Owl, Tigger, Kanga and Roo. So when he shows up in London, having gone through Christopher’s tree in the Hundred Acre Wood, his former benefactor thinks he’s losing his mind. Once he’s accepted the situation, however, Christopher Robin sees Pooh as another problem he doesn’t have time to solve. But unlike Paddington Bear (whose movie is one of this year’s best), Pooh isn’t going to last 45 seconds in London. So Christopher Robin has to personally deliver him back to the Hundred Acre Wood, which requires returning to the same old house where Madeline and Evelyn are vacationing. 

The travel scenes, and the return visit to the Hundred Acre Wood, are pleasant enough, with McGregor doing a fine job of credibly selling the reunion between him and his stuffed pals. Each of your favorite characters is brought to life in special effects I thought looked exceptionally creepy, but your mileage may vary. Their personalities remain intact, and McGregor interacts with each of them with an admirable amount of happiness and joy.

This joy is short-lived, of course, because adulthood isn’t all fun and games. In fact, it stinks on ice. Christopher Robin has major league problems that the childlike, innocent Pooh and his crew are just not equipped to handle let alone supplement. That’s my biggest issue here. As a kid, the last thing you probably wanted during playtime was for it to be invaded by adults. Even though the characters are pulled into Christopher’s real-life universe, it feels as if reality has invaded the Hundred Acre Wood and sullied it. The film’s Madeline-led climax, a mad race to save Christopher’s ability to fire people, feels like a case where the children have to raise the adults.
By now, you’re probably saying I should just change my name to OdiEeyore Henderson. And I’m fine with that, because I love Eeyore. He was my favorite character as a kid. My mother used to say I had the hyperactivity of Tigger and the miserableness of Eeyore, which is the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me. My partner in attitude is rendered magnificently by the voice of Brad Garrett. As Eeyore, he gets the best lines, which I would expect from a script co-written by misery specialist Alex Ross Perry, and Garrett digs into them with a hilarious mixture of pathos and pessimism. And Jim Cummings’ voice-work as Pooh is also superb, a warm and cozy nostalgic throwback to Sterling Holloway that’s as comforting as Pooh’s favorite food.

Back in 1991, Steven Spielberg’s “Hook” tried to bring a grown Peter Pan, and all his adult problems, back to Neverland. It was a bad idea despite the fact that Neverland is well-matched with the more messed up parts of the adult male psyche. By contrast, the Hundred Acre Wood—Heffalumps notwithstanding—felt safer and more immune to intrusions from scary adulthood. Even at its most amusing—and there are moments when it is downright hilarious—“Christopher Robin” can’t reconcile its darkness and its light. But if these folks want to write an Eeyore movie that stays firmly planted in the Wood, I’ll be first in line to see it.


 

MISSION IMPOSSIBLE FALLOUT (2018) - FILM REVIEW

Mission: Impossible - Fallout (2018)

Cast
Director
  • Christopher McQuarrie
Screenplay
  • Christopher McQuarrie
Director of Photography
  • Rob Hardy
Editor
  • Eddie Hamilton
Music
  • Lorne Balfe
Action, Adventure, Thriller
Rated PG-13
147 minutes
 
 
Great action movies develop a rhythm like no other genre. Think of the way the stunts in “Mad Max: Fury Road” become a part of the storytelling. Think of how “Die Hard” flows so smoothly from scene to scene, making us feel like we’re right there with John McClane. Think of the dazzling editing of “Baby Driver” and the way it incorporates sound design, music, and action into a seamless fabric that’s toe-tapping. It’s obviously incredible praise to say that “Mission: Impossible – Fallout” reminds me of these films. It’s got that finely-tuned, perfect blend of every technical element that it takes to make a great action film, all in service of a fantastic script and anchored by great action performances to not just work within the genre but to transcend it. This is one of the best movies of the year.

For the first time in this franchise, director Christopher McQuarrie has made what is basically a direct sequel to the previous film, “Mission: Impossible – Rogue Nation.” Wasting absolutely no time, “Fallout” drops viewers into the narrative, getting the important details out of the way so the action can get started. So many action movies spend forever with monologuing villains and extensive set-ups. But there’s no fat on this movie, even early on, where action so often takes too long to get to the “good stuff,” and definitely not late when the movie is intense enough to leave you exhausted. 

A group called the Apostles wants to create chaos. That’s really all you need to know. They have a belief that suffering leads to peace, and so it’s time to unleash the pain. They have been working with someone clearly on the inside at IMF code-named John Lark and have conspired to obtain weapons-grade plutonium to create three dirty bombs. Ethan Hunt (Tom Cruise) has to get the plutonium back, but there’s a ghost haunting him in the form of Solomon Lane (Sean Harris), the villain from the last film who Hunt left alive instead of killing. The head of the Syndicate has been passed around intelligence agencies, looking for information on the IMF Agent-killing group, but he’s also a part of this new plot to end the world. 

As the movie opens, Hunt is tasked by his boss Alan Hunley (Alec Baldwin) to go to Paris to find John Lark before he buys the plutonium. He is handed a sidekick by Alan’s superior Erica Sloan (Angela Bassett) in the form of the brutish August Walker (Henry Cavill). Sloan isn’t sure she trusts Hunt or Hunley, and so wants one of her own men on the crucial mission, someone she knows will do whatever it takes to complete the mission. There’s a thematic undercurrent through “Fallout” as to how much one should be willing to sacrifice for the greater good—the classic spy flick question of killing someone you love to save the lives of millions you don’t (it’s the action movie equivalent of “The Trolley Problem”). The implication is that Hunt is too protective of those he loves, while Walker loves no one, and the movie vacillates in fascinating ways as to which modus operandi is better for a super-spy. Hunt is even described as the ‘scalpel’ to Walker’s ‘hammer.’ 

This dynamic duo heads to Paris—and are joined before long by familiar faces like Luther (Ving Rhames), Benji (Simon Pegg) and Ilsa (Rebecca Ferguson)—and, well, things get deadly fast. “Fallout” is one of those excellent action movies that works whether you pay attention to the plot or not. It is one of the most streamlined and fast-paced films in Hollywood history, moving from one set piece to the next. Don’t worry. There’s a plot. And it’s actually an interesting one that feels both timeless and current in the way that it plays with loyalty and identity. But McQuarrie and Cruise are keenly aware that they can’t lean too heavily on the plot or people will lose interest. We don’t need speeches. And so the dramatic stakes of the set-up are pretty much enough. Nuclear bombs, a double agent or two, a homicidal mastermind—now go! 

And, man, does “Fallout” go. Roughly seven of the ten best action sequences of the year will be from this film. There’s a wonderful diversity in action styles too from a skydiving nightmare to a car chase to, of course, a “Run Tom!” scene to the already-famous helicopter sequence. All of them feature an intensity of movement that we hardly see in action movies anymore. Critics have already compared the film to “Fury Road” and I think that’s why—the fluidity of motion that you see in both films. The great cinematographer Rob Hardy (“Annihilation”) and editor Eddie Hamilton (who did the last movie as well) have refined the action here with McQuarrie in such a perfect way. We rarely lose the geography of scenes—which is so common in bad action—and often feel like we’re falling, speeding, or running with Hunt. The audience I saw it with was gasping and nervously laughing with each heart-racing sequence. See this one with a crowd. And as big as you can (some of the footage was shot in IMAX, and it’s worth the upcharge).

“Fallout” isn’t the kind of film one often gets pumped for in regard to performance, but even those are better than average here. It’s fascinating to see how Cruise is finally allowing his age to show a little bit, especially in early scenes with Cavill, who looks like a tougher, stronger model of Ethan Hunt. Cruise's latest version of Hunt stumbles a few times and his punches don’t land with the force of Walker’s. It instills more relatability in a character who would have been less interesting as a superhuman spy. And the supporting cast is uniformly strong, especially Cavill and Rebecca Ferguson, who has the screen charisma of someone who really should be a superstar by now. Let’s make that happen. 

It’s easy to get cynical at the movies. With eight sequels in the top ten last week, more and more people see the Hollywood machine as just that, something that spits out product instead of art or even entertainment. Perhaps the best thing I can say about “Mission: Impossible – Fallout” is that it destroys cynicism. It truly does what so many people have looked for in entertainment for over a century—a chance for real-world worries to take a back seat for a couple hours. You’ll be too busy worrying how Ethan Hunt is going to get out of this one to care about anything outside the theater. It's a rare action movie that can do that so well that you not only escape but walk out kind of invigorated and ready to take on the world. “Mission: Impossible – Fallout” is one of those movies. 


 
 
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