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How’s Your Bodice? Ripped?

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“Wuthering Heights”

by Hope Madden

Remember when people saw the teaser trailer for Emerald Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights” and lost their minds? Everybody assumed Fennell had gotten in there and gone all Saltburn on the classic.

She sure did. Boy howdy, did she.

But let’s be honest, it’s a weird book about meanness and obsession and borderline incest and then outright incest. Plus, if you want a tame version there are about 100 other adaptations you can find. Let Fennell be Fennell.

Because she does it so well!

The film is gorgeous, and I don’t just mean the cast. Although there’s that. Margot Robbie is truly excellent as Cathy, spoiled and vulnerable and cruel and selfish to the core but consistently cheery about it.

And who smolders as well as Jacob Elordi? As Heathcliff, he’s first a scruffy, sad boy full of longing and later, a handsome sad man full of longing. This is absolutely Robbie’s show, but he offers very solid support and their chemistry is undeniable.

Hong Chau, fantastic as always, brings some bite and depth to a character who’s often a bit of a martyred throwaway. Likewise, Alison Oliver is a wild surprise as Isabella.

Fennell, credited with the screenplay, streamlines Emily Brontë’s epic, losing and combining characters wisely and essentially ending the film at the book’s halfway point. It feels very much like the story a teenage girl might have wished Brontë had written, but Fennell has the talent and the cast to make a really good movie out of what is essentially fan fiction.

The result is a dazzling, horny sight to see. The costumes, set design, framing, photography—all of it delivers a lush spectacle of the kind we now expect from the Saltburn director.

Wuthering Heights purists might scoff and Emily Brontë might blush, but for the rest of us, it’s hard to be mad at Emerald Fennell’s latest confection.

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Diamond Life

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Crime 101

by George Wolf

I saw the fairly generic title, I saw the February release date, I saw the two hour and twenty minute run time, and I was less than excited about Crime 101.

Let me tell you how quickly it proved me wrong.

Writer/director Bart Layton and a cracking ensemble put a stylish, character-driven sheen on some familiar crime thriller tropes. What results is a tense and twisty ride that taps into a healthy amount of world weary anxiety.

Chris Hemsworth is Mike, a controlled and elusive master thief, dealing in diamonds and jewelry along the California coast. Mark Ruffalo’s Lou is a disgruntled and disheveled L.A. cop out to prove his theory of a lone wolf criminal. And Halle Berry is Sharon, a high-end insurance broker who deals in plenty of bling.

And long before their lives intersect, Layton (adapting Don Winslow’s novella) brings authenticity to the disillusion the three characters share. Each feels they’re grasping at something just out of reach, trying to live with certain ideals that have lost value. Lou’s refusal to put arrest quotas first does not make him popular at work, while Sharon feels her chance at a big promotion may be slipping away with age. And Mike is the classic criminal with a haunted past and moral code. In lesser hands, these all become empty cliches. But three standout performances and a sharp script pay character development dividends from the film’s opening minutes.

The supporting cast (featuring Corey Hawkins, Nick Nolte and a quick cameo from Jennifer Jason Leigh) is exceptional as well. Barry Keoghan is electric as a tightly wound hotshot out to move up to big league heists and Monica Barbaro brings sweet tenderness to Maya, who navigates a possible relationship with Mike through caution and curiosity.

Layton’s camera is patient – obviously, with this run time – but never aimless. Everything fuels our understanding of these characters, the city canvas where they operate, and the tension that builds for the looming showdown. Layton’s narrative misdirections are sly and subtle, aided stylistically by some nifty scene transitions and a vibrant, mysterious score from Blanck Mass.

You may recognize other crime thrillers (especially Michael Mann’s Heat) embedded in the film’s DNA, but Crime 101 feels especially in the moment. Since moving from television to features, Layton has shown a persistent interest in exploring the psyche behind audacious crimes.

And so far, he’s batting a thousand.

Outtakes

What Makes You Beautiful

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Sweetness

by Hope Madden

Back in 1982, German filmmaker Eckhart Schmidt released The Fan, a horror thriller about a teenage girl obsessed with a pop music star. It’s a wild, weird, uncomfortable technopop ride, and I admit I expected (hoped?) Emma Higgins’s Sweetness would be a kind of American update.

Because The Fan is so very weird, yet somehow relatable.

Higgins’s film is very different, and a touch more on the believable side. Kate Hallett (Women Talking) is Rylee, unpopular high school kid with an obsessive crush on Floorplan lead singer Payton Adler (Herman Tømmeraas). His pouty pretty face covers nearly every inch of her bedroom walls and ceiling. Her headphones are always in, his emotional vocals drowning out the mean girls in class, her father’s overly eager girlfriend (Amanda Brugel), and everything else Rylee doesn’t want to hear.

When bestie Sidney (Aya Furukawa, Fall of the House of Usher) leaves Rylee behind after a Floorplan concert, she meanders alone until being struck by a car driven by the very impaired object of her affection, Payton Adler!

Totally worth it!

What follows is a crooked path lined with the faulty logic of the young and the twisted imagination of a filmmaker who’s spent most of her career embedded with pop stars. Higgins has directed scads of music videos. That’s probably why the music for this film is so unnervingly authentic, exactly the kind of thing that would make a troubled teen swoon and believe her life had been saved.

Even if she’d, in fact, just been run down by a car.

Furukawa and Tømmeraas both shine, one as a semi-vacuous but still good friend, the other as a good-looking opportunist with a drug problem.

Hallett anchors the film with a sort of wide-eyed yet world wearied performance that’s as heartbreaking as it is frustrating.

Higgins never laughs at or Rylee and her youthful obsession. Though the movie doesn’t wallow in the maudlin, avoiding angst at all possible turns, the filmmaker demands that we empathize with this girl in a way that’s both moving and nightmarish.

Stylish cinematography and slick production design emphasize the pop music stylings, but the film is hardly all glossy exterior.

There are some telegraphed moments and a couple of convenient contrivances, and anybody seriously shocked by Rylee’s choices definitely needs to see The Fan. But there’s a twisted, broken little heart here and Higgins and Hallett want you to witness it.

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Game Over

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The Mortuary Assistant

by Hope Madden

Director Jeremiah Kipp hits the exact right tone as he opens his latest feature, The Mortuary Assistant. Based on the popular video game, the film follows Rebecca Owens (Willa Holland) through her first night on her own at the mortuary.

Before she can fly unaccompanied, she completes her first solo autopsy, as the mortician (Paul Sparks) watches. The scenes are clinical, filmed in close-up, Kipp manufacturing the best combination of mundane and macabre.

Soon enough, Rebecca will begin her first overnight shift, and the clients are not your run of the mill cadavers.

Kipp, working from a script by Tracee Beebe, finds organic ways to give Rebecca a backstory. Flashbacks are not intrusive until they need to be, as the film warps that history into another way to really ruin Rebecca’s first night on the job.

John Adams figures into Rebecca’s past. He’s a perfect choice for a loving dad and for what that pesky demon haunting the mortuary has planned for her.

Holland’s great in a tough role. Rebecca carries probably 90% of the film, much of that screentime spent alone or with a lifeless (?) corpse. It’s an internal character, not an extrovert or the type who talks to herself, and the actor impresses, commanding attention and driving action.

Bebee’s script adds some depth to the game storyline as well, using Rebecca’s backstory to develop a theme of addiction that suits the horror and helps to explain Rebecca’s connection to events.

Sparks delivers an enjoyable performance, stiff and weird as you might expect from a mortician, certainly from this particular mortician. Supporting turns from the small ensemble (Keena Ferguson Frasier and Emily Bennett, in particular) elevate emotion, whether that emotion is heartbreak, fear, or revulsion.

Plus that demon is freaky.

Frequent gamers may be able to make more sense of the actual mythology—possession, demonic bindings, the minutia of morgue work. Still, The Mortuary Assistant transcends the issues that usually plague big screen game adaptations and delivers fun, creepy demonic horror.

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Let’s Do the Time Loop Again

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Good Luck, Have Fun, Don’t Die

by Hope Madden

Say Sam Rockwell, ragged clothes under homemade explosives and draped in clear plastic, walks into the late-night diner where you’re eating and claims to be from the future. I mean, if anybody’s going to do it, it’ll be Sam Rockwell.

The reliably loose cannon stars in Good Luck, Have Fun, Don’t Die, director Gore Verbinski’s first film since 2016’s regrettable A Cure for Wellness. The sci-fi time loop fantasy sees Rockwell as a man on a mission: find the little boy whose AI is going to destroy the world and keep him from finishing it. But it will take the perfect mix of people to help him, and he knows those people are here, in this diner, on this night.

He knows about certain groupings that are not the saviors because he’s tried this exact thing many times already. Many, many times. But he’s got a weird feeling about tonight’s recruits: an unhappily married teacher couple (Zazie Beetz, Michael Peña), a mousy woman sitting alone (Juno Temple), a woman who just wanted to relax with some pie (Georgia Goodman), a tough guy (Asim Chaudhry), and a Goth princess (Haley Lu Richardson).

Matthew Robinson’s script spins each recruit’s backstory with its own little chapter—because chapters are a really popular cinematic device right now—gives us not only a bit of intel on the character, but also some context.

Robinson’s greatest achievement is the alarming mix of gallows humor and rainbow colored confetti. His characters race against the clock, video game like, to beat level after level of difficulties before finally entering the final layer—well, Sam’s never made it this far, so who knows what’s in there?

And don’t start guessing because that basically guarantees the form of your doom. At least don’t think about Mr. Sta Puft.

Speaking of Bill Murray, the film owes as much to Groundhog Day as it does Terminator, and that’s a heady mix. The imaginative side plots and character arcs feel wild and random, but the script is actually built quite solidly.

And the theme—that AI cannot help but ruin human existence—may not be new, but it’s truer than ever. Thankfully, Verbinski, along with his game cast and writer, recognizes the bitter, cynical  humor in the fact that this hero is probably already too late. But hey, at least he can blow himself up and start over.

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Baa Baa Baller

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GOAT

by George Wolf

I’m a Cleveland Cavaliers fan, so the name Steph Curry brings up one glorious memory, and plenty of forgettable ones.

But yes, fine, he is the game’s G.O.A.T. shooter and he seems like a good guy. And now he brings a bit of his own legend to the big screen as producer and supporting voice talent in GOAT, the story of a little sharpshooter with big dreams.

Will Harris (Caleb McLaughlin from Stranger Things) is an undersized goat in Vineland who is a big fan of Roarball (“Regional Organized Animal Roarball”). It’s just like basketball, if basketball was played by gigantic animals on a shape shifting court.

Will loves ball, his hometown Vineland Thorns and their best player, Jett Fillmore (Gabrielle Union). But as great as Jett is, the Thorns have never won the Claw (championship) and are mired in another losing streak, much to the delight of arch rival Mane Attraction (Aaron Pierre), a trash-talking horse with an extensive grooming routine.

One day at the local playground, Mane is accepting court challenges from all comers, and Will steps up. He drains a few long range threes, the footage goes viral, and Thorns owner Flo (Jenifer Lewis) decides the little guy might be just what her team needs.

But how can Will prove himself if Jett and Coach Dennis (Patton Oswalt) won’t accept the league first “small” as part of the team and give him some playing time already?

Nick Kroll, David Harbour, Jennifer Hudson, and Nicola Coughlan join Curry as supporting voices, as first time directors Tyree Dillihay and Adam Rosette adapt the book “Funky Dunks” with a team of four writers and a narrative that finds some fun in the familiar.

Parents and grandparents will get one or two solid LOLs, plus some tried and true sports plotting seen in Major League, Semi-Pro, Bad News Bears and even the “dream big” mantra from last year’s Marty Supreme. It’s surface level, easily digestible stuff for the younger set, built with 3-D animation that’s more busy and colorful, less memorable.

GOAT‘s not exactly a championship contender, but it is a scrappy gamer, and should give young sports fans and pop culture first stringers some ninety odd minutes to hold their attention.

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My Big Fat Italian Rebound

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Solo Mio

by George Wolf

Where’s Jane Fonda? Sally Field? Michael Douglas? Morgan Freeman?

Nowhere to be found.

Ditto Lily Tomlin, Bette Midler, Andy Garcia or any of the more veteran stars we’ve seen in the formula that Solo Mio executes with some charming success.

Kevin James stars as Matt Taylor, an elementary school art teacher who is left at the altar by fiancée Heather (Julie Ann Emery) during a lavish excursion wedding in Italy (Heather must be making the big bucks.) The tours, packages and perks are all paid for, so Matt falls in with a travel group that quickly takes the lonesome loser under its wing.

Julian and Meghan (Kim Coates/Alyson Hannigan), Neil and Donna (Jonathan Roumie/Julee Cerda), a supportive concierge and various Italian children keep tabs on Matt during his picturesque cobblestone road to rebound.

The lovely Gia (Nicole Grimaudo) owns the local cafe, and it isn’t long before she becomes Matt’s “plus one” on the tour group outings, and his mood gradually perks up.

But can he really forget Heather so quickly? And what about that handsome Vincenzo (Gaincarlo Bartolomei), Gia’s former flame who keeps popping by the cafe?

James has this sad likable sack act down cold, Grimaudo is sweetly understated and the Coates/Hannigan pairing pays comedic dividends. Directors Charles and Daniel Kinnane take the script from their brothers John and Patrick (with help from James himself) and start checking off boxes that have become so familiar to their elders over the last several years.

Constant travel, no worries about jobs or money, and the chance at late-stage romance. It’s right out of the AARP fantasy film playbook, but this time we get the younger James (a spry 60!) who is cavorting through various hijinks at gorgeous locales, rubbing elbows with surprise celebrities and finding the spark to try love again.

And then just as your eyes are ready to roll, the film pulls out a cheeky twist that stops just short of being Nicolas Sparks-worthy. Instead of shameless, the late turn lands as more heartfelt and actually logical, helping Solo Mio leave you with satisfying aftertaste as the credits start to roll.

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Lips Together and Blow

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Whistle

by Hope Madden

Wish Upon. Polaroid. Talk to Me. Ouija. Choose or Die. The “gang of youngsters stumble across a cursed object to everyone’s peril” subgenre is alive and thriving.

But hey, Talk to Me was good.

Corin Hardy’s Whistle isn’t particularly good. It is incredibly formulaic, with mainly one-dimensional characters forever making unlikely choices because the plot requires that they do. It’s shot quite well, though.

Dafne Keen (Logan) just moved in with her cousin after some terrible mishaps. Her first day in the new high school, she opens her locker—vacated by a basketball star who inexplicably died recently—and finds some kind of creepy, ancient looking skull whistle.

Any number of ridiculous contrivances later, and a group of high school cliches—the burnout (Keen), the smart girl (Sophie Nélisse), the drunken asshole jock (Jhaleil Swaby), his hot girlfriend (Ali Skovbye), and the comic book nerd (Sky Yang)—have to battle death as conjured by that creepy whistle.

Yes, writer Owen Egerton mashes some Final Destination whatnot in with the other familiar beats. Don’t expect that franchise’s Rube Goldberg style kills, but Hardy does bring some blood and gore, as promised by that R rating.

The curse itself does feel somewhat fresh. The death stalking each victim is their own natural death, just come early. Why their own death would want to creep around, chasing and terrifying their still-alive selves for days beforehand is a bit of a mystery.

Percy Hynes White stands out as a new twist on the neighborhood drug dealer, and Nick Frost is fun as a teacher who likes to hand out detentions. Truthfully, most of the cast does solid work, impressive given the uninspired script. James is particularly hamstrung with the most boilerplate character among them.

Keen struggles, too, delivering a one-note melancholy character that never feels authentic.

There is fun to be had here and there, especially at the Harvest Festival. One basketball player goes in costume as Teen Wolf without mention, and another unnamed werewolf character is a treat. The whole festival setting is filmed beautifully and reminds you that Hardy has some skill.

Not enough to elevate this script to something worth watching, though.

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Bloodless

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Dracula

by Hope Madden

There are those who would call Francis Ford Coppola’s 1992 film Bram Stoker’s Dracula a masterpiece. The score is undeniable, the costuming and set design glorious, the use of shadow, the creature design, the pulsing sensuality, Gary Oldman—all of it is exquisite. The entire balance of the ensemble? Terrible. There, I said it.

Still, it’s a memorable take—for many, a beloved all-timer—on Stoker’s vampire classic. I will assume that French filmmaker Luc Besson (Léon: The Professional, La Femme Nikita) is a fan. While his Dracula delivers much in the way of new ideas, the source material for his script is less Stoker’s novel than Coppola’s film.

He’s not hiding it. He even borrows—homages—bits and pieces of Wojciech Kilar’s score.

Caleb Landry Jones is Vlad the Second, Count Dracul. He loves his wife, Elizabeta (Zoë Bleu). He fights the Crusades to eradicate Muslims for God. But God does not protect his Elizabeta, so he curses God and searches the endless centuries, hoping for his loves return.

This storyline is 100% Coppola, not in the novel at all. Landry Jones is a talented actor, and versatile. See Nitram. But his performances tend to be somewhat interior, and you cannot help but compare his anguish over Elisabeta with Oldman’s in the ’92 film. Landry Jones comes up short.

And though Besson manages one pretty impressive wide shot of the Vlad armies, the earth burning behind them, nothing can compare to the macabre puppet masterpiece Coppola brought to the same scene.

But, after Act 1, the film settles into some new territory. France! No Renfield, no Van Helsing, no fight for Lucy’s hand, no Demeter. Christoph Waltz (a little bit autopilot here) is a priest whose order has been tracking vampires for 400 years. With this storyline, Besson, who wrote the script, forges some new ideas. Newish. And Matilda De Angelis is a particular joy as Dracula’s helper.  

Fresh ideas aside, Besson doesn’t bring much Besson to the film. There’s too little action here, and most of it is carried out by little CGI gargoyles, more comedic than thrilling. One scene doesn’t naturally lead to the next, characters feel disconnected to the plot, and, worst of all, it’s very talky and a bit dull. I’d call it a fanciful period piece before I called it horror.

It’s OK to borrow. What’s hard is to come up with anything original, because no fictional character has been on screen more often in the history of film than Dracula. Even Jesus hasn’t been depicted as often in film. So, it’s fine to borrow as long as you can do something new to merit another go. Besson just about accomplishes that. Just about.

Outtakes

Role Reversal

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Untitled Home Invasion Romance

by Hope Madden

Jason Statham is doing what Jason Statham does in a new thriller hitting screens this week. But did you know that Jason Biggs, known mainly for being a likeable dork who makes bad decisions, is doing just that as well this week?

Actually, with his latest film Untitled Home Invasion Romance, Biggs does stretch a new muscle. The American Pie star directs. It’s his first go behind the camera and, much thanks to a game cast and a surprisingly dark script from Joshua Paul Johnson and Jamie Napoli, he delivers an unexpected delight.

Biggs plays Kevin, an actor known best for his role in erectile dysfunction treatment ads. But Mr. Softy has decided to play rough. Just play, though. In an attempt to win back his wife (Meaghan Rath), he’s planned a weekend getaway where another actor (Arturo Castro) will pretend to break into the house, giving Kevin the opportunity to play the hero and win back Suzie’s love.

It backfires, obviously. And indeed, the set-up is so obvious you may be tempted to give up on Untitled Home Invasion Romance. I was. But stick it out, because not only does the film get zanier by the minute, but Biggs manages an impressive feat of tone, humor, and sly feminism.

Rath delivers nuanced comedy with a restrained but important physical performance. The action in the film is big and showy, but the comedy is a bit more low key. Micro, even, like the micro-aggressions both Suzie and police chief Heather (Anna Konkle) tolerate from the men around them who insist on taking care of things.

At a certain point, the underlying comedy of sexual politics takes over the larger-than-life home invasion plotline, but Biggs and cast have done such a wonderful job of charming and alarming that it feels both wildly out of place and exactly necessary.

A comedy this likeable and smiley, that’s simultaneously twisted and dark is tough to come by. Because a lot of people meet grisly ends, and most of them are actually pretty nice. Not the lawyer, though. Screw that guy.

Credit Biggs for stretching. Not the performance—Kevin is, to the letter, your garden variety Jason Biggs character. But the director knows how to wring a little something different out of his work.

Hope Madden and George Wolf … get it?