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Outtakes

Pushed to the Limit

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Apex

by Hope Madden

What is it about Charlize Theron that you totally buy her badassedness? Maybe it’s her natural athleticism. She was a ballerina, leaving her with grace and fitness that suggest power. She hangs by fingertips from a rock face, and you think, yep, that’s Charlize Theron. Not, that’s a really skilled stunt performer.

That’s probably because it is Charlize Theron. According to her interview with Outside Magazine, Theron learned to rock climb for the new Netflix thriller Apex, so nearly all of that dizzying  and astonishing  footage is, indeed, the actor herself.

Baltasar Kormákur’s outback survival film pits Theron’s Sasha, an extreme adventure enthusiast, against Ben (Taron Egerton), an extreme psychopath.

Sasha, still stinging from the death of her partner (Eric Bana), is looking to do some solo Outback water adventuring. Ben seems like a helpful Boy Scout type, and when Sasha finds her gear missing, she hikes up to Ben’s shelter to ask for assistance. Ben is less than helpful.

Like Theron, Egerton also does his own stunt work. The reality this offers the film, framed to emphasize its death-defying glory by cinematographer Lawrence Sher (Joker, The Bride), elevates Apex above its spare Aussie horror script.

Jeremy Robbins’s screenplay takes a mid-story genre turn that doesn’t entirely work. Egerton more than convinces as the sweet-faced psycho, but the plot turn asks a little more than he can deliver. Theron’s sharp acting instincts—and a well-timed bite—almost salvage the scene.

But Apex rights itself pretty quickly. As long as we’re watching Theron tearing through forests, up rock faces, and down rapids with Egerton in jolly pursuit, all is well. And honestly, that’s about half the film.

Kormákur’s passion has always been the survival thriller: The Deep, Everest, Adrift, Beast. In every case, it’s the writing, not the directing, that’s been the drawback. Apex suffers less from writing woes. Robbins gives Theron a character to dig into, and Egerton’s dialog is deeply unnerving, particularly as it’s delivered with such a cherubic grin.

But it’s definitely the way Kormákur frames the action, and the way his actors push themselves physically, that make Apex such a fun watch. 

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Pop Life

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Michael

by George Wolf

Two of the best things about Michael are hardly shockers. One is a pleasant surprise.

Colman Domingo and Nia Long are both terrific as Michael’s parents Joe and Katherine Jackson. The surprise is Jaafar Jackson, rising to the challenge of carrying this move as his real life, iconic uncle Michael. In an impressive acting debut, Jaafar is assured and charismatic, flashing plenty of natural talent.

And for the first half of this two-hour biopic, director Antoine Fuqua and writer John Logan find some depth with the story of the Jackson 5’s rise from Gary, Indiana to major chart success at Motown.

That’s the movie I would have loved to spend more time with, ditching the greatest hits nostalgia package that followed. Because from the pivotal moment that Michael seeks management from John Branca (Miles Teller) and starts to break away from his domineering father, the film feels force fed and surface level.

The second half is reduced to a parade of very slick recreations of Michael’s most famous pop culture moments (Motown 25, the “Thriller” video, “Beat It” video, Pepsi commercials, the Victory Tour), unabashed fan service wrapped around an overcooked metaphor of a messianic Peter Pan battling an unrelenting Captain Hook.

With most of the family (Janet’s name is noticeably missing) on board as producers, a warts-and-all biography wasn’t to be expected. And while Father Joe takes plenty of hits, they become the springboard for a reminder about Michael’s greatness that’s as nuanced as a fan club prize package.

Though there’s already chatter about a sequel, I’m not convinced the parting bit of onscreen text is guaranteeing a part two that picks things up in the late eighties. As we know, Michael’s later years came with plenty of complications. The smarter play for the family might be take a cue from Baz Luhrmann’s Elvis EPiC.

After these impressive imitations, just raid the vaults, and put the real footage up there in all its IMAX glory. That might fit like a sequined glove.

Michael ends up feeling like an empty suit.

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Living Out Loud

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I Swear

by George Wolf

Honestly, I didn’t know that much about I Swear until Robert Aramayo’s amazing performance won a BAFTA Award earlier this year. Now, after seeing it, I have to wonder why officials from BAFTA and the BBC didn’t take more of its lessons to heart.

The film follows the life of Scottish Tourette’s campaigner John Davidson, and opens with Davidson yelling “F*&$ the Queen” moments before Queen Elizabeth herself presented him with an MBE for services to the Tourette’s community.

As a teenager, Davidson developed Tourette’s with coprolalia, a complex vocal tic which causes “the involuntary, uncontrollable utterance of obscene words, sexual/racial slurs, taboo phrases or profane language.” The condition brought isolation within his community and his own family, leading Davidson to move in with the family of a friend, where he found the unconditional support that launched his journey to help others.

Aramayo’s turn as Davidson is simply astonishing. Beyond the physical and vocal authenticity, Aramayo crafts an endlessly sympathetic arc of frustration, acceptance, perseverance and triumph. Heartbreaking but ultimately joyful, Aramayo’s is a deeply felt performance that fills each scene with a humanity that buoys the film.

Writer/director Kirk Jones (Waking Ned Devine) is careful to keep events accurate, drawing from the 1989 doc John’s Not Mad, actual clinical trials, and Davidson himself. Nothing here feels overwritten or sensational, as Jones allows the terrific actors (including great support from Maxine Peake as John’s surrogate mother and Shirley Henderson as his actual mum) to work specific moments for emotional depth.

The message of education, patience and understanding is meaningful and lasting. And it reminds you that, with more of each, there was certainly a way to host Davidson at the BAFTA ceremony and still safeguard other attendees and the television audience from the slurs that occurred.

But I Swear can stand on its own merits. It is a film that is able to turn simple human compassion into a crowd-pleasing event. May it play to large, humanity-pleasing crowds.

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Death Do Us Part

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Over Your Dead Body

by George Wolf

Why would Jason Segel plot to kill Samara Weaving?

Has he not seen Ready or Not? Borderline? Azreal? Ready or Not 2?

Segel is surely smart enough to play nice, but Dan – his character in Over Your Dead Body – is not. Dan and Lisa (Weaving) are off on a secluded weekend in a cabin by the lake. After 7 years together, they can barely say a cordial word, but this time Dan is laying the sweetness on pretty thick.

He’s cooked up a great dinner, along with a great alibi. Because after a nice boat ride on the lake, Lisa will sleep with the fishes.

Or not. Because Lisa has a plan of her own. And so do some convicts on the run (Timothy Olyphant, Keith Jardine) and the corrections officer who helped bust them out (Juliette Lewis).

Power shifts, violence and blood splatter ensue!

Writers Nick Kocher and Brian McElhaney, fresh off the hilariously unhinged Pizza Movie, adapt the 2021 Norwegian film The Trip with a healthy scoop of witty cynicism atop one good ol’ American mean streak.

Segel and Weaving make an excellent pair of frassasins (friendly assassins), he of the emasculated man child and she of the exasperated younger wife wondering what she saw in this guy. Neither is blameless in the demise of the marriage, and the two actors make the deadly bobbing and weaving (pun intended) a surprising, squirm-inducing delight.

Those squirms only increase once the three fugitives enter the fray, and comic director Jorma Taccone (Popstar, MacGruber) forays into body horror with a respectable aversion to sparring the rum or the wisecracks. What starts out as an in-the-moment sendup of how couples avoid therapy takes a nasty turn in the second half. The threat of violence inherent in the premise makes for a smoother transition, but make no mistake: Taccone leans into that R-rating with some serious bloodshed.

If you’re fine with that, Over Your Dead Body is an entertaining genre blast that’s pretty hard to ignore. And by pretty, I mean pretty funny.

And pretty gross.

Outtakes

Bullet the Blue Sky

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Ballistic

by Rachel Willis

A mother’s grief turns into a vengeful obsession in writer/director Chad Faust’s film Ballistic. After Nance Redfield (Lena Headey) learns of her son Jesse’s (Jordan Kronis) death in Afghanistan, she becomes obsessed with the idea that a bullet from the factory where she works was the cause.

Headey is a hell of an actress, and she does her damn finest to sell us on a mother’s grieving rage. Nance’s desire for vengeance unhinges her as she seeks someone to blame.

Unfortunately, despite Headey’s best efforts, she’s working with a character that’s never fully developed. We never fully feel Nance’s love for her son. Our introduction to their relationship is shown to us through a montage and a single video call. It’s not enough to flesh out either character.

It’s also hard to feel any sympathy for Nance despite her loss. Her anger leads her to target anyone she deems in any way responsible for Jesse’s death. It’s a broad metaphor for the ways in which anyone involved in munitions manufacturing is responsible for every death. It’s an idea that would make for an interesting documentary, but it doesn’t make much sense here. It’s too far-reaching and leaves you reflecting more on Nance’s state of mind than any broader commentary.

There are also several choices the character makes that defy logic. It’s hard to believe some of her actions in her quest for revenge. But again, a lot of this disbelief lies in the fact that we don’t really know Nance. If the film had taken more time in allowing us to know her, we would be more invested in following her wherever she leads. As it is, we’re left with a film with a muddy message, one powerful performance, and not much else.

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Walk Like an Egyptian

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Lee Cronin’s The Mummy

by Hope Madden

So, Lee Cronin’s The Mummy. You may be wondering, who is Lee Cronin? Do I even know that guy?

You probably do, if you saw 2023’sEvil Dead Rise, the story of a family trapped in their apartment as their mother turns Deadite and tries to murder them all.

You may have missed his 2019 Irish horror, The Hole in the Ground, where a changeling takes the shape of a woman’s young son, traps her in a house and tries to kill her.

Now Cronin takes on a mummy’s curse, trapping a family inside a house with their daughter, who is now a monster out to kill every one of them. By the third time, you have to think that the idea of an evil entity taking over the body of a loved one is a real fixation for the filmmaker. Lucky for us!

Jack Raynor and Laia Costa are the parents of three: little Maud (Billie Roy), tween Sebastian (Shylo Molina), and their oldest, Katie (Emily Mitchell, then Natalie Grace). Katie went missing in Cairo 8 years ago, but she’s been found and she’s ready to come home. It’ll just take some adjusting.

The trailer for the film gave it the look of a PG13 horror—quick cuts, jump scares, and black vomit. I’m pleased to report that this is not the film at all. Cronin mines the situation for grief and sorrow before descending into body horror. It’s a wild line he crosses, manipulating your emotions and then throwing gross-out body fluid horror all over the deviled eggs.

It’s nasty. Like almost early Peter Jackson nasty.

And Cronin is not afraid to take the film places you may not want to go. The darkest, sloppiest comedy butts up against emotional horror so moving you may want to look away. Or if that doesn’t make you divert your eyes, the pus, eyeballs, tongues, and unspecified body fluids will.

It’s a mixed bag, this one, and it gets a little tedious toward the end. Plus, Cronin doesn’t always balance the tone effectively. This is very much an R-rated horror, at times taking itself too seriously and at others, delivering some of the nastiest comic gags you’ve ever seen during a funeral.

I was unsettled at times and grossed out at others, but I must say, I was thoroughly entertained.

Outtakes

Wrapper’s Plight

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Balls Up

by George Wolf

Is it funny to see Mark Wahlberg and Paul Walter Hauser bust out a lightly choreographed karaoke version of Goyte’s “Someone That I Used to Know?”

It is. But are there enough solid laughs in the rest of the film to make Balls Up a thumbs up?

Not quite.

Wahlberg is Brad from sales, and Hauser is Elijah from design, both reporting to boss lady Burgess (welcome delight Molly Shannon) at the Regal Blue condom company.

Elijah has designed a revolutionary condom that extends far enough to wrap the testicles, and Brad just landed the pitch to make “Balls Up” the official condom of the 2025 World Cup in Brazil!

“Raw Dog? Nah Dawg!”

The..ahem… head of the World Cup committee (Benjamin Bratt) is impressed enough to set the guys up with VIP treatment at the tournament. But things go so wrong so fast that Brad and Elijah become branded as “The Stupids,” two American villains on the run from a drug cartel kingpin (Sacha Baron Cohen) and any number of Brazilians who’d love to see them dead.

Speaking of drugs, this entire premise sounds like something two guys thought was freaking hilarious while they were high.

I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know writers Paul Wernick and Rhett Reese have scripted funnier movies. Like Zombieland, or Deadpool, or Deadpool & Wolverine. In comparison this one feels like something that could have been abandoned when they sobered up.

Hauser has the dim-witted schlub act down cold, but as talented as he is, he’s not enough of a comic presence to offset Wahlberg’s struggles with timing and delivery. The Other Guys worked because Wahlberg’s contrast with the effortlessly funny Will Ferrell was instantly engaging. This pairing is constantly in search of real chemistry, and director Peter Farrelly seems helpless to uncover it.

Farrelly has certainly had success with below-the-belt comedy (Kingpin, Dumb and Dumber, There’s Something About Mary), but Balls Up becomes just the latest streaming effort to string together inane antics and hope for the best.

This one just gets worse as it is goes, and after an hour and forty minutes of unfunny, you give up that hope.

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Anything But

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Normal

by Hope Madden

Do you know what’s especially fun about watching Normal? It’s not seeing Bob Odenkirk crack heads and blow stuff up. I mean, that’s always fun, but it’s nothing new. Nor is it new to see what fresh fisticuffs and cutlery mayhem writer Derek Kolstad (John Wick [all four], Nobody [both], Ballerina) can dream up. We’ve seen his dreams. They’re somewhat similar.

What is especially fun about watching the star of Nobody and its writer team up again to drop a middle aged schmo into a sudden and unexpected explosion of violence is that Ben Wheatley is directing. We haven’t seen Ben Wheatley get really nuts in a bit.

Odenkirk, who co-writes the script with Kolstad, is Ulysses. He used to be a real sheriff, but now he takes interim sheriff gigs around the country and leaves rambling accounts of his days on his estranged wife Penny’s voicemail.

His latest assignment: Normal, Minnesota.

The town of about 1500 people and one moose looks…strangely prosperous. Not like the small towns shuttering due to a poor economy. When two good hearted, down-on-their-luck bank robbers roll into town, Ulysses gets a glimpse of the what’s really going on.

That leaves us with about 45 minutes of handguns, rifles, Tommy Guns, knives, fists, rocket launchers, chains, dynamite, and knitting needles. Plenty of time for Wheatley to help us remember what a blast he had directing 2016’s Freefire.

Odenkirk’s ideal as the begrudgingly heroic schlub, and Normal surrounds him with eclectic characters and solid comic performances. But there’s no question the relish Wheatley takes in wry, witty bursts of extreme violence, each gag its own punchline, is what delivers the film’s fun.

There’s a touch of Fargo, a smidge of Hot Fuzz, a bit of the filmmaker’s own Freefire, and maybe a hint of his Sightseers. These borrowed flavors blend favorably with the inescapable familiarity of the concept—Bob Odenkirk, badass—as well as Kolstad’s routine action beats.

Normal is a ton of bloody fun that you’ll kind of remember later but you’ll laugh and enjoy yourself now.

Outtakes

Shock without the Jock

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Screams from the Tower

by Brandon Thomas

When was the last time a teen comedy made a sizeable impact? Where’s Gen Z’s The Breakfast Club? Their American Pie? Their Superbad? Is Screams from the Tower the next teen classic? Well, no, but it is a sweet, charming entry into the genre.

Best friends Julien (Richie Fusco) and Cary (David Bloom) share a love of radio and a similar dream: to get their own show on the high school radio station. When that dream becomes a reality, the boys bring together friends both new and old and begin to challenge the limits of what two high school seniors can get away with on a high school radio station.

As a more character-focused film, Screams from the Tower isn’t interested in gross-out gags to keep the audience invested. There aren’t any larger-than-life set pieces that will have people rolling in the aisles (or on their living room floors). While writer-director Cory Wexler Grant does lean into a few instances of broader comedy, the majority of the laughs come from character interactions and relationships. 

Despite being sold as a dual lead film, the focus ultimately lands on Fusco’s Julien. At first glance, Julien comes off as a dime-a-dozen smartass slacker. As the film moves along, the layers of Julien’s character are peeled away, we see that this isn’t true at all. Sure, Julien is crass and abrasive, but he’s also sensitive and loyal. Fusco walks a delicate line – never allowing Julien to become the target of the audience’s ire while also not letting him off the hook for his behavior. 

At the same time, the film really sings when the ensemble – or parts of it anyway – are together, bringing the radio show to life. Grant is clearly inspired by the heyday of radio shockjocks from the ‘80s and ‘90s – most notably Howard Stern and Don Imus. The characters don’t go where Stern and Imus did with their schtick, but they certainly dabble in their own high school-level controversy. It’s also a hoot to see the boys and their show have a foil in the radio station’s overseeing teacher (Sara Sevigny). While a high school teacher might not wield the same power as the FCC, it does give the movie a sizeable jolt of drama 

Screams from the Tower may not bring the same level of notoriety or impact as a Hughes or Apatow film, but it does operate in its own lane of sweetness and charm.