I’ve never understood people who prepare for the end of the world: those who stockpile supplies or buy secret caves in the wilderness (I knew a woman) to survive nuclear war or the zombie apocalypse. I’ve always thought if the world ended in some horrible way, I wouldn’t want to stick around. If we’re in a Thunderdome scenario in the future, count me out.
However, in writer/director Noble Jones’s film, The Tomorrow Man, Ed Hemsler (John Lithgow) is readying himself for the inevitable end of days. Spending his time on online message boards, watching the news, and gathering supplies at the local grocery store, he’s as prepared as one can be.
Into his well-organized life comes Ronnie (Blythe Danner). Ed immediately thinks he recognizes the signs of a fellow “prepper” and begins an unusual courtship to which Ronnie is receptive.
The film suffers from an abundance of quirkiness. Jones seems to be trying for a vibe similar to Moonrise Kingdom, but where Wes Anderson wisely chose children to convey the magic of new love, Jones focuses on two elderly adults who act more like children than grown-ups. Watching the two characters connect brings more questions on the wisdom of them living independently than any sweet enjoyment of their budding December/December romance.
Lithgow is endearing as the over-prepared Ed. Divorced and estranged from his grown son, it’s impossible not to root for Ed as he woos Ronnie. However, Danner seems as lost in her role as her character Ronnie is lost in life.
The supporting roles offer very little to the story, and no one is offered any opportunity to grow. These characters are the same people at the end of the film as they were at the beginning. Perhaps if Jones spent less time telling us about all of the characters’ various foibles, we’d get a meatier story.
There are a few comedic moments, but not nearly enough to balance the tedium of watching two peculiar people try to build a relationship. Everything about that relationship, like the film’s idiosyncrasies, feels forced. It’s unfortunate when we’ve seen the formula work before.
Sadly, The Tomorrow Man tries too hard to be something it’s not.
Not the strongest week in theaters, sad to say. This week we break down Dark Phoenix, Secret Life of Pets 2, All Is True, The Tomorrow Man and all that’s fit to watch in home entertainment.
Illumination, the animation giant behind all things Minion, returns to their blandly entertaining dog franchise for the blandly entertaining sequel The Secret Life of Pets 2.
In the 2016 original, Louis C.K. voiced a neurotic terrier named Max who needed to loosen up a little once his beloved owner brought home a huge, lovable Newfie mix (in a NYC apartment?!). And while life lessons were the name of the game, the real gimmick was to take the Toy Story approach to house pets, giving us a glimpse into what they’re up to when we’re not around.
Because we really don’t want to associate him with children anymore, C.K.’s been replaced by Patton Oswalt, whose Max has all new reasons for anxiety. There’s a new baby, whose presence suddenly reinforces all those fears about the big, scary world.
In a move that’s as disjointed as it is interesting,
returning writer Brian Lynch sends Max, Newfie Duke (Eric Stonestreet) and
family on a trip to the country, creating one of three separate episodes that
will eventually intersect. Well, crash into each other, anyway.
The main story deals
with trying to alpha Max up a bit with some problematically “masculine”
training by way of farm dog Rooster (Harrison Ford), who, among other things,
disregards therapy as weakness.
Basically, Lynch and director Chris Renaud think we’re all a
little too precious (the clear message of the original) and what they’d like to
do with their sequel is beat us about the head and neck with that idea.
Meanwhile, back in NYC, Pomeranian Gidget (Jenny Slate) and
Chloe the cat (Lake Bell – the film’s deadpan bright spot) train to retrieve a
chew toy from a crazy cat lady’s feline-overrun apartment. And separately,
Snowball the bunny (Kevin Hart), believing himself to be a super hero,
befriends Shih Tzu Daisy (Tiffany Haddish), and together they save a baby tiger
from an evil Russian circus.
For real.
That last bit gets seriously weird, I have no idea what they
feed this baby tiger the whole time, and on average, the actual lessons learned
are troublingly old school (read: conservative).
Teaching boys that pretending they’re not afraid so they can
take charge of every situation = literally every single problem on earth right
now. So let’s stop doing that.
Otherwise, though, Illumination offers yet another blandly entertaining, cute time waster.
The Souvenir rests at the hypnotic intersection of art and inspiration, an almost shockingly self-aware narrative from filmmaker Joanna Hogg that dares you to label its high level of artistry as pretense.
It is an ode to her craft and her experience, reflecting on both through an autobiographical tale of hard lessons learned.
Julie (Honor Swinton Byrne – Tilda’s daughter) is a young film school student with a privileged background and a cautiously supportive mother (played, of course, by Tilda, who’s customarily splendid). It is the early 1980s, and Julie has high aspirations for projects that will mine truths she has yet to experience.
That changes when she begins a relationship with Anthony (Tom Burke) a complicated older man who preys on Julie’s naivete.
Hogg lays the relationship bare, literally opening her diaries and projects for a portrait of the artist on her own unapologetic terms.
While other cast members had scripted dialog, Byrne worked improvisationally from Hogg’s own journal, with Julie’s student films also closely resembling those in the director’s past.
In her first major role, Byrne is tremendously effective (which, given her lineage, should not be that surprising). In her hands, Julie’s arc is at turns predictable, foolish and frustrating, yet always sympathetic and achingly real.
The intimacy of Hogg’s reflection on a toxic relationship is worthy on its own, but her story’s added resonance comes from its unconventional structure, and the brilliantly organic way Julie’s thoughts on filmmaking tell you why that has to be.
The Souvenir is finely crafted as a different kind of gain from pain, one that benefits both filmmaker and audience. It is artful and cinematic in its love for art and cinema, honest and forgiving in its acceptance, and beautifully appreciative for how life shapes us.
Our friend is looking to buy her first home and our only
advice was probably the same advice she got from everyone: check the basement
for the gateway to hell. That always causes trouble for new homebuyers, doesn’t
it?
Indeed, these netherworld exits and entrances don’t exist
only in suburban basements. Nope, you can find them anywhere. In fact, you can
even create your own. No idea why you would want to do that, but (assuming
horror films are how-tos), it can be done. Which are the best gateway to hell
horror movies, you ask? Luckily, we’ve done the math.
5. The Ninth Gate (1999)
A bunch of films nearly had this fifth slot: Amityville 3D (mainly so we could make fun of Laurie Laughlin), The Gate and its Harryhausen influences, Event Horizon’s blackhole to hell. But we landed on The Ninth Gate because we love Frank Langella and Lena Olin.
Johnny Depp plays a sleazy rare books dealer in Roman
Polanski’s adaptation of Arturo Perez-Reverte’s novel. Depp’s Dean Corso falls
into a mysterious adventure of finding and appraising three volumes allegedly
co-authored by Satan himself (or herself?).
Maybe the element of this film that makes it more
interesting than it might be is that, while the humans longing for the
knowledge in these volumes are terrible people, the film doesn’t seem to find
Satanism (the real worship of an actual Satan, not today’s activism branch) a
potentially worthwhile activity. Satan (Emmanuelle Seigner, Polanski’s wife) is
also an interesting character—in concept, anyway.
Plus, black masses! Love those!
4. The Beyond (1981)
Lucio Fulci was really preoccupied with the gateway to hell. He produced an entirely worthwhile trilogy on the topic. And while City of the Living Dead and House by the Cemetery have their charms (well, for one of us), The Beyond is by far the most entertaining of the three.
As is always the case in Fulci films, the dubbing is half
the fun, here unintentionally aiding in the overall surreal quality of the
picture. Liza Merrill (Catriona MacColl, who stars as different characters in
each of the three Gateway films) has inherited an old Louisiana hotel from her
dead uncle.
Guess what’s in the basement?!
Silly, gory as hell, hypnotic and oh-so-Fulci, The Beyond is a dreamy peek into hell. The clashing accents and lack of logic only strengthen the vibe.
3. Insidious (2010)
Yes, technically this one takes place in “The Further” – but
we don’t buy that this creepy red guy plays organ in limbo or purgatory. We’re
going with hell.
Director James Wan and writer (and co-star) Leigh Whannell launched
a second franchise with this clever, creepy, star-studded flick about a haunted
family.
Patrick Wilson (who would become a Wan/Whannell staple) and
Rose Byrne anchor the film as a married couple dealing with the peculiar coma-like
state affecting their son, not to mention the weird noises affecting their house.
But what makes this particular film so effective is that we get to go into The Further to reclaim the lost soul. It’s a risky move, but these filmmakers do what few are able to: they show us what we are afraid of.
2. The Sentinel (1977)
Journeyman writer/director Michael Winner helmed this weird
little gem about a damaged young woman and her journey toward the only destiny
that can save her.
It starts, as these things so often to, with the search for
a new place to live. New York model Alison (Cristina Raines) is offered an
incredibly great rate for a gorgeous NY brownstone apartment.
Is it the gateway to hell? Yes, but NY real estate being
what it is, she takes it.
Look at this cast: Burgess Meredith, John Carradine,
Christopher Walken, Ava Gardner, Jerry Orbach, Jose Ferrer, Beverly D’Angelo
and Chris Sarandon, mainly playing the various and fascinating demons hoping to
throw poor, fragile Alison off her path.
Meredith in particular is a magnificent Satan.
1. Baskin (2015)
Welcome to hell! Turkish filmmaker Can Evrenol invites you to follow a 5-man
police squad into the netherworld, where eye patches are all the rage,
pregnancy lasts well under the traditional 40 weeks, and you don’t want to
displease Daddy.
The serpentine sequencing of events evokes a dream logic
that gives the film an inescapable atmosphere of dread, creepily underscored by
its urgent synth score. Evrenol’s imagery is morbidly amazing. Much of it only
glimpsed, most of it left unarticulated, but all of it becomes
that much more disturbing for its lack of clarity.
As is always the case, the real kicker is the Satan character. Here, central figure Mehmet Cerrahoglu’s remarkable presence authenticates the hellscape. Evrenol’s imaginative set design and wise lighting choices envelope Cerrahoglu, his writhing followers, and his victims in a bloody horror like little else in cinema.
Big, bold, oversized weekend in movies. We talk through Godzilla: King of the Monsters, Rocketman and Ma and hit on all that’s worth a look in new home entertainment.
So, Elton John won’t be singing in the movie about Elton John?
Seems weird, until you see how well Rocketman incorporates decades of indelible music into one vastly entertaining portrait of the iconic rock star who stands second only to Elvis in career solo hits.
Driven by a wonderfully layered performance from Taron Egerton – who also handles his vocal duties just fine – the film eschews the standard biopic playbook for a splendid rock and roll fantasy.
Kudos to writer Lee Hall and director Dexter Fletcher for knowing we’ve seen this rise/drugs/fall arc before, and knowing how to pool their talents for an ambitious take.
Hall wrote Billy Elliot and Fletcher is fresh off co-directing Bohemian Rhapsody. Their vision draws from both to land somewhere between the enigmatic Dylan biopic I’m Not There and the effervescent ABBA glitter bomb Mamma Mia.
Narratively grounded in Elton’s first visit to rehab, Rocketman cherry-picks the hits for resplendent musical set pieces that accompany the blossoming of a shy English youngster named Reginald Kenneth Dwight into the flamboyant global superstar known as Elton Hercules John.
Wounded by an uninterested father (Steven Mackintosh) and an adversarial mother (Bryce Dallas Howard – never better) Reggie sought acceptance through his musical talent. A happenstance introduction to lyricist Bernie Taupin (a quietly effective Jamie Bell) brought unexpected success and then, the obligatory wretched excess.
Even without Fletcher’s involvement, comparisons to Bohemian Rhapsody (now the most successful music biopic to date) were inevitable, but Rocketman leaves the stage as a vastly superior film.
While the close-to-the-safety-vest nature of Queen’s trajectory rendered every artistic license ripe for scrutiny, Rocketman‘s R-rated frankness and fantastical tapestries leave ample room for crowd-pleasing maneuvers.
Of course the kickers-clad schoolboy didn’t pound out “The Bitch is Back” on his living room piano, the aspiring songwriter didn’t sing “Sad Songs” at a 1960s audition, and the overnight sensation didn’t “Crocodile Rock” at his legendary 1970 stint at The Troubadour.
But in the world of Rocketman, anything is possible. And even with all the eccentric flights of fancy, the film holds true to an ultimately touching honesty about the life story it’s telling.
And, oh yeah, the songs are still pretty great, too (no matter who’s singing them).
Oh my God, you guys. Did you know Tate Taylor directed the new Octavia Spencer horror flick, Ma?
You know, Tate Taylor. Girl on a Train. Get On Up. The effing Help – that Tate Taylor.
No wonder Octavia Spencer is in it, and God bless her for it
because she commits to a role that, in other hands, could have been utterly,
laughably predictable.
In fact, were it not for a breathtakingly better-than-this-material cast, Ma would have devolved quickly into every other “get back at the popular kids – oh, wait, maybe let’s vilify and re-victimize the unpopular instead” horror.
Spencer’s Sue Ann, or Ma, as the kids call her, is just an easy mark for teens wanting alcohol. Yes, she’ll buy it as long as you drink it at her house where she knows you’re safe.
Does she have nefarious motives?
She does.
For her part, the Oscar-winner (for Taylor’s The Help) convinces, drawing both sympathy and fear. She’s joined in small roles by another Oscar winner (an almost jarringly funny Allison Janney) and an Oscar nominee (Juliette Lewis) as well as Luke Evans and a set of talented young actors led by Booksmart’s Diana Silvers.
How on earth did this by-the-numbers outsider/don’t trust the lonely older lady horror flick draw this cast?!
I do not know, because Ma has nothing really new to say, so it relies in its entirety on this cast to entertain. But there are two reasons that this story and this particular cast are actually Ma’s problems.
One is something that still surprises me about horror. On the whole, horror appeals to outcasts. And yet, from Carrie White to the coven in The Craft to Sue Ann in Ma, horror films reestablish the status quo by putting outcasts in their place. Sure, they get that grand few moments of terrorizing the beautiful, popular kids, but things end badly in horror movies for the outcast.
Here’s what troubles me even more about Tate Taylor, and to a degree, Octavia Spencer films. (Note that Spencer executive produced the racially problematic and utterly mediocre Green Book.)
Ma is racially tone deaf. I have no idea why this wealthy Southern white man insists on telling stories exclusively about African Americans, but he truly should not. A story that vilifies the lonely middle aged woman, seeing her as a broken psychotic based on her generally pathetic nature, is misogynistic. When this villain is also the only African American woman in the film, that problem is heightened dramatically.
Don’t get me wrong—I am a fanatical horror fan, and when an Oscar -winner (and multiple nominee) chooses to star, let alone star as the villain (the most important character) in a horror film, I am all in.
Must we destroy everything that challenges us, or is humanity’s
only salvation an intentional and aggressive thinning of our herd?
Or is there another way?
Nope, this is not the plot of the last two Avengers movies. Well, I mean, it is, but it’s also the basic underpinning of the monster movie that has always had societal anxieties on its mind.
Born in 1954 of a society reeling from nuclear annihilation, Godzilla was a parable of a world in need of a new god to save it from war and science. Sixty five years later, Godzilla: King of the Monsters recognizes that it’s not just the military and scientists who are destroying us. It’s all of us.
Columbus, Ohio’s own Michael Dougherty (Trick r’ Treat) takes the reins of the king of all kaiju franchises, grounding tensions in family drama and bombarding the audience with monsters, explosions, nuclear monsters, nuclear explosions, good-sized leaps of logic and so much nonsensical dialog.
Kyle Chandler is the handsome, damaged, underwhelming white
guy at the center of things. Lucky, because the rest of the cast—primarily
women and people of color—can’t quite figure out how to move forward without
him to articulate the plan for them.
They talk about it a lot, though. Even when machines are in the midst of exploding, someone has the good sense to tell us, “Something’s wrong!”
When people aren’t droning on with exposition and explanation, we’re treated to plenty monster on monster action—exactly what Gareth Edwards’s 2014 Godzilla did so well. Unfortunately, for all the very cool Titans that director/co-writer Dougherty has to work with, he can’t create a thrilling fight sequence. There are lots of loud noises, plenty of toothy close ups and bright lights galore, but as for distinguishable monster bodies following a logical battle trajectory – nope.
In fact, repeated mentions of activity on “Skull Island” only remind you of the tonal and visual bullseye of Kong: Skull Island, a comparison that does not work in this Godzilla‘s favor.
Longtime kaiju aficionados should appreciate Dougherty’s clear respect for genre history – as well as Bear McCreary’s wonderfully retro score – but this new King is just treading water.
