Sometimes a title really hits you, like Bingo Hell.
Maybe because the idea of playing this game makes me lose the will to live.
Co-writer/director Gigi Saul Guerrero has a slightly
different use for the image of folks hunched over their boards hoping to win
something from the community chest. A veteran of the horror short film,
Guerrero pulls together conflicted thoughts about gentrification and
neighborhood loyalty, poverty and affluence, and the sketchy influence of
organized gambling for her first feature.
Speaking of veterans, Adriana Barraza — reliable as ever — leads the film as Lupita, the aging but spunky heart of her community, Oak Springs. She doesn’t dig gentrification. Watching members of her community take the cash and bail because they don’t have the cash to pay newly exorbitant rents doesn’t break her heart, it fuels her rage.
Lupita is a spitfire and Barraza’s relish with her outbursts
drives the film’s energetic, campy outrage. Bingo Hell has social
commentary to spare, but it’s not preaching. It’s attacking.
Guerrero’s film, part of Amazon Prime’s 2021 Welcome to the
Blumhouse program, doesn’t oversimplify causes and solutions. Still, it
delivers its recommendations as more of a blunt instrument than a surgical
tool.
It is much fun to watch Barraza and other mature actors (L.
Scott Caldwell, Grover Coulson, Clayton Landey) inhabit characters with agency
and some degree of complexity, but it’s Richard Brake who offers Barraza the
best sparring partner. Effortlessly sinister, the underappreciated character
actor delivers another memorable baddie.
With characters to root for, violence to spare, and a healthy acceptance of chaos, Bingo Hell is pretty fun.
“That was the summer I got breasts and fought vampires.”
Yes, a lot is happening in Shawna’s life, but Black As Night never loses that matter-of-fact teenage perspective even as it broaches some plenty familiar horror terrain.
Shawna (Asjha Cooper) and her BFF Pedro (Fabrizio Guido) uncover a ring of vampires in their New Orleans precinct, and it’s going to take some help from the hunky Chris (Mason Beauchamp) and a privileged Twilight fan (Abbie Gayle) to track down the lead bloodsucker and take him out.
Black As Night is part of 2021’s “Welcome to the Blumhouse” collaboration with Amazon, and it continues last season’s focus on films by and about women and/or people of color.
Director Maritte Lee Go and writer Sherman Payne mix Candyman‘s themes of gentrification and disposable populations with the surface level adventures of Buffy and The Lost Boys for a vampire tale that is most noteworthy for its fresh cultural lens.
The message isn’t unique or particularly subtle, production values can be shaky and there’s a hearty helping of exposition shortcuts, but these kids have spunk. Cooper makes Shawna’s journey from insecure wallflower to confident vampire killer an endearing one, and Keith David is here to lend his always welcome gravitas.
And though it often feels like Black As Night is content to just jump on a crowded ride, it consistently finds small moments to call its own. Plus, large numbers of vampires to kill!
Wife of a Spy really tested the limits of my historical knowledge, which is lamentably focused on Western Civ. I probably studied the American Revolution five separate times and know quite a bit about the British Empire and what we erroneously call the “Age of Exploration,” but as for what was going on in Asia in the 20th century? Shoot.
My knowledge is pretty limited to some communist revolutions
and America dropping bombs.
In order to get Wife of a Spy, it’s useful to understand:
Japan invaded northeast China and Inner Mongolia in the 30s and set up a puppet state (the State/Empire of Manchuria), which they more or less controlled until the end of WWII.
The Japanese army in Manchuria conscripted millions of people as slave laborers and subjected them to medicalized torture, including vivisection without anesthesia.
They also spread fleas carrying the bubonic plague from low-flying airplanes over villages and cities and dropped typhoid germs into wells to test out biological weapons.
Wife of a Spy starts in 1940 as Japan becomes increasingly nationalistic. The wealthy and cosmopolitan businessman Yusaku Fukuhara faces scrutiny as to his loyalty from childhood friends who are now in the military. Yusaku and his wife Satoko (Yu Aoi) wear Western dress and conduct business with American and British citizens. They draw criticism for drinking foreign whiskey and forgoing kimonos.
On a trip to Manchuria to search for trade goods and cheap medicine, Yusaku discovers evidence of the atrocities being conducted there. He is determined to blow the whistle internationally. He says his allegiance is to “universal justice” rather than to his country.
Satoko senses her husband’s distress and growing alienation and uncovers the evidence that Yusaku has been hiding in his office safe. But is she willing to risk her blissful domestic life and creature comforts to become the wife of a spy/traitor? Or will she turn Yusaku over to the authorities?
Wife of a Spy doesn’t waste a lot of time explaining the historical context of the film (thus the exposition dump above), but it does a beautiful job of visually immersing us in the historical period. Director/co-writer Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s film focuses on the ripple effect that these atrocities have on the lives of the everyman/woman.
For the most part, the reactions of the characters seem realistic. They are haunted or traumatized or incredulous. Satoko’s reaction is a little harder for me to accept. I’m with her until she makes her biggest decision. What follows seems entirely too sunny and chipper.
Regardless, the quiet menace present in the air at the beginning of the movie grows throughout and, as in any good spy film, we’re left wondering if we put our trust in the right people and if we truly understood what just happened.
Adventures of a Mathematician, based on the memoir of the same name by Stanislav Ulam (Philippe Tłokiński), offers a fascinating look at one of the main players behind the Manhattan Project and the building of the hydrogen bomb.
Writer/director Thor Klein lacks interest in Ulam’s entire life, instead narrowing his film’s focus to the years the scientist spent in Los Alamos, Nevada, working for the U.S. Department of War. The moral and ethical dilemma of building the atomic bomb – the use of science to wield total destruction – is the heart of Klein’s film.
Aspects of Ulam’s world outside of his work are woven into the film – primarily his relationships with wife Françoise (Esther Garrel), brother Adam (Mateusz Więcławek), and best friend/fellow scientist John van Neumann (Fabian Kociecki).
The movie’s weakest component is the flatness of some of these characters, but because Klein seeks not to simply tell Ulam’s life story, the shallow characters don’t sink the effort. They still serve a purpose as they give voice to the ethical arguments inside Ulam.
In that role, Tłokińksi is flawless, bringing depth to every scene. He infuses every word, every movement with the emotion necessary to tackle such large moral quandaries.
The desolate, dusty landscape of Los Alamos plays its own role in the film – a stark reminder of what’s at stake. The film’s minimal score highlights the scientist’s inner conflict and heightens tensions as the movie draws closer to the devastating moment when the bombs are dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Adventures of a Mathematician offers no easy answers, nor is it likely to change anyone’s mind. However, it offers insight into why some of the world’s most brilliant scientists lent their skills to the creation of the deadliest weapons in world history.
I have always counted myself among the major fans of Kiwi horror filmmaking. Peter Jackson may mean Middle Earth to others, but to us he is king of splatter-gore comedy, and a generation of New Zealand horror filmmakers has embraced that same sense of viscous fun.
Not James Ashcroft. Nope, making his feature debut with the road
trip horror Coming Home in the Dark, the filmmaker is carving out a very
different style.
Not long into Hoaggie (Erik Thomson) and Jill’s (Miriama McDowell) weekend outing with their teenage sons, two armed drifters approach. The family is miles from anywhere, and it isn’t until they all stand by and let a car pass without incident that Ashcroft lets us in on two things.
“Looking back on today’s events, I think this will be the
moment you realized you should have done something.”
The moment Mandrake (Daniel Gillies, chilling) utters this sentence, Ashcroft lets you know that this story will not go well for the family. He also introduces the general theme of this film: do something while you have the chance.
Mandrake is the more talkative of the two villains, though friend Tubs (Matthias Luafutu) cuts an impressive figure. And in a style closer to that characteristic of Australian horror, Coming Home in the Dark offers a spare but unblinking span of gritty, punishing thrills.
Ashcroft, who adapted Owen Marshall’s short story for the screen
along with writer Eli Kent, crafts a deceptively layered drama. The trickiest
bit comes near the end, but it would be unfair to give that away.
Unfortunately, the audience has to be patient enough to wade
through what feels like preachiness to get to the sucker punch. Performances
are exceptional, loose ends are welcome, but with little in the way of visual
panache and lots in the way of discomfort, not everyone will stick it out.
I should confess that I firmly believe terror awaits anybody
who wanders out into the wilderness. I am the audience for this movie.
Murmurs, complaints, and whispers come in and out of focus as a camera meanders through an empty cemetery at midday: we hear souls telling the stories of their lives. We stop over the resting place of Christopher Moltisanti (Michael Imperioli). He has a tale to tell.
It’s a beautiful opening, spooky but with a bitter, familiar humor about it. With it, director Alan Taylor sets the mood for a period piece that lays the groundwork for one of the best shows ever to grace the small screen. The Many Saints of Newark brings Christmas early for Sopranos fans, but this is not exactly the story of Tony Soprano. In uncovering the making of the future, Taylor and writer Lawrence Konner invite us into the life of Uncle Dickie Moltisanti (Alessandro Nivola).
Nivola makes for an ideal choice to play the beloved “uncle.” The always reliable actor depicts the film’s central figure as the struggling, complicated result of his circumstances – an excellent theme given the film’s long game to uncover the forces that forged a future boss. In many ways, Uncle Dickie’s weaknesses, indulgences, strengths and goals create a mirror image of the Tony Soprano we would come to know over eight years and six seasons.
Longtime fans will have a bada bing blast recognizing familiar characters in their youth. Vera Farmiga is characteristically excellent as Tony’s formidable mother. John Magaro is a spot-on and hilarious Silvio, matched quirk for quirk by Billy Magnussen as Paulie Walnuts. Corey Stoll brings a younger but no less awkward Uncle Junior to life beautifully.
Of course, the one you wait for is young Tony, played with lumbering, melancholic sweetness by James Gandolfini’s son Michael. The resemblance alone gives the character a heartbreaking quality that feeds the mythology, but young Gandolfini serves Tony well with a vulnerable, believable performance that only expands on our deep investment in this character.
But the film is really more interested in those we never got to know: Tony’s father Johnny Boy Soprano (Jon Bernthal), Dickie’s father Aldo and uncle Sal Moltisanti (Ray Liotta, in two exceptional and very different roles), and stepmother Guiseppina Moltisanti (Michela De Rossi).
De Rossi and Leslie Odom Jr. (who plays colleague-turned-competitor Harold McBrayer) offer some of the most intriguing complexity and context in the entire film. The first half pokes holes in the “woe is me” backstory of the entitled white male Mafioso figure by spending some time with two characters who actually did have a tough go making a life for themselves in this community.
Taylor (Thor: the Dark World, Terminator Genisys, GoT) helmed nine Sopranos episodes, winning an Emmy for one, while Konner penned three solid episodes of his own, although his decades of work for the big screen has been mediocre at best.
But here the filmmakers combine for extended family drama that, despite one major plot turn landing as entirely illogical, weaves themes old and new in a ride that is often operatic and downright Shakespearean.
If the Sopranos family feels like family, turning back the clock on these indelible characters is just as giddy and delightful as it sounds. But The Many Saints of Newark impresses most by the balance it finds between fan service and fresh character arcs.
It’s an often cruel and bloody tale of wanton crime, treacherous deceit, family dysfunction and cold-blooded murder. And it just might be the most fun you’ll have at the movies all year.
I never thought I would miss mumblecore, but here you have it. Co-writer/director Sean Daniel Cunningham transports us back to that time of slight, meandering plots, awkward vulnerability, and low-stakes white people problems.
The thing is, Hudson is pretty great.
As low-key as they come, Hudson follows two estranged cousins on a brief but somewhat eventful road trip one autumn day through Upstate New York. I mean, they don’t really leave the area – they go maybe a couple of hours from home, tops. A game of putt-putt becomes one of the most major events in the adventure. It’s not an edge-of-your-seat thriller is what I’m saying, but it is laid back, sweet and lovely.
Much of that is due to a spot-on performance in the title
role by David Neal Levin. Hudson is lovable, sweet and tender due to the recent
death of his mother. A middle-aged man still living at home, he mostly writes haiku
now, feeds his bird, maybe gets out a remote-control car. Levin’s performance
never mocks or belittles the character, never makes him the butt of a joke.
Then Hudson’s cool cousin Ryan (co-writer Gregory Lay) shows
up. He’s waiting to do some reshoots for his latest movie, has some time to
kill, missed the funeral but wants to hang out now.
The movie sinks or swims on the lived-in relationships. It’s like we’ve dropped into these lives mid-relationship until the cousins pick up a new friend who knows how to get them where they’re going.
Sunrise (played by producer Mary Catherine Greenawalt) gives the film, if not a jolt of energy, then maybe a quiver of it. Her presence allows the writers to explore the cousins’ personas and relationships more deeply, and offers more opportunities for good-natured if not gut-busting humor.
It’s a lovely film. It looks great, performances are solid in a very mellow way, and the resolution feels like a long-coming hug from a buddy. It’s nice.
Joseph swallows too loudly. His mother tells him so, which is just part of an uncomfortable family dinner where even eye contact is a chore.
Surge follows Joseph’s downward spiral during the hours after that awkward meal, when table manners become the least of his concerns.
Joseph (a mesmerizing Ben Whishaw) works security at London’s Stansted airport, where his days pass by with monotonous routine and lifeless social interaction. But unsettling encounters with two separate air travelers seem to puncture Joseph’s bubble of detachment, setting the stage for a 24-hour journey of primal indulgence.
In his feature debut, director/co-writer Aneil Karia leans heavily enough on handheld shaky cams and closeup framing to earn a warning for anyone triggered by such frenzied motion. Though this approach does work fine as a mirror to Joseph’s frayed psyche, and Paul Davies’s sound design is impeccably detailed, it’s really Whishaw’s Sundance award-winning performance that constantly keeps you invested.
The minimalistic script provides little insight into Joseph’s breakdown beyond the standard pressures of modern life and alienation. This keeps us at a distance as well, making it hard to relate to Joseph as much more than the latest guy who ate detergent.
Surge does have craftsmanship and style, leaving little doubt that Karia is a talented filmmaker with more deeply felt features in his future. But right now, he’s got a terrific actor to showcase, and that turns out to be just enough to get him by.
It’s not that Evan himself is hard to like, even flawed and unlikeable main characters can be ambitious and welcome. The real challenge for the big screen adaptation of Dear Evan Hansen is turning the young man’s choices into something truly hopeful and inspiring.
Evan (Ben Platt, whose Broadway performance garnered one of the musical’s many Tony awards) is a painfully shy, anxiety-ridden high school senior getting assignments from his therapist that involve writing letters to himself. Through a convoluted mixup that actually lands as plausible, one of those letters ends up in the hands of Connor Murphy (Colton Ryan), another troubled young man who can’t make friends.
When Connor takes his own life, his mother (Amy Adams) and stepfather (Danny Pino) read the letter and reach out to Evan, looking for comfort from someone they believe must have been their son’s best friend.
It’s a cruel and horrible lie, one that Evan ultimately indulges because it makes his own life better. Evan gains friends, he becomes close to Connor’s wealthy family while his own mother (Julianne Moore) works late to makes ends meet, and he gets alone time with Connor’s sister Zoe (Kaitlyn Dever), who just happens to be Evan’s longtime crush.
While the facade can’t last, it’s one that’s chock full of possibilities for another shallow YA specialness parade. But director Stephen Chbosky and writer Steven Levenson do manage to craft moments of truth that help offset the manipulative atmosphere.
Chbosky’s (The Perks of being a Wallflower, Wonder) choice to have the cast sing live is a smart one, bringing a needed intimacy to the music and giving Platt the chance to really impress. But while Chbosky often maneuvers into and out of the music with style, too many of those set pieces seem tentative, with only a few of the songs (“Requiem,” “Words Fail,” “So Big, So Small”) resonating beyond the frequent and generic “I feel seen” messaging.
Platt truly has a wonderful voice, but he has trouble trading what served him so well on the stage for a more nuanced film approach to emoting. Yes, at 27 Platt is a bit too old now for the role, but that’s less of a problem than surrounding him with such authentic screen talent. As Evan becomes less of an awkward outcast, Platt’s screentime with Adams, Moore and especially Dever (who gives the film its most honest moments) only highlights a need for understatement that Platt and Chbosky don’t address.
At a robust 137 minutes, Dear Evan Hansen has plenty of time to grapple with the moral conundrum at its core, but ultimately falls just short of the more universal insight it seeks.
The film shows us teens that are stressed and over-medicated, with feelings of inadequacy compounded by social media expectations and misunderstood by families and peer groups. Then when tragedy occurs, the shock opens avenues for exploitation and personal gain. Evan takes one of them.
There are teachable moments there, and the soaring melodies of Dear Evan Hansen will put occasional lumps in your throat. But is Evan’s journey a thoughtful and cautionary parable, or a shameless exploitation in itself?
In the end, neither. Much like its flawed main character, it’s a mess of awkward and misplaced intentions, as likely to generate facepalms as it is a loving embrace.
A quick synopsis of The Starling, the new drama from Hidden
Figures director Theodore Melfi, brims with potential, offers an
appealingly messy notion.
Lilly (Melissa McCarthy) and Jack (Chris O’Dowd) are
suffering, silently and separately, about a year after the death of their baby
girl. Jack waits out his grief in an institution while Lilly tries to tough it
out on her own. Eventually she decides to plant a garden, but a territorial, dive-bombing
starling makes that difficult. She turns to psychologist/veterinarian Larry
(Kevin Kline) for help.
That’s a lot to unpack, but when the core theme is grief,
complications are welcome. Hollywood tales of grief and relief tend to be too
tidy, the metaphors too clean, while the unruly emotion being presented is
rarely tidy or clean in real life. A good mess is called for.
Unfortunately, The Starling is not a good mess. Just
a regular old mess.
Matt Harris’s script never digs below the surface — not even
when Lilly is gardening. Melfi relies on the score to represent emotional
weight rather than leaning on his more-than-capable cast to depict that grief.
An anemic comic-relief subplot at Lilly’s gig managing a grocery store feels
wildly out of place and wastes real talent. (Timothy Olyphant has four lines –
funny lines delivered via a character that should be on a TV sitcom, not in
this movie.)
O’Dowd — who was the absolute picture of grief in John
Michael McDonagh’s masterful 2014 film Calvary – fares the best with the
material. Even though his character’s resolution feels unearned, there is heft
in the performance that allows human emotion to overcome a weakly written
character.
McCarthy suffers most, though. Unable to ad lib her way toward elevating a drama, she sinks beneath the unrealistic banter between Lilly and Kline’s Dr. Larry. Kline is solid, strangely aided by Harris’s weak characterization, which allows the actor to find a groove that conveys more than what’s on the page.
Moments of genuine emotion punctuate the film and, while welcome, they mainly serve as a reminder of what The Starling had the potential to become.
