Category Archives: New In Theaters

Reviews of what’s out now

New In Theaters

Random Acts of Comedy

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Monuments

by Hope Madden

Random is good. Random is fun. It can be frustrating after a while, but it certainly isn’t boring.

Writer/director Jack C. Newell takes us on a not-boring road trip alongside Ted (David Sullivan) and his wife Laura’s (Marguerite Moreau) ashes. He stole the ashes from Laura’s weird family who never did like him, but they’d stolen the ashes from him in the first place so it probably wouldn’t have become a police matter if Ted hadn’t stolen that car while he was at it.

The thing is, Ted keeps seeing—even talking with—Laura, and he thinks she’s here to help him figure out what to do with her ashes.

So, that’s the gist: Ted does not know how to move on without Laura and this road trip will move him toward some kind of closure. It will also involve near-Lynchian dance numbers, shadow puppet displays, and no real sense of direction.

The aimlessness suits the character—Ted is lost, metaphorically and often literally. It works less well for the film. The final moments of Monuments leave you with the sense that something has been accomplished. Its meandering nature and basic structurelessness leave you wondering what.

Sullivan gives off a charming, goofy Nathan Fillion vibe—rarely a bad thing, and certainly the style of performance best suited to this laid-back, screw ball, existential comedy. Still, those are a lot of adjectives for one film, and they don’t necessarily fit together that well. Here’s where Newell gets himself in trouble.

There should be sadness here. Underneath all the zany moments and haphazard adventures, a rumble of grief should constantly threaten to break the surface. Without that genuine human soul, the humor doesn’t ring true and the random setups feel forced.

As solid as Sullivan is, when it does finally come time for Ted to mourn, to face his own desperate lonesome loss, the actor fails. Worse still, his insincerity feels like a joke itself, mocking what is ostensibly the entire core of Ted’s breakdown and the catalyst for his behavior.

If this irony led to some kind of absurdist “What’s really the point of it all?” theme, maybe it would have been worth it. Instead, it just feels random.

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Satanic Panic

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The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It

by Hope Madden

It’s been a long wait for a lot of movies. The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It has been baiting horror fans with its provocative trailer for well over a year. It is finally here.

We open on an exorcism going awry. The torment of wee David Glatzel, (Julian Hilliard of WandaVision, relentlessly cute in oversized glasses) brings the Warrens (Vera Farmiga and Patrick Wilson) to Brookfield, Connecticut. But it isn’t they or the generally useless Father Gordon (Steve Coulter) who rid the boy of his affliction.

No, David’s not free until his sister’s boyfriend Arne (Ruairi O’Connor) tempts the demon to take him instead. And here’s the thing. Children in peril are heartbreaking but grown men can do a lot more damage.

Arne’s story is pulled from the Warrens’ files. Ed and Lorrain Warren were real people. (They did not look like Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga, although Farmiga’s costume work is spot on.) They were ghost hunters who profited from and fed the flames of the Satanic panic of the 1980s. That’s not really anything to be proud of, but it has led to several solid haunted house movies including any number of Amityville Horror films, as well as James Wan’s excellent 2018 film The Conjuring and its adequate 2016 sequel.

Based loosely on the real-life trial of Arne Cheyenne Johnson, whose murder defense claimed demonic possession, director Michael Chaves’s film takes a different approach to its scares than the previous efforts. Rather than trying to expel a demon from a home or a person, Ed and Lorraine go sleuthing to find the sinister Satanist responsible for cursing poor Arne.

Farmiga and Wilson remain the heartbeat of the franchise, their skill and rapport offering something akin to believability that grounds the utter ridiculousness of each story. We believe that Lorraine and Ed believe, which makes it easier to suspend our own disbelief.

Even though it’s hard to believe a gifted clairvoyant could fall for some of the human treacheries afoot in this film. There are some fine performances, creepy images and a few inspired frights, but they don’t make up for the film’s weaknesses. The investigation gives the narrative a sprawling, disjointed structure and the Satanism angle makes the whole film feel silly.

Chaves joined this universe with perhaps its weakest effort, 2019’s The The Curse of La Llorona. He’s hit about the same middling mark with this one.

The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It takes on the legal system but unfortunately abides by the law of diminishing returns.

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Primal Scream

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Gully

by George Wolf

Well, that escalated quickly.

Ron Burgundy may have played that line for laughs, but when the boys in Gully give in to their rage, things couldn’t be more serious.

Or devastating.

Jesse (Kelvin Harrison, Jr.), Calvin (Jacob Lattimore) and Nicky (Charlie Plummer) are three teens in a rough L.A. neighborhood who don’t have much use for anything besides violent video games and partying, or anyone besides each other.

They skip school, do drugs, and only seem enthusiastic when they’re trashing a store or living vicariously through video violence.

In fact, through the film’s first act you’re tempted to label this as a hackneyed attempt by director Nabil Elderkin (a music video vet helming his first feature) and writer Marcus J. Guillory (a TV vet with his first screenplay credit) to blame video games for society’s ills.

But hang on and strap in, that’s far from what these filmmakers have in mind.

To say the three friends have had traumatic upbringings is being far too polite. Each has weathered a uniquely hellish situation, leaving them all on the precipice of manhood with little hope for the future.

As Nicky fights with both his mother (Amber Heard) and his pregnant girlfriend (Zoe Renee), Jesse dreams of life without his abusive father (John Corbett) and Calvin struggles with his mental health and the meds pushed on him by his mother (Robin Givens), the boys make a shattering discovery and the fuse is lit.

They begin a 48-hour rampage of wanton violence and calculated revenge, and it will not end well.

Elderkin makes sure the violence is in your face and packed with stylish grit, often blurring the line between reality and video game action. It’s an ambitious play that’s worthy even when it seems over the top, much like the contrasting tones brought by Greg (Jonathan Majors), an ex-con returning home determined to stay clean, and Mr. Christmas (Terence Howard), a homeless neighborhood philosopher.

This film is messy, angry, brutal and defiant, a primal scream that doesn’t much care if you think it’s nihilistic. Elderkin and Guillory have blazing guns of their own, and while they don’t hit every bullseye, there’s enough here to make you eager for their second act.

The world of Gully isn’t a pleasant place to be, and that’s no accident. But a confident vision and three terrific young actors leading a solid ensemble will make sure you’ll be thinking about what goes down here, even if you look away.

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Sex and the Sitter

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Deadly Illusions

by Rachel Willis

Something I’ve learned from movies is that if you’re going to hire a nanny, expect some professional lines to be crossed.

Such is the dynamic between Mary (Kristin Davis) and Grace (Greer Grammer) in writer/director Anna Elizabeth James’s erotic thriller, Deadly Illusions.

Mary is a novelist with a series of successful murder mysteries under her belt, but she hasn’t written a new one in a while. Her publisher is desperate to bring her back to pen a new addition. Mary’s reluctant, until her husband’s serious financial blunder makes the decision for her.

But who will take care of her kids while she writes? Enter sweet, innocent nanny, Grace.

The film’s set-up is slow to get going. It’s light on the eroticism and doesn’t feel like much of a thriller. The first act plods along, dropping the pieces into place as if aware we already know where this is going to go. It’s not a very compelling watch.

Things heat up in the second act, though not by much. We’re still waiting for the water to boil. The initial relationship between Mary and Grace quickly crosses into inappropriate territory. Mary takes Grace bra shopping and enters the dressing room with her. It’s predatory, though it seems the movie wants us to feel Grace is the aggressor in the scene.

As we simmer through, Mary’s creativity begins to interfere with her reality. As she loses herself in her new novel, she fantasizes about inappropriate activities with Grace. Or do those things really happen?

Things get weirder, and several clunky red herrings are dropped into the mix. This movie wants to keep us guessing, but it’s never enticing enough to make much of an impact.

Along for the ride is Dermot Mulroney as Mary’s husband, Tom. Mulroney is a capable actor, but doesn’t have much to do here – though his contribution to the film is more than that of the children whom Grace is hired to care for. You might forget Grace is a nanny and not Mary’s personal assistant.

Davis and Grammer have some fun with their roles, and their dynamic is curious if not entirely convincing. Grammer doesn’t have the chemistry with Davis that we need to be caught up in their relationship.

There are moments of enjoyment as the situations get stranger and the mystery more absurd, but overall, Deadly Illusions inspires more tedium than thrills.

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Unchained Melody

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Caveat

by Hope Madden

The room is dark, decrepit. A wild-eyed woman with a bloody nose holds a toy out in front of her like a demon slayer holds a crucifix. The toy – what is it, a rabbit? A jackalope? – beats a creepy little drum. Faster. Slower. Hotter. Colder.

This is how writer/director Damian Mc Carthy opens Caveat and I am in.

The woman is Olga (Leila Sykes), and we’ll get back to her in a bit, but first, we’re part of a conversation between the hush-voiced Barrett (Ben Caplan) and the foggy Isaac (Jonathan French). What can we tell from the conversation? They seem to know each other, Isaac’s had some kind of an accident, Barrett needs a favor.

The favor involves Olga, that house, and a long stretch of tightly fastened, heavyweight chain.

Dude, how good is Mc Carthy at this?

An expertly woven tapestry of ambiguity, lies and misunderstanding sink the story into a fog of mystery that never lets up. Isaac’s memory can’t be trusted, but he seems like a good guy. He looks like a good guy. Surely, he is a good guy! He’s just not making good decisions right now.

French shoulders the tale, and you hate to compare anything to Guy Pearce in Memento because who can stand up to that? No one, but still, Mc Carthy and French draw on that same type of damaged innocence and unreliable narration to stretch out the mystery.

Meanwhile, the filmmaker unveils a real knack for nightmarish visuals, images that effortlessly conjure primal fears and subconscious revulsion.

Caveat is not without flaws. Once or twice (when possibly channeling Mario Bava) Mc Carthy dips into camp unintentionally. OK, twice. These moments feel out of place in the unnerving atmosphere he’s created, which makes them stand out all the more. But it’s hardly enough to sink the film.

Mc Carthy does a lot with very little, as there are very few locations and a total of three cast members—all stellar. You won’t miss the budget. Mc Carthy casts a spook house spell, rattling chains and all, and tells a pithy little survival story while he’s at it.  

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Faith. Family. Football.

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Under the Stadium Lights

by George Wolf

Which is more likely to embrace the cliches inherent in sports: interviews or movies?

The sheer number of daily opportunities pushes the scale toward the Q&A, but while we’re waiting on the next superstar baller to “take it one game at a time,” Under the Stadium Lights scores one for the big screen.

Based on the book “Brother’s Keeper” (also the movie’s original title) by Al Pickett and Chad Mitchel, the film takes us inside the 2009 high school football season with the Abilene Eagles. The bitter taste of their playoff defeat the year before fueled the players and coaches as they made another run for the Texas state playoffs.

Mitchel (played by Milo Gibson, 6th son of Mel) was not only an Abilene police officer that year, he was also the Eagles team Chaplin. Through his “safe space” program, the players were encouraged to share the tough times they were going through off the field, and to lean on their football brothers for the strength to persevere.

That’s a commendable story. But director Todd Randall and screenwriters John Collins and Hamid Torabpour tell it with no regard for human shades of grey, which is a problem.

No doubt these mostly black and brown players did have troubling patches in their young lives, but the film paints the young men as one dimensional vessels strengthened by the good word of this white man. These are high school seniors, and there’s nary a word or thought about girls, sex or anything other than remaining vigilant in their virtue.

Don’t expect even a whisper about any systemic causes for the problems at home, either. While no one would argue the value in making good life choices, this is a bootstrap fantasy, where what isn’t talked about amounts to tacit approval of blaming the needy for just not working hard enough.

Often hamstrung by preachy and obvious dialog, the the cast does very little to elevate it. Save for the welcome presence of veterans Laurence Fishburne, Noel Gugliemi and Glen Morshower in small roles, performances alternate between hyperbolic over-emoting and emotionless cardboard.

Early on, though, the football scenes are a surprise bright spot. It’s actually charming that Randall forgoes cheesy reenactments for the real game films, but when he reverses that decision in the third act, the resulting clash gives the new footage an even more sterile and pretend quality.

A big congrats to the 2009 Abilene Eagles on what must have been a great season. But with Texas high school football on its mind, “lights” in its new title and no roster spot for nuance, the movie version will have you longing for Friday Night.

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Swimming in Romance

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Undine

by George Wolf

Christian Petzold is a filmmaker with an almost casual mastery of storytelling. Those stories may seem simple at first, but he fills them with deeply felt narrative shifts, taut editing and pristine shot selections that make every frame feel imperative, and propels them with characters full of mysterious obsessions.

And for anyone unfamiliar with Petzold (Barbara, Phoenix, Transit), Undine (oon-DEEN-uh) is a wonderful entry into the writer/director’s hypnotic style.

Undine (Paula Beer, simply terrific) works in Berlin, delivering tours and lectures on the city’s urban development post WWII. But when her boyfriend Johannes (Jacob Matschenz) leaves her, Undine pledges unity with an ancient myth.

She must take the life of this man who has betrayed her and then return to the water as a nymph.

Undine’s water obsession only gains more fuel with her next relationship. Christoph (Franz Rogowski, also stellar) is an industrial diver, and while he and Undine develop a deep, almost supernatural connection, she never truly lets go of Johannes, who has also moved on with another love.

As Christoph’s dives become more dangerous and Undine’s lectures begin to link the personal and historical, Petzold shapes the romance into a head-swimming mix of mythology, thrills and humor.

Like much of Petzold’s work, Undine is anchored by exquisite framing and lush cinematography (the underwater scenes are especially impressive), and driven by characters drawn with easy fascination. The film’s magic and mystery meet the romance and realism with undaunted confidence, delivering a tale that satisfies via the conventional and the celestial.

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Painful History

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American Traitor: The Trial of Axis Sally

by Hope Madden

A film about Mildred Gillars—better known as Axis Sally, American broadcaster based in Berlin during WWII—could be interesting. Gillars was an Ohioan and thwarted entertainer who found herself in Berlin just before the war. She threw her talents to Goebbels’s propaganda efforts and became one of the most popular radio announcers in the world, even in the U.S.

She was eventually tried for treason. But was it treason if she was no longer an American citizen? Was it treason if she was simply a voice talent, not the writer of the content? And even if she stood behind what she had to say, wasn’t that just free speech?

So much to dig into! And the director is Michael Polish, whose career is littered with underseen treasures like Twin Falls, Idaho, Northfork, and For Lovers Only.

Those gems were penned by Polish’s brother Mark. American Traitor: The Trial of Axis Sally was not. Michael co-wrote this script with first-time screenwriter Darryl Hicks, as well as Vance Owen, co-author of the book on which the film is based.

They do not possess Mark Polish’s poetic gifts.

They do have Al Pacino, though. As defense attorney James Laughlin, Pacino is Pacino—disheveled, fun, scrappy. He gets to deliver one of those passionate closing arguments you find only in movies. And he mines this dog meat of a script for a character.

Every moment he is off-screen is unendurable.

Meadow Williams takes the approach opposite Pacino’s, delivering an entirely superficial turn as Gillars. Part of this performance could pass for stoicism, but in flashback sequences of levity, she is painful. During her emotional breakthroughs, you may need to look away.

So, she fits right in. Aside from Pacino, the cast is uniformly awful. Some are worse than others. Thomas Kretschmann and Carsten Norgaard do not embarrass themselves as Goebbels and Gillars’s beau Max, respectively. As Laughlin’s in-court right-hand man Billy Owen, Swen Temmel does.

Pacino’s in his eighties and still makes about three films a year. Before this, it was The Irishman and Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood. Two out of three ain’t bad.

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City of Secrets

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Port Authority

by Brandon Thomas

Something about the magnetic attraction between opposites has captivated audiences for centuries. Whether it’s warring families, societal taboos, or just plain differing personalities, these stories stir up emotions as few others do. Port Authority might not end up being talked about in the same breath as Romeo & Juliet, Brokeback Mountain or The Notebook, but it’s a noble effort to tell a fresh and inclusive story.

An emotionally and physically battered Paul (Fionn Whitehead, Dunkirk) arrives in New York City fresh off the bus. One of the first people he sees outside of the Port Authority is Wye, pronounced like the letter Y (and played by trans actor Leyna Bloom), voguing with her friends. Alone in an unfamiliar city, Paul falls in with a rough crowd that performs questionable evictions and not-so-questionable shakedowns. After running into Wye again, Paul is unable to contain his attraction for her and they fall into a whirlwind romance. After finding out that Wye is trans, Paul must contend with his own feelings of inadequacy in regards to his family and his own identity.  

Thematically, Port Authority is simultaneously commenting on the idea of family and identity. Paul’s bruised appearance when we first meet him perfectly mirrors his equally battered psyche. The film gives us brief nuggets about Paul’s past with his mother, and his upbringing in various foster homes. Through Whitehead’s performance, it’s more than enough to know how damaged and untrusting this young man is. 

On the opposite end, Wye shows incredible comfort in her own skin – at least on the surface. Scorned by her biological family, Wye has surrounded herself with the family she’s created. It’s a wholesome glimpse at what Paul could have if he allowed himself to look inward. Her character comes dangerously close at times to only serving Paul’s growth, but Bloom’s captivating performance brings much passion and power to a slightly underwritten role. 

The success of Port Authority hinges primarily on the chemistry between Whitehead and Bloom, and they more than rise to the challenge. The two young actors bring a passion that any good romance needs to jump off the screen. The trauma both characters have experienced through their short lives is brought to life with a simmering intensity that both actors tackle so differently. They are subtle performances in a film that’s not always so.

Writer/director Danielle Lessovitz knows the story she wants to tell even if it’s a little bumpy getting there. The predictability in its structure (we all know Paul is going to get caught in his web of lies) doesn’t sink the film, but it does strike a certain, “Oh, we’re doing THAT?” chord. Her taut understanding of character arcs and casting help overshadow some of the more clunky story beats. 

The wonderful lived-in New York aesthetic (it’s executive produced by Marty Scorcese for Pete’s sake) helps the movie achieve a level of visual authenticity. The best NYC movies make the city itself a character – this one is no exception. The subways, the street corners, and the fire escapes all feel like extensions of Paul and Wye. 

Port Authority is a film that means well and mostly does well with its characters and cast. The story gets a little clumsy at times, but the genuine care shown for the characters more than makes up for any script blunders.