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Stop Filming Me!

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The Running Man

by George Wolf

The mantra of this year’s The Running Man?

“When the stakes goes up, the shit goes down!”

And since 1987, which way have the original film’s stakes of weaponized disinformation, competitive cruelty and strategic class warfare been trending?

So enter director/co-writer Edgar Wright and star Glen Powell to get down to some dirty business in a pretty familiar dystopian future.

Powell is our new Ben Richards, who winds up on the The Running Man game show trying to win enough “new dollars” to pay for the care of his sick daughter and maybe even spring her and his wife Sheila (Jayme Lawson) out of the Co-Op City slums.

Producer Killian (Josh Brolin) likes the feisty cut of Ben’s jib, and is only too happy to start manipulating the game so Richards can become an engaging “final dude” for the cheering, bloodlusty hoards.

And this time, those common folk are joining the star “hunters” while the runners rely on underground friends and old, untraceable tech in trying to stay alive for 30 days.

In the Stephen King library, this material has always seemed like a more overt, in-your-face take on the themes he explored in The Long Walk. And while Wright avoids the high cheese factor of Arnold’s Running Man film, he keeps the lighter, glitzy tone that seems right for a game show aesthetic. Wright leans less on the trademark swipe cuts and wink-wink edits this time, but provides plenty of color splashes and engaging action set pieces to keep those eyeballs entertained.

Powell brings more than enough rogue-ish charm to make Ben a winning hero/anti-hero, Brolin is a perfect show biz menace and Colman Domingo is gloriously over-the-top as show host Bobby T. Both Michael Cera and CODA‘s Emilia Jones drive thru for some fun cameos, and the entire ensemble has no trouble keeping Wright’s vibe cooking.

Don’t expect subtlety. The moral lessons are clearly stated and the last act pulls in some explanatory (but nicely organic) speechifying before the crowd-pleasing finale. But hey, it’s telling us that those things we were worrying about almost 40 years ago have only gotten worse.

We already knew that. Might as well have some fun running with that fact for two hours.

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Keeping Secrets

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Keeper

by Hope Madden

Osgood Perkins is the gift that keeps on giving. In just 16 months he’s turned out three wildly different gems and a fourth is filming now. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves because we’d run the risk of under appreciating his latest, Keeper.

Tatiana Maslany (She-Hulk) is Liz, a New York City artist anxiously headed to her first ever cabin in the woods style excursion. She’s not really a country person, and she thinks maybe the fact that her soft-spoken doctor boyfriend Malcolm (Rossif Sutherland) gifted her a beige cardigan for their first big trip together might be a red flag. She’s afraid he’s married and she’s a side piece.

There’s something melancholy and broken and beautiful in the way these two actors play characters playing roles. Malcolm hangs Liz’s painting in his home and cooks and behaves romantically while looking as if he’s crushed under some sorrowful weight. Meanwhile Liz’s words and expressions never match, one cheerful while the other is tearful or vice versa. It’s an exquisite performance of two people pretending to be a happy couple when, indeed, perhaps their romance is a fraud.

This doleful charade nurtures an atmosphere of paranoia gorgeously amplified by Perkins’s hypnotically creepy aesthetic. The architecture of dark magic recalls his underseen Gretel & Hansel and show-don’t-tell exposition occasionally conjures I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House.

Perkins did not write Keeper, and there are times when his unsettling direction can’t quite overcome screenwriter Nick Lepard’s haphazard mythology. There’s a disquieting relationship analogy at work that does work, much thanks to Maslany’s gripping turn. Her commitment to this character’s experience elevates scenes that could otherwise have nearly felt unintentionally funny. But you never doubt Liz.

Keeper turns monster movie perhaps too abruptly and not as convincingly as it might have. For that and a couple of other reasons, the third act feels a bit cheap after such a trippy lead up. But it’s a gorgeous exercise in isolated horror and reason enough to remain excited for Perkins’s next movie.

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Strange Magic

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Now You See Me, Now You Don’t

by Hope Madden

I remember so clearly, back in 2016 when Now You See Me 2 came out, thinking—hold the phone, Now You See Me made enough money to merit a sequel?

Imagine my surprise a decade on finding that apparently there’s interest enough for a third episode, Now You See Me, Now You Don’t.

Is there reason to hope the third Magician Robin Hood film will be at least a fun spectacle?

Ruben Fleischer directs, which seems fitting because it was on his zom-com masterstroke Zombieland that NYSM co-stars Jesse Eisenberg and Woody Harrelson first teamed up. Both actors return to their tricky ways as egotistical control freak Atlas (Eisenberg) and amiable mentalist Merritt (Harrelson), working this time from a script co-written by Zombieland (and Deadpool) scribe Rhett Reese.

That all looks promising, but magic is nothing if not sleight of hand.

A lot of familiar faces from NYSM 1 & 2, plus three scrappy new magicians—Bosco (Dominic Sessa), Charlie (Justice Smith), and June (Ariana Greenblatt)—join forces to defeat diabolical South African diamond heiress, Veronika Vanderberg (Rosamund Pike).

Pike is perfect, effortlessly cutting the ideal figure as the elegant, narcissistic, ultra-wealthy villain. Smith once again charms as a self-deprecating nerd. Eisenberg seems like he might be in literal pain delivering this dialog.

And there’s a lot! At least 25% of Eisenberg’s lines are delivered as voiceover, while his character explains everything the viewer may not know about the last two episodes, the characters in the current episode, missing characters, the plan for the heist, the mysterious details even he doesn’t understand. If magic or moviemaking is about show over tell, Fleischer doesn’t know it.

What is a Now You See Me movie, really? It’s a heist flick plus magic plus social justice. At least one of those three elements is likely to please any viewer. But Reese’s script, co-written with Seth Grahame-Smith and Michael Lesslie, is nothing but exposition. Worse, Fleischer’s direction (and all that dialog) drains the wonder from every scene.

The film plays more like a Super Friends episode from the 1970s: lots of very colorful, one-dimensional characters and over-the-top villainy lazily packaged for mass consumption. Maybe I’d have enjoyed it more with a big bowl of Sugar Corn Pops.

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Rising Son

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The Carpenter’s Son

by George Wolf

There are plenty of great reasons to want Nicolas Cage in your movie. Downplaying it alongside a young Jesus probably isn’t one of them.

But writer/director Lotfy Nathan seems undaunted, and he guides The Carpenter’s Son around Cage’s often distracting presence for a Biblical tale rooted in a more historical approach.

Nathan has based his script on “the Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” one of the apocryphal writings by early Christians that describe events missing in the New Testament. Cage is The Carpenter, who smuggles The Mother (FKA Twigs, saddled with an underdeveloped role) and their infant son out of the city before King Herod’s officers can sentence The Boy to death.

The family lays low for years, but by the time The Boy is a teenager (Noah Jupe), whispers are starting to spread about his mysterious powers. How Nic Cage lays low is another mysterious question, with his neatly trimmed beard and distinctly American accent adding to the feeling that he may have wandered in from another set.

And early on, the film seems headed for a disastrous collision of awkward tone and misguided ambition. But slowly, as Nathan focuses more on The Boy’s growing friendship with The Stranger (Isla Johnston), a compelling narrative begins to emerge.

Jupe (Suburbicon, Honey Boy, A Quiet Place, Ford v Ferrari) continues to impress as a now young adult, and Johnston delivers a standout supporting turn of intrigue. With their relationship at the center, the film becomes a unique coming-of-age story that offers both a relatable humanity and a possibility of Divine Providence.

Another part of the curiosity around this film is just what audience Nathan is going after. The faith-based crowd will find moments of blasphemy while the non-believers will scoff at the silliness. Folk horror fans will question how it earned that label, and plenty more will be waiting for a Cage rage that never materializes.

While it’s not the trainwreck you’re afraid it’s going to be, The Carpenter’s Son can’t build anything that’s truly satisfying. The blueprint may be provocative, but the support system remains plenty wobbly.

Outtakes

Exit Light, Enter Night

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In Your Dreams

by Hope Madden

The delightfully juvenile humor that propels much of the new Dreamworks animated film In Your Dreams entertains. It also amplifies the tension between tween big sister Stevie (Jolie Hoant-Rappaport) and little brother, Elliot (Elias Janssen).

If the perfectionist eldest sibling is going to somehow get her parents to stay together, the last thing she needs is Elliot and his foul-smelling stuffed animal Baloney Tony (Craig Robinson) getting in the way.

But naturally, when Stevie makes a wish to find Sandman and make her dream of a happy family come true, somehow Elliot gets himself involved. Now Stevie can’t make her way through dreamland to find the Sandman without her pesky little brother.

In that way, In Your Dreams is sort of the Predator: Badlands of the grade school set.

Though the computer-generated animation is sometimes disappointing, the movie’s chaotic energy and humor while our heroes work toward finding the Sandman—plus a fun, splashy bit of hand drawn animation— are a blast. It’s during these dream montages that co-writers/directors Erik Benson and Alexander Woo (who write with Stanely Moore) are most inspired. It’s also where we get to spend the most time with Baloney Tony, easily the film’s funniest character.

As dreams of life among happily animated breakfast foods turn rancid under the influence of Nightmara (Gia Carides), In Your Dreams runs through a fun, funny, and often insightful set of dream sequences set to appropriate and fun needle drops.

The film’s themes are compelling and often insightfully rendered, and the storyline itself bears originality sometimes lost in family films. But once we finally reach the Sandman, the look, feel, humor and imagination seem to disappear. We build and build to Sandman, but he and his castle are bland and forgettable.

In Your Dreams never fully recovers, most of Act 3 feeling like a quick and easy escape route from the otherwise clever conceits in the plot. There are definitely laughs and fun sequences, but you may forget this one as quickly as last night’s dream.

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Makes the Dream Work

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Predator: Badlands

by Hope Madden

Whenever anybody ranks the Predator films—or the Alien films, for that matter—most episodes hold up moderately to well, except for those crossovers. Well, it appears filmmaker Dan Trachtenberg, who’s asked us to rethink so much about the Predator franchise, wants us to revisit that as well.

And why not? In 2022, the co-writer/director of Prey brought new life to a fun action thriller series that seemed to have worn itself out. And then, as we all waited patiently for his next sequel, he dazzled us with the bloody fun animated anthology, Predator: Killer of Killers.

Now Trachtenberg betrays a love of this franchise and a seemingly endless inspiration for its universe as he takes us on a trajectory begun when Paul W. S. Anderson first pitted the two most badass alien lifeforms against each other in 2004’s AVP: Alien vs. Predator. Because it was in this installment, weak as it was, that the rogue hunter learned the value of teamwork.

Predator: Badlands introduces Dek (Dimitrius Schuster-Koloamatangi), runt of his Yautja clan, banished unless he can return with his trophy: the Kalisk of Genna. But do you remember when Tom Hiddleston and his band of misfits landed on Skull Island in search of Kong, only to find out that everything on the island wanted to eat them? Genna is like that, and Dek is so full of rage, daddy issues, and insecurity that all he can think to do is beat his chest and lash out.

Luckily, what’s left of a synthetic being named Thia (Elle Fanning) knows the lay of the land and can help Dek survive the planet and find his trophy, so long as he carries her back to her legs.

Thia’s a bit of a Chatty Cathy, a personality tic that allows Trachtenberg and his co-writers, Patrick Aison and Jim Thomas, to clue viewers in on the planet, its creatures, and her own backstory as the budding frenemy relationship develops the film’s themes.

It’s fun. Fanning’s charmingly garrulous sidekick brings more lightheartedness to this installment than we’ve seen in previous episodes, but the action is fun and frequent. Expect plenty of bloodshed regardless of the PG-13 rating (it’s mostly beasties, some of them green blooded).

The film is often frustratingly dark, limiting the enjoyment of many set pieces, but the score is amazing and the depth of character is an unexpected pleasure. Predator: Badlands is not the best of the franchise, nor is it as ground breaking as Prey, but it’s a ton of fun.

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Mystery Girl

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Die My Love

by Hope Madden

Earlier this year, filmmaker Michael Shanks and real-life marrieds Alison Brie and Dave Franco examined man’s fear of losing his identity to couplehood in the weirdly romantic horror, Together.

Lynne Ramsay’s latest, Die My Love, looks at it from a slightly more skewed perspective.

For Grace (Jennifer Lawrence), the horror seems to be gradual disappearance, a total loss of who you were with no new version to take its place. A new home—well, old home inherited by boyfriend Jackson (Robert Pattinson)—in a new and isolated spot, and a new baby all seem to leech from Grace whatever it was that had held her together. Her attempts to contend with this vanishing, this mundane nonexistence, are a volcanic, often hilarious and just as often terrifying wonder from a phenomenal talent in top form.

The inimitable Ramsay, along with Enda Walsh and Alice Birch, adapts Ariana Harwicz’s novel. The loosely constructed narrative presents atmosphere and context more than plot. Grace and Jackson move into the now-vacated Montana home. It’s perhaps not ideal, but who cares? It’s theirs, it’s free, and Grace can write all day.

But she doesn’t, nor does she fit in (or try) with Jackson’s family. Boredom, new motherhood, sexual frustration, a negligent husband, and isolation all weigh on Grace, and in every instance, her reaction startles and fascinates.

Lawrence is fearless— that’s nothing new—but here she is alive, on fire. Funny and heartbreaking, fierce and merciless, aching but rarely vulnerable, Lawrence’s command of this film is breathtaking.

An impressive ensemble—Pattinson, Sissy Spacek, Nick Nolte, LaKeith Stanfield—exist more to offer opportunities for Lawrence to react than to craft full characters. But few directors can craft an individual scene, or string together scene after scene after scene, as transfixing as those conjured by Ramsay.

And her dreamlike creations seem always to nurture an unparallelled performance from some of the greatest actors working: We Need to Talk About Kevin’s Tilda Swinton, You Were Never Really Here’s Joaquin Phoenix, and now, Die My Love’s Lawrence, whose raw sensuality, anger, and sadness command attention.

The film’s lack of cohesion, of clear path or plot, weaken the effort. Die My Love is more character study than story, but Grace is a character that can’t be known. This is her burden and her glory, but an unknowable character makes for a tough study.

But, though you may walk away from Die My Love wondering what it is  you just watched, you’ll not likely forget what you saw.

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Everything Else Is Cleveland

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Lost & Found in Cleveland

by Hope Madden

Tennessee Williams once said, “America has only three cities: New York, San Francisco, and New Orleans. Everything else is Cleveland.”

The indie charmer Lost & Found in Cleveland wisely opens with that text on the screen, both signaling the film’s deeply midwestern sense of self-deprecating humor, and the universality of its set of small stories.

Filmmakers Keith Gerchak and Marisa Guterman spin intersecting tales of a handful of Clevelanders whose paths cross when the Antiques Road Show inspired program Lost & Found comes to town.

Nine-year-old Charlie (Benjamin Steinhauser), struggling to come to terms with his dad’s death and his mom’s new boyfriend, is desperate to authenticate a hand-written letter from President William McKinley. Mr. and Mrs. Sokolowski (Stacy Keach and June Squibb) have some plates to appraise. Mail carrier Marty (Dennis Haysbert) collects vases and longs to open a high-end restaurant in remembrance of his mother. Nouveau riche Sophie Mathers (Liza Weil) cannot wait until her newly acquired piece, an enormous sculpture of the goddess Juno, is belle of the Lost & Found ball. And Gary (Santino Fontana) needs to come to terms with the enormous and mortifying Aunt Jemima collection his Nana Noni left him.

Tennessee Williams may not have thought much of it, but Gerchak and Guterman clearly love Cleveland. You’ll recognize some landmarks from Superman, but this film isn’t pretending The Arcade or the Hope Memorial Bridge belong anywhere other than The Land. With equal parts humility and humor, the film glories in everything that makes the town so very Cleveland.

This roots the tales in authenticity, while performances and storylines allow each a bit of zaniness. Sometimes the writing crosses the line to sit-com simplicity, and not every performance convinces. And one dance sequence is a real head scratcher.

But with talent like Squibb, Keach and Haysbert, plus supporting comedic gold from Dot-Marie Jones, it’s tough to hang on to any hard feelings. Somehow the amateurish moments feel right. Accepting them is like accepting every burning river, horrendous sports season, missed opportunity and freak snowstorm. Anything more polished just wouldn’t be Cleveland.

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Tear the Fascists Down

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Nuremberg

by Hope Madden

There were many reasons to be hopeful for James Vanderbilt’s Nuremberg, chief among them its modern-day resonance and the satisfaction of watching Nazis suffer the consequences of their actions.

Vanderbilt’s impressive ensemble tells the true story of the global court case trying the Nazi high command for crimes against humanity. Russell Crowe delivers an almost fanciful turn as Hermann Göring, sparring with army doctor Douglas Kelley (Rami Malek), assigned to help the prosecution get inside the mind of the monster.

Vanderbilt adapts Jack El-Hai’s book The Nazi and the Psychiatrist, developing the relationship between these two characters as the film’s primary plot. A parallel storyline following Justice Robert Jackson (Michael Shannon) grounds the film in the importance of the trial and its single desired result: to annihilate pro-Nazi sentiment and the white supremacist authoritarianism that fueled it.

Richard E. Grant, John Slattery, Colin Hanks, and Mark O’Brien deliver solid performances, though the film would not have suffered by streamlining both O’Brien and Hanks entirely out of the movie.

Nuremberg‘s problem is not so much its length as its cumbersome scripting. To add the full (and imperative) B-story, the events and characters that orbit the psychiatrist and the Nazi should have been pruned.

Vanderbilt chooses showy direction throughout, cutting from one scene to the next with gimmicks that call to mind classic screwball comedies—a wild, almost horrific mismatch with the material.

There’s such obviousness to the telling of the tale, and not because we know the outcome of the trial but because the character points we shouldn’t know are telegraphed.

Now and again one brilliant line of dialog bursts through, which is almost as frustrating as the otherwise ostentatious script because there’s something here. Something worth telling, in need of telling.

But Vanderbilt buries it under forced emotion (when certainly none needs to be forced) and flamboyant staging. Hard as Nuremberg tries to connect the dots from past to present, it offers no insight. And that’s what’s most frustrating.

Hope Madden and George Wolf … get it?