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We Got Blisters Yes We Do

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Backspot

by George Wolf

Yes, Backspot is a film about the drama surrounding members of an all-star cheerleading squad. But 2-4-6-8, you will no doubt appreciate a mindset that aims higher than a standard Young Adult pandering.

Riley (Devery Jacobs) and her girlfriend Amanda (Kudakwashe Rutendo) both cheer for their high school squad in Cananda. Riley hides serious anxiety behind her outward confidence, but she jumps at the chance to try out for the Thunderhawks, an elite team run by the no-nonsense Eileen McNamara (Evan Rachel Wood).

Assistant coach Devon (Thomas Antony Olajide, bringing some expert level attitude) lays down the law on day one: “Don’t sing that song, Come On Eileen.”

Okay, then.

Riley, Amanda and their friend Rachel (Noa DiBerto) make the cut, and with the championships looming in just two weeks, the girls are immediately thrown into an intense training regimen that will test their physical and mental limitations.

Director and co-writer D.W. Waterson expands her 2017 short as a mix of Whiplash, Personal Best and Bring It On. With writing that’s often smart and performances that are reliably authentic, Backspot urges you to respect the athleticism, commitment and battered feet of these competitors, while not shrinking from the problematic aspects of the competition culture.

Jacobs, returning from the short film, is terrific. Riley isn’t a shy YA teen just waiting for her specialness to be seen; she’s a real world young woman driven to succeed while trying to navigate the expectations at home, on the mat, and in her relationship with Amanda.

Wood digs into her gum-chewing taskmaster role with understandable relish. Because while Eileen delivers one of the film’s most pointed messages (“the world is not kind to weak people, especially people like us”), she’s not held up as an infallible beacon of integrity.

These shades of grey are welcome, and they help Waterson overcome a reliance on shaky cam closeups or moments when certain actions come with consequences that seem a bit too tidy. Bonus points for Amanda’s Ohio State sweatshirt.

And as the championship cheer action comes to a close, you may hit the showers thinking you’ve just seen a sports movie, a queer anthem or a coming-of-age dramedy, and you wouldn’t be wrong.

Which means there’s plenty right about Backspot.

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Woke Up Today and Chose Violence

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In a Violent Nature

by Hope Madden

When a filmmaker upends slasher tropes, the result often takes a comedic turn. Scream benefitted simultaneously from the audience’s effortless acceptance of genre staples and Wes Craven’s wicked sense of humor. Likewise, the absolute treasure of a meta-slasher Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon zeroes in on slasher cliches to generate fear and horror, laughter and empathy.

Chris Nash is not doing that.

After years making horror shorts, Nash writes and directs his first feature. Though In a Violent Nature builds its unstated plot on your knowledge of slashers, the filmmaker is not in it for laughs.

In a Violent Nature is unapologetically a slasher. A handful of young adults gathers in a secluded national park to camp. They are vaguely horny, annoying, drunk. One mourns some kind of recent tragedy. The fact that we will never get to know these characters by name seems fitting, since slasher characters are one-dimensional by nature. Why do we return to Crystal Lake year after year, sequel after sequel? It’s not for the campers.

We hear their inane chatter, their campfire stories, their bickering and flirtations, but just barely because we’re at a safe distance. We’re far enough from the fire that they can’t see us. In fact, it isn’t until the third act that we finally find ourselves more than a few feet away from the unstoppable killing machine whose point of view defines our story.

And even then, at the end, how far away could he be?

What Nash does with his retake on the slasher—utterly minimalistic except for the carnage, which is generally inspired—is both a deconstruction and loving ode. This movie loves slashers. It does not mock them, doesn’t wink and nod at what we accept when we watch them. Nor does it add any depth to them.

People watch slashers to see characters you don’t care about meet inventive, bloody death in a beautiful landscape. We watch slashers because death is comeuppance, it is coming no matter what, and it’s coming in the form of a hulking, horrifying mass with a tragic backstory.

The practical fx are glorious. The storytelling is clever in that the story tells you nothing, but Nash’s thoughtful direction is enough. If you don’t like slashers, you won’t like In a Violent Nature. If you sincerely do, though, this film is not to be missed.

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Amorous Amigos

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Guy Friends

by Rachel Willis

After Jaime (Kavita Jariwala) breaks up with her boyfriend of six years, almost every man with whom she’s shared more than one conversation suddenly professes their love for her in writer/director Jonathan Smith’s film, Guy Friends.

It’s a funny concept – the idea that men and women can’t be friends because all men want from their female friendships are relationships. Of course, just to throw us off our game a bit, Jamie’s closest friend is Ted (Justin Clark), who happens to be in love with Sandy (Katie Muldowney). In the midst of all the men throwing themselves at Jaime, Ted is a refreshing breath of normality. And Sandy provides the reality check Jamie needs to deal with her guy friends.

Smith’s writing is winning. The repetition of the men’s confessions of undying affection for Jamie lends itself to the bizarre nightmare Jamie finds herself in after her break up. She wants someone to listen to her as she mourns the loss of the man she thought was in it for the long haul, but these guys, these “friends”, all have tunnel vision. It’s as funny as it is annoying.

The overall feel of the film is less effective. The good script is hampered by a series of lackluster performances. Act breaks in the form of a documentary film interviewing women about their friendships are superfluous. They’re ham-fisted efforts to highlight the value of female friendship, something that’s balanced well in the actual film.

Jariwala bring a certain “every woman” quality to Jamie, but she’s not quite strong enough to carry the film. While most of the dialogue is great and aided by funny jokes, some of it stumbles over its unnaturalness. Several characters are introduced who aren’t given enough time to differentiate themselves. While this works for the guy friends (not ideal, but acceptable), it doesn’t work as well for the women who enter Jaime’s life. It’s hard to understand why they’re in the film in the first place.

But the film is enjoyable even so. Jamie is a well-rounded, believable character. Her confusion and innocence in finding out how her guy friends really feel is relatable. You’ve either been where Jamie is, known a guy like her guy friends, or have been that guy (even if you won’t admit it). Smith’s film is an imperfect but humorous look at how one woman deals with these guy friends.

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Part of Your World

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Ezra

by George Wolf

“The word ‘autism’ comes from the Greek ‘in your own world’. I don’t want him in his own world. I want him in this world.”

That heartfelt line in Ezra is going to hit home for many parents and caregivers, and it serves as the emotional core of a film that carves out some truly touching moments from a well-worn structure.

New Yorker Max (Bobby Cannavale) is a struggling standup comic who is co-parenting his autistic son Ezra (newcomer William A. Fitzgerald) with ex-wife Jenna (Rose Byrne). Max lives with his father, Stan (Robert De Niro), a former chef who’s now a doorman, and the two trade frequent barbs while Max and Jenna weigh the question of whether Ezra would be better off attending a special needs school.

Max can be an impulsive hothead, and when he misunderstands a conversation between Jenna and her boyfriend (Tony Goldwyn, who also directs), it leads to a series of unfortunate events and a three month restraining order.

And it takes a fraction of that for Max to break it because…road trip!

Max has landed an invite to do the Jimmy Kimmel show in L.A., so he and Ezra head cross-country while Jenna, Stan and numerous authorities try to track them down.

En route to the west, Max stops off to see an old girlfriend (Vera Farmiga) and his brother Nick (Rainn Wilson), which only adds to the stellar ensemble that elevates Tony Spiridakis’s script when it defaults to spoon-feeding and obvious sentimentality.

It’s great to see Cannavale again dig into a role that can showcase his range. Too often relegated to mustache-twirling cartoonish villains, Cannavale displays the talent that can make Max sympathetic, even when he’s a maddening mess.

Byrne delivers her usual, chemistry-filled excellence; De Niro scores with some crusty affection and understated humor (including a priceless ongoing gag about cookware); and the charming Fitzgerald ensures that the film’s big heart is consistently in the right place.

That place is here in our world, one filled with neurodivergent people of all manner and mannerisms. It’s a welcome message that Ezra delivers warmly, even if it’s a little too comfortable with convention.

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Authentically Hopeful

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Lost Soulz

by Christie Robb

When aspiring rapper Sol (Suave Sidle) is discovered by a touring band at a house party in Austin, Texas, he drops everything and takes off with them that same night to pursue his dreams. But what has he left behind?

Written and directed by first-time feature director Katherine Propper, Lost Soulz is a slow, dreamy road trip where Donald R. Monroe’s camera lingers over the exquisite and the weird.

It invites us to explore creativity and connection. And how the wounds from our past create reverberating ripples in our lives, even as we strive toward beauty and hope.

In the hands of another director, this movie could easily have become melodrama, even trauma porn. But Propper is restrained, elegant in her approach. The performances of her cast (mostly with few IMDB credits behind them) are natural, subtle, and effective. Sol is by far the most complex and nuanced. His relationship with the younger sister of his best friend (Giovahnna Gabriel) is endearing and a shrewd move on Propper’s part. What a great way to soften an ambitious young man’s character than to give him a spunky girl to care for.  Or an animal. And there are animals, too.

The music is pretty alright. Kinda lo-fi. Mostly chill. It’s original and performed by the cast. But what’s even better than the results is seeing the band members improv together, adding different vocal elements over beats, changing the words, mixing it up, adding layers, bouncing ideas off each other. Making something and having a good time while doing it. It’s a joy to watch.

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Nathan’s Inferno

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Pandemonium

by Hope Madden

An awful lot of films are preoccupied with what, if anything, comes after death. Pandemonium, the latest feature from French filmmaker Quarxx, takes you there. No guessing.

Nathan (Hugo Dillon) is our journeyman. As the film opens, he picks himself up from the road—a treacherous hillside lane shrouded in fog. Nathan eyes his overturned vehicle and can’t believe his luck, but soon sees the cyclist (Arben Bajraktaraj) he knows is pinned under the wreckage. Except he’s not. He’s fine and standing on the same roadside.

Come to think of it, Nathan feels pretty good, too, considering.

In a lot of tales, we’d work out the details with Nathan until we all come to the obvious conclusion that Nathan didn’t survive that accident. But Quarxx wastes no time. He knows that you know, and quickly he complicates the scene with a third crash victim and two doors. One looks inviting, beautiful even. The other does not.

What’s fascinating about the entire film, and Dillon’s performance, is the polite if reluctant civility, the resigned obedience. Nathan begrudgingly does what he’s told rather than fighting in a narrative move that’s simultaneous cynical and polite.

Nathan’s story is essentially the wraparound tale of an anthology. Early circles of Nathan’s hell involve witnessing the sins of others by way of two separate short horror films. The first, starring a psychotic little princess named Nina (Manon Maindivide, brilliant), is the highlight of Pandemonium. Told with macabre whimsy and no mercy, it’s a welcome dash of color.

The second short within the tale is also solidly told and a bit more desperate. Again, Quarxx’s tone changes as a grieving mother loses her grasp on sanity.

And then, back to hell with Nathan in yet another dramatic tonal shift. Within the span of a barely 90 minutes, Quarxx explores a number of wildly different horror styles, each pretty effectively. The final act is the weakest, and though it has merit as its own short, as a closing chapter for the feature it leaves a bit to be desired. 

But Quarxx is bound to hit on at least one tale that will appeal to every horror fan. It’s not a seamless approach, but it’s never less than compelling.

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On the Road Again

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Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga

by Hope Madden and George Wolf

From the dust and the waste of the Mad Max Saga has sprung many a fascinating supporting player: The Humungus, Auntie Entity, Immortan Joe. Only one commands an origin story. That look. That arm. That name: Furiosa!

George Miller follows up his epic action masterpiece Fury Road with a look at what made our girl tick, what turns of event turned her into the baddest of all badasses.

Writing again with Nick Lathouris, who co-write Fury Road, Miller invests more time in plotting than usual, creating a 15-year odyssey rather than a breathless and breakneck few day adventure.

Young Furiosa (Alyla Browne, Sting) is taken from the storied Green Place by scavengers, eventually landing in the care of vainglorious leader of the marauders, Dr. Dementus (Chris Hemsworth, creating a fascinating mix of loquacious pretension, reckless machismo and prosthetic nose). It’s the first stop of many on the savvy, silent one’s wearying journey toward fulfilling the two promises: the one she made her mother to return, and the sacred oath all in the Green Place make to keep the location forever secret.

Years pass, and Anya-Taylor Joy straps on the arm and the attitude for this prequel, her arc a suitable evolution from scrappy kid to determined adult to the undeniable warrior Charlize Theron perfected in the last go-round.

Miller remains as true to his vision of the wasteland as he was back in ’79’s original Mad Max, but there is a depth to the storytelling here that sets it apart. We’ve had four films to see what turned Max Rockatansky mad, made him what he is. Now Miller lays out a single story that serves as both a thrilling prelude to Fury Road and a rich origin story in its own right.

Plot does not take a front seat to action, though, so strap in for more glorious road wars.

Again wielding his patented punch-in closeups like a heavy metal power chord, Miller keeps a palpable sense of frenzied motion. War rigs take to the barren terrain while all manner of air and ground assaults constantly threaten from every direction. Miller and cinematographer Simon Duggan craft a wonderfully rich visual playground, while Fury Road editors Eliot Knapman and Margaret Sixel (Miller’s wife) return to make sure this trip feels equally immersive.

The very nature of this installment’s origin story removes the chance for the kind of singular narrative mission that helped elevate Fury Road to all-time great action heights. But anyone who took that ride knew there had to be a helluva story behind that buzz cut and metal arm.

There is, and Furiosa brings it right up to where the last journey began, in an often spectacular fashion that demands nothing less than the big screen.

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Grindhouse Grandma

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Queen of the Deuce

by Brandon Thomas

New York City in the 1960s and 1970s occupies its own special corner of film history. Films like Taxi Driver, The French Connection, and The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3 paint a vivid picture of Manhattan at the time. Long before chain restaurants, toy stores, and Disney actors lined the streets near Times Square, X-rated theaters, peep shows, and violent crime reigned supreme. Despite the roughness of the area, it was still home to a lot of people. Queen of the Deuce focuses on one such family, and specifically the matriarch who also just happened to run a mini porn empire. 

Director Valerie Kontakos’s documentary delves into the rich history of one Chelly Wilson as told in the present day by her children, grandchildren, and various other family members. Originally from a small Jewish community in Greece, Chelly left Europe for America before the start of World War II. After marrying, having children, and working a modest job, Chelly found herself the owner of property throughout New York City. By the time the early 1970s rolled around, many of these properties were X-rated theaters (one of which Chelly lived above).

Larger than life individuals often make the best subjects of this kind of documentary and Chelly Wilson is no exception. From the start, it’s easy to see why people were so drawn to her. She was magnetic, feisty, testy, and loving sometimes all in the span of a single interaction. Chelly’s family lovingly talk about how she held court in her apartment with friends, neighbors, and family. Everyone would be under her spell. Sometimes this may have even included members of the local mafia. 

Kontakos skillfully weaves tales of Chelly’s history and her present in the 1970s and 80s into the fabric of Manhattan of the time. Chelly was a woman who faced adversity from an early age, and the mean streets of New York weren’t about to intimidate her. There are low points in her story for sure, but much of The Queen of the Deuce is filled with stories of how loved and admired she was. 

Much of the film is filled with family videos and photographs that help to amplify the stories. This visual history is an enormous asset to Kontakos, who doesn’t have to completely fall back on standard talking head footage.

Queen of the Deuce does an admirable job of touching on the history of New York City of the time, but even better is how the film showcases the love and respect a family can share throughout the ages.

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What’s Up, Doc?

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Sight

by Hope Madden

Sight, the latest inspirational film from director/co-writer Andrew Hyatt (Paul, The Apostle of Christ; All Those Small Things), leads by example rather than preaching to the choir. It’s still a mishmash of a result, but it is a step in a better direction.

Terry Chen plays Dr. Ming Wang, a real-life eye surgeon whose foundation restores sight to many without the financial means to cover the surgery themselves. But Sight tells the story that leads to this philanthropic action.

The film opens on a press conference. Dr. Wang has just performed another breakthrough surgery, but his humility and stoicism keep him from enjoying the moment. This perplexes his wizened and good-natured colleague, Dr. Misha Bartnovsky (Greg Kinnear).

Kinnear spends the next hour and forty minutes with a perpetual half smirk, half grimace as he nudges Dr. Wang toward a little satisfaction, a little happiness. Maybe a date.

Most of that running time is actually spent with young Ming Wang (Ben Wang), who grew up during China’s Cultural Revolution with a passion to become a doctor. But when those in power start burning books, you know nothing good can come of it. His life becomes a nightmare that still haunts the adult doctor. Maybe if he can save one little girl, it will all be worth it?

That’s the core crisis in Sight, and it feels pretty forced, pretty made-for-TV, as does most of the film. There’s a great deal of exposition, loads of characters, endless flashbacks, all of it skimming the surface of the story. Every character has one note: benevolent, anguished, optimistic, supportive, or evil. No one gets to be human.

Hyatt’s approach is safe, his film superficial and earnest. And though the plot takes an unexpected turn—because life took an unexpected turn for Dr. Wang and his patient—Hyatt seems desperate to tidy up, to make the narrative fit the expected framework rather than embracing its messiness.

Dr. Wang has no doubt led a remarkable and inspirational life, and anyone who’s contributed this much good to the world deserves to be appreciated. Sight does that. It does far less as a film—as a stand-alone piece of art with depth and honesty. But it’s nice and it tells a nice, safe story.

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California Dream

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The Beach Boys

by George Wolf

Only one of The Beach Boys even knew how to surf. They had a fateful encounter with Charles Manson. Glen Campbell was a member for a short time.

Casual fans may hear some surprising new stories in Disney’s The Beach Boys, while longtime devotees will get a respectful and well-crafted overview that favors family over friction.

That family legacy started with California brothers Brian, Dennis, and Carl Wilson, cousin Mike Love and friend Al Jardine in the late 1950s. Neighbor David Marks joined for the first four albums before domineering family patriarch Murry Wilson forced him out. Campbell was the first to become a touring replacement while Brian stayed home to work his magic in the studio. When Campbell’s solo career took off, Bruce Johnston stepped in “for two weeks” and never left.

Directors Frank Marshall (From the Earth to the Moon, Jazz Fest: A New Orleans Story) and Thom Zimny (various Springsteen docs and videos) weave interviews old and new, archival footage and iconic music into a compelling pop culture tapestry.

Major sources of conflict in the band’s history – Murry’s bullying, Brian’s mental health and Mike Love’s ego – are addressed but not stressed. Instead, the film spotlights the importance of each individual contribution, and how they blended for a sound that can never be duplicated.

Music historians and contemporaries such as Don Was, Lindsey Buckingham and Janelle Monáe discuss how that sound defined a “California dream” that called to them and countless others. We see a creative rivalry with the Beatles, and how the cultural revolution of the late Sixties favored the Fab Four, while the Beach Boys popularity waned until 1974’s “Endless Summer” compilation hit #1 and reignited demand.

But much like a scaled-down version of Peter Jackson’s Get Back, The Beach Boys gleans insight from going into the studio, starting with Brian’s description of how his early obsession with the Four Freshmen led to building his vision of what the Beach Boys could do. Rare audio snippets of Brian producing are layered between interviews with legendary “Wrecking Crew” studio musicians such as Hal Blaine and Carol Kaye detailing how they came to realize Brian’s genius.

Then, an older but matter-of-fact Brian sits at a studio console, proudly isolating tracks to reveal the separate pieces of beauty required to create a wonder like “God Only Knows.” Joyous.

And that’s really the simple message The Beach Boys wants to leave us with, culminated by a tender and tearful surfside reunion. Strip away the infighting, the lawsuits, the drug use and the drama, and you find family, each member an integral part of finding that perfect, indelible harmony.