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Carnal College

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I Want Your Sex

by George Wolf

Even when a Gregg Araki film does not work for me at all (hello, Kaboom), I’m interested in his next move. Whatever he’s up to, you can make a safe bet it will be audacious, horny and pretty damn fearless.

I Want Your Sex is all that and a bag of charming.

Cooper Hoffman is a damn delight as Elliot, an affable, mop-headed goofball who’s thrilled to get a job working for Neo-pop artist Erika Tracy (Olivia Wilde, fantastically self-absorbed smoke show). Erika deals in frank sexuality, and waits a full week before giving her new assistant a no-nonsense, carnal proposition.

What’s Elliot to do? Yes, the studious Minerva (Charli XCX) is his girlfriend, but to her sex is an uninteresting chore, so….it’s DTF time!

Erika gets a new sexual muse, and Elliot gets to broaden his, ahem, horizons in various kinky ways. Though co-workers Vikktor and Zap (Daveed Diggs and Mason Gooding, respectively letter perfect) consistently roll their eyes at Elliot’s naïveté, he’s pretty okay with Erika’s benefits package.

That is, until there’s blood, a body, and two detectives (Margaret Cho, Johnny Knoxville) wanting answers.

Araki, who also co-writes with Karley Sciortino, crafts much of the film as a mystery told via shifting timelines. But each step in the Elliot/Erika relationship is so engaging you forget there are two cops ready to pop in with more questions. They can wait a hot minute, because Araki and company are having too much fun with this neon-colored tapestry of sexual mores, hipster sweat shops, Harold Robbins novels and penis rugs, all wrapped around frisky exclamations and hilariously droll asides.

Hoffman and Wilde are a down and dirty joy together, and their natural, committed chemistry gives the film a sweet, dare I say even sentimental layer I wasn’t expecting.

I was expecting the sexcapades, and all the usual Araki flourishes. But even while pushing all of these fetish boundaries, I Want Your Sex may be his most accessible film. And most thoroughly enjoyable.

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Good Sized Potatoes

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Spider-Man: Brand New Day

by George Wolf

Looks like our boy has gone and grown up. It happens.

When Tom Holland stepped into the Spider-Man suit nearly a decade ago now (!), he was 21 but looked 15, which was perfect. Peter Parker was a kid again, and that fact alone grounded the new franchise with a freshness and naïveté that was utterly charming.

It also gave the young man and his super alter ego plenty of room to grow. Spider-Man: Brand New Day raises the stakes with both familiarity and surprise, delivering a more adult-themed adventure that will thrill , satisfy and occasionally frustrate.

Peter has settled into his life as a friendly neighborhood hero, helping Detective DeWolff (Liza Colon-Zayas) bust bad guys even as she advises him to take some time off and quit being married to his job as a super friend. But, of course, the work takes his mind off of the fact that girlfriend MJ (Zendaya) and BFF Ned (Jacob Batalon) don’t even know him anymore.

And much like plenty of Superheroes before him, Peter begins to show sides of himself that even he doesn’t recognize. Severe headaches grow more frequent, and parts of his high-tech spider suit begin to malfunction as a very dangerous, and very elusive new villain emerges. And just when Peter needs to know who he can trust, everyone from Frank Castle/Punisher (Jon Bernthal) to Bruce Banner/Hulk (Mark Ruffalo) to a couple other recognizable names I won’t mention may have conflicting loyalties.

Director Destin Daniel Cretton (Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, Short Term 12, Just Mercy) takes the franchise helm from Jon Watts, providing a winning pace and engaging visual style. After some well-placed nods to the youthful Spider-Verse aesthetic early on, Cretton buoys the maturation of the character with a more streamlined, focused approached to some really terrific action sequences. And while plenty of the CGI is appropriately super, Hulk’s facial features seem to have taken a curious step back.

Franchise screenwriters Chris McKenna and Erik Sommers return, giving credible weight to the introduction of themes that should be plenty familiar to superhero fans. Yes, some of the dialog banter lands as a bit forced and the humor is understandably downplayed this time out, but a few good moments of laughter find their mark – including a turn of the phrase “meager potatoes” which I now plan to work into daily conversation.

Holland still provides the heroic anchor, and he’s just so good with this character it appears effortless. His chemistry with Zendaya (duh) and Batalon is warm and real, and he makes Peter’s journey to becoming his own hero an organic and rewarding one. He’s still friendly, but now there’s a sense of loss and inner turmoil that makes the victories more sweet and well-earned. With Brand New Day, calling him Spider-Man doesn’t feel like a kid playing dress up anymore.

And those are good-sized potatoes.

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Shut Up and Plot Your Revenge

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Motor City

by George Wolf

Man, if you can hang with Motor City for about an hour and fifteen minutes, you’ll get one damn fine action sequence. Suddenly violent, increasingly bloody and eventually downright grisly, it’s an impressively choreographed and well shot set piece.

It’s also curious, considering the film surrounding it is a pretty tedious exercise in navigating a needless hurdle of its own making. And needle-dropping some sweet 70s hits.

The theme is simple enough: revenge. Ex-con John Miller (Alan Ritchson) is on probation and trying to toe the line in 1977 Detroit. He pops the question to his honey Sophia (Shailene Woodley) and things are looking up. But then Sophia’s gangster ex-boyfriend Reynolds (Ben Foster) frames John with a staged drug bust, and back to the slammer he goes.

So how does director Potsy Ponciroli (Old Henry) refresh the familiar idea from writer Chad St. John? By crafting Motor City as a nearly dialog-free thriller propelled by mood and music.

That “nearly” is the first curious bump in John’s long road to payback.

The few bits of dialog that are here just end up drawing attention to how hard the film is trying to get credit for telling most of this story without words. And it just isn’t necessary. Scenes that should naturally have organic conversation do not, and the strain of keeping the silent device intact is just too obvious.

I mean, do it or don’t. Since there is some dialog, Ponciroli’s commitment to visual storytelling ends up feeling more gimmicky and forced.

Foster and Woodley are customarily fine, Ritchson continues to show raw talent and real charisma, and Pablo Schreiber makes a perfectly menacing henchman. The soundtrack choices from Jack White (who also has a cameo) are on point, too, which helps keep the boredom at bay when the story just takes too long getting down to business.

And though revealing just what derails the finale would be too much of a spoiler, the result is anticlimactic and just plain silly.

But man, that one elevator scene shows just how much action potential is wasted in Motor City.

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Songbird Out Of Hell

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Hadestown: The Musical

by George Wolf

For the next week at least, Greece is most definitely the word at your local theatre.

While Christopher Nolan’s take on The Odyssey is wowing critics, audiences and box offices, the movie version of Broadway smash Hadestown combines the Greek tragedies of Orpheus and Eurydice and Hades and Persephone with an irresistible, jazz-infused treatment that dazzles from the opening glimpses backstage.

Screening in theaters for five nights only beginning July 24th, Hadestown unveils the “pro-shot” film capture of a reunion performance from last year in London. The five leads reprised their roles in the multi award-winning production, with veteran filmed stage feature director Brett Sullivan bringing new life to stage director Rachel Chavkin’s original vision.

Tony Award-winner Andre De Shields is a mesmerizing tour guide as Mr. Hermes, our host who explains “the road to hell is a railroad line,” as Anaïs Mitchell’s Tony and Grammy Award-winning score begins working it’s toe-tapping magic.

Young lovers Orpheus (Reeve Carney) and Eurydice (Eva Noblezada) face an uncertain future due to their life of poverty. When King Hades (Patrick Page and his delicious baritone) arrives to bring his wife Persephone (Amber Gray) back to the Underworld and usher in a harsh winter, Eurydice is intrigued by his offer to end her hunger and suffering. Urged on by the Fates, Eurydice signs Hades’s book and leaves Orpheus for a new life down below.

But Orpheus will not give up his quest to bring Eurydice home, and his commitment inspires Persephone to plead his case to her husband, leading to the legendary offer Hades extends to the couple for a final chance at their freedom.

Mitchell updates the classic myths with a timely parallel to our current chasm between the privileged and the struggling, and Sullivan bolsters that theme with a wonderfully active showcase for Rachel Hauck’s Tony Award-winning set design. Anchored by a rotating center stage with one circle descending to the Underworld, the set extends the movement outward to the dancing Fates, the terrific jazz musicians upstage and the frequently pacing Mr. Hermes.

Sullivan mines that sweet balance between framing the totality of the audience view with the more intimate moments a camera allows. Overplaying this hand would betray the innate beauty of a pro shot experience, but here the pushes only accentuate the emotion of the performances, the detail of the production design and the richness of the costuming (bonus points for turning Page’s cane and walking boot from an Achilles injury into a menacingly cool addition to the Hades swagger).

And much like its mythological sister The Odyssey, Hadestown‘s extended length (2h 21m) only gives you more time to relish the experience. The brief screening window (remember, only five nights beginning this Friday) however, does not.

So don’t miss your chance to bask in the joy and pain, tragedy and hope that Hadestown finally brings to the big screen. And get ready to put those jazz hands together, early and often.

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Mighty, Mighty Neighborly

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The Invite

by George Wolf

For a film set almost entirely inside one apartment, The Invite covers an awful lot of ground. It’s a trip through performative banter and anxious glances to repressed feelings, emotional honesty and possible new beginnings.

And it’s funny, in ways that are often relatable, revealing, and a good bit awkward.

Adapted from Cesc Gay’s The People Upstairs (stage play, then movie), the film finds Angela (Olivia Wilde, who also directs) and Joe (Seth Rogen) finally ready host their upstairs neighbors Pina (Penélope Cruz) and “Hawk” (Edward Norton) for dinner.

Well, Angela is ready, and schoolgirl nervous. Joe insists she didn’t tell him it was tonight, so he didn’t get any wine, and you know what if they come over he just might ask them to please tone down all those wild sex noises.

No! Joe can’t do that. Pina is so pretty, and Hawk is so cool! Angela just has to impress them and at least pretend that she and Joe are as happy as they are. Or at least as they seem to be.

It’s all polite laughter and rug compliments at first, but slowly the adapted script from Will McCormack and Rashida Jones begins probing old wounds, petty grievances and provocative possibilities. The cast wrings emotion from the dialog with the zest you would expect from a veteran foursome such as this. Cruz and Norton are effortlessly suave and sexy, while Rogen is the grumpy fly buzzing around the cheese tray and Wilde is the frazzled host desperate for the night to play out as she planned it.

It won’t. And everyone is better for it.

Wilde’s direction seems equally intent on bringing movement to this static setting, and for the most part she succeeds without showy desperation. Windows, doorframes and mirrors are carefully utilized in several shots, giving a visual boost to the emotional distance – or growing attraction – between characters.

It all works in wonderful unison for this wonderfully adult comedy/drama…okay I’ll say “dramedy.” Funny, biting, poignant, and surprising, The Invite speaks to how easily longtime couples can drift apart, and the hard fought honesty it takes to stick things out.

Plus, some people really like rugs.

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Wizard of Aaahhs

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Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass

by George Wolf

You think Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass is just about a small-town Kansas woman in ruby red shoes traveling to Hollywood on a quest to have sex with Jon Hamm?

Get hip to the subtext, man! It’s also a film about a tragic bullfighting fatality, John Slattery pulling out a man’s eyeball while imitating Howard Cosell, a nefarious plot to dismantle the corrupt global financial system, a mailman’s beef with his overcharging roofer and Henry Winkler’s role in the deadly consequences of a briefcase mixup.

But yes, this hilarity is centered around Gail (an irresistible Zoey Deutch), a fresh faced and endlessly upbeat hairdresser excited to soon marry her childhood sweetheart Tom (Michael Cassidy). But when a local book signing leads Tom straight into the legs of his celebrity sex pass, Gail’s best friend Otto (Miles Gutierrez-Riley) knows there’s only one thing to do.

Gail has to come with him to the big hair show in L.A., and settle the score with her own chosen wizard of aaahhs – Mr. Jon Hamm.

Director/co-writer David Wain (Wet Hot American Summer, Role Models) and co-writer/co-star Ken Marino (veteran comedic support standout) have created a relentless assault of silliness that delivers a consistent string of smiles, yuks, laughs and belly laughs.

Beyond the multiple nods to the yellow brick road adventure, Wain and Marino lampoon celebrity culture, paparazzi, the Hollywood bubble and various movie genres with winks, nods and relish, tossing in several surprise cameos to boot. Deutch proves again that she is a versatile talent with serious comedy chops, and the wide-ranging ensemble (led by Marino, Slattery and a delightfully understated Ben Wang) offers fun from every angle.

Gail Daughtry is an unhinged cult leader in waiting, with a vibe that is set from the opening minutes. Ride it all the way through the credits (and one final Wiz bang) to score the funniest film of the year so far.

Outtakes

Disclosure Stay

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The Outer Threat

by George Wolf

Even if Spielberg’s latest alien adventure left you a bit frustrated, you might think twice about turning to The Outer Threat to scratch that E.T. itch.

That’s not to say it’s a terrible movie. But while Disclosure Day leaned into the extra-terrestrial question the more it went along, The Outer Threat does the opposite, ultimately becoming more of a family-based race against time and tech.

Scientist couple Daniel (Ready or Not‘s Mark O’Brien) and Michelle (Constance Wu, Hustlers and Crazy Rich Asians) live out in the country with their two teen kids (Calista Crowe, Isaac Smelcer-Zhang). They’re not married, and if Daniel keeps abandoning his family to search for signs of alien life in his underground lab, they won’t be any time soon.

This time he swears it’s different, though. Really. He finally has proof we are not alone. Too bad no one at NORAD is listening to him anymore.

And even when Daniel’s newest findings convince Michelle, she implores him not to..ahem…disclose the news to anyone. But in an impulsive moment, he emails the data to a trusted contact and instantly becomes the target of a mysterious threat.

In his debut behind the camera, writer/director William Woods crafts a competent ride full of paranoia, cautionary tales and family bonds. The cast is trusty and believable (William Fichtner’s second half cameo is an added bonus), but the third act moves the film closer to a softened young adult thriller assembled via well-traveled plot points and surface level messaging.

To say what films The Outer Threat will bring to mind is probably saying too much, but this is one where the trailer teases some closer encounters than those actually delivered.

Still, need a mild, 90-minute diversion with the kids? The Outer Threat will be perfectly fine and pretty forgettable.

Outtakes

Shotgun Wedding

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Enola Holmes 3

by George Wolf

The air of Enola Holmes has only gotten fresher since the franchise debut in 2020. While more and more star-studded streamers carry the obvious stench of algorithm engineering, the formula at work in these Netflix installments seems perfectly suited to keeping the attention of home viewers.

First off, EH3 presents a headline-grabbing mystery: Enola’s legendary brother Sherlock (Henry Cavill) has been kidnapped! And the timing couldn’t be worse, as Enola (Millie Bobby Brown) is trying to fight off serious doubts about her upcoming marriage to Lord Earnest Tewkesbury (Louis Partridge).

“Yes, he has a first name,” Enola tells us. “I was surprised, too!”

Brown’s ease with the fourth wall is just one part of her irresistible embodiment of this role. The personal invitation into Enola’s life and adventures is welcome, and Brown gives us a heroine that is endlessly fun to root for as we follow along.

Sherlock’s kidnapping means the dashing-as-always Cavill is more out of sight than last time, allowing Brown the focus she more than deserves. Her Enola wants to get married, yes, but she also wants to keep the name and standing she’s worked hard to attain. Enola is smart, heroic, flirty and romantic, a pretty super girl in her own right.

Director Phillip Baratini and writer Jack Thorne (both from Netflix’s Adolescence) make sure Brown gets the chance to show all those sides of Enola. And while the mystery may play out a tad too conveniently, the visual aesthetic bursts with interactive sleuthing and multimedia pop-ups that are consistently engaging.

The returning support cast (including Helena Bonham Carter, Himesh Patel, and Hattie Morahan) adds to the wonderfully frisky chemistry of the entire ensemble. Part three also allows some nostalgia for how these characters (especially our engaged couple) have grown, giving the film some sweet moments of emotion.

Forget about Sherlock’s kidnapping, Enola Holmes may be solving the mystery of holding a streaming audience without condescension or spoon-feeding. And once again, that’s a formula worth repeating.

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Fight the Pain Away

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Supergirl

by George Wolf

Look, Kara Zor-El (Milly Alcock) isn’t some goody-goody like her cousin Superman, okay? She’s a hard partying rock chick rockin’ a Blondie t-shirt and a wiseass attitude on her 23rd birthday, so F-you! She’s not about go and join young Ruthye’s (Eve Ridley) quest to avenge her parents’ death at the cold-blooded hands of space villain Krem (Matthias Schoenaerts).

But then Krem shoots Krypto full of a slow-acting poison, and suddenly Kara’s got 72 hours to find Krem, get the antidote, and save her beloved dog from back home.

There’s also a sex trafficking ring to bust up, so add Fury Road to John Wick, Star Wars, Alien, multiple Westerns and various other inspirations you may spot. And while at this point, finding an entirely original stylistic angle for your superhero film may be damn near impossible, this familiarity is one of the things keeping a pretty satisfying adventure from reaching the stratosphere.

Director Craig Gillespie (I, Tonya, Lars and the Real Girl, The Finest Hours) overcomes some occasionally wonky CGI to craft several winning sequences of action, backstory and world building, but often undercuts the growing momentum by bailing out too soon. The surprising dive into the demise of Krypton adds narrative heft, but dropping it between the grimness of The Dark Knight and the giddy excess of Birds of Prey keeps any distinct tone elusive.

Through all of it, Alcock (House of the Dragon) keeps our titular hero wonderfully grounded. Writer Ana Nogueira’s debut screenplay may be filled with familiar themes of grief, destiny, revenge and female rage, but Kara has specific reasons to be wounded. Alcock makes sure we appreciate the character arc that turns Kara’s defense mechanisms into Supergirl’s defense of truth, justice, and…you know.

Alcock finds a way to make us care about the girl, whether hunting down Krem (Schoenaerts is a wonderful, facially-studded psycho), fighting alongside Lobo (Jason Mamoa, gleefully hamming it up) or feeling sweetly big sisterly to the resourceful Ruthye.

And more importantly, Alcock’s scenes with David Corenswet’s Superman cement the film’s biggest win: giving Kara the agency for her hero to stand as more than just a sidekick. This girl’s truth is separate from her famous cousin. Supergirl makes no apologies for making that clear, with an uneven but ultimately effective introduction.

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I Can’t Live Without My Radio

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Lucky Strike

by George Wolf

The song that plays over the closing credits of Lucky Strike couldn’t be a more appropriate choice. Co-written by Rod Lurie, who also co-wrote and co-directed the movie, the theme is passionate and well meaning. It is also overwrought and heavy handed.

So again, perfect for this film.

By all accounts, Lurie (The Outpost), co-director Todor Kotzev, co-writer Marc Frydman and their fellow producers have gone to great lengths to ensure this film gets the thumbs up from WWII historians. From the jeeps to the artillery, the terrain and beyond, the clear aim of the production was to create an authentic bridge between recorded history and battlefield reality.

And on the note, Lucky Strike hits the mark. An authentic feel for the characters being developed proves a much harder target.

Scott Eastwood takes the lead as Capt. John Castle, who in December 1944 is ordered by his superior (Colin Hanks in a brief cameo) to oversee the blockade of a road in the Ardennes forest often used by German soldiers.

Castle and his team come under heavy fire, eventually leaving John and his invaluable radio “Lassie” – which will become even more valued later on – alone behind enemy lines.

Based on true events from the legendary Battle of the Bulge, the film becomes one man’s journey of commitment and survival, as Castle sets out on the 30km trek to safety in Elsenborn, Belgium.

As correct as all the details may be, the writing and direction never miss the opportunity to overplay a hand. Despite some tense and well orchestrated one-shot action sequences, much of the dialog lacks nuance, the editing and reaction shots continually aim for the back row, a third act twist isn’t hard to see coming, and there’s even the inclusion of an actual pale horse (apparently ridden by subtlety).

Eastwood shoulders a big load but doesn’t show the family gift of understatement, and cannot elevate any of this material. Only the great Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor, as a grieving mother in some touching bookend scenes with Eastwood, can give the film a fleeting layer of humanity.

Lucky Strike needed more of that. There’s plenty to respect here on a technical and historical level, but any true emotional connection is lost in the wilderness.