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Pleased to Meet Me

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My Old Ass

by George Wolf

If the assignment was to write a letter to your younger self, keeping in mind the painful mistakes you’d like to erase while illustrating John Lennon’s classic line “life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans” and peppering in some R-rated laughs, then writer/director Megan Park absolutely aced it.

My Old Ass is all of that and more, a smart, funny and surprisingly emotional comedic fantasy that ranks with the best coming-of-age films of the last several years.

In a breakout big screen debut, Maisy Stella (from TV’s Nashville) is completely captivating as Elliot, a restless just-turned-18-year-old more than ready to leave her family’s cranberry farm in rural Canada for the University of Toronto in just 22 days.

But after a wild and hazy birthday party with her besties, Elliot gets an unexpected visit from an old new friend: her 39 year-old self (Aubrey Plaza). It takes some unique convincing, but eventually Elliot has questions…and some weird requests. Her old ass has answers, thoughtful advice and one stern warning.

“Avoid. Anyone. Named. Chad.”

“Chad?”

Enter Chad (Percy Hynes White).

Three years removed from her standout filmmaking debut The Fallout, Park lightens the mood via a charmingly fantastical premise, but keeps the film grounded with a refreshing and authentic voice. There’s so much honesty here about appreciating the journey to finding yourself, and it’s all perfectly fleshed out by the contrast of Plaza’s jaded deadpans and Stella’s enthusiastic naiveté.

Yes, life is about having the courage to make mistakes and find out what and who you really want, but it still wouldn’t hurt to be a little nicer to your brother. One day you’ll appreciate the memory.

Not one moment of either performance feels false, a testament to Stella, Plaza and to the strength of Park’s script and directing vision. While none of the sentiments here may be new or even especially profound, give in to the slightly Twilight Zone setup and the way My Old Ass delivers its life lessons might just knock you on yours.

And bring tissues. You’ll need them for more than just cushion when you land.

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Smooth Operators

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Wolfs

by George Wolf (no relation)

Watch the trailer for Wolfs, and you hear Sinatra front and center.

But watch the movie, and it’s Sade time, baby.

I get that the Apple marketing department wants you to remember the fun of Clooney and Pitt’s Ocean’s Eleven franchise, but this new venture crafts its effective charm from a more seedy vibe.

New York D.A. Margaret (Amy Ryan) has a problem. She’s covered with blood in a swanky hotel with a much younger man (Austin Abrams), and he’s half naked on the floor with no pulse.

Plus, that’s a lot of drugs.

Margaret calls a fixer (Clooney), who promises to make it all go away. But it’s Pam (Frances McDormand) running the hotel and she has her own man (Pitt), who shows up with identical claims of problem solving.

The rival lone wolves have no intention of teaming up, but fate has other ideas. So it’s going to be a long and bumpy night.

Years before Reynolds and Jackman started their good natured ribbing, Clooney and Pitt owned the “fun frenemy” schtick, and writer/director Jon Watts reminds us that their charisma still has plenty of life.

The deadpan sparring is a mischievous hoot, as Margaret’s Man and Pam’s Man each strive to be too cool for competition while secretly pining for the other’s respect. Watts (Cop Car, the Spider-Man “Home” franchise, TV’s The Old Man) creates a nice counterbalance via the uncool “Kid” (Abrams is terrific) and backs up the snappy dialog with understated visual gags (one Man slowly peering around the corner at embarrassing moments) and some pieces of stylish, well-staged action.

There’s a winning air of confidence to the film, and it’s not just from two A-listers secure in their movie star status. Wolfs isn’t trying to re-invent any genres, but Watts displays plenty of skill with plot twisty intrigue.

These fixers aren’t leading a team of good-hearted thieves, robbing people who probably deserve it and righting old wrongs. Yes, they’re still unreasonably handsome, but they are shady characters with bloody pasts and clearly compromised moral codes. They are interesting, in a Tarantino sort of way.

And they are in one helluva mess. How dirty will they have to get to clean it up?

You may be surprised. Just don’t expect Vegas, and you’ll be entertained.

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Stardust Memories

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Close Your Eyes

by George Wolf

Thirty-two years later, Spanish auteur Víctor Erice returns with his fourth feature, Close Your Eyes (Cerrar los ojos), a patiently exquisite study of memory, identity, and the reflecting power of film.

Former film director Miguel Garay (Manolo Solo) spends his days in a fishing village on the coast of Spain. He reads, writes the occasional short story, and dodges the conspiracy theories that still exist about his old friend Julio Arenas (Jose Coronado).

In 1990, Julio was starring in Miguel’s film The Farewell Gaze when he disappeared without a trace. The mystery is being revisited on TV’s “Unresolved Cases,” and Miguel travels to Madrid for his guest appearance.

The broadcast prompts a call from a woman from an elder care home in another Spanish village. There is a handyman they call Gardel who tends the grounds and keeps to himself. She is sure it is Julio.

Miguel must confirm this for himself, and the journey back through his past includes reconnecting with his film editor (Mario Pardo), a former lover (Soledad Villamil), Julio’s daughter (Ana Torrent), and one painful, tragic memory.

Erice (El Sur, The Spirit of the Beehive) sets a pace that is unhurried but necessary, and he fills the nearly three-hour running time with exquisite shot making, insightful dialog and meaningful silences. He also crafts the film-within-a-film as a compelling narrative in its own right, one that adds important elements to the touching and deeply resonant finale.

Now in his mid-eighties, Erice makes Close Your Eyes more than just a rumination on “how to grow old.” Expertly assembled and deceptively understated, it is a beautiful ode to the pleasure, pain, friendships and memories of a life well lived.

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Matinee Rats

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The 4:30 Movie

by George Wolf

Maybe Kevin Smith saw Sam Mendes, James Gray and Spielberg all come out of the pandemic with reflections on their film-loving early years. Or maybe he just liked the taste of Paul Thomas Anderson’s Licorice Pizza.

Either way, The 4:30 Movie finds Smith looking back with wistful zaniness at a pivotal time in his own life: 1986.

High school Junior Brian David (Austin Zajur from Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark and Smith’s own Clerks III) just can’t quit thinking about that time he made out with cute Sophomore Melody Barnegot (Siena Agudong, the Resident Evil TV series) in her backyard pool.

For some reason, Brian didn’t immediately follow up on that makeout sesh. But now he’s ready to ask for an official date, and they make plans to meet for the 4:30 screening of Bucklick (which, based on the theater poster, is the original Fletch).

But how they gonna sneak past the crazy theater manager (Ken Jeong) and into an R-rated flick? Turns out that’s just one of the obstacles standing between these kids and a movie.

You’ve also got Brian’s two friends (Reed Northrup, Nicholas Cirillo), their favorite wrestling entertainer (Sam Richardson), a Hot Usher (Genesis Rodriguez, and that is her character name), false accusations of perversion and a string of Smith regulars (Jason Mewes, Rosario Dawson, Jeff Anderson, Justin Long and Jason Lee).

I’ve laughed hard at some of Smith’s earlier movies, respected his blunt self-awareness and appreciated the moments when his frenetic dialog lands with earned insight. Here, while some overt Gen X reminiscing – bolstered by the closing Easter egg and blooper reel – may have a warmth about it, the charming core relationship between Brian and Melody gets lost. We’re pulling for them, but all the tangential and unnecessary diversions just end up working against the crude honesty that has marked Smith’s best work.

Few moments transcend beyond nostalgia, while the only laugh out loud sequence comes from mother/daughter Jennifer Schwalbach Smith and Harley Quinn Smith in Sugar Walls, the first of Kevin’s fake trailers. The other 85 minutes or so find humor that’s as obvious and forced as the speech from Hot Usher that lights a filmmaking fire in a young nerd.

The 4:30 Movie is certainly the Kevin Smith-iest of the filmmaker’s memory lanes we’ve been down recently. It’s also the most fractured and frustrating. Let’s hope his future is more rewarding.

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Underdog Day Afternoon

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You Gotta Believe

by George Wolf

On the heels of last weekend’s Little League World Series championship (congrats, Florida!) comes You Gotta Believe, a generically titled, broadly brushed “based on true events” story of one of the most memorable runs in LLWS history.

It’s 2002, and Texas Dads Jon Kelly (Greg Kinnear) and Bobby Ratliff (Luke Wilson) are coaching the worst Little League team in Fort Worth, when they get an unlikely offer. To keep the local sponsors happy, Kliff Young (Patrick “You’re killin’ me, Smalls!” Renna, the first of a few callbacks to better baseball movies) has to send one team to the LLWS qualifying tournament…so whaddya say?

What could possibly turn these cellar dwellers into the Good News Bears? Thanks to writer Lane Garrison and director Ty Roberts, it’s a mix of some tragically bad news, and one shamelessly bad trope.

Coach Ratliff is diagnosed with aggressive melanoma skin cancer, giving his son Robert (Michael Cash) and the rest of the team what local card shop owner Sam (Martin Roach) says they lack: something to rally behind. Sam, apparently the only African American in town, also quickly turns the team’s pitcher into an ace. And though he doesn’t get a coaching offer, Sam still comes to the games to cheer for the boys while seeming to interact with absolutely no one else.

Magical? No, it’s crap.

As the “Westside All Stars” start winning, Garrison and Roberts keep the film perched on the edges of the faith-based genre. But while the preaching here is minimized, there is that familiar feeling of an audience being taken for granted. There’s little concern for depth or character development (Wilson doesn’t even pretend to go bald during his character’s courageous fight with chemo), an awkward singalong sequence, and a wait for authentic humanity that only ends when the real-life players show up in an epilogue.

Over 20 years ago, these Texas kids had an inspiring run in the face of tragedy, and since then have shown a commitment to cancer research. The story at the heart of You Gotta Believe is worthy. It’s just a shame that the storytelling thinks demanding we believe is all that’s required.

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Moth to a Flame

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Slingshot

by George Wolf

A small group of dedicated souls travel in deep space. Worn down by isolation and boredom, they start to question their commitment to the mission as they fight to keep a firm grip on reality.

Slingshot does not offer a groundbreaking premise. In fact, co-writer Nathan Parker took us on a similar ride in 2009 with Moon, a solid morality tale that pulled some of its punches on the trip home.

But here, it is the third act that rescues the film from the slog of familiarity, with director Mikael Håfström never completely tipping his hand until the last, well-executed reveal.

Casey Affleck stars as John, who is on board the Odyssey 1 with Captain Franks (Laurence Fishburne) and fellow crewman Nash (Tomer Capone from The Boys). They are 9 months into an Earth-saving mission to Titan, the largest of Saturn’s moons, but they will need to execute a tricky “slingshot” maneuver around Jupiter to make the trip successfully.

Trouble starts with adverse reactions to deep space hibernation. John sees visions of Zoe (Emily Beecham) – the love he left behind – while Nash becomes convinced the ship has taken on too much damage to complete the mission. Captain Franks is wondering if he can trust either one, and paranoia begins to envelope the Odyssey.

Performances are fine all around and set the stakes convincingly enough, as Håfström (Evil, The Rite) layers the romantic flashbacks with plenty of obligatory shots of Zoe rolling over and staring longingly from underneath the sheets.

Yes, yes, very nice. But what’s the endgame here?

Events get a welcome escalation once violence erupts. Håfström’s atmospherics help aid the tension and Affleck makes his character’s battle with sanity more believable than most. And though the script often invites you to catch on to what’s up, Slingshot finds an identity by seeing its vision through to the very end, a will-they-or-won’t-they moment that almost recalls the genius of Take Shelter.

Almost. But still pretty good.

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A Night at the Opera

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The Crow

by George Wolf

The Crow may not be over when the phat lady sings, but the film’s truly galvanizing moments are here and gone, leaving the rebooted super anti-hero story to return to its largely generic nature.

Director Rupert Sanders and a writing team that includes James O’Barr (from the 1994 original) keep the basic narrative intact. After the troubled Eric (Bill Skarsgård)and his equally troubled love Shelly (FKA twigs) are brutally murdered by henchman of the centuries-old Mr. Roag (Danny Huston), Eric travels through the worlds of the living and the dead on a bloody quest for revenge and possible salvation.

Though Sanders (Snow White and the Huntsman, Ghost in the Shell) gives more attention to the origins of the love story, the “soul mate” declarations still feel rushed and unearned. The entire narrative embraces more of a nihilistic tone, with just one moment of the angsty self-awareness that buoyed the first film.

The camerawork is often nimble and expressive, but Sanders and cinematographer Steve Annis (Color Out of Space) move away from crafting any unique, comic-inspired landscapes. Instead, the colliding worlds come to resemble a very dark, long-abandoned section of any major midwestern metropolis.

But, man, when we crash that opera, The Crow lands on its feet and kicks ass, as Eric takes on a barrage of goons and gunfire with a stunning, visceral brutality. Well-staged and perfectly flanked by the performance onstage, the extended sequence benefits from impressive choreography and effects work, giving the film its only truly memorable moments.

The rest of The Crow has a difficult time measuring up.

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Time to Check Out – For Good!

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Stream

by George Wolf

Violence and cameos. It’s not a bad business model – just ask Deadpool & Wolverine.

Stream offers a steady stream of both, inside a rollicking blend of familiar tropes and beloved icons that should make Gen X horror fans positively giddy .

Linda Spring (the legendary Dee Wallace) owns a cozy hotel in the Pennsylvania countryside, and it’s finally ready for the big reopening. Perfect timing, because Roy and Elaine Keenan (Charles Edwin Powell, scream queen Danielle Harris) need a vacation. So they round up their gaming-obsessed son (Wesley Holloway) and boundary-testing daughter (Sydney Malakeh) and head for the hills.

But not long after checking in with Mr. Lockwood (Re-Animator‘s Jeffrey Combs), the Keenan family finds themselves in danger of checking out permanently. Four masked murderers are gleefully hunting the hotel guests, and competing for creative kill points in a sadistic competition that’s being streamed for wagering.

Director and co-writer Michael Leavy (a producer on Terrifier 2) keeps the body count high and the welcome practical effects in focus, with obvious nods to The Purge, Cabin in the Woods and more as the hotel guest list reveals more fan favorites from horror and beyond.

There’s Tony Todd, Bill Moseley and Felissa Rose! Plus, Tim Reid (WKRP), Terry Kiser (Weekend at Bernie‘s), Mark Holton (Francis from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure) and more to keep you pointing at the screen like DiCaprio in that one meme.

None of this is very original or profound, and the two-hour running time would definitely benefit from a more firm editing hand. But if you’d gladly trade all that for more cameos and bloody, nostalgic fun, Stream delivers a satisfying getaway.

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Hug It Out

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Alien: Romulus

by George Wolf

2013’s Evil Dead proved that director Fede Alvarez could honor what made a franchise iconic, and still blast it with some new vitality. For me, his is the best in the deadite series.

No, I’m not saying Romulus is the new king of the Alien mountain, but it sits pretty comfortably at number three, right after the first two.

And it’s between those first two films that Alvarez, co-writing again with Rodo Sayagues, carves out a memorable place in the franchise timeline, two decades after the Nostromo crew answered what they thought was a distress signal.

We still fall in with a group of weary contractors from the Weyland-Yutani Corp., but this time they are twentysomethings who have grown up on a grim mining colony and never seen the sunlight. Rain (Cailee Spaeny, solid) and her brother Andy (a terrific David Jonsson) lost their parents “three cycles ago,” and it’s become clear that the chances of ever earning their release from Weyland-Yutani are slim to none.

But her friends Tyler (Archie Senaux), Kay (Isabela Merced), Bjorn (Spike Fearn) and Navarro (Aileen Wu) have a plan.

They steal the decommissioned Weyland ship that’s docked on the Romulus space station, reboot its hyper sleep program, and set off on a nine-year journey to a new life on a planet with sunshine.

But there’s something else waiting on Romulus. You know.

And Alvarez taps into what we know early and often, creating that instant layer of tension that comes from new characters discovering the “perfect organism” we’re already plenty familiar with. That familiarity also means there’s no need to spare the monster rum, so prepare for plenty of brutal alien action that harkens back to the glorious sci-fi horror of Ridley Scott’s original 1979 film.

The technical craftsmanship (save for one curiously shaky effect I won’t spoil) is stellar, as well. Alvarez leans on the expertise of cinematographer Galo Olivares (Roma) and sound designer Lee Gilmore (Prey, Dune: Part One) to create another gritty, foreboding aesthetic that reeks of desperation and terrifying breaks of silence.

As Rain and her crew start learning what they’re up against, Alvarez shifts gears to mirror the clock-ticking adventure thrills that James Cameron wowed us with in 1986’s Aliens. So yes, you will be reminded of past glory, but Romulus also has some clever and refreshing ideas of its own.

One of those is an ingenious twist on Alien lore that is so tense and visually compelling it is hard to believe we haven’t seen it before. Bravo. On a more philosophical level, the script is able to develop a fascinating contrast between humans and their “synthetic” counterparts, exploring how quickly some acid blood can change the nature of expendability.

But this is not another rumination on the Engineers and why they engineered. Romulus is back-to-franchise-basics, giving us a little more insight into the Corporation’s endgame with a reveal that leads to one humdinger of an Act Three.

And it’s how you accept what is waiting there, along with the film’s amount of fan service (for me, it’s one callback too many), that should cement your feelings about Romulus.

Credit Alvarez for another win. He knows what made this franchise work, and how to make it work again. Alien: Romulus is relentlessly tense, consistently thrilling, and one thoroughly crowd-pleasing ride.

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Growing Up Fast

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It Ends With Us

by George Wolf

In the years since the It Ends With Us novel was released, author Colleen Hoover has admitted that her main characters were just too young. That mistake has been corrected for the film adaptation, although leaving behind the Young Adult trappings isn’t quite so easy.

Lily Bloom (Blake Lively) is now in her mid-30s, and meets Dr. Ryle Kincaid (now late 30s – a much more logical age for any neurosurgeon not named Doogie Houser) on the roof of his Boston apartment building. Lily’s up there to reflect on the recent death of her father, while Ryle (Justin Baldoni, who also directs) is headed up to blow off some steam – our first clue that he has a temper.

He’s a chisled, forever stubble-faced playboy, while she’s the flower shop owning “girl you take home to Mama,” so their relationship takes time to build. This patience works in the film’s favor.

Baldoni and screenwriter Christy Hall (fresh off the smartly provocative Daddio) layer the present day romance with effective flashbacks to teenaged Lily (Isabela Ferrer) and her first love, Atlas Corrigan (Alex Neustaedter). Back then, they helped each other cope with violence at home, but his Marine commitment pulled them apart after graduation.

So imagine the surprise when Atlas (Brandon Sklenar) turns out to be the owner of the hot new restaurant that Lily’s bestie Allysa (Jenny Slate) loves. Jealousy only adds fuel to Ryle’s dangerous behavior, which pulls Lily into an all-too-familiar cycle of disfunction.

Lively’s committed performance goes a long way toward easing the awkwardness of the contrivances at play. She allows us to feel Lily’s caution, which makes her desperate feelings of guilt resonate when the “accidents” begin to happen.

Slate is always a treat, but the slightly kooky best friend character seems a bit forced here, as does Baldoni’s reliance on interchangeable pop songs to continue the conversation.

This is a conversation worth having, and the film does manage some moments of poignancy. It also wisely chooses Atlas to serve more as a reminder to Lily than her savior. But nearly every issue the film addresses – such as the circumstances that make it difficult for women to leave abusive relationships – are raised and lowered with an efficient tidiness that betrays the story’s beginnings.

It End With Us still has YA in its blood, after all. It’s older, wiser, and has learned some hard lessons, but ultimately finds comfort in the string-pulling formula they love back home.