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Lizard King

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Godzilla: King of the Monsters

by Hope Madden and George Wolf

Must we destroy everything that challenges us, or is humanity’s only salvation an intentional and aggressive thinning of our herd?

Or is there another way?

Nope, this is not the plot of the last two Avengers movies. Well, I mean, it is, but it’s also the basic underpinning of the monster movie that has always had societal anxieties on its mind.

Born in 1954 of a society reeling from nuclear annihilation, Godzilla was a parable of a world in need of a new god to save it from war and science. Sixty five years later, Godzilla: King of the Monsters recognizes that it’s not just the military and scientists who are destroying us. It’s all of us.

Columbus, Ohio’s own Michael Dougherty (Trick r’ Treat) takes the reins of the king of all kaiju franchises, grounding tensions in family drama and bombarding the audience with monsters, explosions, nuclear monsters, nuclear explosions, good-sized leaps of logic and so much nonsensical dialog.

Kyle Chandler is the handsome, damaged, underwhelming white guy at the center of things. Lucky, because the rest of the cast—primarily women and people of color—can’t quite figure out how to move forward without him to articulate the plan for them.

They talk about it a lot, though. Even when machines are in the midst of exploding, someone has the good sense to tell us, “Something’s wrong!”

When people aren’t droning on with exposition and explanation, we’re treated to plenty monster on monster action—exactly what Gareth Edwards’s 2014 Godzilla did so well. Unfortunately, for all the very cool Titans that director/co-writer Dougherty has to work with, he can’t create a thrilling fight sequence. There are lots of loud noises, plenty of toothy close ups and bright lights galore, but as for distinguishable monster bodies following a logical battle trajectory – nope.

In fact, repeated mentions of activity on “Skull Island” only remind you of the tonal and visual bullseye of Kong: Skull Island, a comparison that does not work in this Godzilla‘s favor.

Longtime kaiju aficionados should appreciate Dougherty’s clear respect for genre history – as well as Bear McCreary’s wonderfully retro score – but this new King is just treading water.

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Screening Room: Aladdin, Booksmart, Brightburn, Shadow, Non-Fiction, The White Crow

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A veritable smorgasbord of films available this weekend – something for every appetite. We run through Aladdin, Booksmart, Brightburn, Shadow, Non-Fiction, The White Crow and all that’s new in home entertainment.

Listen to the full podcast HERE.

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College Prep

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Booksmart

by Hope Madden

Every generation has its pivotal high school graduation film: Superbad, Say Anything, 10 Things I Hate About You, Grease, High School Musical 3.

I mean, not all of them can be classics. Making her feature debut behind the camera, Olivia Wilde hopes to join the ranks of the classics with her smart, funny, raunchy yet quite loving tale of two besties preparing to go their separate ways, Booksmart.

Amy (Kaitlyn Denver) and Molly (Beanie Feldstein) approach the last day of high school with a certain earned swagger. Both have been accepted into the Ivy League by dedicating their previous four years to little more than study and each other.

And every other soon-to-be graduate? As Molly’s morning ritual self-help tape says, fuck them in their fucking faces.

So, this movie is very definitely R-rated, FYI. But it never loses a sweet silliness, rooting its episodic adventures in a believable bond between two true talents.

The catalyst for their one wild night? Molly realizes at the last possible minute that her classmates all seem destined for just as much post-high school greatness as she, and they also managed to have fun. They had it all, while she had only study and Amy.

And there is just one night left to rectify that wrong.

From a script penned by four (Susanna Fogel, Emily Halpern, Sarah Haskins and Katie Silberman), Wilde spins a female-centric story without abandoning the fun, the idiocy or the laughs you hope to find in this very specific kind of film.

Wilde’s confident direction leans on her leads’ chemistry to drive what could otherwise be a string of sketches. Instead, taken together they provide a riot of color, laughter and misadventure that celebrates sisterhood.

She and her leads are helped immeasurably by one of the strongest casts assembled for a teen party movie. Billie Lourde (Carrie Fisher’s daughter) steals every scene she’s in. Meanwhile Skyler Gisondo and Molly Gordon are both very solid while adults Jason Sudeikis, Will Forte, Lisa Kudrow and Jessica Williams all deliver in small roles.

Some of the bits—Williams’s teacher trajectory, in particular—feel too random, an overall tone that occasionally threatens the narrative. But Wilde’s instinct to keep each situation invested more in the friendship than the sketch pays off.

There are definite missteps. For as much thoughtfulness as the film directs toward the emotional longing of its lesbian protagonist Amy, the movie’s gay male characters are exaggerated stereotypes. Disappointing.

Comparisons to Superbad are unavoidable, particularly since Feldstein’s brother Jonah Hill starred in Greg Mottola’s 2007 high water mark. And while Booksmart may not quite hit that target, Wilde’s comedy is the most fun flick to join the party since McLovin and the Lube.

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You Can Dance if You Want To

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The White Crow

by Brandon Thomas

When I think about ballet and film, I drift toward the easy ones: The Nutcracker, Billy Elliot and The Red Shoes. Of course it’s also fun to throw Black Swan and Suspiria into that mix as well. The visual lullaby of those films is present in The White Crow, but with a dash of political intrigue.

Rudolf “Rudy” Nureyev (Oleg Ivenko) has poured hours of blood, sweat and tears into crafting himself as one of Russia’s premier ballet dancers. A prestigious tour of France gives Rudy his first glimpse of life in the mysterious “West.” All at once, this arrogant, naive and inquisitive dancer is thrust into a culture that opens his eyes and reinforces his already rebellious nature. Despite having no concern for his home country’s politics, Rudy is forced to make a contentious choice when those same politics threaten to destroy his career and his life.

On paper, The White Crow sounds like pure, unadulterated Oscar bait. It has all of the trappings: a scrappy young protagonist, a period setting, an actor as director and, most importantly, it’s set in Paris! Thankfully director Ralph Fiennes (yes THAT Ralph Fiennes – Voldemort himself!) has more on his mind than that short golden statue.

On a character level, The White Crow succeeds at diving right into Rudy’s laser-focused psyche. Dance is Rudy’s life and everything else – including people – exist only on the periphery. He claims to not care what people think, yet he fishes for praise from his renowned dance instructor (Fiennes himself). Rudy’s drive and the enormous chip on his shoulder are born out of his ultra-humble beginnings in rural Russia, and the sense of inadequacy this has instilled in him.

Casting Ivenko, an already famous Ukrainian dancer, adds a level of authenticity that would be missing had Fiennes gone another route. The long shots of Rudy dancing allow the audience to buy into the character’s self-proclaimed skill. The passion and emotion behind his movement pour off the screen.

Fiennes shows a sure and steady hand behind the camera. The movie jumps back and forth in time, and the filmmaker uses this to present each period in a different aspect ratio and style. The scenes depicting Rudy’s youth are shot in “scope” widescreen and use a more classical, static approach. The cold, stark landscape of his youth is brought to life with minimal emotion, but heightened visuals. This is contrasted with Rudy’s story as it moves into adulthood and his travel to France. Fiennes isn’t afraid to let the camera get close – or allow it to become more intimate.

The balance of visually impressive and focused filmmaking, along with deep character analysis, makes The White Crow one of the most interesting dramas of the year thus far. 

For Your Queue

I Don’t Want to Go Out – Week of May 20

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The year’s first real candidate for the best animation Oscar is available to watch at home, so do yourself a favor and take advantage! Couple of others, too – we’re here to help you make tough choices.

Click the film title to read the full review.

How to Train Your Dragon: The Hiden World (DVD)

The Upside

Isn’t It Romantic?

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Not All Dogs Go to Heaven

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A Dog’s Journey

by Cat McAlpine

An alcoholic single mother (Glow’s Betty Gilpin) falls out with her dead husband’s family and struggles to juggle her floundering music career and responsibilities with her precocious young daughter (Abby Ryder Fortson, and later Kathryn Prescott). Is this a harrowing tale about the resilience of women and the litany of roles they must play?

Nope. This is A Dog’s Journey, sequel to the controversial 2017 hit A Dog’s Purpose. And the single mother is the bad guy – for many reasons, but largely because she doesn’t like dogs.

The film is based on the book sequel of the same name by W. Bruce Cameron. Cameron also penned the adaptation for film, with the help of three other writers. It took four people to write this movie.

I’m a strong believer that you should judge a movie within the genre it exists. A dog movie, for example, probably shouldn’t be judged against the same standards as, say Mad Max: Fury Road.

And yet, I can’t work A Dog’s Journey into a sphere where it achieves any kind of quality. This script reads like the bullet points from a rejected Hallmark channel feature. This film has less compelling dialogue and character development than Netflix’s notoriously bad A Christmas Prince.  The human action only exists to serve up easy hits for a dog’s inner monologue about butts and bacon, but the action somehow also needs to be compelling enough that a dog’s spirit continually reincarnates.

To trick you into thinking this film is emotionally developed, they kill the dog at least four times, because anyone will cry at a dying dog. That’s the schtick in this series. If a dog loves you enough, it never truly dies, it simply returns as another dog.

What is this world, where it’s always golden hour and the river bank is littered with perfect clusters of sunflowers? Do these characters actually exist in a purgatory – where despite a perfect pastoral backdrop, nothing can truly die, and all living creatures remember their last violent death?

There’s an opportunity for a third movie which takes a sharp left into existential sci-fi horror, but I doubt that script would resonate with the crowd at my showing who repeatedly chuckled at Bailey (voiced by Josh Gad) rooting for romance with his catch phrase “Just lick faces already.” Maybe the existential sci-fi horror was that I had to watch this film in a room full of people who enjoyed it.

The reality is, people did and will enjoy this movie. It’s filled with easy to identify archetypes. It’s clear who the bad guys and the good guys are. There’s a bad mom, childhood hijinks, an abusive boyfriend arc, a car chase, a move to New York to “make it”, and a cancer scare and recovery all in 108 minutes.  This movie requires zero brain power to consume because it’s a bland amalgam of all the unremarkable scripts that came before it – but with Gad’s sickeningly sweet puppy voiceover throughout.

I don’t know if dogs go to heaven, but I do know I’ll be seeing this film in hell.

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Rules & Consequences

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John Wick: Chapter 3—Parabellum

by Hope Madden

John F. Wick.

You have to tip your hat to a filmmaker who understands his strengths and plays to them. For Chad Stahelski, I think you just have to take the hat off entirely.

Kickboxer turned stunt man turned stunt coordinator turned helmsman of a phenomenon, Stahelski returns for his third tour with Keanu Reeves as dog-loving assassin widower John Wick for Chapter 3—Parabellum.

The great thing about chapters is that no one expects them to tell a whole story, and since storytelling and acting are not the strongest suits in this franchise, Stahelski wisely sharpens his focus on what is: action.

A breathless Act 1 (with a truly inspired use of the New York Public Library) picks up the moment John Wick 2 ends, mercifully dispensing with the need for exposition. In its stead, balletic mayhem.

The plot of sorts: Wick is in trouble with the guardians of the world’s assassin guild, approximately every third human in NYC is a hired killer, and there is a $14 million bounty on his head. Where can he go? What can he do?

These are questions Stahelski and his army of writers have fun answering with ludicrous, violent, exhausting, carnage-strewn glee.

Inside of 10 minutes it was clear that this is the best film of the trilogy.

Welcome new faces Anjelica Huston and Asia Kate Dillon cut impressive figures, though Halle Berry feels out of her depth and a clear sound stage representation of Morocco is the only clunky set piece in the movie.

Ian McShane, Lance Reddick and Laurence Fishburne return. Wisely, Stahelski lets these guys mete out most of the dialog. I’d wager Reeves utters fewer than 30 lines total.

Again, play to your strengths.

Dan Lausten’s camera ensures that you know when Reeves does his own action, most of which is choreographed and captured in long, fluid, serpentine shots with a lot of broken glass. Man, their easy-shatter glass budget must have been through the roof!

The Fast and Furious franchise didn’t become tolerable until it embraced the fact that it was a superhero series, abandoning all reason and logic and just jumping cars from the 100th floor of one building to the 100th floor of another. Luckily, it didn’t take John Wick six films to take flight.

For Your Queue

I Don’t Want to Go Out—Week of May 13

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Bunches of movies out this week in home entertainment, and a couple of them are quite amazing. Here’s the whole run down.

Click the film title for the full review.

Apollo 11

Her Smell

Meow Wolf: Origin Story

Fighting with My Family

Cold Pursuit

Charlie Says

Happy Death Day 2U

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Pack Animal

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Dogman

by Hope Madden

Cinema is full of lovable losers, but every so often an actor so fully inhabits a character that you can almost forget the film around him. He is no longer a disposable source of comedy or pity, but an living, breathing, bleeding human you must root for: Philip Seymour Hoffman’s Scottie in Boogie Nights, Robert De Niro’s Rupert Pupkin in The King of Comedy, Dustin Hoffman’s Ratso in Midnight Cowboy.

Marcello Fonte just leapt onto the list with his deeply flawed, deeply human and beautifully realized dog groomer Marcello in Matteo Garrone’s latest, Dogman.

Slight, fidgety and endlessly kind-hearted, Marcello loves his dogs, his daughter and the neighbors in his grey little seaside slum. Sure, he sells a little coke on the side, but he doesn’t want to cause any trouble.

Unfortunately for Marcello, the behemoth Simone (Edoardo Pesce, utterly brilliant) is nothing if not a lumbering mountain of trouble.

After his darkly delightful 2015 fairy tale outing Tale of Tales, Garrone returns to the heavier Italian realism of Gomorrah. He hasn’t abandoned allegory, though.

Given his nation’s political history and current leanings, it isn’t tough to draw metaphor from the tale of an unthinking bully and the population who cows to him. (This is not a tough metaphor for Americans to fathom, either.)

Not that it pulls attention away from Marcello. The film has themes of the classic Western, a good man pushed to dark means to protect what he has. But in this case, Marcello is an almost feminine presence among the cash-for-gold shop or video game arcade owners who share his strip of town. Marcello is liked, if not exactly respected.

Childlike is what he is, a pack animal but never the alpha. As his story progresses, Garrone’s tight grip on the narrative and its visual emphasis turn the film from that of an underdog’s struggle to something sadder and grander.

As hope mixes with hopelessness, Dogman raises questions it never really answers, and ultimately feels wearily confused and disappointed by people.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LI2JE_xjAaY

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Pika Pika

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Pokémon Detective Pikachu

by Hope Madden

When my son was small and we played pretend, I made believe I was Snorlax so I could lay on the couch and do nothing. Does that make me a bad parent? Well, a lazy one, anyway, but the point is, I logged countless hours on that couch watching all manner of pocket monster.

I was dragged unwillingly into the world of Pokémon. No, I am not exactly the target audience for Pokémon Detective Pikachu (read: I am in no way the target audience for this movie). But, when Pikachu (voiced by Ryan Reynolds at his Ryan Reynoldsiest) says, “Mr. Mime is the worst,” I know enough to understand that shit’s the truth.

So, there is a plot. It involves loads upon loads of daddy issues, primarily (but not exclusively) those that hang over Tim Goodman (Justice Smith). In looking for his father he falls into a mystery involving a Pikachu who is not only adorable (he admits as much himself at least twice), but is also connected to Tim. Tim can understand him.

For the uninitiated, Pokémon just repeat their own names over and over and over again in a manner that makes you want to take your own life, and yet you tolerate it because you really do love your son.

But not this Pikachu! Sure, others can only hear his cute “pika pika,” but Tim can hear actual words, and those words are telling Tim, in a humorously snarky way, that he needs to unravel this mystery and work on his interpersonal skills.

Bill Nighy shows up as an entrepreneur/philanthropist/genius. Meanwhile, Ken Watanabe languishes with bafflingly limited screen time as a detective who is, let’s be honest, not very good at his job.

Kathryn Newton is a plucky would-be investigative journalist, her trusty Psyduck in tow. (Note: Psyduck is also the worst.)

Part of the entertainment value here is the genuine fondness for the content director Rob Letterman and his army of screenwriters bring to the table. Good looking CGI, committed performances and a solidly comedic but not too ironic tone also help.

The film doesn’t shoot over the heads of the youngest fans, does embed scads of references and homages for those there for nostalgia, and throws around enough kid-friendly Reynoldsisms to entertain parents who mercifully missed out on Pokémon Gen 1 and 2.

Is it a colossal waste of Ken Watanabe’s talent? Oh God, yes. Terrible.

But honestly, otherwise I don’t have a lot of complaints.