Project Hail Mary

What if Stanley Kubrick was a big softie? What if the apes in “2001” hugged and fist-bumped and HAL was helpful? That’s Project Hail Mary – Lord and Miller’s sappy-sweet Hallmark card to space movies. Ryan Gosling’s solitary space quest is filled with so much techno-jargon jibber-jabber, it’s often impossible to figure out what’s really going on. “The dilithium crystals have decoupled from the flux capacitor! If I don’t bypass it in 3.2 nanoseconds the whole ship will careen out of orbit!” Thankfully, Daniel Pemberton’s score beautifully and skillfully reminds us how to feel and when danger is lurking - filling the atmosphere with curiosity and hope. It’s a gem. It’s the bee’s knees. The astronomy and biology of it all is probably pretty accurate. But how could we know? What ends up mattering above all else is that Gosling’s reluctant astronaut is able to communicate with “Rocky” the loveable alien who is thankfully not an asshole or an acid-blood monster so that together they can save the universe or whatever. It’s a movie about communication. When our current political reality constantly reminds us of the many myopic tyrants’ unwillingness to communicate, it’s nice to fantasize about a universe that can. See it in IMAX.

The Secret Agent

Beautifully filmed, but I’m not sure I understand enough about Brazilian history to get this. Wagner Moura, a solid, engaging leading man, plays three roles across three generations: father, son, and grandson. The cinematographic razzle-dazzle involves using old Panavision anamorphic lenses to achieve a richly nostalgic 1970s feel. That with the groovy hair and the funny shirts make this look like it’s a brand new movie from the 70s. Tracking the revolutionaries, corrupt cops, and an entangled cluster of pseudonyms gets confusing — especially with subtitles — and the running time compounds that, making my eyes glaze over. So it’s a demanding view. It’s an Oscar nominee, so I watched it to keep up. But I think I missed the boat.

The Bride!

I admire risk. In art it should be rewarded. But what if the risk is bad? What if it’s ugly or grotesque? What if it’s feverish and prickly? Should it be rewarded anyway? Director Maggie Gyllenhaal calls in favors for her cast: her "Batman" co-star, her Lost Daughter lead, her husband, and her brother. Like Frankenstein’s face staples, they cobble together this flood of feminist delirium, intending to assault the audience with radicalness. “What Mary Shelley would have said if she could,” might be the misguided thesis. Sure it’s risky, and the trailer was good. But the movie is icky and dumb. So how do I reward risk? I mean: they already have my money. What else do they want?