The Furious

Efforts are made to push the kung fu envelope in this, not always to entertaining effect. Many of the kung fu revenge fantasies seem to be based around human trafficking, and this is no exception. The villains punch and kick children, which means when our kung fu hero answers the call he’ll be justified when he rips their heads off. But it’s not really escapism. It’s kind of a bummer when the kids get abused, even if child trafficking and abuse is the official GOP platform now. Envelope-pushing also extends to the length and elaborateness of the brawls – trying to out-Jackie-Chan Jackie Chan. The mêlées go on way, way too long and you wonder why nobody’s out of breath (see Atomic Blonde). It suffices to say the extensive martial arts are really impressive but the plot is threadbare and grim.

Atomic Blonde

Revisited this brutal 2017 action mêlée. Charlize is so physical here, it’s hard to know how she could bear to show up for work every day. She doesn’t officially declare what she wants until the very end, which is atypical for an action movie, so it’s refreshingly different, if enigmatic. The soundtrack is a new-wave bonanza.

Caddyshack

Catching this vintage comedy in modern times is a bit weird. There’s a strong setting, but there’s barely a plot. The hero Danny has a goal at the beginning which he completely rejects when it’s finally offered up to him. Logic and lucidity are out the window. It’s kind of an absurdist miracle. I give most of the credit to Ted Knight, gloriously uptight and everyone’s common enemy in this -- and the glue that barely holds together this scatterbrained, cinematic fugue.

The Odyssey

When are you supposed to pee?? Perhaps the only flaw in Christopher Nolan’s sensational, three-hour opus is knowing when to slip out to visit the “room.” Every couple of minutes another huge movie star enters the scene, brings their A-game, dazzles, and then the epic moves on to the next fantastic set-piece or battle scene beautifully filmed in IMAX. That’s the other thing: there are way more steps in the IMAX theater to navigate, causing your bathroom break to be longer, thus potentially missing an Oscar winner tearing it up in ancient Greece. Or Leguizamo and Holland giving the best performances of their careers. You literally can’t move from your seat for three hours. So, the Stadium Buddy™️ might be the best option. But you could also go in dehydrated. Homer might appreciate the suffering and hardship you’re putting yourself through to behold his 2700-year-old poem. Beholding is key. You gotta behold it for a few hours. We don’t all have giant bladders, Christopher. Cut us some slack.

All the Old Knives

Told in flashbacks, a couple of spies and ex-lovers meet for dinner to hash out a few unresolved work issues about terrorists and stuff. Likeable stars make this mildly interesting, but it’s sedentary and dialogue-heavy. Occasionally flashing back to sex scenes doesn’t really invigorate the proceedings, but you have to credit them for trying. Neither fish nor fowl, it plays a bit down the middle.

Wolfs

I dismissed this when it came out. First, it's streaming, so how good can it be? Seems like that could be a red flag with such big movie stars. Also, Clooney and Pitt have already been in a bunch of movies together, and it just felt like pandering. I didn't need to see another gloomy movie about hit men posing and preening. But I finally watched this on a plane, and the script is good. Really good. It starts out as a two-hander, then gradually expands into a crime world filled with shady characters and side-quests. Special kudos go to Austin Abrams, who stands toe-to-toe with these supernova movie stars and manages to be a big, funny pain in the ass. The Butch-and-Sundance "bromance" unfolds skillfully and pays off when the fixers finally put their heads together, iron out their differences, and figure out who's behind their night of problems. They call it "competence porn" when skilled people do the things they're skilled at, and that alone provides the entertainment value. I'm surprised this didn't make more of a splash, but I suppose it's a bit niche, too. Low-key, competent, restrained. A rare bird.

Toy Story 5

This story is not about the toys. Unlike the other "Toy Story" movies, this one really focuses on a person: the little girl who plays with the toys, Bonnie. Filmmakers plumbed the depths of childhood in a stunning and moving portrait of this shy girl. She's so authentically awkward and emotional. She behaves so much more like a 6-year-old than her true age of 8, which can be the case with kids in elementary school, as I remember. It's such a wildly rich and sympathetic ordeal, stemming from her being bullied by the cool kids for not having a tablet — and so unlike most little kids in movies, in which the 8-year-old is the coolest kid in the world, dresses really cool, talks like an adult, and invents a robot or a time machine or something. Yes, Jessie, Woody, and Buzz are there, helping Bonnie in all their nutty ways. But shy Bonnie is the star, and like the fictional toys, she's every bit human.

Backrooms

"Consider if you will a furniture store owner named “Clark.” A peddler of sofas and end tables, a man you might pass in the aisle of his own showroom without a second glance. But beneath the veneer of particleboard and price tags lies a heart in ruins, shattered by words spoken in anger, words that ended a marriage and began a slow, private sentence of exile. Clark has sought refuge where so many broken men have sought it before — in the bottom of a bottle, and when sobriety demands it, in the office of an analyst. In the basement of his undistinguished furniture store, Clark will learn a terrible truth: that the interior design of grief has its own architecture. That a man's regret can grow walls, and hallways, and sinister mascots of missed opportunities. But he might also find a key that could unlock the solution to his pain. In the depths of his store basement, Clark will discover a portal not to another dimension but a portal into his own troubled psyche. 

Now witness "Mary," the brave psychotherapist, an expert trying to guide her client Clark away from his pain. When she explores said furniture store basement, she is not entering the mysterious portal into her patient’s troubled mind, ladies and gentlemen, but in fact she is stepping into… 

 …the Twilight Zone."

Disclosure Day

 

** SPOILERS! DON’T BE A BABY! **

Emily Blunt's Margaret is the achievement in Spielberg's latest extra-terrestrial opus. Blunt's intrepid weather-gal hero navigates the increasingly ridiculous conspiracy to cover up the UFOs, the most squirmy and suspenseful part of which is wondering when she's going to crack. Her journey is vast and deep, and she delivers with great emotional resonance. You need this canary in the coal mine, plot-wise, to reflect back to the audience a narrative with stakes so huge it would seem like a cheesy sequel to Independence Day in lesser hands. All of the acting throughout, in fact, is performed with great gravitas. Never a wink. Never a goof. Not even one eye roll wondering if it's all a hoax from the super meepy reporter at the end. I'm not sure if all of this really "works," but I really enjoyed it. The chases. The E.S.P. The ordinary people. The lofty goals of telling the people to shut up and "listen." Spielberg is the fine-dining executive chef and the main course is popcorn. 

Black Panther: Wakanda Forever

I finally watched this Marvel sequel after several years. It’s as if the filmmakers didn’t trust themselves to pick a new Black Panther after Chadwick Boseman died, so they held tryouts: fill the cast with tough women and she who chews the most scenery wins the job. Ipso facto: it’s big, expensive, and fun and the drama is overflowing. I should have seen it in theaters. Alas.

The Incredible Burt Wonderstone

Magicians are cheesy. That’s the overarching theme. Steve Carrell and Steve Buscemi nail their impossibly arrogant and clueless drips, pettily feuding per the bromance formula. Jim Carrey makes a great foil as a David Blaine-esque douchebag who believes stunts are the new magic. His comeuppance is perfect and hilarious. Carrell doesn’t quite redeem his rapey misogynist jerk, I think they leaned into that “casting couch” plot a little much. Ergo, while the idea is there, execution felt a little ham-fisted. It’s tough with magic, though. It’s just so often so excruciatingly stale.

28 Years Later: The Bone Temple

Danny Boyle did not direct this movie. If a film student ever needs a good example of what the director does and if it matters, watch this, then watch its previous and far superior chapter, 28 Years Later. It’s hard to pin down exactly what’s wrong. You could give a master chef and an amateur chef the same cookie recipe, and there’s a good chance the master bakes the better cookie. It’s the little things. The focus. The pacing. Where to cut. The use of music. It’s unfortunate, because there are a LOT of interesting ideas in the script. All the pieces are there. The returning cast is on point. The final product just leaves a weird taste in your mouth. Too many eggs? Not enough salt? It’s hard to say.

Star Wars: The Mandalorian and Grogu

The first half works. Bounty hunter Mando takes contracts bringing down Imperial assholes (i.e., Nazis) as he teaches Grogu the Mandalorian ways. One can only imagine what Grogu will be like as a Force-wielding Jedi bounty hunter. (So like, what if Yoda was an assassin??) 

The adventure slows down considerably when Mando gets captured by his dreaded rival and tracker "Wok Asahat." Wok captures Mando — which is bullshit; nobody should ever be able to capture Mando — and drags him back to the Jabba siblings so they can torture him to death. Granted, he escapes, barely, and thus begins the gentle parable about caretaking. Grogu can't heal him right away, as his super Force powers would imply. No, no. Grogu must toil and struggle, implying a close family bond. This is the way. 

After Favreau and company test our resolve and attention span with the gentle caretaking, Ellen Ripley and the X-wing fighters arrive, and the Imperial ass-kicking begins again in earnest, as it should. I'm a sucker, I guess. It's always a treat when there's a new Star War.

Sisu: Road to Revenge

It’s always such a pleasure to watch Nazis explode into bloody pieces, as they did with violent glee in its Finnish action predecessor. Now the villains are the Red Army, who aren’t exactly Nazis, but they dress like Nazis, so it’s okay if they explode. This symphony of mayhem directly references famous action movies and, of course, Wile E. Coyote cartoons. While the Coyote was only ever undone by his own ineptitude, our revenge-driven ("constructive resentment") Sisu hero is the absolute architect of so many spectacularly gruesome deaths and never lets his own crippling pain get in the way. To see it is to love it.

Predator: Badlands

What do you get when you team-up a gross, weird-mouthed Predator with a bubbly, blonde, humanoid robot?? Cue “Odd Couple” theme! On paper this sounds like a tired, sequel cash-grab, but it was fairly watchable. With Dan Trachtenberg (Prey) at the helm the pace is swift, the action is fresh, and the performances are light but effective. 

It's always amusing to consider that aliens on distant planets speak gibberish, leaving audiences to read subtitles for the fake language. Like, are filmmakers afraid that they’ll be accused of cultural appropriation by some virtue-signaling millennial because they’re not honoring the fake native language of the Yautja? Are they worried the Yautja elders will boycott their movie if they’re depicted as growling and grunting in English? It’s weird to think about. Someone should publish a definitive, Strunk & White-esque style guide for writing dialogue in fake alien languages. It's worth noting, too, that there are a couple of small nods to the Alien universe, honoring — however lightly — the franchise's mediocre crossover entries of the past. Suffice to say, it's a fun world-building flick with a lot of sequel potential.

The Devil Wears Prada 2

I’m ashamed to admit I was kinda confused by the plot. Plucky Anne Hathaway is brought in to save a legacy print magazine because she’s now a plucky, hard-nosed journalist. But she saves the day by finding a buyer for the magazine that isn’t her evil bestie? And the puppet-master is actually Stanley Tucci? The value of the previous movie, I thought, was that you could survive assholes in a cutthroat world by staying optimistic and plucky. I’m not sure what the takeaway is here - I’m not sure the filmmakers know, either. What they are sure about is: the wish fulfillment. There are fancy clothes in this world and you absolutely should be wearing them. Just make sure you never, ever look happy about it.

The Warriors

At a retro screening at the Academy of Motion Pictures museum, producer Lawrence Gordon explained that he took pride in the detail that the Warriors were a mixed-race gang, and how progressive that was at the time. What else is there to say? It’s a great movie for eleven-year-olds.

Ready or Not: Here I Come

Brace yourself for a bold statement: Samara Weaving is the new Bruce Campbell. Her enthusiasm for stunt work and physical comedy, her willingness to be covered in mud and sprayed with blood, and her commitment to the underlying fear and emotion of a scene — while still finding the humor — are on par with the Raimi muse and maestro of the form. During her character's horror trials, her face and eyes twist with pain, her lips tremble, and through sheer reliable technique she completely embodies a woman consumed by terror and frustration. Her willing and skilled co-stars match Weaving's manic energy, and the rising tide lifts all boats, making this a treat. It's not as surprising or original as its predecessor. That's the hazard of sequels, I guess. But it's still bloody fun.

Focker-in-Law

I watched a test screening of this November release, which I’m not allowed to write about because I signed an NDA - dutifully protecting the Focker story secrets. The last name “Focker”, you see, sounds like “fucker” and the comedy potential there is off the charts.

The Rise of the Red Hot Chili Peppers: Our Brother, Hillel

Centered primarily on original Chili Pepper Hillel Slovak, this rock doc still follows the tried-and-true formula of the rise and fall and rise of a band, as the band members destroy their lives with drugs. Bassist Flea comes off as the most meepy and sincere in his telling, while Anthony Kiedis reads as distant and guarded. Filmmaking is on par, as documentarians do what they can with limited amounts of archival footage and photos. There were certainly things I didn’t know about the band, so that’s a plus. But I didn’t find this very moving.