Tag: movie reviews

The Last Duel Review

Sword fights abound literally and figuratively in Ridley Scott’s The Last Duel, which finds the legendary director covering familiar red stained territory in a unique storytelling format. Based on a true incident that transpired in late 14th century France, Good Will Hunting scribes Matt Damon and Ben Affleck collaborate with Nicole Holofcener for this three tiered tale of a tragic crime mixed with a touch of black comedy. It explores the horrors of machismo at a time when women were seen as property by the standards of thought and law. The most fascinating aspect of the film (and most appalling) is that the three principals may truly believe they’re the victim, including two that should not.

Shot in gray with a focus on grey areas, Duel is fashioned into triangular chapters (from a novel by Eric Jager). Each outlines the plot from these perspectives: Jean de Carrouges (Damon), who fancies himself a brave and noble knight; the philandering squire Jacques Le Gris (Adam Driver) who has the ear of the authoritative and even more philandering Count Pierre d’Alencon (Affleck); and Jean’s educated and strong wife Marguerite (Jodie Comer). Jean and Marguerite’s marriage is one of convenience and real estate opportunities for the former. He also desires a male heir that Marguerite has yet to produce. Jacques, meanwhile, has access to influence that Jean doesn’t possess. When he becomes smitten with his friend’s bride, the power dynamic turns more dangerous.

An accusation of rape is made in an era when most women didn’t dare do so (made clear in a potent monologue by Jean’s emotionally barren mother played by Harriet Walter). 600 plus years ago, that meant Jean and Jacques would participate in the picture’s title if a trial permitted it (and allow for Scott to play in some Gladiator type set pieces). Where the screenplay derives some humor is that the two leading men seem convinced that they are the aggrieved party and are oblivious to the damage inflicted on Marguerite. As nearly every male character is given a chance to bask in his laurels, we detect plenty of side eyes from the women around them. I suspect those sharp edges come courtesy of Holofcener’s script portions.

The Last Duel is fueled by Comer’s central performance as a victim who spoke up centuries before hashtags existed. The struggles to hold her perpetrator responsible are both centuries old and of today. Didn’t she remark that he was attractive? Maybe her no was a yes and she enjoyed it. Damon and especially Driver add sturdy support and Affleck commands the screen in his relatively brief runtime (once you get past the odd looking wigs).

The chaptered structure is occasionally repetitive. However, by the time the literal swordplay commences, the time spent with the trio builds a sense of genuine tension. Marguerite will be punished by a grisly death unless Jacques succeeds. In other words, her words mean little and she must rely on her husband to determine whether her time is up. That’s the wound that cuts the deepest as we await their fates.

***1/2 (out of four)

Venom: Let There Be Carnage Review

There’s a sequence in Venom: Let There Be Carnage where Woody Harrelson’s serial killer villain engages in mayhem with his crazy girlfriend (Naomie Harris). The deadly duo wreak their havoc in a ’66 Mustang and, for a moment, I was reminded of the actor’s appearance nearly 30 years ago in Natural Born Killers. Call it Muckey and Mallory this time as the amount of extraterrestrial goo is easily doubled in this sequel.

Speaking of natural born killers, it’s an apt description for the title character. The alien symbiote longs to bite humans heads off, but he’s mostly under control due to his human host Eddie Brock (Tom Hardy). Poor Venom has to settle for chickens. Continuing the banter that was the highlight of the original, Carnage still allows for Hardy’s bizarre but oddly effective comedic performance.

For those who forgot (and 2018’s Venom was a bit forgettable), Eddie is a San Francisco based journalist whose expose into scientific experiments stuck him with the black liquid alien that now lives in his body. Our loony reporter is put on assignment when Detective Mulligan (Stephen Graham) tasks Eddie with extracting evidence from death row condemned psycho Cletus Kasady (Woody Harrelson).

Their jailhouse interview leads to chaos and Carnage – as in the name of a Venomous offspring that invades the already crazed Cletus. And there’s the aforementioned love interest played by Harris. Confined to the Ravencroft Institute (where we first met Cletus in a Venom post-credits bit), Frances Barrison can manipulate sound to get herself out of sticky situations. This earns her the moniker Shriek due to those deadly decibels.

Andy Serkis is in the director’s chair (replacing Ruben Fleischer) and he keeps Carnage short, light, and full of CG action. The screenplay strains a little to justify bringing back Michelle Williams as Eddie’s ex-flame. I suppose someone’s gotta get saved by the hero in the third act. Reid Scott reprises his role as her boyfriend and there are a couple of humorous moments with his character.

I couldn’t quite recommend Venom though I came close solely based on Hardy’s batty work. This is no comic book masterwork and even the great Harrelson’s villainous turn is passable at best. Yet I more or less came around with Carnage. I give it props for foregoing a bloated running time (it’s just an hour and a half). It’s hard to not be entertained by Hardy and his skull chomping companion. In the constantly growing universe of comic book based franchises, it’s getting common for the sequels to improve upon the originals. The first entries always have to go through the origin story while the follow-ups can be a little more fun. That applies here.

*** (out of four)

Fatman Review

Santa Claus is comin’ to frown in Fatman, which should have never gotten past the conceptual stage. From brother directors Eshom and Ian Nelms, Mel Gibson is a dour Chris Cringle. Holiday cheer isn’t what it used to be and neither is business. He’s remotely located in Alaska with supportive wife Ruth (Marianne Jean-Baptiste) and the elves and reindeer when an overachieving kid and the U.S. government cramp his style.

His toy making enterprise is disrupted by the military (they’ve got a contact with him) and his diminutive workers are tasked with making parts for a fighter jet. A different kind of contract is put out on Santa’s head by spoiled brat Billy (Chance Hurstfield). When he receives a lump of coal on Christmas morning, he hires hitman Jonathan (Walton Goggins) to exact revenge on the bearded icon. This is no problem for the eccentric assassin as he harbors childhood ill will toward the no longer jolly Saint Nick.

A potentially interesting idea is simply squandered here. Fatman isn’t good for many laughs or thrilling action sequences. The industrial complex themes are reminiscent of Barry Levinson’s expensive bomb Toys from 1992. When that’s the only comparison that comes to mind, you’re in trouble. It’s as if the filmmakers (who also wrote the script) believed the notion of Santa toting weapons and protecting his turf was enough to fill 100 minutes. Turns out the answer is no no no! Gibson’s Cringle is supposed to be bored for the most of the running time so that sort of explains his performance. You’ll (or shall I say) yule be right there with him in this joyless slog.

*1/2 (out of four)

The Power of the Dog Review

Jane Campion’s The Power of the Dog is exceedingly gorgeous in its landscapes where New Zealand fills in for Montana circa 1925. It features four superb performances ranging from borderline or full throttle psychopaths to one character trying to keep a semblance of order on the remote cattle ranch setting. The score by Johnny Greenwood is haunting as each chapter ratchets up the tension. A lot of Power is indeed compelling, but I’d be untruthful if I didn’t say you have to comb through some laborious sections as well.

Based on a 1967 novel by Thomas Savage (where the themes were far more taboo than in 2021), we open with Peter (Kodi Smit-McPhee) declaring a need to protect his fragile mother Rose (Kirsten Dunst) at all costs. Widowed under tragic circumstances, she runs an inn frequented by cowboys and their bosses. When kindly ranch owner George Burbank (Jesse Plemons) comes into town, a rather unromantic bond is formed with Rose and they marry. This does not sit well with George’s opposite of kindly brother Phil (Benedict Cumberbatch) who sees his new sister-in-law as an oppotunist. He also takes to mocking Peter, an effeminate aspiring surgeon.

When the dysfunctional new family reaches the cold Burbank estate (in temperature and atmosphere), Phil’s tormenting continues for the new houseguests. This leads to Rose’s alcoholism while George is a helpless bystander. Yet Phil’s own backstory, including a mentorship with a departed male figure known as Bronco Henry, hints that Peter’s presence may cut a bit too close to the bone.

An unwashed bully walking a tightrope of repression, Cumberbatch is given a scenery chewing role. And what scenery as we forget that Campion’s native New Zealand doesn’t really look like Montana. Dunst is a sorrowful figure who can’t play piano at a fancy party dinner that the Governor (Keith Carradine) attends. She can’t play the happy wife either and her union with George seems born out of convenience. Plemons is saddled with least developed character. All three are first-rate in the portrayals.

Smit-McPhee is the most intriguing of them all. Peter’s character is certainly ahead of his time given the era and it turns out he’s steps ahead of where we still the plot eventually turn.

I say eventually because the pacing of Power is a bit off. It takes awhile to ramp up. That’s made more tolerable by the beauty surrounding the ugly situation this quartet finds themselves in. The source material is over a half century old though it does feature a call for personal protective equipment that feels urgent. The catcalls greeting Peter in the near century old time are tragic but his response reaps narrative rewards. This Dog saves most of the bite for later. Getting there is ultimately worth it.

*** (out of four)

The Humans Review

You may not leave The Humans loving the time you spent with them, but there could certainly be glimpses of intimate recognition with the Blake’s. The sextet is gathered in the shabby and sparsely decorated Chinatown duplex of Brigid (Beanie Feldstein) and her boyfriend Richard (Steven Yeun). Visiting from Scranton for Thanksgiving are parents Erik (Richard Jenkins) and Deirdre (Jayne Houdyshell) along with the dementia addled matriarch Momo (June Squibb). The other daughter is Aimee (Amy Schumer), suffering from her own disease and a breakup that she’s not over.

Adapting his own Tony award winning play, Stephen Karam’s afternoon with this brood starts awkwardly like many Turkey Day gatherings. Erik complains about finances and sneaks off to corners of the apartment to check the score of the Detroit Lions game. That’s one sign something could be off as no one outside of the Motor City truly cares about that. Deirdre drops hints that Brigid and Richard should tie the knot while Dad insists their new abode needs a serious caulk. Aimee’s intestinal challenges keeps her frequently confined to the creaky second floor bathroom while surfing her ex-girlfriend’s social media. And, of course, too many alcoholic beverages are imbibed.

There’s a lot of chatter in The Humans about the significant life stuff occurring inside and outside the dingy walls. It’s also done with a pitch black humor that seems appropriate given a family’s familiarity with one another. There are sly digs about Deirdre’s weight and questionable email abilities, Brigid’s career mishaps, and Momo’s near catatonic state. Richard is the relative bystander trying to keep the meal timed. He seems more comfortable admitting past depression while the Blake’s stoic Midwestern background prevents that sort of forthrightness.

The seventh character is the apartment. The sounds and looks of New York City living are on full display. The walls that threaten to close in on themselves. A city with famous landscapes, but the couple residing in it are given a drab interior courtyard view. Kudos are due to the sound technicians and production designers.

As more secrets are divulged as the day wears on, they aren’t portrayed as the seismic events that a more histrionic pic would treat them. That’s a bit ironic considering the source material. This is an event that will likely happen next year and Erik will still pretend to care what the Lions are doing. No one is truly enjoying themselves in The Humans. Watching the misery is made tolerable by the company of actors playing them. Jenkins and his trading between concerned dad, boozy philosopher, and snarky houseguest is compelling. Schumer is playing against type with supreme unconfident tendencies. Squibb’s fleeting moment of clarity is both a triumphant and sad highlight. The let’s get through this hug that Feldstein and Yeun’s new couple share as the dour festivities kick off may produce a knowing smile.

That all said, I’m not sure The Humans would be nearly as worthwhile if not for Houdyshell. She is the lone holdover from Broadway and she’s magnificent and heartbreaking. The insults thrown Deirdre’s way are subtle much of the day. They are not so subtle when said by her family members when they think she’s out of earshot (something almost impossible in this setting). I wanted to hug her. That’s partly due to the slights she suffers, but I think I wanted to embrace the actress too for her terrific performance.

*** (out of four)

The Protege Review

For a not insignificant portion of The Protege‘s running time, the plot is incidental but also unclear. I found myself forgetting why assassin Anna (Maggie Q) was kicking the rear ends of the various henchmen of a shady and mysterious rich guy. There’s two of them actually as the main villain shifts from time to time. The more constant presence is Rembrandt (Michael Keaton), who also works for the crime syndicate but doesn’t fall victim to Anna’s skull crushing skills. She seems to want him around.

The interplay between them indicates a screenplay flirting with a desire to branch beyond its pulverizing 90s era action tropes. This feels like more of a direct to video title than a direct to streaming affair. Because of its similarities to that time period three decades ago, it only feels right that Samuel L. Jackson participates. He’s Moody and in a 1991 prologue, he rescues young Anna after her family is brutally murdered in her native Vietnam. Actually rescue is the wrong word. He finds her and becomes her mentor. It was Anna who exacted revenge on the killers.

Moody is an assassin for hire and since this is a movie, he generally only offs really evil people. Anna is a chip off the old block and they form a lucrative business exterminating such vermin. She masquerades as a rare book store owner in London and that’s when she first encounters Rembrandt. He’s mysteriously connected to a former mark of Moody’s. Just the mention of his name (Edward Davis) causes holes in people’s heads and it leads Anna back to ‘Nam to investigate.

The Protege is quick, violent, and nicely cast. Q is a convincing action heroine and the familiar faces of Keaton and Jackson are welcome… to a point. The Anna/Rembrandt dynamic feels alternately fascinating (there’s a nice little Heat restaurant type of sequence between them) or tiresome depending on which act we’ve reached. The “twists” aren’t too twisty when considering the actors playing the roles and the expected amount of screen time they’d be granted. Martin Campbell (best known for kicking off 007 eras with Goldeneye and Casino Royale) knows what he’s doing with action sequences though he’s absolutely done better.

This is a generic shoot-em-up that should partly satisfy cravings of genre enthusiasts who like it lean, mean, and rather dumb. With Keaton quipping, I kept expecting The Protege to enter self parody territory. It never does and if it had, we might be entering a guilty pleasure experience that hit harder. I wouldn’t call this bad by any means, but it’s not a blast either.

**1/2 (out of four)

Candyman (2021) Review

There’s a sequence in Candyman in a high school girls bathroom that plays like it belongs in a less meditative continuation of the franchise. While it’s certainly cleverly shot, the scene feels out of place with its bad sequel slasher vibe. It may well be the point of the tone that its filmmakers are satirically putting forth. After all, they jettison anything that transpired in the two inferior follow-ups to the 1992 original. That doesn’t mean the excursion works and it’s a nagging issue with the film as a whole. There’s no doubt that a lot of thought went into this melding of issues from racial discrimination to white privilege to gentrification to police brutality. What plagues it somewhat is that it seldom succeeds in getting under your skin.

Nearly 30 years ago, Bernard Rose’s Candyman (from a story by Clive Barker) shook up a tired horror genre filled with Freddy, Jason, and Michael sequels. There was gore to be had, but also plenty of subtext in its tale of the urban legend with a hook for a hand and a bevy of bees emanating from his torso. As the 1890s era tortured artist whose love for a Caucasian woman resulted in his own torture, Tony Todd created an iconic title character with more narrative meat on the bones than your typical weapon wielding terrorizer from that time. It was an arthouse movie and so is this (it’s even set in an arthouse for chunks).

This new version, as mentioned, serves as a direct restart. The Cabrini Green projects where part I was placed is no longer the notorious crime hub of Chicago. The gentrified and souped up property is now home to young and thriving professionals. This includes Anthony (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II) and his girlfriend Brianna (Teyonah Parris). She’s an art gallery director and he’s a painter who’s stuck in a creative rut. Their collective work is contingent on the approval of the snooty types who make it their business to judge them (critics, gallery owners). One message seems clear – their assessment of an African-American artist’s work rises in their esteem if it’s more violent.

Anthony gets a burst of inspiration that is kickstarted by Brianna’s brother Troy (Nathan Stewart-Jarrett). When he regales the couple and his boyfriend with the nearly forgotten account of the buzzy killer whose name shan’t be uttered five times in a mirror, it gets Anthony’s creative juices flowing. This leads him to investigate the crimes of Daniel Robitaille (Todd) and the crimes committed against him. Billy (Colman Domingo) is a longtime Cabrini tenant who is more than pleased to help with the backstory (he had his own dealings with Robitaille in the late 1970s). Anthony’s research results in a project that dares you to say Candyman’s name and await the consequences. This is when blood starts flowing.

Nia DaCosta directs her second feature with a screenwriting and production assist from Jordan Peele. The script incorporates the plot from 1992 with new twists. The primary one is that there’s not only one Candyman. We know this when Anthony’s past involvement in the saga is revealed and he begins showing symptoms of becoming him after a nasty bee sting. Side effects include often visually striking murders.

While DaCosta is just establishing her filmography, Peele is recognized for his melding of social issues with scare tactics (Get Out and Us are both superior examples of how to do it). In Candyman, there’s more of an appreciation for what it’s trying to do than what it ultimately accomplishes onscreen. Sort of like a painting that’s busy with ideas but there’s not enough time allotted for it to really hook you in. I admired the picture to a point though I left unconvinced the deeper dive was worth it.

**1/2 (out of four)

Red Notice Review

Red Notice poaches from plenty of superior action comedies. It scrambles to find a consistent tone between being a parody of them and just being one of them. The trio of famous faces are hampered with their hastily written hardboiled characters. That’s what we get in this caper about thieves trying to retrieve Cleopatra’s blinged out eggs. And no matter how much I’ve liked Dwayne Johnson, Ryan Reynolds, and Gal Gadot elsewhere, this is an easy picture to pan.

Rawson Marshall Thurber teams with Johnson for the third time after Central Intelligence and Skyscraper (they’ve gotten progressively worse). As Special Agent John Hartley, he’s hot on the trail of master cat burglar and escape artist Nolan Booth (Reynolds). There’s a plan afoot to reunite the ancient Egyptian queen’s bejeweled artifacts for a $300 million payday, but the two end up working together to stop another lifter known as The Bishop (Gadot). In a competition for world’s best art thief, The Bishop seems to have a slight upper hand. She’s framed Hartley and led an Interpol agent (Ritu Aryu) to think he’s in cahoots with the endlessly quipping Booth.

The elusive third egg is in the possession of quirky arms dealer Scotto Voce (Chris Diamantopoulos) and the trio double and triple and quadruple cross one another in hopes of achieving their score. Booth and Bishop’s reasoning is money and pride. Hartley’s is to clear his name. The three leads should do their own name clearing after this utter misfire.

Like Deadpool, the screenplay (by the director) goes the self-referential route at times. This is mostly through Reynolds. Unlike his Wade Wilson, he’s not very funny and doesn’t have solid one-liners to ironically spew. Whistling the Indiana Jones theme while the pic serves as a pale comparison doesn’t qualify as clever. Johnson gets to briefly find himself in a jungle setting in the third act and I believe that’s contractually obligated nowadays. Gadot’s comedic skills were effective in Wonder Woman… at least the first one. They’re strained and forced here.

A decent caper needs a worthwhile twist or two. If you pay even a little attention to the characters actions, you’ll spot them coming way before their reveals. For having a reported $200 million up on the screen (the small one since Netflix bought it), there’s not one action sequence worthy of note or hilariously inspired bit to break the monotony. Red Notice hops all over the globe with its megastars and goes nowhere fast. The true robbery is two hours of watching them coast.

*1/2 (out of four)

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings Review

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings is planted firmly in mid-tier Marvel territory and that’s to say it’s quite an enjoyable origin spectacle with humorous moments sprinkled in. The formula is adhered to, but there’s enough quality entertainment to make it worthwhile. We expect an abundance of Daddy issues in our MCU tales and we sure get it. What makes it new(ish) is the patriarchal villain is given dimensions that prevent another franchise feature where the bad guy is the weakest character (an attribute that also pertained to Black Panther).

Shaun (Simu Liu) has a fascinating backstory for a San Francisco valet. He’s rather aimless in his pursuits and seems content parking whips of the wealthy with his bestie Katy (Awkwafina, providing sturdy comic relief).   He grew up overseas as Shang-Chi, the heir to his father Wenwu’s (Tony Leung) world conquering dynasty. Dad is an immortal ruler who fooled around and fell in love with Ying Li (Fala Chen). Shang-Chi is the first born with sister Xi Xialing following. After some past associates of Wenwu off Mom, our teenage title character is eventually given the choice to exact revenge or abandon his birthright. He chooses the latter but can’t escape his upbringing when Papa comes calling.

That’s when Shang-Chi is forced to show Katy that he’s a well trained martial arts master and superhero in waiting during a meticulously choreographed action sequence aboard a bus. He also tracks down his estranged sister (Meng’er Zhang) who now runs an underground fighting circuit. They’re reunited with Wenwu, whose wrists are adorned with the ten rings that give him his otherworldly powers. If you need some context for MCU purposes, think of them as like Infinity Stones but they… actually just think Infinity Stones and you should be fine.

Wenwu is convinced that their departed matriarch is still alive and being held captive in Ta Lo, a mystical place filled with CG beasts that’s only reachable through an ever shifting forest. His kids aren’t buying it and they put it upon themselves to stop Dad, his henchmen, and his Stones (sorry… Rings) from their nefarious land acquisition. In Ta Lo, they are subject to more training from their aunt (the welcome sight of Michelle Yeoh).

Like the karaoke ditties that Shaun and Katy drunkenly belt after a day’s work, this material has been covered better before. We are in rare MCU territory with nearly all never before seen characters (though there’s a few recognizable surprise appearances that I won’t spoil). The faces may change yet their circumstances remain the same. Part of Rings is told through flashbacks that feel familiar. They’re brief enough that they generally don’t weigh down the forward momentum.

Shang-Chi and Xi Xialing are clearly being set up for further duty in this universe and I’d say the jury is still out on how effective they’ll be as leaders of the new Marvel school. Tony Leung, a legend in Chinese cinema, makes for a compelling villain with more layers than your run-of-the-mill MCU antagonist.

By the time we reach the climax, Rings is hampered with some indecipherable and visually unappealing CG mayhem. That serves as an unfortunate drag on the proceedings, but much of what precedes it is a pleasurable intro to some new players that I’m anxious to see again.

*** (out of four)

Passing Review

Much of the drama in Rebecca Hall’s debut feature, based on a 1929 novel by Nella Larsen, is elevated by passing glances and comments overheard at gatherings. The term Passing refers to light skinned African-Americans who are deemed white to unsuspecting individuals. It’s a disguise that Clare Bellew (Ruth Negga) is living in and during the early moments of the picture, she has a chance encounter with Irene Redfield (Tessa Thompson). They are childhood friends who’ve lost touch and their reconnection leaves Irene bewildered. She’s never left Harlem and has married successful but weary doctor Brian (Andre Holland). Irene fills her days with civic duties and some nights entertaining an author (Bill Camp) who’s endeared himself to the black community (though perhaps not for purely endearing reasons).

While Irene seems to have a nice upper class life going in a 1920s era filled with despair, a closer look is warranted. Her marriage is bordering on loveless. The couple struggle with proper child rearing to their two boys in a subplot that’s barely there (it should have been either explored in greater detail or dropped altogether).

Clare’s sudden presence reminds Irene of some chinks in the armor of her perceived blissful existence. That goes both ways. Clare is married to a vocal racist (Alexander Skarsgard) who has no clue what lies beneath. She’s a free spirit whose wings appear to grow when placed back in familiar territory. One of the strengths with this screenplay is that Clare’s reaction to her bonds rekindling is unexpected. Instead of substantiating her choice to pass as Caucasian, it fills her with a longing to return to her roots. In doing so, a strange and often unclear romantic dynamic emerges between Clare, Irene, and Brian. Jealousies and frailties come to the forefront. And those passing glances and comments take on deeper meaning as time goes by. Irene’s perception of Clare soon turns as cold as the wintry night air while Brian’s has blown in a warmer and cozier direction.

This is a picture that sneaks up on you with how powerful it ultimately becomes. Hall, a fine actress recently seen in The Night House, has her own complicated and for years unknown racial history that surely influenced her delicate handling of the subject matter. The performances are terrific across the board. This is not a story that over explains character motivation and it’s sometimes up to Thompson and Negga in particular to convey what’s really cooking in this tinderbox of a stew. They achieve that mission and Hall’s filmmaking prowess (shot in black and white with an aspect ratio of its era) accentuates that. By the climax, we are presented potential outcomes that occur in a flash and you may find yourself pondering them far longer. It all passes for a richly rewarding experience.

***1/2 (out of four)