"Everything is as it should be."

                                                                                  - Benjamin Purcell Morris

 

 

© all material on this website is written by Michael McCaffrey, is copyrighted, and may not be republished without consent

Follow me on Twitter: Michael McCaffrey @MPMActingCo

The Film 'Come and See', the Russian Psyche, and the War in Ukraine

My Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SEE IT NOW. Arguably the greatest war film, and greatest anti-war film, ever made.

‘COME AND SEE’ IS VITAL TO UNDERSTANDING THE RUSSIAN PSYCHE REGARDING THE WAR IN UKRAINE

A few years ago, in order to commemorate the 75th anniversary of V.E. Day, I wrote a list of the best war films ever made that was published at RT.com, an English-language Russian news outlet. I got a lot of feedback on my list, as readers shared their favorite war films and compared them to mine. Interestingly, I was inundated with emails and comments from Russian readers who were outraged I failed to have Come and See, the 1985 Soviet war film directed by Elem Klimov, not only not on my list, but not at the top of it.

The truth was I hadn’t seen Come and See because it isn’t widely or easily available here in the U.S. The film, which for years was nearly impossible to find on any streaming service, is now available on the Criterion Channel (which is wonderful and a must have service for any cinephile). Having finally watched the movie I can now say that those Russian readers were right and I was wrong…Come and See deserves to be on the top of the list of best war films ever made. It is a terrible injustice that the film has thus far remained mostly undiscovered in the West as it is an astonishing piece of cinematic art.

I think now, as the war in Ukraine rages into its second month, it’s most imperative that Westerners watch Come and See in order to better understand historical context and how it effects the collective Russian psyche regarding perceived enemies on its western border.

The dramatically scintillating Come and See is unquestionably a cinematic masterpiece, and I don’t use that word lightly. The film chronicles the odyssey of Florian Gaishun, a young teenage boy trying to survive the Nazi occupation of the Soviet Republic of Belarus in 1943.

Florian is eager to join a rag tag group of Soviet partisans in a guerrilla war against the Nazis. But his mother, afraid to be left alone in their small village with two young twin daughters, is adamant he stays home.

But once Florian discovers a discarded but usable weapon buried in the dirt, the partisans come to his house and officially conscript him into service.

Thus begins Florian’s coming of age story, which is a trial by fire where a Focke-Wulf 189 German reconnaissance plane haunts the skies above his head like a blood-thirsty vulture and Nazi savagery dominates and decimates the fragile world around him.

Florian is thrust into most harrowing journey through the brutality of war and the darkness of the human heart, and must endure the most hellacious of circumstances and devastating of tragedies.

It’s impossible to adequately describe Florian’s gruesome crucifixion upon the cross of war, and the ungodly horrors he must suffer. The viewer must simply bear witness to them too and suffer the same visceral anguish as Florian.

The film boasts two terrific performances, one from Aleksei Kravchenko as Florian, and the other Olga Miranova as Glasha.

Kravchenko’s face over the course of the film is a roadmap of the horrors he’s experienced. His ‘thousand-yard stare’ is a monument to the soul-crushing and heartbreaking ordeal he’s undergone.

Miranova is electrifying as Glasha, a young woman Florian meets in the early days of his time with the partisan guerrillas. Miranova is like a beautiful, gaping wound walking the earth, trying to avoid catastrophe but sentenced to an endless parade of calamities.

Director Klimov pulls no punches on Come and See, as he masterfully, using a variety of clever and intriguing filmmaking techniques, such as a split diopter lens and the use of reduced sound to heighten drama, tells Florian’s tale. Klimov’s brilliant direction immerses the viewer in the hell of war, as well as expresses the collective rage against the Nazis that unleashed a wave of brutality and barbarity against the Soviets that is staggering to contemplate.

This is why it’s so imperative that Westerners watch Come and See, because it so forcefully conveys the palpable fear, anxiety and angst left on the Soviet/Russian psyche by the barbarity of the Nazi invasion forty years after it happened, as well as today.

Hitler sent his very best divisions when he invaded the Soviet Union because he understood that to win the wider war the Nazis needed to destroy the USSR and usurp its plethora of resources, most notably oil and wheat, which would then fuel and feed Hitler’s war machine.

Hitler, like Napoleon before him, found out the hard way that invading Russia is never a good idea, as the winters are brutal and the people made of extraordinarily stern and resilient stuff.

Roughly 30 million Soviets died in World War II (compared to about 418,000 Americans), but their deaths were not in vain as it was the Soviets who broke the Nazi war machine’s back and won World War II. But there isn’t a Russian family that didn’t suffer immensely during the war and for generations after, and the psychological damage from that trauma still resonates today.

In the West, when we hear talk of Russia wanting to “de-nazify” Ukraine, it sounds like a vacuous talking point. To Russians it deeply resonates though because it’s driven by a palpable existential fear – a fear perfectly captured in Come and See.

My intention here is not to try and change any minds regarding the war in Ukraine, as I’m aware enough to know that when emotions are as inflamed as they are now, and the bullshit propaganda is piling up so high you need wings to stay above it, as it is now, appealing to reason and logic is a fool’s errand.

But what I am here to do is to try and get people to watch Come and See for its cinematic mastery, and its collective cultural insights, so that they can at least understand the deeper psychological and historical context of Russia’s actions and impulses.

For instance, most people in the US don’t know this but in 2014 the US backed a coup in Ukraine that overthrew a democratically elected government. The overthrown government was more inclined to Russia’s viewpoint, and the newly-installed government was beholden to the US.

To Americans, that bit of history is largely unknown, but to Russians it’s not only well-known, but deeply troubling and anxiety-inducing.

The same is true of the fact that the newly installed Ukrainian government sat idly by as 42 pro-Russian activists were burned alive in the Trade Union House in Odessa, Ukraine post-coup in 2014, something which most Americans don’t know but that Russians know all too well (and which is remarkably reminscernt of one of the more horrifying scenes in Come and See).

Another example, which most Americans don’t know but of which Russians are keenly aware, is that this same US installed Ukrainian government then banned the Russian language and went to war with ethnic Russians in the Donbass region in Eastern Ukraine. Since that war started in 2014, nearly 14,000 people, mostly ethnic Russians, including women and children, have been killed.

Another piece of historical context largely ignored in the US is that when Russia and Ukraine signed a ceasefire/peace agreement called the Minsk Agreements (Minsk Protocol signed in 2014, and Minsk II – a ceasefire signed in 2015), it seemed peace was possible, but Ukraine and the US ignored those agreements and the slaughter of ethnic Russians continued in the Donbass.

To watch Come and See gives Americans an opportunity to see the developments in Ukraine through the eyes of Russians. To Russians, Ukraine’s Azov Battalion, which western media reported on extensively for years as a battalion of devilishly devout Nazis but which now ignores that context, is not an outlier, but the crux of the issue. As evidenced by the brutal wholesale slaughter of an entire Belorussian village in Come and See, which the film informs us was something that happened to 628 Belorussian villages at the hands of the Nazis during the war, Nazi bloodthirst isn’t a speculative talking point to Russians, it’s a historical fact and a traumatic trigger.

The way Russians see it, the US installed a Nazi friendly regime in Ukraine, and Russians remember what the Nazis did the last time they had power in the region…and it was genocidal in its scope and scale and demonic in its unabashed cruelty.

When Russians see pro-Russian activists burned alive in Odessa, and ethnic Russians massacred in the Donbass, the horrors of World War II as exquisitely captured in Come and See are conjured in all their grueling and gruesome savagery.

I understand that many Americans, fed a hearty diet of establishment media Zelensky worship as well as ludicrous propagandistic tales of the Ghost of Kiev and the Heroes of Snake Island, might watch Come and See and interpret it very differently. For instance, Americans might watch Come and See and believe Putin to be Hitler and the modern-day Russians in Ukraine the equivalent of the Nazis in Belarus in 1943.

I disagree with that assessment and find it to be historically illiterate and painfully myopic, but that said, I completely understand why, after years of relentless Russo-phobic propaganda, people would be conditioned to feel that way.

Regardless of how you interpret Come and See, I whole-heartedly encourage you to watch it. By being one of the greatest war movies of all-time, Come and See succeeds in being the greatest anti-war movie of all-time.

As for the war in Ukraine…like all wars, I hate it and vehemently oppose it. I understand why it’s happening, what triggered it, the wider forces at play in it and the stakes involved in it, but I despise war in all its brutality and callousness and inhumanity.

I know most people don’t believe in this sort of thing anymore, and frankly I don’t blame them, but I ardently and earnestly pray every day that the war in Ukraine ends and an everlasting peace is found and prospers. Ukraine is nothing but a boiling cauldron of suffering, and the last thing this world needs is more suffering, the brilliant Come and See is a testament to that fact.

 

©2022

8th Annual Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® Awards: 2021 Edition

Estimated Reading Time: 69 seconds

The Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® awards are a tribute to the absolute worst that film and entertainment has to offer for the year. 2021 was a particularly heinous one for cinema, so the Slip-Me-A-Mickeys flourished in a very target rich environment.

Again, the qualifying rules are simple, I just had to have seen the film for it to be eligible. This means that at one point I had an interest in the film and put the effort in to see it, which may explain why I am so angry about it being awful. So any vitriol I may spew during this awards presentation shouldn't be taken personally by the people mentioned, it is really anger at myself for getting duped into watching.

The prizes are also pretty simple. The winners/losers receive nothing but my temporary scorn. If you are a winner/loser don't fret, because this years Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® loser/winner could always be next years Mickey™® winner!! Remember…you are only as good as your last film!!

Now…onto the awards!

 Worst Film of the Year

The Tender Bar – A boring, dramatically incoherent coming of age tale that makes an episode of The Wonder Years look like Lawrence of Arabia. George Clooney may be the very worst director making big time Hollywood movies. His butchery of this film is done with a chainsaw and not scalpel.  

Being the Ricardos – This cheesy, ham-handed Hollywood humping manages to turn Lucille ball and Desi Arnaz into the two dullest people in entertainment history.

Eternals – This is the worst Marvel movie I’ve ever seen and it isn’t even close. That is quite an accomplishment in cinematic futility.

Space Jam: A New Legacy – You know what would be fun…to put a legitimately moronic meathead who can barely speak a coherent sentence, LeBron James, on-screen with a bunch of corporate intellectual property and let them play basketball. Watching LeBron’s hairline recede is more entertaining.

And the Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® goes to…

Space Jam: A New Legacy – Hey, look at that, at least LeBron won something this year.

Worst Performance of the Year

LeBron JamesSpace Jam: A New Legacy - LeBron is a mental and moral midget, but he’s also got the charisma of a pile of week-old dog shit…so he’s got that going for him.

Benedict CumberbatchThe Power of the Dog – Speaking of dog shit…Benedict Cumberbatch, or as my friend Dave calls him, Bend-her-dick Cunt-her-snatch, is supposed to be a menacing old-school cowboy in this movie, but from scene one he’s sashaying around like he’s working it on RuPaul’s runway. If they’d cast the cowboy from the Village People in this role it would’ve been less obviously gay.

Adam DriverHouse of Gucci – Adam Driver is a giant, walking, talking anus. When you put him in Italian clothes, with Italian glasses, and have him speak with an Italian accent, he morphs into being a giant, walking, talking anus wearing Italian clothes and glasses, that has an Italian accent.

Jared LetoHouse of Gucci – Leto’s performance in this movie makes Father Guido Sarducci look like Sir Laurence Olivier. A master class in awful acting.

Lady GagaHouse of Gucci – Gaga made me gag-gag with her wandering accent and hyper-theatrical posing in this dreadful movie. It is one of the great tragedies of human kind that Gaga now takes herself seriously as an actress.

And the Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® award goes to…

Jared Leto – Leto is the Leonardo da Vinci of awful over-acting.

Most Overrated Film of the Year

CODA CODA is a Hallmark Channel movie that somehow won the Oscar for Best Picture. It is the worst film to win Best Picture in the history of the Academy Awards. The script is awful, the direction amateurish, the acting, including Troy Kotsur, is painful to watch. It also astonishes me that critics didn’t eviscerate this film but instead praised its soft-peddled, after school special bullshit.

The Power of the Dog – Jane Campion is a shitty director and this is a shitty movie. Arthouse fool’s gold that fooled a lot of people…but not me. Trite, vacuous, vapid and venal, this movie is poorly written, poorly directed, poorly acted and just all-around poor.

West Side Story – Steven Spielberg can make any movie he wants…and he made THIS piece of shit? If I want to watch dance teams square off in embarrassing street fights, I’ll just watch the original, better version of the story. An entirely useless exercise in historical cinematic revisionism.

And the Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® goes to…

CODA – I wish I was deaf and blind so I’d never have to see or hear about this stupid movie.

Worst Big Budget/Blockbuster/Action/Comedy of the Year

Eternals - See Above.

Ghostbusters: Afterlife – A terrific movie if you want to destroy a long-loved franchise with talentless teens and a terrible script.

Matrix: ResurrectionThe Matrix was great. But literally every Matrix movie since the original has gotten worse by at 75%. This abysmal piece of shit puts the franchise deep into negative territory.

And the Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® awards goes to…

Eternals – This was a tough choice as these movies are all abysmal, but sitting through the two hour and thirty-six-minute woke slog that was Eternals was utterly excruciating to the point of torture.

Worst Director

George Clooney – Ironically, Clooney is on one of the most impressive runs of futility for a director since the Joel Schumacher heyday. Just when you think he can’t do any worse, he puts out The Tender Bar, and proves you wrong.

Aaron Sorkin – Sorkin proved last year with The Trial of the Chicago 7 that he was one of the worst directors of his generation, and he keeps the streak alive with Being the Ricardos.

Chloe Zhao – Zhao won an Oscar last year for Nomadland. This year she showed off what an incredibly shitty director she is with Eternals. Good for her.

And the Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® award goes to…

All three of these bags of shit. They’re all fucking terrible.

Special Achievement in Cinematic Malpractice

George Clooney – Clooney’s ability to continue to make one movie more awful than the last is a tribute to the endless supply of suck-ups and sycophants in Hollywood and to Clooney’s delusional sense of self. The shitshow that is The Tender Bar is a testament, and should stand as a monument, to the hackery of the ultimate Hollywood asshole...George Clooney.

POS Hall of Fame –

The Smith Family

At the 2015 Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® awards, the Smith family were voted to the Piece of Shit All-Stars. This year they’ve made the big leap to become Piece of Shit Hall of Famers!

Here’s a brief glimpse of what I wrote back at the 2015 Slip-Me-A-Mickey awards regarding the Smiths.

“This year we got to hear from Jada Pinkett-Smith how her husband was snubbed by the Academy Awards because he was black. We also got to hear how Jada was boycotting the Oscars in a show of solidarity with other snubbed black actors…which was convenient since she wasn't invited (as Chris Rock hilariously pointed out). I have one simple request for the entire Smith family...Will, Jada, Jaden and Willow…please shut the fuck up and go away forever. Will Smith is an abysmal hack of an actor and a dopey embarrassment as a "rapper". Jada Pinkett-Smith is a fly on the shit that is Will Smith, she desperately needs to bottle her manufactured self-righteous anger, stop talking immediately and vanish with her equally obnoxious other half. Jaden and Willow are kids, so they have an outside chance to not be as malignantly narcissistic as their God-awful parents, but I gotta be honest… it isn't looking very good as they aren't off to the best possible start in not following in their egotistical parents footsteps.”

Well, well, well, looks like I hit the nail on the head six years ago regarding the shitbag Smith family.

The truth is Will “Limp Willie” Smith has always been one of the biggest pieces of shit in Hollywood, and now with his slap of Chris Rock at the Oscars, everyone else gets to see the reality that I’ve known for a long time.

Will has been a piece of shit from day one. He is a bad joke as a rapper and his music has been an embarrassment for all sentient beings from the get-go. His acting career has also been an embarassment from day one. Will Smith is now and always has been a shitty rapper, shitty actor and shitty person. He is, undoubtedly, an incorrigle twat.

Speaking of twats, Will’s wife, Jada, is a talentless, narcissistic whore who’s done a wonderful job of making a cuckold out of her impotent and equally talentless husband by fucking her son’s friend August Alsina. She’s also a wondrous mother who has churned out two of the most repulsive spawn in Hollywood – no small task.

Jaden Smith, Will and Jada’s son, tweeted in the aftermath of Will’s slapping Chris Rock, “that’s how we do it”. Oh, really tough guy? Well Jaden, I invite you to don one of your signature skirts, and then go out into the real world with your toothpick arms, slap somebody, and see what happens to your non-binary ass. I know you don’t know this because you’re an entitled dandy who has never been around a real man in your entire life, but the real world ain’t the Oscars or the movies, and you’re going to find that out the hard way if you ever prance out of your privileged bubble, bitch.

One can only hope that the Smiths, who as individuals and as a collective family, are the most noxious, odious and malignant narcissists in all of Hollywood, a stunning achievement, are sentenced to a life of being in each other’s presence. They deserve that torture, and we deserve that reprieve.

Congratulation Will, Jada, Jaden and Willow, you’re all well-deserving members of the Piece of Shit Hall-of-Fame! Now kindly go fuck yourselves you rancid cunts.

And thus concludes another Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® awards. If you are one of the people who “won” this year I ask you to please not to take it personally and also to try and do better next year….because remember…this years Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® award winner could be next year’s Mickey™® Award winner!!which are the final awards show on the calender.

The Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® awards are the final award show on the 2021 calender. That means that 2021, the most dreadful year in recent cinema history, is now, officially and not-so-mercifully, over. Thank the good lord….and I pray that 2022 saves us from the cinematic hell that was 2021. As always…I am not optimistic.

©2022

Morbius: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 1 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. This super-vampire movie sucks.

Unless you are a comic book aficionado, you probably had never heard of the character Morbius prior to the marketing campaign for the new aptly titled Sony movie, Morbius, that arrived in theatres this Friday. If you have the great misfortune of seeing this movie, you’ll no doubt wish you could return to that pre-Morbius golden age of ignorance.

Morbius is a D-level superhero in the Marvel universe. That doesn’t mean that he’s a useless character, he isn’t, in fact, having read a bunch of comics featuring Morbius I can say that he’s pretty fascinating and definitely worthy of a big screen adaptation…just not THIS big-screen adaptation.

Morbius is a rather unorthodox comic book character best described as a self-made, self-loathing vampire, basically a good guy who does bad things. But director Daniel Espinoza and screenwriters Matt Sazama and Burk Sharpless churn out the most generic and painfully bland film to tell Morbius’ tale.

Morbius’ background is that he was born with this painful and terrible blood disease that requires him to get complete blood transfusions three times a day. But he’s also a genius, so he develops a type of artificial blood, which earns him a Nobel Prize, which he refuses for some reason.

Morbius then turns his attention to a special kind of bat and trying to fuse the bat DNA to human DNA in order to help his blood coagulate. This leads to a bunch of scenes where Morbius, like Batman’s alter-ego Bruce Wayne, is surrounded by a cauldron of bats who, for some reason, accept him as one of their own. When Morbius then injects himself with bat/human hybrid DNA in order to cure his disease, it leads to very unexpected complications.

Morbius is a dark story, as he’s more villain than hero, but Morbius the movie not only can’t walk that archetypal and tonal tightrope, it ignores it altogether and like a blind, deaf and dumb Wallenda steps-out off of the ledge and falls ninety stories flat on its face leaving little but a blood splatter in the shape of a clown face.

Morbius is an incoherent mess of a movie that boasts atrocious visual effects, embarrassing action sequences, and utterly incomprehensible characters and plot. In short…this movie sucks, pun intended.

It’s striking how abominable the visual effects are in the movie, as Morbius’ super-fast movements are reduced to just color trails like in a Roadrunner cartoon. The only thing missing was a snarling, jagged toothed “Meep-Meep”. This approach renders all of the fight sequences utterly impotent. The rest of the film is just as visually mundane as the fight sequences and visual effects.

Across the board the cast are adrift in a drab ocean of lethargy, just like the ship in the film where Morbius does his experiments…which is named the Murnau – after F.W. Murnau the director of the classic vampire movie Nosferatu. Clever.

Jared Leto plays Morbius and coasts through the movie like a stoned Jordan Catalano at a first period math class. The impossibly handsome Leto has mastered the art of having his eyes be both beautiful and blank at the same time. I’ve seen Cigar Store Wooden Indian with more spark in their eyes.

Matt Smith plays Morbius’ childhood friend Milo, also a victim of the same blood disease, and it feels like he showed up from another, even worse movie.

Adrian Arjona plays Martine Bancroft, a doctor who is Morbuis’ co-worker/accomplice/love interest. Dr. Bancroft is not so much a character as a piece of furniture that talks. What is astonishing about Ms. Arjona’s performance is how relentlessly anemic it is. She may be the least charismatic human being to ever appear in a major role in a super hero film. Of course, the character is so poorly written as to be egregious so it’s not all Ms. Arjona’s fault that it doesn’t work, but she certainly doesn’t help matters.

Morbius’ failing may be a result of director Espinoza’s incompetency, or it might be due to too many Sony suits with too many bad ideas and too much power to make them happen. Or, and this is the more likely scenario, it’s an odious combination of the two.

No matter who’s fault it is, there’s no denying that this movie is, in its own D-level comic book character way, a disaster.

Unlike the rest of the Marvel characters which are owned by Disney, Sony controls Spider-Man and the “Spider-verse”, which includes a bunch of Spider-Man villains, including Venom, which has had two solo movies, and now Morbius, as well as Kraven, who has a movie coming next year.

Judging by the two lackluster post-credit scenes in Mobius, Sony is either trying to create a team of Spider-verse villains to take on Spidey and compete ‘solo’ against the MCU monstrosity, or it’s trying to develop more characters to sprinkle in to the MCU movies and share in the wealth. But if Morbius is any indication, Sony’s master plan faces a very steep climb and minimal chance at success.

The bottom line is, as good as Spider-Man: No Way Home was, Morbius is just as awful. You’d be more entertained using a hot spoon and a plastic straw to drain every ounce of blood from your own body than you will be sitting there for an hour and forty-five minutes watching this toothless cinematic venture.

 

©2022

Deep Water: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 1 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. An utterly incomprehensible and incoherent mess of a movie.

Filmmaker Adrian Lyne has made a name for himself by churning out a plethora of highly stylized “erotic” movies. His filmography is a who’s who of sexy cinema of the late 20th century, and includes Flashdance, 9½ Weeks, Fatal Attraction, Indecent Proposal, Lolita and Unfaithful.

Lyne, who is now 81-years-old, hasn’t made a movie in twenty years, but he’s back with a new film, Deep Water, that is currently streaming on Hulu. Not surprisingly considering Lyne’s sexy cinematic proclivities, Deep Water bills itself as an “erotic psychological thriller”.

The film has garnered some attention because it stars, Ben Affleck and Ana de Armas, in real life had a brief but very public romance while shooting the movie. For Ben and Ana’s sake I’m hoping that fling was more erotically charged and fun than the dismal Deep Water.

To be fair, Deep Water does stand out from other movies, but unfortunately that’s because it’s one of the most incomprehensible, incoherent films of recent memory.

The plot revolves around a couple, Vic (Affleck) and Melinda (de Armas), who are in a functionally dysfunctional marriage where Melinda sleeps with various impossibly handsome young men and everyone in the small town of Little Wesley, Louisiana knows it.

Vic’s bizarre cuckoldry has him both making dinner for Melinda’s lovers but also vaguely threatening them. To add to the oddities, Vic, for some completely unknown and unknowable reason, collects snails…he even has a special snail room out in the garage with special snail lighting and special snail sprinklers. The snails become a plot point later in the movie, but that plot point, not surprisingly, makes no sense whatsoever.

Early in the story, one of Melinda’s lovers has gone missing and the rumor mill of the small town has it that Vic killed him. This theory gains traction when Vic tells one of Melinda’s new lovers that he did indeed kill the old lover and might kill the new one too. For no decipherable dramatic reason, it is then revealed that some other completely random guy killed the first lover, so problem solved I guess…or is it?

To continue on describing the plot of this movie would be an asinine task as it’s simply indescribable. Just know that Melinda drinks and cheats a lot, Vic seethes a lot and there are a lot of parties where wealthy people get very drunk and swim in pools but get freaked out when it starts raining when they’re in a pool and then run to the house covering themselves because they don’t want to get wet with rain water even though they’re already wet with pool water.

Melinda’s trysts are all filled with a plethora of mild and tame erotic shots featuring soft lighting and posing seductively as if in a parody of a high-end perfume commercial. The lovely Ms. de Armas is often seen in various stages of arousal and undress…although to be fair the nudity in the film is brief and tasteful and will no doubt frustrate perverts on the prowl for soft-core thrills.

Speaking of bare skin, Ben Affleck goes shirtless in a pool scene and they only show him from behind but his back is Batman-esque with its muscular massiveness, which doesn’t really seem normal for a snail collecting nerd like Vic. Although I guess Vic sees himself as sort of the Batman of Little Wesley, so I’ll just go with it.

As incoherent as Deep Water is, and it is incredibly incoherent and may very well be the worst edited film of the 21st century, the final twenty minutes of the movie are the apex of unintentional comedy. It simply has to be seen to be believed as it had me cackling out loud on numerous occasions.

As for the performances, Affleck is on cruise control throughout, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else doing anything else than mindlessly reciting his garbage dialogue.

Ana de Armas is a luminous beauty, of that there can be no doubt, and Lyne dresses her in sexy dresses as is his signature style, but her character Melinda is so absurd as to be ridiculous. Melinda is the craziest, horniest, drunkest lunatic you’ve ever met, and yet she still manages to be as dull as a door knob.

My favorite performance though comes from Tracy Letts as Don Wilson, a local writer who is investigating Vic. Lett’s Don is such an incomplete and idiotic character, and his behavior so alien, that I couldn’t help but smile whenever he was on-screen. Don’s final scenes with Vic, which occur in the gloriously goofy final twenty minutes, are outrageously funny for all the wrong reasons.

As for Lyne, his very skillfully made past films were once thought to be edgy and sexy, but with Deep Water, he’s unfortunately lost the plot, literally and figuratively.

The bottom line is there’s absolutely no need for anyone to ever watch Deep Water as it isn’t sexy, thrilling or even interesting, it’s just a two-hour bath in a cold puddle.

 

©2022

Drive My Car: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SEE IT/SKIP IT. A flawed but technically solid arthouse venture that is undermined by some grandiosely absurd plot points. Those with conventional tastes should stay away from this three-hour existential meditation, but those who love the arthouse should find something to like about this movie.

In recent years, no doubt in an effort to bolster their diversity bona fides, the Academy Awards have nominated Asian films or Asian-themed films for the Best Picture Award, with mixed results.

It started with Parasite, the brilliant 2019 Korean film from director Bon Joon-ho which was nominated for six Oscars and miraculously beat out stiff competition to win Best Picture, Best International Feature Film, Best Director and Best Original Screenplay.

In 2020, the middling Minari, which was directed by Korean-American Lee Isaac Chung and featured a Korean cast and language, was elevated by pandering critics and rose to get six Oscar nominations including Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Original Screenplay and Best Original Score, with its only win being Youn Yuh-jung for Best Supporting Actress.

This year, Drive My Car, a Japanese film directed by Ryusuke Hamaguchi, has become the critical darling and garnered a Best Picture, Best International Film, Best Director and Best Adapted Screenplay Oscar nominations.

Drive My Car, which is currently available to stream on HBO Max and Amazon, is neither the masterpiece that was Parasite, nor the arthouse fool’s gold that was Minari. It’s somewhere in the middle. It’s not great, but it’s also not terrible, which in the context of the atrocity that is cinema in 2021, means it’s worthy of a Best Picture Oscar nomination, as mediocrity is now magnificence.

The film is best described as an existential relationship drama that uses Anton Chekhov’s play ‘Uncle Vanya’ as its emotional anchor/blueprint/spirit animal as it tells the story of Yusuke Kafuku (Hidetoshi Nishijima), a theatre actor and director in Japan who ponders life, death and everything in between.

Kafuku has played Uncle Vanya extensively and has unlocked the inner workings and rhythms of Chekhov’s masterpiece. As he drives around Japan in his red SAAB, he listens to a recording of his wife speaking all of the lines of the play, except Vanya’s – which Kafuku recites with lifeless precision.

In order to protect the cinematic experience of watching Drive My Car, I will avoid all spoilers – no matter how big or small. But I will say this, one of the film’s great weaknesses is its insistence on grandiosely absurd plot points to propel the story. There are three I am thinking of and when you see them, you’ll know what I’m talking about. These three events/revelations are so theatrically contrived that they undermine the potential power of the film.

That said, the movie does have a lot going for it. Namely, it’s exquisitely crafted, particularly by cinematographer Hidetoshi Shinokiya. For example, there is one shot of Kafuku and his driver Misaki (Toko Miuri) down at a waterfront area that is so gloriously composed it nearly made my heart explode with its artistry.

In another scene, which is crucial to the story, Hamaguchi and Shinokiya place the camera between two people as they have a conversation in the back seat of a moving car, so there’s no over-the-shoulder cuts, or two shots, instead the viewer is placed deep inside the conversation and the actors actually seem to be talking directly to the camera. This approach in this scene – and only in this scene, is brilliant as it imposes an intimacy on the conversation that is deliriously compelling and greatly elevates the drama.

The film’s use of sound and silence is equally impressive, as it subtly weaves a technically masterful spell upon the viewer. In one critical sequence near the end of the film, a monologue is given in silence, and it is the most deeply moving moment in the entire movie. There’s another moment when silence is thrust upon the viewer so suddenly that I wondered if I had accidentally hit the mute button on my remote control. That sound design could use silence to shake a viewer in this way is an impressive feat.

Drive My Car is unquestionably an arthouse film in style and substance, and it’s a deliberately, if not languidly, paced three hours. For example, the opening act of the film, which could be considered the prelude, takes 45 minutes. So, 45 minutes into the movie, the opening-credits role. The following 2 hours and 15 minutes also takes its time but to Hamaguchi’s credit, never flounders.

The cast are, if not spectacular, then at least engaging and likeable. Nishijima’s Kafuku is a perplexing character who makes some seemingly strange choices, but he never loses your attention, which is no small feat considering he’s in nearly every shot of the film.

The rest of the cast are not particularly spectacular, but they also aren’t bad.

The one thing I truly loved about Drive My Car is that after it ended, I kept thinking about it. I kept ruminating and pondering its philosophical and artistic musings. I also kept thinking about Chekhov – one of my all-time favorite writers not just for his plays but for his phenomenal short stories.

Like Kafuku in Drive My Car, I too have discovered profound personal and philosophical insights in the works of Chekhov (as well as in Shakespeare), which have changed my life.

Drive My Car is not the cinematic equivalent of a Chekhov play or short story, but that’s a high bar to measure it against. It’s also not on the same level as the masterpiece that is Parasite, but that again is an unfair comparison.

Instead, Drive My Car is a flawed (maybe even very flawed), but ultimately compelling, technically well-made, solid arthouse film. If your tastes run the more conventional, this movie is most definitely not for you. But if you enjoy the arthouse and have a particular love of Chekhov and ‘Uncle Vanya’, then watching Drive My Car will be three hours well-spent.

 

©2022

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 63 - The Power of the Dog

On this episode, Barry and I put on our ten gallon hats, chaps and cowboy boots to discuss director Jane Campion's Oscar front-running anti-Western, The Power of the Dog. Topics discussed include toxic masculinity, Benedict Cumberbatch's lack of masculinity, and the state of the CODA v The Power of the Dog Oscar race.

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 63 - The Power of the Dog

Thanks for listening!

©2022

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota - Episode 62: The Lost Daughter

On this episode, Barry and I head to the Greek Isles to take an unsatisfying vacation with The Lost Daughter, the Netflix movie starring Olivia Colman, written and directed by Maggie Gyllenhaal. Topics discussed include bad parenting, bad people, bad movies and what the hell is Ed Harris doing here?

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota - Episode 62: The Lost Daughter

Thanks for listening!

©2022

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota - Episode 61: The Batman

On this special episode of everybody’s favorite cinema podcast, Barry and I don our bat capes and cowls and do battle over all things Batman, first and foremost Matt Reeves' new movie The Batman. We have a heated debate about the new Bat-film and rank our all-time top Batmans, Batman villains and Batman movies, with some shocking results.

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota - Episode 61: The Batman

Thanks for listening!

©2022

The Batman: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Popcorn Rating: 2.5 out of 5 stars (this is more a psychological character study than an action movie)

My Recommendation: SEE IT. An audaciously unorthodox comic book movie that is really a film-noir detective picture. This somewhat flawed homage to Fincher’s Seven and Zodiac, which boasts solid performances from Robert Pattinson and Paul Dano, is a satisfying superhero story for those with darker tastes.

Early on in writer/director Matt Reeves’ The Batman, which opened nationwide in theatres on Thursday March 3rd, the melancholy and morose lament of Nirvana’s “Something in the Way” establishes itself not only as an anthem for the film, but also as an accurate representation of the withered and wounded state of Batman/Bruce Wayne’s heart and soul.

This musical cultural symbol makes it clear from the get go that The Batman is not the nostalgic, family-friendly, fun fan service of Spider-Man: No Way Home, this is a very different beast entirely, as well it should be.

Some critics have lambasted The Batman for its “humorlessness” and “joylessness” and for being “too dark” and “too gritty”. Critics said the same thing about Nirvana when they hit the scene in the early 90’s too.

Who do these people think Batman is? He isn’t the goofy campiness of Adam West’s tv show, or Tim Burton’s and Joel Schumacher’s 90’s films. As the Batman comics of note, like The Dark Knight series, Year One, Year Two, The Killing Joke and Ego to name just a few, teach us, Batman is one dark, twisted son of a bitch.

This guy is a billionaire who dresses in a bat costume and goes out every night and beats the living shit out of criminals. Like a black clad Santa Claus, this badass brute wants you to think he sees you when your sleeping, he knows when your awake, he knows if you’ve been bad or good so be good for goodness sakes, or he’s gonna jump out of the shadows and crack your fucking head open.

So yeah, Batman isn’t Spider-Man, he’s a “dark and gritty” character who lives in a “dark and gritty” world, which is why so many people connect with the archetype, since most of us live in a brutal world and wish we too could beat the hell out of everybody who deserves it.

The pop-grunge band Garbage’s breakthrough hit, “I’m Only Happy When It Rains”, came out in 1995, and the song’s catchy but dour Gen X lament was and still is a very accurate description of me. You see, I’m one of those people who revels in inclement weather and is seemingly allergic to both sunlight and human interaction, so much so that I prefer to spend the majority of my time alone, brooding in shadow and darkness.

According to The Batman, my meteorological and misanthropic proclivities would make me right at home in the Caped Crusader’s hometown of Gotham City.

While Robert Pattinson is the lead actor in The Batman, the real star of the movie is the gloriously decrepit city of Gotham.

The Gotham of The Batman is a bleak, rain-soaked, sun deprived, corrupt and crime infested shithole. If you’re a criminal or a morally conflicted crime fighter, Gotham is both Rome and Mecca as all roads lead there and you must make a pilgrimage.

As far as I know, The Batman is a stand-alone film not connected to any other previous DC properties, but it’s Gotham is eerily reminiscent of the Gotham in the masterful 2019 Todd Philips’ film Joker, just with more precipitation. But unfortunately for the denizens of Gotham, that precipitation, or even a biblical flood, won’t, as Taxi Driver’s Travis Bickle once said, “wash all the scum off the street”, that job falls to Batman.

Batman, played with constrained intensity by the teen heartthrob turned indy-movie artiste Pattinson, is a vigilante less concerned with justice than with vengeance, so much so that he actually says, “I am vengeance” when asked who he is.

In the trailer for The Batman, it looked as if Pattinson’s crime fighter, with his dark eye make-up and perfectly tussled hair, were the love child of Morrissey and The Cure’s Robert Smith, but thankfully, in the actual film, the performance is much more masculine and magnetic than the trailer would have you believe.

Pattinson’s Dark Knight lacks the broad-chested physical presence of say a Bale or Affleck, but he does bring a vibrant and vivid inner life to the character that all previous Batman’s have lacked.

Pattinson’s glare and distant stare aren’t vacuous emo posing, but rather are filled with intentionality, which makes them both believable and compelling.

It’s intriguing that in The Batman, Bruce Wayne barely gets any screen time, as Batman dominates the festivities, which no doubt is an accurate reflection of Mr. Wayne’s disturbed state of mind.

The most compelling thing about the film though is that it is as staggeringly ambitious and audacious a super a hero movie as has ever been made. What makes The Batman so unique is that it’s a superhero movie that isn’t a superhero movie, it’s actually a film noir detective picture. Batman being a superhero is entirely incidental to the story of The Batman. It is in many ways to comic book movies what Blade Runner was to science fiction films.

Director Matt Reeves, who’s previous films include two stellar Planet of the Apes movies and the monster movie Cloverfield, has basically taken the David Fincher movies Seven and Zodiac and installed Batman as the protagonist. It would be absurd if it weren’t so mesmerizing.

The Batman looks and feels like a Fincher film, and Reeves is one of the few directors able to pull off such a feat. The key to doing so is that Reeves sets The Batman in as real and visceral a world as any superhero film has ever been set.

Years ago, when Christopher Nolan’s iconic Dark Knight trilogy came out, an older friend of mine, the inimitable Hollywood Gary, remarked that what made the film so compelling was that it dramatized what it would be like if Batman were actually real. I concur with Hollywood Gary’s assessment, but after seeing The Batman I can say that it is more ‘realistic’ than even Nolan’s films. That’s not to say it's better, just more grounded.

Nolan is as great a blockbuster auteur as we’ve ever seen, and his populist sensibilities served him and his audience extremely well on the Dark Knight movies. Reeves though eschews such an approach, and turns his superhero movie into a gritty and grunge infused character study and psychological thriller.

That’s not to say that the film is perfect though, as it can often-times be at cross purposes with itself as the nature of the genre forces upon the filmmaker restraints.

For instance, The Batman is constrained by its PG-13 rating, as the violence seems subdued and anti-septic, which undermines the power of the story, myth and archetype of Batman. If the movie showed in gory detail Batman breaking bad guy bones and smashing heads in response to gruesomely displayed murders committed by the Riddler, then the story and the characters would have had more depth and profundity to them.

Another issue is that Reeves feels the need to explain to a wider audience what comic book readers already know, namely the backstory of certain people and Gotham’s organized crime, using clunky exposition-laden dialogue.

These shortcomings are overcome by the film’s gloriously gritty aesthetic, most notably Greig Fraser’s cinematography, where sunlight is anathema, as well as with a superb cast.

Paul Dano is a formidable acting talent and a skilled artist. His Riddler, part Zodiac Killer and part Unabomber, would be right at home with Heath Ledger or Joaquin Phoenix’s Jokers. He isn’t as good as those two astonishing performances, but he’d definitely fit right in in their neighborhood.

Colin Farrell’s Penguin too is a nice piece of work from an often-overlooked actor, and he looks to be a pivotal piece in the Gotham-verse going forward.

Zoe Kravitz may lack the playfulness of previous Catwomen, but she holds her own when it comes to being sexy, that’s for sure.

And you can never go wrong with Jeffrey Wright, and sure enough, he gives a sturdy and solid performance as good cop James Gordon.

The Batman is also interesting because of its subtle and nuanced politics. Class is an issue rarely brought forth in major movies, but in The Batman, the only thing separating Batman from Catwoman or the Riddler, is that Batman was born into wealth, and the other two were born into desperation and depravity.

In the 2017 film Justice League, Ben Affleck’s Batman is asked by The Flash, “what are your super powers again?” Affleck’s Batman turns and deadpans his answer, “I’m rich”. Damn right. And it’s fascinating that Reeves’ Batman feels the weight of his wealth and the frightening possibility of what he would’ve become if he grew up without it.

As for the potential outlook for The Batman, the bottom line is that this movie is not for everybody, which is a strange thing for a piece of comic book IP. I thoroughly enjoyed the film, but that’s because I’m both pretty well-versed in the comic books and have a cinematic palate that runs toward the dark.

I would be surprised, pleasantly so, if this movie makes beaucoup bucks at the box office. I think it will have a big opening weekend, but it being so unorthodox for a superhero movie and its three-hour run time will dampen word of mouth and thus substantially slow its box office in the following weeks.

In conclusion, my only wish for The Batman was that it be good enough for Matt Reeves to be allowed to make a second and hopefully third film, as I assume he will, just like with his Planet of the Apes movies, get better as he goes along. I think the film succeeded in that endeavor, and I think Warner Brothers/DC will make the wise choice and go all in with Reeves and Pattinson going forward.

If WB/DC wants to take on the Marvel behemoth, now is the time, as the post-Endgame cinematic Marvel-verse is floundering. And by going grittier and giving the keys to the kingdom to auteurs like Reeves instead of lackeys and hacks, WB/DC can gain some ground and maybe turn the tide against the Marvelization of modern cinema. Both Joker and The Batman, are quality first steps in the march towards toppling Mickey Mouse and his Marvel minions.

©2022

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 59 - Nightmare Alley

On this episode, Barry and I talk about Guillermo del Toro's noir remake ‘Nightmare Alley’. Topics discussed include the sorry state of cinema, the public's minuscule attention span and the underwhelming appeal of Bradley Cooper.

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 59 - Nightmare Alley

Thanks for listening!

©2022

Rifkin's Festival: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 1 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. Woody Allen once-again regurgitates his familiar formula of giving a repulsive old man a fantastical and unbelievable romantic life in this tired retread that may be the very worst of his career.

‘Rifkin‘s Festival’, which premiered in theatres and on video on demand on January 28, is Academy Award winning writer/director Woody Allen’s 49th feature film.

The movie tells the story of Mort Rifkin (Wallace Shawn), an academic and elitist film critic who accompanies his considerably younger wife, Sue (Gina Gershon), to a film festival in the Spanish city of San Sebastian. At the festival, Sue, a press agent for Phillipe, a hot young French filmmaker, falls for her client and Mort tries to seduce an even younger local woman he meets, Dr. Joanna.

Before I continue with my critique of ‘Rifkin’s Festival’, I have a confession to make. I’ve never liked Woody Allen movies and never understood people who did.

As a devout cinephile who reeks of the arthouse, I’ve been relentlessly taught and repeatedly told that Woody Allen is a brilliant, master moviemaker.

“’Annie Hall’ is a masterpiece!”, “’Crimes and Misdemeanors’ is amazing!” “’Broadway Danny Rose’, ‘The Purple Rose of Cairo’ and ‘Zelig’ are stunning achievements!” the cultural gatekeepers all told me.

But having watched Woody’s filmography over the years, I’ve come to the conclusion that none of that is true. 

When I watch a Woody Allen movie, I realize only one thing, that Woody Allen is now, and always has been, a pedantic and pedestrian filmmaker who churns out vacuous, vapid, vain, insipidly mundane, middle-brow bullshit under the guise of being a high-brow, arthouse auteur.

In basic terms, Woody Allen is nothing but Adam Sandler for the intellectual set, and their egg heads are too far up their pretentious behinds to see that reality.

As you can imagine, my opinion of Woody’s work, which, to be clear, is not a function of hindsight but actually pre-dates his troubling personal life being made public, has long put me at odds with the overwhelming majority of my cinephile tribe, but what can you do? I just call ‘em as I see ‘em, consequences be damned.

My biggest problem with Woody Allen films is, not surprisingly, Woody Allen.

I never thought Woody was charming or amusing, in fact, I’ve always found his nebbishy neuroticism to be grating to the point of repulsive on-screen. I could never imagine any actor annoying me as much Woody Allen…and then I saw ‘Rifkin’s Festival’.

If you think Woody Allen is irritating, wait ‘til you get a load of Wallace Shawn being Woody’s de facto stand-in as the pathetic protagonist of ‘Rifkin’s Festival’. Shawn, who looks like a shell-less turtle, and whose signature lateral lisp makes you feel like you’re dodging spittle for the entire 91-minute run-time, makes the sniveling Woody Allen seem like the suave Cary Grant.

The plot of Allen’s movies are always romantically ridiculous, and in keeping with tradition, in ‘Rifkin’s Festival’ the repugnant Mort looks thirty-five years older than his wife Sue, and maybe forty-five years older than his object of desire, Dr. Jo. The only way to make these couplings seem remotely believable would be to have them take place on ‘Fantasy Island’ under the watchful eye of Mr. Roarke and Tattoo.

The fact that Woody Allen is expecting audiences to accept that a beauty like Gina Gershon’s Sue would be married to a troll like Wallace Shawn’s Mort, or that the gorgeous Elena Anaya as Dr. Jo would contemplate being with Mort, is so beyond absurd as to be utterly delusional and insane.

Woody Allen has won three Oscars for screenwriting, but that says more about the group think of the academy than it does about Woody’s writing ability. ‘Rifkin’s Festival’ features more of the same pointless plot, lazy exposition, stilted dialogue and flaccid humor as Woody’s other work, except worse.

The film also attempts to be a tribute to classic European cinema, with homages to Jean-Luc Godard’s ‘Breathless’, Francois Truffaut’s ‘Jules and Jim’, Federico Fellini’s ‘8 ½’, Ingmar Bergman’s ‘The Seventh Seal’ among others sprinkled throughout. There’s even a hackneyed nod to ‘Citizen Kane’.

But referencing genius auteurs and their works doesn’t make Woody Allen a great filmmaker, in fact, it only spotlights his creative bankruptcy and highlights his relentlessly tedious, unimaginative and uncreative writing and direction.

In recent years, most notably after the #MeToo movement came to the fore and a 2021 documentary series ‘Allen v Farrow’ aired on HBO chronicling Woody Allen’s daughter Dylan’s claims that he molested her, weak-kneed critics have soured on Woody Allen films.

For years I was always on the outside looking in when it came to Woody Allen. I was never in on the joke. But maybe I was just ahead of the curve. Woody’s movies were always awful, and the allegations of depravity in his personal life have nothing to do with it.

The truth is that ‘Rifkin’s Festival’, which is being skewered by many critics, lays bare the fact that the emperor Woody Allen has no clothes, and I would argue that he’s been stark naked all along and that his simple-minded, sycophantic worshippers among the critical community were too blind to see it.

Regardless of whether you think ‘Annie Hall’, ‘Crimes and Misdemeanors’, and ‘Broadway Danny Rose’ really are masterpieces, it is simply undeniable that ‘Rifkin’s Festival’ is a dreadful and abysmal movie. In fact, the only debatable question about the movie now is whether or not it is Woody Allen’s worst. I think it is, which is quite an achievement.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2022

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota - Episode 58: The Tender Bar

On this episode, Barry and I belly up to the bar and down a few beverages as we wax poetic about George Clooney's latest directorial effort, The Tender Bar. Topics discussed include Clooney's dismal directing filmography and his illusory popularity, as well as Ben Affleck's long and winding road back to normal.

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota - Episode 58: The Tender Bar

Thanks for listening!

©2022

The Fallout: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 2.5 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SEE IT/SKIP IT. The flawed film wisely eschews politics for the personal as it paints an at times compelling portrait of a teen emotionally and mentally disoriented by post-traumatic stress.

The specter of school shootings has become such a pervasive fear here in America that there’s not a school I know of that doesn’t have “active shooter drills” to prepare students, some as young as preschool and kindergarten, for such a horrifying potential disaster.

‘The Fallout’, the new dramatic movie streaming on HBO Max, isn’t a guide on how to avoid or survive a school shooting, but it’s definitely a useful study on how teens deal with the after effects of such a devastating event.

The movie, written and directed by first time feature film maker Megan Park, opens with 16-year-old protagonist Vada going through the motions of the most mundane of California mornings. She brushes her teeth, takes a shower, rolls her eyes at her younger sister, stops at Starbucks with her gay friend Nick and eventually gets to class.

Then at school all hell breaks loose. Gunfire rings out in the hallway as Vada and a stranger named Mia, hide and huddle together in a bathroom stall praying they won’t be discovered by the unknown gunman.

What makes ‘The Fallout’ an intriguing film is that, unlike virtually every other movie on the topic, it steadfastly refuses to engage in any meaningful way with the contentious politics that surround school shootings.

There’s no anti-gun or pro-gun message delivered, or passionate cries for more money to treat the mentally-ill who would be deranged enough to shoot people at a school, or musings on how demented a culture must be to produce school shooters in the first place.

No, ‘The Fallout’ entirely eschews the political for the personal. The movie avoids those cliched and more conventional political narratives in favor of simply focusing on the drama of how a 16-year-old girl deals with the overwhelming trauma of surviving such a violent and heinous event.

To its credit, the film also never exploits its subject matter for titillation. For instance, the shooting is never shown and neither are the physical after effects of it. We never see kids being killed or bodies piled up. And the fictional shooter is an afterthought, as his name is only mentioned once, and his motive never addressed.

The best part of the film is Jenna Ortega (who was most recently seen in the new ‘Scream’ movie), who plays Vada and gives a vibrant and compelling performance. Ortega convincingly captures the awkward nature of a 16-year-old, as well as the disorienting effects of such a heavy, existential burden being thrust upon an innocent child.  

Vada, like many victims of trauma, feels everything and nothing all at once. This manifests at first as numbness and lethargy. For instance, when her best friend Nick becomes one of those passionate activists you see on tv after a school shooting demanding change, this alienates Vada who struggles just to watch tv, nevermind appear on it.

Vada then finds companionship with Mia, the pretty-girl, Instagram star she hid with in the bathroom during the shooting. Mia and Vada become attached at the hip as they try and navigate the tumultuous waters of their fear and emotions in an ocean of post-traumatic stress.

Not surprisingly, two 16-year-old girls left to their own devices as they try and come to grips with a tsunami of mental and emotional turmoil, make some pretty bad choices, but in context they are completely understandable and believable.

Like Ortega as Vada, Maddie Ziegler is very good as Mia, giving the rather shallow, one-dimensional character that was written, a great deal more depth on-screen.

Unfortunately, the rest of the cast are less than spectacular. In fact, some of them are distractingly bad.

For instance, Julie Bowen, of hit sitcom ‘Modern Family’ fame, is so miscast and out of step with the film that it’s painful to watch. Bowen can’t seem to shake her sitcom performance style to better fit a movie attempting to tackle a topic of such gravitas.

Another issue is writer/director Megan Park. ‘The Fallout’ is definitely a confident and solid first-time feature film, but it also highlights Park’s inexperience as a director. For example, the film at times struggles to find its tone and maintain it, often devolving into an insipid silliness, usually while Julie Bowen is on-screen.

But to Park’s credit, ‘The Fallout’ is no polemic, as she doesn’t preach and she doesn’t pander with her movie. She also does a good job of discreetly contrasting American teen internet culture’s insidious vacuousness and vapidity against the intense existential angst born by peering into the deep void of death.

In addition, Park makes a solid but subtle case that American teen internet culture, with its narcissistic nihilism, is a type of soul-sucking trauma in and of itself.

And best of all, Park finishes ‘The Fallout’ with a flourish, as the ending is both simple and profound enough to elevate the movie and diminish its myriad of minor flaws.

As a dramatic study of a teen dealing with post-traumatic stress from a school shooting, ‘The Fallout’, despite its flaws, is a compelling and at times insightful movie, and the fact that it stays away from poisonous politics only makes it all the more worth watching.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2022

Munich: The Edge of War - A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!*!!***

My Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. A middle-of-the-road, paint-by-numbers thriller without the thrills.

The new Netflix film, ‘Munich: The Edge of War’, which premiered on the streaming service on January 21, is a pseudo-historical thriller that mixes fact and fiction, resulting in a middle-of-the-road movie that is fundamentally, and at times forcefully, at odds with itself.

The film, directed by Christian Schwochow, is based upon the best-selling novel ‘Munich’ by Robert Harris and tells the story of two men, a Brit, Hugh Legat (George McKay), and a German, Paul von Hartmann (Jannis Niewohner), who were once chums at Oxford but had a falling out over politics when von Hartmann embraced Hitler in the mid-1930’s.

Now, years later the two are mid-level diplomatic staff members, Legat for Britain and von Hartmann for Germany, but they end up working together to try and thwart Neville Chamberlain from signing the Munich Agreement in 1938.

You see, von Hartmann has seen the light regarding Hitler’s malevolence, and he is supporting a secret plot by some German generals to have Hitler arrested if he invades Czechoslovakia. But if Chamberlain signs the Munich Agreement, then no crime will have taken place when the German army rolls into Sudetenland as it won’t technically be an invasion, and thus the generals will waver, the plot will crumble and Hitler will be left to run amok.

In order to convince Chamberlain to leave the Munich Agreement unsigned, von Hartmann enlists Legat to show the Prime Minister a top-secret classified German document that details Hitler’s plans for the Third Reich’s aggressive expansion across Europe.

The major problem with ‘Munich: The Edge of War’ is that the film desperately wants to be a thriller but due to it being a historical drama, it is devoid of thrills.

All the trappings of a thriller are present in the movie. For instance, there are a bevy of scenes at restaurants where passionately whispered conversations between men with furrowed brows come to a screeching halt when the waiter arrives and takes his time serving drinks while all the characters give each other intense, knowing glances.

There’s also a bunch of scenes where Legat frantically runs through the streets, bumping into random people (I hope these extras got combat pay), as he rushes to deliver a message of great import to the British Parliament or to the Munich Conference.

There are also multiple scenes where von Hartmann quickly walks, eyes forward, head down, past nasty Nazis bullying unfortunates on the streets of Germany hoping to avoid danger.

And then there’s the plethora of hand-held, floating camera shots and and purposeful music used to try and build suspense.

But the reality is it’s very difficult for a film to be a thriller and to build suspense when the audience knows exactly how the story ends, and obviously, spoiler alert, we know World War II happens and millions die.

Another failing of the film is that it tries to personalize history with the fictional relationship between Legat and von Hartmann. But the film’s dual narratives, which jump between Legat and von Hartmann, never allows sufficient time for either character to be developed enough for the viewer to be fully invested in their individual journeys. When the two narratives merge, the friendship between them isn’t established enough to carry any dramatic weight.

Unfortunately, director Schwochow also does not imbue the film with any distinct style, as it is visually indistinguishable from any second rate, made-for-tv movie with its staid framing and conventional camera work.

On the bright side, the cast is, for the most part, proficient.

For example, George McKay and Jannis Niewohner give solid if unspectacular performances as Legat and von Hartmann.

Ulrich Matthes plays a credibly creepy and slightly weird Hitler.

Jeremy Irons is particularly good as an enigmatic Chamberlain, embracing nuance and avoiding caricature.

The same cannot be said for the usually stellar August Diehl, who plays Franz Sauer, von Hartmann’s former schoolmate and current bodyguard to Hitler. Diehl’s retread of a performance as the cackling, crazy-eyed Nazi is a tired and over-used caricature.

Ultimately, ‘Munich: The Edge of War’ is as painfully pedestrian and paint-by-numbers a film as you’ll find. The most striking thing about it is not how banal and boring it is, but how fundamentally self-defeating it is. It isn’t an awful film, but it also isn’t a remotely interesting one.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2022

Scream (2022): A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 1.5 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. A dull blade, short on scares, devoid of the winking wit, wisdom, vibrancy and vivacity of the original.

The original Scream, directed by horror master Wes Craven and written by Kevin Williamson, hit movie theatres in 1996 and revolutionized the form with its giddy self-awareness of its genre after a cavalcade of inane ‘Halloween’ and ‘Friday the 13th’ sequels had drained slasher movies of all signs of life.

Now, twenty-five years and three sequels later, and for the first time without the brilliance of late director Wes Craven and sans writer Kevin Williamson, Scream is back to take another stab at the box office with the new, aptly yet oddly titled movie, Scream.

You see, even though Scream is the fifth movie in the franchise and is a direct sequel to 2011’s Scream 4, it is not titled Scream 5, which to quote Spinal Tap, is a mystery “best left unsolved, really.”

The original Scream was a breath of fresh, blood-soaked air and a box office bonanza back in ’96, as it brought in $173 million on a measly $14 million budget. Not surprisingly, over time the budgets for the sequels grew and the box office haul shrunk, with the most recent film, Scream 4, bringing in $97 million on a $40 million budget.

This new Scream, which is written by James Vanderbilt and Guy Busick and directed by Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett, has a manageable budget at $24 million, and in spite of potential audience hesitancy born by the Omicron surge, it hopes to be the first blockbuster of 2022. There’s a very strong possibility it earns enough in its opening weekend to be the first film to knock the juggernaut  Spider-Man: No Way Home out of the top spot of the weekend box office for the first time in a month.

Scream defines itself, through the franchise’s formula of slasher movie self-awareness, as a “requel”. It’s not a reboot and it’s not a sequel, but instead it’s a “requel” that features fresh new characters but also connects back to the original movie in order to revitalize the franchise.

Back in supporting roles for the fifth installment of the franchise are original cast members Neve Campbell, David Arquette and Courtney Cox reprising their roles as Sidney Prescott, Dewey Riley and Gale Weathers respectively.

They join the main cast of Scream newcomers, including star Melissa Barrera as Samantha Carpenter, Jack Quaid as Samantha’s boyfriend Richie, Jenna Ortega as Samantha’s sister Tara, Mikey Madison as Amber and Dylan Minnette as Wes, among others.

The storyline for the new Scream is like all the other Scream movies. In the unfortunate town of Westboro, there’s a killer on the loose targeting a group of friends, who dons a ghost face mask and calls to torment his victims before brutally stabbing them to death.

The original Scream was vibrant, vivacious, incredibly clever and as sharp as a serial killer’s blade. But after beating, stabbing and shooting this dead horse to near dust, the franchise on its fifth outing is as dull as a baby’s plastic spoon by which they feed their audience this thin gruel of watered-down nostalgia.  

The movie tries desperately to re-ignite the fire from the original, but it just cannot, for the life of it, find a spark anywhere. The new cast are a bunch of unappealing dullards and even the return of David Arquette, Neve Campbell and Courtney Cox falls flat and feels like a sign of the franchise floundering rather than flexing.

In an attempt at being coolly self-aware, Scream admits its creative bankruptcy when it has characters discuss how “Hollywood is out of ideas”, but admitting you’re out of ideas isn’t actually an idea.  

And when the film has characters muse “how can fandom be toxic?” and declare that “this time the fans are gonna win!”, it feels pathetically patronizing because the fans aren’t winning when they shell out their hard-earned money to see this tired, unoriginal old retread.

While I found some of the more subtle, inside jokes regarding the Halloween franchise and particularly Once Upon a Time in Hollywood to be mildly amusing, the truth is they aren’t exactly insightful and they’re certainly not worth the price of admission.

Scream labels itself as a slasher-whodunnit, so I won’t give away any twists and turns, but let me assure you, after sitting through this dull and derivative, two-hour mess of a movie that in its final third descends into an orgy of utter incoherence, I’d say it’s less a slasher-whodunnit than a blood-stained-who cares?

The greatest sin of Scream is that unlike the original film, it isn’t smart, it isn’t clever, it isn’t fun, and worst of all, it isn’t scary. Scream isn’t a horror movie, it’s just a horror of a movie.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2022

The Tragedy of Macbeth: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 3.75 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SEE IT. Denzel Washington’s ‘The Tragedy of Macbeth’ is one of the very best films of 2021, but be forewarned, it is for cinephiles and Shakespeare afficionados, others will probably find it pretentious and boring.

The Tragedy of Macbeth, which after a very limited Christmas day theatrical release, premiered on Apple TV+ on January 14, is an intriguing film for a variety of reasons.

The first of which is that it boasts a bevy of star power, including two-time Oscar winner and American acting icon Denzel Washington as Macbeth, as well as three-time Best Actress Oscar winner Frances McDormand as Lady Macbeth.

Secondly, it is the first film directed by a single Coen brother. Academy-award winners Joel and Ethan Coen are one of the most iconic directing duos in Hollywood history, but for Macbeth, Joel Coen is flying solo without Ethan, a first for the brothers.

And finally, it’s Shakespeare’s Macbeth for god’s sakes, it’s one of the greatest plays of all-time, written by the greatest playwright of all-time.

The end result of this witch’s brew of star power, directing style and Shakespeare is a film that, while flawed, may very well be the best film of 2021.

That statement obviously requires context, but the art of cinema was in such a dismal and dire state for the year of 2021, that any discussion about it, if it were done, when ‘tis done then ‘twere well, it were done quickly.

In brief, cinema in the year of 2021 has been a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets its hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

If I saw a dagger before me, I would grab it and plunge it deep into the heart of 2021 with its abundantly awful films and put them out of their misery and me out of mine.

That is to say that The Tragedy of Macbeth is both not as great as it could be but much better than most, making it akin to being the tallest dwarf in the Lilliputian land of cinema in 2021.

What I liked about The Tragedy of Macbeth was that Joel Coen made a bold stylistic choice and did not deviate from it. The film is made in the style of German Expressionism, with its black and white color scheme, sparse sets, straight lines, sharp angles and great heights.

German Expressionism came to the fore in Weimar Germany in the 1920’s, with the most famous films of this school being The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and Nosferatu. As German directors came to Hollywood, their style came with them and became prominent in horror and film noir movies.

Joel Coen’s decision to use German Expressionism to tell the tale of a Scottish warrior falling victim to his own ambitions, speaks to the current, decadent state of America, where unbridled ambition isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.

Just as some interpreted the German Expressionism of the 1920’s as a manifestation of the fragile collective unconscious of Weimar Germany and the impending embrace of stark totalitarianism in the form of Nazism and the Third Reich, Coen’s use of it on Macbeth could be interpreted as a bold statement regarding America’s dire future as well as its current sickened consciousness, political polarization, violent impulses and moral degradation.

Regardless of why Coen used German Expressionism on Macbeth, the stark style and intimate staging on display suits the story and is very pleasing on the eye. It also helps that German Expressionism is, like live theatre itself, less beholden to realism, which makes the very diverse/colorblind casting where many people of color, including Denzel Washington, play the nearly colorless to the point of near translucence Scots (I know because I am one), in context, much more believable.

Also pleasing are some of the performances.

The great Denzel Washington plays Macbeth with a profound weariness that infects his every thought and movement. With Denzel’s Macbeth, heavy lies even just the thought of the crown, nevermind the actual wearing of it.

As good as Denzel is, and he is very good, veteran stage actress Kathryn Hunter, who plays the three witches, steals the show. Hunter’s acting mastery is stunning to behold and combined with Joel Coen’s creative staging of the witch’s scenes makes for truly glorious cinema.

With all that said, and as much as I liked The Tragedy of Macbeth, it isn’t flawless.

For example, Frances McDormand’s Lady Macbeth is surprisingly subdued and seemingly out of sync. As strange as it is to say about an actress with such a stellar resume, McDormand seems overwhelmed with the mantle of Lady Macbeth, and gives an uneven performance as a result.

Another issue was that the hour and forty-five-minute film felt a bit rushed and lacking in deeper emotional connections which could have flourished if given more time. Denzel’s Macbeth and McDormand’s Lady Macbeth, in particular, lack a coherent and visceral emotional connection to one another, which undermines the power of the film.

The thing that galled me most though was Coen’s staging of the great “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow” soliloquy which is among the greatest ever written.

In the film, Coen has Denzel do that powerful monologue as he aimlessly walks down a flight of stairs, which distracts and dilutes the potency of that sacred speech, rendering it, unfortunately, flaccid and forgettable.

All that said, I did greatly enjoy The Tragedy of Macbeth, as it features a powerful performance from Denzel Washington and striking style from director Joel Coen, making it one of the very best films of the year.

But be forewarned, The Tragedy of Macbeth is not popular entertainment, it is solely for cinephiles and Shakespeare afficionados, everyone else should stay well clear. If you’re not an adherent of the arthouse and a devout classical theatre fan, then you’ll probably just find the movie pretentious and frustrating. 

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2022

The Tender Bar: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!!****

My Rating: 1.5 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. Another in a long line of painfully pedestrian, poorly made films from director George Clooney.

It’s easy to forget now, and it feels foolish in hindsight, but there was a time, long ago, when I got excited when I saw that a movie directed by George Clooney was coming out.

Back in the early to mid-2000’s, Clooney put out two pretty intriguing movies. In 2002, Clooney’s directorial debut, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, told the fictional tale of tv game show host Chuck Barris and fantastical claims about being a CIA assassin. It was a flawed but energetic film buoyed by a strong lead performance by Sam Rockwell.

In 2005, Clooney won critical acclaim with Good Night and Good Luck, his black and white historical drama about Edward R. Murrow’s clash with anti-communist zealot Senator Joseph McCarthy. The film, which featured a strong performance by David Strathairn, was nominated for six Academy Awards, but won none.

At this point Clooney’s directorial career was bursting with promise and he seemed to be following in his fellow Hollywood lothario Warren Beatty’s formidable footsteps in being a movie star who also directed well-respected, serious films.

But then, slowly but surely, things started to go downhill and Clooney was eventually exposed as a cinematic fraud.

First there was 2008’s Leatherheads, an empty-headed comedy, which garnered a 52% critical score and a dismal 38% audience score at the review aggregator site Rotten Tomatoes.

Clooney rebounded a bit in 2011 with The Ides of March, a political thriller starring Clooney and Ryan Gosling that other critics liked considerably more than I did.

But then the wheels really started coming off the wagon and fast.

In 2014 Clooney churned out the World War II drama, The Monuments Men, which went over like a lead balloon with a 30% critical score and 44% audience score at Rotten Tomatoes.

This was followed by the utterly abysmal, Matt Damon starring catastrophe Suburbicon, which cratered with a 28% critical and 25% audience score.

Then last Christmas Clooney gave us the cinematic equivalent of coal in our stockings with the limp, apocalyptic sci-fi of The Midnight Sky. And while critics gave it a 50% score at Rotten Tomatoes, audiences felt the same way about it that I did, loathing it to the tune of 26%.

Which brings us to Clooney’s latest directorial offering, The Tender Bar, which premiered on Amazon on December 7.

The Tender Bar is a coming-of-age story based on the popular memoir of J.R. Moehringer, a writer and journalist who was raised by a single mother on Long Island.

I’ve not read Moehringer’s memoir but I have to say, if his life is as dull, and insipid as Clooney’s film, then I genuinely feel sorry for the guy.

The Tender Bar feels like a two-hour episode of the late 80’s sitcom The Wonder Years minus the charm.  

Like The Wonder Years, The Tender Bar tells the story of a kid growing up on Long Island, features popular music of the day, and guides viewers with an all-knowing, voice-over narration. It’s also relentlessly sentimental and little more than a nostalgia delivery system.

Clooney still has sway among fellow actors in Hollywood so the cast of The Tender Bar includes notables like Lily Rabe playing J.R.’s mother, and Ben Affleck playing his cool Uncle Charlie.

While Affleck brings his movie star, cool guy A-game, the talented and terrific Rabe is under-utilized and left with next to nothing to do.

Tye Sheridan plays J.R. as a teen and young man, and despite his best efforts, he simply lacks the charisma and magnetism to carry a film like this.

Sheridan, like the rest of the cast, also mangles his Long Island accent. As someone with a plethora of family on Long Island, I couldn’t help but notice when many of the cast slipped into Boston accents instead of Long Island ones, which may have been a function of the film shooting in the Boston area.

The screenplay for The Tender Bar is written by Oscar-winner William Monahan, and is a disjointed and derivative piece of work that jumps from one dramatically incoherent and unsatisfying sequence to the next.

For instance, there’s a love story thrown into the film about halfway in that is so absurd as to be ridiculous, but it ends up, out of nowhere, being the major motivational force driving the feckless protagonist on his tedious journey.

But the majority of blame for The Tender Bar falls on the salt and pepper head of George Clooney.

Clooney as director, once again, brings nothing interesting or imaginative to the festivities, and he fails at even the most rudimentary of filmmaking tasks. For instance, his film skips or stumbles over the most easily attainable dramatic beats, and never gathers any storytelling momentum, or clearly sets out and accomplishes any narrative or character arcs.

The end result is a movie that is a staggeringly pedestrian, dramatically inert, cinematic venture.

Considering Clooney’s previously documented precipitous decline as a director, and The Tender Bar’s current tepid 52% critical score, I think it’s time for Clooney to hang up his director’s hat and go sit in his mansion made of gold and count his billions of dollars.

The entirely forgettable, sub-mediocrity of a movie that is The Tender Bar, isn’t a spectacular failure or the Hollywood equivalent of the Hindenburg. No, The Tender Bar is just one more monument to Clooney’s directorial malfeasance and a case of his filmmaking career going out with a whimper instead of a bang. Let’s all raise a glass and toast to Clooney’s latest dismal directorial effort being his last.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2022

The 355: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!***

My Rating: 1 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. A dreadfully-made, abysmal girl power action movie misfire that wastes its all-star cast on a forgettable, formulaic, neo-feminist fantasy.

The 355, which premiered in theatres on January 7th, is another one of those pieces of girl power propaganda that is more interested in activism than entertainment.

The idea behind the movie was born when the film’s star, Jessica Chastain, spoke with writer/director Simon Kinberg about making a female led James Bond/Mission Impossible type of spy/action movie.

Kinberg then wrote an egregiously unimaginative script that featured a derivative plot and trite dialogue, and slapped female leads onto it as a twist. The end result is the almost instantaneously forgettable The 355.

The 355, the title of which is derived from Agent 355 – the codename for a female spy for America during the Revolutionary War, tells the story of a diverse group of female super spies from across the globe who come together to stop a deadly computer weapon which can infiltrate any system and crash everything from planes to stock markets, from falling into the wrong hands.

Of course, in order to check all the right boxes in this feminist fantasy and woke wet dream, the lady super spies must all be of different skin colors and ethnicities.

Jessica Chastain is the white CIA agent, Lupita Nyong’o the black MI6 agent, Diane Kruger the hard-edged German BND agent, Penelope Cruz the fish out of water Columbian DNI psychologist, and Fan Bingbing the mysterious Chinese MSS agent. It’s like the united colors of Benetton ads except with bad-ass lady super spies.

Not surprisingly, all of the heroes in the film are women, and all of the men are villains. These brave women fight to save the world from not only the murderous mansplaining misogyny of turncoats and terrorist but also from the structural sexism of the all-powerful patriarchy in the form of the web of corrupt global intelligence agencies.

What’s so disheartening about The 355 is that the film’s leading ladies are incredibly talented dramatic actresses, with six Oscar nominations among them (and two wins), but they are woefully ill-suited for an action movie.

Producer and star Chastain has made a great deal about how in order to keep costs for the film down she did many of her own stunts. Unfortunately, it shows. Chastain is among the best dramatic actresses in the business, but she, and her co-stars, are embarrassingly unathletic, and their fight and action scenes are uncomfortably awkward.

This is not to say that women can’t be action heroes, they can, Angelina Jolie and Charlize Theron are very good at that sort of thing for instance. It is to say that being an action hero requires an athleticism and physical presence that none of the women in The 355 even remotely possess.

Just like I wouldn’t want to see Jason Statham do Shakespeare, I don’t need to see gifted thespians Jessica Chastain, Penelope Cruz and Lupita Nyong’o attempting to do mindless action sequences.

Another issue with the film is that director Simon Kinberg, who has been a successful screenwriter for a long time in Hollywood – scripting Mr. and Mrs. Smith, Sherlock Holmes and X-Men: Days of Future Past among others, is simply not a proficient filmmaker.

Kinberg’s directorial shortcomings are on full display on The 355, as the poorly shot film is saddled with amateurish fight choreography and egregious editing errors.

Kinberg’s script is also painfully pedestrian, as he repeatedly uses tired tropes like ‘accidentally spilling drinks on a bad guy as a way to distract them and pick their pocket’ in order to keep the plot moving. His dialogue too is clunky and cliched, featuring such eye-rolling gems as ‘Because we’re spies, asshole!”, and “James Bond never had to deal with real life!”, which was followed up by the lament “James Bond always ends up alone.”

The 355, which was supposed to be released last January but was delayed due to Covid, has a production budget of $40 million, but despite being so economical (by Hollywood’s bloated standards), it faces an uphill battle to break even at the box office.

Spider-Man: No Way Home is simply an unstoppable juggernaut right now and the second rate The 355 is going to be lost deep in its box office shadow.

The film will also suffer because it’s just another in a long line of recent girl power propaganda movies that were obviously more focused on getting their neo-feminist “women should behave like men” message out rather than making a quality film.

Ghostbusters (2016), Ocean’s 8, Charlie’s Angels (2019), Terminator: Dark Fate, Birds of Prey and Black Widow, all put their neo-feminist message first and entertaining their audience second, and they either bombed or underperformed at the box office, struggling to break even.

The only reason many of the above-mentioned movies, as well as The 355, were made, was because they appeased the pussy hat wearing brigade by featuring women as action heroes.

The problem though is that The 355, and many of its predecessors, are just dreadful movies, and fairly or not, their failure is seen by many to be a referendum on not only the future of female led-films, but also on the insipid cultural politics these films espouse.

A wise man, and it was most assuredly a man, as pop culture tells me my gender compulsively mansplains things, once said, “get woke go broke”. In regards to The 355, that statement definitely holds true, as this shoddy, vacuously neo-feminist movie has earned the right to be entirely ignored.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2021

The Matrix: Resurrections - A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 1.25 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. Just a dreadful, awful movie that does nothing but undermine the brilliance of the original.

At the very end of Matrix: Resurrections, the movie perfectly sums up its sole reason for existing as well as what is so dreadfully wrong with it.

Back in 1999, when The Matrix came to its conclusion after its astonishing action sequences and mind-expanding/blowing storyline, the song “Wake Up” by Rage Against the Machine blasted out of studio speakers as an aggressive rallying cry and call to arms. It was a stunning moment that perfectly captured the volcanic frustration born out of the ennui and malaise of post-cold war and pre-9/11 America.

In contrast, after two and a half hours of impotent fight sequences and flaccid philosophical musings in Matrix: Resurrections, the fourth movie in the Matrix franchise - which is now in theatres and streaming on HBO Max, the same song, “Wake Up” by Rage Against the Machine, plays once again, but this time the ferocious and rebellious growl of Rage Against the Machine is replaced, and the song is played by a flaccid cover band, Brass Against, and the singer is a woman.

To give an even deeper context to that music cue, Brass Against is a watered-down, truly shitty cover band, and they’ve only ever made the news once, for an incident where their female lead singer literally urinated on a male fan on stage during a show.

Chef’s kiss.

It would seem, with all of the ridiculous, gender-based changes made to the Matrix in Matrix: Resurrections, the girl power revolution will most definitely be televised, but it will also be an abysmal, derivative and boring fucking show that’s only redeeming value is that it is almost instantaneously forgettable.

What grates about Matrix: Resurrections, is that it apparently only exists in order to undermine the story, meaning and power of the original film. In Matrix parlance, it’s like the filmmakers want their audience to vomit up the red pill and gobble up the blue pill.

This of course would seem to be an asinine course of action for the filmmakers, who have never made anything even remotely worthwhile since The Matrix. But when seen in context, it all makes perfect sense on a meta level, as the creators of the Matrix have literally castrated themselves and now have succeeded in castrating their greatest work, The Matrix, as well.

You see, the Wachowski brothers , who wrote and directed the ground-breaking The Matrix in 1999 and both of its dismal sequels in 2003, are now in 2021, the Wachowski sisters. Lana Wachowski, who was Larry Wachowski back in the day, directed this new Matrix movie solo as her former brother and current sister Lilly (formerly Andy), wasn’t involved in the production.

Obviously, a lot can change in the Matrix over twenty years. Besides brothers becoming sisters, action sequences that were once so revolutionary back in ‘99, are now just derivative and dull and the original mind-bending Matrix story is now reduced to a masturbatorial homage driven by limp cultural politics and painfully inert and cliched narratives.

Back for Resurrections are veterans of the original trilogy, Keanu Reeves and Carrie Ann-Moss, but gone for no discernible reason are fellow trilogy vets Laurence Fishburn and Hugo Weaving. But at least Matrix: Resurrections casts heavyweight Doogie Howser…oops…I mean, Neil Patrick Harris, in a critical role. Yikes. Was Urkel/Jaleel White not available?

Keanu, always an understated actor, seems to sleep walk through the film and Moss looks oddly detached from the foolish festivities into which she wanders. I understood their weariness, as I too fought to stave off slumber.

I’d recount the specifics of the plot of Matrix: Resurrections, but its just so supercilious and self-defeating as to be inane if not insane. The brilliance of The Matrix was that it was narratively complex without being complicated. This was why it was so effortless to fall under the spell of the film and go along for the ride. Matrix: Resurrections on the other hand, is needlessly labyrinthine but also remarkably stupid. It repels audience interest by building barriers of banality cloaked in contradictions and incoherence.

I remember when I first saw The Matrix in ‘99. I was going to London the next day and took my lady and a friend to the movie after we had dinner in Manhattan. I had extremely low expectations as I considered Keanu to be a bit of a joke at the time. I left the theatre a few hours later gobsmacked. The movie blew me away. And what made it all the more fascinating was that as the days, weeks, months and even years went by I thought more and more about the movie. Quite an accomplishment for what I assumed was just an action movie.

Unfortunately, the sequels to The Matrix, Matrix: Reloaded and Matrix: Revolutions, were abysmal disappointments, with Revolutions in particular being nearly unwatchable.

Besides the original Matrix movie, the Wachowski’s filmography reveals them to be quite dreadful filmmakers. Speed Racer, Cloud Atlas and Jupiter Ascending is a murderer’s row of cinematic dogshit, and Matrix: Resurrections is an equally odious addition to that line-up.

I’ve read that Lana Wachowski wanted to use Resurrections to take back The Matrix’s “red pill” symbology that had been pirated by right-wing radicals, most notably during the Trump years. This strikes me as a sort of “cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face” type of situation.

The Matrix: Resurrections seems like an attempt to retroactively ruin a classic film, The Matrix, in order to piss off the original’s fans who found meaning within it, because the meaning they found wasn’t what the filmmakers intended.

I’ve heard this Matrix right-wing conundrum equated to when Ronald Reagan usurped Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.” back in the 80’s. Springsteen wrote the song as a protest about the injustices against the working class in America. Reagan used it as a patriotic rallying cry.

The problem with “Born in the U.S.A.” is that while the lyrics astutely lament America’s treatment of the working class, the music accompanying them is written like an anthem. The music is a celebration, while the lyrics are a lamentation. (To see how the musical context changes the song, listen to Springsteen’s sterling acoustic version on the 1999 album 18 Tracks)

Music, like movies, makes people feel first, and think second. Audiences of both Born in the U.S.A. and The Matrix responded to the pride and anger respectively of those two works.

Trying to reverse the effects of that is near impossible, and no matter how much Springsteen corrects the record regarding his song, or the Wachowski’s try and go back and change the meaning of The Matrix, the cat is already out of the bag, the horse is out of the barn, and the genie is out of the bottle. Audience response is solidified and deeply held and there’s nothing that can change that.

Ultimately, Matrix: Resurrections is wrestling with a ghost, and while that may be interesting for the ghost and for the wrestler, to outside observers it just looks like an idiot having spasms during a psychosis-fueled conniption.

My advice is to skip Matrix: Resurrections. It is truly awful. Don’t see it. Don’t even acknowledge it exists. Stay stuck in the delusion that only The Matrix exists and all the other Wachowski films are just bad dreams to be brushed off and forever forgotten.

©2021

Licorice Pizza: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT/SEE IT: A rather disappointing work from the usually brilliant PT Anderson that you can skip at the theatre and check out when it comes to a streaming service.

If Paul Thomas Anderson isn’t the greatest filmmaker working today, he is certainly in the discussion. From his earliest masterpiece Boogie Nights to his most recent, Phantom Thread, as well as with There Will Be Blood, The Master and Magnolia in between, Anderson has shown himself to be a true auteur and master craftsman.

After having suffered through this apocalyptically awful year of cinema, my hope was that PT Anderson would ride in and save the day with his newest film Licorice Pizza, which opened in L.A. and NY on November 26th and went nationwide on Christmas Day.

Unfortunately, Licorice Pizza cannot redeem 2021, as it is not a great film. Yes, it’s well shot and occasionally amusing, but also often meandering and repetitive. Ultimately, it’s little more than an endearing and pleasant but mostly forgettable movie. That said, cinema this year is the land of the lollipop kids and Licorice Pizza may very well be the tallest midget.

When glancing at PT Anderson’s filmography, it’s a staggering collection of brilliant works, and Licorice Pizza wouldn’t even come close to cracking his top 6, despite arguably being one of the best film’s of 2021, which is more an indictment of the cinema of 2021 than it is an endorsement of Licorice Pizza.

The film is a coming of age story that revolves around Gary, a 15 year old child actor, and Alana, a 25 (or so) year old ne’er do well, as they navigate their tumultuous friendship/relationship. Making their feature film debuts, Cooper Hoffman (Philip Seymour Hoffman’s son) plays Gary and Alana Haim (member of the pop-rock sister band Haim) plays Alana.

Cooper Hoffman and Alana Haim are fine in the film, a bit one-note, but fine. They aren’t particularly charismatic or compelling, but they aren’t repulsive either. They don’t seem overwhelmed on-screen, but they also don’t quite have the tools to do the work necessary to make the rather thin story work.

Less a coherent narrative than a series of loosely related vignettes, the film deftly transports the viewer back in time to Los Angeles in the 1970’s. The 70’s were a great time for music and a lack of bras, both of which are duly highlighted in Licorice Pizza.

This loose cinematic structure results in an often meandering movie that lacks heft, both dramatically and psychologically, and creates an absence of character evolution and dramatic arc.

The film’s decided lack of character arc, development and depth, and its superior sense of setting, transform the film into a “hang out” movie, one of my least favorite genre of film (other famous hang out movies are American Graffiti, Dazed and Confused and Frances Ha). Gone is a driving narrative and in its place the audience just gets to hang out and experience rather than being taken for a ride.

The one thing I found somewhat intriguing about Licorice Pizza was that it often seemed like a savvy but subtle meditation on American capitalism, as the movie’s de facto lead character, Gary, is incessantly entrepreneurial. Also feeding that notion are the featured gas shortages of that era - and their accompanying rage, as well as upper class tyrants like Jon Peters (a savage Bradley Cooper) and “Jack” Holden (Sean Penn) preying upon those beneath them.

The film is, not surprisingly, beautifully shot, with PT Anderson and Michael Bauman sharing Director of Photography credit, and boasts a terrific and well utilized soundtrack that features The Doors, Paul McCartney and Wings, David Bowie, Gordon Lightfoot and Blood, Sweat and Tears.

But while the beautiful visuals and luscious soundtrack elevate the movie, they also highlight its lack of substance and dramatic vigor. Licorice Pizza isn’t a case of the emperor having no clothes, it’s more a case of a beautiful wardrobe having no emperor.

There just isn’t enough meat on these bones to satisfy the most basic hunger for drama and character, and thus Licorice Pizza ultimately feels fanciful but also fleeting and forgettable.

The bottom line is that Licorice Pizza is a disappointment, a beautiful disappointment, but a disappointment none the less. If you’re a fan of PT Anderson, lower your expectations and try to find a 35 mm screening, and then it might be worth it. For everyone else, just wait for it to come out on a streaming service and check it out then…when you can “hang out” with it in the comfort of your own home.

©2021