In space, who’s to be trusted?

 In Slingshot, Casey Affleck plays an astronaut traveling to Titan, Saturn's largest moon, as part of a mission with earth-saving potential. The title derives from the mission's plan: The ship will be hurled slingshot fashion from Jupiter to Titan, a source of much-needed methane.

  The journey involves months-long periods of hibernation induced by drugs that may have dangerous side effects, including paranoia, hallucinations, and mistrust.

   Two additional astronauts accompany Affleck's John on his voyage, Laurence Fishburne's Captain Franks and Tomer Capone's Nash.

   Named Odyssey-1, the Titan-bound vessel’s cramped surroundings regularly are pierced by flashbacks to the relationship John formed with Zoe (Emily Beecham), a scientist who helped prepare the mission.

   Working from a screenplay by R. Scott Adams and Nathan C. Parker, Swedish director Mikael Hafstrom  focuses on emerging tensions among the astronauts. Alarmed by a problem with the ship, Nash wants to abort the mission; all-business Franks insists on continuing; John vacillates between the two views.

   Hafstrom creates an environment of uncertainty about what's real and what’s not. Is John hallucinating when he sees Zoe aboard the ship? Are Nash's worries the result of scientific calculation or drug-induced paranoia?

    Though obviously laid out, such questions create a bit of ambiguity and suspense, building toward a third act that plays with expectations as we try to anticipate the story's outcome.

   For a drama that’s meant to brim with psychological tension, Slingshot remains low-key, and Affleck's performance hardly can be called magnetic, a problem for a movie that makes him the centerpiece of a drama about astronauts who might be losing their grip.

    Slingshot pays homage to 2001: A Space Odyssey, but the characters are as pinched as the ship they occupy, the romance between John and Zoe remains lukewarm, and there’s no HAL to serve as a worthy antagonist on a journey that too often seems routine.

  

   

The world of Merchant and Ivory

   The documentary Merchant Ivory may not be the place to look for definitive critical analysis of the work of Ismail Merchant (producer) and James Ivory (director, the duo that made a staggering 43 films between 1961 and 2007.

   Instead, director Stephen Soucy gives us an intimate look at a team composed of the meticulous, Oregon-bred Ivory and the audacious Merchant, born in India and raised as a Muslim. Soucy takes us on an informative, often revealing journey into Merchant/Ivory world. 

 Merchant and Ivory were best known for highly regarded costume dramas based on literary works such as A Room With A View (1986), Howards End (1992), and Remains of the Day (1993).  They brought a sense of literacy to art house audiences, as well as to a larger public that found the team's work beautiful and edifying. 

   Although the movie contains interviews with both Ivory and Merchant, who died in 2005 at the age of 68, it also brings insights from what could be called the Merchant/Ivory repertory company: Emma Thompson, Helena Bonham Carter, Rupert Graves, Simon Callow, Vanessa Redgrave, Hugh Grant, Anthony Hopkins, and more.

  Packed with detail, Merchant Ivory's accomplishments are twofold: to serve as a reminder of the scope of what some regarded as prestige cinema. The documentary also reveals how two men -- often working with writer Ruth Prawer Jhabvala and composer Richard Robbins --  struggled to bring their pictures to the screen. 

   Not surprisingly, Merchant emerges as the dominant personality. He's described as a lovable rascal and conman with the nerve and faith required to begin productions before the money to complete them had been raised. Merchant charmed actors who hadn't been paid, and cooked for casts and crews as an act of endearment meant to convince them they were part of a family.

      Merchant and Ivory lived together as a gay couple. Few talked about their gayness, but it was understood by those who traveled in their sphere.

     It's a bit of a stretch, but when we contrast Ivory with  Merchant, we might say that skill (Ivory) makes interesting things; flamboyance (Merchant), on the other hand, tends to be interesting in and of itself.

   Soucy assembles impressive clips from the Merchant/Ivory catalog, snippets of a varied filmography that should encourage viewers to revisit favorites or discover movies they may have missed.

    It's possible that the Merchant/Ivory names no longer speak to younger audiences, but Ivory, now 95, still works. In 2018, he won an Oscar for adapting the screenplay of Call Me By Your Name, and the body of Merchant Ivory work remains impressive.

     Whatever you think about the Merchant/Ivory movies -- some saw them as stodgy, conservative throwbacks -- the two were responsible for some of the most impeccably cast and best-acted movies of the 1980s and 1990s. That’s quite an achievement.

A wobbly oddball comedy

 

 After the death of his alcoholic wife, Ben Gotlieb slid into an extended funk. He could no longer sing, a major liability for a small-town cantor who chants  prayers at the synagogue that employs him. 

  As if to deepen his sense of ineptitude, Ben — the central character in the offbeat comedy Between the Temples  — has taken up residence with his biological mother and her wife, a duo that tries to manipulate him out of his grief.

   As Ben, Jason Schwartzman creates a character who had ceased being at home in the world -- if he ever was. Ben doesn't seem interested in escaping his grief-stricken wallow, giving Between the Temples a sad-sack quality that can be both drab and amusing, occasionally both at the same time.

   The screenplay contrives to penetrate Ben's hopelessness by introducing him to a character who embodies life at its messiest. Ben’s former elementary school music teacher, the widowed Carla (Carol Kane) asks Ben to prepare her for the bat mitzvah she never had.

     We also suspect she wants to reconnect Ben with the lively, talented elementary school kid she once called "Little Benny."

    Director Nathan Silver, who co-wrote the screenplay with C. Mason Wells, mostly confines Between the Temples to Jewish life in a small New York town. 

     When not focusing on Ben and Carla, Silver brings in supporting characters that include Ben’s rabbi and boss (Robert Smigel) and, eventually, by the rabbi’s daughter Gabby (Madeline Weinstein). The rabbi hopes that his daughter, who he says has problems, might help Ben jumpstart his life -- and provide Gabby with a husband.

   Dolly De Leon and Caroline Aaron play Ben’s Jewish mothers, women whose lives center on Ben, work, and the synagogue, where they participate in fund-raising efforts.

    Initially, Ben resists becoming Carla's teacher, but she’s insistent, candid, and charming in a scattered way that Kane enhances with a welcome touch of uncertainty about herself.

     So how far will this relationship go? Carla, after all, has a son (Matthew Shear) who might be close to Ben’s age. Besides, Ben shows few signs that he can handle any sort of relationship, much less one involving a major age gap.

     Between the Temples lopes toward an ending that culminates with a Shabbat dinner scene that strains to hit the right notes. So, at times, does the rest of the movie.

      I wondered whether Silver wanted his film to feel both eccentric and ordinary, an attempt at capturing the weirdness and contradictions of ordinary life.

      Well and good, and Kane’s presence proves refreshing. But I felt the same way about the movie as I felt about Ben. Like him, it needed to find some spark.

Alluring surfaces enliven ‘Blink Twice’

 

  Actress Zoe Kravitz makes her directorial debut with Blink Twice, an energetic, often entertaining variation on a theme in which luxury-hungry women suddenly find themselves living lavishly on an island owned by a tech billionaire played by Channing Tatum.

  Kravitz, who co-wrote the screenplay with E.T. Feigenbaum, understands the need to seduce an audience before letting the other shoe drop. Kravitz optimizes the pleasure offered on a tropical island, where the point is to have a good time with fine food, carefully curated drugs, and no money worries.

   Blink Twice is about being captivated by surfaces that promise ease and pleasure, while ignoring indications that something sinister looms.

   Naomi Ackie, who gave a strong but overlooked performance in Whitney Houston: I Want To Dance With Somebody, plays Frida, an ambitious woman who works for a catering company that's running a fund-raising gala for Tatum's Slater King. 

   King says he's stepping down from his company to reflect. He also wants to atone for an offense that presumably went public but which the film never defines. 

    Laying on the soft-spoken charm, Tatum presents Slater as a model of newly acquired consideration and empathy that he attributes to a recent therapeutic epiphany.

    Posing as a partygoer rather than the help, Frida embarrasses herself when she stumbles. Slater puts her at ease.

     Before you can say "glitz," Frida and pal Jess (Alia Shawkat) are elevated from the ranks of servitude. They find themselves on Slater's private jet, living a fantasy of style and privilege.

      Ackie’s performance also suggests that Frida may have found someone who cares about her. If he owns an island, so much the better. It beats the hell out of gig work.

      Other women have been taken on the trip. Slater is also accompanied by a posse of fun-loving male loyalists, played by Simon Rex, Haley Joel Osment, Christian Slater, and, later, Kyle MacLachlan.

       Geena Davis portrays Stacy, Slater's assistant, the woman who tends to the details that are supposed to make everyone happy while the women compete for Slater's attention. Stacy also makes sure to collect everyone's cell phone upon arrival on the island, where the women are given the same white outfits to wear. 

        Adria Arjona plays Sarah, a woman who begins to suspect that something terrible may be happening, particularly after Shawkat's Alia disappears. Several of the women can't even remember that Alia had been there. 

      Another sign that there's a dark side to paradise arrives in the form of a stern maid (Maria Elena Olivares), whose forbidding look makes it seem as if she might have dropped in from a horror movie. 

        In some sense, Blink Twice needs the audience to be ahead of its characters. We've been schooled to go along with such things as we wait for Slater's true intentions to emerge.

        Despite its upbeat tempo and sustained glamor, the film eventually must deliver what we know is coming -- a serving of horror that steers Blink Twice into the choppy waters of revenge.

        Kravitz could have done more to modulate the movie's propulsive rhythms, and she takes the movie's  opulence beyond the point of diminishing returns. A concluding coda seems as tricky as it is meaningful.

        Still, Kravitz’s increasingly nasty tropical shenanigans glide through a lively one hour and 42 minutes that suggest a career behind the camera may take Kravitz far beyond Blink Twice's island.

'Alien: Romulus' spews acid on new faces

    

  The events in Alien: Romulus occur between the time of the original Ridley Scott’s Alien and Aliens, James Cameron's follow-up. That makes Romulus both a sequel and a prequel, or, a midquel or interquel if you want to get technical about it.

  Whatever you choose to call this eighth installment, Alien: Romulus brings a younger cast headed by Cailee Spaeny into the mix while reviving the movie's main attraction: hideous, acid-spewing creatures that can grow inside humans.

   Director Fede Álvarez (Evil Dead, Don't Breathe) provides plenty of jolts, although he can't entirely reinvigorate the basic Alien formula: Monstrous creatures knock off humans in confined corridors that are often sealed by locked doors. You might call this “hatch-and-latch” cinema.

   Adjustments have been made with the addition of an artificially created person named Andy (David Johnsson) and the presence of Rook,  a mangled droid that looks and sounds like the late Ian Holm, who played Ash in the first installment. And, yes, Rook makes for a creepy self-referential addition.

    In this version, dribbles of emotion trickle into the story from the relationship between Andy and Rain; she regards the child-like android as a brother. About midway through, a change in Andy's programming turns his personality from benign to rentless, a shift Johnsson makes the most of.

   Romulus gets a considerable boost from the boiler-room aesthetic that began with the original, which delivered a welcome counterpunch to sleek futuristic space operas.

    Space remains a source of minerals. The movie opens in the Jackson Mining Colony, home to scores of grizzled workers. The company that runs the place treats its employees like indentured servants.

   The story picks up when Tyler (Archie Renaux) invites Rain to join him on a rogue mission to salvage spare parts from an abandoned space station that's divided into two sections, Romulus and Remus. The group wants to escape the mining life for a freer part of the universe. Rain hopes to flee the darkness and see the sun.

  A corporation (evil, of course) had been conducting genetic experiments in the Romulus part of the station. If you don't know why all the station's residents are dead, you've never seen an Alien movie.

   Oh yeah, one space traveler (Spike Fearn) hates synthetics, the movie's term for droids; another is pregnant (Isabela Yolanda Moner), allowing for the appearance of a grotesque ... 

   Never mind. No sense spoiling Alvarez's finale, although you may see it coming.

   The proliferation of alien monsters effectively upgrades opportunities for tension. Alvarez has emphasized that the actors  mostly worked with animatronics or puppets rather than computer-generated effects. I suppose that’s another virtue.

    Slime and gore aside, corporate exploitation seems like a worn-out theme. Moreover, the movie's fresh faces, bizarre genetic twists, and strong atmospherics only carry Romulus so far -- better than some recent Alien movies, but not as good as first two.

    And, look, the previous Alien movies haven't left much unsaid.

    As for the big reveal during the movie's concluding battle, I chuckled. I don't think that was the response the movie was looking for.

A bestseller hits the screen

 

  I guess I'm behind the times. Or maybe it's because I don't hang out in bars anymore.  I probably don't read the right magazines, either. Whatever the reasons, I'm new to the idea that some men -- as in grown men -- wear onesies, one-piece garments once associated with toddlers. 

  I learned about this fashion statement while watching It Ends With Us, a big-screen adaptation of a best-selling novel by Colleen Hoover. In a scene that caught my eye, two men are wearing onesies in a bar. 

   If there's an implied meaning in this -- something about men stuck in childhood -- it eluded me. No matter. I'm not a member of the target audience for the movie, which stars Blake Lively as Lily Bloom, a Boston florist who falls for a neurosurgeon named Ryle Kincaid (Justin Baldoni).  

    No offense to younger generations but if I ever need neurosurgery, I'm going to insist that it's administered by a physician who doesn't wear onesies.

  Directed by Baldoni, It Ends with Us dresses itself in the trappings of romance. Lily's stylish wardrobe sure as hell didn't come from a bargain basement. The characters dine in upscale restaurants, and no one's wallet seems pinched.

   After traveling to Maine for her father's funeral, Lily heads to Boston, where she tries to stake out a new life. Having quit an apparently good job, she's ready to fulfill her flower shop dreams.

   Lily soon meets Allysa (Jenny Slate), the character who assumes the story's best-friend duties. Lily hires Allysa, who evidently doesn't need a job to pay the rent but wants to help Lily upgrade the abandoned shop she'll soon turn into a trendy Boston retail spot.

    At this point, the story begins to trip over its contrivances. As it turns out, Allysa is also the sister of neurosurgeon Ryle and the wife of Marshall (Hasan Minhaj), a character I mention because he's also seen wearing onesies.

     We learn two things early on: Lily's father physically abused her mother (Amy Morton), and Ryle has a temper.  

     When Lily and Ryle first meet on the rooftop patio of a Boston apartment, Ryle smashes a chair in a fit of rage. He doesn't realize Lily is watching. 

     Lily's sitting on a wall, looking as if she might topple off the building's edge. She's probably contemplating her father's funeral. She was supposed to deliver the eulogy but couldn't find five good things to say about the man.

     To add more complication, Christy Hall's screenplay contrasts Lily's life in the present with her high school days. As a teenager, she developed a relationship with homeless kid Atlas (Alex Neustaedter). He's her first love, and, damn, if he doesn't turn up later as the owner of a trendy Boston eatery. 

      Does a love triangle loom?

      Brandon Skelnar plays the grown Atlas. For the record, Isabela Ferrer portrays the younger Lily

      Bear with me while I try to climb out from under the woods of the entanglements woven into the plot.

       Unless you're familiar with Hoover's 2016 novel, you might think I'm writing about a routine romance, one full of eye candy and gloss. But Hoover's book and its big-screen version give romantic fantasy a serious edge by shifting the story's tone to focus on domestic violence -- albeit without entirely abandoning the movie's earlier vibe.

      The mixture gives Lively, who holds the movie's center, a role that relies both on surface and depth. Lily slowly accepts the idea of entering a relationship with Ryle, a guy who has given off warning signals that his interest in women seldom gets beyond sex. 

     Baldoni's performance relies on his character's carefully cultivated charm, encouraging belief that he wants to shed his roving ways and find a lasting relationship. 

      I'll stop here because the rest involves the ways in which the story resolves.

      It Ends with Us may not have an audience beyond fans of the novel, although there may be enough of them to make for success. The book, after all, was on the New York Times bestseller list for 164 weeks and probably will get another boost from the movie's release.

      On the plus side of the melodramatic ledger, Baldoni deserves credit for showing how signs of impending violence often are ignored. Scenes involving physical abuse have undeniable impact, and, as the title suggests, the ending tries for hopeful assertion.

     At the same time, the movie's seductive slickness allows its seriousness to slide away too easily. So, I'll vacillate, as I think the movie does: It Ends with Us could have been better, but it also could have been a whole lot worse. 

A caper built around Boston bumblers

If you were picking a movie based on its cast, The Instigators would be a good bet. The movie stars Matt Damon and Casey Affleck and utilizes the talents of Michael Stuhlbarg, Alfred Molina, and Ron Perlman in supporting roles. But the cast — no matter how strong — can’t shake the limits of dreary, uninspired material. Director Doug Liman ( Edge of Tomorrow, Mr. and Mrs. Smith,  The Bourne Identity, and most recently, a maligned remake of the movie Road House) brings us to Boston where Damon and Affleck play bumblers lured into stealing big bucks from the city's corrupt mayor (Perlman).  Another member of the larcenous band (Jack Harlow) is too quick to resort to violence. Not surprisingly, the heist goes wrong, taking the story on a stale and disappointing journey. The movie strains to introduce a comic element when Damon's Rory is joined by his therapist (Hong Chau) as the thieves take flight. The joke: Chau's character takes an inappropriately therapeutic approach to Rory's larceny. The big theft has been orchestrated by Stuhlbarg's conniving character with an assist from Molina's Richie, a Boston baker. Ving Rhames signs on as a tough Boston cop engaged by the mayor to retrieve a valuable piece of property taken during the heist. Damon and Affleck don't offer much by way of scintillating banter, and car chases through the streets of Boston add little excitement. The movie, releasing on AppleTV+,  does its best to load up on local Boston color, but the results are drab.

Theater in a fabled New York prison

   The Sing Sing Correctional Facility is located about 30 miles north of Manhattan on the banks of the Hudson River. It once was the home to an electric chair dubbed "old Sparky." The Rosenbergs — Julias and Ethel — were executed there in 1953. The prison now houses about 1,700 inmates and employs some 900 people. 

  I'd wager that during the average American's day, even the average New Yorker’s, little or no thought is given to life inside Sing Sing or any other prison.

   For that reason alone, Sing Sing merits attention. 

   The movie revolves around a prison-based program known as RTA (Rehabilitation Through Arts). Among other things, the program offers prisoners an opportunity to act and stage plays. Theater provides a chance to expand limited prison horizons. 

    Director Greg Kwedar employs (Colman Domingo) and a variety of the program's alumni to create a story about men who have found solace and hope practicing theater arts. Eighty-five percent of cast members were RTA veterans, and the story is based on a 2005 Esquire article by author John H. Richardson.

   Domingo portrays Divine G, an even-tempered man who has made the group the focal point of his life. He shares a cell with Mike Mike (Sean San Jose), another convict whose participation in the program has given his life purpose.

   The story brings Divine G and Mike Mike into contact with Divine Eye (Clarence Maclin), a prisoner who hasn't  gotten a handle on his rage. 

   A question looms: What will the program offer Divine Eye and what will he offer it? 

   The movie also chronicles the development of Breakin' the Mummy's Code, a whacky comedy written by Brent Buell (Paul Raci), the program's theater director, a sympathetic character who listens, arbitrates disputes, and keeps troupe members focused.

   Throughout the movie, Maclin's character struggles with Hamlet's "To Be or Not To Be" soliloquy, eventually delivering it to the satisfaction of his fellow prisoners and us. I encourage you to read the speech and consider what it might mean to you if you were reading it behind bars.

   Emotions are drawn from parole hearings, and the unexpected death of one of the characters sends Divine G into a deep depression. Coleman's performance shows what it's like for a man who prides himself on coping with reality to lose hope.

   But the movie's positive message emerges in ways that can be moving and uplifting. Sing Sing put me in mind of one of my favorite quotes from Samuel Johnson, the 18th-century genius who's not known for his thoughts on American prisons. 

   "The natural flights of the human mind are not from pleasure to pleasure, but from hope to hope,'' wrote Johnson. In theater, the men of Sing Sing find more than drama; they find hope that their humanity can't be destroyed.

A thriller trapped by silliness

 

 Director M. Night Shyamalan's Trap isn't a typical whodunit. The movie makes it clear from the start that a cunning serial killer lurks behind the good-guy surface of a Philadelphia father who earns his living as a fireman.

  Shyamalan casts Josh Hartnett as Cooper, a killer whose evil inclinations are never much in doubt. The suspense, such as it is, derives from a different question: Can the killer escape law enforcement and continue leading his carefully compartmentalized double life? 

  The trailer reveals the movie's main plot contrivance. Shyamalan's screenplay places Cooper at a concert in a Philadelphia arena. Teen idol Lady Raven (Saleka Shyamalan) headlines the show. Cooper is treating his teenage daughter (Ariel Donoghue) to floor seats.

     You'll have to wait until the third act to learn how the police determined that The Butcher (aka Cooper) would attend the concert. Meanwhile, you can wonder about the judgment of cops who set a massive trap involving an arena full of screaming kids.

    Shyamalan takes a generous approach to the concert footage, giving his daughter Saleka a chance to perform several numbers. She does the singing in footage that looks convincing enough.

    Once Cooper realizes the police know that The Butcher is within their grasp, he spends most of his time trying to find an escape route from an arena that’s teeming with police officers who’ve sealed every exit.

    How will the police even know if they encounter the killer? Conveniently, The Butcher has an animal tattoo that will distinguish him from the other 2,999 men who have brought their kids to the concert. All men will be checked at the exits.

     Hayley Mills plays Dr. Grant, the genius profiler who has concocted this trap for Cooper, providing a serviceable premise for a thriller that encourages us to consider how a packed 20,000-seat arena can be secured.

     The movie depends on Harnett's performance as a genial guy who no one -- other than the audience -- suspects of being a vicious killer. Hartnett plays against his wholesome looks, offering flashes of weird behavior and murderous impulses even as he tries to be a loving father. He’s part family man, part maniac with mama issues.

      The screenplay eventually contrives to bring Cooper's wife (Alison Pill) into the proceedings, but as it unfolds, the story becomes increasingly ridiculous, even campy. It's difficult to say more without spoilers, but it's possible that Shyamalan is goofing on a well-worn genre. Maybe not.

       Whatever the case, the third act pushes credibility to absurd extremes while giving Shyamalan an opportunity to try to stick one of his twist-heavy landings. 

       All I'll say is, "Cue the eye rolls, please." 

          

Scorsese on two filmmakers

If you're a film enthusiast,  Made in England: Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger should rank high on your list. Director David Hinton structures his film around an extended narration from director Martin Scorsese, who became close to Powell late in the director's life. (Powell, who died in 1990, was married to Scorsese's go-to editor, Thelma Schoonmaker). The films of Powell (director) and Pressburger (screenwriter) include The Red Shoes, A Matter of Life and Death, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, Black Narcissus, and The Tales of Hoffman. Scorsese talks about the influence the Powell/Pressburger collaboration had on his career. Clips and biographical information show how one generation of filmmakers can find itself in conversation with another. I'm not going to rehash the film's content, but it's difficult to find a better guide through someone's filmography than Scorsese. For Scorsese, the films he discusses aren't part of film history: They're as vital to him today as they were when he first saw them, sometimes on TV when he was a kid. That sense of immediacy keeps Made In England from becoming a lecture: It's an informed and passionate appreciation.