A so-so helping of Jack Ryan

Like many burnt-out CIA agents, Jack Ryan (John Krasinski) wants to be left alone. But CIA agents, don't retire -- not in movies. So at the beginning of Jack Ryan: Ghost War, Jack is lured back into action by his boss, James Greer (Wendell Pierce). Screenwriters Krasinski, Aaron Rabin, and Noah Oppenheim bring the series to a close with a movie that alternates exposition and action in roughly equal measures. Jack's joined by colleague Mike November (Michael Kelly) on a supposedly routine mission turns into a complicated globe-threatening plot that teams Jack with Emma Marlow, a British intelligence agent played by Sienna Miller. Both are trying to locate a rogue agent (Max Beesley) who runs a group that wants to revive Starling, a deep-cover operation that believes dirty fighting is essential if those who would crash the gates of western civilization are to be quashed. Moving from Dubai to London, Ghost War bids goodbye to  characters, who -- before the end -- affirm their camaraderie, good-guy warriors who want to make a better world. The clash between decent operatives and those who go too far gives the movie a patina of seriousness, but overall Ghost War feels like a formulaic, mildly serviceable wrap-up. Ghost War is not playing theatrically, but is being released on Prime Video.

'The Mandalorian' hits the big screen

   In some respects, Star Wars: The Mandalorian and Grogu qualifies as one of the biggest puppet shows ever staged. The creatures who populate The Mandalorian may not look entirely real, but they display the imagination and skill created by a seamless mix of CGI, animatronics, puppetry, and models.

      I guess I'm saying that realism takes a backseat to craft in The Mandalorian and Grogu, a movie that's better than I thought it would be, even if it lacks the super thrills of the best Star Wars movies.

     For those unversed in the Mandalorian world, here are a few essentials:

     The Mandalorian, a.k.a. Din Djarin, works as a hired gun for the anti-imperial New Republic.

      In this case, The Mandalorian is charged with finding and arresting Lord Janu (Jonny Coyne), one of the series' villains. The Republic makes a deal with a couple of Hutts (yes, a duo of the familiar blubbery creatures) to locate Rotta the Hutt and return him to Hutt control.

      Jeremy Allen White gives voice to Rotta. If you're expecting to hear the voice associated with White's character in The Bear, forget it. White's voice sounds as if it has been given an electronic assist.

       Whatever else it is, The Mandalorian isn't a star showcase. The Mandalorian seldom appears without his helmet, which means Pedro Pascal, makes heavy use of voice work.

       Martin Scorsese's jangled delivery as a four-armed food truck operator feels more connected to Scorsese's personality and provides a welcome dash of humor.

       Looking unsettlingly like ... well ... herself, Sigourney Weaver turns up as Col. Ward, the New Republic commander who sends the Mandalorian on the mission that defines the movie's structure: Set a goal, confront an obstacle, stage a fight, and then proceed to the next set piece.

      The movie's emotional core involves father/son issues, a Star Wars favorite. Imprisoned by Lord Janu, Rotta -- son of Jabba-- has attained a degree of stardom as a kind of gladiator. He rejects his father's criminal past, and aims to lead a life of his own, once he escapes Janu's clutches.

      More importantly, The Mandalorian serves as a father figure to Grogu, who's devoted to him, and, who, thanks to one of the movie's better plot twists, eventually is asked to save his surrogate father.

      There's something happily unsophisticated about The Mandalorian, both in its dialogue and characterizations. Although he's responsible for the movie's more tender moments, Grogu offers as much cuteness as clout, underscoring a vibe that feels less like hard-core sci-fi than Disneyesque fantasy.

        Maybe it fits the current moment, but The Mandalaorian works for money rather than for a vision of a free and thriving universe. To ensure that we don't see him as too greedy, the screenplay offers instances in which The Mandalorian doesn't accept payment. If nothing else, he deserves a vacation after engaging in an exhaustive (and sometimes exhausting) string of battles.

         I should note that I haven't watched the series on Disney Plus and still found the story easy enough to follow.  I didn't expect a deep-space adventure rendered in epic proportions; a bit of Googling primed me for a Star Wars descendant with less imposing villains and lower stakes. That's what I got.

       Scale aside, the battle between the New Republic and the forces of evil imperialism have been dragging on for nearly 50 years. Who knows? Maybe Grogu  one day will no longer rest on The Mandalorian's shoulders, but ....

        Oh, forget it.

         The Star Wars universe is geared for endless battling to save the Republic. One expects the fight to continue. Talk about "forever wars."

A look behind the Kremlin's walls

  It's easy to see why director Olivier Assayas may have been drawn to Giuliano Da Empoli's novel about the machinations behind Vladimir Putin's rise to power in post-Soviet Russia. We seem to relish behind-the-scenes looks at powerful institutions, perhaps hoping that we'll enjoy the contradictory pleasures of savoring and condemning the rot we find.

  Employing a strong cast led by Paul Dano, as Vadim Baranov, a master manipulator who becomes a backstage force in Putin's career, Assayas presents a highlight reel of Russian history from the 1980s to the invasion of Crimea. 

    Assayas unifies the movie's various segments with a narration by Baranov, who meets at his country home with a visiting Yale professor (a wasted Jeffrey Wright) to whom he tells his story, a framing device that weighs the movie down.

   Shifting focus and locations, Assayas introduces various important characters in the story, notably Boris Berezovsky (Will Keen), an oligarch who identifies Putin as a successor to the increasingly ineffectual and doddering Boris Yeltsin. Berezovski mistakenly thinks Putin can be controlled.

   It takes awhile for him to appear, but Jude Law's Putin turns out to be a powerful addition to the movie. Compact, brutal and cunning, Putin's forceful presence can be felt even when he's off screen.  

   Working from a screenplay by Emmanuel Carrere, Assayas finds youthful energy in the wild days just after the fall of the Soviet Union. At this point, Baranov is a young theater student who samples the libertine freedoms of the 80s and 90s. 

    Baranov's theatrical background proves critical to his advancement; he's assigned the role of creating the illusory reality around Putin. He becomes skilled in the use of TV and eventually the internet. He's a master manipulator who operates without conscience, a technician who wants to be part of the action.

    Looking back on Dano's performance as Baranov, it's understandable that he chose to play this schemer with a low-key whispery voice. Baranov isn't a man of conviction; he's a man of prowess. Still, Dano's choice can feel a bit undercooked, and the characters surrounding Baranov can be more interesting than he, a problem the movie can't always overcome. 

     Early on, Baranov is smitten by a young woman (Alicia Vikander) who will crop up throughout in relationships with various characters, including a flamboyant, budding oligarch (Tom Sturridge) who lures her away from Baranov.

     Some of the actors are playing real people; others -- including Dano -- portray fictionalized characters. Baranov reportedly is based on Vladislav Surkov, a former Putin confidant and advisor. I'm always a bit wary of movies that mix the real and the fictional, especially when dealing with people who are still alive.

    Many of the actors employ Russian accents; others (including Dano) don't, but Assayas deserves credit for creating the impression that we're watching Russian characters in a complex drama with moving  parts that collide and abrade, often in ways that create an intriguing picture of undisguised deceit and corruption.

    For all that, The Wizard can't quite live up to the magnitude of its subject. At 136 minutes, The Wizard of the Kremlin harbors a surfeit of betrayals and power moves, but the movie also comes across as a crowded, novelistic effort that's not without interest,  but too frequently gets lost in the weeds.

 

On the road to nowhere in Italy

Two wide-sodden thieves (Sergio Romano and Pierpaolo Capovilla) wander the Veneto region of Italy in The Last One for the Road.  Romano's Carlobianchi and Capovilla's Doriano have become low-level con artists since their lucrative business, selling stolen sunglasses, crumbled. The business hit the skids when Genio (Andrea Pennachi)  fled to Argentina to avoid jail.  He seemed to be the trio's mastermind. Now, Carlobianchi and Doriano are on their way to meet Genio, who's returning to Italy. En route, they pick up a reserved young architecture student (Filippo Scotti) who they introduce to their free-form world. The two men improvise various schemes, most of them illegal or unethical. With their reluctant protege offering help, they pose as a construction team for a count who's trying to stave off the building of a road through his garden. At various other times, Scotti's character imagines that he's Genio, assuming a more assertive role in the proceedings. Director Francesco Sossai keeps the tone light, but despite a number of amusing moments, Last One begins to lag as it drifts through drab bars and spent villages. At its best, though, The Last One for the Road works as a tattered Valentine to the Veneto region, seen here through the eyes of two men whose ceaseless search for one final drink has become the low-grade goal fueling their travels on the road to nowhere. 

  

His wish for love is granted, but ….

  Bear (Michael Johnston), who works at a store that sells musical instruments, has a major crush on Nikki (Inde Navarrette), a co-worker who seems to regard him only as a friend. Too timid to pursue a romantic  relationship, Bear stammers his way through attempts to express his feelings, even rehearsing them with another co-worker (Cooper Tomlinson). 

    When Nikki initiates the perfect moment for Bear to take their relationship to the next level, he blows it badly, partly because he’s off his already weak game. Upon arriving home from work that day, he found his beloved cat Sandy dead on the living room floor.

   Cat lovers beware, director Curry Baker will provide additional reasons for upset.

   The major plot point arrives when Bear finds himself in a novelty shop where he spots a 1980s collectible called One Wish Willow. The novelty costs $6.99 and promises to grant one wish when the buyer splits it in half. 

    Baker then dives headlong into the movie’s surreal premise. After missing an easy chance to declare his feelings to Nikki, Bear wishes for her to love him more than anyone else in the world.

     Of course, Bear’s wish comes true — with a vengeance that liberates Naverrette to give a performance bristling with fierce attachment, rage, jealousy, and ultimately, violence. 

    Baker gives the couple a period of happy communion, ably capturing the consuming excitement of love in its early stages. But as Nikki’s attachment to Bear deepens, her behavior begins the transition from peculiar to downright frightening.

    For his part, Bear begins to realize what we knew would happen: He has made a big mistake by not being careful about what he wished for.

     Bear voices his concern about Nikki's bizarre behavior, things like standing in a darkened corner of a bedroom and watching him sleep. Nikki immediately apologizes, showing flashes of the woman Bear so badly wanted. 

    When Nikki worms her way into what’s supposed to be a boys' night at Tomlinson’s character’s place, she delivers a demented monologue that mesmerizes and frightens her listeners, including another co-worker played by Megan Lawless as a character who seems to offer Bear an alternative to Nikki.

     Obsession, which includes effective jump scares and builds toward a seriously bloody finale, may not be the deepest hunk of horror, but Navarrette possesses the screen as she tries to do the same to poor, bumbling Bear, a guy whose wish becomes horrifyingly true.

    

    

Billie Eilish powers 3D concert film

    I am not a Billie Eilish fan. I'm also not a Billie Eilish detractor. Put another way,  I've had limited exposure to the work of the Grammy-winning artist whose distinctive style tempers disaffection with rebellious assertion. Eilish's music has been used in movies such as No Time To Die, Barbie, and Turning Red. She takes charge of her image, embracing desexualized, oversized clothing that evokes a youthful Hip-Hop sense of freedom. 

 Eilish shares directing credits with James Cameron for Billie Eilish: Hit Me Hard and Soft -- The Tour Live in 3D, a movie filmed during four arena concerts in Manchester, England. Cameron and his team use 3D to add depth, intimacy, and immersive presence to a film that may appeal mostly to Eilish's legion of fans. But even those with only passing knowledge of Eilish's musical catalog should acknowledge the undeniably strong connection the singer makes with her audience. 

  Forget the idea that someone might attend a concert to listen to music. Eilish's fans sing along with her. Shown in Cameron's somewhat repetitive close-ups, many of her fans are moved to tears by lyrics they know by heart. Fans don't just mouth the words; they deliver them with the conviction of true believers. Many watch with cell phones raised, recording moments that suggest a near spiritual communion.

    Maybe the film is slanted, but interviews with fans suggest that Eilish's music makes them feel seen, offering assurances that they're not alone. Watching the film is like attending a convention of outsiders who have suddenly become the majority.

     I'll leave it to others to comment on the songs. Eilish sings them on an empty stage. Musicians and back-up singers work in two pits separated by another strip of stage. Two female singers dressed like school girls sometimes appear on stage, as does Eilish's brother and frequent song-writing collaborator Finneas O'Connell. 

     But mostly, Eilish commands the spotlight, racing across a rectangular stage or occupying an illuminated square structure that's raised and lowered for dramatic effect, often with her standing on top of it. Cameron, who occasionally appears on camera, reinforces the notion that the stage belongs to Eilish. Her power rests in working without a surfeit of production-oriented frills. 

      Eilish seems to be aiming for a kind of purity of performance. She's the special effect.  Cameron relies on close-ups of Eilish, and uses 3D to reinforce the idea that the concert isn't just a series of songs; it's a communal experience.

      Cameron's interviews aren't especially revealing, and images of the stage and lighting being assembled and later dismantled don't add much either. Cameron breaks up the film with scenes of pre-concert preparation, and Eilish dispenses bits of incidental information. We learn she likes to have a puppy room at her venues: It's populated by adoptable dogs from wherever she's appearing. 

     More importantly, Eilish articulates what her fans presumably already know. She refuses to be imprisoned by the gender stereotypes that too often have defined female performers. She wants to be as wild on stage as any male rapper, and if you're in the target audience, her apparent abandon comes across as playful and liberating.

     A confession: When Eilish announced that the time for the last song had arrived, I was ready for the concert to end. But that doesn't mean that the film didn't make me aware of Eilish's magnetism.  Watching her hold 20,000-plus people in thrall for one hour and 54 minutes is something to see.

 

'Sheep Detectives' on the case

  What a preposterous idea. Who wants to watch a movie about a flock of sheep intent on discovering who murdered their beloved shepherd? Director Kyle Balda (Despicable Me 3, Minions: The Rise of Gru) turns to live action in The Sheep Detectives and finds more charm than any movie about sleuthing sheep deserves. 

  Based on German novelist Leonie Swann's Three Bags Full, Sheep Detectives has its eye on younger viewers but doesn't leave their adult escorts far behind. Sheep Detectives smartly follows a standard whodunit arc, arriving at the expected plot points with pleasing efficiency.

   The sheep know the mystery formula because the shepherd -- Hugh Jackman's George Hardy -- used to read them detective novels before they retired to the barn for a night's rest. Balda adds a bit of darkness to the bucolic background. The good-guy shepherd is murdered early on, reducing Jackman's screen time, and the story makes room for greedy ambition among its human characters.

   Overall, though, The Sheep Detectives involves endearing CGI animals who speak to one another in English. (Human characters can't hear them). Lily (Julia Louis-Dreyfus) portrays the flock's leader. Regina King gives voice to Cloud, a sheep who gets by on good grooming. 

   Previous to the loss of their caretaker, the sheep had been living an idyllic life. They suppress bad memories, and soothe themselves with a belief about the afterlife: Sheep don't die; they turn into fluffy clouds. Chris O'Dowd's Mopple is the only sheep who remembers the flock's history. Byran Cranston voices a ram who lives apart from the rest of the group.

   A winter lamb, rejected by the others, paves the way for an instructional layer about tolerating creatures who don't fit in.

   The town's human population includes Derry (Nicholas Braun), a policeman of blatant incompetence. Emma Thompson signs on as a brittle lawyer who tries to administer the late shepherd's will.  Molly Gordon plays the shepherd's daughter; she hasn't seen her father in years. The town's butcher, the appropriately named Ham (Conleth Hill), regards the sheep as potential source of profit. Nicholas Galitzine portrays a reporter who's investigating the murder, and Hong Chau plays the operator of the town's hotel.

   The human characters add some of the eccentric flavor of an Ealing comedy to a story set in the English countryside. 

   It's a stretch to think of The Sheep Detectives as a family-oriented classic, but the movie proves amusing enough to earn its place in the world of talking animals that speak the language of quirky entertainment.

Bob's Cinema Diary: 'Hokum' and 'One Spoon of Chocolate'

 Hokum 

Director Damian McCarthy tries to turn familiar ingredients into something unexpected in Hokum, a horror movie about an embittered novelist (Adam Scott) who visits the Irish hotel where his late parents spent their honeymoon and where Scott's Ohm Bauman plans to scatter their ashes. Oddly, the story begins with a deceptive prologue about a lost conquistador and the boy who's traveling with him; it's soon revealed that we've been watching the concluding scene of Bauman's latest novel, which McCarthy will re-introduce in the final going to add another  twist. The hotel's staff generates suspicion: there's an overly solicitous bellhop (Will O'Connell) and the hotel's clerk (Peter Coonan) happens to be the owner's son-in-law. Michael Patric plays a handyman who, early on, makes it clear that he's skilled with a crossbow. Florence Ordesh appears as Finona, the hotel's bartender; her disappearance motivates Bauman to search for her. Could Jerry (David Wilmot), a loner who lives in the woods where he concocts a drink powered by hallucinogenic mushrooms, have murdered the barmaid? Of course, there's a honeymoon suite no one's allowed to enter, and the hotel is so old-fashioned, you almost can smell the must.  McCarthy raises interesting questions: Does it really matter whether terrifying events are real or imagined? How does one exorcise the persistent demons of a troubled past? McCarthy also deserves credit for avoiding a flood of gore and for adding bits of Irish folklore involving a witch. But this overdose of atmospherics never quite lives up to its ambitions, a flaw that we suspect might also characterize Bauman's novels. Hokum, which offers a few effective jump scares, capitalizes on Scott's willingness to play a guilt-ridden character who generates little sympathy, but the movie  doesn't generate the kind of haunting fear that might have turned it into a small triumph.

One Spoon of Chocolate 

In One Spoon of Chocolate,  a Black veteran reacts angrily when confronted with injustice in a small Ohio town that's loaded with racists. The movie opens with a grisly prologue in which a young Black man (Isaiah R. Hill) is lured into a trap by a racist cabal that harvests organs for profit. Director RZA has lots in mind as the story settles into a tale involving Randy "Unique" Jackson (Shameik Moore). Newly released from prison, the ex-soldier wants to get on with his life, but the town of Karensville (fictional) stands in his way. Humiliations and troubles mount, and at least one member of Unique's family falls prey to the racists. All of this builds toward a Rambo-like outburst that turns the movie into a mediocre genre exercise culminating with mayhem delivered by a righteous warrior. The dialogue tips toward the obvious, and RZA's attempts to expose racist horrors wind up drowning in the blood of cliched violence.

A family story seen obliquely

  Blue Heron, an absorbing debut film from Canadian director Sophy Romvari, begins as if it's going to be an idyl about the joys of childhood. Romvari introduces us to the kids of a Hungarian immigrant family that's settling into a new home on Vancouver Island in the 1990s.

  A truck is unloaded, and the kids are encouraged to get out of the way. Romvari and cinematographer Maya Bankovic keep the camera close to their characters. You almost feel the children brushing past.

    Romvari bases the film on her experiences, and she shifts times and viewpoints to intriguing effect. Romvari juxtaposes a poetic cinematic vocabulary with more straightforward scenes. But even those can be tricky. At one point, Romvari's central character appears as an adult social worker who visits her parents to discuss what happened to her older brother.

      But I get ahead of myself. To clarify, Sasha — the story’s main character — is eight at the film's outset. Eylul Guven gives an amazingly unaffected performance as an eight-year-old who plays with her siblings and seems to be living a normal childhood. 

      Gradually, we learn that Sasha's older stepbrother, Jeremy (Edik Beddoes), has behavioral issues. At times, he seems fully present, but he's often remote. At one point, he falls asleep on the front porch steps and can't be roused. 

    Amid the disorientation, Romvari evokes richly evocative childhood moments: Sasha watching her mom peel potatoes, for example, an ordinary moment but one that lingers. Sasha is forming a memory.

        The role of each of Sasha's parents becomes clear. Dad (Ádám Tompa) works at his computer and sometimes takes photos of the kids. He's as much an observer as a parent. Mom (Iringó Réti) participates more actively in family life, although she can be frustrated by the demands of a difficult son and three other children.

       Romvari seldom offers context, slowly revealing as much as we need to know. Jeremy's  worst behaviors are kept off screen, but his impact registers in the faces of his parents and in Sasha's struggle to come to grips with what's happening.

       Before we have a complete handle on any of this, Ramvari pushes her film 20 years forward. Now grown, Sasha appears as a filmmaker played by Amy Zimmer. She's working on a documentary about her brother, who — we learn — committed suicide. Sasha films a scene in which a group of social workers reflects on whether anything might have prevented Jeremy's suicide. 

      At times,  Romvari’s shifting perspectives push us out of the film, forcing us to reorient ourselves. Some may find this distracting, but Romvari’s approach serves an important thematic purpose. You can turn Jeremy's story this way and that. You can talk to those involved. You can lament the lack of services that might have helped. In the end, though, there is no single revelation that puts Jeremy’s suicide into perspective. 

       But even if something traumatic can never be fully understood, it still must be remembered, mulled, and played again in the mind's eye. Romvari may not be able to explain Jeremy's suicide, but she makes the experience of growing up and carrying it into adulthood deeply affecting.

      Perhaps when it comes to visiting the past in search of answers, we all become immigrants in foreign terrain.