A woman of boundless scorn

   Marianne Jean-Baptiste delivers a major performance in director Mike Leigh's Hard Truths, a piercing drama set in a British working-class milieu as seen through the lens of a Black family with Jamaican roots. Jean-Baptiste, who appeared in Leigh's Secrets & Lies (1999), provides the bitter glue that keeps Hard Truths on track.

  It's a bumpy ride, distinguished by Baptiste Pansy's biting resentment, which turns mean when directed outward. Pansy doesn't conceal her contempt for strangers, supermarket cashiers, salespeople, and, most of all, her husband (David Webber), a hard-working plumber who takes enough abuse from his wife to qualify him for sainthood. 

  Pansy's son (Tuwaine Barrett) fares no better. Addicted to video games, he's unable to kickstart a productive life. Small wonder he's stuck: Mom prefers hectoring to encouragement. 

   Fortunately, Leigh includes a counterbalance to Pansy's intractable sourness. Michele Austin plays Pansy's younger sister Chantelle, a cheerful hairdresser liked by everyone she encounters. Chantelle's two adult daughters (Ani Nelson and Sophia Brown) are equally engaging. They represent the branch of the family tree that still knows how to blossom.

   Despite her bitterness, which Leigh never fully explains, Pansy's family tries to stay even-keeled around her. They've had plenty of practice, and we feel their pain, the weight of their abidance.

   Leigh employs his usual method of story development. He invites his actors to invent characters and refines them throughout a lengthy process that results in a shooting script. The style leans heavily on character and emotional truth, overshadowing the importance of plot.

   At one point, Chantelle asks her sister to join her on Mother's Day for a visit to the cemetery where their mother is buried. The trip provides one more occasion for Pansy to rail about how life has short-changed her. 

     It's difficult to play a truly annoying character without alienating an audience. But before the movie ends, Jean-Baptiste has made it clear that Pansy's bitterness consumes her as much as it torments others.

   Like many embittered people, Pansy is driven by pain and fear, and Jean-Baptiste reveals the full measure of both. Pansy's anger is so deeply embedded, she may fear she'd vanish without it. 

    A memorable character, Pansy may remind you of someone in your family, albeit in an intensely magnified way. At least, I hope she's a heightened version of someone you might know.

   If not, you have my sympathy, as well as my respect for your ability to endure.

   

A bold refresh of a familiar genre

 Like many Americans, I knew little about Robbie Williams, a British pop star who began his ascent as a member of Take That, a boy band that scored big during the 1990s. In 1995, Williams set out on his own, scoring again as a solo act. Along the way, there were bouts with alcohol, drugs, and pop-star self-destruction.

   On the surface, Better Man -- a biopic about Williams's turbulent life -- seems depressingly generic. A driven young man is nearly ruined by fame but eventually rights his ship. So much for a story arc. 

  But Better Man does something novel to refresh a  familiar biopic approach. Evidently inspired by an acerbic Williams, who once described himself as a performing monkey, the movie depicts Williams as chimp. Ah, the burdens of being rich and famous.

   Director Michael Gracey (The Greatest Showman) employs a CGI chimpanzee, dropping the effect into a world populated by fully human actors who never react to the chimp as if there were anything unusual about him. The CGI chimp holds his own as a compelling performer, massive screw-up, and bubbling well of insecurity. (Jonno Davies does motion-capture work and dialogue. Williams does the movie's voice-over narration.)

   A four-part documentary series on Netflix offers a look at Williams in the flesh, but Better Man provides a good idea about Williams's turbulent life.

   Gracey includes lots of music and production numbers -- an extravagant performance of the number Rock DJ on London's Regent Street, for example, and another in which Williams hangs upside down over an audience. Well-staged, the musical numbers bristle with sugar-high energy.

   The movie's human cast (yes, it's a strange thing to say) includes Steve Pemberton as Williams's father, an aspiring singer who abandoned his family to pursue a career in show business. Despite some bitterness, Robbie seeks Dad's approval, never quite shedding his insecurities as a working-class kid from Stoke-on-Trent.

    Raechelle Banno portrays Nicole Appleton, a singer who steals Willams's heart. He's smitten, but problems disrupt the relationship. Appleton has an abortion, after her record company applies pressure. Motherhood evidently didn't mesh with Appleton's girl-band image.

    The movie makes no attempt to paper over Williams's bad-boy flaws, but wears them defiantly, as if patting itself on the back for honesty. 

    Before it's done Better Man goes full showbiz cornball, but it has plenty of verve and a gimmick that comes close to concealing the movie's cliches. Moreover, the movie's chimp-based ploy likely will remain unique. Can you imagine A Complete Unknown with a chimp version of Dylan? Didn't think so.

    Did the movie make me want to know more about Williams or listen to more of his music? Nah, but it made for a brisk two hours and 15 minutes, and Gracey and Williams certainly took a major risk by monkeying around with a well-worn formula. Sorry, I couldn't resist.