Walking in John Wick's footsteps

   

  If you've seen the trailer, you already know that Keanu Reeves appears in From the World of John Wick: Ballerina, a spinoff set at the same time as the third Wick installment took place. But true to its title, Ballerina brings a woman to its center. 

   Ana de Armas plays Eve, the woman destined to pick up the Wick mantle and perhaps carry the franchise forward. I wish the movie had done more to distinguish Eve from her predecessor, but Ballerina does well enough in setting the stage for more deftly choreographed violence. 

    Story-wise, director Len Wiseman keeps things simple. Eve wants to avenge the murder of her father. A member of the Ruska Roma assassins team, Dad wanted his daughter to live free of bloodshed. That being the case, he should have died in a different movie.

     Once Daddy's gone, Ian McShane's Winston Scott introduces Eve to the head of Ruska Roma, a role reprised by Anjelica Huston, who brings blood-red lipstick and sadistic relish to her job as head of an institution that combines ballet instruction with lessons in the assassin's art.  Eve becomes a trainee.     

       Early in her training, Huston's character tells Eve she must learn to fight like a girl. Eve must use her small size and limited power to advantage -- or some such. Despite the advice, much of the fighting resembles what Reeves has done in the Wick series -- although when comparing de Armas to Reeves, she comes in second. How could she not? 

     Still, de Armas proves convincingly serious; Eve displays no second thoughts about her job's brutal requirements. 

     A character called the Chancellor (Gabriel Byrne) supplies the movie's villainy.  The Chancellor runs a snowy mountain town where his group of assassins try to live "normal" lives. Unlike Ruska Roma, Byrne's group doesn't kill for money. Its members murder for kicks.

     After the battle on the steps of Sacre-Coeur in Chapter 4 -- a mini-masterpiece of action -- it's difficult for the spinoff to come up with an equivalent, but Ballerina tries. Eve wields a wicked ice skate. And a battle involving dueling flame throwers makes no bones about lighting a big-time action fire.

      Before it's done, Ballerina introduces some old standbys (the late Lance Reddick's concierge, for example), and throws Eve into fight after fight.

      Whatever else it accomplishes, Ballerina proves fluent in the Wick language, ably using a vocabulary composed of bullets, grenades, axes, knives, fists, and swords. Now, let's see if it can expand what it has to say.

A Stephen King adaptation with heart

          

    Hardly a fright fest, The Life of Chuck -- a big-screen adaptation of a Stephen King novella --tells three interrelated stories in reverse order, beginning with the final chapter and working its way back to the start. 

    Life of Chuck might be classed with such big-screen King adaptations such as The Shawshank Redemption and Stand By Me. The Life of Chuck isn't as memorable as either of those, but it makes room for scenes with heart, even if it tends to wear its sentiments on its sleeve.

    The stories are connected by a character named  Chuck Krantz, a fellow who appears on TV and billboards during the first segment. "39 Great Years ! Thanks Chuck!," the ads read. Sounds important, but no one knows who Chuck Krantz is. A politician? A salesman? A banker? 

    Director Mike Flanagan, who directed King's Doctor Sleep, reveals more about Krantz as the movie progresses, but The Life of Chuck is less a mystery than a collection of small moments played against a doom-laden backdrop.

     Life of Chuck rests on a thematic cushion that includes stuffing from Carl Sagan's Cosmic Calendar (an encapsulation of the history of the universe in a single year) and Walt Whitman's Song of Myself.  The signature line from  Whitman's poem ("I contain multitudes") is introduced by a teacher (Chiwetel Ejiofor), the character who anchors the film's opening chapter.

    Like everyone else, Ejiofor's Marty Anderson is puzzled by the Krantz billboards. Marty also tries to cope with an escalating variety signals that suggest a possible end to ... well ... everything: the demise of the Internet, abandoned cars lining the streets of vacated cities, and massive power outages.

    Blame a mixture of man-made issues and cosmic comeuppance for the fraught condition that threatens humanity. But causes matter less than the way characters behave in the face of impending doom.

    Ejiofor and his estranged wife (Karen Gillan) eventually share a tender scene under a vast night sky, two lonely people facing a looming finality neither can comprehend. 

    The second story features a lively dance number (no, I'm not kidding) in which Tom Hiddleston, as the title character, sheds Chuck's buttoned-up  demeanor. Contrary to what the opening suggests, we learn that Chuck is no man of mystery: An otherwise anonymous accountant, he serves as the film's everyman.

     While attending a convention, Chuck passes a street drummer (Taylor Gordon), a Juilliard dropout who lays down some infectious beats. Chuck begins to dance. Annalise Basso plays a woman who joins the dance, a stranger Chuck pulls from the small crowd of gathered spectators. She becomes his partner in what might be the crowning moment of his life.

    The movie becomes more King-like in the first chapter, really its last. We meet Krantz as a boy, played at various ages by Cody Flanagan, Benjamin Pajak, and Jacob Tremblay. Chuck's parents died in an automobile accident, leaving him to live with his grandparents (Mia Sara and Mark Hamill). 

    Not long after arriving in Chuck's grandparents' home, the movie introduces a mystery centered on the cupola that Grandpa, otherwise genial but a bit too fond of alcohol,  keeps locked. The cupola opens the door to a bit of supernatural woo-woo.

     In keeping with the film's more grounded aspirations, Grandma teaches Chuck to dance; later, he must overcome his inhibitions to take the floor at a school dance, the kind of triumph that recalls too many other teen movies.

     I don't want to oversell the Life of Chuck. An over-explanatory narration delivered by Nick Offerman sometimes falls short of eloquence, and the movie loses steam during its coming-of-age conclusion.

     Moreover, The Life of Chuck can't quite bring off its ambitious juxtaposition of cosmic-scale extinction and personal mortality. But in the movie's best moments, Flanagan wisely encourages us to accept the inescapable while still mustering enough spirit to dance.

        

Wes Anderson's grand scheme movie

 I use a notebook during screenings to keep track of specifics -- dates, locations, and colors. Things like that. If my handwriting were better these notes would be more useful, but even as they drift toward indecipherability, they serve as a memory aid.

  During the screening of director Wes Anderson's The Phoenician Scheme, I reached a point where I stopped taking notes. I couldn't keep up with the surfeit of detail that cropped up in Anderson's carefully constructed sets, each of which becomes a kind of destination that can outweigh the importance of where the story might be headed.

    Anderson tends to indulge in detailed design, so much so that it's only a mild overstatement to call his scenes  dioramas with actors. There's world building and then there's world building that feels chiseled; movies such as the Phoenician Scheme flood the screen with their drolly express detailing.

     The Anderson aesthetic is richly displayed in Phoenician Scheme, but the movie also includes dull stretches that take us from episode to episode, some set off by title cards expressing variable amounts of wit.

      So what's The Phonecian Scheme about? A greedy tycoon named Zsa-zsa Korda (Benicio Del Toro) aims to control the resources of a fictional region called Modern Greater Independent Phoenicia. Zsa-zsa's ambition sends him to a tour to raise funds for an intricate infrastructure project.

     Kate Winslet's real-life daughter Mia Threapleton plays Korda's daughter Liesl, the character who brings the movie's father/daughter theme into focus. Korda wants Threapleton's Liesl to take over his empire, choosing her over his nine sons, the equivalent of non-player characters in video games.

     The problem: Liesl is on the verge of taking her vows as a nun, an occupation that would limit her ability to play Zsa-zsa's ruthless game. To the extent that it's possible, Liesl adds moral fiber to Zsa-Zsa's project: Unlike her father, she refuses to use slaves to help with any required construction. 

     A scorecard might be needed to keep track of the actors who appear in small roles. Tom Hanks and Bryan Cranston turn up in a sequence involving a strange H-O-R-S-E-like game of basketball. Anderson also makes room for appearances by Riz Ahmed, Benedict Cumberbatch, Mathieu Amalric, and Scarlett Johansson. 

     Michael Cera gets more screen time as Bjorn, an insect collector who travels with Korda and Liesl. He serves as Liesl's tutor and Zsa-zsa's "guy Friday."

     The performances fit into the Anderson's deadpan presentation of a playful weirdness that extends to costumes (a striking set of pajamas) or personal appearance (Cumberbatch's graying two-tone beard).  

     Set in the 1950s, Phoenician Scheme seems more subdued than previous Anderson efforts, although it begins with a plane crash that might be read as a commentary on the preposterous inhumanity of contemporary action sequences. Zsa-zsa we learn has survived many plane crashes. He's like man living on perpetual borrowed time. Perhaps that's why he seems a bit bored with himself.

      Anderson's devoted fans who wouldn't miss one of his movies. Should others venture into The Phoenician Scheme they may have to settle for quiet appreciation of the environments Anderson creates and his occasional displays of audacity -- e.g., the basketball sequence. 

       I'm not sure where to rank Phoenician Scheme

in Anderson's extensive catalog. The movie struck me as one more stop on a continuing journey, something like a restaurant with a forgettable main course, but lots of tasty side dishes.

Another creepy helping of horror

   The ever-expanding catalog of horror movies sometimes makes me wonder what the hell’s wrong with us —- or more precisely why we desire to be grossed out, fearful, and knocked about by jump scares. If nothing else, horror movies present us with dangers from which we happily walk away. After all, it’s not our entrails that are spilling onto the bathroom tiles.

   Bring Her Back, a dose of horror from the Australian twins, Danny and Michael Philippou, asks us to set aside any reservations we might have about putting children in danger of losing their lives at the hands of a crazed adult.

   Sally Hawkins plays a retired social worker who takes foster care children into her secluded Australian home.

Aided by Cornel Wilczek's throbbing score, the directors treat early scenes as manifestos of intent. We know horrible things will happen when two recently orphaned children (Billy Barrett and Sora Wong) are placed with Hawkins’s Laura.

  No one will be fooled into thinking that Laura’s welcoming facade doesn’t conceal rich veins of depravity. 

Barrett’s Andy, who will soon turn 18, plans to petition for guardianship of his sister ASP. 

  He believes that he and his sister have arrived at a way station en route to a better future. Younger of the two, Wong’s Piper falls under Laura' s sway. Why not? She’s too young to think she can survive with adult help.

   Grief permeates the proceedings. An inconsolable Laura lost her blind daughter when the child drowned in the now-empty swimming pool behind Laura’s home. That’s where we meet Oliver (Jonah Wren Phillips), a gaunt-looking boy who doesn’t speak and whose creepy presence suggests demonic possession. 

  Oliver, who functions as a kind of unnerving special effect,  serves to push the movie over the top when, at a three-quarter mark, he bites his way through various objects that shouldn't be chewed on (a kitchen counter, for example) or chomps on a knife that he’s put in his mouth. Bloody.

   Video segments of a weird ritual add an arty touch and build toward a reveal that attempts to explain their jarring presence.

   Attempts at providing psychological depth involve  tensions between Andy and his late father and a mother's twisted denial of mortality. Laura is driven by a crazy idea about how she can bring her late daughter back to life.

   For its skillful atmospherics and amped up weirdness, Bring her Back seems to unfold without generating either fear or intense emotional involvement. Despite an all-in performance from Hawkins, Bring Her Back struck me as a moody muddle.

A light and sketchy 'Karate Kid'

  Notes about Karate Kid: Legends, a movie that's much like a book you skim rather than read.

 -- Jackie Chan, who appeared in 2010's The Karate Kid, has been cast as a kung-fu master who travels from Beijing to New York City (no tariffs involved) to bolster the spirits of one of his former students. At 70, a graying Chan shows his age but still holds the screen.

-- The filmmakers found an engaging young man -- Ben Wang -- to play the lead role of Li Fong, a kid who moves to New York City because his physician mom (Ming-Na Wing) has landed a job at a New York hospital. Li is free to roam the city with one caveat: Still shaken from an earlier family loss, Mom insists that Li not fight. Not fight? Yeah, right.

-- The movie quickly provides Li with a nemesis. Enter Connor (Aramis Knight), a tough kid and winner of The Five Boroughs Karate Contest. Connor seems to possess no redeeming qualities that might blur the sharp conflict on which the movie depends.

-- Director Jonathan Entwistle provides Li Fong with a guide who's meant to introduce him to New York City. Sadie Stanley plays Mia, the daughter of the owner (Joshua Jackson) of the neighborhood pizza shop Li frequents. Teen love blooms.

-- Chan's character passes along occasional wisdom, mostly at fortune cookie levels: "Chinese say, 'Friend's problem is my problem.'"

-- Eventually, 63-year-old Ralph Machio appears. The original Karate Kid is almost eligible for Social Security, but his character, Daniel LaRusso, still has moves.

-- A subplot in which Li trains the pizza shop owner to return to the boxing ring turns the tables on the formula:  The kid becomes the mentor.

    To summarize: The filmmakers try to freshen the formula with new faces and references to previous movies, including an early shot that includes the late Pat Morita, who played Mr. Miyagi in the 1984 original and in subsequence sequels.

     I don't know whether marital arts enthusiasts will take the movie seriously. The screenplay is based on Li's need to blend his already substantial kung-fu knowledge with the rigors of karate in what's referred to as the "two branches, one tree" school.

     Speaking of schools, Li is enrolled in a New York City school which the movie mostly ignores, aside from giving him a nerdy calculus tutor (Wyatt Oleff) who provides good-natured comic relief.

     The only thought I had about any of this is that the movie seems to make thought irrelevant as it builds toward a climactic final fight on a Manhattan rooftop.

      At 94 minutes, Legends doesn't overstay its welcome, but a weak script puts too much pressure on Wang's engaging performance. As it unfolds, the movie becomes increasingly reliant on whatever affection the Karate Kid formula still generates.

     

     

An orphanage hosts a mysterious boy

 

  

 The New Boy tells the story of an Aboriginal boy who’s sent to a Catholic orphanage to master the civilizing rigors of religion and society. This brief description might lead. you to expect a message movie about the abuses Australian culture has inflicted on indigenous people.

  Set during the 1940s, The New Boy meets some of our expectations but winds up taking a more ambitious look at the innate spirituality of a boy (Aswan Reid) who upsets life at an isolated Christian school run by Sister Eileen (Cate Blanchett).

 Writer/director Warwick Thornton mixes straightforward drama (the new boy adjusting to life in an orphanage) with mysterious events that dip into the  supernatural. The unnamed boy heals wounds. He also summons light by rubbing his fingers together.

  The unnamed boy also develops a strange fascination with Jesus. At one point, a wooden carving of Jesus on the cross  winks at him from the altar of the orphanage's modest church. To further underscore the suggestion that the boy and Jesus may be kindred spirits, the boy also develops stigmata. 

  Blanchett, working again in her native Australia,  effectively makes it clear that Sister Eileen doesn't know what to make of any of this. Neither, for the most part, do we — or perhaps I should refer only to myself. 

   Thornton mixes Christian imagery with a primal poetry that makes it seem as if a film full of period detail might be taking place in an indeterminate and timeless zone. Thornton may be trying to tap into the wellsprings of spiritual experience, which -- in western societies - can be lost and which the boy seems to possess naturally.

    It's an interesting enough idea but American viewers may feel culturally distanced from an odd and sometimes mysterious film that can leave us puzzling over what it's trying to say.

Under the influence of Jane Austen

     

   The famed Shakespeare and Company bookstore sits on the banks of the Seine. Featuring English-language fiction and non-fiction, the store has attracted famous writers, especially during the 1950s. Henry Miller and James Baldwin were among those who helped enhance the store’s reputation. Even now, Shakespeare and Company remains a mandatory stop for English-speaking tourists in Paris, a visit made easy by the store's proximity to Notre-Dame de Paris.

     Agathe Robinson (Camille Rutherford), the main character in director Laura Piani's debut feature, Jane Austen Wrecked My Life, works at Shakespeare and Company while avoiding writing a novel that's been bubbling inside her head for years. She stopped after a couple of chapters.

     A workplace pal named Felix (Pablo Pauly) serves as Agathe’s possible romantic interest and confidant. Sensing Agathe's need for a creative boost, he submits the opening chapters of her novel to a writers’ residency at an English estate that once served as Austen's home. The residence accepts Agathe, who didn't know her colleague had submitted her work.

     After a bit of waffling, Agathe heads for the estate. Once in England, she's greeted by Oliver (Charlie Anson) whose unreliable car adds to the awkwardness of an already strained situation.

    As it happens, Oliver is a distant grandnephew of the famous author. Agathe and Oliver don't click, a sure sign that he'll be her Darcy, the heartthrob star of Pride and Prejudice who has made his way through numerous big-screen Austen adaptations.

     Despite its English-lit pedigree, Piani, who also wrote the screenplay, presents most of the dialogue in French, always a good way to add weight to a movie whose moves seem tailored to fit a familiar romcom structure.

      Aside from Oliver's doddering father (Alain Fairbairn), the assemblage of writers offers little by way of additional color. Fairbairn's character likes to stroll around the estate sans trousers, not much of a joke that the movie repeats.

     The budding romance between Agathe and Oliver is disrupted when Felix pays a surprise visit to the residency, hoping to consummate what heretofore has been a platonic relationship.

     The movie hinges on Rutherford’s ability to captivate, which is limited by unconvincing strokes.  Before visiting the estate, she’s inspired by the image of a naked man she sees at the bottom of a sake cup. In a broadly played scene, a naked Agathe mistakenly opens the door to an adjoining room at the residency. It happens to be Oliver's. 

     Perhaps Piani, who uses a last-minute appearance by documentary filmmaker Frederick Wiseman to good effect, hoped to show how literary obsessions can be  crippling -- both in writing and romance. Eventually, Agathe must claim her turf and, of course, finish her book.

   Absent a major helping of Austen-level wit, Jane Austen Wrecked My Life seldom sparkles. Given the choice, I'd rather have spent a couple of hours browsing in Shakespeare and Company than sitting through a movie that left me unconvinced and, worse, unmoved.

A showcase for Tim Robinson's humor

 

  SNL vet Tim Robinson stars in a hit Netflix show called I Think You Should Leave With Tim Robinson, a collection of sketches built around the distinctive blend of innocence and rage that makes Robinson a "cringe comedy" standout.

  Director Andrew DeYoung brings Robinson to the big screen in Friendship, a movie that relies on Robinson to lead an audience through a series of episodes in the life of Craig Waterman, a beleaguered suburbanite whose wife (Kate Mara) and teenage son (Jack Dylan Grazer) mostly ignore him.

  That may sound like a typical premise, but you're not likely to find Robinson -- a comic with an off-kilter bent --- in a routine comedy about one more schlub in need of a battery charge.

   The plot kicks in when a package mistakenly delivered to Craig’s home brings him into contact with Austin (Paul Rudd), a “cool” new neighbor who works as a weatherman at a local TV station. 

   Austin offers friendship and invites Craig to join his circle of pals, thus raising the possibility that Craig will find something he's never had: buddies -- "bros" in the   vernacular.  

   DeYoung, who wrote the screenplay, puts Craig into a series of oddball situations: He hunts mushrooms with Austin, and the two explore the town's dank aqueduct, Austin's idea of an adventure. 

   Ecstatic about his new friendship, Craig -- oblivious to the kind of impression he makes on others -- soon alienates Austin, who calls a halt to the friendship. Craig's days of beer-drinking bonhomie come to an end.

   Once rejected, Craig seeks substitutes for the pals he's lost while continuing as a master of inappropriate speech and behavior. 

   DeYoung, Robinson, and Rudd, who makes the most of his screen time and also served as one of the film's producers, have hold of something -- although it's not always easy to tell what that might be. 

   Maybe Friendship is best seen as a look at a guy for whom acceptance remains a distant and unreachable shore. We don't feel for Craig as much as we brace ourselves for his next outburst. 

     Robinson's brand of comedy isn't for everyone, and Friendship doesn't do much to broaden or sentimentalize his character's appeal. DeYoung hasn't made what you'd call a "friendly" comedy, but he has given Robinson an opportunity to play with a variety of comic ideas, often taking them in surprisingly weird directions. 

    Some pay off; some don't, and even fans may have to concede that Friendship doesn't always feel fully developed.

    If you're unfamiliar with Robinson, you may want to watch an episode of his show on Netflix or sample some of what's available for free on YouTube. That should help you decide whether a taste for Robinson's comedy is something you want to acquire. I'm open to trying more.

   

David Mamet takes drama to prison

 

 David Mamet's Henry Johnson -- his first film in 18 years -- revolves around men who might be classified as either predators or prey. 

  First presented as a play in 2023, Henry Johnson relies on Mamet's ability to turn the tables on us and his characters, providing plot-twisting reveals that steadily raise the dramatic stakes. True to form, the movie delivers its bitter pill of a conclusion straight and without soothing chaser. 

    Four major scenes are given continuity by the work of Evan Jonigkeit, who portrays the title character. 

   In the early going, Henry asks his boss (Chris Bauer) to hire a newly released convict with whom Henry became acquainted during his college days. Our sympathies go to Henry, who seems intent on doing the right thing by someone who has, in his words, "paid his debt to society." 

  The unseen criminal, we learn, served time for manslaughter, having induced a miscarriage against the will of a woman he had gotten pregnant. Boss and employ bat around questions about guilt and punishment.

  If you know Mamet, you know that our initial impressions probably will be undermined. No need to say more except to note that Henry himself has laid the ground work that will turn him into a prisoner. On day one, he encounters Gene (Shia LaBeouf), a convict who spins shrewdly compelling monologues about matters of immediate and philosophical consequence. 

  LaBeouf deftly masters the flow of Mamet's dialogue, flourishing in the director's world. Jonigkeit ably creates questions about Henry's ability to survive in prison, but he's playing the movie's least interesting character, a bit of pawn in other men's power games.

   The drama concludes in the prison library, where Gene has helped Henry land a job. At this point, Gene tries to school Henry about what he sees as the manipulative intentions of the female prison psychologist. He challenge Henry to take action.

   Here, the story stretches plausibility, contriving to arm Henry and bring him into another conversation, this one with Jerry (Dominic Hoffman), a prison guard he holds captive. Near the end of his tenure, Jerry has seen everything the job has to offer. Hoffman's performance matches the others in its excellence.

   Every Mamet enthusiast knows that the once-heralded playwright, director, and screenwriter has shifted political gears. Once reliably liberal, Mamet now adamantly advances his brand of conservatism. I, too, have had difficult coming to terms with the "new" Mamet, but I still found myself caught in Henry Johnson's grip.

   My favorite Mamet movie remains Glengarry Glen Ross. Perhaps because its focus is narrower, Henry Johnson lacks Glengarry’s pathos, humor, and satirical sting. But Mamet's mastery over structure  can't be denied, and he knows how to push us to places we may not want to go.

    Maybe that's the point -- to rub our noses in the harshness the movie reveals. Whether this predatory world corresponds with the reality the rest of us perceive is open to question, but damn if Mamet doesn't compel us to at least consider the possibility.

The action in this 'Mission' delivers

 

  I enjoyed Mission: Impossible -- Dead Reckoning (2023) but grumbled about the movie's two-hour and 41-minute length. And that was only Part I. 

 The second chapter, Mission: Impossible -- The Final Reckoning, takes two hours and 51 minutes to conclude an epic battle between the IM force and The Entity, a hunk of super-AI intelligence that lingers from Part I and threatens to wipe out all of humanity. 

   Length and story aside, it’s unlikely that the audiences that flock to Final Reckoning will be discussing the dangers artificial intelligence poses to human life as they leave the theater.

   What will they be talking about? If you said “stunts,” you’re right on target.

    More on that in a moment.

   Tom Cruise and director Christopher McQuarrie begin Final Reckoning in a wobbly fashion, using flashbacks from previous movies as refreshers but also generating a bit of confusion.

   Once the movie settles in, the story becomes a springboard for a couple of major set pieces — one involving a sunken Russian submarine, the other centering on an airborne battle between Cruise’s Ethan Hunt and Gabriel (Esai Morales), the movie’s primary villain. 

   Gabriel wants to rule humanity by controlling The Entity; Hunt wants to save humanity by destroying The Entity. The aerial action takes off with each character flying a biplane in a fight that's augmented by an antagonistic history between Gabriel and Hunt to which the screenplay alludes.

   Both nerve-wracking sequences are executed with  exceptional skill and without benefit of CGI. As Hunt plies the freezing depths of the Bering Sea to find a device needed to fulfill his mission, the sub threatens to roll off a steep ocean precipice into even deeper waters. Unmoored torpedos slam against the sub’s interior and threaten to clobber Hunt as he conducts his search.

   The aerial antics find Hunt hanging from the struts of his plane and executing high-flying moves that make you wonder how they were done.

    Forget dialogue, Dead Reckoning is at its best when it allows action to speak louder than words. And keep this in mind: Each of these set pieces functions as a mini-movie: goals are set, obstacles arise, and a resolutions are reached.

    Much of the IM cast returns with notable contributions from Simon Pegg as Benji Dunn, technician supreme. Hayley Atwell portrays Grace, a thief who has become part of Ethan’s crew and who flirts with the role of love interest. Ving Rhames returns as Luther Stickell, a character who serves as the voice of the franchise, offering an ode to Hunt and those heroes who, as he puts it, “live in the shadows.”

   Angela Bassett adds gravitas to the far-fetched plot machinations. As the president of the US, she must decide whether to trust the roguish Hunt or listen to the generals who want her to unleash nuclear Armageddon, part of the screenplay's growing accretion of risk. 

     The movie’s mildly ambiguous ending could signal the conclusion of a series that’s in its 30th year. Or it could suggest that there’s more to come — with or without Cruise in the lead. Cruise’s once boyish face shows the beginnings of jowls. At age 62, he may have had enough. 

    Whatever decision Cruise makes, it’s a good bet that audiences will follow. Sure, much of Final Reckoning proves uneven, but with this level of excitement, complaints seem beside the point.

A fun look at Cheech & Chong

   Movies rarely score a double triumph, connecting with their audience and with the national mood at the precise moment of their release. 

  That's my recollection of Up in Smoke (1978), the landmark Cheech & Chong comedy that focused on two pot-smoking guys who were too stoned to care about much of anything. They were also funny enough to create a near celebratory feeling among their fans, many of whom were as stoned as the protagonists of Up in Smoke, a road movie that became a kind of countercultural highlight reel.

  Up in Smoke was followed by eight other Cheech & Chong movies, the last an animated feature released in 2013. Although the Cheech & Chong filmography is decidedly mixed, the duo remained synonymous with pot-driven mirth.

   Now comes Cheech & Chong's Last Movie, a look at the individual and dual careers of Richard "Cheech" Marin and Tommy Chong. Marin, now 78, has appeared in other movies; Chong, 86, has done solo work. He also became a cannabis activist, and, in 2003, served nine months in a federal prison for selling drug paraphernalia over the internet.

   Billed as a documentary, Last Movie revolves around a car trip through the desert taken by Marin and Chong, who recall their lives and comedy exploits. Some of the scenes feel staged or, at least, prearranged, but the two still have chemistry, and the movie -- rich with clips and period footage -- serves up a tasty hunk of nostalgia.

   Marin and Chong were an odd couple. Marin, a Mexican-American, grew up in South Central LA. He wanted to be a potter. Half-Chinese and raised in Canada, Chong enjoyed early success as a musician.

   Before the movies, Cheech & Chong made a hit comedy album under the tutelage of music producer Lou Adler, who produced and received a co-directing credit for Up in Smoke. The movie grossed $104 million worldwide, but Cheech or Chong had signed a famously bad deal that favored Adler and others.

    Adler, by the way, appears in the film, and Cheech & Chong acknowledge the important role he played in helping them transition from improvisational club appearances to a national phenomenon.

    Eventually, Cheech & Chong lost some of that loving feeling for each other, arguing about who would direct their movies and who was responsible for writing them. They never officially broke up, but they had issues.

    Whether director Dave Bushell has made a "pure" documentary or not, Last Movie proves entertaining and informative. It also reveals the evolving personalities of comics who made the kind of pop cultural splash few have been able to match. 

'Clown in a Cornfield' plays with cliches

  Fear the clown. If you're familiar with horror movies, you know clowns are often associated with terror. (See movies such as It.)  In Clown in a Cornfield, director Eli Craig (Tucker and Dale vs Evil) follows suit, slamming teenagers in a small Missouri town with an ample dose of mayhem.  

  The town's tie to a clown -- named Frendo -- began with the now defunct Baypen Corn Syrup Company. A small Baypen promotional jack-in-the-box featured a clown. When the clown pops up, death usually follows.

   Clown in a Cornfield is one of those movies in which we wait to see what means will be employed to slash away at the town's youth as Craig plays with cliches: A celebratory parade where blood will flow, for example.

    Throughout, genre cliches are preposterously magnified, like jokes with a hundred punchlines. The movie makes abundant use of chainsaws as weapons, and we know the local sheriff (Will Sasso) can't be trusted because sheriffs in these kinds of movies usually reveal their dark sides.

   Did I mention that the town's fortunes have been declining since the local plant ceased operations? 

   The story focuses on Quinn (Katie Douglas),  the daughter of a widowed doctor (Aaron Abrams) who has fled Brooklyn, NY, for a more rural environment.

   Douglas does well as a newbie kid who fits right in with town's outcasts, and Kevin Durand proves amusingly creepy as one of the parents. 

  At times Craig's approach seems nervy. At other times, it feels self-conscious. But he keeps the film moving and gives it intermittent kick.

  Like many current horror films, this one presumes the audience will take pleasure in being in on the joke, happy to smile knowingly at the graphic invention with which successive murders unfold.

  Craig goofs on genre cliches to be sure, but -- for me-- cleverness can't entirely conceal the familiarity of the drill. Blood is shed, kids are slaughtered, and, by the way, pass the popcorn.

 

Another look at 'Bonjour Tristesse'

  In 1958, director Otto Preminger released Bonjour Tristesse, a film starring Jean Seberg, Deborah Kerr, and David Niven. I never saw that movie, but I've read that it received a better reception in France than in the U.S. 

   Now, the Francoise Sagan novel that inspired Preminger's film has attracted the attention of writer/director Durga Chew-Bose, who again travels to the Côte d'Azur for a story that embeds sharp psycho-sexual undercurrents in an atmosphere of soothing summer softness.

    The story centers on Cecile (Lily McInerny), an 18-year-old who seems to be gliding along nicely until she feels the need to meddle in her widowed father's relationships. 

    Claes Bang (The Square) portrays Raymond, a father who's spending the summer with Cecile and his girlfriend (Nailia Harzoune). He allows Cecile to flounder and make mistakes. He prefers not to give advice. 

    The trio’s emotional balance destabilizes when Anne (Chloe Sevigny) turns up. An assertive long-time friend of Raymond's late wife, she tries to manage Cecile, who seems to need guidance.

     The movie's conflicts sharpen when Anne and Raymond abruptly decide to marry. Cecile, who has her first sexual experience with a young law student (Aliocha Schneider), objects and schemes to derail the impending nuptials.

     Although the screenplay builds toward a tragic and provocative conclusion, the movie remains surprisingly placid. A story that may have seemed daring in the 1950s seldom feels charged with the fresh urgency you'd expect from a movie about a vacation stuffed with so much psychological baggage.

      Note: Sagan, who died at the age of 69 in 2004, was 18 when the novel was published. Note: This edition of Bonjour Tristesse isn’t a period piece; it’s set in the present.

A disappointing second helping

   

       During the sequel, Another Simple Favor, Anna Kendrick's character, a stout-hearted supermom and online influencer, mentions Henri-Georges Clouzot's Les Diabolique (1958). Don't be misled. Another Simple Favor is no match for Clouzot's devious classic. Not that it needed to be.

    Kendrick, a gifted comic actress, and Blake Lively, fine here as a self-possessed schemer, generate the requisite love/hate sparks, but the movie goes too far in substituting acceptance of the preposterous for suspension of disbelief.   

   Complications begin to accumulate when Lively's Emily, newly released from prison, reenters the life of Kendrick's Stephanie, who was snared in Emily's web of deceit in first film and wrote a book about it.

    Stephanie, who should know better, agrees to serve as maid of honor at Emily's impending wedding. Apparently well rehabilitated from her time in prison, Emily is scheduled to marry a wealthy guy (Michele Morrone) who lives sumptuously in Capri. Turns out he’s a Mafia boss.

   Another Favor benefits from the Capri setting where the wedding occurs and where Stephanie and her literary agent (Alex Newell) are flown on a private jet full of hard-partying guests. Nothing like luxe surroundings to amp up escapist fare. There's a reason you can't imagine a season of The White Lotus in a budget motel on the Jersey shore.

  A heaping basket full of plot twists tends to mangle a talented supporting cast. Elena Sofia Ricci plays the mobster groom’s mom. Allison Janey portrays Emily's aunt, and Elizabeth Perkins earns chuckles as Emily's addled mom.

    Henry Golding briefly reprises his role as Emily's former husband, a character the screenplay contrives to bring to Capri along with his now teenage son Nicky (Ian Ho).

    Once again, a series of murders pushes Stephanie into amateur-sleuth mode, providing formulaic echoes of the movie's predecessor.

   If you haven't seen the first movie, you probably needn't bother with Another Favor, which has been directed by Paul Feig, who also directed the earlier effort. 

    I was traveling when the original opened and only caught up with it recently. Hardly a classic, the first Favor was better than I expected; the second, worse than I had hoped. 

    *Another Simple Favor is now streaming on Prime Video.

He's determined to surf

 

   In The Surfer, Nicolas Cage plays a character who tries to surf on a thug-ruled Australian beach. If you're expecting Beach Boys music and sunny California dreamin', look elsewhere.

   So what's Cage -- known only as The Surfer -- doing in Australia? The Surfer grew up in the town where the beach is located. He was 15 when his father died and his mother relocated to LA. Now,  he's back.

   A successful investment exec teetering on the cusp of divorce, The Surfer wants to surf the beach with his teenage son. He also wants to buy the house in which he spent his early years, a gesture that suggests he's hoping to rediscover lost hope and innocence; i.e., his youth.

    The locals -- led by Scally (Julian McMahon) -- humiliate The Surfer in front of his son (Finn Little) and suggest he'd be wise to leave town and abandon his dream of home ownership.

   Not to be deterred, The Surfer endures a series of torments administered by the surfers, who behave like a cult members. These bros have created the ultimate gated community --only they're the gate. Their families sometimes join them for beachside barbecues.

   A beach bum who lives in his decrepit car (Nicholas Cassim) seems to be one of the sole townies who survives outside the surfing tribe. He blames the surfers for killing his dog. They probably had something to do with his son's death.

   Gradually deprived of his possessions (including his Lexus, cell phone, clothing, watch, and wallet), The Surfer begins to look like a vagrant who's relegated to using the beach's filthy public restroom. Forced to scrounge for food, he contemplates eating a dead rat and swallows bugs for nourishment.  

    One question underlies the tense proceedings: How much humiliation can one man stand? 

   When The Surfer finally strikes back, director Lorcan Finnegan plays his hole card, concentrating on warped notions about manhood that underlie the violent behavior of the surfers.

   Rather than deepening the movie, late-picture revelations turn the story into a kind of perverted frat-boy drama about the need, according to the surfers, to degrade those who seek their acceptance.

   Nothing wounds a movie faster than reasonable questions. It was never clear to me, for example, why The Surfer -- a supposedly savvy businessman -- didn't pursue legal recourse beyond asking a corrupted local cop for help. Hasn’t this guy ever heard of lawyers?

   For me, this undertow of disbelief kept the movie from gaining maximum impact, even when Finnegan self-consciously stirs things up with a signature line. "Eat the rat."

   Having said all that, it should be noted that The Surfer is watchable enough, less a failure than an attempt to draw from the well of fury Cage can unleash but which he does  here with moderation -- at least for him.

'Thunderbolts*' stakes out its own turf

 

   An aggressively bountiful stream of Marvel movies has created a specialized kind of viewer. Loyal fans and aficionados have become astute at parsing the intricacies that connect the numerous characters that populate the Marvel Cinematic Universe. 

   An essential question raised by every new Marvel movie, then, revolves around whether its appeal extends beyond those who have submitted Marvel dominance.

   Thunderbolts* leans toward the middle when considering its appeal for the uninitiated.  It's difficult for me to call it must viewing, but I enjoyed the movie more than most recent Marvel fare, primarily because of a solid ensemble, a few memorable comic moments, and a commitment to the idea that six misfits are equal to one superhero.

    Here's the deal: A dejected group of MCU characters has been exploited by CIA director Valentina Allegra de Fontaine (Julia Louis-Dreyfus). If the Congress learns about these assassins, de Fontaine won't survive an already contentious impeachment hearing. 

    Fearing exposure, de Fontaine contrives to gather these Marvel losers in one place and eliminate them.

    A freshman congressman named Bucky Barnes (Sebastian Stan) wants to topple de Fontaine. In addition to his Congressional day job, Bucky is trying to forget his life as Winter Soldier, an assassin with a prosthetic arm that, at one point, he pulls out of his dishwasher. Nice touch.

    Yelena Belova (Florence Pugh) becomes the standout character among those de Fontaine wants to terminate. Raised to be a deadly killer, Yelena, a.k.a. Black Widow, sees her life as empty, a meaningless blip in the encompassing void of an indifferent universe -- or some such.

    John Walker (Wyatt Russell), a bargain-basement Captain America, helps round out the group. Taskmaster (Olga Kurylenko) and Ghost (Hanna John-Kamen) also join the gang.

     All of these characters have Marvel backgrounds but you don't need to know much more about them than you'll learn from watching Thunderbolts*. 

    Know, though, that each Thunderbolt acknowledges a personal history that includes many bad deeds and a fair measure of regret.

    It takes time for director Jake Schreier to distinguish between each of the movie's non-superheroes and, more importantly, to get them to function as a team.

    When the characters meet at the underground facility to which de Fontaine has directed them, the movie introduces an oddball character named Bob (Lewis Pullman). Bob doesn't know how he arrived in the high-tech bunker, but it soon becomes clear that he's been the subject of secret biological experiments arranged by de Fontaine.

      Pullman delivers the film's pivotal performance as a character for whom the internal battle between good and evil becomes literal. Bob, whose name becomes the subject of the movie's best joke, also must learn about the temptations of possessing extreme power. 

     Comic relief and bonhomie arrive courtesy of the bearish Alexei Shostakov (David Harbour); Alexei operates a limo service and refers to himself as Red Guardian. 

     Alexei, who once served as a father figure for Yelena, becomes a cheerleader for group activities. He likes the name, Thunderbolts, which was taken from Yelena's losing childhood soccer team. The others consider it "meh."

    Existential concerns aside, there's plenty of action, the best of it set in New York City, which at one point is shrouded in a creeping dark shadow that looks as if it might have been at home in a Cecil B. DeMille Bible epic. 

    It takes time for the movie to settle in and scenes in which the characters flashback to their formative days aren't always elegantly handled, but the actors -- especially Pugh and Pullman -- find some depth and a few scenes evoke real emotion.

    You'll note the movie's title contains an * (asterisk). You'll have to see Thunderbolts* to discover why, but as Marvel movies go this one entertains and isn't afraid to be corny when it needs to be.

     What do I mean? When was the last time a Marvel movie resolved a major problem with a group hug? It happens here.

   

      

A wan drama fails to spark

 

    Set in post-Korean War America, On Swift Horses wrings much of the life out of a story about two characters trying to find their places during a sexually repressive American moment.

    The movie begins with Lee (Will Poulter) visiting his girlfriend (Daisy Edgar-Jones) in Kansas while on leave from the Korean War. Lee hopes to return from the war before settling down with Edgar-Jones's Muriel, who agrees to marry him.

     Chances for a successful marriage seem doomed from the start, partly because Muriel ignites more sparks with Lee's brother Julius (Jacob Elordi), who also served in Korea but isn't returning to the Army.

    Director Daniel Minahan creates expectations for a tale about a love triangle but soon shifts gears, alternately following Julius and Muriel as a way of exploring gay issues against a 1950s backdrop.

    When the story moves to San Diego, Lee -- now home from battle -- tries to realize his middle-class dreams and Muriel begins suffocating under the strictures of a life she doesn't want.

    Sexual identity forms the basis of the connection between Julius and Muriel. Julius knows he's gay; he senses Muriel is attracted to women, even though she has yet to act on her desires. For a time, Muriel tries to maintain her image as a typical married woman but soon begins an affair with Sandra (Sasha Calle), a woman who lives nearby. 

    Sometimes playing hooky from her job as a waitress, Muriel also spends time at the track, socking away her winnings, presumably for the marital split she (and we) know will culminate when she begins dipping her toes into the gay world, circa 1950.

      For his part, Julius heads to Las Vegas instead of joining Lee and Muriel in San Diego as he initially had promised. Skilled at poker, he lands a job identifying cheats at a gambling joint. He also begins a romance with a co-worker (Diego Calva), a young Mexican man with more ambition than Lee and a willingness to cut corners. Danger lurks.

     Elordi doesn't seem to have shed the Elvis vibe he brought to Sofia Coppola's Priscilla (2023); his performance -- or so it struck me -- sometimes plays as if it were culled from poses of the 1950s. Edgar-Jones convinces as Muriel wobbles her way into a new life.

    Credit Poulter, whose character is stuck in a factory worker's life, for bringing depth to a role that plays second fiddle to the two main characters.

   Burdened by a structure that shifts between Muriel and Julius, a slow-moving story benefits from the supporting work of Calva and Calle. Either of their characters might have given the movie a more compelling center.

    Adapted from a novel by Shannon Pufahi, On Slow Horses struck me as a wan version of a Todd Haynes  journey into '50s sexuality (see Carol). Minahan pushes a big pile of dramatic chips onto the table but can't cash enough of them in. For a movie fueled by repression, social pressure, and awakening desire, it's a bit of a slog.

     

A familiar tale in an exotic setting

The Legend of Ochi struck me as a small film straining to be a much bigger one. The movie focuses on the relationship between a teenage girl and a mythical creature that lives on the fictional island of Carpathia. Director Isaiah Saxon builds his story around the clash between the island's residents and the Ochi, creatures that have fierce teeth but look a bit like other movie creations, something of a cross between monkeys and a squirrel with Yoda-like ears and winsome eyes. An undernourished story centers on the developing relationship between Yuri (Helena Zengel) and a baby Ochi who's separated from its mother during a hunt conducted by Yuri's vengeful father (Willem Dafoe). Dafoe's Maxim recruits young men from his village to hunt the Ochi, a species he blames for killing  humans and animals. Yuri rescues a baby Ochi and begins a relationship that turns the movie into a display of well-realized puppetry and CGI. Emily Watson appears as Yuri's mom, the woman who left Maxim for a solitary mountain existence.Yuri and Ochi search for connections with their mothers, who represent home, the preferred destination of many fantasy movies. Yuri learns she can communicate with Ochi and the story (accompanied by an aggressive use of David Longworth's score) boils down to familiar movie tropes. Saxon celebrates the mystery of the landscapes but the storytelling can seem hurried. You may admire Dafoe for pushing his portrayal of Maxim over the top or you may wonder (as I did) what attracted him to this role in the first place. Parents should be aware that from opening scenes of hunting to various shots featuring gore and a darkly forbidding tone, Legend of Ochi might be too much for younger kids but not enough for adults.

A vibrant 'Sinners' makes its mark

 

  I don't want to refer to director Ryan Coogler's Sinners as a genre-bending work, although the term might be applicable.  I prefer to think of Sinners -- a story set in the Mississippi Delta during the 1930s -- as a movie in which Coogler employs an expansive film vocabulary to create a boldly exciting foray into the Deep South.

  Described in the broadest terms, Sinners is a horror movie. Coogler, who also wrote the screenplay, introduces vampires and builds toward a violent finale that takes the movie to near frenzied levels. At the same time, Sinners marks another vibrant Cooger entry into a filmography that includes Fruitvale Station, Creed, Black Panther, and Black Panther: Wakanda Forever.

   Shock. gore and vampires aside, Sinners is the kind of horror movie that doesn't come along often, one that's culturally expressive and populated by vividly drawn characters -- horror with plenty of heart and soul.

    Set during the repressive days of Jim Crowe, the drama centers on identical twins, both beautifully played by Michael B. Jordan. Known as Smoke and Stack, the twins return to their Mississippi Delta hometown in 1932. Having accumulated funds in Chicago, they plan to open a juke joint. Independence awaits -- or so they hope.

  A young guitarist named Sammie (Miles Caton) enters the story as an aspiring bluesman who has taken possession of a guitar that may be connected to evil spirits, an evocation of some of the folkloric stories surrounding guitarist Robert Johnson.

   A preacher's son, Sammie becomes an eager mentee of Smoke and Stack, his older and savvier cousins.

   An early bit of narration tells us that certain musicians are so extraordinary that their music can pierce the veil between life and death, an idea evidently drawn from African cultures with traces of Irish and Mississippi Choctaw lore added. 

   All of these many influences become part of the cultural gumbo that Coogler serves with a visual clarity that gives the movie a bracing sharpness.

   Early on, Sinners plays like a period piece about young Sammie's foray into the world of juke joints. Sammie's choices evolve against a homegrown backdrop of religion and sin. Sammie's preacher father tells him that if he's foolish enough to dance with the devil, the devil may one day follow him home.

    Although thematically expansive, the movie takes place during the single day in which the brothers hurry to open their club.

   Smoke contracts with the owner of the town's grocery (Yao) and his wife Grace (Ji Jun Li) to provide food for the juke joint. Stack convinces a harmonica-playing alcoholic (a magnetic Delroy Lindo) to provide entertainment. 

    Each of the brothers also connects with a love interest from the past. Mary (Hailee Steinfeld) is a light-skinned woman who's perceived by some as white. Stack left her  because he thought outsiders would ruin Mary's life for taking up with a Black man.

   Smoke renews his relationship with Annie (Wunmi Mosaku), a woman with whom he shares a tragic past and who knows her way around Afro-influenced spiritual practices. Jordan and Mosaku create memorable chemistry as the second helping of their relationship develops.

    Not to be sidelined, Sammie crushes on Pearline (Jayme Lawson), a woman who refuses to be confined by an unfulfilling marriage.

    At times, Sinners takes the shape of a musical with production numbers staged in the abandoned mill in which the brothers open their juke joint. These episodes operate on a surreal cultural continuum, mixing characters from different time periods, adding an anachronistic deejay, as well as African dancers and local revelers. All become part of a raucous explosion of energy.

   Jordan, who has appeared in all of Coogler's movies,  creates two characters who differ but share plenty of history. More adamant than Smoke, Stack is not one to be messed with. But both brothers have plenty of grit. Jordan makes them a dynamic duo, commanding the screen as men who've done their share of living.

    Oh yes, the vampires.

   A terrific Jack O'Connell portrays Remmick, the chief vampire who turns two farmers (Peter Dreimanis and Lola Kirke) into vampires, enlisting them in his efforts to convert (i.e., bite) every reveler at the juke joint. 

    Charming, insightful, and menacing in equal measure, Remmick offers his victims a deathless future that he portrays as utopian. Money never will give Smoke and Stack enough protection to realize their dreams of independence, he argues. 

    Perhaps to broaden the movie's palette, Remmick and his vampires sing a haunting Irish tune that contrasts with the music of the juke joint, yet seems entirely appropriate.

    The supporting performances bristle and come alive, and Coogler gives all the players stand-out moments during a day tinged with dread and desire.

    I'm sure all reviewers will advise audiences to remain through the end credits. Be sure to listen to them. Stay put and let the movie sit with you for a minute -- and allow Coogler to offer one last word.