An Egyptian actor gets in over his head

   In Eagles of the Republic, an Egyptian movie star finds himself caught in the dangerous machinations of Egypt's authoritarian government. 

   In a commanding performance, Fares Fares, a Lebanese-Swedish actor, plays George Fahmy, an actor who so dominates the Egyptian film scene he has been dubbed "Pharaoh of the Screen." Toping six feet, George also commands most of the social situations in which he finds himself. He knows how to use his magnetism.

  That may sound like familiar terrain, but Fares's portrayal doesn't dip into caricature. Although George no longer lives with his wife (Donia Massoud), he stays in touch with his 20something son (Suhaib Nashwan). George doesn't always know how to handle his role as a father, but when he talks about acting and art, we believe he's sincere. 

     George lives with a younger woman (Lyne Khoudri), but we understand that he's been around several blocks when it comes to romance; he's skilled in the arts of flirting and philandering. 

    George's world begins to unravel when he's enlisted to play the lead in a biopic about Egyptian president Abdel Fattah el-Sisi. George looks nothing like el-Sisi, but the government's representative on set (Amr Waked) insists a stubby, balding el-Sisi doesn't care. The president wants to look like a movie star. He wants to look like George.

   Director Tarik Saleh, who lives in Sweden, turns out a movie of engaging surfaces that veers toward a pointed depiction of how authoritarian governments employ coercion to put the squeeze on artists. George takes a role he doesn't want because state agents threaten his son.

     Saleh, who also wrote the screenplay, pulls George deeper into an environment populated by the regime's officials. He meets the minister of defense (Tamim Heikal) and becomes attracted to the minister's beautiful, sophisticated wife (Zineb Triki). He uses his influence to help friends who are threatened by the regime.  He thinks he's untouchable -- until he isn't.

   All of this leads to an explosive finale built around a shocking attempted assassination.

   Saleh's satirical cinema savvy doesn't always mesh with the movie's increasingly sketchy political thriller elements. That may be part of the point. Artistic ambition and governmental control make for a bad, sometimes murderous marriage.

     George is bound for trouble he won't be able to act his way out of. Celebrity may not be powerful enough to resist heavy applications of tyrannical power. Poor George. He may be a star, but he's out of his depth.

Big violence erupts in a small town

 If you’ve been following the career of Bob Odenkirk, you already know that the star of Better Call Saul has become an unlikely kick-ass action hero. Normal, which follows 2021’s Nobody and its 2025 sequel, continues Odenkirk’s foray into big-screen mayhem with a story about the sheriff of a small Minnesota town called Normal.

  You needn't know much about irony to guess that the town of Normal won’t be anything like its name.  

  Clocking in at a brief (by current standards) hour and 30 minutes, Normal spins out a shamelessly improbable plot in which Yakuza gangsters use the town to store part of their American loot. The townsfolk profit, and the mayor (Henry Winkler) wants to keep the funds flowing.

  After a prologue set in Japan, director Ben Wheatley moves to Normal, where we meet Odenkirk’s Ulysses, a law officer with a troubled past that uprooted his life and disrupted his marriage.

    Having lost his bearings, Ulysses found work as Normal’s “interim” sheriff, an opening created by the previous sheriff's death.

   The residents of the small town immediately strike Ulysses (and us) as odd. Moira (Lena Headey), the town's bartender, seems a bit too straightforward. One of Ulysses’s over-eager deputies (Billy MacLellan) wears a leather jacket so squeaky, you can hear him approaching. Another deputy (Ryan Allen) wants to be the next full-time sheriff. Ulyssses also meets the late sheriff’s daughter (Jess McLeod), a troubled young woman.

    After about half an hour of goofing on small-town USA, Wheatley gets around to the movie’s point: comic violence that mixes laughter and revulsion. The slaughter begins when a couple of thieves (Reeana Jolly and Brendan Fletcher) try to rob the local bank.

     A twist that shifts rooting interests makes for a nice touch, but Normal isn't really about taking sides. No, Normal is more about watching the chaos, which is designed to play in a familiar jokey, gross-out key with enough armaments to fight a small war. But wait. That's pretty much what the movie becomes, a small war.

    Odenkirk gives his character a core of decency; the rest of the cast resembles cartoon creations, but no one goes to movies such as Normal for deeply explored character development. 

    Written by Derek Kolstad, who also wrote the Nobody movies, Normal makes no bones about what it is, but I've been down this road too many times to fully embrace another movie that can be likened to a fireworks display -- only with blood.

    And if Normal never seems particularly brainy, maybe it's because so many of the town's 1,890 residents have gotten their heads blown off.

    

McKellen, Coel shine in art drama

   Ian McKellen probably could read your tax return and make it sound as if Shakespeare had written it. The 86-year-old British actor has a voice that can mellow like aged wine or cut as sharply as a newly stropped razor.
   In an age of mumbled, half-whispered dialogue, McKellen delivers the written word with a theatrical precision that's perfectly suited to director Steven Soderbergh's The Christophers, a movie in which McKellen plays Julian Sklar, an aging but once prominent painter.

   Time and disrepair may have made Sklar vulnerable. It doesn't take long for Michaela Coel’s Lori, a talented younger painter, to become Sklar’s sparring partner, quasi-mentee, and muse.

  Working from a screenplay by Ed Solomon (No Sudden Move), Soderbergh fleshes out what’s basically a two-hander by introducing a couple of additional characters, notably Sklar’s conniving adult children (Jessica Gunning and James Corden). 

   For variety’s sake, the story occasionally leaves the confines of Sklar’s cluttered studio, another cliched association of creativity with messiness. Small matter, I suppose. 

   The spotlight rests on McKellen and Coel. Sklar once sold paintings for millions and is now regarded as a spent talent whose late work amounts to rubbish, an assessment he himself acknowledges. Even in sweaters that always seem two sizes too large, McKellen manages to project an air of royal authority, suggesting that Sklar hasn’t totally abandoned his art-star stature. 

     Wary but also wily, Coel’s Lori stands up to McKellen's Sklar. Lori  can’t easily be read, a quality that works to her advantage when Solomon’s screenplay deploys a series of tricky moves based on art forgery, greed, and betrayal.  Skilled at cagey silences, Coel also makes the most of Solomon’s arch, funny, and perceptive comments about art. 

     The Christophers, by the way, are a series of unfinished paintings Sklar made of a former lover. The relationship ended badly, and Sklar refuses to discuss it with Lori. He goes one step further, insisting that she destroy the paintings. This presents a key conflict because Lori has been hired by Sklar’s duplicitous offspring to secretly complete the Christophers for sale upon Sklar’s demise, which we learn is fairly imminent.

     Criticisms of the contemporary art world poke their way toward the surface. Works are bought for tax purposes, and billionaires buy paintings at ridiculously inflated prices that turn them into one more luxury acquisition. None of this feels fresh, but Solomon’s screenplay doesn’t belabor its art-world criticisms, either.

     Good as McKellen and Coel are, the screenplay's trickier plot points and revelations lack the satisfying snap of crisply thrown punches and counterpunches, lessening the story’s overall impact.

      Still, it’s possible to deem The Christophers as a worthy showcase for McKellen and Coel, each of whom paints with the precision of actors who know what marks they wish to make on the canvas Soderbergh and Solomon have given them.

    

Love and cliches in Tuscany

    Tuscan tourist associations should collect royalties on every ticket sold for You, Me & Tuscany, a glossy romcom in which every meal looks ready for its close-up and the countryside seems blessed by  soft summer light. 

   It's hardly surprising that the movie's Tuscan locations add convivial charm to a contrived story about a professional house sitter (Halle Bailey) who finds her true calling and also love in Italy.

   Bailey stars as Anna, a New York woman who dropped out of culinary school after her mother's death. Bridgerton star Regé-Jean Page joins Bailey for a romance that casts him as the movie's hunk in residence, offering him an opportunity to display his abs to the delight of Anna and a group of touring women who conveniently show up at the vineyard he runs.

     The story begins in a bar in New York where Anna meets Matteo (Lorenzo de Moor). Matteo and Anna trade stories. A foodie at heart, Anna's at loose ends. Matteo left his native Tuscany because he wanted no part of the family restaurant business. He advises Anna to be bold and visit Italy, a trip she once hoped to make with her late mother. 

    Against the advice of her best friend (Aziza Scott), Anna heads for Matteo's Tuscan village only to discover that all the hotels are booked because of a summer festival. Desperate, she decides to crash at Matteo's empty villa. She knows he's not there.

     Once discovered by Matteo's mother and grandmother, Anna avoids being arrested for trespassing by posing as Matteo's fiancee. His family is joyous that the wayward Matteo soon will return.

    In Matteo's absence, Page's Michael, an Englishman by birth, serves as Anna's guide to the village and to the family, which he has become part of. We know Anna and Michael will fall for each other, raising the movie's big problem: How will Anna extricate herself from the lie she's told?

     Additional complications arise when Matteo turns up and learns about Anna's ruse. 

     Working from a screenplay by Ryan Engle, director Kat Coiro forks up a heaping plateful of stereotypes. A robust gardener (Emanuele Pacca) makes like Pavarotti, singing opera while trimming hedges. A local cab driver (Marco Calvani) offers Anna advice, and cousin Francesca (Stella Pecollo) makes winking jokes about her sexual exploits.

    The family patriarch (Paolo Sassanelli) must be convinced that Anna is special before he welcomes her into the tribe. Mom (Isabella Ferrari) fawns over Anna. Scowling grandma (Stefania Casini) remains skeptical.

      Oh hell, why say more? You, Me & Tuscany is a picture postcard masquerading as a movie. Bailey radiates enough warmth to toast marshmallows, and Page exudes the kind of charm that can seem as much directed at the audience as at Anna.

     Judging by the reaction at a preview screening, there's an audience for the mix of comedy, romance, and escape that You, Me & Tuscany serves. I'm not part of it. If you're not, either, join me as I roll my eyes and look for what's next on the menu.

  

       

A feverish ‘Hamlet’ with Riz Ahmed'

  I’d been looking forward to Riz Ahmed’s Hamlet, a new interpretation of Shakespeare’s classic play directed by Aneil Karia, a director who had won an Oscar for his short film, The Long Goodbye, a harrowing take on an encounter between a South Asian family and right-wing racists.

  To set the stage, let me say that I don’t insist that Shakespeare be approached with liturgical reverence. Why not set a big-screen adaptation in an East Asian community in contemporary London? And instead of royalty, how about centering the play on corporate big shots vying for control of (ready for it?) the Elsinore corporation?

  Karia also takes liberties with Shakespeare’s dialogue, giving certain speeches to characters who didn’t deliver them in the original. I guess that’s OK. too. 

   After all, this lean one-hour and 53-minute rendition of Hamlet has been given a modernist edge that includes a foray into a nightclub where Hamlet snorts cocaine, an activity that seems superfluous for an already amped up prince who might be wobbling on the edge of insanity.

   Artistic license notwithstanding, some things in this bleary, agitated fever dream of a Hamlet seem like self-inflicted errors. Timothy Spall plays Polonius but the character's pompous cautionary speech to his son Laertes (Joe Alwyn), has been scrapped. (“Neither a borrower nor lender be.”)  

   If you're familiar with the play, you'll find other  such omissions in a work that writer Michael Lesslie adapted for the screen..

   Those who see this version of Hamlet may welcome seeing Ahmed deliver Hamlet’s “To Be or Not to Be” soliloquy behind the wheel of a BMW that’s racing on a rainy highway. It suggests that a reckless Hamlet might actually stop being at any moment. 

   But I wanted to focus  I wanted to focus on Hamlet's speech without worrying about the fact that Hamlet, at one point, takes his hands off the steering wheel while driving on the wrong side of the road.

  A dance number recreates the play in which Hamlet stages his view of the way Claudius (Art Malik) bumped off Hamlet’s dad so that he could marry his mom, Gertrude (an excellent Sheeba Chaddah),  and take over a corporate kingdom.

 Maybe it’s me, but much of the dialogue seemed mumbled, and Ahmed’s performance leans heavily on half-crazed anger. It's almost as if Hamlet is  being devoured by revenge-seeking demons.

   Karia's invention tends to de-emphasize Shakespeare’s language. And as much as anything, isn't the spoken word the point?

   Viewing this risk-riddled Hamlet can feel a bit like buying a ticket to hear your favorite musical group only to discover that it won’t be performing the tunes that made you love them in the first place. 

   You get why they wanted to branch out, but sometimes, the old tunes are better.

    

'The Drama' can't find its footing

 

  An intriguing movie gets lost somewhere in The Drama, the story of a pending marriage that's shaken when one of the partners reveals something horrible about her past.

  I won't spoil the big reveal, but I will say that Norwegian director Kristoffer Borgli might have done well to pick a less explosive issue for a story that begins with a coffeeshop cute-meet between the partners in this prospective couple.

   Museum curator Robert Pattinson falls quickly for literary editor Emma (Zendaya). They seem headed for the proverbial happily-ever-after, but Borgli's jittery direction suggests otherwise. 

  The story kicks into gear when Emma and Charlie meet with a couple who have become friends (Alana Haim and Momoudou Athie). After some drinking, Haim's character suggests they play a game in which each of them reveals the worst thing they've ever done. Emma's revelation shocks everyone and turns Haim's character judgmental. None of them are able to look at Emma in quite the same way again.

  At its best, The Drama toys with the way information can change and distort perception, creating a near-paranoid vision for Pattinson's Charlie, who turns out to be the least stable character in the movie. 

  Flashbacks to Emma's high school years feature Jordyn Curet as a teenager who was bullied, pointing to possible reasons for Emma's extreme youthful behavior, but these scenes aren't developed well enough to dig deeply. 

   Zendaya is caught between Borgli's comic aspirations and the story 's seriousness, and Pattinson delivers a stammering, halting performance that looks as disheveled as his haircut. Charlie's an annoying wreck, and we begin to wonder why Emma, the supposed shaky one, doesn't just dump him.

   Not surprisingly, the whole business moves toward a big wedding scene that features a major helping of excruciatingly presented comic conflict. By then, I'd given up on Borgli's ability to handle the movie's abundant tonal shifts. Throughout, Borgli leaps around in time, cutting into scenes to offer bits of flashback and fantasy and striking discordant notes with a musical score that, at times, suggests horror. 

     The Drama doesn't lack ambition. It uses an extreme example to pose interesting questions about relationships, but winds up being a dispiriting collection of hits, misses, and questionable choices.

An agreeable comic drama

  Movies about psychologically damaged people can easily lead to dramatic overkill. Fantasy Life, which stars Amanda Peet as a 50ish actress whose career has evaporated, takes a different approach. Written and directed by Matthew Shear, who also plays a lead role, the movie takes place against a backdrop of ongoing crises that have become the soundtrack for the characters’ lives.

  Shear plays Sam, a schlub who, after losing his job as a paralegal, consults with his therapist (Judd Hirsch). Hirsch’s Fred prescribes drugs for OCD and also suggests that the unemployed Sam might babysit for his son’s three preteen daughters. 

   Shy and subject to panic attacks, Sam seems entirely unsuited for the job, which — of course — he takes.

  David (Alessandro Nivola), the girls’ father, works as a musician who’ll soon depart on an Australian tour as a fill-in bassist with a popular rock band. 

  The real story begins when Mom (Peet) arrives in Manhattan after having taken a mental health break on Martha’s Vineyard. Mired in depression about her vanishing career, Dianne decides that Sam should accompany her to Martha’s Vineyard for the summer. He’ll look after the kids, and she’ll continue with her inertia.

   Sam agrees. It doesn’t take long to see that he’s attracted to Dianne. Why not? Dianne’s attractive, both she and Sam are emotionally wounded, and Dianne’s marriage has hit a rough patch. It’s also clear that Dianne likes Sam, who makes no demands and praises her skills as an actress.  Less a matter of sexual attraction, the two create a comfort zone that both of them desperately need.

   Shear gently develops a relationship that raises eyebrows with Dianne’s parents (Bob Balaban and Jessica Harper). Hirsch is joined by Andrea Martin, who plays his wife and secretary.

  Aside from Sam, the characters seem affluent enough not to have to worry about money, and Shear’s eye-averting characterization turns him into a kind of walking human apology. 

  The story builds toward a climactic dinner scene. Dianne’s resentments erupt in comic fashion — or at least that seems to be the intent.

  Shear operates on a human scale, but Fantasy Life can seem a bit edgeless, and Sam’s mental issues --he's Jewish but antisemitic phrases pop intrusively into his head -- feel under-explored. Sam's inability to cope is made clear enough without what seems an  extraneous embellishment.

  Mostly, though, Fantasy Life passes easily without being uproariously funny or straining for satire. Call it agreeably light.

Does AI spell promise or peril?

 Directors Daniel Roher and Charlie Tyrell's documentary, The AI Doc: or How I Became an Apocaloptimist, benefits from a personal twist. Already in progress, the movie’s urgency amps up when Roher, who does the movie's interviewing, learns that he and his wife are about to become parents. 

  Given the many dire forecasts about AI Roher has already heard, he's understandably apprehensive about the life that awaits the child he'll be raising.

  At first, Roher's questions seem motivated by a fear that AI, in relatively short order, will make humans superfluous, creating a society dominated by polarities: wealthy elites and impoverished masses. More extreme naysayers wonder whether AI will come to regard humanity as superfluous to its needs. In which case, goodbye to us.

  Roher poses his questions to a variety of computer scientists and corporate leaders who work in the field as he weaves a tightly edited film that includes news footage and amusing sketches drawn by Roher. The movie’s interviews have been mixed in ways that illuminate the documentary’s three parts: Doom, optimism, and reflection.

    Those interviewed include Sam Altman, the CEO of OpenAI, Daniela Amodei, president of Anthropic, Tristan Harris, co-founder of the Center for Humane Technology, and Deborah Raji, a computer scientist.

   Snippets of interviews fly by so quickly, I sometimes wondered whether it might have been worthwhile for Roher and Tyrell to slow down, but if they wanted viewers to begin thinking seriously about artificial intelligence, their documentary makes for an engaging beginning.

    Roher, who directed Navalny, a documentary about the Russian dissident, and Tyrell raise big questions about the race for all-powerful general artificial intelligence, the system that will surpass human intelligence. They frame the discussion in terms of a broad question: Will AI that's smarter than humans offer promise or peril?

   As the title suggests, Roher winds up somewhere near a cautious middle.

   Great at generating concern, AI: The Doc functions more as a one -hour and 44-minute skim of the topic rather than the deepest of dives. Never dull, the film outlines the pluses and minuses of a technology that, like it or not, seems to be developing faster than any of us can digest.

    

  

        

Sofia Coppola's 'Marc by Sofia'

                  

 Among the many things I generally ignore, high fashion ranks near the top of the list. Occasionally, I peruse the photos in one of the New York Times' glossy Sunday supplements, an activity that seldom fails to amuse. How could it not, with designs so exaggerated they might be taken as examples of human absurdity?

  Keep my attitude in mind as you read this review of Sofia Coppola's documentary, Marc by Sofia, a look at the way fashion icon Marc Jacobs goes about the business of designing clothes and creating a show. 

    Set in the months before Jacobs's 2024 spring show, the movie mixes show preparations with clips from the movies that inspired Jacobs (Sweet Charity, All That Jazz, and Hello Dolly). He's also partial to the work of Rainer Werner Fassbinder and an admirer of Elizabeth Taylor's jewelry. Diana Ross's sequins? The best.

    A long-time friend of Jacobs, Coppola takes a casual stroll through Jacobs' world, stitching together a tale that puts the designer's sensibilities on display while offering sketchy biographical material: At the age of 15, Jacobs left home to live with his grandmother, a meticulously organized shopper. His widowed mother had remarried, and Jacobs didn't like the stepdad. 

    Perhaps biographical detail doesn't matter. Jacobs seems to live in a world ruled less by the accumulated sediments of his past than the cultural ether he inhales, absorbs, and, then, transforms. 

   Some have seen Coppola's film as a look at Jacobs's creative process, which includes attention to every detail of his looming show: from set design to the quality of the false eyelashes for models to the music he’ll play. I approached the movie as I would a visit to another planet, a journey into exotic and unfamiliar terrain.

    In the 2024 show, women wearing wigs bigger than beach balls, display their chalky, mannequin-like expressions and wear outsized clothing that falls slightly short of qualifying as housing. 

   The clothing seems part of a satirical joke. 

   Is it?

   Beats me.

    It probably helps to be familiar with the arc of Jacobs' career, which Coppola presents mostly with references -- from his stint at Perry Ellis to his mold-breaking work at Louis Vuitton, where he added humor and flash that stretched the Vuitton brand. 

   And, of course, there's Jacobs' fabled Grunge period, that moment in the 1990s when sighs over elegance were replaced by the enraged banshee screams of rockers and those who followed them. We even see a clip from Jacobs' days as a student at the Parsons School of Design.

   But Jacobs works in the real world, too -- sort of. He once designed clothes for Winona Ryder's shoplifting trial. 

    The movie can be amusing, although it seems directed at those who already know that Jacobs is a major designer whose work has proven influential. 

   Coppola doesn't tell us, by the way, where Jacobs, now 62, stands in relation to other contemporary designers. And she doesn't include much by way of outside observation about his work. A little more context would have been welcome.

    I've admired Coppola's work in movies such as The Virgin Suicides (1999), Lost in Translation (2003), Marie Antoinette (2006), and The Bling Ring (2013). Nothing about Marc by Sofia made me think less of Coppola as a filmmaker, although it does seem like a bit of a digression.

 

    

     

An animated look at a filmmaker's life

      To appreciate the animated biopic, A Magnificent Life, a bit of background helps.

    The name Marcel Pagnol (1895-1974) may not have the same kind of resonance with American audiences as French directors such as Francois Truffaut and Jean-Luc Godard. Even when it comes to movies of the 1930s, cineastes are probably more familiar with the work of Jean Renoir and Rene Clair, both of whom were Pagnol's contemporaries. 

   I'm being sketchy, of course, but I begin this way because Pagnol may be better known to French audiences than to American viewers. I'm not even sure Pagnol receives main-course treatment in American film schools.

    If anything, American audiences are familiar with Jean de Florette and Manon of the Springs, two 1986 movies directed by Claude Berrie and adapted from a pair of Pagnol's novels.

     Director Sylvain Chomet (The Triplets of Bellville) has taken on the challenge of bringing Pagnol's life to light with A Magnificent Life, a  Pagnol biography that's animated with detail, style, and affection. Chomet creates an encompassing world for a story about a multi-talented artist who wrote novels, plays, and directed films for which he also wrote the screenplays.

   Chomet tells the story with flashbacks, beginning in 1974. Presumably finished with creating, Pagnol is asked to write articles for Elle magazine. Writing proves difficult, partly because Pagnol’s memory has begun to fade. Enter a young Marcel, a character who serves to trigger memories of the author’s life and give the movie a whimsical touch. Pagnol chats with his younger self.

   An early episode recounts the death of Pagnol's mother. Fifteen at the time of his mother's death, Pagnol already had begun writing poetry. Mom had been his primary audience; her loss proved devastating. 

   The story then finds Pagnol, as a young married man, teaching Latin in Marseille. When he was transferred to Paris, a move he celebrated, his wife objected, but Pagnol's life as a writer began in earnest.

    Chomet goes through the major events in Pagnol's  life: his Paris successes, his return to Marseille, and his work with French actor Raimu, depicted here in amusingly boisterous fashion.

    We also learn about Pagnol's loves and his commitment to putting the Marseille accent into a trilogy of films (Marius, Fanny, and Cesar) released during the 1930s. Perhaps foreshadowing what we think of as "series" storytelling, the films followed the same characters for years. 

    Like all lives, Pagnol's had rough spots. In 1954, he lost his two-and-half-year-old daughter, Estelle. He took more than 10 years before making another film. 

     I saw a dubbed English-language version of A Magnificent Life, which eventually lost steam, as it drew from Confidences, a collection of Pagnol's essays. 

   Chomet's animation creates an absorbing world that brings its own rewards, but the movie does as much telling as showing, and in the end, makes a better showcase for Chomet's talent than for Pagnol's significance as an artist. 

Space travels of an unlikely duo

    On its surface, Project Hail Mary sounds like another large-scale space adventure, a movie in which a lone traveler must save the Earth when a virus threatens to dim the sun. A mysterious microbe known as Astrophage is responsible for this doomsday scenario.

   Fortunately, Earth has hope for survival, albeit a slim one. The future of humanity depends on a molecular biologist -- Ryan Gosling's Ryland Grace -- traveling 11.9 light-years to Tau Ceti, a star that’s immune to Astrophage. Perhaps an antidote can be discovered and brought back to Earth. 

    It's a last-ditch, long-shot effort with no guarantee  of success, but it's the only option.

   Project Hail Mary directors Phil Lord and Christopher Miller (The Lego Movie and Spider-Man: Into the Spider Verse) shift away from the usual space-genre tone, bypassing ominous cosmic references and occasionally indulging in sentiment.

    Distinguished by its use of sets and avoidance of green-screen work, the movie has a down-to-earth flavor, even as it vaults toward a distant galaxy. The approach is in keeping with Drew Goddard's screenplay, which immediately confronts Grace with the series of problems that propel the story. 

   When he awakens from his induced slumber, Grace can't remember who he is or how he happened to find himself on a spaceship. Job one: Read the clues that will help him recover his memory.

    Grace seems an unlikely hero. The story begins with him teaching seventh-grade science, after having been rejected by scholars for advancing a thesis the scientific establishment scorned; i.e., that life needn't be water-based. Grace's brilliance was mocked.

     Eva Stratt (Sandra Huller) heads an international organization that recruits Grace for the Hail May Project. Eva admires the fact that Grace is willing to think unconventionally, even if others don't accept his conclusions. 

     So, Grace enters deep space, quickly learning that his companions on his voyage had failed to awaken from their induced sleep. He becomes the solo savior of his planet.

     Well, not quite.

      En route to his destination, Grace encounters an alien ship on which a creature he names Rocky also has been traveling.

     James Ortiz does the voice work for Rocky, filling the character with innocent charm and making the most of the way Rocky struggles to understand a new language, sometimes to comic effect.

   Grace's alien buddy may look like a leggy rock, but by no means is he as dumb as one. An engineer by trade, he builds a bridge between the two ships. Rocky, we learn, misses the spouse he left on his home planet; he, too, has lost his crew, and, like Grace, he has tried to adjust to being alone.

   The screenplay adds poignancy because scientists on Earth have equipped Grace's ship with enough fuel to reach its destination, but not enough for a return trip. (The ship, by the way, runs on Astrophage, an odd bit of irony.) Additionally, Grace must mourn the death of his fellow travelers (Ken Leung and Milana Vayntrub), both of whom he hardly knew.

     Project Hail Mary is based on a popular 2021 novel by Andy Weir, who also wrote The Martian, which became another big-screen space adventure built around loneliness and ingenuity. 

     By the time Rocky enters the picture, screenwriter Drew Goddard has begun employing flashbacks to allow Huller's character to develop and to provide additional insight into Grace's pre-flight life. Gosling carries the movie with ease in a showcase role.

     A set piece in which Grace and Rocky try to recover fuel is built for excitement, but other space shots lack the feeling of dark emptiness that can make life feel puny, meek, and insecure.

    Entertaining and involving -- if overly long at 156 minutes -- Project Hail Mary occasionally struck me as silly. Rocky, after all, isn't the most intriguing looking of creatures. I also found the cuteness of the movie's epilogue off-putting, making me think I'd witnessed an adventure that couldn't resist painting a smiley face on its intergalactic surface. 

     Still, Project Hail Mary offers relief from the interplanetary bloviation of other space epics, serving as an antidote to the self-seriousness with which Hollywood usually plies the depths of space. 

     The message also merits consideration: Forget Aliens and its many successors; other forms of life just might turn out to be our BFFs.

      

A second helping of comic gore

  

     It has been seven years since the release of Ready or Not, a jokey, gory slice of horror that pitted a new bride (Samara Weaving) against wealthy in-laws intent on protecting their privilege. I hadn’t thought about the movie until I learned that a second helping was in the offing. I rewatched the original, and remembered why I enjoyed it while also recognizing that blood, gook, and fear aren’t everyone’s favorite popcorn seasonings.

    The same mini-review might apply to Ready or Not 2: Here I Come, a movie in which co-directors Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett make good use of Weavings’ fierce determination and find reasonably clever ways to revive the Ready or Not strategy.

   Once again, Weaving's Grace must survive a deadly hunt in which she’s the prey, this time at the cruel behest of a fiendish cabal composed of sects vying to head a coalition of Satanic cultists who claim to control the world.

    And once again, Grace takes a beating that leaves her wounded, bloodied, and in bad need of a shower.

   Bettinelli-Olpin and Gillett repeat the formula, adding gory flourishes and making enough references to the original to connect the two movies -- if not in plot, then in spirit. 

   A major addition involves providing Grace with a fellow sufferer, her estranged sister Faith (Kathryn Newton). Faith resents her older sister for fleeing to New York at the age of 18. Fifteen at the time, Faith was left in foster care.

     Forget the Le Domas family of the previous movie and glide past the movie’s devilish mumbo-jumbo. Focus instead on the brutal game played at a sprawling Connecticut  estate.

    The hunters compete to head the council, the governing body of the movie’s greedy Satan worshippers. Hunters must use weapons that were common during the period in which their forbearers joined the group. We're talking axes, pistols, bazookas, rifles, knives, and more.

      The large cast includes Sarah Michelle Gellar and Shawn Hatosy as cunning siblings who want to rule the clans. They’re joined by an embittered woman (Maia Jae) who once was engaged to the man Grace married in the first installment. Other characters may be less well-drawn. Some don’t do much more than add to the body count.

      Elijah Wood signs on as The Lawyer, the character who defines the rules of the game, and horror master David Cronenberg makes an early appearance as the father of the twins.

      The simmering conflict between the sisters can feel  forced, and the blend of comedy and gore can’t help but feel familiar. An overstated grand finale of blood and exploding bodies serves as an icky exclamation point to the proceedings.

      One could slice and dice further, but as second helpings go, Here I Come proves a reliably amusing bloodbath, particularly for those who like their violent mayhem served with stinging comic twists.

Goodbye Oscar. Let's move on

    Somebody mentioned that the 98th edition of the Academy Awards happened Sunday night. 

    I heard the show went long (3 hours and 32 minutes),  that one group of recipients got played off the stage, and that host Conan O'Brien delivered a strong opening with a Weapons parody in which he appeared as Amy Madigan's character from that film, the unforgettable Gladys. 

     O'Brien also closed the evening with a clever riff on One Battle After Another, but by that time, all the awards had been handed out, and some viewers probably already had had enough.

     His monologue? I heard, "meh."

     OK, it’s not hearsay. I watched.

     But I decided to change-up this year and wait until the morning after to see what -- if anything -- stuck from the night before. 

     Oscar managed to turn Leonardo DiCaprio -- a nominee for best actor for One Battle After Another -- into a supporting character. When One Battle won best picture, I had to search for Leo in the back row of all the film's actors. Fortunately, his Clark Gable mustache made him easy to spot.

      Teyana Taylor, a losing nominee for supporting actor (One Battle After Another) seemed more pumped up than any of the winners. If there were an award for best adrenalin rush, she'd have won it.

       I was glad to see Autumn Durand Arkapaw become the first woman to win an Oscar for best cinematography for her work on Sinners. 

      It was equally rewarding to watch Michael B. Jordan take the best actor award for playing a dual role in Sinners. 

      By the end of the evening, though, I was starting to feel sorry for early best actor front-runner Timothee Chalamet, who looked a little silly to me in his all-white outfit. I wouldn't have voted for him, but Chalamet's off-key comment about opera and ballet was mocked during the ceremony, although it probably didn't figure in his loss.

     I say that even though I wasn't a Marty Supreme fan.

     Despite the hype about a too-close-to-call best-picture race between Sinners and One Battle After Another, One Battle emerged victorious, the outcome that had been most predicted from the start of an interminable awards season.

      Sinners wound up winning four Oscars after earning a record 16 nominations. One Battle After Another took six of its 13 nominations.

     It was moving and appropriate to see the Academy offer extended In Memoriam tributes to Robert Redford (Barbra Streisand presided), Rob Reiner and his wife Michelle Singer Reiner (Billy Crystal did the honors) and Diane Keaton and Catherine O'Hara (Rachel McAdams led the way). 

      In her acceptance speech for best actress, Hamnet's Jessie Buckley said she was ready to have 20,000 children with her partner. I can't knock celebrating motherhood, but, geez, wouldn't 10,000 suffice? 

      Aside from Javier Bardem, Jimmy Kimmel, a few barbs from Conan, and a pointed cautionary speech from David Borenstein, co-director of the best documentary, Mr. Nobody Against Putin, the night was less political than expected, considering the fraught moment we’re living through.

      Jackie Cazares, a mom who lost a daughter in the Uvalde, Texas, school shooting, spoke when All the Empty Rooms won Best Documentary Short Film.  One of our great sadnesses is that school shootings have become so much less shocking in the 26 years since Columbine.

      The best live action short category resulted in a rarity, a tie with Two People Exchanging Saliva and The Singers each getting an equal number of votes. 

      Amy Madigan, the best supporting actress for her work in Weapons, might be the first Oscar recipient to reference shaving her legs in the shower. Wow, an actual human being wins an Oscar.

      Someone noted that the awards didn’t have the indie spirit that seems to have dominated recent Oscar seasons. Warner Bros., a studio that may soon be acquired by Paramount Skydance, released both One Battle After Another and Sinners. Sinners did better than One Battle at the box office, but neither movie can be seen as typical Hollywood fare. 

       Still, after being nominated for nine Academy Awards, Marty Supreme, released by the adventurous film company, A24, didn't win any. 

       Bugonia, Hamnet, The Secret Agent, and Sentimental Value -- all of which can be regarded as independent features -- earned a total of 25 nominations, but won in only two categories: best actress (Buckley for Hamnet) and Best International Feature (Sentimental Value). 

        The first-ever award for casting went to Cassandra Kulukundis for her work on One Battle After Another. I'd love to have heard the directors of each of the nominees in that category explain the role the casting director played in making their films successful.

       Where will the awards stop? Lots of folks think stunts deserve an award. How about catering? Animal wrangling, anyone? Just sayin'. 

       Sean Penn, this year's best supporting actor, was a no- show. Maybe -- like many of us -- he'd had enough of awards season. 

        If you judged by the audience, you might have thought that Sinners was the only movie anyone truly loved. It seemed to earn more applause than anything else. 

        That's it from me about Oscar 98. I don't know about you, but I think it's time to leave 2025 behind. 

Oscar predictions for 2026

One Battle After Another and Sinners find themselves in a battle for best picture.

   Yeah, I know. It's almost mid-March, and we're still talking about 2025 -- at least when it comes to movie awards. Oscars will be handed out on Sunday evening. If you search for Oscar predictions online, you'll find no shortage of guess work, intuitive hunches, and analytical explanations for what’s likely to transpire. 

   I've always approached the prediction game with reservations, prompted this year in part by a lack of strong rooting interests on my part. Jessie Buckley seems a shoo-in for best actress, but I wouldn't be upset if Rose Byrne won for her performance in If I Had Legs I'd Kick You. 

   I prefer Sinners to One Battle After Another, but either movie would make a decent best picture winner.

   Sure, Sean Penn is the favorite in the best supporting actor category for playing a right-wing nut job in One Battle After Another, but if Stellan Skarsgard pulled off a major upset by winning in this category for his performance as a film director in Sentimental Value, my life -- and probably yours -- will remain unaffected.

   Moreover, the awards season has become so long, so televised, and so covered by the press that by the time Oscar rolls around, I'm well past ready to move on.

   Still, Oscar remains the big prize, so I'll offer predictions in some of the major categories.

Best Picture: One Battle After Another.  

     This one boils down to a two-picture race pitting One Battle After Another against Sinners, which received a major boost when Sinners’ star Michael B. Jordan won best actor at the Screen Actors Guild awards. Other professional groups have gone for One Battle. 

      Here's a stray thought. What if the two frontrunners wind up providing another movie with a window of possibility. In the old days, I'd have speculated that Hamnet --a more traditional choice for best picture -- might have emerged victorious.  This year: Not likely.

Best Director: Paul Thomas Anderson, One Battle After Another. I don't regard One Battle as Anderson's best movie; it’s not as good as Magnolia, There Will Be Blood, The Master, or Phantom Thread. But Anderson is a strong stylist, a sometime visionary, and a director with a clear, idiosyncratic sensibility that’s woven into all his work. He's had 14 nominations and has never won. He's a major director who’s past due.

Best Adapted Screenplay: Paul Thomas Anderson for One Battle After Another, an adaptation of Thomas Pynchon's 1990 novel, Vineland. Anderson updated the story but kept Pynchon's raucous spirit alive throughout his movie. There's no real competition in this category.

Best Original Screenplay: Ryan Coogler for Sinners. Coogler brought sharp relevance to a genre mashup of a movie that employed an expansive cinema vocabulary but spoke in a distinctive voice. 

Best Actor: Michael B. Jordan. Jordan played twins who moved back to their Mississippi hometown to start a juke joint. Magnetic in dual roles, Jordan likely will beat out Timothee Chalamet's uber-driven performance in Marty Supreme. Why? Because Marty Supreme isn't likely to receive big love in other categories.

Best Actress: Jessie Buckley, Hamnet. There's simply no competition in the only category on which everyone seems to agree. 

Best Supporting Actor: Sean Penn, One Battle After Another. If not Penn, Delroy Lindo of Sinners might provide one of the evening's surprises. 

Best Supporting Actress: Amy Madigan's supporting performance made the horror movie Weapons a hit. Even if you don't like horror, you'd have to acknowledge that an unrecognizable Madigan stole the movie. If not Madigan, keep an eye on Wunmi Mosaku, who played hoodoo healer Annie in a role that gave Sinners a soulful boost.

Some bonus picks: Best International Feature, Sentimental Value. Best Animated Feature, Kpop Demon Hunters. Best Documentary, The Perfect Neighbor. Best cinematography, One Battle After Another.

Another Colleen Hoover romance

  Reminders of Him, the latest adaptation of a best-selling Colleen Hoover novel, takes us to Laramie, Wyoming, but the film could have been shot anywhere, a clue that we might have wandered into formula territory.

  The characters in Reminders of Him don't seem rooted in any specific landscape or location; they spring from a blueprint built around romance and obstacles, ingredients that have been seasoned with tragedy.

  Maika Monroe (Longlegs) gives a credible performance as Kenna, a young woman who, at the film's start, is released from prison after serving five years for vehicular manslaughter while driving under the influence. Kenna's boyfriend, Scotty (Rudy Pankow), was killed in the accident. 

  Guilt-ridden and shaken, Kenna pleaded guilty -- even though the situation turned out to be more complicated than initially suspected. 

   The newly released Kenna has one goal. She wants to see her daughter (Zoe Kosovic), a girl who was born in prison and taken from her. She has never held the child, who’s being raised by Grace (Lauren Graham) and Patrick (Bradley Whitford), Scotty’s unforgiving parents. They've structured a legal arrangement to keep Kenna away from her daughter Diem. 

    That's plenty of dramatic fodder. But what’s a movie such as this without romance? Enter Ledger (Tyriq Withers), a childhood friend of Scotty’s who owns a local bar. Ledger didn’t know Kenna previously because when Scotty was courting her, he was trying to launch a career with the Denver Broncos. When he blew out a shoulder, his athletic career crashed. By the time he returned home, Scotty already was dead.

    All drama hinges on some sort of contrivance; in Reminders of Him, they're awfully transparent. For five years, Ledger has been developing a close relationship with Diem, serving as a kind of surrogate father — at least that’s how he sees it.

     Kenna and Ledger know their relationship will threaten Ledger’s bond with Scotty’s parents and with Diem, who’s as cute as the kitten Kenna's landlady gives her when she moves into the low-rent but  ironically named Paradise apartments.

      At various times, Kenna narrates the film, reading excerpts from the notebooks she began to fill in prison. These consist of letters written to her late boyfriend.

     The supporting characters include a charmingly blunt young woman with Down’s syndrome (Monika Meyers) who Kenna meets when she lands a job bagging groceries.

   The story unfolds in predictably delivered slices that don’t grate on the nerves but unfold smoothly in the hands of director Vanessa Caswill, working from a screenplay by Hoover and Lauren Levine.

     Neither offensive nor deep, Reminders of Him glides past complexities that might have made for a more involving story. The movie follows on the heels of two other Hoover adaptations, It Ends with Us and Regretting You. It improves on the latter but isn't as strong as the former. 

     Hoover’s fans evidently are devoted enough to propel these movies into the profit column, even when they feel, as this one does, more anemic than any melodrama should.

       

A horror movie relies on sound

 Canadian director Ian Tuason makes his directorial debut with Undertone, a narrowly focused horror movie that concentrates on a podcaster who, with a partner, devotes her time to debunking paranormal claims. 

 Evy (Nina Kiri) spends most of the movie alone, preparing or recording her podcast while her mother (Michele Duquet) is dying in an upstairs bedroom. Evy has temporarily moved into her mother’s home for what amounts to a prolonged death watch.

  Evy’s podcast partner, Justin — a heard but not seen Adam DiMarco — believes that a series of disturbing recordings he has received might be authentic. Evy agrees to listen but plays her customary role as the pair's resident skeptic.

   Tuason's camera often isolates Evy in a darkened corner of a house that's filled with her mother’s Catholic paraphernalia — small statues of Mary, a picture of the Last Supper, crosses, and other cliches that usually turn up in films about possession.

    As the two partners listen to the audio files — 10 in all — tension mounts, and Tuason suggests a few psychological possibilities. Evy learns that she’s pregnant; she backslides on her sobriety, and she’s increasingly spooked by noises in the house. Lights  turn on and off by themselves. Faucets mysteriously begin running. Old stuff indeed, but wrapped in a minimalist package.

   The major question involves whether Evy is slipping into a state of psychological distortion or whether a demon — in this case, one responsible for mothers who kill their children — could have been summoned when the tapes were played. Eerie nursery rhymes -- Baa Baa Black Sheep, for example -- are repetitively employed.

    Tuason's audio-orientation relies on suggestive sound design, which includes snippets from the audio files that Justin receives. He sometimes plays them backward as he searches for hidden meanings.

     Films such as Undertone depend heavily on their finales. Tuason cloaks his with mostly darkened images and heightened sound, a maneuver suggested by preceding developments, but which seems too gimmicky to be entirely satisfying.

     Credit Kiri with holding the screen. And at its creepiest, Undertone casts a creepy spell. When it's all said and done, though, the movie doesn't dig deeply enough into what increasingly seems like an accumulation of familiar genre tropes.

A coda to the 'Peaky Blinders' series

    Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man serves as a sufficiently honorable coda to a series created by Steven Knight and starring Cillian Murphy. The series spread over 36 episodes, beginning in 2012 and concluding in 2022. 

   During its run, the series found deep and surprising moments for a cast that created indelible characters, even when the stories began to feel a bit repetitive.

    Before watching the one-hour and 52-minute movie version now playing in select theaters and bowing on Netflix on March 20, I viewed the entire series. It definitely helps to have some of the Peaky Blinders details in mind when you see this movie version. 

   Another caution: You'll probably miss some of the characters who made the series so memorable. Too bad many of them had the misfortune of dying before The Immortal Man begins.

     I'm not sure how director Tom Harper, a series  veteran, and show creator Knight, who wrote The Immortal Man, could have topped the brilliant conclusion to the sixth season. What they offer echoes past achievements more than it surpasses them.

    So where does The Immortal Man begin? Tommy has withdrawn into rural isolation with his loyal associate, Johnny Dogs (Packy Lee), serving as a helpmate. Essentially, Tommy has given up on the world.

    The world, however, has moved on. The story has entered the 1940s. Britain is embroiled in World War II, and Tommy's recently discovered son, Duke (Barry Keoghan), who entered the series during its final year, runs the Peaky Blinders gang with little regard for any gangster ethos.

   Untamed and reckless, Duke must be saved from himself, which means Tommy needs to put aside the biography he's writing and return to Birmingham to reestablish the sense of family that has all but vanished from the gang.

   Tommy initially resists the call to return, even when his sister (Sophie Rundle) pleads for a comeback. He changes his mind when Kaulo (Rebecca Ferguson), the twin sister of Duke's late mother and a Romani Gypsy seer, visits. Tommy, as immersed in his belief in the power of curses as ever, must meet his destiny. 

   One of the problems with a movie version of Peaky Blinders is that the characters can't develop the novelistic complexity the longer format not only allowed but often used to maximum effect. We really got to know the characters, even those we came to fear or despise.

    The plot builds on a trend established in the final season. Fascists in Britain pose a threat to a country that's already under bombardment. Tim Roth portrays Beckett, a Nazi sympathizer involved in a German counterfeit currency scheme that's meant to undermine Britain's already shaky economy and lead to the country's collapse.

    The third act resolution of Tommy's efforts to thwart the plot deftly build tension and excitement. At times, though, the movie overdoes things. A fight between Tommy and Duke finds them wallowing in the mud of a pigsty, for example. 

   During the final season, Tommy's ambition had already begun to curdle into resignation. His inner torment intensified. Now, Tommy is a bit of a dead man walking, a depleted husk of a man who lives among ghosts but has been denied the peace of joining them. He eventually dons his trademark cap and long overcoat, but much of the old juice has drained away.

     Beyond that, the key idea of family connection, with all its tests, contortions and possible betrayals, was stronger in the series, partly because the theme here is more stated than deeply felt.  

     A familiar question arises. Can Tommy find redemption? Tommy's attempts to foil a Nazi plot offers him an opportunity to do something good in the world, the best a man such as Tommy, who has accumulated a large body count, can hope to achieve.

   Whatever you think about this addition to the Peaky Blinders catalog, I can't imagine that devotees -- even those who wind up being mildly disappointed -- won't want to see it. 

    When a graying Tommy rides into Small Heath on a black horse, the movie offers a mix of nostalgia and stirring imagery: A lone savior comes to the rescue of those who lack the will to get the job done. Sure we've seen it before, but this, after all, is Tommy Shelby.

     As a series fan, I'm glad to have seen The Immortal Man, primarily because Tommy Shelby has earned his place in gangster lore as a keenly intelligent but brutal man whose thoughts remain hidden but whose eyes reveal the echoes of the poetry that haunts his damaged soul.