A renewed 'Toy Story 5' pleases

 

  Toy Story 5 manages to keep Pixar's animated franchise from slipping into irrelevance, no small feat considering the first Toy Story movie appeared 31 years ago. 

  This edition renews the franchise by expanding the role of cowgirl heroine Jessie (Joan Cusack) and also presenting her with a love interest, Buzz Lightyear (Tim Allen). It’s not too early to think about wedding gifts.

  A comforting story arc again underscores the assertion that beloved toys provide kids with much-needed emotional support. Shy girl Bonnie (Scarlett Spears), a veteran of films three and four, doesn’t know how to make friends, partly because she's stuck in the stage where Jessie remains a big part of her world.

  To make the movie more topical, Pixar's latest pits toys against tablets, old-school playthings vs. electronic devices that dominate kids' attention and encourage solitary play. 

   Directors McKenna Harris and Andrew Stanton, the duo that also wrote the screenplay, argue that toys can become the building blocks of world-creating experiences that kids can share.

   The time,Woody (Tom Hanks) does supporting duty while Greta Lee gives voice to a pivotal new character,  Lilypad, a frog-shaped device that's supposed to open the gateway for Bonnie to become more attuned to present trends. 

    To further up the ante, the screenplay adds a brigade of Buzz Lightyears and a variety of new characters, notably Smarty Pants (Conan O'Brien), a tablet whose name defines him. 

     Now, this being Pixar, don't expect all-out war; it hardly qualifies as a spoiler to tell you that the tech toys eventually learn to play nice with their retro predecessors. Detente looms.

     Before that can happen, the push to bring Bonnie into a new high-tech world forces Jessie again to deal with abandonment issues, another franchise favorite.

     Her first owner ditched her. But Jessie has enough spunk and agency — not to mention the help of a few plot twists — to arrive at the home of Blaze (Mykal-Michelle Harris), a girl who appreciates toys and shares Jessie's love of imagination. 

      Blaze also collects toy horses, a lucky break because the horses gallop into the third act, and Jessie's devoted steed, Bullseye, accompanies her on her adventures. Blaze’s friendship with Bonnie will bring like-minded kids together.

   Much is made of the way toys, even favorites, often wind up in storage as children age. Higher-tech toys fare no better as they hurtle toward their own fast-approaching expiration dates.

    The moral:  Kids change as they grow, and toys of all kinds meet them at just the right moment.

   I'm not sure there's a right moment for more Toy Story sequels, but the aim here might have something to do with hooking a new generation of viewers. This helping of Toy Story feels pitched toward younger audiences. If I were to guess, I'd say 12 might be the upper limit.

    But there's nothing that will pain the adults who accompany kids, and Toy Story 5 earns its place as a surprisingly pleasing addition to the franchise.

     

                                                                                                                                         

    

This martial arts movie kicks butt

 I can't say I've been eagerly hoping for another martial arts movie. After a string of John Wick movies, I thought I'd had enough. It didn't take long, though, for me to get caught up in the preposterously exaggerated action of The Furious, a movie that begins by telling us that it's set "somewhere in South East Asia." That may sound generic, but so what? The precise location doesn't matter because The Furious isn’t about geography, it’s about punch-and-kick action. A threadbare plot -- children are kidnapped and trafficked by sneering villains -- becomes a launch pad for what amounts to a nonstop helping of fighting. Director Kenji Tanigaki, who did some of the design work for John Wick: Chapter 4, has a field day as he follows Wang Wei (Xie Miao), a mute handyman who tries to rescue his kidnapped daughter. Eventually, Wang Wei teams with Navin (Joe Taslim), a husband who's investigating the disappearance of his wife, a journalist who tried to expose the kidnappers. Marked by inventive fight choreography, and outsized villains, The Furious offers an opportunity to delight in the ways that Tanigaki ups the ante with each successive fight.  For the record, Xie, who appeared in Jet Li movies as a child, practices Wushu style martial arts. Taslim focuses on Judo and once belonged to the Indonesian National Judo Team. OK, those aren't Actors Studio credentials, but both of these stars are masters of the art of acrobatic showmanship the movie boldly displays. Ouch!

Aliens visit Spielberg again

 

 In a recent interview, Steven Spielberg said that if anyone deserves to have a close encounter with aliens, it’s him. Who, after all, has done more to prompt interest in extraterrestrial visitors with big-screen movies that lend a magical aura to the notion that Earth already has hosted interplanetary guests? For me, Close Encounters of the Third Kind leads Spielberg's alien-picture pack.

    But Spielberg is not a philosopher or, as far as I know, a geek who’s in love with astrophysics; he’s an entertainer and storyteller who operates in the old Hollywood tradition, using his considerable prowess to serve up gripping narratives that have mass appeal. At his best, Spielberg delivers pop-cultural implants that can buoy fatigued spirits.

    This brings us to Disclosure Day, Spielberg’s latest foray into alien visitation, this one brimming with a message that aliens — seen but not freshly imagined — are healers who come to Earth to spread a conciliatory message.    

    The movie tells us that the human capacity for empathy has more to do with evolutionary progress than brute force. We've forgotten how to listen to one another, to feel one another's sorrows. Precisely why alien life forms would want to offer their help to beleaguered earthlings remains unclear.

   There’s little point in arguing against Spielberg’s case, advanced with obviousness in David Koepp's screenplay. But Disclosure Day is more than a lecture; it's a scattered collection of intrigue-laden bits that sing a familiar song: A corporate/military cabal tries to stifle individuals who want to spread the truth about alien visitations. They've been happening since the last century and maybe even before that  -- or so the movie says.

     It’s instructive to note that I’m writing more about Spielberg than about the characters in Disclosure Day. That may be because, aside from Emily Blunt’s portrayal of an aspiring TV journalist who feels stuck in a weather person’s job — the characters tend to be the kind of archetypal figures a schematic story needs.

    The list includes the scowling corporate boss (Colin Firth) of Wardex, the company that insists humanity must be protected from knowledge of alien visitors lest chaos erupt. Math whiz Danny (Josh O’Connor) defects from 

Wardex, having realized that knowledge about aliens belongs to everyone.

    Tag-along characters include Danny's girlfriend Jane (Eve Hewson), a former novitiate who left convent life. Jane thinks Danny must be stopped because the truth might undermine faith in God, thus rendering life meaningless for believers. Jane conveniently presents an opportunity for Spielberg to accomplish a feat that has eluded others; the melding of science and faith.

     Faith puts man in the center of God’s gaze on Earth, but who’s to say that that gaze isn’t wider than the faithful presume? Put another way, maybe God made ET, too.

    The faults in Disclosure Day are not with the film’s making, but with a screenplay that’s bound to ideas expressed with a heavy hand and which tamp down the movie's sense of mystery. 

    Sometimes, the film seems to rehash familiar Spielberg tropes. Blunt’s Margaret and O’Connor’s Daniel are deeply influenced by signature events from their youths, childhood in Margaret’s case. They've been touched (or perhaps selected) by aliens as possible carriers of the messages. Both Danny and Margaret are being driven by forces they don't understand, but which they feel compelled to follow, shades of the character Richard Dreyfuss played in Close Encounters.

     Early in Margaret’s hectic Kansas City life as a weather forecaster, a cardinal flies through the window of the loft she shares with her partner (Wyatt Russell ). Margaret’s capabilities are transformed. She can speak languages she never studied. Equally important, she can enter the minds of strangers, grasping their feelings with uncanny accuracy. 

   A scene in which Margaret applies her new skills when pulled over by a cop brilliantly brings the matter to life. Delivering dialogue at breakneck speed, Blunt makes the whole business credible. Margaret's abilities go public during a TV broadcast in which she begins speaking in strange clicks. Her colleagues think she's lost it. We take it as a sign that she’s channeling an alien language. 

    The movie’s design features a hand-held alien device Wardex has snagged; it allows people to appear in different places at the same time and to penetrate and manipulate others. Never mind how it works; it also can turn on power when generators are shut down, a universal remote of sorts.

    The dangers of unwanted intrusions are obvious, which partly explains why Wardex renegade Hugo (Colman Domingo) has organized a clandestine opposition to the company and why Danny made off with evidence of horrible abuse of aliens and other solid proofs that of earthly alien existence. Humanity has been deceived.

      Hugo and his team even reconstruct Margaret's childhood home so that she can reconnect with a signature event in her childhood, cloaking the whole business with a bit of pop psychology, something about returning home before being able to move forward.

     Spielberg’s magic touch can be felt sporadically, but too much of Disclosure Day functions as a sci-fi procedural that espouses lofty ideas about how humanity might save itself from conflict, one of which simmers in the background as tensions between the US and Russia mount.

     Don't get the wrong impression. Disclosure is far from awful. It's just not up to Spielberg's best. Spielberg’s undeniable skills are well displayed. Blunt’s performance has a distinctive edge. And, if nothing else, skeptics can giggle quietly, if by the end, they haven't been convinced to take the whole business seriously.

      So, yes, greatness eludes Disclosure, and for all its supposed weighty themes, the best thing about it involves a mismatched battle between a red car and a speeding train. We're talking down-to-earth action that makes the pulse pound in ways the movie's headier aspects don't. Spielberg’s skill at concocting this action wowed me more than the movie's benevolent aliens.

Bob's Cinema Diary: 'Unidentified' and 'The Currents'

Two new movies deal with women struggling on their own -- albeit with very different issues. The Saudi movie Unidentified focuses on Noelle, a woman who lost a child shortly after its birth, a tragedy that colors everything that follows. Made in Argentina, The Currents takes us into a middle-class milieu where a fashion designer's life seems to be coming apart at the seams. Both movies are deliberately paced, but each illuminates the life of a woman trying to cope (or not) with very different social circumstances.

Unidentified

In Unidentified, Saudi director Haifaa al-Mansour (Wadjda) follows a newly divorced woman (Mila Al-Zahrani) as she searches for the killer of a young woman who, early in the movie, turns up dead. A fan of crime podcasts, Al-Zahrani's Noelle feels wronged by her ex-husband, who -- after the loss of their child shortly after its birth -- declared his intention to take a second wife. Presenting herself as a seeker of justice, Noelle drives and owns a car, a bit of business we take for granted but couldn't have been part of a Saudi movie before 2018, the year Saudi women were first allowed to obtain driver's licenses. Defying the men who run the police station, Noelle begins to function like a detective. Her search eventually brings her into contact with the victim's mother (Fatima Alsharif), a well-heeled woman who's unwilling to identify her daughter's body lest her family be humiliated. The young woman might have been on her way to a meet a man, a taboo in this patriarchal setting. The movie plods here and there, but as a peek into the way Saudi society deals with gender, Unidentified proves eye-opening. Don't be misled, though. Al-Mansour doesn't preach; her film qualifies as a low-key thriller that includes the kind of bracing twists, you probably won't see coming.

The Currents

Alienation isn't easy to film, but director Milagros Mumenthaler brings a high-level of artistry to the task in The Currents, a movie about a fashion designer (Isabel Aime Gonzalez-Sola) who -- early on -- attempts to commit suicide in Switzerland, where she's traveled to receive an award. A wife and mother, Gonzalez-Sola's Lina returns to Argentina but can't seem to re-connect with her husband (Esteban Bigliardi) and her five-year-old daughter (Emma Fayo Duarte). Lina, who never seems present in her life, becomes the elusive centerpiece of a movie that relies heavily on Gonzalez-Sola's ability to convey the ambiguity of Lina's detachment. The Currents might have been titled Woman on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, and Mumenthaler's sly splashes of color reminded me of Pedro Almodovar's work. So what's up with Lina? We don't really know, and Mumenthaler keeps it that way, avoiding a single explanation for the way in which Lina floats through her life. There's much to be gleaned from The Currents, which slowly discloses bits of backstory, including a late-picture introduction to Lina's eccentric mother. But don't expect a big reveal. Some will find Mumenthaler's slowly paced movie trying, but a character who may not fully understand her inner life is made intriguing by a director whose imagery can reflect the deep and mysterious richness of lived moments. 

Rock stardom on a shaky foundation

  Irish director John Carney has created a filmography rooted in his love for music. Carney's first hit, Once, reached screens in 2007 with a story about two unlikely partners who made music together. Carney, who followed with other films that fit his mold, now delivers Power Ballad, which feels familiar but dips its toe into the world of rock stardom.

   Paul Rudd plays Rick Powers, a once rising rock star who settled in Ireland, married Rachel (Marcella Plunkett), and raised a daughter (Beth Fallon) who's now a teenager. 

    As his dreams of stardom faded, Rick supported himself as a singer and guitarist with Bride and Groove, a band that specializes in wedding parties. Bride and Grove works from a popular hit list, doing energetic covers of songs meant to keep a dance floor hopping.

     On one such gig, Rick meets Danny Wilson (Nick Jonas), a young singer who made it big with a boy band and who's trying to launch a solo career. Danny  happens to be a guest at the wedding, and Rick and Danny spend a post-party evening jamming and talking about writing songs. Rick shares one of his songs, How to Write a Song Without You.

     The movie then leaps ahead. Danny has returned to the US, where his agent (Jack Reynor) informs him that only a breakthrough tune will establish his independence and maintain the standard of living he achieved as a boy-band phenom.

     Danny writes a bridge to How to Write a Song and steals the rest. Before you can say, "Of course it's a major hit," the song becomes a major hit, and Danny regains his stardom.

     When Rick discovers that his tune has become popular, he tumbles into a mixture of depression, self-loathing, and, yes, satisfaction -- at last, one of his tunes has connected with a large audience.

    Power Ballad expands on Rudd's affable persona, allowing Rudd to turn Rick into a manic guy who's obsessed with getting his due. Rick even enlists a bandmate (Paul Reid) to travel to the US to confront Danny. Mostly, Rick wants Danny to confirm that he stole  the song. Rick has no proof of authorship, and no one believes his claim.

    Too formula-averse to turn Rick into an unalloyed hero, Carney also refuses to turn the undeniably talented Danny into a pop-star jerk. Self-doubt undermines Rick's quest for recognition, and Danny wrestles with his conscience. Should he explain what happened and get on with it? His manager dissuades him.

     The long-awaited face-off between Rick and Danny takes place in a hot tub at one of Danny's LA parties, an over-the-top crescendo that feels silly and strained.

      Of course, there's plenty of music and a near-overexposure of the film's signature tune. Carney's at his best when the film operates in the minor key of the wedding band, a group that, aside from Rick, has accepted its role as a party band.   

      Carney also makes sure to acknowledge his respect for  people who make music regardless of their circumstances. A street musician, seen a couple of times, underscores the idea that music belongs to everyone.       

       Building toward a crowd-pleasing coda, Power Ballad qualifies as an anomaly, an upbeat drama about the downside of dreams, as well as an ode to the power of song. Rudd does his own singing, and Jonas, a member of the Jonas Brothers, a pop-rock band that split up in 2013 and reunited six years later, knows this turf.

       Whatever the movie's weaknesses, one thing remains clear: Carney still fuels his work with an infectious love for music and the people who make it. 

'Tuner': A caper movie with heart

    In Tuner, Leo Woodall plays Niki, a piano tuner who suffers from hyperacusis, a disorder that can turn everyday noises into deafening roars. Woodall's character works with Harry Horowitz (Dustin Hoffman), the owner of a tuning business who reminisces about the jazz greats that inspired his love of music. 

    Director Daniel Roher (Navalny and The AI Doc) captures the ease with which Woodall and Hoffman relate -- Hoffman not shying away from Harry's encroaching dementia, and Woodall displaying affection for and patience with Harry.

   Once a gifted pianist, Niki's hearing disorder disrupted his budding career. Harry knows that Niki can play and constantly begs him for a sample of his work. Apparently content with his current life, Niki treats Harry and his wife (Tovah Feldshuh) as family. 

     The movie's plot hinges on a discovery: When he removes the ear plugs that keep his disorder under control, Niki's hearing is so keen that he can crack safes by listening for the clicks that reveal the combination. He demonstrates the skill while trying to open the home safe in which Harry, who has forgotten the combination, keeps his hearing aids.

     The caper elements begin when, Niki, on a tuning job at an upscale home, meets Uri (Lior Raz), a charismatic but shady figure. Uri runs a security business but steals from his clients. He says he concentrates on small, valuable items the very wealthy won't miss. He wants Niki to crack safes for him. 

     By this time, Harry has been hospitalized, medical bills are mounting, and Niki needs a major infusion of cash to help. Reluctantly, he begins working for Uri.

     Then, there's romance. While on another tuning job, Niki meets Ruthie (Havanah Rose Liu), an aspiring composer who gradually appreciates and falls for Niki. Ruthie hopes to earn an apprenticeship with a famous composer (Jean Reno), and it's easy to see why she falls for Niki, a sensitive young man who seems to have been blessed with good-guy genes.

      Niki's disorder and the movie's interest in music offer opportunities for creative sound design with Roher and his team effectively conveying the impact Niki's disorder has on him.

      We know that Niki's criminal pursuits will eventually clash with his basic decency and with Ruthie's belief in him. When that happens, the  movie moves into rougher, more wobbly territory, and Roher, who wrote the movie's screenplay with Robert Ramsey, winds up with too many loose ends to tie up before the story concludes.

     Tuner can't quite go the distance as an engaging caper movie. But the movie is warmed by a cast -- most notably Woodall -- that makes for a winning combination of talent, story, and heart.

‘Backrooms’ isn't about making sense

   Backrooms, an addition to the growing list of self-consciously inventive horror movies, arrives with a pedigree that may impress aficionados. Produced by horror masters James Wan and Osgood Perkins, the movie also features performances by actors with hefty resumes: Chiwetel Ejiofor and Renate Reinsve. 

  A bit about the movie's background: It springs from a movement called "creepypasta,'' i.e., horror stories posted and shared on the internet. Director Kane Parsons, now 20, began uploading Backrooms episodes in 2022, expanding  a previous "creepypasta" concept into 22 short films.

   I learned this from Googling and had no exposure to Backrooms before I saw Parsons' movie. I say this because Parsons' movie may have more appeal to those familiar with his online work than I am.

  On one hand, Backrooms can be seen as a creative immersion in a liminal world composed of endless rooms. Liminal worlds, by the way, are currently big in horror, bland, sometimes transitional locations that resonate with eerie emptiness.

   Set during the 1990s, Backrooms slips easily into its  off-kilter tale, partly because of the aural atmosphere the film creates, a mixture of unintelligible voices and synth music by Edo Van Breemen and Parsons.

    The movie has a story of sorts, which Parsons shows us is being watched by ill-defined researchers,  a conceit that adds more cause for apprehension. 

   Ejiofor plays Clark, a furniture store owner whose life is headed in the wrong direction. His wife recently left him, and Clark has been unable to launch his desired career as an architect.

    To get on the right track, Clark visits Mary (Reinsve), a therapist he hopes will open new doors for him. She's written a book conveniently titled The Window Within. 

    Displaced from his home, Clark has been relegated to sleeping in his store. He also appears as a peg-legged pirate in awful commercials made by one of his employees (Finn Bennett). We never see any customers in Cap'n Clark's Ottoman Empire, one more ploy that augments the sense of vacancy that permeates Backrooms -- absence that's meant to be felt.

    When Clark discovers a portal in the store's basement, he enters a weird alternate reality. Upon returning to "normal," he shares his discovery  with his therapist, who probably thinks he's delusional.

     To convince a skeptical Mary that his experience was "real," Clark convinces Bennett's Bobby and another employee (Lukita Maxwell) to pass through the portal with him. Clark wants Bobby to film their trippy experience so that he can prove the existence of the rooms that both frighten and attract him.

      It doesn't take long for Mary to visit the store, find the portal, and enter the weird dimension in which Clark has lost himself.

     Working from a screenplay by Will Soodik, Parsons includes flashbacks to Mary's childhood with a paranoid mother. Her childhood home was demolished by developers leaving only a shard, a handprint she saved from the rubble of a concrete driveway. It will come in handy.

    Parsons offers a variety of surreal sights: piles of discarded furniture, a stop sign with the word "stop" spelled backwards, and glimpses of figures who make us suspect that the place is occupied and dangerous.

     Parsons excels at alternate-reality building: rooms full of wall-to-wall carpeting and yellow walls, and, eventually, figures with distorted features. Are we seeing funhouse reflections of the reality of Clark and Mary's lives? Maybe.

      Not surprisingly, we're primed for the big reveal that will make sense of everything we've been watching. The movie, which functions as an inventive tease, has little interest in tidying up after itself, offering only the notion that we trap ourselves in behaviors we keep repeating, no matter how many times they lead us nowhere.

       Neither Ejiofor nor Reinsve has much to develop. Mostly, they react to the movie's increasingly alienating atmospherics. Mark Duplass turns up in a role that seems as if it's going to provide the explanation we've been waiting for, but his character doesn't seem to know much about what's happening,  either. 

        Blood and gore are in short supply, and some of the movie's twisted jokes, expressionless human figures whose insides can be scooped out and eaten, feel as if they've popped out of nowhere.

      There's talent on display in Backrooms, notably Danny Vermette's creative production design, but the found-footage quality and art-horror atmospherics only take the movie so far. Ambiguity  isn't a fatal flaw, but Backrooms begins to feel repetitive as it crawls inside our heads.

      Backrooms works like a maze. Homes and offices are creepy. Lives are empty. Something's always missing. Some will find all this intriguing. Others may just want out. 

     My reaction was mixed. I appreciated Parsons' willingness to experiment and was disappointed that the characters often play second fiddle to so many half-baked ideas that suggest more than the film is  able (or perhaps willing) to realize.

Intriguing story buoys 'Pressure'

  On June 6, 1944, the Allied invasion of Normandy launched the brutal series of battles that brought Hitler’s ambitions in Western Europe to a halt. The movie Pressure deals with the 72 hours leading up to the momentous D-Day invasion.

  Director Anthony Maras, focuses on a part of the story that sounds prosaic but proves essential to Allied success, an accurate weather forecast.

    Pressure delivers a dramatized version of events that unfolded at Allied headquarters in Southwick House, Hampshire, relying on sharpening tensions between a low-key but obstinate Royal Air Force meteorologist (Andrew Scott) and a brash American meteorologist (Chris Messina). 

    Messina's Irving Krick, who had enormous successes predicting the weather during the North African campaign, relied on analog charts, arguing that the weather would be fine on June 5th, the original D-Day date.  

    Scott’s James Stagg rejected Krick's approach. He surveyed many locations in the North Atlantic to discover what he considered the requisite conditions for a mission-wrecking storm. Later, Stagg identified a brief window in which the beaches could be stormed. 

     Following Stagg's advice, Dwight D. Eisenhower, the Supreme Commander of the Allied Force, delayed the mission by a day.

    Working from a screenplay he co-wrote with David Haig, who also wrote the play on which the movie is based, Maras concentrates mostly on Stagg, an officer whose wife is on the brink of delivering their first child when he's ordered to join Eisenhower's command. 

   As Eisenhower, Brendan Fraser doesn't exactly become an Ike lookalike, even with make-up that gives him a bald pate. Still, Fraser conveys the pressure Eisenhower felt about obtaining a definitive forecast.

     To complicate matters, Eisenhower was being pressured by British Field Marshal Montgomery (Damian Lewis) to proceed as planned, lest the invasion be jeopardized, scuttling chances for an Allied victory.

    Pressure takes some liberties with the historical record, as it transforms an abstract theme (differing  approaches to weather forecasting) into a high-stakes conflict.

     Both Scott (subdued, focused, and intense) and Messina (confident to a fault) do their best to incorporate the essence of opposing personalities, but Pressure can be more informative than exciting, a re-enactment with added dramatic flourishes. 

      Beyond that, the drama unfolds in programmatic fashion, building toward the expectedly tense encounters between men whose advice will affect the war’s outcome. Well and good, but turning disagreements about the weather into a clash of styles (American vs. British) feels a bit inflated. 

     A bit of emotional leavening is added by Kerry Condon, whose Kay Summersby functions as an aide and confidant to the troubled Eisenhower; Summersby provides the steadying hand for Ike, who's tormented by the failure of a preparatory operation in which GIs died.

       In sum, Pressure benefits from a story that may be unfamiliar to contemporary audiences. It may not be a great wartime drama, but it shows how a decision based on technical expertise can alter the course of history.  Think of it as a historical footnote without which the sweeping main drama depicted in many other movies could not have unfolded.

A so-so helping of Jack Ryan

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

'The Mandalorian' hits the big screen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Oh, forget it.

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

A look behind the Kremlin's walls

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

On the road to nowhere in Italy

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

  

His wish for love is granted, but ….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    

    

Billie Eilish powers 3D concert film

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

'Sheep Detectives' on the case

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Hokum 

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

One Spoon of Chocolate 

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

A family story seen obliquely

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A road movie ends with heartbreak

   In the movie, Omaha, a recently widowed father (John Magaro) takes his nine-year-old daughter Ella (Molly Belle Wright) and his six-year-old son Charlie (Wyatt Solis) on a road trip. The family travels in a car that's so beat-up Ella must help Dad push the vehicle in hopes of getting a jump start. 

   From the outset of this ultimately troubling film, it's clear that this is no pleasure trip. 

   Setting a slight but emotionally rich story against lonely American landscapes, director Cole Webley focuses on two kids we can't help but worry about.

  Dad doesn't tell the kids where he's going or why he's rushed them out of the house. Ella is old enough to sense that all is not well, and it's clear that this road trip isn't an interlude; it's a departure. Dad even takes the family dog Rex along. He also instructs Ella to bring something she values. She should, he says, act as if the house they're leaving is on fire and a hasty escape has become necessary. 

  At times, cinematographer Paul Meyers turns the movie into an ode to childhood play. At one point, Ella and Charlie fly a kite, and Rex chases them across an open field. But we can't let go of the uneasy foreboding about what's in store for these kids.

  Both young actors give amazingly naturalistic performances. Magaro ably plays a troubled but reticent father. Perhaps a construction worker by trade, Dad  clearly loves these kids but can't express himself about the emotional and financial burdens he carries.

   Dad and his kids stop at stop at motels, take dips in pools, and visit fast-food outlets. Clearly under economic strain, Dad scrapes together just enough money to pay for food. 

  Working from a screenplay by Robert Machoian, Webley reaches a conclusion that throws the rest of the movie into sad perspective. We're tempted to try to extend the story in our heads. What will become of three characters whose lives will never be the same after their trip to Omaha? 

  As we suspected, the destination of this road trip is heartbreak.

'Prada 2': Less devlish but still amusing

 

  It has been 20 years since The Devil Wears Prada became a box-office hit. The Devil Wears Prada 2, a belated sequel, reunites the principal players -- Meryl Streep, Anne Hathaway, Emily Blunt, and Stanley Tucci -- for a movie that loads up on glamor, fashion, and unbridled ambition in the world of magazine publishing.

   Director David Frankel returns with a story that contrives to bring Hathaway's Andy Sachs back into the world of Miranda Priestly (Streep), the tyrannical taste-making editor of the first installment.  Tucci's loyal Nigel still works as the design maven at Priestly's Runway magazine, which resembles Vogue in stature in the world of high fashion.

   Blunt's Emily has moved on to an influential position with Dior, which receives a major plug here. She's still embroiled in a rivalry with Andy, who's more or less the movie's main character. 

    Andy's trouble's begin when the newspaper for which she has been working is closed, a bit of news delivered by text while half the staff is attending an awards ceremony. Andy's investigative reporting wins first prize, a Pyrrhic victory that precedes her unemployment.

     No unemployment checks for Andy, though; she's quickly hired to help bring some "integrity" to Runway, where she once worked. In the midst of a PR crisis, Runway's owner hires Andy behind Miranda's back.

     The luxe atmospherics, definitely part of the movie's appeal, seem a little at odds with the many lofty defenses of journalism that are launched, mostly by Andy.

    A few other characters work mostly in service of the plot. Justin Theroux plays gazillionnaire Benji Barnes, who also happens to be Emily's new love interest; Lucy Liu, plays Benji's wealthy ex-wife, a woman who's not caught up in all the corporate craziness, and Kenneth Branagh portrays Miranda's new love interest, a role that pretty much wastes his talents. Same goes for Patrick Brammall, who's squeezed in as Andy's partner in a superfluous romance.

    Devil Wears Prada 2 also plays a game of cinematic name-dropping with cameo appearances by Donatella Versace, Naomi Campbell, Heidi Klum, Tina Brown, Molly Jong-Fast, Kara Swisher, Jon Batiste, Marc Jacobs, Karl-Anthony Towns, and more. The movie even manages to add a number by  Lady Gaga to its bold-faced parade of glitter.

     Despite the celebrity glut, the real attraction centers on the interactions between the principal actors who are part of a scheme in which Andy tries to save the magazine and Miranda's job as a corporate takeover and major cutbacks loom.

     Miranda may be as haughty as ever, but Streep makes her a bit more subdued in this outing. If the rest of the cast breaks no new ground, the actors ably meet the script's requirements, and the movie passes easily.

     Put another way, Prada 2 delivers a fair measure of upscale amusement in an expectedly glossy package.