A very long 'Wicked' goodbye

 

   Fans probably will differ, but I've had enough. Four hours and 58 minutes of Wicked -- the popular play divided into two halves for the big screen -- is more than the material can easily support. 

  Sure, Ariana Grande as Glinda and Cynthia Erivo as Elphaba work with palpable commitment and fervor, and, yes, director John M. Chu and his crew haven't skimped on production value with sets that may be theme-park worthy.

  Still the finale, proves less than grand.

  I was lukewarm but respectful toward Wicked (2024), and, like most critics, I was impressed by Erivo's captivating performance. The first movie even ended with enough momentum to suggest that Wicked: For Good might outdo the first installment.

  Alas, For Good drags enough to tamp down some of the pleasure in watching Glinda, The Good Witch, and Elphaba, a.k.a., the Wicked Witch of the West, battle for the future of Oz. 

  Be assured, though, Elphaba retains her against-the-grain posture. She wants to expose the fraudulence of the storied Wizard, played here by Jeff Goldblum without benefit of much winking humor.

  The movie generates little doubt that the feuding Glinda and Elphaba will eventually acknowledge their lasting bond. Ergo, For Good feels as if it's working through two hours and 18 minutes of maneuvering to reach its inevitable conclusion.

   Some of the charm has faded. In this edition, the now subjugated animals of Oz have an unimpressive CGI aura. Supporting actors Marissa Bode, as Nessarose Thropp, and Ethan Slater, as Munchkin Boq, reach the screen in the flesh, but to limited avail.

   For Good treats the arrival of Dorothy as a marginal event, although it provides origin stories for Tin Man and Scarecrow, characters that figure in the plot, but don't have much dramatic or comic resonance.

    Fans already know that Grande and Erivo have the chops to sell popular tunes such as No Good Deed and For Good.  New songs include No Place Like Home and The Girl in the Bubble. They didn't leave me humming on the way out of the theater.

    Oops. I almost forgot. John Bailey returns as heartthrob Fiyero, whose fate involves straw and an unexpected (if you're unfamiliar with the material) shift in affections. 

    Michelle Yeoh reprises her role as Madame Morrible. Her one big scene stirs up a storm that could have found a home in a disaster movie.

     The Wicked phenomenon hinges on upsetting expectations created by familiarity with The Wizard of Oz: Glinda retains her bitchy qualities, the Wicked Witch earns our sympathy, and the story delivers a message about how lying, self-serving leaders can manipulate a gullible populace into compliance.

      Fan involvement with these characters may be strong enough to keep For Good's box office solid. Costumes and Wicked-inspired hairdos were in evidence at a preview screening, and it would be unfair to tag For Good as a flop. 

     As I've said, Grande and Erivo know how to hold the screen, and Chu created a few high points that had the audience applauding.

    But if I find myself looking at my watch during a film, I take it as a sign that I wasn't being transported into a world of enchantment -- no matter how much the movie seemed to be insisting on it.

       Oh well, I don't know if there are plans for a movie in which the once-frightening flying monkeys (yes, they return, too) assert their independence and conquer what's left of our rapidly foundering planet. Maybe they'd do a better job than we have.

A popular musical reaches the screen

 

     Staged and restaged, Wicked has sustained an extraordinary level of popularity since the show debuted on Broadway in 2003. Wicked features songs with lyrics fans probably can recite from heart and its dancing goes heavy on stomping. Still playing on Broadway, Wicked has chalked up about $3.2 billion in ticket sales.

   Small wonder then that Wicked finally has made it to the screen with Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande in starring roles and a ton of emphatically expressed production value that sometimes seems to stand on equal footing with the main event, a story about two of Oz's fabled witches.

   Director Jon M. Chu (Crazy Rich Asians) adds little by way of  nuance or depth to obviously stated themes about  racial prejudice, bullying, and sneaky authoritarian rule.

   Instead, Chu leans into colorful images, dazzling special effects, and the undeniable commitment of both stars. Much of the time, the combination works to create an unabashedly showy entertainment that may not rank among the great movie musicals, but has enough frivolous  kick to click. 

   Think of Wicked as a vibrantly ornate helping of fan service that may also will appeal to those who’ve never seen the stage production — and who welcome the movie's glossy references to trendy notions, adapted from the 1995 Gregory Maguire novel, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West.

   The story revolves around the polarity separating two witches, Glinda (Grande) and Elphaba (Erivo). Glinda, of course, is the good witch, who in this telling is more popular than virtuous. Born with green skin, Elphaba is the scorned victim of bigotry who'll become the Wicked Witch. 

   The story's best twist: Elphaba's the character we root for.

   Wicked stands as a prequel to The Wizard of Oz, complete with origin stories about the Cowardly Lion and the creepy flying monkeys that have frightened several generations of children. But mostly the movie is a pop cultural lollipop, much of it set at Shiz University, a Hogwarts-like institution where students learn the art of sorcery. 

    Glinda arrives at the school ready to become the Big Girl on Campus — conceited, bratty, blonde, insensitive, and addicted to the color pink.  Accustomed to rejection, Elphaba never applied to the school, but her supernatural talents are recognized by Madame Morrible (Michelle Yeoh), the school’s Head Mistress. 

   Peter Dinklage gives voice to Doctor Dillamond, the goat who serves as Shiz’s last remaining animal professor. A history teacher, Dillamond creates sympathy for animals, who are being stripped of the power of speech for reasons revealed in the movie's second half.

    Jonathan Bailey provides hunk appeal as Fiyero, a prince who attracts the attention of both Elphaba and Glinda and who might not be quite the empty vessel he initially seems.

   Ethan Slater portrays Bog Woodman, the resident Munchkin who crushes on Glinda but reluctantly agrees to date Elphaba's sister (Marissa Bode), a Shiz student born with a disease that keeps her in a wheelchair. 

   Grande finds comic and bitchy notes in Glinda’s flighty personality, and Erivo makes a moving Elphaba, an intelligent young woman fighting a battle with anger and resentment on one side and natural empathy on the other. The song, I'm Not That Girl, highlights her personality in an assertive but mildly mournful way.

   Eventually, the plot contrives to send Elphaba and Glinda to the Emerald City for an audience with the Wizard (an amusing Jeff Goldblum.)

   Chu and his team go all in during the Emerald City finale, concluding the movie on a soaring (literally) note, the culmination of what already has been a mega-display of production design.

   I’m not pressing Wicked into my book of cherished movie memories, but I had the feeling that this big-screen musical wasn't intended for me. Put another way: Not exactly my cup of tea, but Wicked had its pleasures -- most stemming from Grande and especially Erivo, who gives the movie a welcome helping of humanity.

    A note: Even though the movie runs for a sometimes taxing two hours and 41 minutes, the story is slated to conclude with a second helping next November.  Maybe I'm jaded, but I can't help wondering why an already lengthy running time wasn't sufficient. Guess we'll find out.

  

 

Kenneth Branagh takes Poirot to Venice

 Kenneth Branagh continues his Agatha Christie preoccupation with A Haunting in Venice, his third in a series of films based on Christie novels. As is the case with much of Christie's work, Haunting  delays its big revelation until the end, allowing ace detective Hercule Poirot finally to disclose whodunit. 

  I won't do that with this review. Here's my take: Haunting is an adequate -- though hardly exhilarating -- thriller seasoned by supernatural suggestion that goes against the ultra-rational Poitrot grain.

  As a director, Branagh, who also plays Poirot, takes advantage of otherworldly possibilities, trying for a few jolts and a large helping of eeriness. But the film doesn't register as a superior slice of horror, if that's what Branagh had in mind.

    Christie purists will note that Branagh has based his film on the author's novel, Hallowe'en Party, and shifted its location from England to Italy. By confining most of the tale to the creepy confines of an old  palazzo, Branagh misses an opportunity. The labyrinthian alleys and byways of Venice could have augmented the movie's mystery and terror.

    The story begins in 1947 when Ariadne Oliver, a mystery writer played by Tina Fey, invites Poirot to a Halloween party. She wants the great sleuth to expose a psychic (Michelle Yeoh) who claims to communicate with the dead, one of whom happened to be the daughter of the palazzo's owner (Kelly Reilly). The girl, we learn, entered the realm of the departed after committing suicide.

    Not surprisingly, the mystery doesn't end when Poirot discover that the psychic is a fraud. The plot contrives to allow Poirot to do what he always does: hunt a killer. 

    The visual atmosphere ranges from dim to dark and Branagh also employs a charged angle about the palazzo's past. At one time, the place housed orphans who were abandoned to die. Their ghosts are said to have haunted the place ever since. 

    The supporting cast of characters -- or more precisely suspects  -- includes a visiting American (Kyle Allen), a psychologically damaged physician (Jamie Dornan), his precocious son (Jude Hill) and others who expand the list of red herrings.

     We're meant to wonder whether a stream of mysterious occurrences will shatter Poirot's commitment to reason, causing him to rethink his rejection of otherworldly claims. Let's just say that Poirot's skepticism, forged by many murder investigations, has deep roots.

      Earlier in this review, I called Haunting adequate,  hardly a ringing endorsement for a whodunit that generates too little concern about who  committed the dastardly deed.

     It's not so much that we figure things out early on; it's that we're not given enough reason to immerse in the gloomy game Poirot must play.

     

    

This movie wants to "stop making sense"

 

     Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert -- a directing duo known as The Daniels -- overwhelm the screen with the aptly titled Everything Everywhere All at Once, a movie that spends more than two hours racing through a multiverse in which characters suddenly morph into alternate versions of themselves. 

     It's impossible to watch the Daniels maneuver through the chaos without acknowledging their ability to crack visual jokes, rip through dense helpings of exposition, and commit to a full-scale creative bombardment of the audience. 

     Now, it should be said that there are people who will enjoy this teeming barrage of a movie precisely because the Daniels don't skimp on invention. But those who don't think that comprehension and creativity are mortal enemies may find themselves looking for guard rails.

     No stranger to martial arts action, Michelle Yeoh plays Evelyn, a Chinese immigrant to the US who runs a laundromat with her husband (Ke Huy Quan). Quan, you may remember, appeared in The Goonies as a kid. 

     Mired in a listless marriage, the exasperated Evelyn tries to deal with a lesbian daughter (Stephanie Hsu) who, in one of the movie's alternate universes, assumes an entirely different identity.

    If you see the film, keep an eye out for a character named Jobu Tupaki. Also watch for the giant everything bagel.

     No, I'm not kidding, although the Daniels probably are — at least I hope so.

     The Daniels seem to have dedicated themselves to the idea that quiet equals boredom. Blink and you'll be watching a fight scene in which Quan's Waymond turns a fanny pack into a weapon. 

     During a scene in a tax office, Waymond reveals a new side of himself, providing Evelyn with instruction about how to "jump" from her current life into a parallel one in which she's a martial arts maven with a mission. She’ll find additional identities as the movie barrels forward, including a stint as a movie star.

    To further complicate matters Evelyn's visiting father (James Hong) never approved of her marriage to the feckless Waymond.

      Other characters pop in and out of various universes. Damn the transitions, it's full speed ahead. 

      Sporting a puffy paunch, Jamie Lee Curtis turns herself into a sight gag; she plays a dictatorial tax auditor who's appalled by Evelyn's haphazard record keeping. 

    The Daniels (Swiss Army Knife) convert distraction into attraction -- or at least they try. In one alternate universe, the characters have hotdogs for fingers, for example. In another, Evelyn and Joy turn up as rocks. 

    And, yes, it does feel as if everything we're seeing is happening all at once. Serious issues morph into cartoon-like jests. Sure lines blur but don’t we all live in a state of disorientation? So what if the movie’s scenes play like an explosion of hyperactive production numbers?

    Everything Everywhere All at Once will delight some and confound others as it offers a cafeteria-style variety of pleasures: a terrific costume here, a funny bit there, an ingenious fight in another place.

     All frantic all the time, the movie gallops toward a conciliatory -- and I guess -- happy hug of an ending. 

     The trouble with this bumper serving of creativity is that the meal is not only glutted but served so fast, it's difficult to digest.

     Somewhere up there on the screen, there's a movie. Maybe dozens of them. If this sounds like your cup of chaos, have fun. As for me,  I guess I still prefer my movies one at a time.

Strong kickoff for another Marvel character

 

    Marvel's Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings leaps into Asian-American mythos in much in the way that Black Panther brought Afrocentric freshness to the indestructible Marvel universe.

    I don’t know if Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings will have the same impact as Black Panther — either commercially or culturally. But this latest Marvel movie has enough positive elements (action, humor and a story with deep family roots) to constitute an entertaining addition to Marvel’s apparently endless stream of movies.

     Shang-Chi gets off to a lively start. Sean (Simu Liu) -- later to become Shang-Chi -- works as a valet in San Francisco along with pal Katy (Awkwafina). It doesn't take long for the two to take a dizzying ride in a borrowed car.

     Sean and Katy also encounter a group of thugs on a bus, a sequence in which clever martial-arts maneuvers are augmented by the excitement of watching a large vehicle careen through the streets of San Francisco.

    Sean, we learn, has a secret. He was raised in China by a father (Tony Leung) who schooled him in martial arts. Leung's Wenwu was no pipe-and-slippers dad. Centuries ago, he acquired the fabled 10 rings which gave him superhero powers and eternal life. He expected his son to take his place as head of a powerful secret force of warriors.

    Shang-Chi had other ideas. He fled China when he was 14. 

    Upon his return to Macau 10 years later, Shang reunites with his younger sister Xialing (Meng'er Zhang). She's still upset that Shang left her with a father who didn't treat his daughter the way he treated his son.

   The plot eventually takes Shang and Katy to the mythic land of Ta-Lo where they meet Shang's aunt Ying Nan (Michelle Yeoh), a wise woman who makes positive use of her martial arts-skills.

    Like most Marvel movies, Shang-Chi gobbles up comic-book mythology as if were popcorn. Wuwen, who gave up his powers when he married Shang's mother (Fala Chen), believes that he can reunite with his late wife if he penetrates a seal that separates an evil soul-sucking dragon from humanity. 

    The meeting of Wuwen and Chen's Jiang Li produces some of the movie's more intriguing and well-choreographed action. Li's the only person who's able to subdue Wuwen's fighting spirit. 

     It makes more sense to see all this in a theater than to write about it in a review. Besides, the mythic elements of the story are supported by recognizable emotions: a husband's inability to accept his wife's death, a son's struggle to accept his true identity, and a sister who can't totally abandon her sibling resentments.

    The Ta-Lo sequences include an element of cuteness in the form of a furry faceless, winged creature that struck me as more Disney than Marvel, a little too precious perhaps. 

    But Shang-Chi never skimps on action. A fight that takes place on scaffolding attached to a high rise offers vertiginous fun.

    I've read that Liu wanted to model his fighting style on Jackie Chan. The fight sequences contain elements of Chan-like humor but, in my view, don’t rise to the level of Chan’s best work, which admittedly makes for a high bar.

   Director Destin Daniel Cretton and his team were smart to give Shang-Chi a sidekick and the movie suffers a bit when Awkwafina is off-screen. Liu masters the physical aspects of the role but sometimes  comes up short on personality. Oh well, that's probably a marginal criticism considering that Shang-Chi is an emerging character.

   The supporting cast -- particularly Yeoh, Leung, and Zhang -- offer more than window dressing. They really supports the movie, as does Benedict Wong, whose role is smaller but still strong. Ben Kingsley adds humor as Trevor Slattery, a fading TV actor whose presence is played for laughs. 

   The movie's ending -- involving dragons (good and evil), a father/son battle, and lots of fiery combat -- can't entirely avoid the bloat that seems obligatory in these efforts.

    Overall, though, Shang-Chi succeeds in introducing a new Marvel character to the screen and proves an invigorating addition to the Marvel universe. 

    Equally important in a world in which sequels seem mandatory, the movie leaves you wanting to see more of Shang-Chi and Katy, a comic-book duo with promising  potential.

Women kick butt in 'Gunpowder Milkshake'

 

     I didn't think that I'd be even a little impressed by another violent comic book of a movie that makes the phrase "over-the-top" seem understated. 

    Credit director Navot Papushado with making a movie that boasts a strong female cast and blasts its way into summer with gusto, style, and a surfeit of butt-kicking pleasures.

    The movie begins when an assassin (Lena Headey) shares a milkshake with her 12-year-old daughter. Crosswise with her employer, an outfit known as The Firm, Mom flees.

     The story then leaps ahead 15 years and the daughter (Karen Gillan) -- now a young woman -- has gone into the family business. She, too, works for The Firm,  taking assignments from Nathan (Paul Giamatti), an "executive" who consults with a board composed of men cut from corporate cloth. 

    Gillan's Sam, who hasn’t seen her mother since that fateful day at the diner, attracts trouble when an assignment puts her at odds with the evil Jim McAlester (Ralph Ineson). A furious McAlister vows vengeance because his son was among Sam's victims.

    You needn’t know much more about the plot which quickly lands Sam at a “library” where three women (Carla Gugino, Michelle Yeoh, and Angela Bassett) lend weapons to a select clientele. They know Sam's mom, who once was a fellow "librarian."

   As the story unfolds, Sam finds herself looking out for Emily (Chloe Coleman), an eight-year-old whose father had the misfortune of being shot by Sam. Realizing that she probably shouldn't have shot Emily's dad, Sam takes the kid underwing. Emily starts referring to herself as Sam's "apprentice."

    Emily also insists on reminding folks not to shortchange her age: She's actually eight and three-quarters.

    Papushado understands that movies such as Gunpowder Milkshake live or die with their set pieces. For the most part, he delivers.

    Among the best action: Sam engages in combat after her  hands have been paralyzed by a fiendish doctor (Michael Smiley). To up the preposterous ante, Papushado has Sam battling three thugs who are stoned on laughing gas.

    As the story barrels along, Emily receives what might be the wildest driving lesson in movie history, sitting on Sam's lap as the movie burns rubber in a nifty sequence that takes place mostly in a parking garage. Where else?

    Gillan makes a strong impression and Gugino (bookish), Yeoh (reserved), and Bassett (censorious) give brief but pointed performances that don't disappoint when the chips are down. 

    Reminiscent of the best of old-fashioned Hong Kong-style action and lots of other predecessors, the movie's finale pits the women against what seems like a legion of angry men.

   Clever and engaging, this wild goof on exploitation cinema is lifted by a kick-ass female cast that easily could turn up in a second helping. Worse things could -- and probably will -- happen at the movies.

Great person, not a great movie

Bio-pic about a Nobel prize winner needed more interpretive spark.

The Lady is a big-screen biography of Nobel Peace Prize winner Aung San Suu Kyi, the Burmese leader who spent 15 years under house arrest for opposing her country's brutal military regime.

The movie also serves as a showcase for actress Michelle Yeoh , who gained international prominence when she appeared in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and who gives a carefully calibrated performance as a woman who sacrificed much to fight for Burma, now known as Mayanmar.

Aung San Suu Kyi's fate as a leader and icon may have been sealed in 1947 when her liberal-leaning father was assassinated on the eve of assuming the country's presidency. In the 1960s, Aung San Suu Kyi traveled to Britain, married an Oxford professor (David Thewlis) and had two sons.

Aung San Suu Kyi returned to Myanmar in 1988 to be with her dying mother, and stayed to fight for democracy. For most of her long confinement, Aung San Suu Kyi's husband and sons remained in England.

Director Luc Besson, who usually makes or produces stylish, propulsive action pictures (The Fifth Element) isn't exactly operating from a position of strength when it comes to a bio-pic with a heavy political overlay.

Besson and screenwriter Rebecca Frayn clearly admire Aung San Suu Kyi, as well they should. Absent from their picture, though, is a sense of incendiary passion about the subject, other than what was required to have chosen it in the first place.

Though consistently well-crafted, The Lady misses the greatness that Aung San Suu Kyi's story deserved. Focusing so much attention on the much-tested but enduring marriage between Aung San Suu Kyi and her professorial husband, Michael Aris, may have seemed a way to personalize a political story, but it also helped derail the movie's pursuit of larger and perhaps more significant purposes.

Aung San Suu Kyi, whose house arrest ended in 2010, recently took a seat in the Burmese Parliament, despite her severe (and totally justifiable) reservations about the country's new constitution, a document that dictates that a quarter of the parliament must come from the military. With or without a movie about her, Aung San Suu Kyi's fight continues.