Category: Comedy

Demons and Donkeys

The Banshees of Inisherin – 2022 – R

Let’s start with how many fingers are needed to play a violin? Well, somewhere between one and five but definitely more than none. I’ll leave it there and encourage you to check out this odd little film for yourself. In fact, I’ll add the caveat that this “odd little film” could well be a sleeper for an Academy Award. 

Set in 1923 on the fictitious island of Inisherin off the coast of Ireland,  gritty villagers revolve around a crowded pub, post office and Catholic church, going about their rural business as the IRA and Irish Free Staters battle on the mainland, occasional canon fire and explosions dotting the horizon. Corollary to that civil war is the erupting civil conflict between dairy farmer Pádraic (Colin Farrell) and his longtime best friend and fiddler Colm (Brendan Gleeson) who abruptly cuts Pádraic off, saying without any warning, “I just don’t like ya no more.” From that simple yet puzzling pronouncement, friendships bitterly deteriorate, despair escalates into rage, and rage into revenge leaving us dumbfounded and collectively squirming from our distant shore of time and culture. 

Colm is facing a life crisis over his legacy, “Who remembers anyone who’s nice?” No time for the ordinary, he assigns Pádraic to the mundane declaring him “dull” and plunges into composing fiddle pieces, teaching music students and performing with his pub band. Pádraic, like any of us, can’t accept the rejection and keeps challenging Colm for an explanation or better yet, reconciliation. Colm stiffens. Never has a declaration of dull led to such a dark litany of pain with even village pets bearing the unfortunate consequences of human reprisal. Accidental be damned. Apologies futile. Regret meaningless. A friendship meltdown generates the Irish theater of the absurd, seeding the germs of a bitterly rooted forever feud and indeed, the genesis of war, an island fire mirroring mainland bombs. Humanity fault lines are exposed where dull and simple and nice devolve into a mystifying recipe for hatred and violence. 

Only Pádraic’s rational and reasonable sister Siobhán escapes the madness, her smile widening as she catches the ferry to a library job on the mainland. The town innocent and simpleton, Dominic, ironically offers the obvious insights, a compelling and cogent narrative on the town lunacy. “Why does he not want to be friends with you no more? What is he, 12?” Abused by his sheriff father, rejected by his unrequited love interest and repulsed by the meanness of his  only friend, Dominic is perhaps the most tragic victim in this black comedy followed closely by loyal and loving Jenny, Pádraic’s diminutive donkey. Stunning how quickly and easily the frailty of our human condition morphs into mayhem and barbarity! Stunning and sick. Sick and senseless. Yet, the engaging characters, beautiful setting, comedic interludes and unique storyline weaves together my strong endorsement to seek out The Banshees of Inisherin and settle in for a wickedly dark but deceptively enchanting Irish tale. 

Pole Plant

Downhill – 2020 – R


Pete (Will Ferrell) and Billie (Julia Louis-Dreyfus) with their two pre-teen sons, Finn (Julian Grey) and Emerson (Ammon Ford) are settling into a family ski vacation in the Austrian Alps. From the get-go Pete and Julia’s relationship appears strained but then explodes into a no doubter when, as an avalanche roars down the slopes, Pete saves his phone and abandons his family. The avalanche turns tame, harmlessly dusting Billie and the boys with a coat of snow but burying fleeing Pete under a stigma of weakness, negligence and cowardice. The harder poor Pete tries to dig out, the deeper he sinks, Billie icing him and the boys preferring screen time to father-son time. Pete’s best shot at making amends is a surprise, heli-skiing family outing, earning an enthusiastic thumbs-up by the boys, but a Billie brawl over a missing $2 mitten forces pathetic Pete to forfeit the $2,000 adventure. Pitiful. Ugh. Remind me, why is this film billed a comedy? 

Frankly, the film falls somewhere between downer and snoozer. I was an okay downhill skier in days of yore so, instead of tracking the Staunton family feud, I found myself marveling at the different styles of skis, now and (way back) then. Wow, how equipment changes over 30 years! Instead of rooting for more than a kiss between Billie and Guglielmo, her ski instructor gigolo, I reverted to sweet memories of taking my two young sons skiing in the Sierra Nevada. My meandering thoughts eventually morphed into full blown daydreaming. To be fair, at regular intervals I’d snap back from California to Austria, give the film another chance, only to mentally bail, despairing at Downhill’s glacial pace, akin to  snowploughing down a Black Diamond run. If I weren’t fighting a nap, I’d grow weary of Billie’s contorted facial expressions or shrieking diatribe. Ugh. She was cold, rude and genuinely unpleasant. I expected much more from Julia Louis-Dreyfus. Epic wipe out. Will Ferrell, not one of my favorite actors anyway, lived down to my expectations. If there were an award category for best performance as a cardboard cutout, he’d win uncontested. Dull, dull, dull. Ugh. Again.

I’d advise director Nat Fazin (Charlie’s Angels) to grab a rope tow to the bunny slope and stay there. Myself, I’ll drift back to my four decade old youthful escapades at Heavenly Valley or Badger Pass or China Peak, finding more entertainment in the ghosts of ski slopes past than Downhill could offer in it’s mercifully short 85 minutes. My final word. Ugh.

Mob Men

The Gentlemen – 2020 – R

Just for fun stop by the snack bar and forego the popcorn for a giant salted pretzel to eat in sync with this movie’s spiraling twists, turns and twirls. Mickey (Matthew McConaughey), an American in London offers to sell his thriving British underground marijuana farms to fellow American billionaire, sleazy Matthew (Jeremy Strong, Succession) and blissfully exercise early retirement to fully enjoy Rosalind, Mickey’s stiletto-heeled wife (Michelle Dockery, Downton Abbey) who runs an auto-repair garage staffed exclusively by women. But the lucrative drug trafficking opportunity is chumming the River Thames luring all manner of hungry fresh water sharks to the city. Taking the bait is Chinese gangster “Lord George“ (Tom Wu) but his underboss “Dry Eye” (Henry Golding, Crazy Rich Asians), strutting his independence and representing the up and coming Asian gangsta youth movement, shoots a different plan to Lord George. Crooked private investigator/paparazzi reporter Fletcher (Hugh Grant) is cheerily dedicating his telephoto lens and camouflage expertise to blackmail Mickey’s #1 henchman Ray (Charlie Hunnam, Sons of Anarchy) by selling the unfolding, exclusive, murdering mob and dope tale to tabloid owner “Big Dave” (Eddie Marsan, Vice) who is determined to enact revenge on Mickey who publicly snubbed diminutive Big Dave at a highfalutin London party. Whew! There you have it. Full circle. Mickey to Matthew to Lord George to Dry Eye to Fletcher to Ray to Big Dave back to Mickey. Well, not quite. There is “Coach” (Colin Farrell), neighborhood legend boxing coach who winds up owing three favors to Mickey because Coach’s stable of brawling, YouTube viral-seeking karate kids overstepped their gym boundaries into Mickey’s business. Coach not only pays off his debt but throws in one machine gun rescue as a bonus fourth favor. Then there’s the Russian connection with former KGB czar daddy who takes exception to Aslan (Danny Griffin), his heir-apparent son face-planting the London sidewalk from two stories up, winding up in a body bag in Ray’s home freezer. On the heels of Aslan’s fall from fame is the demise of anorexic Laura (Eliot Sumner), daughter of Lord Pressfield (Samuel West). Lord Pressfield is an estate beneficiary of Matthew’s enterprise, a literal “overlord.” His income is cut off because of tangling with the karate kid gang but Mickey, trying to make amends, promises to rescue Laura who gets mixed up with Aslan and it’s a big heroin mess. Follow the Moscow Mule to the White Widow Super Cheese weed. Cannabis chaos.

The entire movie is framed as a conversation between manic Fletcher and deliberate Ray. Fletcher pitches to Ray, typed up as a screen play at a $20 million price tag, the damning, blackmailing evidence he’s clandestinely gathered. Ok? Got it? If it’s any comfort, it took me so long to diagnose the movie-within-a-movie format that I missed important clues flying by in the fast and furious dialogue. Fletcher talked way too fast and Ray way too slow. The British slang went over my head. I like to think of myself as able to cope with the circuitous but this movie took such a scenic route that I wished for an occasional linear respite. For all I know the movie-within-the-movie was the movie. Confused? Me, too. Maybe buy two pretzels.

Good Old Boys

Bad Boys for Life – 2020 – R


It’s been 25 years since 1995’s Bad Boys narcotic detectives Mike Lowrey (Will Smith) and Marcus Burnett (Martin Lawrence) went heroin hunting in a black 964-generation Porsche 911. In 2003’s Bad Boys II the Miami duo drive a silver Ferrari 550 Maranello chasing down ecstasy traffickers. The 2020 Bad Boys for Life race around town in a blue Porsche 911 Carrera 4S on the trail of the Mexican cartel. Notice a trend? Good guy detectives Mike and Marcus racing hot cars chasing bad guys. A simple formula that has grossed over $420 million for the Bad Boys franchise.

What changed between Bad Boys I, II and III is obvious: age. The two daring, raucous, adrenaline fueled partners are now middle-aged, older but not that much wiser alpha males. Marcus, a new grandfather retires from the force while Mike, a dedicated badass who prefers to rage, rage against the dying of the light, is critically injured in a drive-by revenge hit. He eventually recovers and pressures Marcus into coming out of retirement, teaming up “one last time” to track down the would be assassin.

Explosions, fires, gangland killings, car chases, helicopter rescues, helicopter crashes, automotive carnage, motorcycle wheelies and sidecar splits, pit bulls, drones, bombs, bullets and rocket launchers, all spike the body count of death and destruction.  Add in cartel killing machine Armando Aretas (Jacob Scipio) and his revenge hungry, Mike-hating mother Isabel Aretas (Kate del Castillo), a Mexican “witch” who lights candles on a Mexico City rooftop in the name of the cult saint Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte (Our Lady of Holy Death), and game on. The “Mike-hating” part is what ratchets the story into more engaging territory than cops, cars and crack. 

Mike and Marcus are fearless and fun, wily and witty, bantering and bickering from Miami to Mexico and back. Beyond the loyalty of police force brotherhood these two old friends genuinely care for each other and it shows. Keep counting. There will be a Bad Boys 4. The only question is what kind of car will they drive, Ford or Ferrari? 

Trading Places

Jumanji: The Next Level – 2019 – PG13

Let’s get right to it. The best parts of this movie are the marauding,snarling baboons and stampeding attack ostriches. The scenery, from desert to mountains, is gorgeous. I came right home and starting researching affordable forest homes. Danny DeVito (Eddie) and Danny Glover (Milo) are the next best thing since Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon and that’s saying something since it’s been 51 years since the Odd Couple. The whole trading around avatars was disconcerting. DeVito’s voice coming through a young woman’s body was creepy. Glover as a black horse with retractable wings and speaking horse language was far-fetched even for a fantasy. At least it was a cut above Mr. Ed because Mouse (Kevin Hart), bilingual in English/Equine, capably translated. A horse is a horse of course of course. Not always. It might be Danny Glover.

It would have helped if I’d queued up and reviewed the second film, Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle (2017) so I could have oriented myself faster to the video game parallel universe. I felt exactly like clueless geezers Milo and Eddie trying to make sense of being sucked into a broken game console and dropped as avatars into Jumanji, “Huh?” Well, since I’m spouting off about 1968’s Odd Couple and 1961’s Mr. Ed, I guess I am a geezer. “Huh?” Reality check. Sigh. The film mixes and matches genders, races, and ages. Instant Fountain of Youth for some and surprise, surprise, overnight Golden Years for others. All together now, trade! I always dreamed of being a flying horse.

If you’re a Jumanji fan, definitely see it. If you’re not versed in supernatural board games, but still want a dose of fantasy you might want to see Frozen 2 instead. Or, maybe just stay home and play a video game.

Divorce Story

Marriage Story – 2019 – R

Until the Golden Globe nominations were announced I hadn’t even heard of Marriage Story. But, there it was: Best Actor Drama, Best Actress Drama, Best Supporting Actress, Best Drama, Best Screenplay and Best Original Score. Good grief! I haven’t exactly been hiding under a rock when it comes to movies! Fully chagrined I clicked on Netflix and settled in, expecting to be overwhelmingly impressed. I wasn’t but that’s not an indictment by any means. The film was really good just not over the top Bravo! The storyline is actually quite common, one many of us have lived: marriage adrift, divorce, child custody, division of property….“let’s keep this fair and civil, do what’s best for the kids.” If we’re lucky, amicable works. If not, our lives grind to a brutal, angry halt while attorneys screw everything up and money rolls downhill so their kids can relax about college tuition while our kids start applying for financial aid. Watching Marriage Story is like sitting through 136 minutes of bad lawyer jokes springing to life. The horror.

Charlie (Adam Driver), a director of cutting-edge, avant-garde theater, positioned to take his latest work to Broadway, is married to Nicole (Scarlett Johansson), an actress fading from NYC stage renown but still popular in Hollywood. The couple have grown apart, recognizing, despite deeply caring for each other, the point of departure has arrived. Divorce is discussed. Their young son Henry (Azhy Robertson) is the beloved prize and both parents start out determined his interests be top priority. Then a wrinkle emerges. Nicole accepts a career revival offer to film a pilot in Los Angeles. She takes Henry with her to California, moving in with her Charlie-adoring mom (Julie Hagerty). On one of Charlie’s frequent coast-to-coast trips to spend time with his family, Nicole bullies her reluctant Charlie-adoring sister Cassie (Merritt Wever) to serve him with divorce papers, smuggled under a pecan pie, then hires Nora Fanshaw (Larua Dern) as her attorney, a bulldog lawyer who  approaches divorce in a “there will be blood” crusade. Nora relishes in threatening Charlie with loss of all earthly possessions and any hint of custody. Charlie is forced to retaliate. Enter divorce Death Star Jay Marotta (Ray Liotta). At this point we strap in for a gut-wrenching saga of two legal vipers squaring off to pound the other side to pulp, not caring a whit that “sides” are flesh and blood people, parents at a starting line of good intentions. Charlie and Nicole recoil, shatterIng under scathing legal posturing and purposeful courtroom annihilation. Even Henry is a won/lost tally at times, the wretched center flag of a parental tug-of-war, Charlie pulling one arm, Nicole the other. Everyone is expendable as collateral damage, Charlie literally bleeding out on his rented California apartment floor in one grueling black humor kitchen scene. Lord, have mercy.

What materializes below the waves of the legal hurricane are two decent people, Charlie and Nicole, trying—mostly futilely—but trying nevertheless to resist succumbing to emotional cruelty. Predictably, tirades of fury and fear simmer, seethe and eventually explode. Human combustion. As the vitriol flies, you regret on their behalf what they’re unleashing— hateful, damning words that can never be taken back, that will echo forever no matter how hard they may wish differently. We’ve all been there. The film taps our jagged relational regrets, remorse and repentance, making “I’m sorry,” a communal mantra of misery. You want to jump up and shout at the screen, “Stop! Don’t say it! Just stop, please.”

Adam Driver is not a favorite of mine, he’s so Keanu Reeves with a distinctive monotone delivery, but he did stretch his dramatic persona for this role, perhaps his best performance to date. Petty question #1: how did 6’2” Driver gets cast with 5’3” Scarlett Johansson? He towered over her. Maybe it was to serve as a visual metaphor for their professional director/actress relationship. Truthfully, Johansson failed to win me over, I never warmed up to Nicole. I was rooting for Charlie, put off by Nicole and annoyed by Henry. Petty question #2: isn’t Henry way too big for a car seat? Cassie, Nicole’s witty sister, was my favorite of all the characters. For the record I am a total Merritt Wever groupie, my enthusiasm for her in Nurse Jackie morphed to sheer hero worship in Netflix’s Godless, the last scene I can watch over and over and over until I’m the last person awake in the household. 

There were enough funny exchanges in this film, comedy infusion, that thankfully lightened the heavy laden angst. While the attorneys square off, family members rise and fall in their humanness. It’s like taking a selfie of our worst selves against a background of laughter, kindness, and thoughtfulness. If the goal is to showcase the competing dualism of the human spirit then Marriage Story charges ahead of the 2019 drama pack. It didn’t win my vote but maybe because it hit too close to home, taking me on a walk down memory lane of my own awful, demolition derby divorce, fomented by two condescending attorneys who pitted us against each other in a hostile custody battle over our two young sons. 35 years later I still hate the shameful things I said and did. Marriage Story’s “Join the crowd” is small comfort. I’ll leave it at that. The 77th Golden Globe Awards will be held aired live January 5, 2020 by NBC, 8 EST/5 PST.

Get A Clue!

Knives Out – 2019 – PG13

Who done it? Who didn’t do it?! Colonel Mustard? Professor Plum? Mrs. Peacock? Oops, that’s not right. It is right and not a spoiler to say it’s with a dagger in the victim’s study, multi-millionaire mystery author and patriarch Harlan Trombley (Christopher Plummer) on his 85th birthday. You’ll learn that in the first five minutes. The rest of the film draws dotted guilt lines to every dysfunctional member of Trombley’s family—until they are all tied up in maladjusted knots of inheritance entitlement. Knives Out is a ton of vampy and campy fun. Do not leave the theater though—not for a popcorn refill or candy fix or trip to the restroom—you will miss a critical clue. I guarantee it. If you can piece the maybe murder mystery puzzle together before film’s end, you are a better detective than I! Go for it. 

Beauty and Terror

Jojo Rabbit – 2019

Satire and hellacious historical events don’t easily mix for me. From seeing the trailer of Jojo Rabbit over and over in previews, I adversely sized it up as an ill-conceived parody on Adolph Hitler and a young boy’s induction into the Nazi party’s Hitler Youth organization. I instantly disliked it, in fact when I sat down in the theater with friends, I threw down the gauntlet, “I am prepared to hate this film.”  By the time the movie ended, my mind was changed. Much to my surprise, JoJo Rabbit won me over. 

Played by gifted, quirky New Zealand director Taika Waititi, the role of Hitler is depicted as a flim-flam, sputtering imaginary friend to ten-year old neighborhood misfit Jojo Betzler, brilliantly played by 11-year old British actor Roman Griffin Davis. The Hitler/Jojo absurdity runs continuously throughout the film, however in an effective storyline strategy, the film’s satiric overtones decrease as the Third Reich realities of 1945 Berlin increase. In doing so, we witness the maturation of Jojo, evolving from Hitler flattery to mockery, Nazi indoctrination to renunciation. As a brazen exclamation point, Jojo, former Führer fanatic, stands up to the caricature of evil and with a furious drop kick boots the buffoon through Jojo’s second story bedroom window. We cheer! We’ve been rooting for Jojo since he refused to kill the sacrificial rabbit on the first day of Hitler Youth Camp. Victory!

Two relationships influence Jojo’s transformation, his mother Rosie (Scarlett Johansson) and the admiration and love he has for her; and a teenage Jewish girl, Elsa (Thomasin McKenzie) who Rosie is secretly hiding in a hidden nook of the apartment. Jojo discovers this dangerous secret, but keeps silent to protect his family’s safety. Also unknown to Jojo, Rosie is supporting the resistance, her underground work frequently taking her away from home. While his mom is out, Jojo cautiously engages with Elsa, creating a stick figure illustrated manual on the “nature of Jewishness” that he is certain will contribute to the war effort. However, along the way, Jojo’s preadolescent curiosity grows, replacing propaganda prejudices with sincere concern and authentic affection for Elsa. His beliefs are challenged by friendship, truths inspired by relationship. The inhumane horror show of the Nazi regime receives no humorous treatment. Jojo weathers an unspeakable family atrocity, yet the film doesn’t focus on the murderous terror, choosing to focus instead on the irony of how the gruesome can backfire, softening rather than hardening a young boy’s bias.

With Jojo Rabbit it is best to suspend judgment and trust the film’s deployment of zany, crazy hyperbole and irreverent black humor to see the world through Jojo’s eyes. For it is through his eyes that we are given occasional glimpses into promising possibilities rather than fatalistic eventualities —forgiveness over vengeance, understanding and empathy over hostility and indifference, love and compassion over hatred and callousness. And where there is even so much as a peek, a glimmer of hope, we can raise our flag over the universe and claim the smallest seeds of victory.  The epigraph for this film—lines from Rainier Maria Rilke’s poem, “Go to the Limits of Your Longing,” leaves us pondering the heart and soul of life and our personal obligation to scatter those seeds. Take a chance on Jojo Rabbit.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror

Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don’t let yourself lose me.

Praying for Time

Last Christmas- 2019

Last Christmas is a film that critics either loathe or love. In a near Rotten Tomatoes tie, 51% of reviewers came out swinging and clobbered this film as a ridiculous waste of talent while 49% cheered it on as a charming crowd pleaser. I am ready to cast my vote!  Drum roll please…..Thumbs Up! While Last Christmas will not displace It’s a Wonderful Life or Home Alone, it’s a sweet, endearing story that grew on me like mistletoe throughout its 102 minutes, leaving me with a warm, feel-good seasonal smile. 

Kate (Emilia Clarke), in a definite demotion from GoT Dragon Queen, unhappily labors as a year-round elf in a London Christmas shop, relegated to dusting ornaments and dodging grinchy insults hurled by store owner “Santa” (Michelle Yeoh) who finds Kate’s work ethic sorely lacking.  Surprisingly, Santa puts up with Kate’s retail malaise even after she carelessly fails to lock up the shop and vandals trash it. Not just Kate’s employer, but friends and family bend over backwards tolerating Kate’s outrageous, ill mannered behavior. It seems there has been a 180° shift from positive, people person Kate to a dislikable, disagreeable permutation after a terrifying brush with death, her life dramatically saved by a donor heart transplant. Physically Kate healed but psychologically she was painfully reduced to someone unrecognizable by her circle of care.

Then, just in the nick of Saint Nicholas time we perk up with a yule tide whiff of a Christmas miracle when swarthy, dashing stranger Tom (Crazy Rich Asians Henry Golding) smoothly rides into the story on his bike and wins Kate’s heart, yes, her new one. Tom is as irrepressible as Kate is irresponsible. Tom is the sun to Kate’s gloom. Optimism meets fatalism. A match made in heaven. Indeed. Swept up in true romance, our lovestruck duo light up London. Tom picks a lock and introduces Kate to a rooftop ice rink, teaching her to skate while laughing, a December dream. Channeling Gene Kelly, he dances Kate to a fairytale secret garden for a tender first kiss. Tom tends to mysteriously disappear so we have stretches of time rooting on solo Kate as she emerges full of contagious high spirits from her dark place, making peace with herself and the people in her world. It’s fun to watch her patch together broken relationships with a sleigh load of random acts of kindness and a veritable jukebox of George Michael tunes that Kate sings all along the holiday way home.

As a point of interest, Last Christmas was nearly a decade in the making as an artistic collaboration between writer Emma Thompson—who also plays Kate’s distressed and depressed Yugoslavian movie mother Petra—and the late singer songwriter George Michael. With Michael’s untimely death in 2016, the project was respectfully shelved and only revived when Michael’s family gave their blessing. 

Christmas movies are best when they stir our emotions, inspire hope and cultivate gratitude and kindness. And of course there is the necessary weep factor gift wrapped and tucked under the tree. We get that and more as we witness Kate’s transformation from lost soul to loving soulmate. Forgiveness. Reconciliation. Rebirth. Joy. The stuff of enduring Christmas traditions.  All with a mystical, magical twist you will not soon forget. Thank you George Michael, this Christmas you gave us your heart. 

What’s that Smell?

Parasite – 2019


Just when I’d relax and settle into a genre comfort zone, this Korean film would change gears until by the final shift into overdrive I was convinced I’d exit the theater with whiplash. Caught in the wildly unpredictable intersection of two South Korean families, we flow, over 132 roller coaster minutes, from slice of life satire to laugh out loud comedy to murder mystery to thriller to horror. We first meet the Kim family: former Olympian medalist, no-nonsense mom, philosophic dad and their twenty-something children, a clever, jaded daughter and a cagey, articulate son. Together they live in a cramped subbasement with a single window opening to an alley frequented by urinating drunks. Cobbling together pay-as-you-go jobs, the destitute family of four assemble pizza boxes and post advertisement fliers but still can’t stretch their collective earnings to prevent cellphone shutdown. I was instantly empathetic as they doggedly scramble about their tiny, cluttered basement quarters looking for an unprotected neighborhood wireless signal to hijack. Who amongst us can’t identify with the duress and agitation of no internet? I remember wandering around my backyard one blustery night during a power outage holding up my open laptop searching for a signal and happily tucking myself in the corner woodpile to draft off a neighbor’s service. We are won over by these Kims, a likable and resourceful pack, resigned to underclass status, not from lack of will or skill, but as victims of ravaging unemployment. Marked by a distinct working class odor from subway travel and basement travails, let’s call them “down but not out.”

      Next up, their polar economic opposites, the Park family: fashionable, fretting mom, high tech dad, preening adolescent daughter and hyperkinetic young son. This family of four live in 1% luxury, their home a gated modern mansion of renown architectural pedigree, tended by a chirpy Brady Bunch Alice-type maid and chauffeured in a top of the line classic black Mercedes-Benz. We common folk cruise along voyeur-like momentarily drinking in the fascinating lifestyle of fame and fortune. As most of us are interlopers to the decadence spawned by riches, the Park family are never in danger of generating empathy, but neither do they stir antipathy. A family of nouveau wealth, deemed “of course” entitled to  servants, they deflect lurking presumptions of elitism by pointing out that they pay their staff more than the market rate. Call them “nice.”

      From the introductory phase of meet the Kims, greet the Parks, the plot flirts with a quasi Prince and Pauper remix, here a twist, there a turn, here a sting, there a caper. Out with the old (the Park support staff), in with the new (the Kim conniving crew). We enjoy the antics of the two families bizarrely blended by means and needs, schemes and scams. It’s a fun frolic! Then ominous storm clouds roll in, thunder booming as the Park’s original merry maid stages a dramatic return, throwing a lighting bolt of double dealing deception causing the walls of hoax and trickery to come a-tumbling down. It’s not fun anymore. It’s frightening and vicious. The once comedic clash between social classes turns into a literal flood of ugly, cruel, vindictive and murderous rage. Suddenly, I’m watching a cinematic detonation, the black comedy explodes into thriller, then slasher, splaying the complex social, cultural and economic layers wide open, leveling the playing field of the haves and the have nots in an astonishing, jaw-dropping finalé. Don’t let anyone persuade you that Parasite represents a societal showdown between good and evil. This film noses around in all the nuanced gray areas, exploring and ultimately unleashing the pent up human dynamics of hope and despair, greed and want, power and pain. This creative, complicated, masterfully orchestrated film will be a hands down Oscar contender—and, if Academy voters can look past subtitles, Parasite will rack up recognition well beyond the Foreign Language category. It may not stick around very long so best see it soon. It’s (wink, wink) a peach!!