I’m guessing practically everyone who reported to the theater to watch Where the Crawdads Sing read Delia Owen’s 2018 novel of the same name. As usual, the book was so much better that it’s hard to fairly grade the film. My rather wishy-washy summation is this: Enjoyed the book, a lot. Enjoyed the movie, mostly. The cinematography was stunning. Although the novel was set in the marshes of North Carolina, filming actually took place in Louisiana, in the wetlands on the banks of Lake Pontchartrain. Score one for the movie. The characters that played Kya, Tate and Chase matched up to the images the book created in my imagination. Score two for the movie. The biggest gap was the lack of character development for “Marsh Girl” Kya, a gifted wildlife artist, self-taught naturalist and gritty survivor of abuse, neglect and abandonment, by family and community. Focus on any of those. Please. Instead the emphasis was on the Kya/Tate/Chase “kiss and don’t tell” romantic interests. We lost the depth of Kya to the shallows of unrequited love. The reliance on flashbacks felt disjointed. As a fellow reviewer penned (far better than I), “…it elongates a predictable love story, distances us from any suspense of learning the outcome and makes the court case feel longer than the O.J. Simpson trial.” Lastly, the casting of Kya’s attorney Tom Milton (David Stathairn) was so Atticus Finch that I could not help drifting from Barkley Cove to Maycomb, Alabama. I kept expecting Scout to pop up in the courtroom’s segregated balcony. So there you have it. Enjoyed the movie…mostly. Suffice to say, if you have to choose, skip the movie and read the book.
“Jordan Peele is so amazing and edgy and inspiring! His new film defies description, amazing on multiple levels, creative and so sophisticated that Nope is impossible to quantify! Perhaps the best film EVER! I can’t wait to see it!” —Voice from the Peele Herd- Nope, not me. Sorry to claim lone dissenter status but Nope is a film equivalent of the ageless folktale, The Emperor’s New Clothes. Everyone is impressed with well, nothing. The foolish, royal dude is proudly parading naked. Nothing on. That’s how I felt leaving the theater, reflecting on multiple layers of nothing. Here’s my summary: A fist-bumping chimp who whacks out and chews the faces off a few studio hosts was the horror. Check. A floating, mattress-like alien spacecraft was the sci-fi. Check. A quick witted, smack talking, wannabe rapper sister teamed with a stoic, single utterance, wannabe Clint Eastwood cowboy brother and a bored, techno savvy rough-and-ready Fry’s guy were the combined weird Peele deal. Yep. Check. Check. Check. But, I couldn’t make sense of any of it. Coherent? Nope. Scary? Nope. Captivating, spellbinding, riveting? Nope, nope nope! A group of 20 somethings grabbed their popcorn and walked-out sometime between the marauding monkey and the mystifying mattress. More followed. I stayed. Regrettably. But hey it’s Jordan Awesome Peele! Maybe you will spot the invisible clothes that I missed. So have a go and let me know.
When you think of memorable private detectives from the world of fiction, who pops into your mind? Here’s mine: Sherlock Holmes created by British author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and television’s Columbo, 1971-2003 with Peter Falk. Add to the PI pool, Motherless Brooklyn’s Lionel Essrog (Edward Norton) a most unusual private detective working cases in 1950’s New York. Lionel suffers from Tourette’s syndrome, a condition that causes repetitive movements, unwanted sounds (tics) and barking out words or phrases at the most inopportune “you have no ideahow inconvenient” times. To balance the awkward nature of blurting out what ever comes to mind, Lionel is blessed with a photographic memory that runs like a videotape of conversations, encounters and scenes, a priceless gift when it comes to piecing together the puzzle of detective mysteries.
Lionel owes most good things in his life, including his job as a private investigator, to Frank Minna (Bruce Willis) who became his father figure and mentor by rescuing him, a troubled kid, from an orphanage operated by stereotypical cruel Roman Catholic nuns. Frank’s unorthodox PI agency is made up of Lionel and three other orphanage refugees, Gilbert (Ethan Suplee), Danny (Dallas Roberts) and Tony (Bobby Cannavale), the “Minna Men,” who Frank brings together to do odd urban jobs with the barest PI undertones.
Early in the film Frank bites the dust, victim of a blackmail scheme of his own undoing and Lionel makes it his moral quest to solve the who done it, suddenly needing to tap authentic PI skills, a cut well above his current errand boy, faux PI door shingle. But Lionel’s encyclopedic memory kicks in full blast and the hunt is on. Understandably Lionel’s unwavering, zealous loyalty to father Frank holds true as he relentlessly digs to solve Frank’s dumpster alley murder. Even when Lionel’s life is on the line, even when he’s offered the keys to the “You can do whatever you want and no one can stop you,” NYC kingdom by ruthless, brilliant politician and corrupt charismatic megalomaniac Moses Randolph (Alec Baldwin), Lionel sticks to unraveling the clues on his avenging path. The epic scene between Moses and Lionel is one Biblical aficionados will find reminiscent of Satan tempting Jesus in the wilderness:
Matthew 4:8-10 Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor. “All this I will give you,” he said, “if you will bow down and worship me.” Jesus said to him, “Away from me, Satan! For it is written: ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only.’”
This neo-noir crime odyssey takes off when Lionel stumbles into a plethora of colorful characters as he gumshoes his way to a jazz club in Harlem and falls for beautiful Laura Rose (Gugu Mbatha-Raw), daughter of club owner Billy (Robert Ray Wisdom) or, scratch that, daughter of scruffy Paul Randolph (Willem Dafoe) or daughter of…..sorry, can’t say, big, BIG spoiler so stick with the film’s 144 minutes (dear editor, please cut 30 minutes) and hang on to your Stetson fedora for the BIG reveal. Here’s your clue, the key is a key. Keep it under your hat.
Why should you shell out $4.99 to rent this film? Because of the utterly believable entanglement of fascinating, endearing relationships delivered by a first rate, stellar cast; the myriad of dazzling period piece shots of the mean streets of New York; the exquisite, feather light jazz score; and, the “power corrupts” social commentary pitting the crooked and omnipotent against the poor and dispossessed. Set time aside during your rental window to watch Motherless Brooklyn not once but twice, there are so many twists and turns and snaky, shifting subplots that you can’t take digest all the intertwined layers without a replay. Does Lionel light a match in the Borough Authority darkness? Does David take down Goliath? Grab your slingshot and a pocketful of stones and rag-tag along!
This film was twenty years in the making, Edward Norton acquired the rights to Jonathan Lethem’s novel, Motherless Brooklyn, in 1998. There are interesting historical parallels you can review here before, or better, after watching the fictional account.
The good thing about going to a movie in the waning weeks of December is you can declare, “I just saw the best/worst film of the year.” So how much better to go towards the end of the decade when you can justifiably proclaim, “I just saw the worst movie of the decade!” Indeed. Black Christmas, 92 minutes of horror released 12/13, Friday the 13th.
It’s winter break eve at Hawthorne College. Think East Coast, Ivy League. Gothic, gargoyles, stones and spires. The traditional holiday follies are underway! A chorus line of MKE sorority sisters take the stage and sing a parody set to “Up on the Housetop” that’s directed at former president and (respected) rapist of the AKO fraternity who is smirking from the back of the packed room. This #MeToo performance sends AKO—aka ghoulish underworld black magic fratboys into a murderous revenge rage fueled by a supernatural, sticky tar gunk that seeps out of the bust of college founder, Calvin Hawthorne, a known racist, sexist and misogynist. Hunker down, the hunt is on! Apparently Ivy League colleges now teach archery along with the classics because the depraved, rampaging fratbrats are armed with none other than bows and arrows to kill their feminist prey. Trinkets that identify each targeted woman are stolen by a treasonous, back-stabbing (literally) sorority sister and used to track down the #MeToo crew. Missing a hair clip? Watch out! An arrow is whizzing your way. Robin Hood would be repulsed. There are a few weapon substitutes such as extra-pointy icicles snapped off snowy eaves and attic-stashed Christmas lights, those vintage, extra large red and green bulbous strings—that never work—so the better to choke you with, my dear! The Brothers Grimm would be proud. If you’re curious about the PG-13 rating, unusual for a slasher/horror movie, the kills are blood-free. The ladies get bonked or impaled or gashed Disney-style, resulting in artsy, palatable gore, sans splatter. The bad boys don’t even have blood, just busty black goo ooze, “This can’t be real,” says one brassy coed examining a dead diablo boy. How perceptive. The ghost of bad Calvin Hawthorne, condensed into coal dust from landing one too many years on Santa’s naughty list, mucks amok.
Eventually the story shifts from women-as-victims to women-as-attackers. But not before they turn on each other, taking a respite from arrows and axes and knives to argue and bicker. Picture this, you and your BFF, nearly slasher fodder, escape by commandeering a car and are racing for your lives down a dark, isolated wintery road. But mean looks are exchanged, harsh words levied and feelings are hurt, so naturally it makes perfect sense to stop and refuse to ride any farther together. Separate. Stomp off. Now one of you must walk for your life. Oh, please. Da-dum-dum-dum, dum, dumb. Her foolish move drags Little Drummer Boy into the fray. Don’t worry. The disgruntled walker survives, appearing in the next scene slogging menacingly towards the AKO voodoo brothers with a snow shovel slung over her shoulder, the weapon du jour. Visualize a shovel-toting Annie Oakley in a Santa cap. Hard to imagine….unless you’ve seen Black Christmas. The film ends with the sisterhood unified in fiery defiance. Let the slings and arrows fly. I won’t spoil it by saying anything more. Well, maybe just one more thing. Skip it.
Having spent a few crazy fun days in NYC last spring hailing planes, trains and automobiles to and around Manhattan, my curiosity was piqued as to how an NYPD manhunt that completely locked down the island would play out. NYC’s George Washington Bridge alone is the world’s busiest, 103 million vehicles crossing it per year, 282,192 a day. Quite a doomsday backup! And that’s just one of the 21 bridges! However, my imagination must take over because the film, obviously just foisting about for an enticing title, didn’t go anywhere with the potential destruction derby of a cops and robbers chase confined to Armageddon gridlock. On the upside, the film did feature the longest, wildest, baddest foot chase in movie history with trigger happy, Internal Affairs regular, macho man, Super Detective Andre Davis (Chadwick Boseman, Black Panther) chasing smart, logical criminal-with-a-conscious Michael (Stephan James) through the Meatpacking District on the far west side of Manhattan. A street sprint to end all sprints! Best part of the movie!
In a nutshell, two bad guys, young Michael and 12-stepper, military veteran Ray hit a Brooklyn restaurant expecting a quick in-and-out heist of 30 kilos of cocaine but, whoa baby, packed neatly away are not 30 but 300 kilos of pure, uncut blow. Dang. Shoulda brought bigger backpacks boys! Oddly, a group of NYPD officers show up at almost the same time, rap-tap-tapping on the establishment’s locked doors. The unplanned convergence of cops and robbers ends bloody and badly, eight officers down, seven die at the scene, one later at the hospital. Clearly the officers calmly knocking on the restaurant door were caught off guard. Why is that? Detective Davis wonders the same and soon sorts through the clues and loops us in. Seems the drug stash is all in a day’s work for some dirty cops of the 85th precinct. The police were there on business. Not good, not good.
You get the vibe. Cop killers, dirty cops and super cop on a mission. A mission that starts out as a justifiable, rabid hunt for cop killers but quickly gets complicated when sharp and shrewd Detective Davis deduces the bad guys include his own and the evidence needed to dismantle the thin blue line conspiracy rests with bringing the cop killers in alive. With Ray early on shot to smithereens, Davis desperately turns his focus on taking Michael alive—competing with the entire NYPD blue army who, for reasons of righteous revenge or evidence suppression, want Michael dead. Davis doesn’t know who fits in each category so, unable to trust anyone, he’s forced to work alone. The blue on blue high stakes, deadly race for Michael takes up most of the film’s 99 packed minutes.
21 Bridges is a low budget B movie that does its best to smuggle in a hint of social commentary, entertain the masses and bring the scrum of bad guys to justice. Yes, the dialogue is nothing that would probably ever be said. Yes, there are holes in the plot that could only be explained by magical incantations. No, the public apparently experienced zero inconveniences despite all NYC transportation options eliminated for hours. But, yes, I still enjoyed 21 Bridges. Walking out I kept delivering my best deadpan, “You’re going down,” to anyone in the gathered Frozen II Disney toddler mob who looked my way. That was fun—and together with the longest, wildest, baddest foot chase in movie history—made 21 Bridges worth giving up an afternoon of my time.
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.
Immersed for two and a half hours in the ugly Dark Waters world of institutional corruption and human greed, I left the theater and drove directly to Safeway to pick up a few last minute items for Thanksgiving. Studying canned fruit options, I started reliving teenage memories of mixing Dole fruit cocktail with newly invented Kraft Cool Whip, proudly declaring it a centerpiece holiday salad. Completely lost in daydreams of Thanksgivings past, I turned around and there staring at me was a display of nonstick frying pans! C8 alert! Corporate greed, government sellouts, Wall Street espionage, stacked court decisions, arson, Mad Cow disease, birth defects, cancer—all traced back to PFOA or C8, chemical talk for toxic fluorocarbons, aka Teflon! Doomsday in the canned fruit aisle!
Dark Waters is an environmental drama based on the true David and Goliath story of Cincinnati corporate attorney Robert Bilott (Mark Ruffalo) who goes up against DuPont, a mega machine of greed. The story starts in 1989 with Bilott pulled from a partner meeting to be confronted by West Virginia cattle farmer, Wilbur Tennant (Bill Camp), who suspects DuPont of contaminating his Appalachian farm’s water supply, killing off his cattle. Tennnant, referred by Bilott’s grandmother, is outraged, agonizing over his bovine “like family” die-off, burying each cow in individual graves until the deaths are too numerous to keep up.
Robert Bilott and Mark Ruffalo
In a flash of costuming brilliance, “Black Suits meet Bib Overalls,” the Blue Collar vs. Corporate America showdown is set for the rest of the film. Thus begins a lengthy eco-crusade—that is still playing out to this day. If there is a way, legal or not, for DuPont execs to avoid, defer, bury, squash, squelch, threaten and delay justice, they do it and with impunity. But once Bilott is made a believer—after wading through a dusty box of Tennant’s VHS evidence tapes and a frightening up close and personal mad cow encounter—he doggedly stalks and sues DuPont in perpetuity. Currently, Bilott is bringing a major class action lawsuit against eight different chemical companies, on behalf of everyone in the United States.
Dark Waters reinforces so much of the sad state of affairs we face in our country, brace yourself for your own reality check. Mine was Teflon in Safeway. Yours could be pretty much anywhere given the pervasive use of toxic chemicals. Choose your poison. On top of a bleak glimpse at the squalid underbelly of capitalism, the movie plods along dragging us through a visual timeline that starts in 1975 and phases out at 2015. I found myself calculating how many dreary years were left. If you’re hoping for an Erin Brockovich happy ending, best stay home. Dark Waters is a depressing commentary on the staggering power of corporate greed. PFOA, a chemical compound engineered to create fabulously successful Teflon is now used in everything from raincoats to pizza boxes, infiltrating 99% of human life. DuPont wields so much influence at the highest levels of government that the conglomerate can freely produce this chemical poison, still completely unregulated, without so much as a personal injury shrug. DuPont even ran and then concealed their own studies that conclusively linked PFOA to employee illnesses and birth defects. Now we all know about it. Yet, nothing changes. Surely, for the sake of public health we can do better! Sadly, it doesn’t appear to be a matter of can’t so much as won’t.
A Nov. 19 letter written by 17 West Virginia Republicans to the U.S House of Representatives Committee on Oversight and Reform, which had a hearing earlier that day, “Toxic, Forever Chemicals: A Call for Immediate Federal Action on PFAS,” had very little to say about the hearings, but did come out swinging at the film, “We ask that you be aware that the PFAS-centered film ‘Dark Waters’ irresponsibly uses tired stereotypes about the people of West Virginia. The film’s portrayal does not reflect reality and can do real damage to our economy…So either the filmmakers are fabricating science or they are relying on vulgar stereotypes to sell movie tickets. Neither is acceptable to us. An irresponsible film like ‘Dark Waters’ puts tourism jobs at risk based on a lie.”
